A Rosier Legacy (HP AU M-SI)

A deathly silence fell over the Room of Requirement, broken only by Agnes's ragged breathing. Silent horror and surprise were mirrored in her eyes. I gave her hand a quick squeeze and, with slow, cautious steps, made my way toward Potter.

He lay motionless on his side, his face completely drenched in blood. I watched him with bated breath, my mind racing. I probably wouldn't have stood a chance against Voldemort in his prime, though right now, I'd have a shot, considering Potter's magic is weaker than a first-year's. But logically—the magical ritual was supposed to cleanse him, so why am I thinking so pessimistically? Magic is as wise as it is powerful.

In the best-case scenario, the ritual preserved his mother's protection and rid him of the Horcrux...

"Aguamenti!" I barked, and a jet of water hit the boy like a bucket being overturned.

Potter jolted, opening his eyes with a sharp, wheezing gasp. For a moment, he stared confusedly until his gaze finally steadied. "W-what h-happened?" he asked inquiringly, with a slight stutter.

"Fuck, a stutter like Quirrell's is not a good sign," I thought worriedly, though I immediately gave myself a mental slap. He's surely just in shock.

"The ritual, Potter. Are you alright? How do you feel?"

He considered it for a moment. "Great. As if a massive weight that was pinning me to the ground has just fallen off me," he replied, pushing himself up from the soaked floor. "Except for the cold floor and the wet clothes... Why didn't DeMille experience anything like this?" He paused, adding with a piercing look: "And why are you pointing your wand at me?"

"Just to be safe, Potter. You started screaming and your face was covered in blood," I replied calmly, stepping closer. I could feel confusion, joy, and a sense of freedom radiating from him, which made me almost certain it was truly him.

"You can talk to snakes, can't you, Potter?" I asked after a moment of silence. Agnes let out a surprised gasp in the quiet room.

He simply nodded as if it were nothing. Now we could test if he still possessed the ability—it was tied to the Horcrux, after all. Recently, McGonagall had been explaining conjurations like Avis or Serpensortia. Although we hadn't tried them yet, I knew I wouldn't have a problem with it. Incarcerous worked on a similar basis.

"I'm going to conjure a snake and we'll see if the ability remained," I commanded him. I saw that he wanted to protest—he was shivering from the cold—but I certainly didn't plan on underestimating the situation. I waited for him to nod.

I aimed my wand a few meters away from us and quickly conjured the creature: "Serpensortia!" With a flash of white, a small snake appeared; I made sure to imagine only a common grass snake. I nodded at Potter to start the conversation.

"Hello, how are you?" Potter began, while the frightened snake only hissed quietly.

"That was in English, Potter," I remarked dryly and waited.

"Hello, how are you?" he tried again.

"English again."

Even in the films, he had trouble with it, and so we kept trying for a good twenty minutes until I was absolutely sure the Horcrux was gone.

"Alright, so you can no longer speak to snakes. That's good news, Potter," I concluded, while Agnes watched us, as tense as a harp string.

"Why is that good news? Surely everyone can talk to snakes, can't they?" Potter asked, confused.

Agnes chuckled—she was still tense, but she seemed calmer now that she saw Potter speaking to the frightened snake in English. She decided to answer.

"No, Potter, not everyone can talk to snakes. In the British Isles, the most famous Parselmouth was Salazar Slytherin, and then the families descended from him—the Sayres and the Gaunts," she paused for a moment and then finished in a whisper: "The last known Parselmouth was the Dark Lord."

"Voldemort?!" he blurted out in surprise, a tremor in his voice.

"Yes, Lord Voldemort," I replied quickly and immediately continued. "When he attacked your family, he was likely in the middle of a powerful dark ritual. Thanks to your mother, that ritual failed. She protected you, and a part of Voldemort ended up inside you. It was only because of that that you could speak to snakes."

He stared at me in silent awe for a while before whispering: "So my mother...?"

"Yes. Dumbledore would surely say her love protected you. In a way, he'd be right—she must have loved you very much—because I suspect she used an exceptionally dark ritual for your protection."

"What? What do you mean, a dark ritual?"

"Quite simply. These are just my theories, of course, but based on what I know of rituals, she performed one during Voldemort's attack where the main ingredient was her own death. Voldemort unwittingly helped her, and you became the recipient of her protection. It also explains that rune on your forehead—she likely carved it there herself." I paused for a moment and added matter-of-factly: "It means your mother was probably a quite experienced witch who wasn't afraid of dark magic if it meant saving you."

