Inside the classroom conjured by the Room of Requirement, Ron sat in stunned silence after hearing Lucien's words.
As a Weasley, Ron came from a family of wizards, all skilled in magic. No one in his household ever thought that being able to wield magic was anything extraordinary. His brothers each had their own talents—some excelled at curse-breaking, others were gifted at Quidditch. The twins, well, they were legends in pranks, wildly popular among their peers. But Ron? Among all the Weasley boys, he was the one who always felt... ordinary.
He'd never considered that just knowing magic could be something special.
"Learning itself is a privilege?" Ron asked, almost to himself.
"Exactly," Lucien replied, nodding with a serious glint in his eyes. "Learning fast or slow, that's all normal. What matters is the act of learning itself."
"And honestly," Lucien continued, "you've got a knack for mechanics. You pick up the theory quickly."
"As for Transfiguration, I'm confident I can teach you."
Ron blinked, barely believing his ears. "You... you're saying I have a talent? For mechanics?"
It was the first time—ever—that someone had praised him, told him he was good at something. The first time!
Seeing the joy light up Ron's face, Lucien knew his encouraging approach was working. But encouragement alone wasn't enough for a kid Ron's age. A bit of a push was necessary too.
"You're studying mechanics and Transfiguration because you want to master alchemical machinery," Lucien said firmly. "That's your passion, your goal. So don't give up on it so easily."
"I don't want to hear you say 'I'm done' again, got it?"
Ron jolted at Lucien's suddenly stern tone. "Y-Yeah, got it!" he stammered.
"Good. Now, back to Transfiguration."
Lucien snapped his fingers. "When you cast a spell, especially Transfiguration, don't overthink it. Don't worry about what happens if the spell fails or if your wand isn't quite right."
"Magic is about confidence, about belief. You have to know you can do it."
"Forget your worries, your doubts. Focus entirely on envisioning the spell."
Ron listened intently, trying to cast his Transfiguration spell as Lucien guided him. Even Harry, who'd already finished his written work, was paying close attention. This was core casting advice—too valuable to miss.
As Ron kept trying, the matchstick he was working on slowly began to take on the traits of a silver needle. Lucien gave a small nod of approval. Truth be told, Ron's natural talent wasn't exceptional, and his wand—well, it wasn't exactly cooperating either. It couldn't be replaced anytime soon.
But that's the thing about magic in this world: it's tied to the heart and mind. A wizard's emotions and beliefs heavily influence their spellcasting. Someone who's constantly doubting themselves, wallowing in insecurity, could never become a great wizard.
Unlike Muggle subjects like math or physics, where no amount of self-belief can fake understanding, magic was different. Believing you could do it? That actually worked.
That's why Lucien was helping Ron build confidence, using his interest in alchemical machinery as a spark to drive his learning.
Still, the wand issue was a problem. It wasn't a perfect match for Ron, and while that couldn't be fixed right now, repairing its damage might help. If Ron could master Transfiguration faster, he'd be able to try his hand at crafting alchemical machinery sooner. And when he showed off those achievements to his brothers, to his family, he'd earn their respect and recognition.
With their trust, Lucien might even get a chance to borrow some of the Weasleys' more valuable books and learn deeper magical knowledge. One step at a time, though—slow and steady.
After a bit more teaching, Lucien noticed the time and told Harry and Ron to head back and rest.
Once the Room of Requirement was empty, Lucien was alone. He pulled out a small booklet, its cover adorned with scales, feathers, and spines: The Chimera Manual.
Flipping to a page with detailed creature descriptions and anatomical diagrams, Lucien read for a few minutes. Then, wand in hand, he pointed at the lectern.
In his mind, he swiftly recalled the creature's features and structure.
Pop!
The brown lectern warped instantly.
"Baa~~"
A soft bleat echoed through the room. The lectern was gone, replaced by a fluffy white sheep, its wool trembling as it moved.
Transforming an inanimate object into a living creature wasn't too hard. The key was knowing the creature's details inside and out. And this Chimera Manual? It was a goldmine. The information was meticulous, almost disturbingly so.
To achieve their goals, wizards—especially powerful ones—had terrifying drive. Getting their hands on experimental subjects, living or not, was all too easy.
Back in ancient times, when swords and spears ruled and Muggles had no defense against magic, wizards dominated. Some regions and dynasties were even founded and led by wizards or wizarding groups. No wonder Muggles in those days feared wizards, torn between resenting magic and revering it.
As Lucien flipped through the manual, he absorbed its contents while reflecting. The notes were the work of an ancient wizard, documenting spells, potions, and alchemical methods used for observation and dissection. Their precision rivaled modern Muggle technology.
That was the beauty of wizardry, the convenience of magic. It didn't need to follow the slow grind of technological progress—it could leap forward, creating unimaginable methods in a flash.
Lucien finished a passage and flicked his wand again.
The sheep twisted and morphed into a hefty white pig.
This was layered Transfiguration—transforming the same object multiple times. Each additional transformation increased the difficulty exponentially. Yet Lucien performed it with ease, showing no strain.
As the pig snorted and shuffled around the classroom, Lucien studied the next creature's details. With another wave of his wand, the pig transformed into a bellowing water buffalo.
He continued, consulting the manual and casting Transfiguration after Transfiguration. By the fifth layer, a massive python coiled silently in the corner.
Creating a chimera, Lucien realized, hinged on mastering layered Transfiguration. The task was to conjure a "chimera" with at least five creature traits, requiring at least five transformations.
Maybe starting with a living creature could reduce the layers needed? As long as the final form retained five distinct traits, the original creature's features could count.
Lucien twirled his wand, channeling magic as described in the manual. Almost instantly, the python's form shifted dramatically.
Horns sprouted from its head, its nose morphed into a pig's snout, wool grew between its scales, and a pair of bat wings emerged from its back.
Looking at the twisted, hybrid creature on the floor, Lucien frowned. It had the traits, sure, but... it was superficial.
Not enough. He could push further, refine more details—bones, muscles, skin, scales, fur, limbs.
He pored over the Chimera Manual, feeling there was still untapped knowledge to uncover. The true limit of a chimera wasn't this simplistic.
Not enough... not yet.
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