Can the Philosopher's Stone cure illness?
(The answer is yes---otherwise, Voldemort wouldn't have risked everything to sneak into Hogwarts in his weakened state just to seize it.)
(But just like no potion can cure all diseases, the Stone isn't as omnipotent as the legends claim.)
Lucifer had never seen Daphne like this before. Anxious, hopeful, yet visibly afraid---afraid that the answer would disappoint her, afraid to face the truth.
For once, even he chose his words carefully. In front of Hermione, he gently held Daphne's hand and said,
"Daphne, alchemy at its core is about 'equivalent exchange'. The Philosopher's Stone is essentially a massive concentration of magical energy--- Its ability to grant immortality proves that magic can be converted into life force."
"Some illnesses... can be healed when the body is supplied with enough life force. But some... some actually 'feed off it'. In those cases, more life force just 'worsens the condition'."
His tone was soft, his eyes steady as he looked at Daphne, who had begun to calm down. "Let me guess---you're asking this for your sister, aren't you?"
"Mhm," Daphne nodded.
"So we need to approach this logically. I still don't know exactly what's wrong with your sister.... How could I give you any kind of promise without knowing the details? Can you tell me what's going on with her? The more I know, the better I can help."
Hermione was also watching Daphne now, holding her breath and keeping perfectly quiet. She knew the girl had a sick sister, and for her, Greengrass' would even trash away pure-blood ideology, and ask Lucifer for smuggling "Muggle items."
Daphne fell silent for a long time, clearly hesitating. At last, she took a deep breath and made up her mind.
"Actually, Astoria's condition isn't exactly an illness. It's a curse."
"A curse?!" Hermione gasped aloud. "Greengrass', someone cursed your sister? That's horrible!" 'Daphne was eleven---her sister couldn't be more than ten. Who could be cruel enough to curse a ten-year-old child?'
Voldemort (in spirit): Please. I cursed a one-year-old. Age is just a number.
But Daphne shook her head at Hermione's shock.
"This curse wasn't placed on Astoria specifically---it targets the entire 'Greengrass family. More than twenty of my ancestors have died from it. I had an aunt who died before I was even born. She was cursed too---"
"Since she was little, Astoria's been frail-sickly and weak. No matter how much we fed her, she stayed thin. The wind could knock her over... I don't know the specifics. I'm sure my mother does, but she's never told me."
Daphne finished in one breath and let out a long sigh.
Lucifer and Hermione both fell silent. There wasn't anything they could say. Empty words wouldn't help. Only solving the problem would ease Daphne's heart.
....Hermione suddenly stood up, prompting Daphne and him to look at her in confusion, "I'm going to the library. There might be records about similar curses."
Daphne was touched. Hermione could be insufferable when it came to asking her to stop competing for Lucifer's attention, but aside from that, she really was a good friend.
----Still, she tugged the girl back down to sit.
"Silly, Granger This is a hereditary curse passed down through generations. It's undoubtedly powerful dark magic. Even if the school has records, they'd be in the 'Restricted Section'. You think they'd just let you find something like that out in the open?"
Hermione thought about it and deflated, like a popped balloon, "You're right... Sorry, Greengrass..."
"You don't need to apologize. I'll find a way to cure Astoria," Lucifer finally spoke, drawing the girls' attention back to him. "Astoria's situation is tragic, but I doubt anything serious will happen to her right away. Our main task right now is still to study. Only by becoming stronger can we even hope to change things...."
Daphne and Hermione both nodded seriously. Seeing their motivation, Lucifer decided on the spot to squeeze in one more lesson that day.
'Using Slytherin as a motivator'
After her training ended, and Daphne's questions regarding "Muggle Television" being delivered to one of Greengrass' summer estate, and a DVD of 'Beauty and the Beast' were done, Lucifer stayed alone in the room, deep in thought.
Originally, he was not sure, if Philosophers's Stone really was under there, and had no intention of getting involved with it to check over.
Dumbledore must be watching it like a hawk. Cause no way, his collection would be stripped of Flamel's Alchemy books, the man has Gellert's photos placed there, let alone a good friend, he hid it on purpose.
----A first-year trying to steal it? He'd be crucified. But Daphne's guess had shaken Lucifer's resolve.
What if the Stone 'could help' Astoria? Or even Hermione whose magic was slowly vaning?
He couldn't pretend not to care. After all the time he'd spent bonding with Daphne Greengrass' since the start of term, and how she had treated Hermione during that Charms lecture incident, he had a soft spot now, or even felt like owed a 'favour.'
How could he not help?
"I've studied many curses, but for one to last that long through a bloodline... Magical one at that, without seeing her condition for myself, I can't make for solutions---"
"As for the Philosopher's Stone, though... that's worth a try. Or better yet, just go directly to Nicolas Flamel."
"Damn... The man's over six hundred years old and still kicking, with one woman...."
Even, Lucifer couldn't hide his awe.
----Any human who could create a Philosopher's Stone, and still pillow into the 'same wife' for ages--- clearly wasn't some fraud like those back then.
Flamel was on a whole different level, no infidelity, eh?
"That makes sense," Lucifer's eyes lit up. He suddenly realized he'd been stuck thinking in the wrong direction.
The guy who made the Philosopher's Stone was still alive. So why bother trying to steal the Stone, when you could just talk to the 'man?'
In an instant, Lucifer's plan shifted-from stealing the Stone... to finding a way to contact---
Nicolas Flamel. Either by in person, if not possible, at least using letters.
xxxxxx
----After Quirrell's first proper class back from Christmas holidays, Lucifer politely stopped him in the corridor.
"Mr. M-M-Morningstar," Quirrell said weakly, his voice still sounding frail, "Is something the matter?"
"I have a few questions I was hoping to ask you." Lucifer offered a polite smile, "But it's a bit crowded here. Perhaps we could speak in your office?"
Quirrell blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected a request like that from Lucifer of all people.
Still, he nodded, and Lucifer gave Hermione a glance to signal her to follow. They arrived at the 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' office-Lucifer's first time there.
Apparently, this wasn't just his first visit, he learned. It was the first time any student had ever entered Quirrell's office.
Lucifer looked around curiously.
The room was pretty standard: a large desk, a few rows of bookshelves. The only things that stood out were the bizarre trinkets and tribal souvenirs hanging on the walls, and a massive full-length mirror by the window.
----Quirrell had built up a persona of being a globe-trotting wizard who loved visiting primitive magical tribes. The weird decorations weren't too surprising.
"Mr. M-Morningstar," Quirrell said after shutting the door behind them, "Now then---what, what is it you wanted to ask?"
Inside the office, Quirrell seemed to regain some confidence. His voice wasn't nearly as shaky anymore. In fact, it had taken on a calm steadiness.
Lucifer, however, wasn't concerned about Quirrell making a move against him, he posed no threat. Even if it was Voldemort himself hiding inside his room..... He wasn't worried.
After all, he's the devil. Don't underestimate his eleven year old body, Lucifer was confident he could level half of Hogwarts with it, in ten minutes or so.
----That, right there, was the real reason, he dared to follow Quirrell to his office alone.
"Professor."
Lucifer casually pulled up a chair and sat across from Quirrell like he owned the place, "How's the back of your head doing these days?"
Quirrell's heart 'seethed' with murderous rage, but his face put on a mask of gratitude. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Morningstar. I'm fine now-just a few scratches."
"Good to hear." Lucifer smiled warmly, "I genuinely hope you'll be able to stick around until the end of the school year."
Quirrell blinked. What... did that mean? "Mr. Morningstar, what exactly are you trying to say?" he asked again, since boy hadn't answered the first time.
"Well," Lucifer said with a bashful look, "I saw you during the Quidditch match. You were casting a spell on Harry's broomstick, weren't you? Trying to make him fall to his death?"
Quirrell's expression didn't change, but a flash of killing intent flickered in his eyes, "I'm afraid I don't understand what you're talking about."
He smiled, "As mediocre as I may be, I'm still 'your' professor. Why would I ever harm a student? But now that you mention it, I do recall something odd----" His expression turned slightly alarmed.
"Professor Snape'... he was muttering something under his breath. Unfortunately, I was too far to hear. He's never liked Mr. Potter, you know."
"No worries, Professor."
Lucifer beamed, "Some people are already suspicious of Professor Snape. I'll handle being suspicious of you. Everyone can do their part."
'What the hell kind of division of labor is this? Even suspicion needs to be assigned?' Quirrell's hands twitched. He nearly lost control.
But it was what Lucifer said next that truly pushed him to the brink of murder.
"During the Halloween feast, mind my language, you smelled disgusting. Not your usual stench---worse. 'Almost exactly like the troll."