A tense silence followed. I perceived Potter's astonished gaze, his quiet gratitude, and deep sadness. On the other hand, I felt Agnes's lingering unease.

I saw that Potter's scar was still red with blood, as if someone had torn it open again, but I had a feeling it would fade completely over time. I had to add one more important piece of information, though—a warning.

"The ritual we performed rid you of the piece of Voldemort, but I don't know exactly what happened to your mother's protection. I assume, however, that you still have it. Clǣnsung sāwle and līchaman should remove everything evil and foreign, not the beneficial. There is a strong blood bond between you and your mother, and magic must have undoubtedly recognized her sacrifice."

"Thank you, Rosier. I appreciate your help," Potter said.

I shook my head in disagreement. "This was a trade, Potter. You paid me, so you got what we agreed upon. Now you can cast magic even among Muggles, just be careful not to let others see you. The rest was just a bonus."

"Thank you. I appreciate you explaining what happened and why, though. Even if it's just theories, it's the closest thing to the truth I know about that night."

I nodded and quickly cleared away the dirt and water, though the hair-styling charm didn't take—within moments, his hair was hopelessly messy again. It seemed he had begun to trust me immensely; he didn't even flinch when I pointed my wand at him and started casting without warning.

Once he looked presentable and not like someone who had just been the victim of an attempted murder, I decided to say goodbye. I left the rest of the work to Agnes.

"Agnes, please lead Potter out of the room. Just like before."

"Sure. Let's go, Potter," she replied, her voice still a bit strained. She was already wrapping the scarf around his eyes again and pulling him out.

As soon as they left, I turned to the grass snake, which was trying to warm itself at least a little on the cold ground. McGonagall had explained in Transfiguration that with spells like Avis and Serpensortia, we create life artificially; we don't summon it from elsewhere. It would be quite sad if, for example, Dumbledore summoned hundreds of birds in a duel only for someone to burn them to ash.

Fortunately, it was only artificial life, and so with a sense of distaste, I resolved to burn the snake.

It took me a moment to overcome my hesitation, but finally, I uttered: "Incendio!" A bright flame engulfed the creature, which didn't even have time to hiss.

After such a tense morning, I no longer felt like continuing my training. Instead, I went to explore the castle. Those magical portraits were still on my mind.

---

I wandered the castle, looking at the paintings with interest. There were a vast number of them, but none caught my eye so far. And if one did speak to me, its inhabitant was usually asleep. Finally, I decided to head all the way to the Clock Tower. On the way, I met a few unknown students; it was Saturday afternoon, so nobody was in a hurry. However, the closer I got to the tower, the fewer people I encountered.

It wasn't long before I found myself in a corridor leading to the library from the opposite side. Here was a painting where a figure was fast asleep. It was an older man with a long ginger beard and a nameplate: Giffard Abbott. In his hand, he held an astrolabe with a telescope, and he was accompanied by a dog that immediately started barking at him to wake him up.

"What is it? What's going on? I'm getting up, hey," the portrait muttered sleepily. He blinked and looked directly at me. "Good day, young man. Password?" he asked.

"Good day. Password?" I repeated after him in surprise.

"Well, for the secret passage, of course! I can't let you through without the password," he replied with deadly seriousness.

"Hm, the secret passage doesn't interest me at the moment. You interest me—as a painting."

"Ha? Have you heard that I was Headmaster of Hogwarts, perhaps?" he asked, chest out with an expression of pride that only peacocks possess.

I had absolutely no idea, but of course, I nodded in agreement with a serious smile.

"Oh, yes! One of the few Hufflepuff Headmasters! My greatest achievement, I tell you!" he boasted.

"And what was your favorite spell?" I asked curiously.

"Beelzebub's Hammer, of course," he replied as if it were obvious. "I brought many an opponent to their knees with it!"

There it was. The knowledge I was looking for. It sounded like a powerful spell, and even Vespera hadn't mentioned it in her book. I eagerly asked immediately: "What was the incantation and what exactly did it do? How do I cast it?"

"Well, you must..." Abbott suddenly looked completely confused and then shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

"How can you not know? You just said it was your favorite spell!"

"Young man, I am merely a painting of a great man. I do not know everything he knew."

"How is that possible? Shouldn't you have all his memories?"

He shook his head in disagreement and began to explain in a teacherly tone: "A portrait's knowledge and behavior are subjective. For example, my painter knew I was famous for Beelzebub's Hammer, so that spell is automatically my favorite, though in reality, it might not have been. My behavior is distorted by his perception of me. We are not real people."

