Hermione stood frozen, as if struck by a Full Body-Bind Curse, unable to move an inch.
Lucian Thornwick's slightly cool fingertip had long since withdrawn, yet the gentle warmth on her forehead still seemed to linger—like a sacred mark.
Inside her mind, a storm unlike anything she had ever experienced was raging—one powerful enough to overturn her entire world.
No longer were there scattered fragments of knowledge that required effort to memorize and painstakingly organize.
Instead, there stood a magnificent cathedral of knowledge—precise, vast, and radiant with the light of wisdom.
Magical history was no longer a dull list of dates and events. It had become a sweeping river of time, woven together by cause and effect. She could clearly perceive the rise and fall of civilizations, and the deeper logic behind every major magical reform.
Ancient Runes were no longer isolated, obscure symbols. They had transformed into a brilliant star map—each rune a star, linked to countless others in intricate constellations.
With a mere thought, she could grasp the fundamental essence of any symbol and envision the infinite possibilities of their combinations and evolutions.
The complex spells that once gave her splitting headaches now appeared as if broken down into their most basic components. Their energy structures and magical flows were as clear to her as lines on her palm.
This feeling…
This feeling…
Hermione's body trembled uncontrollably.
For so long, she had taken immense pride in the title "Gryffindor's know-it-all."
It wasn't just a nickname.
It represented the countless hours she had sacrificed in the library while others played.
The nights she spent writing by candlelight long after everyone else had gone to sleep.
The sweat and relentless effort she poured into building her identity.
And now—this identity she had cherished so deeply had been shattered by Lucian's miracle.
Completely shattered.
She remembered spending an entire week losing sleep just to understand the fifth grammatical variation of a Runic structure—consulting over a dozen heavy reference books, barely managing to piece together a passable understanding.
And now?
Everything about Runic history—from its origin to its decline, even the long-lost thirteenth grammatical variant—flowed through her as naturally as breathing.
Weeks of exhausting study…
He had accomplished in one second.
And not merely accomplished—it was deeper, clearer, infinitely more complete than anything she had ever achieved through effort alone.
Her eyes flickered with confusion and a trace of loss.
This was no longer learning magic.
This was a miracle.
And then—
A realization struck her, one so profound it made her soul tremble.
Learning is about understanding rules.
But what Lucian had just done… was not teaching.
He was defining. He was creating.
He had taken chaotic, boundless knowledge—knowledge mortals might spend a lifetime pursuing—and forcibly constructed within her mind a flawless, perfectly ordered system.
This was not learning magic.
This was creating knowledge itself.
The moment she understood that, the last trace of confusion vanished from her eyes.
In its place appeared something clear and pure—like a devout believer gazing upon a true deity.
She slowly lifted her head and looked at Lucian again.
He had already returned to his armchair, reopened his ancient book, as if he had merely brushed dust from a table.
She opened her mouth, wanting to speak, but found no words sufficient for what she had witnessed.
In the end, she could only murmur softly to herself:
"So… this is what a true know-it-all is."
Christmas holiday arrived.
Snow blanketed Hogwarts in sacred silver.
Though towering Christmas trees and glittering magical lights warmed the Great Hall with festive charm, they could not dispel the deep quiet left by the departure of most students.
Footsteps echoed along empty corridors.
The once lively common room now held only a handful of students, quietly reading or playing wizard chess in isolated corners.
For Harry Potter, however, this holiday became something entirely different—because of a mysterious gift.
A silver-gray cloak, smooth as flowing water.
Late at night, it became his perfect companion for exploring the ancient castle.
Wrapped in invisibility, he drifted like a ghost through silent corridors, evading Filch and his ever-watchful cat, wandering into forbidden places he had never dared approach before.
One freezing night, while fleeing from Snape's patrol, he pushed open a half-closed door he had never seen before.
Inside was a vast, dust-covered abandoned classroom.
And at its center stood a massive, ornate mirror.
Its frame was golden, engraved with intricate ancient patterns. Strange lettering was carved across the top.
Curiosity drew him closer.
The moment he looked into the mirror, his heart stopped.
It was not only his own reflection staring back.
Behind him stood a man with the same messy black hair—and beside him, a green-eyed woman smiling with indescribable warmth.
His parents.
Though he had never seen them before, he recognized them instantly.
In the man's face, he saw himself.
In the woman's eyes, he felt a love that transcended life and death.
"Dad… Mum…"
Harry reached out with trembling fingers to touch the image—
—but met only cold glass.
He became addicted.
From that night onward, the mirror became his sole source of comfort.
He lost interest in daytime activities. He simply waited for nightfall.
Then he would don the Invisibility Cloak and return, like a pilgrim worshipping a sacred relic.
He would sit for hours, drinking in the impossible vision of a whole and happy family.
His cheeks grew thinner by the day.
His eyes became bloodshot from lack of sleep.
It was as if his soul were being hollowed out, leaving behind an empty shell.
All of this was silently observed by Hogwarts' true guardian—Albus Dumbledore.
In his bright blue eyes shimmered compassion—and a faint, hidden sorrow.
"Lucian… something isn't right."
Hermione found him seated by the common room fireplace.
"It's about Harry."
"He's… not himself."
She told him everything she had noticed—his sleepless nights, his loss of appetite, the way he slipped out late and returned near dawn, chilled to the bone.
Lucian listened calmly.
"I asked Ron," she added quietly. "He said Harry received an Invisibility Cloak."
"I think he must have found something… somewhere he can't pull himself away from. I'm worried something will happen to him."
At the words "can't pull himself away," Lucian's eyes flickered faintly.
Christmas holiday. Invisibility Cloak. A hidden room. A mirror one could not leave.
The answer formed instantly.
"The Mirror of Erised," he said evenly, as if stating a simple fact.