In the Forbidden Forest, bathed in the glow of the full moon, Lucien slipped a single mandrake leaf into his mouth. With a flick of his wand, he murmured, "Sticking Charm." The leaf adhered firmly to the roof of his mouth.
This was the first step to becoming an Animagus.
For an entire month, from one full moon to the next, he had to keep this mandrake leaf in his mouth. Swallowing it or taking it out would mean starting over. Honestly, having something stuck to the roof of his mouth felt weird, but at least he didn't have to worry about accidentally eating it while sleeping or dining. It didn't mess with his speech too much either.
Lucien felt the leaf in his mouth as he mentally reviewed the next steps. At the second full moon, he'd remove the leaf and place it in a crystal phial filled with his saliva, letting it soak under pure moonlight. Then, he'd add a strand of his own hair, a teaspoon of dew, and a chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawk Moth. Once the ingredients were combined, the solution had to sit in a quiet, dark place until the next thunderstorm—untouched and undisturbed.
After consulting Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall about the Animagus process, Lucien realized that becoming one wasn't just about talent in Transfiguration. Luck played a big part too. For instance, on the night of the second full moon, the leaf needed to be bathed in moonlight. If the moon was hidden behind clouds, he'd have to start over with a new mandrake leaf.
But when Lucien pressed for solutions, Dumbledore offered a simple fix: the leaf needed to be exposed to moonlight within a minute of being removed from his mouth. If clouds were a problem, he could ride a broomstick above the cloud layer or climb a high mountain peak to catch the moonlight—assuming his luck wasn't that bad.
"Man can conquer nature," Dumbledore had said, though he quickly added, "Flying through clouds requires exceptional skill and a high-quality broom."
Lucien got the hint—Dumbledore was warning him not to try anything reckless. But then Lucien glanced at his young Qilin, which was playfully mimicking a Mooncalf's dance. Flying? Breaking through clouds? No big deal. He'd already done it when his Qilin was just entering its growth phase. A broomstick? Pfft, too basic.
Lucien mulled over his next steps. The Animagus transformation was his main focus now. Thanks to the Chimera Codex, his progress in live Transfiguration was lightning-fast. The codex provided detailed information on magical creatures, giving him a solid foundation. Plus, creating a real chimera had deepened his understanding of magical biology. And watching Scabbers—Peter Pettigrew, who'd maintained his Animagus form for over a decade—had taught him plenty about Transfiguration. By the next full moon, when the mandrake leaf was ready for moonlight, Lucien figured he'd have mastered live Transfiguration, checking off all the prep work for becoming an Animagus.
---
In the Headmaster's Office, Snape sat across from Dumbledore, who was already in his pajamas and nightcap. Snape pulled a potion vial from his pocket. "This month's tooth-decay prevention potion," he said, sliding it over. "You could easily make this yourself, Dumbledore."
Dumbledore chuckled, taking the vial and downing it in one go. "Oh, Severus, my potion-making skills are a bit rusty. Nowhere near the youngest Potions Master's expertise."
Snape snorted, unimpressed. He knew Dumbledore was just passing off work. The idea that the greatest wizard of the century didn't "study potions much" was laughable—only a fool or a Muggle would buy it. Dumbledore had no weaknesses, only strengths and stronger strengths.
Ignoring Snape's attitude, Dumbledore waved his wand, conjuring a plate of Chocolate Frogs and a jug of sweet sparkling water. As he munched on a frog and sipped his drink, Snape's eyelid twitched. "Honestly, Severus, a sweet treat after a potion always hits differently. Try one!" Dumbledore pushed the plate toward him.
Snape, uninterested in late-night snacks, got to the point. "Dumbledore, you should attend the next Quidditch match in person."
Dumbledore took a slow sip of his drink before replying, "I know Harry's match today was intense, but it ended well, didn't it?"
Snape's brows furrowed, his tone sharp. "You were monitoring the pitch with magic. You know who was tampering, who tried to kill the boy. Quirinus Quirrell, for one." He leaned forward, hands on the desk. "And do you know who's pulling his strings?"
Dumbledore's voice remained calm. "The only person who wants Harry Potter gone is Voldemort."
Snape's face darkened at the name, his expression a mix of anger and unease. Noticing, Dumbledore set down his cup. "Severus, there's no need to fear. If we can't even say his name—"
That set Snape off. He shot to his feet. "Of course you don't fear him! You're Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the century! You're untouchable! If you're so fearless, why not deal with Voldemort yourself? You saved Harry this time, but what about next time?"