"Then how do you know these technical things about your own painting?"

"The painter knew it, so it naturally passed on to me. We have no problem with general knowledge."

"So do you know anything useful at all?" I asked, annoyed. Beelzebub's Hammer sounded truly powerful, and I regretted its loss.

"Of course I do!" he winked at me conspiratorially. "The password to the secret passage and one more piece of knowledge—the most important of all!"

"What knowledge is that, Mr. Abbott?" I asked with bated breath.

He adopted a Solomonic expression and began to quietly impart his wisdom: "Stop blaming yourself for your failures. Learn Astronomy and blame the planets!"

I tell you, I nearly lost it when he said that. But it immediately made me laugh so hard that tears ran down my face. The painting laughed happily with me, clearly proud of how his joke landed. Our shared laughter echoed through the corridor so loudly that I was afraid the old bat from the library would come running out, but fortunately, it seemed to be soundproofed here.

A moment after we finished laughing, Abbott began to yawn again. He managed to throw one last phrase at me: "Tempus neminem manet."

I immediately repeated it curiously: "Tempus neminem manet."

His frame slid aside with a creak, revealing a short, dark passage. I took it as a goodbye—he likely wanted to get rid of me now that he'd told me his password. I didn't hesitate; I lit a bright Lumos and stepped inside.

A few meters later, I came out directly in front of the Great Hall. It wasn't dinner time yet, so I decided to return to the Room of Requirement. To train again, of course. I'd probably lose my mind if I had to dig through all that junk again... it was incredibly annoying. I would have preferred to dump it on Agnes or the boys, but there were seriously dangerous things in there. So, I chose procrastination in the form of training instead.

I walked past the wall three times. This time, however, I thought of a smaller training room with a comfortable armchair. I wasn't in the mood for any extra hard drills; rather, I just wanted to go through my repertoire for relaxation and then think about my next steps in peace.

The room complied. I found two training dummies in it and a black marble fireplace with an armchair—exactly like the one we had in our family castle. There were even prepared logs in the fireplace for total comfort.

"Thank you," I whispered toward the walls, and I thought I felt a gentle quiver of magic as if Hogwarts were answering me.

I immediately started with the "Reducto!" curse. As a powerful tool of dark magic, it required a significant amount of energy, so it could exhaust me fairly quickly. Its advantage, however, lay in its silent destruction—no mess, no noise, the struck part simply vanished. I could vividly imagine how blood would immediately spray from a living target after such a hit.

The blue beam with black edging silently struck the dummy's shoulder. The diameter of the impact visibly widened. Though not immediately fatal, if I removed someone's shoulder like that, they would likely bleed out very fast. When I thought more deeply about this spell, however, it required far too much magical power to be effective for me in a long duel.

My water whip was made for dueling—energetically cheap, powerful, and lethal, though it still didn't cut as sharply as I would have liked. The problem was its noise, whereas Reducto was absolutely silent. I also realized that if I only trained elementary magic, I would progress in it, but I would start to fall behind in dark magic. I needed to grow in both directions.

"Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!" I destroyed parts of the regenerating dummies one after another until I felt I'd had enough for now. It was time for "cheaper" elementary training.

With elements, I felt a huge affinity for water; it was energetically cheap, powerful, and soothing for me. I could make fire flare up just by thinking about it, which confirmed my theory that through constant training, a person can rid themselves of the need to speak incantations.

I had used fire as a training method before bed for the last few years and hadn't even realized when I had seamlessly transitioned to non-verbal magic. It was, however, significantly more exhausting than water—it cost me several times more strength. But I needed to learn to use water non-verbally as well, which would significantly speed me up in combat.

Therefore, I decided that to my evening fire training, I would also add Occlumency and water manipulation. That would help me in the future with control and precision, which I still lacked. I had plenty of power, but the directing of energy was lagging.

"Fulmino!" I shouted toward the dummies. Two bolts of lightning flew from my wand, hitting both targets at once in a second.

While the right dummy ended up charred and blown against the wall, the second was only slightly knocked back. Even from the strength of the discharges, I saw that I couldn't divide the spell's energy into two equal parts. I had an affinity for lightning too, though less than for water, but such an electrical discharge could tire me out.

I could imagine dividing that discharge into multiple even parts—playing Thor and hitting an entire squad of wizards at once, fifty bolts from one spell... But it was still just a dream. I continued going through my repertoire. I went through everything—from white and neutral to dark and elementary magic. Finally, tired, sweaty, but satisfied, I rested in front of the fireplace, which I had lit with a quick non-verbal Incendio.

