Standing with his back to the Mirror of Erised, Lucien studied the translucent red gem in Dumbledore's hand, mulling over the question the old wizard had posed: "What are your thoughts on immortality?"
That gem had to be the Philosopher's Stone, right? Immortality was tempting, no question. But the Stone granted eternal life, not eternal youth—a crucial difference. Its creator, Nicolas Flamel, had used the Stone's elixir to live over six hundred years. Yet his body never stopped aging. The man was so frail that a simple handshake could snap his bones.
Honestly, Lucien did crave a longer life. The longer you lived, the more you could experience, the more knowledge you could soak up. The world was brimming with wonders, its vast sea of knowledge practically endless. A single lifetime was too short—most people were lucky to master one field. Even a genius could only grasp so much. Wizards lived longer than Muggles, often reaching a hundred or more if they played it safe, with some rare few hitting one-fifty or even two hundred. But was that enough?
Lucien shifted his gaze from the Stone to Dumbledore, his tone serious. "Professor, immortality sounds incredible. It'd give me more time to learn, to explore. But… what's the catch with the Philosopher's Stone's version of 'eternal life'?"
Dumbledore nodded, a pleased smile crinkling his eyes. "You're honest and pure in your pursuit. Curious about how the Stone works?"
Lucien didn't hesitate. "Absolutely." The Philosopher's Stone was the pinnacle of alchemy. Beyond turning base metals into gold, how did it grant immortality? He was dying to know.
"The Stone achieves immortality by strengthening the soul, boosting its vitality, and anchoring it to the body," Dumbledore explained. "But it can't restore physical vitality. That's its flaw."
The soul. Lucien's mind clicked. In the wizarding world, souls were real, tangible things—a mountain every serious wizard had to climb in their studies. And who knew more about souls than Tom Riddle? Voldemort had split his soul multiple times, crafting Horcruxes for a kind of half-immortality, even possessing others as a disembodied spirit. He wanted the Stone to rebuild his body. But from what Dumbledore said, that wasn't possible. Still, the Stone could strengthen a soul, which would be a game-changer for a wraith-like Voldemort.
Lucien's eyes flicked back to the Stone. Would Dumbledore, the master strategist, really let Voldemort get his hands on something so powerful? Just to test Harry Potter? He tilted his head and asked, "Professor, is this Stone real? Or rather, does it still have the full power to grant immortality?"
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "Why do you ask?"
Lucien rubbed his chin, hesitating before answering. "Harry and his friends think someone's trying to steal the Stone. If they—a bunch of first-years—can figure that out, someone with real intent probably could too. Harry mentioned the Stone's hidden in the room guarded by Fluffy. But…" He paused, a touch embarrassed. "You know I went to 'play' with Fluffy before. There was nothing under that trapdoor. Yet everyone thinks the Stone's there. It feels like… a trap. Like bait."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow but didn't respond. Lucien pressed on. "I like fishing, Professor. Good bait attracts fish, but it never lets them eat their fill." He pointed at the Stone. "I don't know who the fish is, but this? This feels like bait."
Silence settled over the room. After a moment, Dumbledore sighed softly. "Clever deduction. This Stone can still transmute metals and create simpler potions, but…" He trailed off, but Lucien got the picture. It couldn't meet Voldemort's needs. The old fox had played his hand perfectly. The Stone was real, but useless for Voldemort's grand dreams of resurrection or immortality. Poor guy—chasing a mirage.
"Professor," Lucien said, "could I borrow the Stone?"
Dumbledore blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. Lucien was a curious kid, gifted in alchemy and potions. Wanting to experiment with the Stone made sense. After their many chats and Lucien's knack for surprising him, Dumbledore trusted the boy. Still, he asked, "What do you plan to do with it?"
Lucien didn't miss a beat. "I don't need gold. I just want to see how a potion made with the Stone differs from a regular one."
Dumbledore smiled. "Curiosity fuels learning. Given your skill in potions and alchemy—far beyond your peers—you can use the Stone. But…" He held up the gem. "It'll be under my supervision. And you must keep this secret. Can you do that?"