Dumbledore stayed composed, though a strange glint flickered in his eyes when Snape credited him with saving Harry. From what he'd seen through his magical monitoring, he knew who really helped Harry. But he wasn't about to spill that a first-year student, Lucien Grafton, had gone toe-to-toe with a skilled adult wizard in a magical duel. So, the blame—or credit—fell on Dumbledore's shoulders.
He stayed silent as Snape pressed on. In Snape's mind, it made sense—Dumbledore's reputation as the all-powerful wizard meant people assumed he could counter curses from afar. But this time, it wasn't him. Even Quirrell, or whoever was behind him, likely thought Dumbledore had intervened with some masterful spell.
Dumbledore had skipped the Quidditch match on purpose, wanting to see what Quirrell would do. Would the former Ravenclaw star follow Voldemort's orders blindly, or would he resist, maybe even seek help? The results were clear through Dumbledore's remote monitoring. He'd had backup plans, of course—if Harry had been in real danger, the greatest wizard of the century could've stepped in. He wasn't trying to get Harry killed; he was tempering him, preparing him for the prophecy's future. But thanks to Lucien's unexpected intervention, Dumbledore didn't have to lift a finger.
Sometimes, Dumbledore found it tedious keeping secrets. Everyone thought he'd saved Harry, but he couldn't exactly correct them. Still, he looked forward to his next tea with Lucien—the kid always brought surprises, like ripples in the calm lake of his century-long life. It made things interesting.
"Severus, calm down," Dumbledore said gently. "Strength alone doesn't decide the future. The prophecy—"
He stopped short at the word. Snape fell silent too. After a long pause, Snape stood and turned to leave, muttering, "The prophecy? The boy who lived? That was Lily's sacrifice protecting him. A one-year-old couldn't possibly defeat Voldemort."
Dumbledore sighed. "I'll be at the next Quidditch matches."
Snape paused briefly, then kept walking. "I'll bring the next potion at the full moon," he said over his shoulder.
---
On the way to Potions class, Malfoy sidled up to Lucien, checking that no one was around. "Lucien, can we talk business? I'll trade you another spellbook—or name your price. I want to learn… you know, other stuff."
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "What, regretting Potions already?"
"No, no, you're a great teacher! I just figured out why Potter's been improving so fast—it's you." Malfoy waved his hands. "I mean, serious stuff. Like what you did on Halloween, taking down that troll with… that."
Lucien caught on. Malfoy meant the chimera. That stunt had clearly left an impression.
"It's not easy," Lucien warned. "Ever heard the phrase 'don't bite off more than you can chew'?"
Malfoy nodded eagerly. "Yeah, it means if you try to learn too much, you won't learn anything well. I get it."
Seeing Malfoy's enthusiasm, Lucien added, "What you want to learn is advanced Transfiguration. It's not something you pick up in a semester or even a year."
Malfoy's face lit up with an "I'm on it" grin. "Got it. Next year, I'll bring a stack of spellbooks. You'll love 'em—knowledge is power, right?"
Lucien shook his head, amused. Malfoy was acting like he was paying tribute to avoid a shakedown. "I'm not bullying you for protection money," Lucien muttered as they entered the Potions classroom.
The bell rang, and Snape launched into a relentless barrage of questions. "Zabini, why must Boomslang skin be soaked in mercury? Boot, when and how do you harvest Moondew?"
The students, Slytherins included, quaked like frightened quail in winter. Snape was on a tear today—his questions were brutal, a third of them beyond first-year material. What had set him off? Harry wasn't even in this class.
"Lucien," Snape barked, "how do you identify high-quality unicorn hair?"
"Pure white, free of dirt, with a faint starry shimmer and a silver trail when waved," Lucien answered smoothly.
"Hm. One point to Ravenclaw."
Potions brewing was even worse. The cold dungeon classroom forced students to huddle near their cauldrons for warmth, but Snape was a storm cloud, swooping from one student to the next. "Bostwick, the recipe calls for powdered Murtlap spine, not granules—are you planning to snack on those? Dock, you put in Knotgrass root before Pufferfish bladder. Maybe you should teach Potions!"
Lucien worked calmly, unfazed by the chaos. Even Slytherins weren't spared Snape's venom today. The old bat was really worked up.
As his cauldron bubbled, nearly done, Lucien thought, It's cold out. Maybe I'll make some hot pot later.