HP: Fragments Of A Legacy

Lucian walked through the sixth-floor corridors of the castle with the composure of someone accustomed to maintaining control in every situation. The soft echo of his footsteps broke the silence that reigned within the stone walls; most students were gathered in the Great Hall, enjoying the evening's festivities. Yet his mind was fixed on the meeting he had postponed for over a month.

He knew that a confrontation with Slytherin's conservative faction was inevitable. For weeks, they had attempted to undermine his growing influence within the house, employing tactics ranging from spreading rumors to minor acts of sabotage that, in hindsight, seemed almost childish. Every attempt had failed so spectacularly that the opposite effect occurred: his prestige among the students only grew.

Lucian couldn't help but find the situation ironic. Those seeking to stop him only managed to strengthen his position. Their repeated failures made them appear desperate and inept, while he, simply by remaining steadfast, emerged stronger. It was a game he was winning without much effort, a fact that naturally enraged his opponents even more.

The gravity of this meeting wasn't lost on him. Selwyn and Travers, the current leaders of the conservative faction, represented families deeply entrenched in Slytherin's traditions. Their parents, former Death Eaters, had not only been loyal followers of Voldemort but had also passed down the same disdain for anything that challenged the notion of blood purity. However, Lucian understood that these beliefs were in decline.

The ideologies and beliefs Voldemort had championed during his rise to power were experiencing a noticeable erosion after his downfall. Though slow, there was a shift towards more open-minded thinking within the wizarding community. This change, however, was far from universal; deeply ingrained prejudices and traditions still lingered in many corners of the magical world.

The collapse of Voldemort's legacy wasn't just due to a rejection of his methods and principles; it also stemmed from the reality of how his regime had been sustained. Many who had joined his cause did so not out of conviction but out of fear, opportunism, or the desire to protect themselves and their families. Their so-called loyalty had, at best, been a façade that crumbled as soon as his power began to falter.

Even so, this shift faced significant resistance. Old families, proud of their lineage and the traditions they had upheld for centuries, fiercely resisted relinquishing their privileged position. To them, admitting that the ideals of blood purity were outdated not only meant renouncing symbolic power but also acknowledging that they had been wrong to support such beliefs—something few were willing to do.

This context created an atmosphere of transition, where conservative factions struggled to maintain their influence while more progressive voices advocated for change. Lucian was well aware that the battles being waged weren't just about political or social control.

Finally, he reached the designated meeting spot. In front of him hung a faded tapestry depicting what seemed to be a gathering of witches and wizards beneath a starry sky. The fabric was old, nearly forgotten, but Lucian appreciated the intricate detail of the embroidered figures. With a slight movement of his hand, he pulled the tapestry aside, revealing a dark passageway. The few candles that lit the space seemed to fight against the gloom, casting unsettling shadows on the stone walls.

As he proceeded down the corridor, the wooden floorboards creaked under his feet. At the end of the path stood a door. He paused for a moment, adjusting his expression until his features were neutral, offering no room for interpretation. Then, he pushed the door open.

The room, dusty and abandoned, was barely illuminated by a few floating candles. The air smelled of dampness and time left behind. At the center of the room, Adrian Selwyn and Isolde Travers stood beside a central desk, like adversaries waiting for a challenger rather than interlocutors. Both watched him with calculating gazes, attempting to read him before he spoke a word. To one side, Arthur Catherwood leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression calm but his eyes sharp and attentive.

"You're just on time, Grindelwald," Selwyn greeted, his tone striving for nonchalance but carrying a sharp edge.

Lucian closed the door behind him with a soft click and stepped into the center of the room. His pace was unhurried but carried a determination that filled the space. He didn't respond immediately, allowing the silence to stretch just enough for the others to feel the weight of his presence.

"An interesting choice of venue for a meeting," Lucian remarked at last, his tone light but laced with a subtle mockery as his eyes calmly surveyed the empty classroom. Finally, his gaze settled on Selwyn. "I suppose it suits people like you."

The flicker of fury that crossed Selwyn's face didn't escape Lucian's notice. Though the young man quickly masked it with a calculated smile, the crack in his façade was enough to confirm that Lucian had struck a nerve.

"We thought it fitting. After all, important matters require a space away from prying eyes," Selwyn replied, his voice carefully measured.

