In the Hogwarts Great Hall, Lucien sat at the long table, casually eating breakfast. The hall was nearly empty, with only a handful of students around. Most had gone home for Christmas, and since it was the holiday break, those who stayed were either sleeping in or unwrapping their Christmas gifts.
Lucien was about to take a spoonful of lean meat porridge when he heard someone urgently calling his name.
"Lucien!"
"Lucien, thank goodness you're here!"
Harry and Ron rushed over, plopping down beside him. Harry clutched a Chocolate Frog card with Dumbledore's portrait, thrusting it toward Lucien with excitement.
"Lucien, look! I knew Nicolas Flamel sounded familiar—it's because I saw him on a Chocolate Frog card!"
Lucien calmly took the card and glanced at it. Nice, they noticed. His efforts hadn't been wasted.
If he could use this as a lead to let Harry know about the Sorcerer's Stone, then Lucien could go straight to Dumbledore to discuss it. He wanted to get a head start on accessing the Stone, maybe use it to brew a potion to repay his "unicorn year loan."
"You guys are impressive, finding a clue on a Chocolate Frog card," Lucien said, giving Harry's shoulder a pat and offering the two boys some well-deserved praise.
But Harry waved his hands dismissively. "No, no, it was just luck. The lucky bird helped us!"
At that, Lucien's spoon paused mid-air. Wait, what?
"Lucky bird?"
"Oh, let me explain!" Ron jumped in, eagerly recounting their morning adventure. He even repeated, word for word, the "lucky bird" story George had told him.
"Lucien, I'm heading to the Owlery later. That owl might still be there! Wanna come? Once I get endless Galleons—er, I mean, good luck—I won't forget you guys!"
Ron was so excited he looked ready to sprint off to find this "lucky bird" right then and there. Lucien took a sip of his porridge, unsure where to even begin with his response.
George and Fred must mess with Ron all the time, yet Ron still believed every word those twins said. Lucky bird? Really? Lucien was the one who'd helped them, disguised as an owl, no less.
A lucky bird that brings lifelong fortune if you offer it food, ensuring you'll never want for anything? In the wizarding world, sure, any legend could sound plausible. But this sounded suspiciously like those old tales of animals turning human to repay kindness—fox spirits, clam spirits, snake spirits. Could it be a bunch of Animagi playing a prank?
Lucien shook his head, dismissing the wild thought. "I'll pass. Got some books I still need to finish."
Harry and Ron weren't surprised—they were used to Lucien's bookworm habits by now.
"Oh, right, Lucien, did you get our Christmas gifts?" Harry asked.
Lucien nodded. He'd already checked them out. Classmates mostly sent candy or books, but the professors got a bit more creative. There was a transforming toy that could shift into different shapes, a pack of safe magical plant seeds, a handwritten copy of ancient spells, and even a potion recipe.
Surprisingly, even Quirrell had sent him a gift—a plain magical notebook. Its contents were standard, nothing groundbreaking or suspicious. Still, Lucien planned to bring it when he talked to Dumbledore, just in case Quirrell—or Tom—had slipped in some sneaky trick to mess with him.
Lately, Quirrell's tutoring sessions had been veering more and more toward dark magic. He never outright said it, but the hints were there. Lucien could tell he was trying to lure him into studying dark magic, probably hoping he'd get hooked and stop interfering with their plans.
Dumbledore, of course, already knew about this.
Speaking of Dumbledore, he'd given Lucien a special permit to borrow books from the Restricted Section—well, most of them, anyway, except the really dangerous or outright evil ones. Lucien always found the library's categorization odd. Some books in the Restricted Section were openly sold at Flourish and Blotts, while a book with the recipe for Polyjuice Potion was just sitting in the regular section for any young wizard to read.
Hagrid had sent a Christmas gift too, and Lucien genuinely loved it. It was a set of bookmarks made from Snidget feathers, Muffliato feathers, unicorn tail hair, and other materials. The craftsmanship was simple, but Lucien could feel the care Hagrid put into them. He knew Hagrid had gathered those materials from the Forbidden Forest.
The one that caught his attention most was an almost transparent bookmark. Well, "transparent" wasn't quite right—it was visible, but Lucien couldn't see it. That's because it was made from Thestral tail feathers. Hagrid had specifically pointed it out, worried Lucien might overlook it. Thestrals were unique magical creatures, only visible to those who'd witnessed death. Lucien hadn't yet seen a human death that left a deep mark on him.
"I got your gifts, and I love them all," Lucien said. "Oh, and Ron, tell your mom thanks for the sweater. It looks great, and it's super cozy."
Lucien lifted his robe to show off the starry blue sweater with a big "L" on the chest. Ron looked at it with a hint of envy.
"Why do your sweaters always look so cool?" he muttered.
Lucien chuckled. "Oh, speaking of Nicolas Flamel, I was just about to tell you guys something."
He pulled a massive, heavy, worn book from his pocket and waved his wand. The pages flipped rapidly, stopping at a specific one. Harry and Ron, used to Lucien pulling all sorts of weird stuff from his pockets, leaned in to look.
"The Sorcerer's Stone can turn any metal into pure gold and produce the Elixir of Life, granting immortality to whoever drinks it…"
"The only known Sorcerer's Stone belongs to the renowned alchemist and opera enthusiast, Nicolas Flamel…"
"Nicolas Flamel celebrated his 665th birthday last year…"
Harry and Ron's eyes grew wider with every line. They gasped in unison:
"The Sorcerer's Stone!"
"Pure gold!"
"Elixir of Life!"
"This guy's been alive for 665 years?!"
They exchanged a look, both shocked and incredulous. Ron muttered, "No wonder Hermione had us slog through all those modern wizarding history books. My head's still spinning…"
"Yeah," Harry added, "665 years doesn't exactly count as 'modern,' does it?"