Lucien nodded eagerly. No problem there. His goal was simple: brew a potion with the Stone, maybe pay off his Qilin debt. He wasn't plotting anything shady. Plus, Dumbledore's oversight? That was a perk. The man was a genius in every magical field, including potions and alchemy. How many people got one-on-one guidance from him?
"I'd be honored to have your guidance," Lucien said sincerely.
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(Dear readers, the story continues here! б(＞ε＜)∂)
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As Dumbledore and Lucien left the room, the headmaster paused. "By the way, Lucien, becoming an Animagus requires registration with the Ministry. Unregistered Animagi risk Azkaban."
Lucien nearly rolled his eyes. Unregistered Animagi? There were plenty. Harry's dad, James Potter, and his crew were unregistered. That Daily Prophet reporter, the one who turned into a beetle to snoop for scoops, was another. Animagi were hard to detect in animal form—regular magic couldn't identify them. Lucien recalled only seven registered Animagi in the Ministry's records, including Professor McGonagall, who, true to her rule-following nature, wouldn't hide her ability.
Seven? Hardly. The real number was way higher. Lucien thought about how convenient his Animagus transformations were. Some wizards used it to spy or just preferred blending in as animals. That beetle reporter thrived on her tiny, sneaky form to dig up dirt. No way she'd register.
Seeing Lucien's silence, Dumbledore's tone lightened. "Of course, if you're not caught, it's not exactly breaking the rules." He winked.
Lucien couldn't help but grin. Dumbledore was soft on the young wizards he liked—Newt, James, and even Harry later on. "If you choose to register, I can take you to the Ministry myself," Dumbledore added. "I have friends there. It'll be smooth."
Dumbledore's connections were legendary. This was less an offer and more a gentle nudge: either register openly or hide your tracks well—especially from the Ministry. Lucien didn't mind either way. His Animagus ability wasn't limited to one animal. If one form got too well-known, he'd just switch to another.
"You can think it over," Dumbledore said. "Let me know by summer."
"Thank you for understanding, Professor," Lucien replied.
---
"Lucien, I found this amazing mirror last night!" Harry said, practically bouncing as he and Ron recounted their adventure over breakfast. "I went back with Ron, and I saw myself as Head Boy and Quidditch Captain!"
Lucien munched on his toast, listening to their excited chatter. "Want to come check it out tonight?" Harry asked.
Before Lucien could answer, Ron opened his mouth, then hesitated. He wanted to warn Harry against sneaking out again—they'd nearly run into Mrs. Norris last time. But he also got why Harry was so drawn to the mirror. It showed him his family.
Lucien saw the difference in their reactions. Ron's vision was about achievements, outshining his brothers—a kid's thrill that would fade. Harry's was deeper. He saw his parents, his longing for family. That wasn't something a few glances could satisfy.
Lucien shook his head. "I'm good. Just be careful if you go."
He didn't try to talk Harry out of it. The kid had been through too much. If the mirror gave him a moment of happiness, imagining his family, that was okay. Besides, Dumbledore would step in eventually to guide Harry away from getting lost in the illusion.
---
The holidays flew by, and with the students' return, Hogwarts buzzed with life again. But compared to last term, everyone seemed busier. Students lugged stacks of books and notes, and the library was packed with people poring over tomes or scribbling furiously with quills. Fifth-years were stressing over O.W.L.s, and seventh-years were buried in N.E.W.T.s prep—exams that would shape their futures. Lucien couldn't help but think of his past life, watching college seniors scramble for grad school, jobs, or internships.
"You found out about Nicolas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone?" Hermione stared at Harry and Ron, floored.
As they spilled the details, Hermione's disbelief grew. She'd only been home for Christmas—how had they made this much progress?
"You won't believe it," Ron said. "On Christmas morning, Harry and I—"
"It was all thanks to that lucky owl!" Harry cut in.
Hermione scoffed. An owl knocking over a Chocolate Frog card was just a coincidence. Lucky owl? Please.
But Harry nodded eagerly. "No, really, it was the same owl that saved me that night! I'm sure of it!"
Hermione didn't buy it. These two, figuring out Flamel and the Stone on their own? No way. Then Harry added, "Well, Lucien's the one who found the details in a book."
Hermione glanced at Lucien, who was quietly reading nearby, and nodded. "Now that makes sense."