Isolde Travers spoke next, her tone firm and dripping with disdain. "Matters that, I fear, need to be addressed before anyone else in this house loses sight of what it means to be a true Slytherin."

Lucian raised an eyebrow, allowing himself a faint smile that barely concealed his amusement. Their words were predictable, an echo of the same tired ideologies he had heard countless times before, yet still worth noting. His gaze briefly shifted to Catherwood, seeking some indication of his stance in all this. However, the young man remained impassive, leaning against the wall like a spectator enjoying a show in which he had no intention of participating.

"And what exactly do you believe needs to be clarified?" Lucian asked finally, crossing his arms in a relaxed posture, though his gaze remained sharp and assessing.

Selwyn, eager to claim the spotlight, stepped forward, adjusting the lapels of his robe as though the gesture might lend more weight to his words.

"You're dividing our house with your constant attempts to draw attention and loyalty from the younger students. You're leading them away from the values Slytherin has upheld for centuries."

Lucian's smile widened slightly, though his gaze grew sharper.

"If I'm not mistaken, the values of Slytherin are ambition and cunning," he replied in a soft, almost careless tone, though his words landed with the precision of a well-aimed blow. "As far as I can tell, that's exactly what I've been fostering."

The tension in the room thickened palpably. Isolde narrowed her eyes, but before she could speak, Selwyn pressed on.

Lucian, however, didn't give him the chance. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them just enough to ensure his presence couldn't be ignored, yet maintaining an air of control.

"Or is your idea of a true Slytherin someone who blindly clings to the ideals of a man who was defeated by a defenseless infant?" he continued, his tone still measured but with a cutting edge that reverberated against the stone walls of the room.

A deafening silence followed his words. The room seemed to hold its breath as even Catherwood, who had been indifferent until now, shifted his attention slightly toward Selwyn and Travers, observing how they might respond.

Selwyn's face flushed with anger. His hand darted out, and in an instant, his wand was aimed directly at Lucian.

"Stop this, Selwyn!" Arthur's firm voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward, his own wand at the ready. His tone was more a warning than a plea, leaving no doubt he would not allow the situation to escalate further.

Isolde Travers remained silent, arms crossed, her expression contemplative as though waiting for the right moment to act.

Lucian, however, showed no sign of intimidation. Instead of retreating, he stepped closer, now standing directly in front of Selwyn. The height difference was undeniable, and Selwyn had to tilt his head slightly downward to meet Lucian's eyes.

"Go ahead," Lucian said, his voice calm, almost bored, but with an icy undertone that sliced through the room's tension. "Show me if you're better than your lackeys… or if, as I suspect, you're just another incompetent pureblood."

The disdain in his words struck more effectively than any spell, and for a moment, Selwyn froze. His knuckles whitened around his wand, and his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed his teeth might grind together.

Arthur held his position, wand steady, saying nothing further, letting the weight of Lucian's words dictate the outcome. Travers, meanwhile, frowned, her expression darkening at Selwyn's hesitation.

After a tense pause, Selwyn took a deep breath and slowly lowered his wand, forcing himself to calm down.

"I won't play your game, Grindelwald," he said through gritted teeth, his voice taut with suppressed anger. He straightened, attempting to salvage his dignity. "This isn't over."

Lucian raised an eyebrow, his expression betraying only mild disappointment.

"How predictable," he said with palpable derision. "An empty threat from someone without the courage to back up their words."

Before Selwyn could retort, Travers lost patience. Frustration boiling over, she raised her wand with a swift motion and pointed it directly at Lucian.

"Stop it, Travers!" Arthur barked, his voice sharp with authority. "This isn't a duel."

But his warning fell on deaf ears. Blinded by fury, Travers was determined to act. Just as she opened her mouth to cast a spell, a quick flash of blue light struck her side, sending her crashing into the wall with a dull thud. Her wand flew out of her hand, clattering to the floor.

The impact left the room in stunned silence. Selwyn gawked, his eyes wide as he stared at Travers sprawled on the floor, and then slowly turned his gaze toward Arthur, who still held his wand with calm precision.

"So, this is how you pick a side, Catherwood?" Selwyn spat, venom dripping from his words.

