While digging into lunch in the Great Hall, Lucien was already plotting how to speed-run Gilderoy Lockhart into early retirement.
Lockhart was a total airhead, a pretty vase with zero real help for young witches and wizards trying to actually learn and grow.
Unless, of course, your life goals included mastering fashion, perfect smiles, posing for photos, creative fibbing, or becoming every housewife's favorite pen pal…
Suddenly, a timid little voice broke into Lucien's thoughts from the side:
"Um… hi, Harry?"
"I'm Colin Creevey. I'm in Gryffindor too. C-could I maybe take your picture?"
Lucien glanced over and spotted a super-skinny kid with mousy hair standing behind Harry, clutching a Muggle camera like it was his lifeline. The kid's face was all hope and nerves.
Once Colin introduced himself, Lucien pieced it together—this first-year was Muggle-born, so he wanted to snap tons of magical photos to send home to his dad.
Lucien figured this had nothing to do with him and was about to stand up and bounce when Colin whipped around, eyes sparkling like he'd just spotted a unicorn.
"You've gotta be Lucien Grafton, right? The Sorting Hat told me about you, and last night in the common room these twin upper-years were selling those magical gadgets you invented. So cool! I heard it's alchemy—looks totally amazing!"
"Too bad I'm broke right now, so I couldn't buy the compass. Those moving staircases this morning made me dizzy as heck, but I just followed my roommates. Some of them got one…"
Hearing that, Lucien figured the demand for those compasses and maps was solid.
Once the rest of the students experienced the "evil" side of Hogwarts' staircases—and saw Gryffindor's tardy rate plummet thanks to the twins' stock—the Weasley business was gonna boom.
Colin lifted his camera, staring at Harry and Lucien with puppy-dog eyes.
"Can I take your picture? And if you could sign it, that'd be even better!"
Lucien didn't care either way and nodded. Harry—maybe still traumatized from getting mobbed at Lockhart's book-signing and photographed by The Daily Prophet—hesitated a second but agreed too.
Colin snapped the shots super fast, crouching down to show Harry the screen first while chattering away:
"I heard if you use special developing potion, the photos actually move. Magic is just the coolest."
"Once they're printed, could you sign them? Sorry to bug you…"
Right then, a smug voice floated in:
"Potty, looks like some people are already qualified to hand out autographed headshots, huh?"
"Should we line up to get ours?"
Harry didn't even need to turn around—he knew exactly who it was. Sure enough, there was Draco Malfoy, smirking like the cat that got the cream.
Harry shot Malfoy a weird look, sneaking a glance at Lucien, who just had this amused little grin.
Malfoy's jab didn't land the way he expected—no comeback, no reaction. The vibe was off. He instinctively looked at Lucien, who was still smiling like he knew a secret.
Last term, Malfoy had figured out that as long as it wasn't during tutoring sessions, Lucien pretty much let him and Harry bicker without stepping in.
He'd planned to roast Harry and even the score, but… why was nobody biting?
Lucien glanced at Malfoy and thought, This kid's hilarious.
Draco's snark level was honestly on par with Harry's. He was jealous of Harry, wanted to be friends deep down, but his first impression had been such a train wreck that "friend" instantly turned into "arch-nemesis."
First impressions really do last a lifetime.
An idea popped into Lucien's head. He turned to Colin with a light laugh:
"This is Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy family—one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, pure-blood wizard nobility…"
"Colin, you're documenting magical stuff, right? The Malfoy heir is pretty representative, don't you think?"
While Malfoy stood there confused, Lucien gave Colin a quick wink.
The kid was sharp—he caught on instantly and raised his camera.
"Mind if I take your picture too?"
"Huh?"
Malfoy.exe had stopped working.
Truth be told, he'd been low-key jealous when Harry got that Daily Prophet spread a few days ago.
Now some random kid wanted his photo?
Sure, the kid was a Gryffindor. Sure, he seemed Muggle-born. Sure…
But Lucien did just say he was the Malfoy heir, pure-blood nobility, the face of wizarding tradition!
No reason to say no!
Totally hoodwinked, Malfoy cleared his throat, trying to play it cool while buzzing with excitement.
"Ahem. The Malfoys grant permission. Go ahead."
He stood ramrod straight, face set like a statue.
Colin clicked away.
"Could you maybe strike a pose?"
Malfoy hesitated, then stiffly threw up a peace sign ✌️.
The back of his neck flushed pink, betraying how awkward he felt.
Lucien nodded to himself. Yup, pure-bloods eat this stuff up.
His marketing plan for the twins was solid. Most students were broke, but not the pure-blood crowd—especially the Slytherins. Their wallets were fat.
Though Malfoy looked like he was holding back a sneeze or something…
Lucien glanced at the colorful crystal ball in his pocket. In his special sight, thin rainbow ribbons of emotion drifted off Malfoy and slipped into the orb.
This was the emotion-collection trick Nicolas Flamel had taught him.
And "emotion" was one of the key ingredients for making a Philosopher's Stone.
According to Nick, the purest, most potent source was soul energy left behind when humans died.
Lucien had first thought it meant whole souls, but that would've made the Stone outright dark magic.
So how had Flamel made so many?
He'd lived over six hundred years. How many wars, famines, and plagues had humanity suffered through?
