"AHhh!"
Quirrell could no longer maintain his spell. Struck by Lucien's Expelliarmus, his wand was flung from his hand.
But Quirrell didn't even glance at it—he dropped to his knees, clutching his head in agony, groaning in pain.
After the clash of spells ended, the manic laughter in his mind slowly faded, though it still lingered faintly.
Sotis it felt like needle pricks, sotis like knife cuts, relentlessly tornting his nerves.
Lucien watched as Quirrell collapsed onto the floor, gradually falling still.
His heart skipped a beat.
What is happening?
Was it caused by the wand's strange reaction just now?
He had heard a faint chuckle—just like the one he'd heard when he first obtained the wand, only clearer this ti.
But Quirrell's reaction was far too extre, as if he had been violently attacked.
Why wasn't he moving or making a sound?
No way… could I have accidentally killed Professor Quirrell?
It was just an Expelliarmus, not Avada Kedavra.
What was this—a classroom accident?
"Professor Quirrell, are you hurt? Should I take you to the infirmary, or call Professor Snape? He's very skilled with Potions."
"Never mind, I'll just get Headmaster Dumbledore; he's even more—"
"No need!"
Quirrell suddenly jumped to his feet, his pale face still streaked with veins and sweat, forcing a strained smile.
"No, no problem. I'm… I'm fine. This tutoring session… will end here."
After Lucien left the office, several minutes passed.
Quirrell was still kneeling on the floor.
"I… I'm sorry, Master. I… I shouldn't have disturbed your rest."
"What happened just now?"
Lord Voldemort's voice wasn't angry; instead, it carried a deep, solemn weight.
After Quirrell recounted everything that had happened—Lucien's unnaturally strong magic and the sudden, eerie laughter that had erupted during their duel—he waited in silence.
For a long while, Lord Voldemort gave no response.
Quirrell didn't dare to speak further, enduring the lingering pain in his mind.
"Master the Dark Arts I taught you as quickly as possible," Voldemort finally said. "The longer you delay, the greater the risk of an accident."
"Yes, yes, my Lord."
…
After leaving Quirrell's office, Lucien headed straight for the Headmaster's Office.
Along the way, he replayed the events in his mind.
After his wand had reacted abnormally, Quirrell's sudden distress had been unmistakable.
So, it was almost certain—the wand had caused it.
The wand…
Lucien glanced down at the silver-black wand in his hand.
Different wands, depending on the materials of their core and wood, possessed unique properties.
And after this period of spellcasting, he had gradually begun to understand the characteristics of his own.
First, the wand's body: perhaps due to the unpredictable nature of Loki fir, it possessed exceptional tolerance for magic.
At least from all the spells he had cast so far, the magic flowed through it effortlessly, without the slightest sense of resistance.
Unlike so wands that rejected radiant, pure magic—or resisted curses—the flow in his wand was smooth and stable.
Lucien had also noticed that the more frequently he cast a particular spell, the smoother the magic output beca.
That must have been the effect of the Sphinx's spine feather serving as the core.
He had even observed that with each use, the faint silver runes etched along the wand's surface beca more intricate and complex, forming dazzling, shifting patterns.
But the source of that imnse backlash that struck Quirrell just now…
Loki Fir Wood....
Lucien recalled how, when he'd first chosen his wand, this one had been the one to choose him.
It must have sensed the Loki Face Mask within him, creating an almost instinctive resonance.
Could it be that after their prolonged bond, the wand had developed new, special properties?
From what had happened earlier, the anomaly only appeared after continuous, high-intensity magic output.
Perhaps he could test it again...
But on whom…?
Lucien was still thinking as he reached the entrance to the Headmaster's Office.
Guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's Office was a stone gargoyle.
"Password."
A deep, rumbling voice ca from its mouth.
Lucien paused. Right—entry to the Headmaster's Office required giving the correct password before the gargoyle would let anyone pass.
Last ti, he had been brought straight in by the phoenix, Fawkes, so he hadn't gone through this process.
Tsk. Old Dumbledore did have a habit of using sweets as passwords… he couldn't possibly try them all, could he?
As Lucien was thinking, a burst of crimson fla suddenly appeared beside him out of thin air.
A large red bird erged gracefully from the fire.
"Fawkes?"
Lucien raised his arm, and Fawkes landed on it naturally.
"Are you here for ?"
As if understanding his words, Fawkes nodded almost humanly and rubbed his head affectionately against Lucien's hair.
The next mont, flas flared up around them both, engulfing wizard and bird in brilliant light.
As the flas faded, no one remained before the gargoyle.
The air fell silent for a mont.
Then a faint buzzing ca from the gargoyle's mouth again.
"Tsk, what a boring job."
...
Inside the Headmaster's Office.
Dumbledore sat at his desk, where several plates of sweets were already set out—Chocolate Frogs, Cockroach Clusters, Ice Mice, and more.
"Aha ha, good afternoon, Lucien."
"Good afternoon, Headmaster Dumbledore."
Lucien walked over and sat down across from him.
After exchanging greetings, both fell into a brief, comfortable silence.
Dumbledore studied Lucien carefully, his bright blue eyes sharp behind the half-moon spectacles, an occasional glint of insight flashing within them.
He was checking for any trace of Dark Arts corruption.
Only after finding nothing unusual did Dumbledore give the faintest nod of approval.
"Have you experienced any interesting parts of school life these past few days?"
Hearing Dumbledore's question, Lucien quickly reviewed his recent activities.
Teaching Harry Potions..
Walking Lun in the Forbidden Forest..
'Playing' with Acromantulas...
Sparring with Cerberus..
Chatting with Centaurs…
Damn—he had indeed done quite a lot, and all of it was rather interesting.
Hmm, but not much of it was sothing he could actually talk about.
"I've been studying Potions with my classmates and helping plant vegetables in Hagrid's garden," he said.
Dumbledore chuckled softly, stroking his beard. He had already heard from Hagrid that Lucien had been helping Harry with Potions.
That bond of friendship and willingness to help others pleased Dumbledore greatly.
Especially for a student as talented as Lucien, it was often difficult to fit in with others. Not out of arrogance, but simply because their level of ability made it hard to relate or empathize.
Yet Lucien's willingness to help his classmates showed he wasn't so aloof prodigy—he could get along well with others.
Recalling their previous discussion about the Dark Arts, and Lucien's asured, thoughtful attitude toward it, Dumbledore felt even more reassured.
"That sounds quite fulfilling. Oh, and you just finished your tutoring session with Professor Quirrell, didn't you? How was it?"
Lucien thought for a mont. It had been an ordinary session followed by a sparring exercise. Though there was a small incident, he had still learned a lot.
"Hmm, it went well. Honestly, if Professor Quirrell could display that sa level of skill in front of a full class, he might actually be a very popular teacher."
__________
11 Advance Chaps- P@treon/DarkDevil1
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