Arthur shrugged with nonchalance, sparing a glance at Travers as she struggled to rise, her movements clumsy and full of frustration.

"If it's any consolation, it's nothing personal. I just don't have patience for theatrics… especially ones so close to a Gryffindor."

Lucian, who had remained an observer to the chaos, let out a soft sigh, as though the entire scene was more tiresome than upsetting.

"And that's how this ends," he said, his tone neutral, almost indifferent, as he fixed Selwyn with a cold stare. "You can cling to outdated ideas and pretend to wield power you clearly lack. But you'd do well to remember one thing: times change, and so do priorities."

Though his voice remained steady, the weight of his words pierced Selwyn's faltering composure. Still clutching his wand, Selwyn hesitated, unsure whether to risk a battle he had already lost. Lucian held his gaze for a moment longer before shifting his attention to Travers, who glared at him from the ground with a mix of fury and humiliation.

With an air of disinterest, Lucian turned and walked toward the door, as if the confrontation were beneath him.

"You two should reflect on what it truly means to be a Slytherin. Clinging to the past will only ensure you're left behind."

Arthur paused briefly in the doorway, casting them a final glance.

"You'd better think carefully about what you want. The future has little room for those unwilling to adapt."

With that, they both left the room, leaving behind an oppressive silence heavy with tension and resentment. Selwyn and Travers remained still, grappling not only with their humiliation but with the bitter truth of their own limitations.

…

Lucian and Arthur walked in silence through the stone corridors of the castle, dimly lit by torches casting long shadows on the walls. The echo of their footsteps was the only sound accompanying them, and for a long moment, neither seemed inclined to break the quiet.

Finally, Arthur spoke, his voice low but steady.

"I didn't think you'd escalate things this quickly," he said, not looking directly at Lucian. "But are you sure this was necessary? Even if they've been antagonizing you, they weren't necessarily your enemies."

Lucian offered a faint smile, a gesture so brief it almost went unnoticed.

"Selwyn and Travers aren't the problem, Arthur. They're just symptoms of a larger illness. As for what happened today, you know as well as I do that it was inevitable. Letting them carry on without a clear warning would've been a mistake."

He paused, his tone shifting slightly, revealing a hint of genuine surprise.

"Though I won't deny, your choice to stand by me was unexpected. I thought I'd be handling this alone."

Arthur scoffed softly, as if the idea amused him.

"I just weighed my options," he replied with a shrug. "The conservative side is practically finished. They're losing influence and followers fast, and their strongest supporters are older students who'll be gone in less than two years."

"Pure pragmatism, then?" Lucian asked, raising an eyebrow, though there was a note of approval in his voice.

"Of course," Arthur said with a touch of irony. "But I'd also like a bit of peace during my remaining years within these walls."

Lucian let out a soft laugh, barely audible but enough to lighten the tension.

"Peace…" he repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue. "It's something everyone wants, but few ever achieve."

Arthur shrugged, his usual indifferent expression firmly in place.

"As long as I don't have to deal with idiots like Travers every day, I'll call that peace."

Without another word, he turned down a different corridor at the next intersection, disappearing into the shadows without looking back.

Lucian watched him go for a moment, his expression calm, though his eyes glimmered with calculated intensity. At last, he resumed his own path, the echo of his footsteps resonating in the empty hallway. Yet something in his stride shifted.

His steps grew slower, his gaze fixed ahead as though he were seeing something invisible to anyone else. His breathing steadied, and a faint, almost playful smile appeared on his face.

"Well then," he murmured to himself, as if addressing an old friend. "Let's see what you've decided to show me."

The atmosphere around him seemed to change; the air grew thicker, charged with a solemn, almost ceremonial energy, as if the castle itself were guiding him. Lucian turned into a side corridor he barely remembered noticing before and continued forward without hesitation, as though his steps were dictated by a force only he could perceive.

When he finally came to his senses, he found himself on one of the first-floor corridors. Curiously, at this hour, the students should have already been finishing their feast in the Great Hall, yet the hallway was deserted, eerily empty, as though time itself had paused.

A rancid, unpleasant odor reached his senses, making him wrinkle his nose slightly. Still, he didn't retreat. Instead, he pressed on, walking calmly until he turned a corner and found the source.

