Hogwarts Headmaster's Office.
The familiar circular room glowed softly under moonlight, silver instruments puffing gentle spirals of mist that caught the light in tiny, shimmering halos.
Lucien let his eyes drift across the portraits of past headmasters. Most were dozing in their frames, but a couple cracked one eye open, gave him a quick once-over, then went right back to sleep.
His gaze finally landed on the golden perch.
Fawkes—still in that tiny, post-rebirth chick stage—was curled up in the nest, little head tucked under one fiery wing, breathing slow and steady.
Lucien slowed his steps, not wanting to wake the baby phoenix.
But the second he got close, those golden eyes snapped open.
They locked straight onto him. A soft, surprisingly clear chirp cut through the quiet room.
Thanks to the unicorn blessing, Lucien caught every word:
"You smell like… the fire element really likes you?"
Fire element?
Lucien blinked, then it clicked—the advanced Fire Rune on his middle finger.
He rubbed the faint flame-shaped mark without thinking. Made sense.
He wasn't surprised Fawkes could sense it. Magical creatures like Thestrals, Thunderbirds, or Hippocampi all picked up on elemental vibes to some degree. A phoenix that literally reborn in flames? No contest.
Lucien stepped right up to the nest. Fawkes tilted his tiny head, studying him closer, then let out another low, puzzled trill.
"Weird… it's not a spell effect. Not a blessing either…" The phoenix sounded genuinely confused. "It's like… you were born with it."
Fawkes scooted forward, stretching his neck out of the nest toward Lucien.
"And it's not just fire. There's also…"
He suddenly looked up, meeting Lucien's eyes with bright curiosity.
"Any magical creature blood in your family line?"
Lucien froze for a second.
Uh… no. The Grafton ancestors were pretty standard Muggle stock. Zero chance they'd pulled off anything that would give their descendants creature blood.
Before Fawkes could keep investigating, the soft but steady sound of footsteps came from the spiral staircase.
Lucien turned. An elderly man with long silver hair and beard was coming down, wrapped in a deep-purple dressing gown, sleep cap still on his head. The little pom-pom on top bobbed with every step.
Dumbledore's first words, tone laced with genuine surprise:
"You boys are back already?"
Lucien raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Yeah, Headmaster. We just got in. Professor Shafiq didn't send word?"
Dumbledore adjusted his nightcap, blue eyes blinking without the usual half-moon glasses. He looked almost comically sheepish.
"She never mentioned whether you'd be back tonight or tomorrow."
Lucien blinked.
Did winning the championship make her so damn happy she straight-up forgot to tell him?
Or… knowing Professor Shafiq's usual vibe, she might've just been too lazy to write the letter.
No wonder there'd been zero welcome committee at the gates. He'd figured it was just too late and they'd do it tomorrow. Turns out nobody even knew they were coming in tonight.
Dumbledore seemed to reach the same conclusion. He glanced down at his rumpled dressing gown, then back at Lucien.
The room suddenly filled with a very specific, very awkward silence.