I had time to think. I had to train more effectively. Through targeted training, I would definitely be more powerful sooner than if I devoted myself to everything at once. Although I was basically focusing only on elementary magic, dark magic, and Aegis, I was probably asking too much of myself. By the fireplace, the only thing missing from my thoughts was a cold beer.

My thoughts wandered to combat transfiguration. In Dumbledore's performance, it was extremely effective. So far in class, we had only learned specific spells with precise incantations, but those are only aids for beginners. If every transfiguration required a separate incantation, Dumbledore would never be able to control so many units at once.

McGonagall explained to us that at a higher level, there is one universal incantation where the result is determined by power, imagination, and experience. That explained how Dumbledore could turn pieces of the ground into armies of monsters and animals. Without words, with a simple flick of the wand. Grindelwald, as a master of dark magic, must have cast differently, though extremely powerful spells—likely amplified by the Elder Wand. Both, however, manipulated elementary magic crudely. They lacked that precision I was looking for... and that very thing could be my gamechanger.

"Though... one powerful transfigured golem fed with magical energy would definitely look intimidating," I thought amusedly.

I continued dreaming for a while longer before finally pulling myself together with cosmetic charms and heading down to dinner.

---

Author's note:
To me, the idea of a ritual rune being carved into Harry's forehead makes much more sense than the scar being caused by an Avada Kedavra, which typically leaves no physical trace. Considering Lily's friendship with Snape, I've always felt she was likely deeper into the Dark Arts than the books let on—they certainly weren't just discussing Potions in their spare time.

What do you guys think of the "wisdom" we received from Headmaster Abbott?

Our MC is constantly thinking of new things to learn and master, but like all of us, he's struggling with the lack of time. Even though he's making clear progress, it's not as fast as he'd like. There's a massive gap between mastering a simple Expelliarmus and the sheer complexity of something like Aegis or Reducto.

---

Step into the Restricted Section

The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.

Enter the Restricted Section here: you-know-what/PatrikWriter

Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:
44. Blood, Sweat, and Special Editions
45. Precision of Water, Chaos of Rage
46. The Unseen Blade
47. The Blood Connection
48. The Ghost of a Friend
49. Hypothetical Questions
50. Ancient Crimes and Modern Recipes
51. The Smell of Teen Spirit and Dark Arts
52. More Than Just a Name
53. The Rat's Final Kiss

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It was the end of April, and once again, we all found ourselves in the Room of Requirement. The great training hall with its practice dummies, the open dueling floor, and the seating area by the black marble fireplace—it was pure comfort. This form of the room had already stabilized; everyone had grown accustomed to it, and even if someone else opened the door, this exact version always appeared. We trained diligently, and we were all improving.

It likely comes as no surprise that I wasn't the top student of the year. That role fell to Agnes, Theodore, and Tobias. Draco, however, was already catching up to them on the practical side. As their magical power grew, they learned increasingly difficult spells, and the common first-year charms became child's play for them. I was no longer the only one who mastered a spell on the first attempt.

So why wasn't I the best? Simple—essays. The professors assigned tasks, and while my pure-blood-raised friends completed them to the absolute maximum, I, to put it bluntly, didn't give a flying fuck about them. In my previous life, nobody asked what I got in math or biology. What mattered was whether I could do what they needed from me. If I had failed, even the best grades wouldn't have saved me. I simply had no reason to try... at least, not when it came to writing essays. I knew the theory, of course, but I scribbled the essays down in a hurry and half-assed them. My grades reflected that.

In this magical world, I certainly didn't plan on being someone's employee. I liked Master Cilian's work—rune-enchanting objects was interesting and evidently well-paid work. Yet, it was still relatively dull and lacked adrenaline; my blood would go stir-crazy from that. I could become a Curse-Breaker—discovering old tombs on my own and hauling out riches and precious scrolls. An adrenaline-fueled, albeit deadly trade... my magical sensitivity would surely help me there.

Or simply business, investing, and entrepreneurship. But I was lost in thoughts that shouldn't be crossing my mind right now—Agnes was diligently writing an essay beside me, Tobias was studying, and Draco was currently engaged in a friendly duel against Theodore. I watched them with interest for a moment.

Theo clearly had the upper hand. He dodged gracefully, jumping away from Draco's spells, and when he couldn't move in time, a simple Protego absorbed everything flying at him. Draco was noticeably faster in casting, though his repertoire was nothing exceptional, but his movement was lagging. Since January, Theo had significantly more training under his belt. Even though we had shown Draco the correct stance and footwork, he simply lacked the drill. His reflexes were better, but against Theo's power and composure, he didn't stand a chance. It was glaringly obvious.

