The faint white pillar of light faded.
Madame Maxime and Fleur emerged from it, approaching a carriage pulled by golden-maned Abraxans, their red eyes glinting and their elephant-sized bodies a testament to their status as a breed of winged horse.
Once settled in the carriage, Maxime noticed the hint of disappointment in Fleur's eyes and spoke softly, "It's not your fault. We arrived too late."
Fleur gathered herself, regaining her usual confidence. "Mr. Flamel found a disciple he adores, which is a good thing. But that boy… he didn't seem that old, did he?"
Maxime glanced out the window at the ground speeding by below. "Indeed, that young wizard looked quite young—probably still in school. I'd guess Hogwarts or Durmstrang…"
She smiled. "What, want to meet him?"
Fleur didn't deny it. She was curious—what kind of prodigy could catch the eye of Nicolas Flamel and become his final apprentice?
Maxime gently patted Fleur's head. "Don't worry, you'll get your chance. He's bound to be an exceptional young wizard, likely to compete in that ancient tournament."
"Speaking of which, we should start preparing for that tournament…"
---
After seeing Maxime and Fleur off, Nicolas stretched his stiff neck. "Getting old, aren't I…"
Truth be told, that Fleur Delacour was an impressive young witch, well-suited for the path of alchemy.
If he hadn't met Lucien, Nicolas might've considered taking her as a student.
But there were no what-ifs. Teaching Lucien had only solidified Nicolas's belief that he'd made the right choice.
Lucien's learning ability was astounding, soaking up knowledge from Nicolas like a sponge.
"Master, Young Master Lucien left some things in his room, along with a letter," Queenie said respectfully, appearing beside Nicolas with a pop of Apparition.
"Oh?" Nicolas raised an eyebrow. Lucien hadn't mentioned anything about this. In an instant, he was in the room Lucien had stayed in.
On the desk sat two crystal vials and a stack of papers.
With a wave of his hand, Nicolas summoned the letter tucked beneath the vials:
"Teacher, these papers contain some aerospace data from a certain Eastern European country before its dissolution, collected over time by my family. I thought they might offer a spark of inspiration for your great work…"
Reading Lucien's handwriting, Nicolas's brow twitched. He hadn't expected such a thoughtful gift from his student.
He continued reading:
"Teacher, the crystal vials contain a potion I've just developed, 'Vitality Reborn.' It restores vitality. I hope you and Madame Perenelle enjoy it…"
The letter trembled in Nicolas's fingers. For a moment, he thought his ancient eyes were playing tricks on him after six centuries.
Restores vitality?
Those five simple words carried a weight that shook his heart, weathered by six hundred years.
Nicolas knew Lucien's character—he wasn't one to exaggerate.
Setting the letter down, he couldn't help but move closer to the desk.
As he approached, a deep, indescribable longing stirred in his decaying bones, whispering silently.
His frail, wrinkled hands trembled as they lifted a crystal vial, carefully uncorking it.
In an instant, a fresh, grassy scent, like dew-soaked meadows, burst forth.
A wave of intangible yet overwhelming vitality rippled from the vial, as if the stagnant air itself began to breathe.
Nicolas took a deep breath, and every cell in his withered body seemed to cry out, singing in joy, as if catching the intoxicating scent of life's very essence.
He didn't even need to taste it to know—this potion could absolutely deliver what Lucien promised.
It could restore vitality—vibrant, thriving vitality!
"That boy…" Nicolas's bony fingers gripped the vial tightly. He'd long accepted the toll of aging, learning to stay optimistic within a fragile shell.
But who could truly forget the days of boundless energy and a strong body?
He and Perenelle's bodies had grown frail beyond measure.
Their bones were brittle as dry twigs, prone to breaking at the slightest misstep. Even eating regular food was a luxury, replaced by specially prepared liquid diets.
It was a shame for Queenie, whose culinary skills—passed down from her great-grandfather and rivaling world-class chefs—couldn't be fully utilized.
Lucien's arrival had brought a spark of life to the household, giving Queenie a chance to shine.
Nicolas suddenly recalled a dinner where he'd jokingly told Lucien that watching a young person enjoy food made his own appetite feel sharper.
At the time, Lucien had given him a thoughtful look.
His gaze fell to the bottom of the letter, where a final note was scrawled:
"Teacher, Queenie's cooking is amazing, and she's sad she can't serve you and Madame Perenelle the feasts her ancestors did. A vibrant body might be better suited to exploring the wonders of the world, don't you think?"
"Wonders of the world…" Nicolas murmured.
"Hahahaha…"
"Cough, cough, cough…"
Nicolas let out a rare, hearty laugh, unmindful of the coughing fit it triggered in his frail lungs.
In one swift motion, he tilted his head back and drank the glowing liquid in the vial.
Instantly, a powerful yet gentle surge of vitality erupted within him, like a warm tide washing away the marks of time.
---
Meanwhile, Lucien was planning the rest of his summer.
His teacher had probably seen the gifts he left by now.
Muggle aerospace tech was worlds apart from magic, but it might spark some inspiration.
Thankfully, his aunt had kept an eye out and managed to snag some of that "legacy" data.
"Good job, Luster ," Lucien said, petting the shrunken Qilin in his arms. For the "Vitality Reborn" potion, the little Qilin had donated a bit of its blood.
"Master, can I have more candy? The ones I had at Grandpa Headmaster's—like Lemon Sherbet Drops, Liquorice Wands, Cockroach Clusters…" Luster rattled off the list like a menu.
