Grafton Manor.
Knock, knock—
The silver-white suit of knight's armor finished assembling itself. Aunt Penelope stepped forward and rapped her knuckles against the arm guard. The metal rang with a clear, crisp note.
She studied it for a long moment, open curiosity in her voice. "Does this armor sing like the ones at your school?"
"Not yet." Lucien lowered his wand and gave the armor's shoulder a light pat, smiling. "But if you'd like it to, Auntie, I can add that feature."
Penelope waved both hands quickly. "No, no. I was only asking out of curiosity. An armor that talks and sings would only startle people."
She circled it once more, looking it up and down with soft clucks of admiration. "To be able to craft something this impressive… Lucien, you've truly grown up."
She stopped with her hands clasped behind her back. Her gaze left the armor and settled on him instead. Lucien knew that look well—it carried the unmistakable weight of quiet calculation.
"Speaking of which," Penelope said, shifting topics with practiced ease, "when do you plan to meet the second Miss of the Swinton family? Neville and the Beaumont boy both got engaged not long ago, and they're around your age."
Lucien let out a quiet sigh. "Auntie, I'm still a few days short of my thirteenth birthday."
"It'll be here soon enough." Penelope stepped closer and held her hand level with the top of his head. "Look at you—almost as tall as I am. When you came home for the holidays I opened the door and nearly jumped."
Penelope herself was a tall woman, and Lucien already reached her brow. At this rate, by next summer—or perhaps even by the winter holidays—he might overtake her entirely.
He was in the middle of a growth spurt, of course, but even so he seemed to be shooting up faster than most boys his age. Magic might have had something to do with it. Between Luster constantly pressing close and the young Apple of Youth he tended every day, there was no shortage of life-force influences around him. Maybe every time he ruffled Luster's mane or checked on the sapling he gained another fraction of an inch without noticing.
Penelope kept calculating out loud. "Or perhaps you prefer girls from the magical world? That would make sense. You're around witches every day now—same topics, same outlook…"
She lowered her voice a fraction, a knowing little smile playing at her lips. "That girl you ran into in Diagon Alley, and the one in the photograph from the foreign school… both of them were quite exquisite."
Lucien didn't feel annoyed by the matchmaking. He understood exactly where it came from.
His parents had died years ago. He was Penelope's late brother's only child, the sole heir of the Grafton line. The parents he had never met existed for him only in photographs; there was no real emotional bond there. But Aunt Penelope had raised him for more than a decade. She was family in every sense that mattered.
Whether from the standpoint of a loving aunt or the head of a family concerned with bloodline continuity, her interest in his future was only natural. On that particular point, wizards and Muggles were remarkably alike.
"All right," Lucien said at last, his tone gentle. "I'll meet her. Don't worry, Auntie."
Penelope's eyes brightened. She was already lining up her next argument when the small notebook in Lucien's pocket gave a soft ding.
He took it out. The message was short, but the information it carried was not.
Newt.
Lucien's expression tightened slightly as he read.
"…So even raising that magical creature requires an official application through the proper channels…"