Hogwarts Loan Magic System!!!! Chapter 169: Fudge’s Enthusiasm, Nicolas Flamel’s Invitation

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 na and the purpose of your visit?" a clear, feminine voice asked. It didn't co from the phone but seed 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 na 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 na 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 ca to a smooth stop. Lucien stepped out into a spacious hall. The floor was polished dark wood, and the peacock-blue ceiling shimred with shifting golden runes.

"So, this is the Ministry of Magic," Lucien said, taking it all in.

Since it was his first ti, 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 basent 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," ca 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 erald-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. Co in, co 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! rlin's beard, it's practically a miracle!"

Lucien was used to this kind of over-the-top praise. It was his first ti eting 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 ant 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 achievents deserve the Minister's attention and official record."

It was a ssage 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 tis, 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 docunt 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 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 mont, 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 soone 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 ti in Arica. 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 shimred 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 na on the back and grinned. Of course.

Nicolas Flal

(P.S. Sorry, I'm feeling under the weather today. The next chapter will co 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 ti to soak in the foreign sights, though. Dumbledore's parting words echoed in his mind: "Lucien, registering as an Animagus got thinking. Your Transfiguration skills are extraordinary—why not write a paper?"

A paper. Now that brought back mories.

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 chiric transformations or magical creature transformations. The forr 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 ti 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, do-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 do, 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 sa 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 lted 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 ca to mind was ancient. Lucien had never seen soone so old—his hair was so white it seed colorless, his face carved with wrinkles like canyons. He wore a crescent-white robe that couldn't hide his frail, skeletal fra.

The man floated toward him. Floated. Lucien glanced at the robe dragging on the floor and figured he was probably riding so 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 Flal."

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 t lightly.

[Ding!]

[Loan triggered: Jade Tablet Fragnt (Annual Loan)]

The Jade Tablet? Lucien recalled it was an Egyptian stone slab, said to hold the origins of alchemical knowledge. A fragnt, though? That was new—his system had never offered an incomplete loan before.

He released Nicolas' hand and ntally skimd 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 t 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 soone 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 Flal.

It wasn't surprising he'd notice sothing 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 sothing unique about feeling so… brittle, don't you think?"