Afternoon sunlight sliced through the narrow arrow-slits in Hogwarts' thick stone walls, scattering thin gold bars across the flagstones.
Lucian sat meditating in a quiet stairwell alcove.
Peace never lasted.
Footsteps and complaints drifted up the spiral staircase.
"My teeth are definitely cracked—I'm calling it," Ron's voice sounded like he was chewing charred wood. "Hagrid's rock cakes are basically granite's cousin. Next time anyone calls that rubbish 'dessert,' I'm shoving one straight up Goyle's nose. Guaranteed suffocation till next Christmas."
"Stop complaining, Ron," Hermione sounded tense. "At least Hagrid accidentally gave us a direction to look… even if it was a slip of the tongue."
"Nicolas Flamel…" Harry's voice followed, puzzled. "I swear I've seen that name somewhere before."
The trio rounded the corner and stopped dead.
Lucian leaned against the wall, calmly regarding the three interlopers. His gaze dropped to the brick-like brown lump in Ron's hand.
"If you're planning to assassinate a dentist, that's actually an excellent murder weapon."
Ron immediately hid the rock cake behind his back, face flaming.
He stared at Lucian's serene, all-knowing expression and felt a twist of irritation.
Look at him, Ron thought. Talks like Snape but worse. I still don't get why Harry and Hermione act so weird around him.
Hermione didn't back down.
The bushy-haired girl stepped forward, shielding Harry and Ron, and met Lucian's eyes directly. Her hand pressed unconsciously against her pocket—the one still holding the handkerchief he'd given her.
Since Halloween, an instinct had taken root: never lose that handkerchief, or something bad would happen.
"Lucian," she said carefully, "about… certain things before. I think we need to talk."
Lucian closed his book.
"If this is an apology for Halloween or an accusation that I hexed you—intentionally or otherwise—" He rose, black robes falling like raven wings. "Don't bother. I have no interest in pointless socializing."
Hermione bit her lip. She could feel that suffocating wall of distance.
"No," she took a steadying breath. "I wanted to say… about Professor Snape. You might have been right. Our suspicions lacked logical support."
Behind her, Harry and Ron's eyes widened. This was Hermione—the girl who worshipped books and teachers—actually admitting she was wrong?
Lucian studied her. In heart-phase vision, the golden threads above her head thrashed violently. The world-will was trying to force her mouth shut or push her back into the original script of blind Gryffindor suspicion toward Snape.
She resisted—barely—thanks to the handkerchief that was now more help than nothing.
Lucian gave a small nod.
"Good."
"Learning to question the script is the first step to cutting your strings."
He turned to leave. This level of contact was already enough to draw the world's attention.
He wasn't ready to spend more of his daily allowance here.
"Wait!" Harry blurted.
His fingers brushed the Galleon in his pocket; the cool metal gave him courage. "Do you know who Nicolas Flamel is? We're looking for him."
"Hagrid let it slip," Ron added quickly, trying to prove they had important intel. "Snape's definitely after something connected to him!"
Lucian paused.
"You spent two weeks in the library and never once opened A History of Modern Alchemy?"
"What's weird about that?" Ron muttered. "The library has thousands of books…"
"Nicolas Flamel was Professor Dumbledore's partner—one of the last great alchemists of the old era."
Lucian's voice echoed softly in the empty stairwell.
"He is also the only known living creator of the Philosopher's Stone in the wizarding world today."
"What stone?" Harry and Ron asked in unison.
Only Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, eyes lighting up. "The Philosopher's Stone?! I read about it! The ultimate creation of ancient alchemy!"
"Ancient alchemy deals with the fundamental transmutation of matter." Lucian ignored Hermione's excitement and looked straight at Harry. "It is a substance of astonishing power. The Philosopher's Stone can turn any metal into pure gold and produce the Elixir of Life—granting whoever drinks it immortality."
"Turn stone into gold? And make people live forever?" Harry was stunned. "No wonder Snape wants it! Anyone would!"
Ron's mouth hung open so wide the rock cake slipped from his fingers and thudded onto his toes. He didn't even flinch.
"Immortality?" Lucian gave a soft, scornful laugh. "Nicolas Flamel celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year.
Clinging to a rotting body through external means—you call that living?"
"Besides, using something as miraculous as the Philosopher's Stone merely to prolong a few insignificant years is the greatest blasphemy and waste imaginable."
"That three-headed dog must be guarding the Stone!" Hermione's mind raced ahead. "Flamel entrusted it to Dumbledore because he knew someone—like Voldemort—was after it!"
"Your deduction is mostly correct."
Lucian nodded, offering no denial.
"But a word of warning." He stepped past Harry. "Sometimes the dragon guarding the treasure isn't the most dangerous thing. The most dangerous is often the one who led you there."
With that he vanished around the corner, footsteps light as air.
Harry stood frozen, fingers tight around the coin in his pocket.
"What did he mean?" Ron picked up the rock cake and blew dust off it. "He always says stuff that makes no sense."
"I don't know." Harry stared after Lucian, scar prickling faintly. "…It's like he knows everything."
…
Around another corner,
Lucian slipped a hand inside his robe.
"The real key has always been in the bystander's pocket…"
"Still… it might be worth seeing Nicolas Flamel's 'miracle' with my own eyes."
As he spoke, the bronze eagle knocker came into view.
It gleamed in the torchlight. The moment Lucian stepped onto the final stair, the two sapphire eyes swiveled.
The beak opened.
"Flowers are precious because they wither. Stars shine because they burn."
"If something never depletes, never diminishes, and never needs to be cherished—what is it? An ultimate gift… or an endless curse?"
Lucian stopped and regarded the knocker.
"The question itself is the answer."
He added softly:
"There is no such gift."
"Remove the inevitable end, and the journey itself… loses all weight."
"That is not eternity. That is merely… meaningless repetition without a full stop."
"Very well reasoned."
The bronze beak gave an approving click.
The great doors swung open silently.