Inside the Hospital Wing, things were quiet.
Maybe it was because Hermione and Ron had already stopped by to check on Harry, but Madam Pomfrey finally let Lucien in.
"Five minutes, no more," she warned. "The patient needs rest."
"No problem. Thanks, Madam," Lucien replied with a nod.
He stepped inside and found Harry alone. The Quidditch match had sent a few others to the Hospital Wing with broken arms or legs, but Madam Pomfrey had patched them up in no time.
Harry spotted Lucien and gave a small wave, careful not to make too much noise after Pomfrey's strict instructions.
"Ron said you needed to talk to me?" Harry asked.
Lucien pulled a Chocolate Frog from his pocket and handed it over.
"Thanks," Harry said, taking it but not opening it. After a moment of fidgeting, he spoke up.
"Dumbledore told me a lot earlier. The Sorcerer's Stone's been destroyed. Nicolas Flamel and his wife… they'll pass on eventually. He said death is just another great adventure…"
Lucien raised an eyebrow, skeptical. The Sorcerer's Stone Flamel gave to Dumbledore wasn't even whole anymore—it couldn't make the Elixir of Life.
Announcing its destruction was probably just a way to throw off anyone still chasing after Flamel or the Stone.
Maybe Flamel used this as a chance to slip away for good? If he could make one Stone, why not another?
"Dumbledore also said Voldemort's not really gone," Harry continued, his voice quieter. "He's still out there, biding his time…"
"My parents… Voldemort killed them."
"I only survived because of my mom's love…"
Harry's voice trailed off, almost choking up. Learning the truth from Dumbledore had hit him hard. Back then, he'd been overwhelmed by all the information, but now, alone with his thoughts, the weight of it sank in.
Harry barely remembered his parents. Growing up at his aunt's house, he'd been the invisible kid everyone ignored or disliked.
Then he came to the wizarding world, and suddenly people admired him, looked up to him. It had been overwhelming, even flattering at times.
But now he understood—his fame came at the cost of his parents' lives.
"Lucien," Harry said, head down, "I think Dumbledore wants me to face Voldemort one day. But… I…"
He trailed off, thinking back to that night facing Voldemort. He'd been completely powerless, taken down without a fight.
But Lucien? Lucien had been a whirlwind—casting spells, wielding incredible Transfiguration like it was second nature, going toe-to-toe with Voldemort himself.
That calm, confident image of Lucien had burned itself into Harry's mind.
Harry was the only one there that night, and he knew exactly who'd stopped Quirrell's plan and kept Voldemort at bay.
The memory of his own helplessness made Harry clench his fists.
"Lucien, I want to get stronger. I want to learn more magic. I want… I want to be able to face Voldemort!"
Lucien grinned, a warm, proud smile. He'd come prepared to offer comfort, but it looked like Harry didn't need it.
Realizing something on your own always hit harder than someone else's advice.
Wanting to learn? That was a great start.
"You've already got the courage, Harry," Lucien said. "Now it's just about learning and building on it. Next term, we can start proper Defense Against the Dark Arts and combat training. Wizards can't use magic outside school, but we can't waste the summer either. We'll hit Diagon Alley for some prep materials…"
As Lucien laid out his grand plan, Harry's face stiffened. Combat training next term? Awesome. But a whole summer of pre-studying? His heart sank a little.
"I've got some stuff going on over the summer," Lucien added. "I won't be able to check your progress much, but we'll do a big test when term starts."
Harry thought back to his bold declaration and braced himself. This summer was going to be packed.
After a pause, Harry remembered something else. "Uh, Lucien… my aunt and uncle, they really hate anything to do with magic. So, when the time comes, I…"
Lucien waved it off. "No worries. I'll swing by your place at the start of summer and sort it out. Education's a big deal—every family should get that."
He paused, then added casually, "By the way, what's the name of that company your uncle works for?"
---
A few days later, the Great Hall was buzzing, just like it had been at the start-of-term feast.
Students were either debating who'd win the House Cup or daydreaming about their summer plans.
Green and silver decorations filled the hall, and a massive banner with a serpent hung behind the staff table—Slytherin's emblem.
The Slytherin table was already erupting in cheers. This was their seventh straight year winning the House Cup, a historic moment, and the Snakes were over the moon.
"Man, what a ride," one Slytherin said. "I've been here a few years, and Slytherin's taken the Cup every single time."
"This honor belongs to us!" another chimed in.
"The Lions didn't stand a chance. Without Harry, they even lost the Quidditch Cup."
"Speaking of, thank Merlin for Quidditch. That championship score pushed us past Ravenclaw. Those Eagles were fierce this term!"
"Yeah, we barely edged them out. I heard some first-year Ravenclaw racked up a ton of points…"
Lucien sat at the Ravenclaw table, not too fussed about the House Cup. It was a group honor—nice, but kind of just a shiny badge for individuals.
From what he'd seen over the year, Ravenclaw was probably the least "unified" of the four houses. The Eagles were all about knowledge and wisdom, each one chasing their own path of discovery.
It made sense, really. Their mascot was an eagle, not a pack animal. Eagles don't flock together for warmth—they soar alone.
Ding!
A clear chime rang out as Dumbledore set down his spoon and goblet. His voice boomed through the hall.
"Another year has passed!"
"Before we dive into the feast, indulge an old man's ramblings for a moment…"