Lucien stood in front of a battered red telephone booth, one hand gripping his suitcase, the other holding a letter delivered by Fawkes.
Following the letter's instructions, he stepped up to the booth. "This is the place."
He pulled open the door, stepped inside, and dialed the numbers on the keypad: 62442.
Lucien noticed the digits spelled out "MAGIC" on the dial.
"Hello, may I have your name and the purpose of your visit?" a clear, feminine voice asked. It didn't come from the phone but seemed to echo from the air, as if the speaker were standing right in front of him.
Lucien wasn't fazed—Dumbledore's letter had prepared him for this. "I'm Lucien Grafton, here to register as an Animagus with the Ministry."
After stating his name and purpose, the voice didn't respond right away. Is this old booth malfunctioning? Lucien wondered. Surely the Ministry can afford to keep their magic gadgets in working order.
He was about to pull out his wand to tinker with it when the voice returned, tinged with a hint of surprise. "Very well, processing your request."
Less than a second later, the phone's dial spat out a silver badge inscribed with Lucien's name and purpose.
The booth began to descend like an elevator. Passersby outside didn't bat an eye, as if the sinking telephone booth was invisible to them.
After about a minute, it came to a smooth stop. Lucien stepped out into a spacious hall. The floor was polished dark wood, and the peacock-blue ceiling shimmered with shifting golden runes.
"So, this is the Ministry of Magic," Lucien said, taking it all in.
Since it was his first time, he opted for the full visitor experience, following the standard route for those with business at the Ministry. Employees usually Apparated directly or, well, flushed themselves down through public restrooms—though that option wasn't exactly popular.
After checking his wand at security, Lucien followed the letter's directions, taking an internal Ministry elevator to the first basement level. He knocked lightly on an office door, which swung open automatically.
"Heh, Cornelius, I'm just here to get the kid registered. No need to trouble the Minister himself," came a familiar voice—Dumbledore's.
"Albus, my old friend! You're far too modest! This is no trouble at all!" replied another voice, theatrical and booming.
Lucien recognized it instantly. Behind a deceptively simple but undoubtedly expensive desk sat an older man with a mop of fluffy white hair, dressed in a pinstriped suit with a bright red tie. Cornelius Fudge, the current Minister for Magic.
Fudge's eyes locked onto the boy at the door, matching Lucien's dark golden hair and emerald-green eyes to the file he'd read. He rose from his oversized desk, his face breaking into an almost overly enthusiastic smile. "You must be Lucien! Quite the impressive young man. Come in, come in!"
"Minister," Lucien greeted politely, neither flustered nor intimidated.
Once they were all seated, Dumbledore spoke from Lucien's side. "Cornelius, you've got a demanding job. Animagus registration is routine—surely the Misuse of Magic Office could handle it."
"Routine? Oh, no, no, no!" Fudge waved his hands vigorously, turning to Lucien with a grin that tried a bit too hard to be warm. "This is anything but routine, my boy. You're not even twelve yet—your birthday's still coming up—and you're already an Animagus! Merlin's beard, it's practically a miracle!"
Lucien was used to this kind of over-the-top praise. It was his first time meeting Fudge, but he'd heard similar flattery before Hogwarts—whether genuine or just people currying favor with his Aunt Penelope. Wizards and Muggles weren't so different in that regard.
Despite Fudge's awestruck tone, Lucien could tell the Minister was quickly sizing him up, weighing his potential and what it meant for Dumbledore to personally escort him.
Fudge turned to Dumbledore, his tone shifting to a more deliberate sincerity. "Albus, we have to face facts. Lucien isn't just any genius. He's a talent the wizarding world might not see again for a century! His achievements deserve the Minister's attention and official record."
It was a message for both Dumbledore—showing he recognized Lucien's value and was willing to give face—and for Lucien, a calculated gesture of goodwill.
Lucien maintained a polite, flawless smile. The first part was just fluff; the real point was the show of sincerity. Fudge might not be a bold, world-changing leader, but in peaceful times, he was competent enough.
Dumbledore nodded slightly. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Cornelius. Shall we proceed with the registration?"
"Of course, of course!" Fudge said, snapping his fingers. A document flew out of his desk drawer—not a standard form, but a fancier one with golden edging. "It's simple, my boy. You just need to perform your transformation here in front of me and Professor Dumbledore so we can verify your Animagus form and record it."
Lucien glanced at Dumbledore, who gave him an encouraging, warm look. Turning to Fudge, he said softly, "As you wish, Minister."
No incantation, no obvious preparation. In the next moment, a gentle light flashed, and Lucien vanished. In his place stood an ordinary-looking owl, spreading its wings slightly and dipping its head toward Fudge.
"Marvelous transformation! Even seeing it in person, it's staggering for someone your age," Fudge said, scribbling notes and showering Lucien with praise.
Once the registration was complete, the three chatted briefly before Dumbledore and Lucien took their leave.
In the elevator, Dumbledore handed Lucien a card. "I hear you had quite a time in America. Enjoyed yourself, I bet? How about a trip to France next?"
"France?" Lucien asked, puzzled, taking the card. His fingers brushed against it—dragonhide, and not the cheap kind, real fire dragon stuff. At the card's center was a golden key pattern, surrounded by faintly glowing runes that shimmered and shifted. The key trembled slightly, its tip always pointing in a specific direction.