A sudden thought struck Harry. He wanted to hit the library and dig up more about Nicolas Flamel. The Sorcerer's Stone was just too incredible for a kid—turning stone to gold, granting eternal life! But the regular library section probably wouldn't have detailed enough books. So… the Invisibility Cloak!
---
Somewhere in a Hogwarts corridor, the moonlight was faint, barely illuminating the surroundings. Harry, draped in his Invisibility Cloak, wandered in a daze. He kept glancing back to make sure Filch or his cat, Mrs. Norris, weren't sneaking up behind him.
He'd just slipped into the Restricted Section to find more about Nicolas Flamel. But the moment he opened the first book, it started screaming. Harry nearly went deaf from the noise! Naturally, it caught Filch's attention, who happened to be patrolling nearby. That led to a heart-pounding game of hide-and-seek with the caretaker, who was itching to catch a rule-breaking student.
After some frantic dodging, Harry managed to shake Filch off—for now. But in his panic, he'd gotten completely lost. Looking at the unfamiliar corridor, he started to regret his decision.
This was his first time really using the Invisibility Cloak—his father's cloak. He'd wanted to try it out on his own, just this once, without Lucien or Ron. But this first solo adventure was way more thrilling than he'd bargained for.
If Lucien were here, Harry thought, he'd probably know the right way back.
Unbeknownst to him, a pair of emerald-green eyes flickered in the darkness atop a stone pillar. Lucien, transformed into an owl, was watching the area below.
Harry's cloak could hide his magical signature, but luckily, Lucien had placed a small tracking charm on Harry's shoulder earlier that day. The cloak didn't block that bit of magic. It made sense—while the cloak hid the wearer, it didn't completely shield them from all magical effects.
Soon, Harry would likely stumble into a room and find the Mirror of Erised. What a coincidence, Lucien thought. Dumbledore's probably been keeping an eye on Harry, ready to slip the mirror into that room just before he gets there.
The owl's eyes swirled faintly, tracking the magical mark on Harry's shoulder.
Suddenly, a faint, stuttering voice echoed from a corner of the corridor. "I-I don't know w-why you'd ch-choose to meet h-here, Severus…"
Harry froze. That voice was unmistakable—Quirrell's nervous stammer. He crept closer, using the dim moonlight to guide him.
"You wouldn't want me as an enemy, Quirrell," came another voice, one Harry instantly recognized. Snape! He'd heard that voice plenty in Potions class, usually in their back-and-forth exchanges.
"I-I don't kn-know what you…" Quirrell stammered.
"You know exactly what I mean," Snape cut in. "Your secrets, your schemes—I'm watching."
"B-but I-I don't—"
Harry inched forward, catching sight of them. Snape, looming menacingly, and Quirrell, clutching his purple turban. Snape was clearly threatening him.
"You'd better think carefully about who you're loyal to. We'll talk again," Snape said, his voice low and dangerous.
Suddenly, Snape's head snapped toward a seemingly empty spot—right where Harry stood. Harry clamped a hand over his mouth, holding his breath and edging backward.
Snape's hand shot out, nearly grazing the Invisibility Cloak. Harry leaned back, heart pounding.
"Hoo!"
A sudden owl's hoot echoed through the corridor. An ordinary-looking owl swooped out of the darkness, diving toward Quirrell and pecking his head sharply.
"Ah!" Quirrell yelped, clutching his turban tighter.
Harry seized the moment to back away, putting distance between himself and Snape's outstretched hand. The owl flew past him, disappearing into the shadows. In that brief glimpse, Harry noticed its eyes—an unusual green. He couldn't quite place the shade in the moment, but something told him it was the same owl from that morning. The lucky bird!
Harry kept moving, only to run into Filch again. With the caretaker approaching, he darted into a side corridor. There, he spotted an old, weathered door with a slight gap. Carefully, he squeezed through, his small, skinny frame barely fitting. For once, he was grateful for the meager meals at his aunt's house that had kept him so slight—it let him slip through without being caught by Filch and risking expulsion.
Inside, the room looked like an abandoned classroom, filled with dusty desks and chairs. And then he saw it—a grand, ornate mirror that seemed completely out of place.
Before Harry could examine it closely, he froze. The mirror showed a room full of people standing behind him. But when he turned around, the room was empty—just him.
Puzzled, he looked back at the mirror, this time studying it carefully. There was a beautiful red-haired woman with eyes exactly like his own. A tall, thin man with black hair, wearing glasses, with a tuft of hair sticking up just like Harry's. Others had his eyes, his nose…
Harry stared, dumbfounded. "Are you…?"
He didn't know how long he stood there, lost in the sight, until some noise snapped him out of it. He hurried out of the room.
A few seconds later, an owl fluttered in, transforming mid-air into Lucien as he landed lightly on the floor. He glanced at the mirror. Not a speck of dust—completely out of place in this dusty room. Dumbledore, at his age, playing nature's—or rather, the mirror's—deliveryman in the middle of the night.
Lucien's eyes moved to the inscription at the top of the mirror:
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."
A mirror, so the text was likely reversed. Translated, it read:
"I show not your face but your heart's desire."
Lucien looked at the smooth surface. No reflection of himself appeared. Instead, there were flipping book pages, swirling symbols and spells, flashes of vibrant and simple magic, and bubbling cauldrons.
His gaze caught a snippet of a math problem:
"∭E(x²+y²)dV, where the region E is defined by the surface…"
"The answer in the mirror's wrong," Lucien muttered. "Tch, boring."
He shook his head. A mirror that only showed your heart's desire? The Mirror of Erised was overhyped.
As he turned to leave, Lucien glanced up at a spot on the classroom ceiling and chuckled softly. "Headmaster, what do you think of my Animagus transformation?"