Lucien shook his head with a smile, pulling a handful of candies from his pocket. "Just a little of each, okay? Too much sugar might hurt your teeth."
Qilins probably didn't get cavities, but he teased anyway—scaring kids was half the fun.
"Hehe, okay, Master!" Luster nuzzled him playfully, then leaped up to snatch the candies.
With his boosted Potions talent and access to Nicolas's library, Lucien had learned a ton about potion-making.
He could now craft potions using Qilin blood, not just mixing raw materials but amplifying the blood's life-giving properties.
Nicolas had shared so much knowledge with him; as a student, Lucien wanted to give back.
Tomorrow, he'd send a vial to Newt and Tina too.
Newt, especially, was always gallivanting around the world, getting into scrapes over magical creatures—he could use the boost.
Newt had been so supportive, mentoring him and even gifting him that suitcase.
Lucien never shortchanged friends or family.
"Oh, System, since 'Vitality Reborn' is my invention, can I count its sales toward the loan task?" he asked.
A potion that restored vitality and extended life? People would pay any price for it.
Forget the sales volume for now—the revenue goal would be met in no time.
[Uh, well, Host, you see…] The System hemmed and hawed.
Lucien got the hint. It was a long shot anyway. If he hit the sales volume, the revenue would follow naturally.
"Forget it, do what you want. I've got stuff to do," Lucien said.
He'd already designed several alchemical items and potions, even making some prototypes.
"Next up, finding a sales agent."
---
Grafton Manor
Lucien double-checked the drafts of two Transfiguration papers:
"Transfiguration Layering: On Constructing and Sustaining Composite Creature Structures"
"Transfiguration Studies Based on Magical Circuit Theory"
He made three copies of each—one for Dumbledore, one for McGonagall, and one for Nicolas. He'd been corresponding with them about Transfiguration over the summer, and Nicolas had mentioned wanting a copy once the papers were done.
Lately, he'd mostly stayed home.
He'd visited the Malfoy family's dragon reserve as planned, but their Norwegian Ridgebacks were too few.
One quiet night, he let Nobert out to spar with the other dragons. The fights ended quickly, and Lucien patched them up with healing spells and food as compensation. Using magic to cover his tracks, no one noticed.
Whether it was the Qilin's purifying fire used to hatch Nobert's egg or the Blood-Bone Purification Elixir, Nobert's growth and strength were a pleasant surprise.
Lucien had also celebrated his twelfth birthday recently, throwing a party with friends from both the Muggle and wizarding worlds. He'd received plenty of gifts.
The rest of his time was spent polishing his Transfiguration papers.
According to Dumbledore and McGonagall's letters, the review process would take about six months, with a strong chance of publication in the prestigious Transfiguration Today.
Lucien tapped his fingers on the desk, his thoughts drifting further.
Publishing these papers would lay a foundation for his reputation.
Since the System required him to sell alchemical items and potions under his own name, the inventor's fame was just as crucial as product quality.
Reputation and products went hand in hand, each boosting the other.
Clunk!
A sudden crash snapped Lucien out of his thoughts.
He didn't need to look to know what happened. With a flick of his wand, he opened the window.
Using magic outside school during the holidays? No worries about the Trace triggering a Ministry visit.
He'd learned a simple ancient spell from Nicolas to block the Trace's detection.
Lucien levitated the dazed owl from outside the window onto his desk.
It was Errol, the Weasleys' owl—old, a bit senile, and perpetually confused.
Delivering letters to Lucien, Errol crashed into the window eight times out of ten. The other two? He hit the wall.
Lucien cast a Healing Charm and a Reviving Charm, enhanced by his Unicorn Blessing, and Errol perked up, handing over the letter before standing there blankly.
Lucien grabbed a tin of owl treats from a drawer, feeding them to Errol, who only remembered to eat when they were right at his beak.
Dealing with this possibly dementia-riddled owl, Lucien wondered if he should develop a potion for animal cognitive decline. He opened the letter:
"Dear Master Lucien,
When might you grace our humble abode? We await you at The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole."
The playful tone and the little doodled grimace at the end made Lucien chuckle—it was totally the twins' style.
Time to visit the Weasleys.
---
After a wild ride on the Knight Bus, Lucien arrived in Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon.
Following the letter's directions, he quickly found his destination.
It was a standout house.
Nestled by a pond, surrounded by small fields and pastures, the house looked like a patchwork of mismatched parts, leaning precariously.
Without magic holding it together, Lucien figured it'd probably collapse.
This quirky, life-filled house was The Burrow, home of the Weasley family.
"Lucien!" Ron called out, spotting him while de-gnoming the garden. He waved excitedly.
After spinning a gnome shouting "Let me go!" and tossing it out of the garden, Ron vaulted over the fence to greet Lucien.
He started to go for a hug but froze, noticing the dirt on his clothes from gardening. His arms hovered awkwardly.
Lucien didn't care, giving Ron a quick hug. "Good to see you."
The gesture eased Ron's nerves. Attending Lucien's birthday party had been a shock—Ron had guessed Lucien's family was well-off, but not that well-off.
He'd worried Lucien might look down on The Burrow, given the stark contrast.
But Lucien's easygoing attitude put him at ease. After a year of hanging out, Lucien was always approachable.
Well, except during study sessions.
"Well, well, if it isn't Master Lucien!" Fred and George strolled over from the other side of the garden, grinning and teasing. "Welcome to our humble abode!"
"Hi, Lucien," Ginny added, approaching more quietly.
Her eyes kept darting to Lucien's pocket, as if hoping a fluffy platinum-blonde head would pop out to say hello.