Lucien had a hunch. Flipping the card over, he saw the name on the back and grinned. Of course.
Nicolas Flamel
(P.S. Sorry, I'm feeling under the weather today. The next chapter will come late, so I've tacked it onto this one. Rest up, folks, and sorry for the inconvenience! <(_ _)>)
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My apologies, here's the extra bit!
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France
Lucien wandered through bustling streets, the dragonhide card in hand. The golden key on it occasionally spun, guiding him to new places.
He didn't have time to soak in the foreign sights, though. Dumbledore's parting words echoed in his mind: "Lucien, registering as an Animagus got me thinking. Your Transfiguration skills are extraordinary—why not write a paper?"
A paper. Now that brought back memories.
Lucien had jumped at the idea. Organizing knowledge systematically was a great way to test how well you truly understood it. As for the topic, he was torn between chimeric transformations or magical creature transformations. The former was a complex blend of layered and precise Transfiguration; the latter was a bold new frontier that'd turn heads in the wizarding world.
He wasn't worried about others stealing his techniques. For one, both were insanely difficult. Magical creature transformations, in particular, demanded a level of talent that Lucien found increasingly daunting the more he used it. And two, he was confident that by the time anyone caught up to his shadow, he'd already be miles ahead.
Why choose? he thought. I'll write both.
In a quiet alley, the card's key pattern shifted again, standing upright, its tip pointing… up?
Lucien looked skyward, squinting at the clear blue expanse. No way.
His eyes swirled as he activated his Mage Sight. The blazing sun vanished, replaced by a vast silver surface filling his vision. The swirls in his eyes widened, revealing intricate, arcane patterns etched into the silver, with powerful magic flowing calmly through them.
A round, dome-like object sprouted from the surface, its black opening swiveling to aim at him. Mage Sight showed magic gathering at the opening, ready to burst.
But his instincts didn't scream danger, and he had a guess about what was coming.
A colorful burst of magic shot from the dome, exploding into dazzling fireworks.
Lucien smirked. This guy's got a sense of humor.
The silent fireworks didn't fade but swirled in the air, forming a single word: Bonjour.
Lucien recognized the French greeting. He drew his wand, tracing a few magical arcs to spell out the same word in reply.
A soft white light poured down, enveloping him and lifting him upward. He didn't resist, though he couldn't help but think, Silver ship, white beam—this is straight out of a Muggle sci-fi flick.
Neither the silver ship, the silent fireworks, nor his ascent in broad daylight drew any Muggle attention. As he was pulled into the ship, the dragonhide card disintegrated into dust, which melted seamlessly into the silver floor.
Recycling, huh? Lucien thought. Alchemy's everywhere with this guy.
He looked up to see an elderly man before him. The first word that came to mind was ancient. Lucien had never seen someone so old—his hair was so white it seemed colorless, his face carved with wrinkles like canyons. He wore a crescent-white robe that couldn't hide his frail, skeletal frame.
The man floated toward him. Floated. Lucien glanced at the robe dragging on the floor and figured he was probably riding some kind of magical hoverboard. No wonder Jacob thought he was a ghost. Up close, the resemblance was uncanny.
Despite his racing thoughts, Lucien bowed politely. "Hello, Mr. Nicolas Flamel."
Yes, this was the legendary alchemist, creator of the Philosopher's Stone, a wizard who'd lived for six centuries.
"Hello, Lucien Grafton," Nicolas said, his voice slow and faint. "Just as Albus and Newt said, you're quite the extraordinary young wizard."
He extended a trembling hand, moving carefully, as if afraid it might snap.
Lucien stepped forward, reaching out gently to shake it. Gotta be careful not to break this guy.
The Elixir of Life from the Philosopher's Stone could defy death, but it didn't stop aging. Nicolas' body was fragile, practically crumbling.
Their hands met lightly.
[Ding!]
[Loan triggered: Jade Tablet Fragment (Annual Loan)]
The Jade Tablet? Lucien recalled it was an Egyptian stone slab, said to hold the origins of alchemical knowledge. A fragment, though? That was new—his system had never offered an incomplete loan before.
He released Nicolas' hand and mentally skimmed the loan details. Another talent-based loan… alchemy, potions…
"Your eyes are remarkable, child," Nicolas said, startling Lucien out of his thoughts.
He noticed my Mage Sight?
Lucien met Nicolas' gaze. The alchemist's eyes were deep, weathered by centuries but sharp with insight.
"Heh, no need to be nervous," Nicolas chuckled. "I'm just marveling. It's rare these days to see someone using such ancient magic to modify their body."
Ancient magic? Lucien thought back to the Mage Sight loan's description—a blend of potions, alchemy, and Transfiguration. Like the Chimaera Codex, was this another ancient wizard's legacy?
Ancient… He looked at the kind old man before him. Six hundred years ago was ancient. What modern wizards called "ancient magic" was probably just Tuesday for Nicolas Flamel.
It wasn't surprising he'd notice something special about Lucien's eyes. This was a man who'd lived through history itself, a peerless alchemist and a profoundly knowledgeable wizard.
But if ancient magic could enhance the body, why hadn't Nicolas used it to ease his own frailty? With his alchemical mastery, even partial modifications could make life more comfortable.
As if reading his mind, Nicolas smiled. "I miss the days of strength and vigor, but aging has its own charm. There's something unique about feeling so… brittle, don't you think?"