Lucien followed Professor Sprout out to the edge of the grounds, right up to the Whomping Willow.
The tree that usually thrashed around like it had a personal grudge now looked downright pitiful—its branches drooping like wet spaghetti, none of that usual murderous energy.
Staring at the massive crater in the trunk, Lucien winced. Man, they really went for it. Another inch and the whole thing would've snapped clean off.
"The Whomping Willow's hurt bad," Professor Sprout said, her voice thick with regret. "It's weak, but that just makes it meaner. One gust of wind and it'll start swinging at anything that moves. Makes treating it ten times harder."
She shook her head, muttering under her breath about "those two Gryffindor lunatics."
"Normally you just press that knot on the trunk and it freezes," she went on. "But now? Forget it."
Lucien nodded. He got the problem: the tree needed rest, needed to sleep, but it was too wired, too ready to lash out. Every swing would just rip the wounds open again.
Dumbledore must've figured the unicorn saliva would boost its life force first—get it strong enough to handle proper healing. But calming it down first? That'd make everything smoother.
Calm… sleep…
Lucien dug into his pocket and pulled out a pair of weird, cushy earplugs, handing them to Sprout.
"Professor, put these on. I wanna try something to quiet it down so we can actually work."
Sprout raised an eyebrow at the earplugs. She'd been busy checking other groups during Herbology, so she'd totally missed whatever Lucien's crew had been up to. Still, she popped them in. Couldn't be worse than Lockhart's bright idea.
Lucien gripped his wand, lips moving as a soft, floaty melody spilled out:
"Moonlight soft, tucked under your pillow,
Night so deep, hiding every fear.
Let your breath sink into a silver lake,
Let sweet dreams sprout along the moonbeam…"
Slowly, the willow's twitching branches went still—like it had dozed off mid-rage.
Peeking with his Mage Sight, Lucien saw the magic inside the tree settle into a calm, even flow. Okay, coast is clear. He stepped closer.
He wasn't about to bet his face on the "Green Thumb" perk working on a pissed-off Whomping Willow. Better to knock it out with the Lullaby of the Moon first. Yeah, plants sleeping is weird, but… magic.
So far? Working like a charm.
Sprout had instinctively reached to yank him back when he stepped into range, but the tree didn't even twitch. That wild, I'll murder you vibe? Gone. She'd spent decades around magical plants—she could tell. The willow was out cold. Actually asleep?
With the earplugs in, she hadn't heard a word of the spell. Just saw him waving his wand and singing for, like, a solid minute. Longest incantation I've ever seen.
Lucien reached the trunk, gently touching the jagged break. Sorry, buddy.
He pulled out a tiny vial and tipped a few drops of unicorn saliva onto the roots.
Almost instantly, the dead, flaky bark perked up—color returning, life pulsing back in.
Sprout got to work too, slathering some thick, greenish potion over the crater and wrapping it with bandages like the tree had a boo-boo.
Lucien smirked at the bandages. So they do work on trees.
While she finished up, he gathered fallen branches, leaves, and chunks of bark. Potion ingredients, alchemical components—and the key to a spell he'd found in some dusty old tome:
Barrier of Knowledge.
Kinda like Occlumency, but better. Blocks mind-probing, soul-tampering—Imperius, Memory Charms, the works. More comprehensive.
The trick? It uses the caster's own knowledge to build the shield. Alchemy plus charms equals semi-permanent protection. No eye surgery required, unlike Mage Sight.
Best part: the more you know, the stronger it gets.
Way better than Occlumency for a nerd like him.
By the time Sprout was done, Lucien had his stash. He stepped back up, dumped a bag of fertilizer around the roots—top-tier stuff, the kind that makes plants sing.
Sprout's eyes lit up. "Blimey, Lucien, where'd you get that fertilizer? That's gorgeous."
As a Herbology professor and total plant mom, she was already plotting how to steal his supplier.
---
Meanwhile, in the Great Hall…
The twins had set up a full-on stall: Seventh Workshop (Hogwarts Edition)—banners, samples, the works. Their shouting had half the school circling like vultures.
Some first-years were already crowding in, comparing the twins' gadgets to the basic pointer maps a few Gryffindors had bought after nearly dying on the moving staircases. The difference was brutal.
Word spread fast: Lucien's inventions.
Malfoy swaggered over with Crabbe and Goyle in tow, eyeing the merchandise. Route-planning maps? Actually useful. Price? Whatever—he was loaded.
He nodded at Goyle. "Ask how much. I'll grab one. Gotta support the guy."
"Hey George," Fred said loudly, "that custom map for Zabini's almost done, right?"
"Oh yeah. Purebloods with galleons to burn always want custom jobs—family crest, personal sigil, one-of-a-kind. That's how you know you're elite."
"First custom order ever," George added, fake-casual. "Gonna make a lot of people jealous."
Malfoy froze, hand halfway to his coin pouch.
Custom? Unique?
…Yeah, buying the same thing as everyone else—even the deluxe version—was basic.
The twins caught Malfoy's face and shared a quick, evil grin.
Plan worked.