At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

Malfoy's eyes flashed with undisguised malice, his gaze sweeping over Ron with a sarcastic glint, finally settling on the old robe with its worn cuffs, clearly too short. His lips curled into a deeper sneer, a prelude to a rattlesnake's venom.

"Look at that red hair, and that old robe that's been passed down through generations. You must be from the Weasley family." He slowly drew out his words, turned his head, and half a beat later, Goyle and Crabbe behind him let out a muffled chuckle in perfect unison.

Malfoy turned back and continued, "I've heard the Weasleys have more children than they can afford to support—"

"Potter, you'll soon find out that some wizarding families are just born... far superior to others." He glanced at Ron. "You don't want to be friends with someone different, do you? I can help you with that."

Before Ron could retort, his gaze had already turned to Harry, and he stretched out his hand, palm down.

"I think I can tell what's different for myself, thanks," Harry said coldly.

Malfoy blushed, not in a deep red, but in the kind of foolish look that often appeared on the faces of his two companions.

“If I were you, Potter, I’d be extra careful,” he said slowly. “You should behave yourself, or you’ll end up like your parents. They just don’t know what’s good for them. If you hang out with shady characters like the Weasleys or Hagrid, you’ll be influenced.”

Ron's face turned a deep purplish-red, and Harry's fists were clenched so tightly they were white.

Ron roared and lunged forward, but before he could even touch Goyle,

"squeak--!"

Gore screamed as the restless, wriggling lemur in Ron's hand darted up and bit his finger hard.

A gruesome brawl will unfold on the floor.

Lucian watched this scene unfold. The intricate Confusion spell enveloping him was slowly activating.

If we are to intervene, now is the best time to do so.

Before the chaos turned into a farce, before the rough script of fate was just being laid out.

With a thought, the cognitive confusion he was experiencing disappeared, and the colors of the world refocused on him.

He raised his wand and silently cast a spell.

……

Ron's haphazard punch landed hard on Malfoy's nose, but he used too much force and Malfoy lost his balance.

A gentle force caught him, pulling him back from the brink of falling.

For the Malfoy trio, however, the world had changed.

The originally flowing, invisible gas transformed into a thick, gelatinous substance at this moment.

This is a change beyond the comprehension of a first-year wizard.

From a physics perspective, air becomes a non-Newtonian fluid.

Gore and Crabbe tried to swing their arms to break free from the sudden restraint, but the harder they tried, the harder the air became.

Malfoy's eyes widened in horror. He opened his mouth as if to scream, but only a muffled "coo" came out.

They were like flies preserved in amber, maintaining a comical and distorted posture:

Malfoy stared wide-eyed in horror, Goyle clutched his bleeding finger, and Crabbe raised his fist.

A deathly silence fell over the carriage, broken only by Harry and Ron's heavy breathing.

The boy in the corner slowly emerged, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles on his robes. He walked past the stunned Harry and Ron, and past Hermione who was trying to speak, to the three people who were still trembling slightly, as if he were observing a few flies trapped in amber.

Then, he flicked his wrist slightly.

"Whoosh—ha!"

With a popping sound as air recirculated, the noise subsided. Goyle and Crabbe collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. Malfoy leaned against the doorframe, panting heavily.

He raised his head, his usual arrogance vanished, and his eyes were filled with an unprecedented fear as he looked at Lucien.

"It's noisy."

He looked at Malfoy with disdain. "If Slytherin's selection criteria allowed for the existence of such a barbarian, Salazar would probably be so angry he'd crawl out of his coffin."

Malfoy's lips trembled; he recognized the face.

"You...you're that...that freak from Ashford?" Fear distorted his voice. "I'm going to tell my dad!"

That alarm, originating from the depths of his soul, screamed in his mind.

Run away, run away quickly!

"If you still resolve disputes in the manner of beasts, then don't claim to be a civilized aristocrat."

Malfoy even forgot to utter any threats, and scrambled away with his two henchmen, disappearing into the far end of the carriage.

Hermione struggled to her feet, her eyes wide with curiosity overpowering her fear: "You didn't cast the spell? The Standard Spellbook says silent spells are part of the ultimate wizarding exam!"

Only after she finished speaking did she realize her lapse in composure, and she added breathlessly:

"I...I am Hermione Granger."

“Miss Granger,” Lucien’s tone softened slightly, “pronunciation is merely a trigger for emotion. If you could control the bullet directly, why would you shout?”

"Bullets? Are those Muggle things?" Ron was still a little shaken. He rubbed his trembling wrist and muttered indignantly, "Malfoy was just cursing 'Mudblood'...that bastard."

"Mudbloods?" Lucian repeated the word with amusement.

"That's a terrible word!" Ron quickly explained.

"I know what it means, Weasley. What I'm mocking is the logical flaw in the concept itself."

Lucian walked to the window, looked at the thoughtful Hermione, and calmly gave a conclusion that could drive a pure-blood family mad:

"The so-called pure-blood glory is nothing more than a group of pathetic worms who have lost their way on the path of magical evolution, trying to lock up their precarious genetic advantage through inbreeding."

He turned his head, his eyes reflecting the desolate wilderness rushing past the window.

"If bloodline really determines everything, they should be gods now, not giant babies who can't even control their basic emotions."

The cubicle door slid open automatically.

The notebook on the table turned on its own without any wind, its pages rustling as it finally stopped on a brand new page. An exquisite fountain pen, held by an invisible spirit, danced lightly across the paper, leaving behind words whose ink was still wet:

[Experiment Record]

The variable was successfully introduced. The inertia of fate is not unshakeable.