Draco was sweaty, red-faced, breathless, and thoroughly pissed off. Theo, by contrast, breathed perfectly calmly. I wasn't surprised, therefore, when after a moment, he took the wand from a tired Draco's hand with a clever and precise Expelliarmus.

They stood opposite each other—Theo with a triumphant smile and Draco with an expression of helplessness and humiliation. Draco angrily snatched the offered wand and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his palm. He shot a brief glance at me but immediately looked down at the floor. He had lost several times in the last few days. I saw that he was trying exceptionally hard, and until now, I hadn't addressed it... but this time, he looked like he'd seriously had enough. I stood up and made my way toward him.

Theo saw me coming, gave a pleased nod in greeting, and went to sit with the others.

"Draco," I addressed him calmly, forcing him to look me in the eye.

It took a moment before he reluctantly raised his head. It seemed to me that suppressed tears were glistening in his eyes.

"It's normal to lose," I told him matter-of-factly.

"But you don't lose!" he shouted angrily. "You're powerful, but what about me?" he added in a whisper.

"I've lost a thousand times," I replied calmly.

His eyes widened almost to the size of ping-pong balls, and he stared at me expectantly without a word.

"In the Muggle world, when I trained in their martial arts... I lost against people smaller, larger, faster, and slower, younger and older," I paused for a moment. "It taught me one thing. Do you know what?" I asked.

He considered it for a moment, then just shook his head and waited.

"Humility, Draco. I hated losing with every fiber of my being, and I had two choices. Give up because I had already lost so many times, or train and fight with the knowledge that I might still lose." I remembered my younger self with a smile, but after a moment, I continued: "I couldn't live with myself if I gave up just because of losses. My conceit told me I was capable of more... and so I trained and fought. I improved technically and physically, gained experience from sparring, until I started winning. And let me tell you, it was worth it."

I paused again and added one last piece of advice: "In the Muggle world, they say, 'There's always a bigger fish.' So train and fight, cousin, so that you never sell your skin cheaply."

He thought in the silence of the room for a while until he asked: "But shouldn't I be powerful too? I am half-Black, after all, and I come from a pure-blood house."

The room grew so silent that I realized my friends at the table were tensely listening to every single word.

I shook my head in disagreement: "Our blood might offer us an affinity and better talent—small advantages—but hard work always beats talent. If you don't work on your magic, you'll just be an ordinary, weak wizard like any other... Our magic and our blood are gifts that must be constantly sharpened." I paused for a moment, but after a while, I added: "I'm certain even someone like Granger would be more powerful than you, Draco, if you didn't work hard on yourself... and you don't want that, do you?"

He scowled immediately, but I saw the fire of determination flare up in his eyes.

I headed back to the others, and Draco followed. As soon as we reached the table, however, Draco challenged Theodore to a duel again, and he accepted the challenge. I sat down in my place with a smile. I noticed Agnes looking at me with an appreciative grin.

"Well said," she nodded and returned to her essay. Tobias just gave me a supportive nod.

I had time to think again, this time about my current financial situation. I could realistically ask Vespera for some money, but somehow that went against my pride. Also, sifting through all the junk in the Room of Requirement... I absolutely didn't feel like it, and it didn't help that a lot of things there were genuine garbage. I was simply lazy for that. The thousand from Potter had increased my capital, but it still wasn't much for starting anything up.

Should I swipe the Philosopher's Stone? But there was an enormous risk involved. If Voldemort or Dumbledore found out, I'd be in deep trouble... but if Flamel found out? HUGE, with a capital H.

Sometimes I didn't understand the wizarding world. Were they seriously that stupid? Flamel had to be an extremely powerful dark wizard. To live for several centuries while the magical core constantly expands through the continuous use of magic? Sure, maybe he didn't work non-stop like I did, but those centuries must have turned him into a monster.

At the same time, if everyone knew about the Elixir of Life and infinite gold, there must have been an assassination attempt on him practically every week. And since he was still alive, those attempts were obviously unsuccessful. There were definitely many powerful wizards interested in the stone. Since Flamel managed to keep it, he was undoubtedly the most dangerous of them all.

And finally, the stone itself. I remembered that in alchemy, equivalent exchange is essential. How is it possible then that the stone can create an elixir of immortality? Probably not forever, but how many people had to be sacrificed to create such a powerful dark artifact? An incredible amount, I imagine. A few centuries ago, entire cities could have vanished and nobody would have noticed a thing while Flamel was creating his "miracle." So in the end, we had an extremely dangerous mage and his bloody stone.