He tilted his head, eyes wide with faux curiosity, "Professor, you didn't... release that troll, did you?"
Lucifer looked to be in full detective mode, clearly enjoying himself, as he adjusted an imaginary pair of glasses and continued, completely ignoring the glint of danger in Quirrell's eyes.
"But why would you do that? It wasn't until I noticed Snape's injured leg that I realized---you weren't targeting Potter. You were after the thing Dumbledore's hiding on the third floor----I remember Potter telling me when Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley in July to shop for school supplies. He also visited... Gringotts that day... Same day, it was robbed. The vault that got hit? The one Hagrid used..."
He leaned forward, smiling, "Professor, was that you?"
Quirrell's fake smile finally collapsed, "Morningstar... you do know that accusing a professor 'without proof' is a serious violation of school rules?Spouting baseless stories like this-even if you tell Dumbledore or Snape---they won't believe you."
"Is that so? Let's find out." Lucifer stood as if he were about to march straight to the Headmaster's office.
"Wait-boy!" Quirrell called out, sighing, "Things... aren't what you think."
"You're 'admitting' it? Then I definitely have to tell the Headmaster you're the culprit!"
"Lucifer, I know a lot about you," Quirrell's tone changed suddenly, gentle, warm, even affectionatez "Just hear me out. If, after listening, you still want to go to 'Dumbledore..' I won't stop you."
Lucifer sat back down, nodding. He was all ears, "You're an orphan, raised by what a Muggle warden of a group home, essentially an orphanage, yes?"
----Heh, it seems Maze's story to Mcgonagall had gotten stuck of her just being a Guardian pit of sympathy, and spread throughout entire Hogwarts.
Anyway, it wasn't like he lied about not having "parents."
Quirrell's expression grew wistful. "In that sense, you and I aren't so different. My parents divorced when I was very young. Neither of them wanted me.... They just sent a tiny stipend each year and left me to fend for myself. How is that any different from being an orphan? ...I know how cruel poverty is. But do you know what 'treasure' Dumbledore's hiding on the third floor?"
"Oh?" Lucifer played along, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"The Philosopher's Stone," Quirrell said, eyes gleaming. "A legendary artifact that can brew the 'Elixir of Life' and transmute anything into pure gold!"
"Whoa..." Lucifer gasped, visibly impressed.
"Lucifer, I admire you deeply. You figured out so much just by following the clues. You're brilliant. Smarter than I am. But I've lived longer. I have advantages you don't...."
"You flatter me," Lucifer replied modestly.
Quirrell leaned forward, with his voice so sincere, it could almost fool the girl bathroom's dead Troll itself.
"Let's work together. Once we get the Philosopher's Stone, I'll give you mountains of gold. You'll never have to go back to that orphanage. You could buy a mansion, live freely. And we could share the 'Elixir of Life."
"Snape's our rival. He's the one who tried to kill Potter that day. I was actually protecting him---countering Snape's dark magic with my own spells....Think about it, Lucifer. If Snape gets the Stone, do you think he'll share it with 'you?' He won't. He'd kill to keep it secret."
"And if you tell Dumbledore? Even if he believes you, even if he acts, I have ways to escape. I can leave Hogwarts. But once I'm out, I will come for you. Can you stay here 'forever?"
"And what will Dumbledore give you? A few empty compliments? Ten house points? All of it is meaningless compared to 'immortality and limitless wealth!"
His logic was smooth. His tone, persuasive. If this had been any ordinary student, they might've been swayed----
Lucifer 'was' tempted. His eyes shimmered with greed, but for a very different reasons, immortality and limitless wealth, what non-sense, Quirrell was more or less offering bird poop to him...!
"Professor... you mean it?" he asked, his voice tinged with longing.
"Of course," Quirrell said confidently.
"Say it: 'British people don't lie to British people."
"British people don't lie to British people," Quirrell echoed, chuckling inside. 'You little idiot. I'm not British-I'm Welsh!'
"All right, then." Lucifer smiled like a kid who'd just been offered a lifetime of candy. But immediately, his expression grew guarded.
"Still, Professor, I don't fully trust you yet. You'll have to show a little sincerity...."
Quirrell frowned, "What do you want? Money?"
Lucifer waved his hand dismissively, the picture of a money-starved orphan, "Of course I want money."
He might as well empty the attacker's vault while he was at it, no harm, right?
"But I also want Gryffindor' to win the House Cup. We are a little short of points right now.... Behind Slytherin, I need 'upper-year students' off my back to contribute. That's how I'll make life easier here...."
He paused, then stated his true request, "So, Professor, I trust you won't be 'stingy' about awarding me a few... completely unimportant house points, right?"
xxxxxx
Lucifer's demand was perfectly reasonable-logical, even.
Quirrell, though a Ravenclaw alumnus, was well aware of the depth of Gryffindor''s internal workings.
Even if Morningstar was the teachers' golden boy, it didn't mean he was popular with his peers, even worse he has given hope to those lions for winning House Cup, they were going to pester him non-stop, especially since he was a "Snake" first.
----Getting himself down to stop earning was outside of the boy's nature, but he didn't want to work too hard either, so by doing this----'
Earning the House Cup to boost his standing within Gryffindor'--now that was a clever move. Securing a Professor to freely give points, like what Snape was for Slytherin.
'Kids would be kids. Handed such a prime opportunity for blackmail, and yet they wouldn't even use it properly.'
Quirrell chuckled inwardly, but outwardly he expressed hearty approval of Lucifer's idea. He promptly pulled out a pouch containing a hundred Galleons and handed it over, saying smoothly,
"Even as a professor, I need a reason to award House points. I can't just hand them out arbitrarily.... Don't worry, Lucifer. Next time in class, I'll call on you a 'few' more times. That way, the points you earn will be well-deserved."
"Thank you, Professor." Lucifer took the pouch with a satisfied nod, then asked, almost offhandedly, "Professor, how much does the school pay you every month?"
Quirrell didn't mind revealing that little secret, "I get a hundred and fifty Galleons. That's considered a high salary among regular professors. Heads of House make more, but not by a huge margin."
A hundred and fifty Galleons was, in the wizarding world, quite a lucrative wage. Your average Ministry worker made between thirty to fifty Galleons, slightly more depending on their role and department.
'But one-fifty? That was Department Head level. Quirrell's openness was deliberate-it was his way of showing how much he valued this "partnership."'
'I'm giving you most of my monthly salary. What a fantastic collaborator you are...' Lucifer nodded thoughtfully. "Alright then. I'll come pick it up again next month."
"Tw-two hun-huh?"
Quirrell froze mid-nod, his smile stiffening, "Lucifer... what did you just say?"
Lucifer looked at him, confused, "Isn't it a hundred Galleons per month?"
"Y-yes, yes... it is," Quirrell forced a smile, immediately reevaluating his earlier praise. 'This kid's a damn leech!'
"I'll be going now."
Lucifer gave a casual wave and strolled out of Quirrell's office, leaving no trace behind---except for a pouch a hundred Galleons lighter.
With him "securing" Hermione and his emotional grievances, wasteful resources of time looking for Flamel, instigated by Quirrell's involvement in Harry's match.
As the door clicked shut, Quirrell's face twisted with rage, like a demon shedding its mask.
"Let me out!"
Voldemort's voice was a harsh snarl.
Quirrell frantically unwrapped his turban and knelt before the full-length mirror.
On the back of his head, Voldemort's twisted face glared back at him. His pallid skin was now marred with bruises and cuts.
He hadn't looked 'this' terrible before---the Bludger had done a number on him. Not only was his face a mess, but his nose had been crushed inward. He now looked like... well, like someone with no nose at all.
Voldemort let out a dark, mirthless laugh, "How many years has it been... since someone dared to threaten me?"
"Master, why didn't you let me act just now?" Quirrell remained on his knees, confused. "Even if we can't kill him inside the castle, I could've used the Imperius Curse to control him and then erase his memory."
Everything he'd said earlier had been Voldemort's instructions. But Quirrell didn't understand--why go through so much trouble for a mere first-year?
"You idiot!"
Voldemort's voice was a whip-crack.
"Didn't you see the Gryffindor girl standing beside Morningstar when he stopped you? She knew you were up to something. She still came with him to your office---do you really think boy wouldn't have prepared for that?"
"And even if you did control him with the Imperius Curse, your 'pitiful' Dark Arts skills would need constant re-casting to maintain it."
"Dumbledore's already watching you closely. And Morningstar, who's constantly interacting with you, would eventually expose something. Why can't you think before you act?"
