"You want to learn Dark Magic… so you can save someone?"
Lucien met Dumbledore's gaze without flinching and opened his mouth to answer—
"Hmph."
A sharp, nasal voice cut in from the direction of the headmaster portraits.
Phineas Nigellus had just stepped back into his frame from the Black family ancestral portrait. He'd caught the entire conversation the moment he arrived.
First he glanced toward the empty spot where Dilys Derwent's portrait usually hung—only neat rows of bookshelves stretching into some unseen corner. Good. The Ravenclaw witch who wore glasses was either buried behind one of those shelves with a book or had already retired for the night.
Magical portraits varied wildly in awareness. The former Hogwarts headmasters' portraits were among the sharpest and most independent. After all, they were expected to actually advise the current headmaster; a few canned phrases wouldn't cut it.
Phineas checked Morgan's frame next. The hot-headed, duel-obsessed Gryffindor lion wasn't there either. Perfect—no risk of getting brained by a book the thickness of castle walls or put in a chokehold.
Only then did he speak, voice thin and cutting:
"Albus, the boy's shown his tail! Don't let him fool you. This is just a test run. Once he has your trust he'll grow bolder—just like young Tom Riddle deceived Armando!"
Lucien turned to look at the least popular headmaster in Hogwarts history.
Phineas was stroking his pointed goatee, eyeing him with open suspicion, the way someone might study a wolf cub trying to sneak into the sheep pen.
Lucien didn't take offense. The reaction was completely reasonable.
A student still in school suddenly asking to study Dark Magic and curses? Anyone would be on guard.
He shifted his gaze slightly, checking for Armando Dippet's portrait. Empty. Thank Merlin.
Armando Dippet—the headmaster before Dumbledore and the one who had overseen Tom Riddle's school years—was nowhere to be seen. If the three-hundred-plus-year-old wizard had been listening, Phineas's words would have stabbed him right in the guilt he still carried.
Back then Dippet had been completely taken in by Riddle's perfect "model student" act. It was only Dumbledore's repeated warnings that stopped the old headmaster from offering the boy a permanent teaching post in Defense Against the Dark Arts after graduation.
If that had happened, the future Voldemort would have had the run of the castle.
So Phineas's jab would have cut deep. Portraits didn't have heart attacks, but the emotional sting was real.
This time, none of the other portraits spoke up to contradict or mock Phineas.
They were paying close attention too.
Phineas's words might have been rude, but they echoed what most of them were thinking:
A schoolboy wants to study Dark Magic and curses?
And the reason is "to save people"?
It sounded ridiculous.
The portraits watched in silence, firelight from the hearth dancing across their painted faces.
A few of the sharper ones had also noticed something earlier—Dumbledore had seemed momentarily off-balance, not his usual calm, composed self.
There weren't many people or things that could make Albus Dumbledore lose his composure.
Lucien turned his attention back to the headmaster, but not before flicking one last glance at Phineas.
Heh. Guess I'll have to visit your Black family home later to get that Horcrux from the house-elf.
Just hope you're not popping home for a visit right when I do.