The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Lucien was sitting through the second Defense class of the week, eyeing the stammering Quirrell as he lectured while mentally mapping out his post-class plan.
Right after the bell, corner Quirrell—but not in the classroom. Too many eyes.
This Defense lesson was still a total wash, just like the last one. He was droning on about the origins and definition of Expelliarmus, but nothing on how to actually use it.
Lucien couldn't help but snicker inwardly. How's a teacher supposed to not teach the real stuff? Right, Quirrell? Or should I say, Tom?
The endless class dragged on in Quirrell's usual slacking style, and as soon as it wrapped, Lucien grabbed his textbook and bolted from the room.
He tailed Quirrell right away.
Quirrell headed to the office next door and was about to pull the door shut.
A hand shot out and stopped it.
"Professor Quirrell, I've got some questions about Defense Against the Dark Arts I'd like to ask."
Quirrell turned, spotting a boy with dark golden short hair staring at him with those deep ink-green eyes.
"Uh, s-sorry, t-teacher's b-busy, b-busy with s-something. N-next t-time, n-next time."
He tried to close the door, but Lucien's next words froze him.
"Professor, I've heard some rumors lately—something about why you're staying on at Hogwarts."
Quirrell's eyes darted away, suddenly all tense:
"Wh-what r-rumors?"
Lucien smirked.
"It's not something you can sum up in a couple sentences."
Quirrell glanced around, seeing no one paying attention.
"F-fine, c-come in th-then."
Lucien scoped out Quirrell's office—pretty bare-bones. No magic books, no alchemy gear or potion stuff.
Makes sense. This guy's probably gonna bolt as soon as he gets the Philosopher's Stone. Why bother settling in?
Tsk, it's like an office worker's desk: the more knick-knacks, the more the boss trusts you're sticking around. Bare? They're probably job-hunting.
"St-student, y-you can t-tell me n-now, r-right?"
"Professor, my name's Grafton."
As he said it, Lucien casually plopped down in the chair across from the desk.
"Professor Quirrell, I get along pretty well with folks—chat with a lot of students. You know what they're saying about you?"
Lucien's eyes narrowed, a half-smile playing on his lips as he watched Quirrell.
"Wh-what are th-they s-saying?"
"Something like, your classes are way too theoretical. My family's always told me Defense Against the Dark Arts is supposed to be fun—trying out all sorts of spells."
"Oh, and I know a few Slytherins, like from the Greengrass family, the Malfoys—they're griping about the lessons too."
"Especially this one Malfoy friend of mine—he swore up and down that his dad's on the school board. Says he'll push to report on the Defense teaching and get a prof who mixes theory with practice."
"Oh, of course, I'm not saying you're bad or anything, just..."
Lucien was dead serious while totally making it up—he'd been too buried in books to know any Slytherins.
Well, maybe half. That Greengrass girl—Daphne, I think?
But Quirrell's face had gone pale, sweat beading under his turban.
Effect's working fine.
Quirrell's such a scaredy-cat. Gets this worked up? And he's the one who let Voldemort possess him?
And he buys my bluff just like that? Some Ravenclaw grad he is.
Eh, if Tom could con him into handing over his body, he's not exactly a genius.
"So, if you weren't teaching Defense, where would you head after leaving Hogwarts?"
Lucien locked eyes with Quirrell, his gaze piercing—like he was staring straight through to the other guy.
Quirrell froze for a few seconds, his eyes dulling.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, plastering on a polite smile:
"Grafton, you're Ravenclaw—must be a clever young wizard."
"Defense Against the Dark Arts deals with some powerful magic. Isn't it better for first-years to build a solid theory base first?"
Lucien steepled his fingers and nodded.
"Fair point."
"Quirrell's" smile started to widen.
"Professor, how come you're not stammering anymore?"
Lucien grinned, slipping a hand under the desk to grip his wand.
Interesting. Tom's jumping in directly? Feeling that bold already?
"Quirrell" tugged at his stiff lips.
"Heh, sharp observation. Ravenclaw's lucky to have a first-year like you."
"It's just my nerves—get jittery around crowds. One-on-one, I loosen up."
"But practical Defense is still..."
Seeing the guy trying to dodge again, Lucien didn't want to drag it out. He raised his wand.
"Quirrell's" eyes sharpened, a chill flashing through them.
"I've got a lunch date with classmates in ten minutes. I'll cut to the chase—no wasting your time."
"Professor, I've self-taught some Defense from books—like Incendio, Reducto, Sectumsempra..."
Suddenly, flames flickered around the office, a teapot shattered, a cabinet split in two...
All the while, Lucien and "Quirrell" kept staring each other down, eyes locked.
"Haha, of course, these are just parlor tricks compared to you."
Lucien flicked his wand again, casting Reparo to fix everything back to normal.
Gotta show some muscle—let him know I can cause a ruckus quick if I want. But basic manners count too.
"I just want some tips on real combat."
"Of course, you're right—most first-years don't need hands-on that early, so..."
"Quirrell" nodded, smiling, but it was all fake.
"Tell you what—you're talented enough to try practical stuff ahead of schedule."
"Come to my office once or twice a week. I'll give you private lessons."
"I'll teach you combat skills myself!"
Lucien smiled back—no more real than his.
"Thanks for the tutoring. I'm honored."
Wool sheared.
But knowing Tom, there'll be some shady tricks in those lessons. That's Voldemort for you.
Still, fortune favors the bold—and rare knowledge's the same.
Gotta stay cautious, though. Time to chat with old Dumbledore first, get his take.
Lucien stood and said goodbye, leaving the office.
A few minutes later.
Quirrell muttered to himself.
"Master, those pure-blood students..."
"You idiot, can't you see? That kid's just shaking you down for perks!"
"But Master, why teach him then..."
"I need the Philosopher's Stone—the plan can't fail. It's a minor hiccup. I'll teach you a dark curse, a variant of Imperius—takes a few casts to control the mind, but it's subtle. Won't tip off the teachers."
"Master, what if the boy notices something off..."
"You sniveling coward—the dark spells I've given you... You think that kid's studied the Dark Arts or has killer talent for it? How else would he notice?"