Voldemort lashed out in frustration. In his prime, someone like Quirrell wouldn't even qualify to be his follower---just a lackey, like the two dimwits always trailing behind Malfoy.
But now, with his powers so weak, all he could do was manipulate idiots like this with words. Anyone smarter, and he might lose control.
Still... there was another reason he hadn't let Quirrell go through with it.
That reason was... Lucifer's magic.
Even he had to admit... different. It was running through his veins, much stronger than Voldemort's weakened state at the moment---And Quirrell? 'Quirrell was nothing!' How dare he think he could control Morningstar?
Boy would have ripped both of them to shreds! Limb from limb----
"Just keep Morningstar appeased. Don't worry about your pathetic Galleons!' Voldemort spoke distractedly, "Once I'm resurrected, you'll be rewarded a thousandfold. Morningstar--I'll deal with him myself."
"You have two tasks now. First, figure out exactly what traps the professors have set up on the third---floor corridor."
"Second, gather the materials I need. I'm too weak right now---so weak I can barely help you at all."
Voldemort had never been this feeble.
When the Bludger hit Quirrell, he had absorbed nearly 80% of the damage.
That little reserve of strength he'd had? Almost completely gone.
These days, he'd spend three days unconscious, two barely alive, and one just clinging to existence.
Quirrell bowed low. Even in Voldemort's weakest state, he had no thought of resisting. His life was no longer his own. Still, he took the chance to complain.
"Master, Snape's been watching me like a bloodhound. He's got some bizarre grudge against me... Acts like I 'robbed his house' or something. He was a Death Eater once, wasn't he? Now look at him, working for Dumbledore like the perfect little soldier."
"Death ends all loyalty." Voldemort sneered. "And not just Snape---how many others threw themselves into Azkaban the moment I fell? I wasn't there to see it, but I know. Those pureblood families---they were the first to grovel and surrender."
"But what does it matter? The moment I return to power, they'll all be on their knees again, kissing the hem of my robes. 'Snape' included."
"Should I contact him now?" Quirrell asked hesitantly, "If he learns that you're alive, and that I'm working toward the Philosopher's Stone for you, maybe he'll help us-"
"Who said you could decide that?!"
"АААННН-!"
Quirrell screamed in agony, clutching his skull. It felt like a thousand silver needles had pierced straight into his brain.
"You do exactly what I tell you," Voldemort growled. "Don't try to use that pathetic excuse of a brain to take shortcuts. You think I haven't already considered what you just did?"
"You really think Snape would choose me, weak as I am---less than human-or Dumbledore? Without me, you're a worthless failure. But Snape? He's a Potions Master. He'll thrive no matter whom he 'serves!'
"He's not the same as you, 'you useless idiot!"
Quirrell wept openly, groveling for forgiveness. It took a long time before Voldemort's fury subsided.
Meanwhile, back on his way to Gryffindor common room, he returned with an extra hundred Galleons in his pocket and a spring in his step.
Hermione walked alongside curiously with big eyes, 'what good deeds happen to him?'
xxxxxx
Lucifer pulled a notebook from his bag, and tore out a page. He copied something onto it, then used a 'Mending Charm' to restore the notebook.
"Good work, Hermione. Here, this is my insight into Stunning Spell. It should help you... increase both casting and projectile speed."
She accepted the note like it was a sacred treasure. Harry and Ron's eyes turned bloodshot with envy.
This kind of thing? Even Weasely families considered it arcane secrets never to be shared. People always wondered---why could the same spell differ so greatly in power when cast by different wizards?
The reasons were many, but spell casting technique was a big one. Skilled wizards often customized spells to suit themselves better. Go a step further, and you were improving the spells---making them easier to learn or more powerful.
That was the mark of 'true heritage'.
Any family worth its salt had at least a few secret techniques or forbidden spells. If not, how could they call themselves a proper wizarding family?
Ron was a pure-blood, he knew the value of what Lucifer just handed over, and explained it to Harry to understand properly.
'Gulp.' Hermione stared blankly for a moment before swallowing hard, "Lucifer... are you sure I can have this?"
The Stunning Spell was basic, yes, but used well, it could give you the upper hand in a fight. The reward felt so immense she was scared to accept it.
"If I wasn't giving it to you, would I waste my time copying it?" Lucifer waved a hand dismissively. "Just don't come up with excuses next time I ask you to write a few parchments."
"I swear I won't!" Hermione said quickly, sounding almost panicked, "I'll even pay for the quill, ink and pages myself!"
"Lucifer, mate, is there anything I can do for you?" Harry asked eagerly, "I'm not great at writing, but I can help with chores or errands!"
Ron nodded so hard he nearly gave himself whiplash. "Same here!"
"You two..." Lucifer looked at them with a half-smile, half-sigh, "Why don't you figure out what you're actually good at first, then we'll talk."
'Damn it. So this is the power of having a skill.' Harry and Ron fell into deep thought. What were they good at?
Eating? Slacking? Skipping class?
xxxxxxx
Ever since receiving Lucifer's reward, Hermione Granger had undergone a complete transformation.
In Charms class, she paid rapt attention. After class, girl practically lived in the library. Any spare time went to practicing Lucifer's improved Stunning Spell.
She was a stark contrast to her two freeloading roommates. Lavender and Parvati were baffled. 'We agreed to be deadweight together at tea one afternoon---how could you just start trying all of a sudden?'
The power of example was undeniable. Even if the two still hated studying, the fear of being left behind-and embarrassed-pushed them to study harder too.
They couldn't match Hermione's work ethic of course, but compared to the rest of the first--years, they were way ahead.
Take Harry, for example.
He seemed born with a sense of 'righteousburden'-deeply convinced that the school's professors were incompetent parasites. How could anyone trust them to protect Dumbledore's treasure?
So lately, Harry had been slacking off in class, pouring most of his energy into one thing: 'Who exactly is Nicolas Flamel?'
Hermione hadn't told him. Boo....
She believed that if the treasure was truly so important, Dumbledore would've taken every possible precaution. If his protections failed, what could 'Harry' possibly do?
After trying to reason with him a few times and getting nowhere, she gave up her savior complex and focused solely on improving herself.
Lucifer's rate of improvement was even faster. With the help of his Strengthening Potion, his body and magical reserves were evolving every week... His learning speed remained steady, but his overall capabilities were rising fast.
As for Quirrell-ever since that talk with him, he'd started making good on his promise, handing out House Points like candy.
Naturally, 'someone' was starting to notice.
xxxxxx
Ever since Quirrell returned to teaching, the students' suffering resumed in full.
He hadn't picked up any of Snape's better habits still the same routine: read the textbook, recite the textbook, write your reflections. Nothing new.
Actually... there was one change.
Quirrell smelled 'worse' than ever, pungent enough to make students suspect he had somehow ascended into garlic-based sentience. And to make matters worse, he now enforced a strict "no windows open" rule in class. So not only were students learning nothing, they also had to endure chemical warfare every lesson. Who wouldn't pass out?
The library's entire collection of olfactory-blocking charms and potion books had been borrowed dry. The waitlist stretched into the following year.
But for Lucifer, Quirrell's return was undeniably a 'good thing!'
Quirrell had begun calling on him to answer questions in class, or help collect homework---little favors that came with steady rewards: one or two points each time. It didn't seem like much per class, but over time, it added up fast.
With two 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' classes each week, by January, Gryffindor' despite an early term of relentless point deductions---had surged ahead of Ravenclaw by 20 points.
And over just a few weeks, Lucifer had single-handedly earned 80+ points from Quirrell.
Put simply: 'the heartbreak of all lost six Gryffindor' years to soothe was resting squarely on his shoulders!'
xxxxxxx
Harry had trudged back in one day after practice with some grim news.
"Snape is going to be refereeing the next Quidditch Match!?" Ron asked in a yell.
"Don't play," Hermione said at once.
"Say you're ill," Lucifer told him.
"Pretend to break your leg," Ron suggested.
"I can break your leg," Lucifer waved his little hand excitedly, which only earned him a smack on his thigh, from Hermione.
"I can't, Gryffindor doesn't have a reserve Seeker... if I back out, Gryffindor won't be able to play at all, and we'll be completely out of the running for the House Cup," Harry lamented, not wanting entire burden to drop on Lucifer, he could understand the weight, it holds.
Hermione on the other hand, still had her right palm on Lucifer's thigh, and didn't seem to have any intention of removing it.
Only, when he felt, her fingers started to really get close to his private region, he decided to stop her, "Um, Hermione...do you mi---"
Before, he could finish his sentence, Neville was jumping into the Common Room through the portrait hole, his legs locked together.
