Harry ruffled his messy black hair and wandered the corridors alone after visiting his banged-up teammates in the hospital wing.
What should've been a normal Quidditch practice had spiraled into a full-on wizard brawl.
As for punishment—McGonagall had been furious. Mass fights like this hadn't happened in years.
But once she heard the cause? She got even madder. She stormed out of her office with a curt "I'm going to have words with Snape" about how the school could let such vile discrimination slide.
She only confiscated Ron's air rifle as a token gesture and sent him and Hagrid on a half-day Forbidden Forest patrol. She didn't breathe a word about Flint's injuries or broom damages.
With Ron and Hagrid being buddies, it was basically a daytime stroll with a pal. Ron had already bolted to Hagrid's hut, muttering about scavenging materials in the forest to build a new air rifle—and maybe soup it up with extra features.
Harry wasn't sure if he should warn Ron he was turning into Mr. Weasley 2.0. Father-son DIY obsession, complete with weird gadgets.
And Hermione…
Just thinking about her gave Harry a headache. Her eyes had still been red-rimmed after the fight. She'd pulled him aside to talk.
Harry figured she was upset about Flint's "Mudblood" slur. He hadn't known what it meant at first, but Ron's explanation made it clear how nasty it was—and how much of a jerk the Slytherin captain was.
He was wracking his brain for comfort when Hermione hit him with a random question: did he know any potions that could change teeth?
Harry had been confused—then it clicked. Maybe she was self-conscious about the bucktooth jab.
Of course he'd help. He promised to dig through books for tooth-altering potions.
Hermione thanked him but added she didn't need him to hex Flint—she'd already blasted the jerk with a barrage of spells on the spot. If he ever messed with her again, she'd use Lucien's tricks to show that arrogant idiot what real knowledge could do.
Harry believed her 100%. He'd seen how fast she whipped out her wand. Lucien's "knowledge is power" mantra was law in the wizarding world.
Speaking of Lucien—Harry still hadn't asked why he'd come back from the pitch that morning with a broom. Where was he, anyway?
---
Headmaster's Office
Even though the Quirrell fiasco was ancient history, Lucien and Dumbledore still kept their weekly afternoon tea tradition.
"Headmaster, try these candies I made?"
Lucien slid over a few colorful packs. Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with interest as he inspected one.
"Hmm, looks tasty—but will it do something funny after I eat it?"
He clocked the magic instantly. No surprise—greatest wizard of the century wasn't a potions slouch.
Too bad the one in his hand was hair-color candy. No dyed-beard Dumbledore today.
"I'll try anyway."
He popped a yellow disc-shaped candy and crunched away. "Oho! Lemon flavor. Nice."
Next second—his silver hair and beard turned bright yellow, matching his robes perfectly.
Dumbledore just chuckled, stroked his new 'do, and grabbed a purple candy. Poof—purple hair.
He polished off the whole pack and asked what they were.
"Headmaster, those are Rainbow Drops. Colors match flavors—hair-color potion. You've seen the effect…"
Dumbledore nodded and reached for the next pack. "These look chewy."
Lucien started, "Those are QQ Candies. After you eat—"
Too late. Dumbledore was already stress-testing.
He swallowed and turned into a human rubber band—fingers stretching like taffy.
Unlike Rainbow Drops, QQ Candies all did the same thing regardless of flavor. Dumbledore kept popping them anyway. Pack nearly gone.
Old bee's just got a sweet tooth.
His emotions were as vivid as a kid's. Lucien glanced at the seven-colored crystal orb in his pocket, quietly harvesting the dense, vibrant feelings drifting off Dumbledore—prime Emotion Stone material.
"Delicious and fun. This old man loves them—kids will too."
He tore open another pack.
"Speaking of, Lucien—you've invented a ton of alchemical gadgets and potions this term. Got the Weasley twins selling them for you."
"Looks like you learned a lot from Nicolas."
Lucien nodded, refilling Dumbledore's empty teacup with honey water. "His teachings changed everything."
Dumbledore smiled, nostalgic. "When Nicolas wrote saying you'd be his final student, I was shocked. Thought after he turned his eyes to the stars, he'd leave the mortal world behind."
He'd known Nicolas's regret—no worthy heir for his alchemy legacy.
But the tone of that letter? Nicolas saw Lucien as the real deal—someone to pass the mantle to.
Dumbledore was thrilled—for his old friend and for Lucien.
He knew the kid: knowledge-hungry, relentless.
