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Portkey travel felt nothing like Apparition. The world blurred past in a dizzying rush as an invisible force yanked them forward. After a stomach-twisting spin, everything finally stopped.
Lucien pressed his fingers to his temples, easing the faint disorientation from the long jump.
A plain wooden door stood in front of them. No carvings, no decorations, just weathered wood.
Before he could take in the surroundings, the door swung inward on its own.
An old wizard sat by the window in a simple robe. Ordinary face, neither fat nor thin, with the wrinkles that came with age. His gray-white hair was neatly combed. The deep-gray robe looked worn. In the light from the window he could have been any retired scholar you might pass on the street.
Lucien had expected something more dramatic. He'd been bracing for those mismatched eyes Newt had described—more captivating than gemstones, the kind history books called soul-piercing.
Instead he got a completely average old man.
The wizard's eyes were ordinary too. Gray-blue, slightly cloudy, fine lines at the corners. Yet something about them pulled at Lucien. He found himself staring, wanting to see what lay beneath that calm surface.
The old wizard was studying him right back.
So this is the boy Albus keeps bringing up. The wizard's gaze traveled from Lucien's hair down to his boots and back again. In this current appearance, no teenager would ever recognize him. Decades ago he'd used this same unremarkable face to walk straight past American Aurors without a single one realizing who he was.
Dumbledore opened his mouth to make introductions.
The old wizard spoke first, voice hoarse and almost lazy. "You're the one who wants to study curses with me? Fine. For Dumbledore's sake, duel me first. Then I'll teach you."
Dumbledore's expression shifted. That part hadn't been discussed. He turned toward Lucien, trying to signal with his eyes not to do anything reckless. His own eyelid twitched anyway.
Lucien already had his wand in hand. He looked eager. Those dark-green eyes stayed locked on the old wizard—no fear, no hesitation. If anything, there was a spark of anticipation.
The old wizard glanced around the cramped room and added slowly, "This space is too small."
Lucien didn't wait for him to finish. He flicked his wand.
The walls began sliding outward. The entire room stretched as if invisible hands were pulling it apart from every direction. The ceiling rose. The floor expanded. Furniture glided silently toward the edges. In seconds the tiny room had grown large enough to hold a football field. The walls became distant lines. Soft white light glowed from above.
Plenty of room for a proper duel.
For most wizards, anyway.
The old wizard took in the expanded space and felt a flicker of genuine appreciation. The Extension Charm had been cast without a single visible ripple. Magic output steady, precise, controlled. The technique reminded him of someone he found extremely irritating.
At least the boy hadn't brought that damn suitcase. No furry little head poking out of any pockets either. Otherwise the old wizard might have started wondering about surnames.
Dumbledore watched the whole thing with mild disbelief. He had no idea why Lucien had suddenly become so enthusiastic about dueling today.
A burst of crimson flame ignited in the center of the room. The fire roared upward, then split to either side. An adult phoenix stepped through the flames. Gold and red feathers shimmered in the firelight. Long tail feathers trailed behind it like a living banner.