"What did he just say?"
Draco Malfoy's muttering caught the attention of Crabbe and Goyle, who exchanged confused glances behind him.
"Thanks."
"No need."
As his two lackeys repeated the words, Draco's already pale face drained of color before flushing red with anger.
"How dare he!"
Draco was fuming. He'd discussed Lucien with his father recently. A letter from Lucius had made it clear that Lucien was a wizard from a Muggle family. But his father had also suggested trying to befriend him—someone with such talent and potential could earn the favor and friendship of the Malfoy family.
Draco's face flickered between red and white. He'd lowered himself, extended an olive branch to Lucien, and what? Rejected!
"He thinks he can just brush off whose friendship? He's rejecting a Malfoy's friendship!" Draco spat. "Lucien Grafton's just some Muggle-born, just a—"
Before he could finish venting, a voice cut in from behind. "Draco, what did you just say about Lucien's background?"
Draco spun around, his expression still sour. "Daphne? When did you get here?"
…
In the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office.
"G-Grafton, l-let's get started," Quirrell stammered. "T-today, we'll cover…"
He was following his master's orders: teach normally for now, keep the kid steady until he could master that variant of the Imperius Curse. Then they'd make their move.
"Professor," Lucien said with a polite smile, "didn't you say last time that you only stutter when there's a crowd? You seem fine one-on-one."
Quirrell froze for a moment, caught off guard by Lucien's "kind" reminder.
"Haha, you're right, Grafton. Old habits," Quirrell said, his voice suddenly smooth.
Lucien nodded inwardly. Yup, not Tom taking over this time. Voldemort was likely conserving his strength, only surfacing when absolutely necessary. Quirrell could talk normally when he wasn't putting on the nervous act.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts is about fighting dangerous dark wizards," Quirrell began. "In wizard duels, you need to understand the effects of various spells and how to counter them. Knowledge of Transfiguration, Potions, even Herbology, can play a role in combat. But no matter who you're facing, the key is controlling the rhythm—pulling your opponent into a pace you're comfortable with."
Lucien listened intently, quietly impressed. Not bad. Quirrell was a Ravenclaw graduate and a Hogwarts professor for a reason. His expertise was solid, and his explanations went far beyond the textbook droning from class. He broke down intricate details with precision, making the subject come alive.
"A classic defensive spell is the Disarming Charm, Expelliarmus," Quirrell continued. "It forces your opponent's wand or weapon out of their hand. The key is pronunciation—make sure the 'p' sound is sharp, like a pop…"
Oh, Harry's happy spell, Lucien thought with a smirk. Disarming to disrupt an opponent's rhythm and gain control—simple but effective. The spell's strength was tied more to raw magical power and intent than to fancy technique.
Perfect for me. Lucien's SS-tier magical talent meant his magic reserves and growth potential were off the charts. A wizard's power naturally increased with age, so even without mastering advanced techniques, his spells would only get stronger.
Quirrell's lecture deepened Lucien's understanding of the spell. No wonder Harry kept using Expelliarmus as his go-to, even after learning more complex magic. It was straightforward, brutal, and effective.
But theory alone wasn't enough. Lucien stood, slowly drawing his wand.
Quirrell tensed, clearly remembering Lucien's flashy spellwork from their last session. "Professor, if this is practical training, we can't just talk. How about we try Expelliarmus? I've got some ideas I'd like to test."
It was a reasonable request, but Quirrell hesitated. It wasn't that he was scared of sparring with a first-year—Lucien's magic, no matter how many spells he knew, couldn't possibly match a professor's. The issue was next week, when Quirrell planned to use that Imperius Curse variant. Casting other spells now could disrupt the delicate focus he'd need.
Seeing Quirrell's hesitation, Lucien's eyes narrowed. Something's up. Why would a simple practice session make him pause? What was Quirrell hiding?
"Professor, is something wrong?" Lucien asked, his tone innocent but probing.
Quirrell gritted his teeth. Fine, today's no big deal. He'd stick to theory starting next week, after each curse was cast, and only then accept Lucien's practice requests. For now, he'd teach the kid a lesson—maybe even rattle him a bit, show him the gap between student and professor.
"Alright," Quirrell said, pulling out his wand. He figured using twenty or thirty percent of his power would be enough to disarm a first-year with ease.
He waved his wand, clearing the desk and chairs to make room in the already spacious office. Holding his wand at chest level, he said lightly, "Keep your wrist loose but not too relaxed. The Disarming Charm makes the wand vibrate, so you need to aim precisely…"
Lucien nodded, listening closely. He'd make a great teacher if he weren't… you know, possessed.
"That's the gist of it, Grafton. What's the most important thing in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Quirrell didn't wait for an answer. "Never let your opponent strike first!"
"Expelliarmus!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Both shouted the spell almost simultaneously, twin bolts of red light shooting from their wands and clashing midair.
Damn it! Quirrell was about to curse Lucien's sneakiness in his head when he noticed something shocking. The point where their spells collided was sliding—toward him.
What the hell? How could a kid's magic be this strong?
Quirrell didn't hesitate, instinctively pouring more power into his spell. The collision point slowed, but it was still creeping toward him. This isn't right. He was using fifty percent of his strength now, and he still couldn't overpower Lucien? The kid looked calm, like he wasn't even trying.
What kind of first-year has this much raw power? What kind of monster is he?
Lucien sensed Quirrell ramping up his magic. First real wizard duel, huh? He hadn't tested his full magical limits before, but there was no need to go all out now. This was enough to gauge things.
He started to twist his wand to end the clash when something unexpected happened. Faint, illusory runes shimmered across the surface of his silver-black wand. At the same time, a soft, mocking chuckle echoed in his mind. It didn't faze him, but across the room, Quirrell's face twisted in shock. Veins bulged on his forehead as a cacophony of laughter—shrill, soft, boisterous, sinister, joyful, mocking—exploded in his head.
"Hahahahahahahaha…"