No one in alchemy topped Nicolas Flamel.
"Oh—Lucien, those two Transfiguration papers you wrote over summer? They're about to clear review at Transfiguration Today."
"Heh. Publishing in a top journal at your age? Unprecedented."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled—then shifted to Chief Warlock mode.
"Lucien, you've got dress robes, right? The kind for award ceremonies?"
---
Still in the Office
Dress robes? Awards?
Lucien's brain clicked. With the papers mentioned—probably a Transfiguration prize.
The big one was the Omni Ring from the International Confederation of Wizards' Transfiguration Society. Most prestigious award in the field.
Publishing and winning would skyrocket his rep in the wizarding world—great for selling gadgets and potions.
He'd read the Omni Ring was a wild magical artifact. Really wanted to study it.
"Headmaster, I've got robes—custom from Twilfitt and Tatting's in Diagon Alley. Is the award the Omni Ring from the Transfiguration Society?"
Dumbledore nodded—one of the awards was. But there was another…
He'd keep that secret for now. Halloween or Christmas surprise.
"You've been in classes a while now. What do you think of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"
What do I think of Lockhart?
Lucien didn't mince words.
"Headmaster, you know Lockhart hasn't taught a single real spell? Not just our year—higher years too. He just recites his books and makes students act out scenes."
"That's… not what a teacher—or a Defense professor—does."
Dumbledore folded his hands, calm. "Every teacher has their style. Lockhart's faced many dark creatures. His experiences are valuable."
Lucien locked eyes with those bright blues and sighed.
"Headmaster—greatest wizard of the century—you really can't tell something's off with those stories?"
No way Dumbledore missed the fraud. Forget magic—over a century of life? He'd sniff out a conman in his sleep.
Confidence is great. Lockhart's ego had no foundation.
Silence settled.
After a beat, Dumbledore popped another candy and spoke slowly.
"Students can learn more than spells. Positive traits—responsibility, honor. Or negative ones—lessons."
"I know you want real knowledge, Lucien. Lockhart can't give that. Ask me Defense questions any tea time…"
Lucien didn't blink. "I'm happy to learn from you, sir. But what about everyone else?"
"School's for learning. Every student deserves real knowledge—no exceptions."
"You're really okay burning a whole year to teach honesty… with a fraud?"
He leaned on fraud.
"Fifth- and seventh-years have OWLs and NEWTs. Defense is huge for their futures."
Dumbledore gave a wry smile.
"You've heard the rumors—curse on the Defense post. It's real."
"No one wants the job. Every year's a struggle. This year…"
He shook his head, helpless.
"This year, only one applicant—Lockhart."
Only Lockhart?
Doubtful. Snape probably applied every year, obsessed.
Lucien suspected Dumbledore just didn't want Snape dying to the curse—he still needed his double agent for Voldemort.
Looked like Dumbledore wouldn't ditch Lockhart on his own.
Fine. Early retirement it is. Swap in a real teacher.
Lockhart's diary chats were progressing—faster than in the books.
Tch. Grown man, still falling for flattery.
"Headmaster, if that's the case—nothing we can do. You've got your hands tied."
Dumbledore sipped his honey water, relieved Lucien was so understanding.
Then Lucien nearly made him choke.
"So, sir—you should probably start scouting a new Defense professor early. Curse only lasts a year, right? Lockhart might even retire early. Gotta be prepared, yeah?"
Why did that sound like Lockhart was doomed?
Dumbledore actually seemed to consider it. Lucien figured the heads-up was planted.
They chatted more—about the morning Gryffindor-Slytherin clash.
Same old pure-blood vs. Muggle-born nonsense. Lucien warned pure-blood parents might storm the school. Dumbledore was firm: as long as he was here, Hogwarts wouldn't bow to pure-blood rhetoric.
Lucien believed it. Even if they hated Dumbledore, no pure-blood family would flip the table.
Without rules? They'd just be betting he couldn't wipe them out before running out of magic.
Lucien said goodbye and left the office.
Wandering the castle, nodding to familiar faces.
Then—bling. Lockhart strutted by in shimmering silver-blue robes, so bright people squinted.
Medals clinked on his chest. Front and center: the Order of Merlin, Third Class—his only legit award, but still gold with a cross-shaped star.
Lucien's eyes flicked to it.
Order of Merlin.
Wait—Order of Merlin?
A spark hit him:
If his Transfiguration work kept going… could he snag one?