Conclusion: The causal chain of hatred has shifted.

Lucien calmly walked into the private room, tapped the table, and the notebook closed itself and slid into his robe pocket.

Following closely behind, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged bewildered glances before finally filing in.

The air inside the carriage was subtly heavy. The one-sided crushing defeat had left a huge psychological impact on the three first-year students. Ron seemed the most excited; Hermione frowned, her gaze shifting back and forth between Lucian and his wand; and Harry's expression was the most complex.

"Thank you." Harry broke the silence, looking at Lucian who had already sat back down by the window and started reading. His tone was sincere. "Without you, we might have really been fighting with Malfoy just now."

“That wasn’t a fight, Potter.” Lucian didn’t look up, turning a page of his book. “That was one-sided entanglement. Someone like Malfoy, if you don’t teach him what pain and fear are from the very first time, he’ll stubbornly spread throughout your life.”

Ron shrank back. "That's a very apt description. But how did you do it? That kind of magic that hardens the air?"

"Knowledge, Weasley." Lucien closed the book, looked up at the three children, and said, "Magic is not just about waving sticks and chanting spells; it's about understanding and reconstructing the rules of the world. When you stop seeing magic as a set of fixed steps, you can do it too."

Hermione took a deep breath.

As the atmosphere in the carriage gradually shifted from tense to relaxed, topics about colleges, courses, and families slowly filled in the gaps.

Between the pitch-black night and the rolling mountains, a vast black lake ripples. On the opposite shore, atop a high slope, stands a majestic castle. Its spires are numerous, and its windows glow with a warm, ancient orange light, like the open eyes of a colossal beast under the starry sky.

Hogwarts.

That is the majesty accumulated over thousands of years of history, and also the beginning and end of countless stories.

For others, this is a school, a home; but for Lucian, it is a stage for understanding the world.

"Get ready to get off the train," Lucien said, standing up.

……

The train screeched to a halt at the platform, the cold air instantly piercing the warmth inside the carriage.

The platform was teeming with people. Amidst the noise and jostling, a huge lantern swayed overhead, and a thunderous voice boomed, "First-year students! First-year students, this way! Harry, come this way, how are you?"

Hagrid's massive body cast a mountain-like shadow in the night, exuding an overwhelming sense of oppression. In Lucien's vision, the surging blood and untamed magic within Hagrid were dazzlingly jarring.

"This way! Stay close to me!" Hagrid shouted, leading the freshmen down a steep, narrow path, stumbling and falling.

The path was pitch black on both sides, with only the occasional cry of an unknown creature. Harry, Ron, and Hermione instinctively huddled around Lucian, as if even the monsters of the Dark Forest would fall silent if they were within arm's reach of him.

"Turn this corner, and you'll see Hogwarts for the first time!" Hagrid called back.

At the end of the road lies a vast, black lake. On the other side of this smooth, black gem, atop a high hillside, stands a majestic castle. Spires dot the landscape, and the lights from its windows are like a galaxy scattered across the earth.

"Wow--"

"No more than four people per boat!" Hagrid shouted, pointing to the small boats moored on the shore.

Harry and Ron quickly jumped onto a boat, Hermione followed closely behind, and Lucian stepped onto the small boat as well.

"Is everyone on board?" Hagrid called out, traveling alone in his boat. "Alright... onward!"

A fleet of small boats glided across the mirror-like surface of the lake. Everyone was silent, gazing at the enormous castle that soared into the clouds. But unlike the others, who were lost in their reverie, Lucien adjusted his glasses.

At that moment, the beautiful fairytale filter shattered in his eyes. In its place was a breathtakingly magnificent magical engineering marvel woven from countless magical lines.

At the very bottom, the original structure left by the four giants is obviously rugged and wild, carrying the savage atmosphere of the ancient Celtic era, and is solid granite; but above this, the medieval defense system is layers of unevenly applied cement, full of the unique obsession and loopholes of that era; further up, various magical circuits from the Renaissance and Victorian periods are tangled ivy, intertwined together.

He even noticed a clear logical loop in the main staircase area, but some principal had forcibly added a "random turning" patch, turning this fatal bug into a fun feature.

This is a "shit mountain code" that has been running for a thousand years, teetering on the brink of collapse yet full of vitality.

Wizards of every era have scribbled on it at will, forcibly gluing it together with tape and magic, full of compromises and makeshift solutions, yet it miraculously did not collapse, instead forming a dazzling chaotic aesthetic.

However, as his gaze deepened, Lucien frowned.

A thousand years has not been without its price. At the nodes of those original pathways lie the marks of countless repairs made by wizards throughout the ages. Some magical lines are chaotic and disordered, while others are covered with tiny cracks in their defensive systems—perhaps scars left by dark magic, or the erosion and decay of time.

What he found most unbearable was the "protection" that was clearly the work of modern wizards.

"...Too rough." Lucien's fingers tapped lightly on the gunwale.

This feeling is like watching a masterpiece of Song Dynasty Ru ware celadon porcelain being wrapped with cheap transparent tape and even having a gaudy little flower drawn on the crack with a marker.

"What did you say?" Hermione, sitting behind him, keenly heard his whisper.

"It's nothing." Lucien looked away, gazing at the approaching cliff. "I was just reflecting on how much harder it is to preserve history than to create it."

"Dows down!" Hagrid shouted.

The small boat carried them through the ivy curtain covering the front of the cliff to the hidden entrance beneath the castle.

"However, it is indeed an excellent example of reconstruction."

He said softly, "If I don't untangle this mess, I probably won't be able to sleep for the next seven years."