Back in his dorm, Lucien was still mulling over the concept of "the magic of love."
Everyone knew the story: Harry Potter defeated Voldemort. The Boy Who Lived, the legend who brought down the Dark Lord. But the real truth? It was Harry's mom, Lily Evans, who did it. With her love for her son and the ultimate sacrifice of her life, she cast a protective charm so powerful it shielded Harry and rebounded Voldemort's Killing Curse. That same magic meant Voldemort couldn't even touch Harry without suffering a brutal backlash.
Dumbledore's words echoed in Lucien's mind: "Love is the greatest magic in the world. It creates countless miracles and endless possibilities."
Lucien believed it. At the height of his power, almost no one could stop Voldemort—except maybe Dumbledore himself. But Lily did it. Not as a wizard, but as a mother protecting her child.
"Love," Lucien thought, "is probably something Voldemort will never understand." Tom Riddle, born from a love potion, a product of manipulation—how could he ever grasp it?
Sitting at his desk, Lucien pulled out a book and flipped through it until he reached a page with a bookmark. It was a sleek, black bookmark made from a Thestral's tail feather, its wispy strands delicate and ethereal. Hagrid had given it to him. Only those who had witnessed death could see Thestrals.
Lucien ran his fingers over the cool, smooth feather. "Guess I can see Thestrals now, too," he murmured.
---
The next morning, Lucien sat in the Great Hall, sipping red bean porridge. The hall was quieter than usual—most students were sleeping in, free from the pressure of exams and ready for summer break. This was the week young witches and wizards were at their happiest, completely relaxed.
Well, most of them.
"Wood, we want to win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor," Fred Weasley was saying.
"But without Harry, we're missing our Seeker. It's rough," George added.
The Weasley twins were trying to calm Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's Quidditch team captain, who was practically vibrating with frustration. Exams were over, but the Quidditch final was still looming. With Harry on the team this year, Gryffindor had come tantalizingly close to the championship they hadn't won in years.
But now Harry was sick—at the worst possible time.
"We've still got to give it everything we've got, squeeze out every last drop of potential…" Wood insisted, his voice intense.
Lucien glanced toward the twins' table, catching sight of Wood's bloodshot eyes. Poor guy, he thought, shaking his head slightly. Finally gets a prodigy Seeker, and now he's stuck watching the Cup slip away.
After some back-and-forth, Wood rallied the team and led them out to the Quidditch pitch for practice. As they passed, Fred and George spotted Lucien. They looked like they wanted to say something but settled for a half-hearted, "Morning, Lucien," before trudging off with their brooms, looking deflated.
Lucien nodded back, but before he could return to his porridge, a familiar black-haired girl slid into the seat across from him.
"Morning, Cho," Lucien said. "Off to Quidditch practice?"
"Yup," Cho replied, her high ponytail as crisp and practical as ever, a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead from early training. "You seem more relaxed today, Lucien," she added, studying him.
Lucien chuckled. It wasn't surprising she'd noticed. This past year at Hogwarts, he'd learned a ton, but he'd also tackled two massive, time-consuming "debts." Now that those were cleared, he felt lighter. Sure, he still had one ongoing project—training Norbert to become the dragon king of his kind—but that was just getting started, still in the groundwork phase.
"Maybe it's because exams are over," Lucien said with a grin. "Feels like I've paid off a big loan."
Cho laughed, covering her mouth. "You make it sound like you're paying off a college degree or something! Hey, you'll be a second-year next term. Ever thought about trying out for the Quidditch team?"
Quidditch? Lucien thought it was way more fun to watch than to play. How many times has Cho tried to sell me on this? She was clearly as obsessed with the sport as Wood was. It reminded him of those pushy upperclassmen back in his old life, always trying to get you to sign up for a credit card.
"I'll think about it next term, Cho," he said diplomatically. "Good luck with your match!"
---
Later, Lucien visited the hospital wing to check on Harry and Ron. Ron was awake, happily digging into a hospital meal, but Harry was still out cold. Lucien figured the soul-shattering encounter with Voldemort had taken a toll on him.
As for whether Lucien's stunt—controlling Harry like a puppet during their "flying" act—had caused this, he was confident it hadn't. He'd layered Harry with protective charms, including an Ironclad Curse for good measure. The kid was as safe as could be.
While Harry was unconscious, the Quidditch final came and went. Without a Seeker, Gryffindor was at a brutal disadvantage. Chasers and Beaters could only do so much, but the Seeker? Catching the Golden Snitch was worth 150 points—enough to clinch a game. Without Harry, Ravenclaw's Seeker had free rein, and Gryffindor lost spectacularly, missing the Cup yet again.
But that was small news compared to the real bombshell.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirrell, had been after a Hogwarts treasure! A dark wizard had infiltrated the school!
"I knew it," one student whispered in the halls. "Quirrell was always off."
"Oh, please," another scoffed. "You slept through every Defense class!"
"Isn't the Defense job cursed or something? No professor lasts a full year!"
Lucien overheard these conversations daily. The students were buzzing with curiosity and gossip, but he suspected Dumbledore was quietly fanning the flames. Even though Harry was just a first-year, the headmaster was already building him up, shaping his courage, his confidence, and his image as the "Chosen One."
Suddenly, footsteps interrupted Lucien's thoughts, followed by Ron's voice. "Lucien! There you are! Harry's awake—he wants to see you!"