When Newt answered, Dumbledore's eyebrow arched just a little, but he didn't press the issue.
After a bit of small talk, Newt steered the conversation back to Lucien with a lighter tone.
"By the way, Lucien, how're all the little critters doing?"
"They're great," Lucien said with a grin. He pulled a palm-sized, beautifully crafted little box out of his pocket—the same suitcase, just shrunken and disguised.
"Some of the tenants are a bit too big to let out in here, though. We can pop inside the case in a minute and say hi. For now…"
He flicked open the lid and gave the inside a gentle tap with his wand.
A second later, a very sleepy, platinum-fluff-covered Niffler floated out, yawning hugely. It was Jinji.
Newt caught the little guy in both hands.
Jinji rolled over in his palms, found a comfy spot, and promptly went back to snoozing.
Newt instinctively bounced him once or twice, feeling the soft, squishy, boing-boing weight of him. His expression turned… complicated.
"Lucien," he said slowly, "don't you think Jinji is just a touch… sturdy… for a Niffler his age?"
Lucien gave a weak chuckle. "Probably snuck a bunch of treasure into his pouch again. Extra weight training."
He reached over and tickled Jinji's round tummy.
Clink-clatter-clatter!
A glittering waterfall of gold coins, jeweled cufflinks, and several hundred Galleons poured out of the hidden pouch in Jinji's belly, turning Dumbledore's office into a pirate's treasure cave.
"Squeak!!"
Jinji jolted awake, saw his life's work spilling everywhere, and frantically paddled the air with his tiny paws trying to scoop it all back. His little arms were way too short. His eyes filled with pure despair.
The awkward part? Even completely emptied of treasure, Jinji was still perfectly spherical—like someone had glued a platinum tribble to a bowling ball.
Dead silence blanketed the Headmaster's office.
Lucien quietly swept the loot back into his pocket, hugged the protesting Niffler to his chest, and cleared his throat.
"Right. Strict diet starts tomorrow."
Gotta build that little guy a hamster wheel…
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles. "I can see they're living very… comfortably under your care."
His gaze drifted to the tiny suitcase. "Would I be lucky enough to get a tour of your world inside the case?"
He hadn't asked on a whim. During the last Quidditch match he'd spotted what looked like a Thunderbird silhouetted against the clouds. Seeing Lucien's Newt-style case pretty much confirmed it.
"Of course," Lucien said easily. There really weren't that many creatures inside—yet.
A little while later the three of them stepped back into the office. Dumbledore fixed Lucien with a very fatherly look.
"Lucien, when you're at school… please keep a close eye on that case."
Because in addition to the expected Thunderbird, he'd just met a full-grown Norwegian Ridgeback.
The idea that this kid casually strolled the halls with thunderbirds and dragons in his pocket every day was… a lot, even for Albus Dumbledore.
Newt jumped in quickly. "Albus, relax! The case I gave him has every top-tier containment charm known to wizardkind. Nothing is getting out. Ever."
Dumbledore glanced at his old friend, who definitely remembering several past incidents, but finally sighed.
Lucien added, "I've got it under control, Headmaster."
A young Fawkes, not rested for long, flashed in, carried Newt away in a burst of flame, and left only a few lingering sparks.
Now it was just the two of them.
Dumbledore's expression grew calm and serious.
"About the Basilisk—anything else you've thought of beyond what we've already discussed?"
Lucien considered for a moment.
"I think we keep its existence quiet for now. Only the Heads of House need to know. If the students find out, we'll have mass panic. Top priority is finding it and ending it."
Dumbledore nodded. "The deadliest part is still those eyes. Every victim so far has only been petrified because they saw its gaze indirectly—through water, mirrors, ghosts. We can't count on that luck holding."
Lucien knew from spying on Lockhart and Tom that Lockhart was too much of a coward to let anyone actually die, and Tom had promised "just petrification." But Lucien didn't trust Tom Riddle's promises for a second.
He reached into his pocket and set a pair of simple-looking spectacles on the desk.
"Speaking of which… I've been working on something. These might help against the Basilisk's stare."
Dumbledore summoned them gently into his hand and studied them.
"Oh? Thestral tail hair in the frame, isn't it?"
"Yep," Lucien admitted. "I was experimenting with the fact that only people who've seen death can see Thestrals. These glasses blur anything strongly tied to 'death' in the wearer's vision. I'm hoping it'll block or at least weaken a Basilisk's killing gaze."
Dumbledore touched the tip of his wand to the frame and let a thin stream of magic flow through the enchantments. The room was quiet for several minutes while he examined them.
Finally he handed them back with open admiration.
"Brilliant concept."
He'd gotten used to Lucien churning out wild inventions all semester, so this just added to the collection.
Lucien asked, "Any suggestions for improvement?"
Dumbledore thought for a second. "Perhaps a permanent light-deflection or gaze-aversion charm layered on top—extra insurance."
The two of them—old master and young prodigy—fell into an easy discussion about alchemical optics.
