Inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office.
Quirrell knelt on the floor, his face pale, beads of sweat dripping down.
"Please… forgive my foolishness and weakness, my great master," he whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible.
A cold voice echoed in his mind, each word laced with piercing pain.
"That spell is my creation! I didn't expect a fool like you to master it quickly."
"You have one week. Fail, and I won't hesitate to burn that spell into your brain!"
Quirrell nodded frantically, trembling.
"Yes, yes, my master."
The dark magic Voldemort had taught him was a curse that slowly eroded the soul, eventually bending the victim's mind to the caster's will. Its strength lay in its subtlety—unless thoroughly examined within an hour of casting, its traces would fade completely.
The downside? It took time. The curse had to be reapplied every ten days at most, perfectly timed for weekly tutoring sessions with that reckless, infuriating brat.
But the spell was brutally difficult to learn, and the process was agonizing—like stirring his own brain and tearing at his throat.
Sensing Quirrell's deep fear, Voldemort, residing within him, felt both contempt and satisfaction. He lacked the strength to act on his idle threats right now, but his authority—his terror—remained as potent as ever.
Voldemort also noticed his life force was still draining. In two or three months, he'd need to replenish it. Perhaps the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest…
---
Inside the small cottage.
Lucien closed the book in his hands.
Honestly, the system's response made him chuckle, but it also put him at ease.
At least he knew his resistance to dark magic was high. As long as it wasn't cast with insane frequency or involved extremely dangerous spells, its effects on him would be minimal and reversible.
Dark magic was just another form of knowledge. If it could be studied and mastered, Lucien wasn't about to shy away from it—or fear it. But he also knew better than to get obsessed.
Knowledge, after all, was meant to serve its wielder.
"Master, I'm back!"
Luster's form appeared before Lucien in a flash.
"There's a letter from Mr. Scamander and a little bucket inside."
A bucket?
Lucien had a hunch. He opened the satchel, pulling out the envelope and a small purple bucket.
Purple salt crystal—a material perfect for storing Erumpent fluid.
Lucien set the bucket gently on the floor and began reading Newt's reply.
Providing the elements for plant growth wasn't too hard—a mix of charms, alchemy, and a few potions would do the trick. Lucien read Newt's corrections to his magical creature observations carefully.
This was knowledge straight from the world's greatest magical creatures expert. No way was Lucien going to skim over it.
He noticed Newt had asked which Hogwarts house he was in. Lucien made a mental note to mention it in his next letter, though he got the sense his old Hufflepuff mentor was secretly hoping he was a Badger.
At the end of the letter, Newt detailed the properties of Erumpent fluid, its storage requirements, and precautions for handling it. Lucien memorized this section carefully.
Erumpent fluid was incredibly potent, capable of blasting through or corroding most substances with ease.
The human body was no exception. Lucien had no intention of getting blown to bits and relying on Luster to lick him back to life.
"Oh, right, Master," Luster said. "Before I left, Mr. Scamander asked what kind of magical creature I was."
"Oh? What'd he say after you told him?"
Luster tilted its head, thinking.
"Well, he seemed really shocked at first, muttering things like, 'Is that what Qilins are like?' and 'Even a variant couldn't…' Then he got all serious and told me to pass this on to you: never reveal my existence lightly, even if I look very different from other Qilins. He promised to keep my secret and not tell anyone."
Lucien nodded. Newt's advice made sense, and it was just like him to be so thoughtful.
If Luster's abilities were as "weak" as those of native Qilins, it'd be a different story.
In this world, Qilins looked more like oddly shaped deer. Their main ability was to "judge loyalty and treachery," sensing the purity of a soul to identify virtuous leaders for the wizarding world.
But Luster? It could ride clouds, wield purifying flames, Apparate, and more—abilities no native Qilin had. In Lucien's view, native Qilins were worryingly defenseless. Their knack for spotting good or evil made them targets for both sides of the wizarding world, yet they lacked the power to protect themselves.
"I'll thank Mr. Scamander in my next letter," Lucien said. "Make sure you thank him too when you visit next."
"Did he say anything else?"
Luster paused. "Oh, at the very end, he whispered something about maybe visiting Hogwarts sometime."
Lucien's eyebrow shot up, a grin tugging at his lips.
Was Newt curious about Luster and wanting a face-to-face chat? Or had he pieced together that the Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts was crawling with Acromantulas and wanted to investigate?
Tch, if the Hogwarts students found out the legendary Newt Scamander was coming, they'd lose their minds. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was a required textbook at Hogwarts—every young witch and wizard had read it. Unlike other textbooks, Newt's book brought magical creatures to life in a way that sparked wonder, opening up a fantastical world for countless students.
The book—and its author—were wildly popular in the wizarding world.
But knowing Newt's shy, Hufflepuff nature, he'd probably avoid appearing in front of a crowd.
Lucien pulled out a normal pocket watch—the kind that actually told time. With a click, he checked the hour and decided it was time to head to Defense Against the Dark Arts.
---
Ding-a-ling!
The bell signaled the end of class.
Lucien stepped out of the classroom, ready to head to Quirrell's office.
He mentally reviewed the key points from Identifying Dark Magic while planning his next move: after the tutoring session, he'd swing by Dumbledore's office for afternoon tea. A bit of academic discussion, some casual chat, and—most importantly—having the old wizard check him for any dark magic curses. Better safe than sorry.
"Ahem, Lucien, can I have a word?"
Lucien turned to see Malfoy, flanked by his two usual cronies. They'd just had class with Slytherin.
"What's up?" Lucien asked.
Malfoy smirked, flashing what he clearly thought was a charming smile.
"Lucien, you may be Muggle-born, but you're still quite impressive. I think you're worthy of the Malfoy family's friendship."
With that, he extended his hand, clearly expecting Lucien to eagerly shake it.
Lucien stared at him calmly, a flicker of pity in his eyes.
What was this kid on about?
Had Harry's last prank knocked something loose in his head?
Poor thing—should've gotten that checked out.
"Thanks, but no thanks," Lucien said flatly.
Malfoy barely registered the words before Lucien turned and walked away, leaving his outstretched hand hanging awkwardly in the air.
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