Classes had come and gone like a whirlwind.
Defense Against the Dark Arts started early in the morning Professor Thorn, as always, skipped formalities. The man never so much as said "Good morning."
Instead, he dropped his bag onto the desk with a thud and turned to the class with those intense green eyes of his.
"Today, we begin curse recognition and counter-cursing," he said.
A Gryffindor in the second row raised his hand. "Isn't that next year's material?"
Thorn didn't even blink. "Most classes aren't ready. But this one might be. If that frightens you, I suggest transferring to Herbology and learning to pet plants."
Thorn began with a demonstration — casting the Langlock Curse on a smug Slytherin, who immediately found his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The class snickered as Thorn calmly explained symptoms, magical traces, and the appropriate counter-curse.
"Now, pair up," Thorn ordered. "Cast and counter. Try not to maim each other. Points will be awarded. So will detentions."
Lucan partnered with Darius, who grinned wickedly. "Want me to go easy on you?"
Lucan just raised his wand. "Try me."
It only took Lucan two tries to reverse Darius's curse, the spell flowing from his wand like water. Thorn wandered by, gave him a short nod.
"Mr. Hale continues to perform with dangerous consistency. Ten points to Slytherin."
Lucan heard a Gryffindor groan behind him. Darius rolled his eyes. "Next time just kiss him on the forehead, Professor."
Later that day, in Herbology, Lucan's golden streak dulled a bit. They worked with Mimbulus Mimbletonia, which, upon slight pressure, sprayed its defender with a foul-smelling goo called Stinksap.
Lucan knew everything about it — textbook definition, magical classification, handling techniques. None of which stopped it from sneezing directly in his face.
Darius nearly fell over laughing.
"You're a menace in potions, but plants? Merlin help you."
ucan wiped his face with his sleeve. "Not my fault it has a sinus issue."
Sprout gave him a soft smile. "Good theory, Mr. Vale. Work on the touch."
Lucan didn't reply.
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Later in the night.
The castle was eerily silent as Lucan and Darius slipped through the second floor corridor, every step echoing louder than it should have. Lucan's wand was held tightly in his right hand, lit with the faintest tip of Lumos, just enough to see, not enough to be spotted.
Darius whispered behind him, "Why do I feel like we're walking into our own funeral?"
"Because we might be," Lucan murmured back. "But we brought him the dungbombs. He owes us."
They turned a sharp corner near the library doors — and there he was, floating upside down like a bat with a wicked grin stretched across his face.
"Potty little snake-boys out for fun," Peeves hissed gleefully. "Got your noses full of naughty tonight, have you?"
You remember our deal," Lucan said. "You cause the chaos. We get five minutes. No longer."
Peeves flipped upright mid-air and rubbed his hands together. "Ohhh, yes yes yes! Dungbombs, exploding ink, and cherry fizzing whizzbees. Peevesy hasn't had such a treat in years."
Darius muttered, "Why does he talk like a cursed poetry book?"
Peeves spun dramatically and zipped straight into the library door without waiting.
Lucan hissed, "Get ready."
There was silence for a heartbeat… and then:
BOOM!
A deafening explosion shook the hallway. Screams echoed from inside the library, followed by the unmistakable screech of Madam Pince.
"Peeves, you UNHOLY FIEND—! THIS IS A LIBRARY!"
Lucan grabbed Darius's sleeve. "Now!"
They slipped inside behind a toppled bookshelf as books flew everywhere like missiles. Peeves was cackling, twirling through the air as Pince chased him, robes flapping like bat wings. Lucan and Darius ducked behind another shelf and moved fast, heading toward the Restricted Section, tucked behind a gate of iron bars.
Lucan pulled a small brass key from his sleeve, borrowed quietly from a student aide to the librarian. He turned it quickly. The gate clicked open.
They slid in.
"Five minutes," Lucan said, breath quick. "Split up. Look for anything marked 'Animagus Theory,' 'Transmutation Forms,' anything like that."
Darius nodded, eyes scanning the dusty, dim aisle.
Lucan's fingers danced across cracked spines. "Dark Curses and Hexes of the Bloodline… no. Grimmoire of Death-Eaten Souls— definitely no."
"This is insane," Darius muttered. "Half of these look like they'll hex us if we open them."
"Three minutes," Lucan said sharply. "Just find it."
Darius snatched a thick green-bound tome. "Advanced Transfiguration — Human Special Cases. Worth a try?"
Lucan glanced over. "Maybe. Hold onto it."
"Oi!" Darius yanked another off the shelf. "Here — 'Animagi: Theory, Practice, and Catastrophic Failures.' That sounds promising."
Lucan turned the pages quickly. The first chapter already looked like gold.
"Keep it," he said. "We'll study it properly later—"
CRASH.
A shelf collapsed at the far end of the restricted section. Peeves let out a war cry, hurling a bag of ink bottles over a desk. Pince shrieked again, voice like a banshee.
"She's coming back," Lucan said. "Time's up."
They bolted. The key turned in the lock behind them just as Pince stormed back in, hair wild, wand brandished like a dagger. Peeves vanished through the wall behind her, laughing like a madman.
They pressed flat against a nearby shelf, holding their breath.
"I swear," Pince seethed, "next time I see that poltergeist I will—"
She stormed off in the opposite direction. Lucan and Darius waited another full minute in complete silence before daring to move again. Finally, they slipped out of the library doors and into the corridor.
Back in the shadows, breathing hard.
Darius whispered, "That was the worst idea you've ever had."
Lucan clutched the books tightly. "And the best."
Darius looked down at the green tome. "Let's hope it was worth nearly getting expelled."
Lucan grinned, pulse still racing. "If it teaches us how to become animagi… then yes."