In the Headmaster's office.
Lucien and Dumbledore sat at a round table.
In the center was a shallow cauldron divided into two halves.
One half held milky-white bone broth, and the other a vibrant, fiery-red spicy broth.
"Lucien, why use a cauldron?"
"Because it feels more authentic?"
Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, bemused. "I don't quite understand you young people. Oh—it's done!"
With a swift motion, Dumbledore fished out a slice of beef, dipped it in a small bowl, and popped it into his mouth.
"Mmm, hotpot. I had this a few tis when I traveled to Asia many years ago. Those Tibetan monks were very skilled at making it. Ah, that reminds of a talented child like you I once t... What was his na? Ah, yes, Bruce Wayne. He was learning the mind arts from those monks. Truly unforgettable kid. Too bad he wasn't a wizard."
"By the way, after you taught the House-elves to make Muggle dishes, the students have really taken to them," Dumbledore added.
Lucien said as he slid more slices of at into the pot, "Perhaps it's because Muggle cuisine has such variety and rich flavor, that's why the queen invaded India and Indonesia after all."
Dumbledore pushed up his glasses with the back of his hand. Changing the subject with a smooth transition. "Ehm.. Hotpot is perfect for weather like this. Alas, it's getting colder and colder. Watching Quidditch in person these past few tis has been rather unfriendly to an old man."
"Oh?"
"Yes. It's much more comfortable to watch remotely with magic—like during the first match—while sitting beside a warm fireplace."
Hearing Dumbledore's words, Lucien continued eating without the slightest change in expression.
Old Dumbledore indeed possessed thods of remote surveillance, far beyond relying on ghosts and portraits as his eyes.
Tsk, tsk… just how many curious and powerful spells had this century-old Wizard developed over his lifeti?
"Headmaster, your magical thods are truly astonishing."
"When you saw Harry's performance that day, you must have found it quite thrilling, right?"
Dumbledore nodded as he scooped out a shrimp ball.
"Yes. I didn't expect an accident to happen so suddenly... But fortunately, Harry had the help of a good friend like you."
Lucien calmly picked out a slice of fish, completely unfazed by Dumbledore directly pointing out that he was the one who acted.
Since Dumbledore brought it up, and since he could monitor everything remotely with magic… it was only natural he had seen it.
Then it was no surprise he could identify who was attacking Harry and who was helping him.
"It was no trouble at all, and it was a good chance to try out a new spell I'd learned. And Headmaster, in that situation, you could have directly intervened and protected Harry, couldn't you?"
To Lucien's question, Dumbledore chuckled.
"Many people think of as omnipotent, always believing I can do all sorts of extraordinary things, but this ti… You guessed correctly."
Dumbledore even winked at Lucien before quickly scooping up a slice of lamb.
He admitted it outright. Of course—Dumbledore's goal was to train Harry, so ensuring his safety ca first.
After all, he needed the Boy Who Lived alive to defeat Lord Voldemort.
"Headmaster, I have a question. During the Animagus process, one must wait for a thunderstorm with lightning. Is that step truly sothing that can only depend on ti and luck?"
Dumbledore set down his bowl, a peculiar look in his eyes.
"Lucien… you're not thinking of creating a thunderstorm with magic, are you?"
"Hm, I've considered that."
Seeing Lucien's serious expression, Dumbledore looked both helpless and resigned.
"That idea is very interesting, but the difficulty of achieving it…"
"Although you can already contend with an adult Wizard in magic, and your magical power is extraordinary—which honestly gave yet another 'surprise'—"
"Ahem, but the thunderstorm required for an Animagus transformation is not sothing a Wizard can create."
"And it's best not to interfere with nature using magic."
Lucien nodded lightly, then suddenly asked an odd question: "What if one were to create a thunderstorm of that scale without using magic?"
Dumbledore was montarily stunned; he hadn't expected such a question at all.
In ancient tis, Muggles often worshipped Wizards who used powerful spells as gods, believing they could reshape the world.
But all those feats, when traced back, were magical in nature—not natural phenona.
Yet Lucien was suggesting creating a natural thunderstorm without magic?
Before Dumbledore could respond, Lucien smoothly changed the subject.
"Headmaster, try this beef ball—it's really chewy."
Seeing that Lucien didn't intend to linger on the topic, Dumbledore let it go as well and resud chatting.
"It's almost Christmas... Lucien, what kind of Christmas gift are you looking forward to?"
Lucien answered without hesitation:
"Books."
That reply didn't surprise Dumbledore at all.
"Heh heh, you truly are a little eagle who loves knowledge."
"People always give books—every single year. But sotis, I think warm wool socks wouldn't be a bad gift either."
Wool socks?
In Britain, wool socks also represent family affection—a typical gift exchanged among family mbers.
Lucien suddenly understood. Dumbledore, praised as the greatest Wizard of the century…
When stripped of those titles, stripped of the glory printed on Chocolate Frog cards…
He was just an old man.
An old man without family beside him.
His only living relative refused to see him.
And the person he loved was imprisoned in Nurngard.
Lucien suddenly thought of a saying: It's lonely at the top.
People of extraordinary achievent—or rather, people on the path to becoming extraordinary—give up many things, whether by choice or by fate.
…
Mid-December.
Walking in the Forbidden Forest, Lucien looked up at the dark, heavy clouds overhead.
"The weather really isn't cooperating."
"Lun."
Two or three seconds later, a golden streak of light shot upward from the forest floor.
Lucien sat on the Qilin's back, his body wrapped in a translucent barrier.
It was a spell he'd casually cast on himself, used to shield him from the harsh wind and bitter cold.
Lun flew incredibly fast; in just a few breaths, the thick clouds had been left far behind.
Lucien lifted his gaze to the bright, round full moon.
Bathed in the cool moonlight, Lucien took a crystal vial from his pocket, already filled with his saliva.
He removed the Mandrake leaf from his mouth and subrged it in the vial.
Lucien watched as a pale white sheen quickly spread through the veins of the leaf.
This step was successful.
Next, Lucien pulled out a strand of dark golden hair and placed it into the vial.
He had Lun hold the vial for him with its auspicious cloud.
Lucien then took out a small jar of dew collected from a place untouched by sunlight or human presence for seven days.
Using a silver teaspoon, he carefully scooped exactly one spoonful.
He poured the dew into the vial, letting it mix thoroughly.
Finally, Lucien took out a chrysalis.
It was completely black, its surface marked with faint white skull-like patterns.
The chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawkmoth.
Once it was placed into the vial, the previously transparent liquid quickly turned pitch-black.
In the black solution, Lucien could still faintly see the leaf veins glowing white.
Hmm, no problem. So far so good..
He quickly placed the vial into a small box lined with soft cotton.
After putting the box away, Lucien patted Lun's back.
"Phew, you worked hard, Lun. Let's go back."
"Alright, Master."
Lucien suddenly said, "Lun, starting tomorrow, I'll teach you so teorology."
Hearing this, the Qilin shivered slightly, though not from the cold.
Its childish voice echoed in Lucien's mind, sounding pitiful: "Um… can I not learn it?"
Lucien stroked its mane and chuckled softly.
"Not all of it, just a specific part."
"After you finish, I'll give you a month off."
Lun imdiately perked up.
"Master, is that what you call winter break?"
"Yes."
________
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