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Black smoke thickened. Most of the Fiendfyre's scarlet vanished, replaced by pitch black. The flames shifted from dark red to near-ink, yet the heat pouring off them grew even more savage.
The air warped under the temperature. Even the white mist over the sea was shoved back several yards.
As the Fiendfyre pressed harder, the Fire God's Way slowed in its consumption. The Lava Fire couldn't wrap the hellfire fast enough. Fresh clusters of Fiendfyre broke through and spread around Lucien.
Watching the writhing black-and-red flames, an idea clicked in his mind.
He called up a cloud of silver-white Patronus mist.
It didn't form any shape. It stayed pure, faintly glowing vapor and drifted straight toward the Fiendfyre.
The instant the mist touched the flames, they disintegrated.
Silver light flashed in Lucien's eyes.
"Expecto Patronum."
A burst of silver-white radiance exploded from him, expanding outward like a silver sun rising over the rocky outcrop. Wherever the light swept across the Fiendfyre, the flames vanished like pencil marks under an eraser.
The old wizard's pupils tightened.
Coiled across half the island reef was a massive silver serpent.
Its entire body was silver-white, semi-translucent, every scale catching the sunlight in soft gleams. Even curled, it dominated the space, completely shielding Lucien from view.
Fed by the continuing mist, the serpent kept growing. Its head lifted high, staring down at the old wizard.
"A Patronus?" the old wizard said quietly, surprise clear in his voice.
His gaze moved to the last traces of Fiendfyre dissolving in the air. Unlike the slow consumption and conversion by the Fire God's Way, anything the Patronus touched simply ceased. Erased. No residue, no aftermath.
An ordinary Patronus only drove off Dementors and similar creatures.
Using one in actual combat to oppose and destroy other magic… only the ancient Greek wizard Andros, the legendary giant, had ever managed that.
Bright interest lit the old wizard's eyes. Now he was truly hooked.
A magical miracle lost to history, reappearing in a teenage wizard?
He had every reason to test it himself.
Black smoke spread again. Fiendfyre surged.
But deep in the black, a faint blue light quietly bloomed — deeper, purer, like a sapphire sealed inside flame.
"All Curses End."
A golden barrier flared into existence across the center of the outcrop, cutting the two of them apart. Runes flowed across its surface, radiating a heavy, steady weight.
Magic in the area calmed at once.
Dumbledore's calm, resonant voice carried through the mist. "Let's pause for now."
…
They were transported back inside the room.
It was as if the duel had never happened. Lucien and the old wizard sat facing each other at a small table. Hot tea and plates of Honeydukes' newest sweets sat between them — brought by Dumbledore.
They talked about curses. The atmosphere was perfectly civil.
Like two scholars exchanging ideas. Or a teacher guiding a student.
If you ignored the actual subject — how curses ate through flesh and soul, how to make them inflict deeper pain, how to root them so they could never be pulled out — the scene looked exactly like an ordinary afternoon chat over tea and cake.
As the conversation went on, the old wizard's expression grew more serious.
The boy learned too damn fast.
It wasn't just quick thinking on the spot. Lucien already had a strong foundation in curse theory. Knowledge about magic circuits and bloodline curses clicked together in his head almost instantly. He could extrapolate, ask questions that even the old wizard found sharp and unexpected.
The old wizard suddenly glanced at Dumbledore, who was leaning silently against the wall, and grinned.
"Wouldn't hurt to send this kid to Durmstrang. They let you study the Dark Arts openly there. Keeping him at Hogwarts is a waste."
Dumbledore's voice stayed soft. "His parents aren't wizards."
The old wizard snorted.
"That school's too old-fashioned. If you're a wizard, you're kin."
Durmstrang only took pure-bloods. In recent years they'd relaxed the rules a little — no longer demanding full family trees. As long as both parents were wizards, that counted as pure enough for them.
The old wizard's tone carried open disdain. "If I were headmaster, I'd rewrite Durmstrang's rules. There's a reason some schools keep sliding downhill."
Dumbledore sighed inwardly. You never even graduated from that school. You were expelled for running experiments that were too dangerous even for them.
He didn't say it. He just lifted his teacup and took a quiet sip.
The old wizard looked back at Lucien, his gaze complicated.
He'd seen the boy's combat skill. His talent with Dark Magic. And more importantly, the creativity in his alchemy — inventing something as world-changing as Instant Language. A flicker of old regret stirred again.
If this kid had been born a few decades earlier… maybe he really could have helped bring about the greater good?
Assuming, of course, that Lucien actually believed in letting wizards live openly and without shame.