Quirrell's final, delirious words left Lucien silent.
What a tragic figure. If Quirrell hadn't wandered into that dark forest, hadn't crossed paths with Voldemort, hadn't been swayed by his promises… he could've stayed a Hogwarts professor, diving deeper into the magical arts, living up to his Ravenclaw roots, forever chasing knowledge.
But there were no "ifs" in life.
Lucien's eyes swirled with dark, spiraling energy as he gazed at Quirrell's shattered magical core. The man's life force and soul were fading fast, his body barely clinging to existence.
As the light dimmed in Quirrell's eyes, Lucien shook his head softly. "Lumos Aeterna," he murmured.
At his command, crimson-gold flames engulfed Quirrell's broken form, purifying his body and soul in a blaze of light.
"Thank you…" a faint, almost illusory whisper drifted from the flames, as if Quirrell was grateful for the end to his suffering.
Lucien pulled the phoenix feather from his pocket, letting the cleansing fire consume it until it turned to ash. Within seconds, a burst of scarlet flames erupted in the air.
A tall wizard with silver hair and a matching beard appeared beside Lucien. His bright blue eyes, peering through half-moon spectacles, scanned the chaotic scene: the wrecked room, Harry unconscious on the floor, and a distorted, unstable fire dragon.
The dragon's presence made Dumbledore pause, his gaze lingering before he regained his composure. "Let's get Harry to the infirmary," he suggested.
Lucien nodded in agreement. After a quick cleanup, Fawkes whisked the three of them to the hospital wing.
As soon as Lucien opened his eyes, he saw a woman in a white cap and robes gently waving her wand over a bed, her voice soft and reassuring. "Don't worry, your friend just took a hit to the head. He'll be fine soon."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said, standing by Ron's bedside. Ron lay there, eyes closed, as Hermione discussed his condition with the matron.
Noticing Dumbledore and Lucien's arrival—along with a floating, unconscious Harry—Hermione and Madam Pomfrey turned to them.
"Merlin's beard, another injured student?" Madam Pomfrey's warm demeanor vanished as she spotted Harry. She turned on Dumbledore, her voice sharp. "Albus, a dark wizard infiltrated the school! As headmaster, it's your job to keep these students safe!"
"I'm sorry, Poppy. This was my oversight. Harry's in your hands now," Dumbledore replied calmly.
Pomfrey didn't need the instruction. With a flick of her wand, she gently lowered Harry onto the bed next to Ron.
Hermione started to say something to Lucien, but Dumbledore had already ushered him out of the infirmary.
Once they were far enough away, Dumbledore stroked his beard and said with a wry smile, "Madam Pomfrey is an exceptional healer, and she's strict about her rules—especially when it comes to her patients. Even I'm not exempt."
Before Lucien could respond, Professor McGonagall rounded the corner, her face a mix of relief and urgency. "Albus! You're back!" she exclaimed. "Neville told me Harry and the others went to protect the Philosopher's Stone. This is just… unbelievable!"
Dumbledore nodded. "They were right to act, and incredibly brave. Thanks to them…" He glanced at Lucien. "The children kept the Stone out of Quirrell's hands."
McGonagall's eyes widened in shock. "Quirrell? How could it be him?" Then, her tone grew anxious. "What about Harry and the others? Are they hurt?"
"They're fine, Minerva. Madam Pomfrey is looking after them," Dumbledore assured her.
McGonagall didn't relax. She quickened her pace toward the infirmary, barely noticing Lucien standing beside Dumbledore. Seeing him unharmed, his robes pristine, she didn't connect him to the incident. With a quick nod to him, she hurried off.
Dumbledore led Lucien to the headmaster's office, where faint starlight filtered through the windows.
"Lucien, tonight must have been quite memorable," Dumbledore said, his hands clasped, no tea or sweets conjured this time—just a steady gaze.
"Yeah, seeing Voldemort in person? Definitely unforgettable," Lucien replied casually.
Dumbledore's eyebrow twitched at the mention of Voldemort's name. "Heh, not many wizards dare to say his name so freely."
Lucien shrugged. "It's just a name, isn't it?"
Dumbledore nodded, a glint of approval in his eyes. "Just a name, yes. But so many still can't see past their fear." He sighed. "Tom… Voldemort was a Hogwarts student once. Before you, Lucien, he was the most brilliant."
Lucien feigned curiosity. "Tom? That's Voldemort's real name?"
"Yes, Tom Riddle," Dumbledore confirmed. "His father's name. It's on a special contribution award in the trophy room."
Lucien leaned in. "I saw that plaque. So, that's him?"
Dumbledore glanced at the starry sky, his voice heavy. "Yes, that's Tom Riddle. He despised his origins, so he changed his name to sever ties with his past. He was immensely gifted, charismatic, with a certain charm that drew followers. But the path he chose…"
Lucien listened quietly, letting Dumbledore's words serve as a natural explanation for his knowledge of Voldemort's true identity.
"Tom was a master at manipulation," Dumbledore continued. "He knew how to exploit people's desires and bend them to his will." His tone grew serious. "Lucien, thank you for your help in stopping his plan tonight."
Lucien waved it off. "Harry's the one who took down Quirrell—or Voldemort, I mean." In his head, he added, Harry did the heavy lifting, and I got him there. Sounds about right.
"Headmaster, the way Harry defeated Voldemort was… unusual. Just touching him caused serious damage. What was that?"
Dumbledore didn't hesitate. "Love," he said simply. "It was the magic of love."