Before him, the scene was grotesque. A hulking creature, over twelve feet tall, loomed with its massive, stone-like gray body. Its small, bald head seemed grotesquely disproportionate to the rest of its figure. Thick, trunk-like legs supported a body that dragged a heavy wooden club with little care, while its long arms hung at its sides.

The troll turned its head toward him, its small, reddish eyes glinting with a primal, instinctive rage. It let out a deep, guttural growl, a sound that echoed like thunder against the corridor's walls.

"Well, it seems someone let you out to stir up a bit of chaos," Lucian remarked casually, his wand already firmly in his right hand. "Very well, let's see if tonight has any more surprises in store."

…

The Great Hall was abuzz with whispers that morning. Students, who were usually preoccupied with breakfast or exchanging trivial stories, leaned toward one another, speaking in hushed voices but with evident excitement. Every pair of eyes seemed to shine with the same mix of intrigue and fear. The rumor that had spread since the early hours of the day was simply too fascinating to ignore.

"Was it really a student?" a Hufflepuff boy asked, his wide eyes darting between his friends. "They say the troll was… torn apart when they found it."

"That's what I heard," replied a girl as she adjusted her glasses and leaned forward. "But they're also saying the professors don't even know who did it. Filch was furious about the mess in one of the first-floor corridors, but beyond that…"

"It had to be a teacher!" another boy interrupted with a dismissive laugh. "Who else could take on a troll? No student here has the power or skill to pull that off."

"Why not?" a girl countered, crossing her arms with a defiant look. "If someone used their head and a bit of clever magic, they could've done it."

Over at the Gryffindor table, the discussion was particularly lively. Ron Weasley, who looked like he hadn't slept well, listened with a mix of curiosity and dread as he nibbled on a piece of toast.

"I don't get why they haven't told us anything," Seamus Finnigan muttered, swirling his spoon in a bowl of porridge. "If it was a professor, why not say who it was? And if it was a student… why haven't they been rewarded or something?"

"Because this whole thing's insane!" Ron exclaimed, dropping his toast onto his plate with a sharp thud. "A student taking down a troll? It's impossible."

Hermione Granger, normally eager to correct any inaccuracies in a conversation, stayed silent. She was pale and seemed far more interested in pushing her toast around her plate than joining the commotion. Every now and then, she glanced toward the far end of the Great Hall, where the professors were engaged in quiet discussion.

Harry, sitting beside her, couldn't help but watch her with concern. What little Hermione had shared about the previous night had left him unsettled: the troll had been close—far too close—to the bathroom where she'd been. It was nothing short of a miracle that she'd come out of it unharmed.

At the Ravenclaw table, the debate had taken a more speculative turn.

"I heard they found it… torn apart," a girl whispered, her eyes gleaming with a mix of fear and fascination. "Like they didn't just use magic, but something else."

"Something else?" another student repeated, frowning. "What could be more than magic?"

"What if it was some kind of magical artifact?" a third suggested, their expression thoughtful. "Something no one else knows about."

At the Slytherin table, the conversation had a more haughty tone. Draco Malfoy leaned back in his seat, surveying the other students with a sneer.

"It's ridiculous," he said, dropping his knife with a clatter. "No one here would have the guts to face a troll, let alone kill one. This is just some story to scare the first-years."

Pansy Parkinson, however, seemed thoroughly delighted by the idea. "But Draco, think about it. What if it was a student? Maybe someone… like you."

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly relishing the suggestion. "Well, if it was someone, it must've been a Slytherin. No Gryffindor would have the cunning to pull something like that off."

The conversation spread like wildfire. Every group seemed to add its own version of the story, and although no one knew for sure what had happened, they all agreed on one thing: whoever had done it was someone powerful—and perhaps dangerous.

At the far end of the Slytherin table, Lucian sat quietly, his expression unreadable as he sipped his tea. The boisterous chatter about the troll didn't seem to affect him in the slightest, but the faint curl at the corner of his lips suggested he was far more attentive than he appeared.

Suddenly, he glanced up and spoke in a light, almost casual tone, loud enough to carry to those nearby.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, raising one eyebrow slightly. "Do I have food on my face?"