Lucifer recognized it as the Leg-Lock Curse, which was more of a Jinx or Hex than Curse. He fell forward onto his face and everyone in the Common Room fell over laughing.
Lucifer looked at him pitifully, and it was Hermione, who decided to ask, "Neville? What happened?"
"Malfoy happened..." he said miserably as she performed the Counter-Spell from her seat, "I met him outside the Library and he said about, looking for someone to practice the spell on."
"Go to Professor McGonagall," Hermione said, urging him to do something, "Report him!"
"Ow! Ow! Granger!" She was really gripping him tightly, now. And, it didn't seem to lose any moment, unless, Lucifer directly forced her to remove them.
No one was paying attention to this boy's screaming, and Neville was also reluctant, "I don't want more trouble..."
"....If you don't stand up for yourself, no one will," Lucifer said, in a rough voice, but to be honest, this dialogue was more pointing towards his own issues, "Fuck."
Neville also whimpered and, then ran to the dorms. Lucifer watched him go, but he didn't feel remorseful for his actions, "Look what you did..." Hermione was upset with him.
"....." Lucifer, who already felt quite pain in his nether regions, especially his cock, which seemed to have become alive, and trying to cause trouble.
That's why, he wanted to leave, and pay a small visit towards the bathroom, so he moved sideways quickly, which led his cock, to gain freedom.... that grip was really quite insane.
Lucier felt quite relieved at the moment, and then stood up to move towards the Gryffindor portrait hole.
"Where are you going?"
Only, Hermione wasn't impressed, with this kind of response, and directly stood up to argue, with him, "I'm not done talking with y-
"Outside to freeze," he said shortly and just left the Common Room, hurriedly. She didn't see him for the rest of the afternoon until Dinner time.
Lucifer didn't look worse for wear, but when she placed a hand on him, he was really cold to the touch, "You're an idiot, you know that?"
"What ... I like snow... " he just smiled at her in return.
That's why, Hermione sat even closer to him than usual, (which was already a lot), bumping her shoulder with his, and if she went any further, Lucifer may just put the girl on his lap instead.
"You're still an idiot." After saying, this, Hermione suddenly went closer to his ear, and muttered "But you are my idiot."
"So you've said," he smiled and just began to eat dinner.
xxxxxx
The Quidditch Match drew nearer and Harry had informed his three friends that he was going to play and not look like a coward to Slytherins for not wanting to play in a game their Head of House was refereeing.
Lucifer noticed that Snape was becoming more and more unbearable in Potions class towards Potter, trying to balance off the points, he silently mourned internally for a minute.
----It didn't seem like he let it bother him, but he knew that it was torture to Harry's psyche.
Just before the match, the three of them wished Harry good luck.
Lucifer knew he would be fine, but he still brought his wand, like Hermione and Ron did.
He reluctantly helped Ron learn the 'Leg-Lock Curse', Locomotor Mortis, in Common Room, after they got the idea from when Mafloy used it on Neville.
They were in the stands, Lucifer with his wand in his invisible holster, and saw the look on Neville's face. It showed confusion, which made sense, since he didn't know why they had their wands.
"Locomotor Mortis" Ron's voice reached both Neville, and Hermione's ears, he was muttering that incantation under his breath.
While, Lucifer was busy watching the teams march onto the field, and then glanced at the teachers stand, "Look, Dumbledore's here, now, Snape won't try anything with him here."
"I've never seen Snape look so mean..." Ron said, which finally caused Lucifer to blink his eyes from his monologue, and look towards his direction as well.
"They're off-ow!" Ron yelped.
He turned to see Malfoy standing there with his two goons, "Oh, sorry Weasley, I didn't see you there. Didn't McGonagall tell you to scrub the toilets?" The blonde demanded more than asked.
"....." Ron, who tried his best to keep this matter secret.
And, Hermione who was clearly enjoying his humiliation, did not even try to cover her laughter, that's what you get for not turning homework on time, and talking in class.
Ron stood up and aimed his wand at Malfoy, "I had enough of you, git," he tried to hit him with Knockback Jinx.
Only, he missed the aim and hit Millicent Bulstrode with it. Lucifer chuckled foreseeing such might happen with the way he handled his wand, then turned back around and tried to pay attention to players flying.
----But, Draco wasn't done with them yet, however, "You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor Team? I think they feel sorry for them." He said Crabbe and Goyle started laughing, "Take Potter, for example, he's got no parents. The Weasley's have no money. You should be their Mascot, Longbottom, you've got no brains."
----Ron turned back around and socked Draco right in the face. It wasn't a hard punch, but his nose was beginning to bleed.
His two goons, then also advanced on Ron, which made him fall down, and Crabbe began laughing. Then, Malfoy and his henchmen also saw a perfect chance, to gain the upper hand, and started beating him----
After having their fun, they all walked away leaving a very bloody Ron behind.
Meanwhile, Lucifer was enjoying the game, with Hermione almost yelling, into his ears, "Come on, Harry!"
So, he turned around, and saw Gryffindor's seeker, go into a dive right towards Snape.
Harry whizzed right past the biased Professor and pulled up from the dive, the Snitch clutched in his hand.
The Gryffindor stand erupted in applause. They'd never seen a match end so quickly before----
The Gryffindor's rushed the field and hoisted Harry into the air, Hermione, Lucifer were both cheering from a distance.
While, Dean was taking a messy Ron to the hospital wing.
They returned to the Common Room without Harry as he had to put away his Nimbus, and Gryffindor decided to party about the record-breaking Match victory.
----They were waiting for a while for Harry to come back to the Common Room.
"Maybe we should go look for him?" Hermione suggested and they left the Common Room, only to run into said person just outside of the Portrait, "Harry, where have you been?"
"Mate, we won! You won! We won!" Ron covered with bandages was shouting, "You should've seen the way I handled Malfoy and his goons , gave him a bloody nose after he insulted me and Neville. It was great! Everyone's waiting for you in the Common Room: to congratulate you!"
"Never mind that now," Harry said breathlessly, having clearly run all the way here, "Let's find an empty room, I have something important to tell you three!"
They followed him to an empty room, Harry checked for Peeves just before shutting the door, "So I remembered Neville's mention of Chocolate frog, it had Flamel! Not that just, it is the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy and he something about Quirrell's 'hocus- pocus'----"
"---I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments probably, and Quirrell would have done some 'anti-Dark Arts spell' which Snape would need to break throu---"
Even though, Harry was quite excited to gossip, his fast paced momentum was then directly ruined.
"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" Hermione asked, the color draining from her face.
"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron said, sighing.
"You're asking for a lot from Quirrell to stand against Snape," Lucifer facepalmed, it seems Potter somehow got led around to believe insane things, and had utterly 'good luck', trying to lighten the mood.
Judging by their faces, it didn't work.
xxxxxx
Though Dumbledore rarely appeared in public, nothing within the school escaped his notice. He quickly picked up on this anomaly and used his authority to check the points ledger.
----Upon reviewing the records, the Headmaster fell silent. Quirrell had given Gryffindor' over 80 points in a single month---
'All to Lucifer Morningstar'
If that didn't 'smell' fishy, then Dumbledore was a Blast-Ended Skrewt in disguise. After a long pause, he summoned Snape and shared the findings.
Snape had actually been in a complicated mood. Things had been tacky, and busy lately: Slytherin's lead was diminishing, to make up he was docking points from Potter, and even went to referee Quidditch.
---Quirrell hadn't caused any disasters--- life was, for once, moderatly tolerable.
Until Dumbledore dropped the bomb.
Snape's face turned stormy in an instant. 'So... all of Gryffindor''s points came from Quirrell?'
Just what the hell was Lucifer Morningstar up to?
"I'll handle it," Snape growled, already striding out the door like a thundercloud in human form.
At the time, Lucifer was in the common room teaching Hermione how to braid string into a flower knot when someone came in saying Snape was looking for him.
----He blinked in confusion but went obediently to the Potions Master's office, for the second time, this year.
He barely had time to sit down when Snape cut right to the chase.
"Morningstar. What's going on between you and Quirrell?"
His tone was razor-sharp, "In one month, he gave you eighty points. What is he 'your long-lost father?'"
"Professor," Lucifer said, frowning, "I can't help but notice your sarcasm has gotten even sharper lately. That was genuinely offensive. If Quirrell were really my father, I'd be studying the three 'Unforgivable Curses' by now."
"Don't joke with me," Snape snapped. "Explain. Why is Quirrell giving you so 'many points?"