Summarizing it like this, something else occurred to me—Flamel definitely didn't give Dumbledore the real stone. I wasn't a hundred percent sure about this theory, but ninety-nine? Absolutely.

My thoughts were interrupted after a while by Agnes's quiet voice: "Are you alright, Patrik? You're scowling a bit."

"Sure, Agnes, just thinking."

"About what? Can I help you somehow?" she immediately offered as a friend.

"No, no. Just generally about life and money," I smirked. "But thank you," I added.

She just nodded and returned to another essay. I could continue thinking.

The immoral wizarding classics occurred to me: Legilimens, Confundo, and Imperio. I could very easily rob a bunch of corrupt people. Some drug dealers, murderers, or corrupt politicians. Ransack their minds with Legilimency, force them with the Imperius Curse to hand over all their cash or jewelry...

Except... the wizarding world was stupid, but not that much. How would it work if I brought heaps of pounds from dealers into the Muggle world? What would the exchange rate for Galleons be at Gringotts? If there were too many, would they warn the Ministry? And what about taxes? Theoretically, I could buy jewelry and precious metals for cash... or discuss it directly with Ranrok. What would be the best way to realize it? He might be happy to answer purely hypothetical questions... with an attached financial bonus, of course.

I didn't doubt for a second that Vespera would refuse to teach me these spells. I already felt magically strong enough to be able to use Imperio. And if not, she'd simply shut it down... but with a plan like this, I could quickly gain the means to launch all my business plans.

I could also contact Black, but somehow I was still blowing him off. I have no idea why, but I had no desire to connect with him. That crossed-out address "Death Eater brat" told me that communication with him would be quite difficult. The Ministry also still hadn't reached out about that reward... Hm.

I just noticed that Draco had lost again, but he was determined to continue. At that moment, however, Agnes started "generaling" us all.

"Boys, dinner! Give it a rest now," she commanded strictly.

They stopped immediately. Both knew that Agnes was to be listened to. Magically, she was more powerful than they were, and the respect they held for her stemmed precisely from her strength.

And so we all gathered our things and headed to the Great Hall for dinner. We were all tidied up, just like Draco and Theo after their duel. Cosmetic charms were very popular among us, so fortunately, we never smelled of sweat. We settled into our usual spots and began helping ourselves to food.

While Agnes once again chose pancakes and Theodore and Tobias went for chicken, Draco waited to see what I would choose. As soon as I reached for the beef steak, he took it too. When I took roasted potatoes, he took them as well. Rice? Also. Green beans in butter? The same, even if with distaste. A proper, nutritious dinner full of protein.

I noticed Agnes and the boys exchange amused smiles while Draco concentrated on copying my menu. Fortunately, nobody commented. I didn't want him to be embarrassed, and honestly—it was quite sweet.

In peace and silence, we enjoyed each other's company and the great Hogwarts food. We had almost finished eating when suddenly a flock of owls flew into the hall. I noticed they were carrying newspapers. It was strange because the Daily Prophet had already come out this week. A copy landed in front of us as well, and I immediately saw the label: Special Edition.


A deathly silence fell over the Great Hall. Nobody dared to laugh or make jokes about the Weasleys, who weren't even in the hall. Had someone warned them about the article in advance? The story sounded like pure horror. I knew Rita had forced the sensation out of the article, but the fact remained that almost all the siblings were older than the time that rat had spent with them. Perhaps with the exception of Ginny Weasley?

This world, however, was exceptionally cruel. I couldn't imagine her suffering—how her own mind betrayed her. But I suspected that Pettigrew didn't just play pet there... anyone would go insane from that. As a man, he had his needs, and as an immoral bastard who sold out his own friends? That was even worse. On the faces around me, I saw massive horror, but it only motivated me more. I never wanted to become a victim.

---

Author's note:

When I first started combat sports, despite being tall and heavy, I was constantly losing during my early sparring sessions—whether it was BJJ or Muay Thai. But I didn't quit. I worked on my conditioning, my technique, and my cardio, and it was all worth it. I've since had the chance to spar with pros from global leagues in K1, Boxing, and MMA.

Everything that's truly worth it is incredibly difficult, so don't give up! Whether it's drawing, writing, sports, fighting, or even something like throwing darts. Keep grinding!!!

Flamel as an extremely powerful mage? It makes sense to me, what about you guys?

