When Voldemort saw Lucien raise a Muggle weapon, he scoffed.
His early years had given him enough exposure to Muggle life to recognize a handgun—and to know its power.
No need to dodge or take cover. With a casual flick of his wand, Voldemort layered himself with multiple Shield Charms and Impediment Jinxes. Even if Lucien conjured some heavier Muggle firepower, it wouldn't pierce his defenses. Just a waste of magic.
A mocking smirk curled on Voldemort's lips. Time to teach this kid a lesson.
Lucien had talent—real potential. He should be diving into the mysteries of magic, not messing around with pointless Muggle toys.
Voldemort was already planning to bring Lucien to heel, to show him the vast gulf between their skills when—
BOOM!
The gunshot rang out, barely echoing in the room.
Almost instantly, a series of faint, shattering sounds followed.
Voldemort's smirk froze. A cold alarm bell went off in his mind.
A faint sting of pain hit him, and thick black mist erupted from his body, obscuring everything.
"Luminos!"
At Lucien's call, tiny flames sparked to life on the small kirin at his side, quickly spreading to engulf the entire room in purifying fire.
As the black mist cleared, Voldemort's form came into view.
A massive chunk of his chest and abdomen was gone, his beating heart faintly visible.
Voldemort's eyes locked onto Lucien, then the revolver in his hand, and finally the dark barrel aimed at him.
"Lucien, you really know how to surprise," he said, his voice low. "Alchemy? No… something that can pierce magical shields instantly. Interesting…"
He didn't care about the damage to his body. Pain was nothing new, and this wasn't even his body.
Voldemort's gaze flicked to the workbench behind Lucien, where a crystal vial of potion sat.
Lucien, meanwhile, couldn't help but admire Voldemort's reflexes. The guy was the Dark Lord who nearly ruled Britain, after all. His mastery of dark magic and self-preservation was unreal.
But admiration didn't slow Lucien down. One hand waved his wand, the other kept the gun trained.
Voldemort, in turn, pushed Quirrell's body to its limits. The flesh withered further as he converted every drop of blood in the wound into raw magical power, not letting a single bit go to waste.
In exchange, he unleashed a torrent of magic.
Amid a sea of crimson-gold flames and heat-warped air, spells flew in a dazzling flurry.
Voldemort tried using Transfiguration to summon objects to block the bullets, but it was no use. He switched to dodging, his movements sharp and precise.
The pressure on Lucien was mounting. Voldemort, unrestrained and pouring out magic without care for consequences, wove spells with seamless grace, each one more intricate than the last.
It wasn't just a fight—it was like watching a maestro conduct a symphony. Spells were his notes, flowing elegantly under the guidance of his wand.
Many of the spells were completely unfamiliar to Lucien, who focused on defending and countering.
Voldemort was a seasoned wizard with a battle system all his own. For him, spells weren't tools—they were extensions of his will, almost limiting in their structure.
But Lucien saw this as a golden opportunity. Quirrell had only ever relayed Voldemort's knowledge secondhand. This no-holds-barred combat lesson? Priceless.
Enemies? Nah. They were just teachers in disguise.
Right now, Voldemort was like a strict professor, schooling Lucien in his philosophy of battle.
"Lucien, you're clever," Voldemort said. "You must've noticed that the knowledge I've shared with you already dips into dark magic."
"Dark magic is true power. The world shuns it because they fear its strength! But that hypocrite Dumbledore would never let a first-year touch it."
Voldemort watched Lucien closely, like a snake waiting for a flicker of fear or hesitation to exploit.
But there was none.
Lucien's face stayed calm, responding only with a barrage of spells and another round of bullets.
Voldemort's tone turned sharp and mocking. "A noble wizard, stooping to Muggle weapons? Shameless."
Lucien just shrugged. Trash talk? He could play that game.
"I saw a trophy in the Trophy Room the other day," he said casually. "Had a name on it. Tom Riddle. Sounds pretty Muggle to me."
Voldemort went silent.
A split second later, green light flashed.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Lucien dodged the Killing Curse with a quick sidestep.
In that moment, a tendril of black mist shot out, snatching the crystal vial from the workbench. Lucien fired off a flurry of spells, but the snake-like mist slithered past them all.
The mist carried the vial back to Voldemort.
He laughed, holding it up. "Lucien, you're still too young."
Lucien watched Voldemort's smug grin and shook his head.
"You sure it's not poison?"
"I have ways to check," Voldemort replied, uncorking the vial and taking a sniff. His eyes lit up with delight. "It's brimming with vitality and magic. Who'd go to the trouble of using the Sorcerer's Stone to brew poison? You're too green, kid!"
He downed the potion in one gulp.
Lucien just pointed his wand at the workbench.
A glow of Transfiguration enveloped it. Normally, his transformations were instantaneous, but this one was slow, the magic churning and reshaping deliberately.
Voldemort, savoring the potion, noticed Lucien's move and grinned. "Lucien, I hear you're quite gifted in Transfiguration."
"But let's be real—Transfiguration, white magic, it's all impressive, but it'll always be weaker than dark magic."
"Your talent for dark magic is obvious. You've tasted its allure, haven't you? The dark spells I taught you—you wield them so naturally. Why resist?"
Voldemort rambled on, but as the seconds ticked by, he frowned. The potion… wasn't doing anything?
He was certain he'd seen Lucien brew it with the Sorcerer's Stone.
Then, suddenly, his nose felt clearer. Quirrell's body had been battered by the cold in earlier rooms, leaving him congested. But now? No discomfort.
"I noticed Professor Quirrell was sneezing a lot," Lucien said. "So I whipped up a batch of Nose-Clear Potion. You drank it, but no big deal—it'll work on you too. The Sorcerer's Stone made it quick to brew and boosted its effects. That body probably won't catch a cold for a whole year."
Voldemort froze. A potion brewed with the Sorcerer's Stone… for a stuffy nose?!
Rage boiled up from the depths of his fractured soul.
"You little—"
Before he could finish, a deafening dragon's roar echoed through the room.
Lucien's face broke into a relieved smile as a system notification chimed in his head.
[Ding! Loki's Faceless (Annual Debt) has been repaid.]