Lucifer casually settled into the chair across from him and spoke with practiced honesty: "Well, the explanation's simple. I found out he was trying to kill Harry during the Quidditch match... and that he's after the Philosopher's Stone. So I used that to blackmail him... He not only agreed to give me points, but also promised me a hundred Galleons a month."
"And once he gets the Stone, we're supposed to split the Elixir of Life and any gold made from it 'fifty-fifty."
"...???" Snape's entire mind filled with question marks. 'Was this kid seriously being this honest? Wait no.'
His demeanor shifted at once. A dangerous gleam lit his eyes as he fixed Lucifer with an intense stare.
"How do you know about the Philosopher's Stone?"
Lucifer calmly repeated the story, laying it all out again. Snape's tension slowly ebbed. He leaned back in his chair and... laughed.
Yes---genuinely laughed.
Turns out, some kinds of speechlessness do lead to laughter.
'Dumbledore, look at the people you trust', Snape thought bitterly, 'A few first years managed to wring your biggest secrets out of Hagrid, your most loyal follower.'
"What, you want the Stone for yourself?" Snape asked abruptly.
"Of course," Lucifer said, voice open and sincere, "But I can't beat Dumbledore just yet."
Snape didn't even look at him. He simply pointed to the door.
"Get out."
Just before Lucifer stepped out, Snape's cold voice followed him:
"Stay away from Quirrell. Don't meet with him alone. 'Know your limits', Morningstar."
"Got it, Professor," Lucifer replied cheerfully, waving as he closed the door behind him.
xxxxxx
That night, Snape relayed everything to Dumbledore.
And the Headmaster... could only chuckle helplessly.
He was certain Lucifer had no real designs on the Philosopher's Stone. If he did, he wouldn't have been so blatant about spilling the details.
Snape, of course, couldn't pass up the opportunity to jab at Dumbledore.
"This is your 'secret weapon,' huh? That half-giant may be loyal to a fault, but what other virtue does he have?"
"And look at the mess he's made every time, you have to clean it up. Dumbledore, if you don't rein him in, one of these days, he'll cause a catastrophe you can't contain."
"Potter didn't even ask anything. Hagrid just spilled the beans like a busted cauldron. I'm starting to think my missing potion supplies were stolen by 'him' to brew Veritaserum as drinking water!"
If the author himself were re-incarnated here, he'd probably declare Snape a prophetic genius on the spot. Because Hagrid's troublemaking had only just begun.
(Next came magical creature injuries, illegal breeding of Blast-Ended Skrewts... Any one of those offenses would land someone else in Azkaban---but Hagrid? Still bouncing around Hogwarts and even promoted to professor.)
"This isn't about loyalty," Dumbledore replied calmly. "Hagrid trusts me, the same way I trust you. We're not in a hierarchy. We're friends with a shared purpose."
Snape gave him a tight-lipped smile.
'So this is what a White Dark Lord from Gryffindor sounds like?'
Only Dumbledore could turn cold, hard facts into such moving declarations of trust. Against someone like Hagrid, that's more effective than all of Voldemort's theatrics combined.
"What now, then?" Snape asked. "Even students are learning about the Stone. You really think Quirrell won't succeed?"
"I'm confident in my protections," Dumbledore replied. "But... I agree. Some rules need to change to make sure no child stumbles into danger. I'll handle it."
Snape narrowed his eyes. It suddenly clicked. 'Dumbledore wanted Potter to dig deeper, to uncover more secrets. But why?'
"Dumbledore," he asked suddenly, "can the Philosopher's Stone be used... to become more powerful?"
The old wizard gave him a curious look.
"Severus?"
Dumbledore looked at Snape with mild surprise. He'd thought he understood Severus Snape inside and out, but that question just now proved he might have been wrong.
Snape clarified with a rare edge of earnestness:
"Nicolas Flamel entrusted the Philosopher's Stone to you. That implies he's left its use up to your discretion. If it could be used to amplify 'your power'... wouldn't that make you better prepared to face the Dark Lord?"
Dumbledore mulled that over for a moment, "In theory... yes. But in truth, the Stone's power has been nearly exhausted. And even a perfect 'Philosopher's Stone' wouldn't have made that much difference."
He chuckled lightly. "If it did, Nicolas wouldn't be stuck at his current magical level. To be honest... ah, never mind."
Compared to his legendary alchemical accomplishments, Nicolas Flamel's magical prowess had always been underwhelming, to say the least.
"I see," Snape sighed, not with disappointment for Dumbledore-but for Lucifer.
Because deep down, Snape knew Albus would never rely on external power to strengthen himself. His question had been more about whether the Philosopher's Stone could be of use to Lucifer Morningstar.
The notion of nurturing a new Dark Lord-one with control, intellect, and perhaps even a moral compass-still lingered at the edges of Snape's mind.
And with each new display of talent from Lucifer, that fantasy felt increasingly tangible.
Losing out on a shortcut like the Stone stung, and disappointment showed plainly on his face. The conversation, to him, had already ended.
But Dumbledore wasn't finished yet. With an awkward smile, he hesitantly brought up another matter, "Severus... about those House points Gryffindor''s been receiving..."
Snape's face turned into a smirk instantly.
"They stay," he said sharply. "If you dock any points, Quirrell will sense something's wrong. He'll realize Morningstar's spoken to you. So, return the deducted points in a discreet way to young Lucifer."
"But it's unfair to the other Houses!"
Snape protested grimly, awarding points, giving detailed information he could manage---but this?
Dumbledore calmed him down gently, "Even with those points, Slytherin still stands a strong chance of winning the House Cup."
Snape shot back immediately:
"All for the greater good, Albus. Sacrifice the small for the sake of the larger plan. I have not forgotten how this works, what about you?"
Dumbledore let out a resigned sigh. "You don't need to remind me, have I not neglected 'your disdain' towards young Harry the entire year?"
Tsk, as much as he disliked it, Snape knew, Albus wasn't wrong. It really wasn't worth risking Quirrell's suspicion just to even out the scoreboard----'Besides, perhaps it could be seen as a reward--for Morningstar's restraint, for valuing principles over power.'
"Principles over power. I'll see what I can do in giving it back..."
When Dumbledore saw that Snape wouldn't argue further, a faint smile tugged at his own lips, as one of his best Professor's turned and left the office without another word.
"It seems he has won Severus's inner heart over..."
xxxxxx
.....Hermione found out she had an affinity for casting spells correctly and efficiently on her third or fourth try. The practical application of spells was the most fun of any of the classes, she thought, and she was getting good at it, she wouldn't lie.
The Practical Application of spells could only get you so far, though, so when she again suggested they start revising their notes, and making up time-tables for doing so, she was somehow able to win over Lucifer was in agreement.
Using the excuse of her writing essays, which in turn definitely 'required' Lucifer to practice for attempting "exams on his own", what a devious little witch, he thought.
----It was the smart way to go about it since their exams were now roughly ten weeks away.
Harry and Ron didn't understand why they had started revising, but oh, when they had asked, Hermione set him straight, "What am I revising for? Are you mad?" They just blinked as they looked at her.
"I'll take that as a yes," Lucifer whispered to her.
She ignored him, "You realize we need to pass these exams to get into Second Year, right? They're very important, I should've started studying a month ago, honestly."
"Weasely's not wrong this time you already know all of it, like I do, that's why I am just going to rest until next weekend," Lucifer smirked at her, but Hermione got irritated and thought about her 53rd way of removing that smirk.
At night, he started reading more about perfecting his Disillusionment spell and occlumency. To be honest, he didn't want to use Harry's stolen cloak, no matter how "deathly foolproof" it was.
Much to Harry's and Ron's dismay, the teachers thought along the same lines as Hermione and began piling on the homework, which, of course, meant the Easter Holiday wasn't nearly as enjoyable as the Christmas one, but Lucifer and Hermione were able to enjoy it some because they got their homework done asap.
Compared to Christmas, Easter break was short---just seven days. Most students stayed behind, but Daphne decided to go home. She missed her little sister and wanted to see for herself that she was healthy enough for school next year or not.
She nearly burst into tears when she left. It wasn't until Tracey Davis solemnly promised to call her every night using the double-sided mirror that she finally, reluctantly, climbed into the carriage----
Lucifer who had gone to watch the students leave also let out a long sigh of relief and headed back, intending to ask the house-elves for some afternoon tea.
While, leaving the last two days of break free to do whatever their heart desired, which to Hermione, that meant more revisions for their exams a couple months from then and her extra curricular activities at night, which only meant settling between Lucifer's legs, and do more practice, like she thought earlier.
xxxxxxx
The four of them were in the Library one afternoon, Harry and Ron were seemingly bored out of their damn minds, not that Lucifer could exactly blame them, but he didn't find the studying to be a chore.
