Dumbledore followed Lucien's instructions to the letter.
He wrote everything—Nicolas Flamel, his history, the Philosopher's Stone, its purpose, its dangers—neatly and clearly. The book was sealed inside a small enchanted box and hidden deep within Hogwarts, placed where curiosity, not intelligence, would lead someone to it.
That same night, Dumbledore cast the spell.
And Ron Weasley dreamed.
Ron's Dream → Obsession
For two nights straight, Ron dreamed of gold, glory, and hidden treasure.
In his dreams, corridors shifted. Staircases rearranged themselves just for him. A box shimmered in the distance, whispering promises of fame.
He woke up sweaty, heart pounding, stomach growling.
"This means something," Ron muttered.
By the second morning, he was no longer dreaming.
He was hunting.
Skipping meals, dragging Harry along, ducking through unused passages—Ron followed instinct more than logic. And somehow… every wrong turn became the right one.
Until—
"There!" Ron shouted.
Behind a loose stone panel sat a small box.
Ron's hands shook as he opened it.
Inside: a book.
Discovery (and Immediate Bragging)
Ron flipped through the pages.
"Nicolas Flamel… Philosopher's Stone… immortality—Harry!" he gasped.
"I knew it! I knew Hogwarts was hiding something!"
By dinner, the story had already evolved.
Ron loudly recounted his "dangerous solo exploration," how he "outsmarted Hogwarts' ancient defenses," and how the box had practically recognized him.
Each retelling grew more dramatic.
By the third version, he'd apparently dodged curses.
Harry listened quietly as Ron finally shoved the book into his hands.
"Here," Ron said proudly.
"Good thing you've got me around."
Harry's Unease
Harry took the book… and frowned.
It bothered him.
Everything fit too well.
They'd searched for weeks and found nothing—then Ron stumbles upon it in two days? No riddles. No real resistance.
It felt… staged.
Harry glanced at Ron, who was already basking in attention.
"…That was fast," Harry muttered.
Ron grinned.
"Talent."
Harry didn't reply.
Hermione's Suspicion
Hermione read the book that same night.
Her eyes narrowed with every page.
"This information is too clean," she said slowly.
"And too conveniently organized."
She looked up at Harry.
"Almost like someone wanted us to find it."
Harry felt a chill.
Dumbledore's Reaction
From his office, Dumbledore watched events unfold through subtle wards.
At first… guilt.
Manipulating a child's dreams was not something he enjoyed.
But then he heard Ron's story—loud, exaggerated, painfully inaccurate.
And the guilt… vanished.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
"…Merlin help us," he murmured, half-amused, half-exhausted.
"If this is my future…"
He glanced toward the direction of Hufflepuff.
Lucien hadn't been present.
Hadn't interfered again.
And yet everything had gone exactly as predicted.
Dumbledore exhaled slowly.
"That boy doesn't just see outcomes," he thought.
"He designs them."
Voldemort's Unknowing Reaction
Far below Hogwarts, in the dark recesses of Quirrell's mind—
Something shifted.
Voldemort felt it.
A ripple.
A tug.
The Stone's name had been spoken with intent.
His thoughts sharpened, hunger flaring.
"Good," Voldemort hissed softly.
"They're getting closer."
He never questioned how they'd found the information.
He never sensed the guiding hand.
And far away, Lucien slept peacefully—unconcerned.