But as you can see, our MC is just as much of a lazy bum in real life as I am... I've been hearing from my girlfriend for a week now that I need to clean out the pantry. Draco is our golden little Padawan/copycat.

And finally, a cruel story from Rita in an even crueler world.

---

Step into the Restricted Section

The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.

Enter the Restricted Section here: you-know-what/PatrikWriter

Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:
45. Precision of Water, Chaos of Rage
46. The Unseen Blade
47. The Blood Connection
48. The Ghost of a Friend
49. Hypothetical Questions
50. Ancient Crimes and Modern Recipes
51. The Smell of Teen Spirit and Dark Arts
52. More Than Just a Name
53. The Rat's Final Kiss
54. Deus Vult

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After curfew, we were all already in our dorm. I could hear Sebastian snoring softly again; he clearly had some sort of issue, as it echoed with relentless regularity. Theodore and Zabini had been asleep for ages, while I, as always, was drilling magic before bed.

This time, I was focusing on water—it was training for precision and affinity. "Aguamenti," I whispered without a wand. Mentally, I pushed a droplet of magic right to the tip of my finger. A thin stream flowed from it, which I immediately began to shape. First, I created a perfect circle, then a triangle, a square, and a rectangle. I moved on to a cylinder, and when that started to bore me, I formed various animals: a dog, a cat, or a cow in different sizes. I wasn't exactly a great talent when it came to art, but thanks to my willpower, the water sculptures looked exactly as I imagined them.

Finally, I created a smaller dragon, similar to the ones from Game of Thrones. I didn't have enough water for wings, though, so I whispered "Aguamenti" again. The dragon grew sturdier and spread its wings; I controlled it so that it appeared to be truly flying. Mentally, I was already feeling significantly fatigued, but a thought struck me—why not try an ice dragon, like the one the Night King had?

I concentrated on the element itself. Water was in constant motion, so I tried to draw the heat out of it, but that didn't work at all. Then I tried to force the water to simply stop. In that moment, my little dragon began to crumble, and I lost control over it. Shards of ice landed on my chest. It was safe, but my bed was soaked, so I focused on "pulling" the moisture back into myself.

It was slow going, but once I succeeded, I felt magically vital. Only my mind was brutally exhausted. I moved on to non-verbal and wandless Incendio. Fire isn't my affinity, so it drained my magic reserve incredibly fast. The bed warmed up a bit thanks to the training, but it wasn't long before I was completely spent. I quickly ran through Occlumency—tidying up memories, checking both outer and inner defenses—and after a moment, I drifted off.

Completely exhausted, I departed for the realm of Morpheus.

---

In the morning, I woke up feeling exceptionally rested. My muscles were burning, but my magic was regenerated, so I felt great. After a quick wash, I joined the others who, as usual, were waiting for me in the common room. We greeted each other, and except for Draco, everyone looked fine.

Before long, we were tucking into food in the Great Hall. Today, a killer combination awaited us: a double period of History of Magic, followed by a double of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and finally, two hours of Potions... Only Greengrass, Potter, Draco, and Granger were likely looking forward to those. Ugh. Potions.

In Binns' classes, I could easily continue my water precision training. I could even do it right over my desk, since he almost never notices the back rows. To be honest, I strongly doubt he remembers the students' names. I'd bet my life he has no idea who is actually sitting in that classroom.

Quirrell will be explaining vampires again, and then those Potions at the end... I should be good at them, really, but they just bore me so incredibly much. Sigh.

After a while, however, a serious-looking owl descended directly toward me. It immediately occurred to me that this was the expected mail from the Ministry of Magic. When it landed, I saw that I wasn't mistaken. A large purple seal with the letter "M" and an address written in my name. Driven by curiosity, I tore the envelope open in a second and started reading. Meanwhile, the owl took a piece of bacon and flew away.


"Oh, fuck," slipped out of my mouth in shock. If they discussed it before the entire Wizengamot, my name definitely hadn't remained a secret. Soon everyone would know who caught that fucking rat Pettigrew.

"What happened, Patrik?" Agnes asked immediately with concern, while the others waited tensely for my answer. Only Tobias continued to enjoy his sausages, undisturbed and content.

They had completely ignored Fred and George, who had helped me. Or at least, there wasn't a word about them in the letter. Was it because of that special edition, or did they not consider their help at all? The Weasleys had vanished from the school even before the special edition of the Daily Prophet came out.

"Even if they ignored them, I'm definitely giving them half the Galleons," I promised myself silently.