Flamel had given Lucien an assignment: craft a Philosopher's Stone with his own hands.
If he couldn't get enough soul energy from death, he could use the "colors" of the soul—emotions.
---
Emotions.
Joy, anger, sorrow, happiness, worry…
They were ripples in the soul, tiny but real bursts of soul energy.
Nothing compared to the explosion at death, but they were everywhere and could be harvested continuously.
Wherever people gathered, emotions tangled.
And which group had the wildest mood swings?
Kids and teens.
Lucien scanned the Great Hall full of young witches and wizards. Yeah, no place beats a school.
Plus, thanks to magic, wizards' emotions produced way more energy than Muggles'.
Holding the rainbow-swirled crystal, Lucien's only regret was that the orb needed constant magical input to work—Flamel's method was tricky. Otherwise, he could've hidden a bunch in Muggle schools and watched the emotions skyrocket.
Except at night when everyone slept (unless some night-owl or rule-breaker was up), emotions poured in all day.
Classes meant shock, sadness, fear. Breaks and weekends? Pure joy.
After learning Flamel's emotion-observation and capture spells, Lucien had noticed something wild when he returned to Hogwarts.
The castle itself wasn't just absorbing stray magic from students to keep running—it was also collecting their emotional energy.
The Four Founders were on another level. He needed to see the castle's core—those ancient alchemical runes and magic circles…
A magical structure this massive had to have one or more cores regulating power flow.
Dumbledore probably knew as headmaster, but school secrets weren't exactly up for discussion.
Would he have to wait until he was Headmaster Grafton?
…
Afternoon. Outside the Greenhouses.
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff second-years waited for Herbology.
Professor Sprout soon appeared, dressed as down-to-earth as ever—patchy hat, soil-stained robes.
But Lucien's sharp eyes caught something off: usually cheerful Sprout looked downright grumpy.
His gaze slid past her and—yep, there was the problem.
Gilderoy Lockhart trailed behind in a blinding silver robe covered in clinking medals that flashed with every step.
No hat, golden curls gleaming in the sun.
As they got closer, Lucien overheard Lockhart yammering:
"Pomona, the morning method didn't work. I must've mixed it up with the troll incident—too many adventures, you know, it's a burden!"
"Regular spells just enrage the Whomping Willow, but there's this super ancient, nearly lost calming ritual. On a moonlit night, you sing a beautiful elven lullaby…"
Lucien's mouth twitched. Lockhart's "method" sounded suspiciously like an old magic Flamel had taught him.
But Lucien was 99% sure Lockhart was making it up. Push him for details and he'd dodge with, "Oh, it's far too complex and dangerous—might cause… unpredictable consequences. Not ready for the public yet!" Then poof, gone.
Lockhart kept blabbing, oblivious to Sprout's growing scowl.
His eyes had already shifted to the waiting students. Trademark grin activated:
"Hello, everyone! Professor Sprout and I are tending the Whomping Willow. Don't try it yourselves—the tree's injured but still no match for young witches and wizards. I mean, I've banished banshees, outsmarted trolls, wrestled werewolves…"
Some girls giggled dreamily at his smile; a few boys looked starstruck by the stories.
Just as Sprout opened her mouth to shut him up, Lockhart spotted someone familiar in the crowd.
Those emerald-green eyes…
He remembered the book-signing a few days ago—that strikingly handsome kid whose looks rivaled his own.
What are the odds?
Last night at the feast, Lockhart had been basking in adoration; he hadn't noticed Lucien at all.
Now Lucien's calm gaze—no judgment, just… knowing—made Lockhart squirm.
Like every layer of charm had been peeled back, exposing the real him.
"Ahem! Suddenly remembered urgent business. Gotta run—carry on!"
Lockhart cut himself off, speed-walked toward the castle.
The weird guilt faded with distance.
He exhaled, confidence flaring again.
No worries. With that magical diary guiding me, I'll make something huge happen at Hogwarts—a real adventure!
He'd be the talk of the wizarding world.
Imagining the fame and endless praise, his steps lightened.
Sprout didn't mind the abrupt exit. Good riddance.
She waved the kids over.
"Alright, off to Greenhouse Three."
First-years only used Greenhouse One—safe plants only.
Greenhouse Three had way cooler (and way more dangerous) specimens.
Once everyone was ready, Sprout asked:
"Today we're repotting Mandrakes. Who can tell me their properties?"
Last period had been Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw—Huffs excelled at Herbology, Ravens loved showing off knowledge—so hands shot up.
"Mandrakes, or Mandragora, have roots whose juice is a powerful restorative. It cures petrification and breaks most curses, returning people to normal."
Lucien knew Mandrakes inside out—he had a whole patch growing in his trunk.
At first, it was curiosity: mature Mandrakes could scream a person to death.
Later, he needed the juice to brew antidotes for his shape-shifting candies. Pranks were fun, but turning classmates into canaries and leaving them that way? Chaos.
Hogwarts would be a zoo.
"Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw."
Sprout asked about the dangers next, awarded Hufflepuff ten points for the right answer, then clapped.
"Well done. Everyone grab a pair of earmuffs."
The second the words left her mouth, students bolted for the earmuff table.
No one wanted to be the slowpoke stuck with the fluffy pink pair.