Eventually Fawkes glided down and perched on Lucien's shoulder, delicately preening his messy hair with a still-small beak.
Dumbledore smiled softly. "Fawkes has really taken to you."
Lucien scratched the phoenix's fluffy head. "Guess I've got that 'magical creature magnet' thing going on."
Dumbledore's eyes crinkled, knowing that was exactly one reason Newt adored the boy.
After the light moment, Dumbledore's face grew grave again.
"Lucien, I'm going to be extremely busy for a while—school oversight might slip. I have a feeling this year's danger is still going to circle back to Harry in the end, so…"
He didn't need to finish. Lucien got it.
Classic protector-of-Harry plotline.
But Dumbledore wasn't seriously planning to let a Basilisk "temper" Harry, right?
Lucien's eyes flicked to the Sorting Hat in its glass cabinet—it was swaying slightly and humming something off-key.
"I understand," he said calmly. "If things go south, I'll keep an eye on Harry."
And the second that snake shows its face, I'm ending it.
He needed that heart for the final optimization of Nurmengard's magical circuits anyway.
Once this was over he'd ask Dumbledore for a peek at Hogwarts' magical core. If he could "borrow" a little of the ambient emotional energy the castle had collected from generations of students, he might finally hit the threshold to try making a Philosopher's Stone…
Dumbledore looked relieved.
"I trust you. But don't push yourself—your strength is far beyond your years, yet a Basilisk is no joke. Alert the professors first. They can protect the students, and Hogwarts itself has… contingency defenses."
Lucien immediately thought of McGonagall's famous spell: Piertotum Locomotor—the one that wakes up every suit of armor and statue in the castle.
"Got it," Lucien said, then asked, "Are you leaving to deal with the pure-blood politics?"
"Something like that." Dumbledore looked tired. "The earlier attacks barely ruffled them. But when Blaise Zabini got petrified? Suddenly everyone's very concerned. I'll be fielding the Board of Governors and the Ministry for a while."
Lucien wasn't surprised. When it didn't affect them personally, most pure-blood families were happy to look the other way.
They'd figured out long ago that Dumbledore would play by the rules, no matter how powerful he was. Otherwise a few votes on the Board would never be enough to push him out of the school he loved.
The old man was just too principled for his own good.
Lucien didn't comment. He just wanted to get through school smoothly—whether that meant brains or raw power didn't matter, whichever was faster.
And if Dumbledore was away from the castle for a while… well, that would be the perfect window for Tom to make his move.
––––––––––
The next day.
The atmosphere in the Headmaster's office was heavy.
Every professor at Hogwarts had been summoned. When Dumbledore announced that the monster behind the attacks was none other than the legendary Basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets, several people actually gasped out loud.
"Merlin's beard!" Professor McGonagall went white and clutched her chest.
Even Snape's dark eyes flickered with something grim.
In the corner, Gilderoy Lockhart put on an Oscar-worthy performance of terror, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. Inside, though? Cool as ice.
Whether the Basilisk stayed secret or not didn't matter anymore—the hero moment for his grand heroic finale was already scripted.
"We have to lock the school down immediately!" McGonagall snapped.
"No need to panic, Minerva," Dumbledore said calmly.
"No need to—Albus, it's a Basilisk! Look it in the eye and you die!"
Some of the other professors exchanged glances but wisely stayed quiet. Everyone knew that while Dumbledore was Headmaster, McGonagall was the one who actually ran the day-to-day and guarded the students like a lioness.
In a lot of ways she was more the "real" head of Hogwarts than he was.
Professor Silvanus Kettleburn—the retired Care of Magical Creatures teacher with the prosthetic arm and plenty of scars—raised a hand.
"Forgive me, Albus, but the Chamber's been sealed for a thousand years. Even if Salazar Slytherin left a Basilisk down there… could it really still be alive?"
Dumbledore answered smoothly. "I consulted Newt Scamander. With the right hibernation methods, and given that Basilisks can live eight or nine hundred years, it's entirely possible."
Kettleburn muttered Newt's name again and nodded, satisfied. In the magical creature world, that name ended all arguments.
McGonagall got back on track. "We need strict curfews, no nighttime wandering, the works."
"And we keep the fact it's a Basilisk quiet," Dumbledore agreed. "No need to terrify the students."
He flipped his hand and produced a plain pair of glasses.
"On that note, Lucien has provided us with some protection." He conjured a small box filled with frames of every style—plus a stack of thin contact-lens versions.
"He really did think of everything."
The professors lined up to take a pair.
When everyone had theirs, the only pair left in Dumbledore's hand was… a set of adorable bee-wing glasses with little antennae.
Some professors bit their lips to keep from laughing.
Snape, who'd been a fraction too slow, stared in horror at the dramatically bat-shaped frames he'd ended up with, stood up without a word, and swept out of the room like an angry shadow.
One by one the others left.
Dumbledore's gaze lingered for a moment on Lockhart's unusually quiet retreating back.
The man hadn't bragged once the entire meeting.
Something was definitely up.