That didn't mean he thought they should spend all of their free time doing this, but he figured he should at least get First Year out of the way before suggesting to her that they tone it back a little bit.
Lucifer was playing, with his gold coin when Ron spoke up, "Hagrid! What are you doing in the Library?"
The tall man himself shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back.
He looked rather out of place, being in his moleskin overcoat, and just the fact he was incredibly tall, "Jus' lookin'," he said in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. "An' what are you lot up ter?" He asked, suddenly looking suspicious, "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicholas Flamel, are yeh?"
"Oh, no we found out who he is ages ago," Ron said, sounding impressed with himself. "And we know what that dog's guarding, it's the Phil-" he didn't get to finish as Harry smacked his shoulder.
Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was paying attention to them, "Don' go shoutin' about that, what's the matter with yeh?"
"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," Harry said, gaining Hagrid's attention, "about what's guarding the stone, well, apart from Fluffy-"
"SSHHHH!" Hagrid said, slightly irked, "Listen - come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh-"
"Alright, see you later then, Hagrid," Harry said to him as he shuffled away.
"What was he hiding behind his back?" Hermione asked in a thoughtful tone.
"You think it had something to do with the Stone?" Harry asked them.
"I'll go check," Lucifer said, standing up and disappearing for a moment.
Leaving Hermione to frown, who was secretly touching his forearms to feel his toned muscles. But, he did return a moment later with a pile of books, "Dragons!"
Lucifer whispered loudly, "Hagrid was looking up stuff about Dragons, Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."
"Hagrid said he's always wanted a dragon... he told me so the first time I ever met him," Harry revealed to them.
"But it's against our laws," Ron informed them, "Dragon-breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles noticing if we're keeping dragons in the back garden - anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You three should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."
"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain, are there?" Harry asked him.
"Of course there are," Ron said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Common Welsh Greens and the Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you.... Our lot has to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."
"I would certainly like to ride a Ukranian Ironbelly one day," Lucifer was starting to get excited, maybe he could go looking for escaped dragons in the holidays schedule.
Hermione started up at him, in horror, "No, you won't!" and, then started hitting him with her book, while secretly promised to never let him be near a dragon anytime.
xxxxxx
Naturally, Harry and Ron were now busy worrying about, the Philosopher Stone's safety--as if 'they were' in charge of guarding it.
Lucifer chuckled and didn't interfere. This was actually a good thing. If anything happened to the Stone, he'd find out through them immediately.
Who knew if Quirrell might figure out the traps earlier than expected and strike ahead of schedule?
After exiting the Library, next DADA class, Lucifer noticed something strange---Quirrell was looking paler by the day. It was hard to say if that someone was squeezing him dry or just the weight of his own anxiety---but the man looked like he was about to snap.
Class needed with garlic's smell everywhere, it ruined their mood of visiting Hagrid's hut for the day.
xxxxxx
With a sigh, Lucifer closed the book in his hands and returned it to the shelf.
Most of the materials he found only talked about the economic value of 'Unicorns-how' to harvest their hair, sell their horn shavings, breed them, etc. Not a word on how to gain their 'trust.'
But that was no surprise. Most wizards didn't want a unicorn as a companion. They wanted ingredients.
No matter how pure or majestic the creature might be, it was still classified as a 4X magical beast-dangerous under the right conditions.
That evening, during a training session inside his pocket dimension space, Grindelwald noticed Lucifer still brooding over the "Unicorn problem." That creature never submitted to him.
---The devil in him even tried 'Lilith's breast milk', to no appeal!
....He offered a suggestion.
"Why not ask Dumbledore? The man's read everything. He might have something useful to say."
Lucifer gave him a slow, crooked smile. He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what Grindelwald was trying to pull.... Still, he agreed to the plan-on one condition.
Grindelwald had to brew a special kind of 'milk--ahem', he meant magic---specially tailored to Lucifer's unique constitution.
Strictly speaking, if you're inventing a spell, you ought to be doing it all by yourself, right? That's what "original creation" means.
But the reality of Wizarding world is... a bit more flexible. A lot of so-called "original" spells are just existing ones that have been tweaked, slightly reworked, or creatively combined.
Take Grindelwald's infamous magical gas burner in Paris, for example. He called it Protego Diabolica, sounded impressive. But in essence? Just a combination of the 'Fiendfyre curse and Legilimency', mashed together into a clever fusion.
Lucifer could've asked Grindelwald to craft spells tailored to his own casting style and strengths--- Then he could learn them, modify them based on personal experience, and refine them into something uniquely his.
Other people might learn a spell and master it to about 50%, and after years of training, maybe reach 80%.
But him? He started at 80% sometimes even 90%. After his tweaks, it'd hit a flawless 100%. That kind of efficiency saved 'him tons of effort'... assuming, of course, he had a legendary magical powerhouse working behind the scenes for a near year (that's the limit of his soul being able to handle that worldly dimension) like overqualified tutor. After that, he would leave the man alone in his prison, waiting for death and soul to be damned.
That was the trade-off. For Lucifer to stay ahead of the curve, Grindelwald had to work overtime. When he heard Lucifer's idea, he was stunned.
"You little slacker," Grindelwald muttered, half-admiring, half-disbelieving.
Trust Lucifer to even find shortcuts in inventing magic. Sure, it saved him effort---but it meant he was about to get very, very busy---
Grindelwald, hesitated first.. He finally agreed... on one condition'
"Every time you go to Dumbledore," he said, "you have to open this Space. I want to hear every word you 'two exchange."
Lucifer didn't argue. Few minutes of sentimental eavesdropping for Grindelwald in exchange for uninterrupted study time?
That was a bargain. Around when the next year would start, no contact between the two be the norms. This prisoner's desire of left alone had a strong boundary which couldn't be unraveled.
These days, man's health looks better in his dimension---it was always Lucifer going in to give the man some "emotional therapy." He chalked this arrangement up to a fair salary for his world-class private instructor.
Once the terms were set, he didn't waste time. The very next minute, he made plans to visit Dumbledore. But not immediately.
----First, he sent a house-elf with a message to check the old man's availability. When Dumbledore confirmed he was free in the evening, they scheduled a meeting for 6 p.m.
In the meantime, he invited Hermione out for a walk.
---The weather was still frigid, but with Quidditch season started, Gryffindor's training had worsened.
Even from a considerable distance, Lucifer could hear Oliver Wood bellowing at the Weasley twins. The man's obsession with the sport bordered on pathological.
He figured if Wood had been around a century earlier during Phineas Nigellus Black's tenure as Headmaster---when all Quidditch was suspended---he might've been the first student in Hogwarts history to 'assassinate' the Headmaster.
It was one of those rare, sunny days at Hogwarts, and many students had ventured out to enjoy it. The air was crisp, the grass still frosted, and the atmosphere unusually relaxed.
As they strolled near Hagrid's hut, Lucifer spotted a few Gryffindor students standing far from the front steps, teasing Fang, the half-giant's massive boarhound.
----The dog was tied securely to the door, but even so, he snarled and barked, baring his teeth at the scraps of jerky they dangled just out of reach.
Lucifer didn't need to check their robes to know---only Gryffindors could be that obnoxious.
"They're being awful, it makes me feel ashamed," Hermione huffed, glaring at the cruel little scene. He found Fang ugly-truly. But Granger?
She thought he was ugly in a 'cute' way. "So ugly he's adorable," she'd say. Without hesitation, Hermione pulled out two beef jerky sticks from her snack pouch and walked over to place them gently into Fang's dish.
The moment food hit the bowl, Fang stopped reacting to the other kids. With their 'toy' now uninterested, the Gryffindor boys shot Lucifer and Hermione a sour look and started to walk away--grumbling, annoyed.
Lucifer actually laughed. He didn't just feel annoyed--he felt vindictive.
"Locomotor Mortis."
Before any of them could blink, their legs snapped together, locked tightly by invisible magical cords. Caught off guard, they toppled one by one like dominoes-faces first into the frosty grass.
"Morningstar'! What the hell are you doing?!" one of the older boys shouted, red-faced.
"Undo the curse-now!"
"Attacking your own house!"
Being Hogwarts' top student meant even upper years recognized him. But Lucifer simply stared down at them, coldly. He had even tried to kill his own father, let alone some randome Gryffindor' housemates.
"You think it's fine to act worse than a dog?" he sneered. "Well, then crawl like one. Let's see if anyone bothers helping you now."
The insult hit harder than the spell.
Furious, humiliated, the older students could only lie there and seethe, swearing to get revenge one day--once they could stand up again.
