"Ah!"
Quirrell couldn't hold the spell any longer. Lucien's Disarming Charm hit him square on, and his wand flew right out of his hand.
But Quirrell didn't even glance at it. He just dropped to his knees on the floor, clutching his head with both hands, letting out these agonized howls.
Once the spell standoff ended, the mad cackling in his mind started to fade a bit, but it still lingered, echoing on.
Sometimes like needle pricks, other times like knife slices, tormenting his nerves.
Lucien watched as Quirrell collapsed motionless on the ground, his cries dying down until there was nothing.
His heart sank.
What the heck was going on?
Was it from that weird wand glitch earlier?
Lucien had heard a sneaky chuckle, kinda like when he first got the wand, but clearer this time.
But Quirrell's reaction? Way over the top—like he'd just gotten his butt kicked hard.
Why'd he go still? No more sounds?
No way... he hadn't actually killed the professor, had he?
It was just a plain old Expelliarmus. Not like he'd pulled an Avada Kedavra or anything.
What was this, a classroom accident?
"Professor Quirrell, are you hurt? I can take you to the hospital wing, or maybe I should grab Professor Snape—he's great with potions."
"Actually, forget it. I'll just get Principal Dumbledore. He's even more..."
"No need!"
Quirrell shot up like a jack-in-the-box, his pale face still veined and sweaty. He forced out a pained smile.
"It's—it's fine. I-I'm okay."
"This tutoring session... we'll wrap it up here for now."
Once Lucien had left the office and a few minutes ticked by.
Quirrell was back on his knees.
"S-sorry, my lord. I-I shouldn't have disturbed your rest."
"What happened just now?"
Voldemort wasn't mad—in fact, he sounded dead serious as he questioned Quirrell.
After Quirrell spilled the whole story, including Lucien's freakishly strong magic and that sudden, creepy laugh during their duel...
There was a long pause. Voldemort didn't say a word.
Quirrell didn't dare push it, just sat there nursing his mental agony.
"Master the Dark magic I taught you as soon as possible. The longer you wait, the more surprises you'll get."
"Y-yes, my lord."
...
After ditching Quirrell's office, Lucien made a beeline for the headmaster's quarters.
He mulled over what had just gone down the whole way.
Right after his wand acted up, Quirrell started freaking out big time.
So, yeah—that pretty much confirmed it was the wand's doing.
The wand...
Lucien glanced down at the silver-black wand in his hand.
Different wands had unique traits based on their core and wood.
Over this time casting spells, he'd started getting a feel for his.
First off, the wood—probably thanks to that rowan from Loki's line, with its ever-shifting nature—the wand was super tolerant of charms.
At least with everything he'd tried so far, magic flowed through it smooth as butter, no hiccups.
Unlike some wands that balked at flashy, bright spells or straight-up rejected curses.
Plus, Lucien had noticed something else: the more he cast the same spell, the smoother the magic output got when it passed through the wand.
That had to be the Sphinx spine feather core kicking in.
He'd even watched closely— as he cast more, those faint silver runes on the wand's surface got more intricate, finer, almost dizzying to look at.
But the thing that hit Quirrell so hard... that came from...
Lucien remembered: when he'd picked the wand, it'd practically jumped into his hand.
It must've sensed the Loki Faceless on him, drawn to it on some deep, primal level.
So, after all this bonding time, hanging out with him longer, had the wand picked up some extra quirks?
From what happened, the weirdness only popped up after that sustained magic clash.
Maybe he could test it out again?
But who to try it on...
Lost in thought, Lucien arrived at the headmaster's door.
Guarding it was the gargoyle.
"Password."
The gruff, rumbling voice came from the stone beast's mouth.
Lucien froze. Right— you had to give the correct password before it'd let you pass.
Last time, Fawkes had just teleported him straight in, skipping the whole rigmarole.
Tch, old Dumbledore loved using sweets as passwords. No way was he guessing through them one by one.
As he racked his brain, a burst of crimson flame suddenly flared up beside him.
Out flew the big red bird.
"Fawkes?"
Lucien held out his arm, and Fawkes landed gracefully.
"You here to find me?"
Like it got him, Fawkes nodded all human-like, then nuzzled Lucien's hair.
Next thing, flames enveloped wizard and phoenix.
When they faded, the gargoyle stared at an empty spot.
The air hung quiet for a beat.
Then a buzzing grumble from the gargoyle:
"Tch, what a boring job."
Inside the headmaster's office.
Dumbledore sat at his desk, surrounded by plates of Chocolate Frogs, Cockroach Clusters, Acid Pops...
"Heh, good afternoon, Lucien."
"Afternoon, Headmaster Dumbledore."
Lucien took the seat across from him.
After the hellos, they both fell into a comfy silence.
Dumbledore eyed him with those bright blue eyes, a glint occasionally flashing behind his half-moon spectacles.
He was scanning Lucien for any traces of Dark magic curses.
Finding nothing amiss, Dumbledore gave a subtle nod.
"Anything fun in school life these past few days?"
Lucien quickly ran through it in his head.
Teaching Harry potions, walking the dog in the Forbidden Forest, hanging with Acromantulas, beating up the three-headed dog, chatting with centaurs...
Whoa, not a short list—and all pretty wild.
But, uh, not much he could actually share.
"I studied potions with some classmates and planted a few veggies in Hagrid's garden."
Dumbledore chuckled, stroking his beard. He'd already heard from Hagrid about Lucien helping Harry with potions.
That bond with friends, the willingness to lend a hand—it warmed the old wizard's heart.
Especially for a kid as gifted as Lucien, who often struggled to fit in. It wasn't always arrogance; sometimes it was just their smarts making it hard to relate or empathize.
But if Lucien was cool tutoring classmates, it showed he wasn't some aloof genius. He could hang with folks just fine.
Thinking back to their chat on Dark magic and Lucien's level-headed take, Dumbledore felt even more at ease.
"Sounds fulfilling. Oh, right—just finished your session with Professor Quirrell? How'd it go?"
Lucien pondered. Normal tutoring, then a little sparring. Sure, there was a tiny hiccup at the end, but he'd learned a ton.
"Yeah, it was great. Honestly, if Professor Quirrell could show that level of skill around more people, he'd probably be a really popular teacher."