His gaze landed directly on Helena, who froze in place, her wide eyes betraying her surprise at being caught. She had been watching him with a mixture of curiosity and caution, lost in her own thoughts about the boy who seemed so unaffected by the commotion shaking the Great Hall.

"I…," Helena stammered, clutching her napkin in her lap as a faint blush crept into her cheeks. "I was just wondering… what you thought about the rumors."

Lucian observed her in silence for a moment, tilting his head slightly as if weighing his response. Then, setting his cup down carefully, he clasped his hands in front of him, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips.

"The rumors?" he echoed, as though he wasn't sure what she meant. His tone was almost playful. "Ah, you mean the mystery of the fallen troll?"

Helena nodded quickly, trying to maintain her composure, though her nerves were evident.

"Yes… It's just that everyone's talking about it. They say it was a student who… well, who faced it."

"A student, you say?" Lucian murmured, resting his chin on one hand as he feigned consideration. "Interesting. Though, personally, I doubt anyone here would be reckless enough to take on a troll."

"Then…" Helena looked at him with growing interest, momentarily forgetting her shyness. "You don't think it's true?"

Lucian smiled again, but this time his expression grew slightly more serious, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge.

"I'll tell you what I know, not what I can guess. Trolls, like many magical creatures, have a natural resistance to magic. They're not easy to harm, which makes them even harder to defeat—and harder still to…" He paused, letting the word linger. "…kill. Even the most advanced spells have limited effectiveness against them. Only a truly exceptional wizard, someone with great skill and experience, could accomplish such a feat."

Helena showed only a flicker of surprise at Lucian's detailed explanation. She had spent enough time around him to know he possessed a vast and often surprising knowledge for someone his age. It was precisely that depth that had caught her attention in the first place, but now the situation felt different. Something else about him intrigued her.

Lucian hadn't been at dinner last night. She had noticed his absence immediately and had wanted to inform the professors when the Headmaster left to search for Hermione. But Cassandra had stopped her. Then this morning, the castle was filled with rumors of a student who had faced, defeated, and possibly even killed a troll.

Helena couldn't help but feel it was all too much of a coincidence. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but every detail seemed to point toward Lucian in a way she couldn't ignore.

"That makes sense," she finally said, trying to keep her tone neutral. She avoided looking directly at Lucian but couldn't resist a sidelong glance, hoping to catch some clue in his expression. "But… if that's true, don't you think it's strange no one knows who did it?"

Lucian, who had been idly sipping his tea again, raised his eyes with calm precision. For a brief moment, his gaze met hers, and an unreadable glint flickered in his eyes.

"Perhaps that's the most fascinating part of it, don't you think?" he replied, a smile curving his lips, giving nothing away. "A mystery is always more interesting than a simple answer."

Helena held his gaze for a second longer before looking away, feigning interest in her plate. But inside, her suspicions only grew. Did Lucian know more than he was letting on? Was it really possible that he… no, it was absurd to think that… or perhaps not entirely?

As the noise of the Great Hall carried on around them, Helena decided to keep her thoughts to herself for now. If Lucian had a secret, it wasn't her place to unravel it. If he ever chose to reveal it, that would be his decision. For now, all she could do was watch and wait, letting the mystery linger—just as he had suggested.

…

The atmosphere in the Potions classroom was as oppressive as ever, thick with the acrid smell of boiling ingredients and the tense focus of students trying to avoid mistakes. But that morning, something felt different in the air, something beyond the usual weight of the dungeon's damp stone walls and the ever-looming presence of Severus Snape.

Lucian, seated beside Helena, noticed what others seemed too preoccupied to catch: Snape's stride was off. Each step carried a subtle imbalance, a slight irregularity in the way he distributed his weight. His left foot moved with deliberate firmness, while his right barely brushed the ground, as though he was favoring it.

Lucian didn't lift his eyes from his cauldron, but the observation was mentally filed away, a small note that might prove useful later. Next to him, Helena appeared to have noticed the same thing.

"Did you see that?" she whispered, her voice low, her focus seemingly on her brewing potion but leaning ever so slightly toward him.

Lucian barely inclined his head, a small acknowledgment that he'd heard her.

"Yes," he murmured, just as quietly, adding a new ingredient to his potion with measured precision. "But Snape isn't the sort to admit to a weakness—not even if it incapacitates him."