As they awkwardly hopped and flopped their way back to the castle, Hermione couldn't hold it in. She giggled uncontrollably.
"Gryffindor Tower, all the way at the 'top?" she teased. "That's gonna be a long climb."
"They had it coming," Lucifer said flatly. "They started it."
In truth, he thought Gryffindors were the actual "problem children" of Hogwarts.
Hufflepuffs were quiet, obedient---nothing to worry about there. Ravenclaws? Most were girls, making up nearly two-thirds of the House. That gender imbalance plus their obsessive study habits meant they were too busy for drama.
Slytherins only caused trouble when pride was involved--or when facing off against Gryffindors. Otherwise, they kept to themselves.
The real chaos always came from Gryffindor: adrenaline junkies with no impulse control, endlessly poking into things they shouldn't touch.
"Lucifer... what if they go to Professor McGonagall to tattle?" Hermione suddenly looked worried.
Lucifer shook his head.
"Don't worry. Gryffindors are too proud to tattle. If any tattling's going to happen, it'll come from a Slytherin." He smirked.
"Gryffindors would rather swallow their teeth than admit they got hexed by a younger student."
Even if they did rat him out, what would they say? "Professor, we bullied a dog and then glared at a younger student who hexed us for it"?
Please. They'd be a laughingstock by breakfast.
Hermione nodded slowly. "You're right. Even I am too proud to complain about stuff like that..."
Lucifer gave Fang a few scratches on the head before glancing at Hagrid's empty hut---- he spotted Daphne having a picnic with Bulstrode, and Davis, with packed lunch boxes, pouring tea with elegance... ?
No wonder she gets cold too often.
Those biscuits looked too cute to be out on the plate, and eaten. Taking advantage of the moment, he told Hermione to stay off there---who gasped loudly, as he took Daphne by the hand and led her into the nearby grove. 'In front of my very eyes! This boy?! Merlin, what do I do with him....!'
There, away from prying eyes, he handed her a vial of fortifying potion.
"Drink it," he said.
Daphne obeyed, grimacing slightly at the taste, and he guided her through how to circulate the potion's effects---helping her body absorb it properly.
As the warmth spread through her limbs, her eyes widened.
"I-I feel amazing!" she gasped, positively glowing. "Lucifer, you're incredible! You made this potion yourself?"
----Even his old soul couldn't help feeling smug at a beautiful girl staring up at him with pure awe. Lucifer chuckled, ruffling her hair.
"Your body's still weak. You need to stop worrying so much about your sister and start taking care of yourself too."
"Astoria-oh!" Daphne's excitement doubled, "Do you think this potion could help her too? I feel so warm and energized---surely it could help 'her condition?'"
Lucifer considered it. The potion wasn't a cure--it didn't heal, per se-but it definitely improved overall constitution. It wouldn't hurt, at the very least.
He nodded. "Yeah, it's safe for her."
Daphne was over the moon. She clasped his hands, eyes sparkling.
"Can I have one more vial? I want to send it home for her to try."
"I don't have much left--just these few bottles," Lucifer said, pulling out two more vials, "Send these home, and don't forget to include those physical movements I just taught you. They must be used together for the potion to work properly."
"If the effects are noticeable, then ask Madam Greengrass to help me acquire some 'Sphinx eyes.' It's a critical ingredient in such potions, and I'm now out of stock."
They, including Hermione, who had now latched herself onto Lucifer's entire right arm, trio made their way straight to the Owlery to write the letter.
Daphne owned a snowy-white owl named 'Winnie', a stunning bird even among magical owls. As for payment, neither of them brought it up aloud--Lucifer never intended to charge, and the little witch had already taken the initiative.
In her letter, she asked her mother to send an additional three hundred Galleons-----Even if the potion had no effect on Astoria, Daphne knew exactly how it made 'her' feel. In her mind, it was worth every Knut of those three hundred Galleons.
Watching Winnie fly off into the distance, Daphne quietly prayed that this wouldn't end in disappointment.
xxxxxx
At six o'clock in the evening, after emerging from an empty classroom, Lucifer and Hermione parted ways with Daphne and, he headed toward the Headmaster's office, while girls went to respective dorms.
The stone gargoyle guarding the entrance immediately began to move aside at the sight of Lucifer---but he stopped it.
"Hold up, Didn't we agree? No matter who comes, the password is mandatory. You can't play favorites."
The gargoyle gave a stony groan. "Kid, are you still holding a grudge? That was one prank-one! And it was last term!"
"No exceptions," Lucifer replied solemnly, "Those were your words."
"But you know the password," the gargoyle nearly wailed, "Why do you always have to recite the entire Honeydukes menu before getting to it?!"
Everyone else just said the password. Only Lucifer insisted on listing candy after candy--intentionally skipping the correct answer-before finally revealing it at the end. Now, just hearing the names of sweets made the stone beast's head ache.
Defeated, the gargoyle gave up arguing and simply slid aside in silence, turning into its inert stone form.
Lucifer smirked. "Can't take a joke, huh?" He stepped onto the moving staircase and ascended.
Inside, Dumbledore was already waiting behind his desk, smiling warmly. When the boy entered, he gestured to the chair in front of him.
"So," the headmaster began with a twinkle in his eye, "my services as headmaster are finally required?"
Silently, Lucifer activated dimension space and summoned Grindelwald.
Now there were three.
Dumbledore looked at Lucifer
Lucifer looked at Dumbledore.
Grindelwald looked at Dumbledore.
Inside the space, Grindelwald's face twisted with mixed emotions. Despite himself, the corners of his mouth curled upward--though he couldn't say what he was feeling. Too many emotions at once.
And in the end, all that turmoil condensed into a single sigh:
"Albus... you've gotten old."
"Mr. Morningstar, the house-elf said you needed my help," Dumbledore continued, genuinely pleased. "I'm honored. Please, tell me how I can assist."
Dumbledore was delighted. In his view, all genuine relationships are built through mutual aid. He didn't fear Lucifer coming to him for help---what he feared was another Tom Riddle, closed-off and emotionally distant, walking the path to becoming another Dark Lord.
Lucifer blinked at the emotional scene unfolding. He was utterly lost.
---Weren't these two supposed to be mortal enemies? Why did it feel like he was watching the climax of a soap opera? Like one of those scenes where the male and female leads meet at the wrong time in life, only to cross paths decades later in an' unexpected reunion?
"Professor," Lucifer began, offering a shy smile, "I read an old interview from 1955, where you said that Newt Scamander was 'your' favorite student. I really admire Mr. Scamander, and I've recently run into a problem involving magical creatures.... I was hoping to consult with him. Do you happen to have a way to contact him?"
Dumbledore's smile froze on his face.
He'd gone through a whole train of thought, even resolved to sign any restricted section permits Lucifer might ask for-and it turned out... 'all he wanted was for me to forward a letter?'
In the magical space where Grindelwald was observing everything, the elder wizard nearly snapped. 'I told you to consult Dumbledore directly--not to use him as your postal owl to reach Scamander!'
Dumbledore recovered quickly and nodded, "Magical creatures, hmm? Yes, Newt is certainly an expert in that field-far more than I ever was."
"He's not just a former student of mine," the old man added with a fond smile, "He's also a dear friend. I'm sure he'll be happy to help."
"That's wonderful, thank you so much, Professor." Lucifer pulled out a pre-written letter and handed it over. "Could you please send this to Devon?"
Dumbledore took the envelope, then chuckled softly, a bit playfully. "Who told you Newt lives in Devon?"
Lucifer blinked. 'Wasn't that what the books and letters said?'
Dumbledore leaned back, eyes glinting, "Newt and his wife, Tina, actually live in New York. Devon is just a decoy address--for privacy. You see... he made quite a few enemies in his youth."
His voice softened with a trace of sorrow.
"Even now, there are still those who seek revenge on him---for helping an old friend."
Lucifer's expression darkened. He didn't need to ask. That old friend was the very one sitting inside his pocket dimension space now, watching all of this unfold.
'Grindelwald.' Lucifer reached out mentally. Didn't you lose? Why are the Saints still so powerful? Even someone like Scamander has to hide from them---?
"I lost," Grindelwald replied quietly, narrowing his eyes within the learning, or rather say relaxing space, "but that doesn't mean they did. Do you know the kind of people who followed me back then? Most were pure-bloods-and many half-bloods who truly cared... about the future of the wizarding world. They were the backbone of 'magical society.'"
"If the authorities had completely purged the Saints, the entire magical community in Europe would've faced collapse-or even extinction...."
Lucifer fell silent. It made sense. The people who agreed with Grindelwald's ideology-believing that wizards were inherently superior to Muggles---were the very ones upholding much of the wizarding world's infrastructure.
