The trio rushed into the classroom like a gust of wind, Hermione clutching a towering stack of books in her arms.
When Ron spotted the black-haired boy already seated by the window, he groaned under his breath.
"Oh, for Merlin's smelly socks. Even Snape isn't that devoted to studying."
Lucian didn't react.
He was sketching diagrams with a fountain pen, outlining the wand movement Professor Flitwick would be teaching today.
But instead of a simple motion line, his page was filled with three-dimensional magical vector projections.
"What are you drawing?" Hermione leaned over, frowning at the dizzying lines and arrows. "That's not in the textbook."
"The textbook tells you how," Lucian replied calmly. "I'm drawing why. For example, the flick at the end of the Levitation Charm isn't decorative. It generates a micro-updraft vortex."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue that the book didn't say that, but she hesitated. It sounded strangely reasonable.
....
The bell rang.
Professor Flitwick stood atop a stack of books, his tiny figure almost hidden, but the way his white hair trembled with enthusiasm made him seem larger than life.
"At last, my young witches and wizards! Today we step across the threshold of wonder."
He raised his wand.
"The Levitation Charm!"
With perfect textbook precision, he demonstrated the motion. "Remember the subtle wrist action! Swish and flick! The emphasis is on the second syllable. Wingardium LeviOsa!"
The classroom erupted into chaotic wand-waving and wildly mispronounced incantations.
Seamus Finnigan's feather caught fire.
Ron swung his wand like a windmill, nearly poking Harry in the eye.
"Wingardium LeviosA!" he shouted.
"Stop, stop!" Hermione snapped. "You're saying it wrong. It's LeviOsa, not LeviosA!"
"Oh, really? Since you're such an expert, why don't you show us?" Ron shot back, tossing his wand onto the desk.
Hermione lifted her chin and performed the motion crisply.
°Wingardium LeviOsa°
The white feather trembled, then rose shakily into the air, hovering about four feet above the desk.
"Marvelous!" Professor Flitwick squeaked excitedly. "Everyone look! Miss Granger has done it! Gryffindor gains five points!"
Hermione glowed under the praise, but her eyes drifted sideways.
Lucian had calmly closed his notebook.
In his perception, Hermione's magic resembled someone lifting an object with brute force. The feather had risen, yes, but the magical field around it was strained and uneven.
"Too forceful," Lucian commented quietly.
"What?" Hermione frowned.
"Do you want to see what levitation really looks like?"
Lucian did not pick up his wand.
He simply raised his right hand and lightly traced a line through the air, as though plucking an invisible string.
No incantation.
The feather before him suddenly seemed to awaken. It flipped lightly, then began to dance in response to the subtle rhythm of his fingers.
It circled gracefully, tracing intricate figure-eight patterns. It rose and dipped like a bird gliding on thermal currents.
The classroom noise faded.
One by one, students stopped speaking.
Then, as Lucian's hand movements grew slightly wider, the feathers on nearby desks trembled and lifted as well.
Dozens of white feathers rose into the air.
They swirled across the room like a flock of pale birds, spiraling around the black-haired boy at the center.
Lucian sat there calmly, like a conductor guiding an invisible orchestra.
Professor Flitwick nearly toppled off his stack of books.
"This—this—!"
His voice cracked with excitement.
"Nonverbal casting! Wandless guidance! And group control!" he cried. "Merlin's beard, this is not merely levitation. This is mastery over magical flow!"
Snap.
Lucian flicked his fingers.
Every feather lost support at once and drifted down like falling snow, landing neatly back on their respective desks.
Except for his own, which gently slid back between the pages of his notebook.
Silence filled the classroom.
Ron's wand slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.
Lucian reopened his notebook and looked at Hermione, who was staring at him with wide eyes.
"See?" he said softly. "If you align with the structure of the air currents, the feather wants to fly. There's no need to force it."
Hermione's expression was complicated. Shock. Frustration. And something else.
A spark of admiration.
"Ravenclaw gains… twenty points!" Professor Flitwick declared, wiping his eyes in delight. "For a performance worthy of art!"
....
In the corridor after class, whispers followed him.
"Hey, it's the feather magician."
"I heard he can levitate people without a wand."
Lucian ignored it all. He was heading toward the library.
He hadn't gone far when two figures blocked his path.
Fred and George Weasley stood there, identical grins spreading across their faces.
"Oi, Maestro."
"That trick was brilliant."
"We have a business proposal."
"About making Filch's cat do a little airborne dance."
Lucian studied them calmly.
Their souls burned with bright golden sparks of creativity.
"I'm not interested in the cat," he replied. "But I've seen your self-writing quill design. The runic circuitry is interesting."
The twins exchanged a glance.
"The structural concept is clever," Lucian continued, "but your magical feedback handling is flawed. You're using unidirectional flow.
After prolonged use, the logic destabilizes and the quill starts spelling nonsense. Correct?"
The twins froze.
"How do you know that?" they demanded in unison.
Lucian pulled a folded parchment from his pocket. On it was a revised rune array.
"Replace the core with this configuration," he said, handing it over. "No need to thank me."
Then he stepped past them and continued down the corridor.
Behind him, the twins stared at the parchment in awe.
"Merlin's pants, George. He's a genius."
"No, Fred. He's our patron saint of Galleons."
Lucian allowed himself a faint smile.
In a world filled with mediocrity, offering a small push to those with genuine brilliance was occasionally satisfying.
At the far end of the corridor, half-hidden in shadow, Professor Quirrell stood wrapped in his garlic-scented turban, watching Lucian's retreating figure.
From the back of his head, a hoarse whisper echoed softly.
"Watch him… the boy… his soul… is unusual…"
__________
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