Dumbledore let out a sigh, the honey water in his cup long gone cold.
"How about this, Lucien? Would you mind popping by for afternoon tea once a week?"
"You'd just be keeping an old man company with some chit-chat."
As he said it, Dumbledore winked at Lucien, as if that awkward silence from moments ago had never happened.
Lucien didn't hesitate—he agreed right away.
"That'd be an honor."
"Maybe I could swing by after my tutoring sessions with Professor Quirrell?"
Dumbledore nodded with a warm, chuckling smile.
"That sounds even better. We could talk about some insights on Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Ah, now that's more like it.
Dumbledore's suggestion put Lucien's mind at ease.
The tea and small talk were just bonuses—the real point was keeping an eye on him, making sure Quirrell's dark magic hadn't rubbed off in any weird ways.
If Voldemort, in his current half-dead state, could pull off tricks right under Dumbledore's nose, why had he even bothered fearing the old man back in the day? He should've just called him out for a wizard's duel on the Hogwarts rooftops and settled it.
"Oh, and by the way, Newt mentioned you could write to him directly if you have questions about the Undetectable Extension Charm."
"Of course, don't share his contact with anyone else—my old friend would have to pack up and move again. He prefers quiet, out-of-the-way spots."
Lucien promised he wouldn't breathe a word.
Newt was the ultimate introvert, after all—probably chatted more with magical creatures than people.
Besides the Extension Charm, he could pick Newt's brain on magical beasts too.
No one knew more about those creatures than him; he was the expert, a walking encyclopedia. If Lucien wanted to pioneer transfiguration spells for magical beings, he'd have to study the creatures themselves first—and who better to consult than Newt?
"Whew, Lucien, anything else on your mind?"
Without missing a beat, Lucien replied:
"Alchemy. I'm really interested in alchemy, but the classes don't start until the upper years."
"And the library books on it are just basic overviews—no real theory or hands-on guidance."
"I heard Madam Pince say that in the Restricted Section..."
But before Lucien could finish, a sharp, grating voice cut him off:
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"Ha! This kid's already eyeing the Restricted Section? A first-year diving into dangerous knowledge—born with a dark streak, no doubt..."
"Phineas, shut it! Use that troll-sized brain of yours—aren't Slytherins the ones who've supplied the most dark wizards?"
Lucien turned toward the voice. Dozens of portraits lined the wall.
He quickly recalled the Hogwarts history book he'd read, matching the two chattering headmasters to their names.
Phineas Black, the most unpopular headmaster in Hogwarts history—hands down.
Morgan Wycliffe, a Gryffindor who'd written Dueling: The Art of Magic.
All former headmasters left portraits behind, ones you could chat with.
Phineas's bad rep made sense now—he hadn't even mentioned the Restricted Section, and the guy was already jumping in to oppose him.
You could imagine how miserable students had it under him: couldn't do this, couldn't do that.
That kind of headmaster didn't care what you learned or how you were doing—just whether you'd cause trouble.
"Heh, those fools who turned dark? It was their weak minds, nothing to do with Slytherin."
"Albus, as headmaster, you must strictly control the students..."
Lucien eyed the gabby little old man with the goatee, catching a flash of movement in the portrait to his upper left out of the corner of his eye.
Thwack!
The annoying Phineas toppled over, vanishing from his frame.
In his place appeared a beautiful woman in silver-rimmed glasses.
If you ignored the hefty tome in her hand—and the fact that she'd just used it to knock Phineas out—Lucien would've thought she was the picture of refined elegance.
"I'm delighted that Ravenclaw has a young wizard like you."
Lucien stood and greeted her politely.
"Good morning, Madam Wendyrion. I'm thrilled to be in Ravenclaw too."
Sharon Wendyrion, a Ravenclaw alum who'd authored Curses and Counter-Curses.
She seemed pleased with Lucien, her tone graceful and soft:
"Ravenclaw's eagles should always chase wisdom and knowledge—you're doing just that."
"You're spot on about what you said. In the wizarding world, knowledge equals power."
"So when you're learning, it's normal to face dangers and unknowns. Don't fear them, don't try to handle everything alone, and don't hesitate to ask the Hogwarts professors for help..."
Lucien listened to Headmistress Sharon's earnest advice and replied sincerely:
"Thank you for your guidance. May your wisdom continue to light the way for Ravenclaw."
Dumbledore watched the exchange with quiet satisfaction. He could see Lucien's genuineness—the respect for his teachers, the pure hunger for knowledge.
He conjured a sheet of parchment, and lines of book titles appeared on it, signed with his own name.
"Here you go, Lucien. This has what you're after."
Lucien took the book list and saw it was packed—covering all sorts of fields: charms, alchemy, herbology, transfiguration...
One title made his eyebrow twitch:
Identification of the Dark Arts
Why'd old Dumbledore approve this one? To keep an eye out, make sure Quirrell didn't pull any sneaky moves?
The Restricted Section really did have the good stuff.
It was Hogwarts' greatest treasure trove!
"Headmaster, this Identification of the Dark Arts?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "No need to worry—it's all about spotting dark magic, no actual dark spells included."
"Simply knowing about dark magic, or even learning the incantations, won't twist your mind."
"It's only the constant, obsessive use and study of it that causes irreversible damage."
Lucien nodded and tucked the list away.
"This chat's been really enjoyable—I've learned a ton."
...
After leaving the headmaster's office, Lucien headed down the stairs, planning to hit the library first for those books.
The others could wait; he'd grab the alchemy ones right away.
Then off to Hagrid's hut to dissect that transfiguring pocket watch and try locking in the transfiguration spell.
Rounding a corner in the great hall...
Lucien spotted Malfoy, still with bandages on his hand, standing next to a middle-aged man with pale blond hair who looked just like him.
Oh, little Malfoy and big Malfoy.
Lucius eyed his son with mild confusion.
"Draco, why are you still bandaged up? Is the hospital wing that incompetent?"
"Er, Father, my arm still hurts a bit—probably not fully healed."
What Malfoy didn't say was that keeping the bandages on let him casually mention to anyone who asked how Harry had taken care of him in the hospital wing and even apologized.
Lucius was about to respond when he caught a passing student glancing their way.
Those ink-green eyes gave him an inexplicable twinge of unease.
He couldn't place why, but the Malfoy family's knack for reading people kicked in.
"Draco, I've prepared a rare healing potion for you—no risk of lingering injuries."
Malfoy beamed, about to thank his dad, when he heard:
"That student who just passed—do you know him? Tell me about him."
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