'So... they were never punished?'
"There was punishment," Grindelwald said after a pausez "I didn't investigate the details, but I know many of them suffered... At the very least, none of their families will be allowed near power for the next few generations."
Having secured Dumbledore's promise, Lucifer left the office with immense satisfaction.
----On the way back, he was still bickering with Grindelwald in the learning space.
Grindelwald insisted he shouldn't go looking for Scamander. That man, he claimed, was not to be trusted.
Lucifer glanced at the furious Wizard and couldn't help but feel the man had completely misunderstood their relationship----'Mr. Grindelwald, let's get one thing straight. Back then, you were the villain. I'm Dumbledore's student now---doesn't that mean I'm naturally on Scamander's side?
"But you're also my student!" Grindelwald said with great indignation, "Dumbledore's just a figurehead. What has he actually taught you? Nothing! 'Absolutely nothing!"
"I, on the other hand," Grindelwald continued passionately, "have already passed on the Protego Diabolica magic I've mastered, and I've been helping you.... painstakingly improve and create new spells! If we're talking about real connection, isn't it obvious who's closer to you?"
Lucifer was exasperated.
'Dumbledore beat you, and you were totally fine with me seeing him... But now that I want to meet Scamander, suddenly it's a problem..? Come on---where's your dark lord mindset, your big-picture thinking?'
'What-because he caught you once in New York, then stole your blood pact in Paris, and finally brought the real Qilin to Bhutan?'
Lucifer's voice trailed off by the end, even he realizing that from Grindelwald's perspective, Newt Scamander had really done him "dirty."
But it was what Grindelwald said next that truly shocked him.
Grindelwald practically growledz "What you mentioned? That's only the beginning.... You have no idea how many of my plans 'Scamander' ruined after I declared war on the wizarding world."
"Thirteen times! I was already tangled up with Dumbledore, and he kept popping up with those bizarre magical creatures of his, sabotaging everything!"
"Forget helping me get revenge---my old followers hate him to the bone. You've noticed, right? These days, apart from the UK and the U.S., he dares not step foot into any European country."
"If he did, by the next morning, there'd be at least a hundred 'Avada Kedavras' aimed right at his head."
Lucifer inhaled sharply. He nearly missed a stair on the way down.
He'd only read about the early parts of Scamander's tale. He hadn't realized that, later on, the man had turned into such a menace to the Saints... He hadn't just been poking the hornet's nest-he'd been living in it.
Grindelwald let out a long breath.
"To be honest, I don't blame anyone for 'mydefeat...' I was simply outmatched, couldn't change the tides... The only regret I've ever had... is not killing Scamander before that final duel with Dumbledore."
"Thirteen times," Lucifer muttered, a chuckle creeping in. "Not a very lucky number, is it? Still, from where I stand, Scamander is someone I have to 'work' with. Fire Crab and Erumpent horn... then the Ukrainian Ironbelly, the unicorn... and what next? I need them in my arsenal, If I'm going to continue tracking down rare magical creatures in the future, tell me---who else would be better than 'Newt Scamander?'"
Grindelwald's brows shot up. "You, the Devil... what on earth are you planning... do you have a limit?"
"Oh, it's definitely for my own amusement," Lucifer replied with a serious nod, "I don't think so... my desires have never been satisfied."
Now Grindelwald fell into silence, because he had no counterargument. In the field of magical creatures, Newt Scamander wasn't just number one---he was so far ahead, the rest of the field basically started at fourth place.
"Fine. Just make sure I don't have to see that man." Grindelwald grumbled and promptly exited the space, his consciousness retreating to his body in Nurmengard.
Lucifer couldn't help but laugh.
Most of the time, Grindelwald was composed, calculating---a true Dark Lord. But the moment Dumbledore or Newt Scamander were mentioned, he turned into someone else entirely.
Especially with Scamander---it was pure, irrational 'loathing.' Their tangled feelings really did run deep.
He had to get the two of them in a room together someday.
xxxxxxx
The next morning, Lucifer received an owl from Dumbledore: the letter had been sent.
Between Britain and America stretched the vast Atlantic. It would take at least a couple of weeks for the letter to reach its destination---and even longer for a reply. So, he didn't expect any developments soon.
In the meantime, he set the curiosity of "Unicorn matter" aside. There was no rush, he had seven years of schooling to figure that out. He could focus on other things.
But to his surprise, Daphne's letter---along with the potion-reached Lady Greengrass the very next day.
After reading the contents, Lady Greengrass was... speechless.
A potion that powerful? Something capable of alleviating Astoria's curse symptoms? She'd never heard of such a thing---not in any official medical tome, nor whispered among elite potion masters.
And from a 'first-year' student, no less?
Even Professor Snape wouldn't have been capable of this. Yet Daphne had written with such conviction, claiming she'd used the potion herself, and that the results were undeniable.
Even if it didn't cure anything, it would function as a harmless tonic. There was no risk to giving it a try.
After reading the letter a second and third time, Lady Greengrass finally stood, potion in hand, and headed to her daughter's room.
Lucifer had no reason to hurt Astoria. And Daphne? She would never harm her sister. Just as Daphne had said-at worst, the potion did nothing. At best, it might help.
What did she have to lose?
"Mother? What brings you here?"
Astoria's soft voice rang out as she lay on her bed, flipping through the new Victoria Vogue's latest fashion magazine, Lucifer had sent her for this month's.
The silver-haired girl tilted her head curiously.
"This is from Daphne," her mother said, handing her the letter.
Astoria's eyes lit up. She eagerly took the parchment, reading it carefully. Her smile slowly faded into calm.
"If Daphne says it works... then I'll give it a try." She wasn't being dismissive---just... exhausted. Too many times had she tried promising remedies and therapies. All of them ended in disappointment.
Hope had long since stopped knocking at her door.
"Do these movements first. Once you've mastered them, then take the potion," Lady Greengrass said gently.
Lucifer, wary that written instructions might be too ambiguous, had included a magically animated diagram: a little "stick figure" performing a series of unusual motions.
It made Astoria chuckle softly.
She obediently got out of bed and began mimicking the figure. By the end of the sequence, she was panting and red-faced, and Lady Greengrass's heart ached at the sight.
Could her daughter truly handle life at Hogwarts like this? After a short rest to regain her strength, Astoria picked up the vial and drank it all in one go.
The taste was hard to describe-thick, slightly gritty, and unpleasantly herbal. She frowned. Then it hit her.
Just as described in the letter, a warm current surged through her frail body, flooding her limbs with an unfamiliar sensation-vitality!'
"Is... is it really working?" Astoria gasped in awe.
Lady Greengrass leapt to her feet, eyes wide, "Quick, do the motions again! Help the potion circulate!"
Fifteen minutes later, Astoria had gone through the entire routine, twice-and didn't look the least bit winded--- A flush had returned to her cheeks, soft and rosy.
"It's working. It's actually working."
Lady Greengrass dropped to her knees, wrapping her daughter in a tight embrace, tears streaking down her face. She had never imagined salvation would come from a 'schoolboy.'
"Mother... I feel warm," Astoria murmured, her smile as soft as her voice. She didn't feel weak anymore. She didn't have to rest after just a few steps.
In fact, she wanted to go outside, to stretch her limbs and savor this strength she'd almost forgotten the feeling of.
But outside, it was still too cold.
Lady Greengrass, of course, refused. Only when she promised to allow Astoria out once the weather improved did the girl reluctantly pout and settle down.
After calming her daughter, she left the room, her mind racing. Three hundred Galleons.
That's what Daphne had written. The cost of the potion. Expensive? No. Not at all. In fact, it was a bargain.
True, the potion hadn't cured the curse---'not yet'. But if it could allow Astoria to live comfortably, even just for a while... she would gladly pay whatever it took.
If she had to, she would buy it forever. Now, about the Sphinx's Eye...
Lucifer had mentioned it as a required ingredient. The Greengrass vaults were filled with treasures-but rare alchemical reagents with limited shelf lives had little value for collectors---The few Sphinx's Eyes they'd once owned were now dried-out trophies, turned into display pieces long ago.
She needed fresh ingredients. And this one... was incredibly rare. Some might even say it came from the 'gray side of the market'
Still, her mind was made up. She walked to a long, hidden wall of cabinets, pricked her finger, and let a single drop of blood fall. The cabinet unlocked with a soft 'click.'
From the thick stack of yellowed parchment, she pulled out a single sheet. She had a plan.
1 Extra Chapter - 200 Power Stone's!
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Author's Note
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It is also mentioned in the bio.