In the room filled with potions, Lucien eyed the seven oddly shaped bottles on the table. After a mont's thought, he pointed to the smallest one.
"This one, the 'Dwarf,' will let you move forward through the black flas," he said confidently.
Then, he gestured to the bottle on the far right.
"And this one will get you back through the purple flas."
Lucien went on, calmly identifying the remaining potions—so poison, so wine.
Dumbledore clapped his hands, clearly impressed. "That was quick! Honestly, logical reasoning isn't most wizards' strong suit."
"No need to drink the potions," he added with a chuckle. "Professor Snape doesn't exactly whip those up for fun."
With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore made both flas vanish. They stepped into the final chamber of the trial.
Sure enough, there it was: the Mirror of Erised.
Lucien pulled a phoenix feather—Fawkes' tail feather, to be exact—from his pocket and glanced at Dumbledore. "Professor, you didn't really expect to follow Harry and the others all the way to this final test, did you?"
Dumbledore gave a gentle nod. "I'm going to teach you a little spell," he said. "It'll give you a better… perspective."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver bracelet adorned with a sapphire. Slipping it onto his wrist, Dumbledore drew his Elder Wand and recited a long, intricate incantation.
Lucien watched as Dumbledore approached the Mirror of Erised. The mont his bracelet-clad hand touched the mirror's surface, ripples spread across it like water. Then, in a flash, Dumbledore vanished into the mirror.
Lucien's eyebrows shot up. That's what he calls a "little spell"? Just how many tricks does the old man have up his sleeve? That bracelet was probably so alchemical gadget, paired with a complex charm or two.
Another neat trick to learn from Dumbledore.
Hogwarts' library might be a treasure trove of knowledge, but the greatest wizard of the century standing in front of him? He was a walking vault of secrets.
Dumbledore stepped back out of the mirror and began teaching Lucien the "little spell."
---
Soon, exam week arrived.
One by one, the end-of-year exams rolled out in an orderly fashion. Students were required to use special anti-cheating quills, enchanted to keep everyone honest.
"Deep breaths, not nervous, not nervous…" Ron muttered to himself outside the exam hall, psyching himself up.
Lucien gave him a reassuring pat. "Relax, Ron. You all aced the practice tests I made. This is just another exam. You've got this."
Ron seed to calm down a bit, reflecting on the grueling assignnts and mock exams Lucien had put them through. Weirdly enough, all that prep made the real thing feel less daunting.
Besides the written exams, there were practical ones, like Transfiguration and Potions.
In Charms, Professor Flitwick had them make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk—full marks if it completed the routine flawlessly.
In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall tasked them with turning a mouse into a snuffbox, graded on how fancy the result was.
"Lucien Grafton," McGonagall called.
Lucien stepped into the exam room. McGonagall gave him a small smile. "This should be a breeze for you," she said. "But Dumbledore ntioned you might have a little surprise for ?"
McGonagall couldn't imagine what more Lucien could show her. She'd already seen his intricate, blended Transfiguration spells.
Then she got her answer.
In a blink, the handso young wizard was gone, replaced by an owl with slightly spread wings—an utterly ordinary owl, the kind you'd see delivering mail at Hogwarts.
McGonagall froze, her grading quill hovering in midair, her eyes wide with shock.
Lucien had expected this reaction. Only Dumbledore knew he'd beco an Animagus, and after so discussion, they'd agreed he'd register with the Ministry of Magic over the sumr. So, why not give McGonagall a sneak peek?
His Animagus form wasn't fixed yet, so he could shift as he pleased. Getting caught as an unregistered Animagus would be a hassle—straight to Azkaban after graduation? No thanks. He hadn't read all the books in the library yet, and there was still so much to learn.
Lucien earned full marks, naturally, and left the exam room.
As the next student went in, he chatted with Harry and the others.
"Seamus Finnigan!" McGonagall's voice rang out from the exam room, equal parts furious and alard.
Seamus? That Gryffindor with a knack for explosions? What did he do to make McGonagall lose it like that?
Lucien glanced at the door, curious. A few minutes later, Seamus shuffled out, looking like he was about to cry, his nose twitching.
Harry got the story out of him, and it was… simple.
Seamus had blown up his mouse. The classroom was a ss.
After that little "incident," they moved on to the next exam.
In Potions, they had to brew a Forgetfulness Potion. Not too tough—unless you counted Snape's looming, soul-crushing supervision. Rumor had it one student got so nervous they tasted their potion to check it. A Forgetfulness Potion. If Snape hadn't stepped in, they might've downed the whole cauldron.
The final exam was History of Magic. Answer questions like, "Which wizard invented the self-stirring cauldron?" and you were golden.
Freedom at last!
After enduring a whole term, they could kick back for a week of fun before grades ca out and sumr break began.
"Man, that felt easier than the tests you made us do!" Ron said, grinning as he left the exam hall.
Hermione, anwhile, was comparing answers with Lucien, agonizing over a single question she'd gotten wrong.
Harry stayed quiet, clutching his forehead. That lightning-shaped scar was burning with pain.
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