Helena exhaled softly, as though digesting his words, her gaze flickering back toward their professor, who was now pacing closer to their table.

Snape leaned over Lucian's cauldron, his dark shadow falling across the bubbling surface. His black eyes darted between the potion and the meticulously arranged ingredients.

"Adequate," he said coldly, though there was a faint, almost imperceptible edge of approval in his tone. Without waiting for a response, he straightened and moved on, his uneven gait once again visible to anyone paying close attention.

Helena followed his retreating figure with her eyes, her brow slightly furrowed.

"It's strange," she murmured, just loud enough for Lucian to hear. "I wonder what could've happened to him."

Lucian didn't reply immediately. He ensured his potion was at the right consistency before extinguishing the flame beneath his cauldron.

"Not everything needs to be guessed at, Helena," he said at last, his tone measured. "Sometimes, the information comes to those who know how to wait."

The lesson ended shortly after, and students began packing up their materials. The room buzzed faintly with quiet conversations about the potions they'd brewed and the looming assignments.

Lucian took his time, packing his ingredients with the same precision he'd used throughout the lesson. Beside him, Helena and Cassandra waited patiently, ready to leave for their next class.

"Mr. Grindelwald, stay a moment."

Snape's cold voice cut through the soft hum of the emptying classroom.

Lucian didn't seem surprised by the request; a faint frown flickered across his face before vanishing entirely. He turned slowly toward the professor, meeting Snape's dark, piercing gaze with calm composure.

"Of course, Professor," Lucian said smoothly, setting his bag aside. With a subtle gesture of his hand, he signaled Helena and Cassandra to go on without him.

The two exchanged quick glances before leaving the dungeon, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor.

Lucian stood still, his posture relaxed, though his eyes glinted with quiet wariness.

"I understand, Mr. Grindelwald," Snape began, his tone even but carrying an undercurrent of suspicion, "that you were not present in the Great Hall during the troll's appearance last night. Perhaps you could clarify where you were."

Lucian held Snape's gaze with a practiced calm, letting the silence stretch just long enough to feel deliberate before answering.

"I was handling certain matters related to our house, Professor," he said at last, his tone measured and serious. "Arthur Catherwood can corroborate my account."

Snape tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes scanning Lucian's face for any trace of deceit or hesitation.

"You'll understand, of course, that the word of one individual won't suffice," he replied with cutting suspicion.

Lucian didn't flinch, the faintest trace of a smile—so subtle it was almost imperceptible—curving his lips.

"Well, you could ask Selwyn and Travers," he added casually, his tone carrying a deliberate edge, "though I doubt they'd be particularly cooperative."

Snape's eyes narrowed momentarily, something akin to realization flickering across his face.

"I see," he murmured coldly. "I trust these 'matters' have been resolved."

"For the moment, they have," Lucian replied, meeting Snape's gaze with steady confidence. "But, as you know, certain tensions require my intervention. Maintaining cohesion within Slytherin is essential for collective success."

The explanation was convincing, even logical. But Snape, a man well-versed in half-truths, seemed far from convinced. His dark eyes remained fixed on Lucian, scrutinizing him as though he were an uncertain ingredient in a volatile potion.

Finally, Snape moved to his desk, retrieving a parchment. When he turned back to Lucian, his voice dropped to a razor-sharp whisper.

"Whatever it is you think you're accomplishing, Mr. Grindelwald, I suggest you tread more carefully. Hogwarts has its own ways of uncovering the truth, and missteps rarely go unnoticed."

Lucian inclined his head slightly, his expression adopting a calculated look of respect.

"I appreciate your advice, Professor. I always strive to act with caution."

For a moment, they stood in silence, each seeming to measure the other's depth. At last, Snape made a brief motion with his hand.

"You may go."

As he left the classroom, Lucian reflected on Snape's words. He wasn't entirely certain if they had been meant as a veiled warning or a thinly disguised threat. Knowing the man's reputation, Lucian leaned toward the former, though it was difficult to be sure.

For now, all he could do was make his way to his next class. In any case, there was no solid evidence anyone could use against him. Perhaps there was one person capable of uncovering something, but even that possibility felt remote.

Adjusting the strap of his bag, Lucian pushed those thoughts aside and headed toward the next room.