"Patrik?" Agnes prompted.

"I got a message from the Ministry. It's likely the whole Wizengamot already knows I was behind Pettigrew's capture," I replied in a whisper.

I noticed Parkinson immediately prick up her ears, and even Davis was inconspicuously craning her neck in our direction.

"You caught Pettigrew?" Draco asked, shocked.

I nodded.

"Yes, but drop it until we're in private."

Everyone just nodded mutely, and we continued breakfast in silence. Before we left the Hall, I noticed that both Quirrell and Dumbledore were watching me. The Headmaster managed to give me a subtle nod before the doors closed behind us. By then, we were finally heading to History of Magic.

---

I practiced water magic through the entire double period of History of Magic. About half the class was watching me, while the rest were asleep. I didn't dare do it in Defense Against the Dark Arts, though, so I chose to listen to the stuttering Quirellmort instead. When that finally ended, we headed to Snape's Potions.

It seemed to me that Potter was starting to gain Snape's favor. The Professor was acting slightly more lenient toward him. Few would notice, but anyone who had observed their dynamics since the start of the year had to see it. Potter likely noticed it too, because he was visibly trying even harder. If it keeps going like this, I'll certainly pitch my idea to both Draco and Potter and we'll split the profit.

Given my distaste for Potions, I'll be glad if I get an "Outstanding" on my O.W.L.s, but I'm definitely not going on to N.E.W.T. level. I was sure of that.

Oh well, everyone has a talent for something else. Even if I turned out to be useless at Potions later on, Draco would surely back me up like a good cousin. Or I'll simply pay for someone else's talent. I'd be like Tesla and Edison—I didn't need the recognition; I needed the money.

Finally, after handing in our Wiggenweld Potion (part of which we "nicked" again), we headed to lunch. Draco immediately started piling a steak with roasted potatoes and beans onto his plate, while I, inspired by Agnes, took pancakes with maple syrup. The moment he noticed, he looked completely betrayed, which made the others burst out laughing.

I just shrugged. "The occasional sweet lunch won't kill you, Draco."

Though he looked disappointed, he tucked into his steak with gusto anyway. We continued our lunch and quiet conversation, even though the Great Hall was noisy as always. When it came time for dessert, I took a piece of fruit tart. While I ate one slice, Tobias was already shoveling his fourth chocolate pudding.

"Tobias, slow down," Theo said, watching his pace with amusement mixed with a bit of disgust. "If you keep eating like this, you really won't be able to dodge Draco's spells. You'll have the dimensions of a medium-sized troll."

Tobias just licked his spoon and didn't even look at him. "I know Protego, don't I? And why do you care? Worried there won't be any left for you?"

"I'm worried we'll have to roll you to the common room," Theo snapped with a smirk. "You look like you're about to explode. You've even got pudding behind your ears."

"At least I'm not a scrawny ghoul," Tobias muttered with his mouth full and continued eating.

I saw a scowling Snape approaching us. He walked with a brisk, tense stride, his cloak billowing behind him, and I noticed Dumbledore was watching us too. I started to get a bad feeling.

He stopped right in front of us and stared intently into my eyes. The entire Slytherin table went quiet; everyone waited tensely for him to speak.

"Mr. Rosier," he spoke quietly, "put down your cutlery and follow me. Immediately."

I looked at him in surprise—he had never spoken to me so sharply. Without question, I followed him out of the Hall, feeling curious gazes boring into my back. As soon as the doors closed behind us, he led me into the dungeons, toward the Potions classroom. I was curious, but I waited patiently for him to speak. It had to be serious.

Before long, we were in the deserted classroom. He gestured for me to sit, and I obeyed without a word. For a moment, he stared at me with his pale face, but I let him have the first word.

"Patrik, listen to me carefully," Snape began. It had to be truly serious if he dropped my surname. "I received an urgent message from St. Mungo's. Your aunt was brought there an hour ago."

"What?!" I jumped to my feet immediately.

"There was a magical attack. A severe magical attack," he paused for a moment, but before I could press him, he continued: "Her condition is critical; the Healers are doing everything they can."

"Mulciber," the thought hit me instantly. My knuckles turned white from how hard I was clenching my fists, my nails digging painfully into my palms.

Snape took a step toward me, placed a hand firmly on my shoulder, and spoke in a slightly softer voice: "Control yourself, Mr. Rosier; your magic is leaking from you. Your aunt will surely be fine."

Only after his words did I realize how the air in the room was vibrating. Empty potion vials were shaking, and one of them shattered with a crack. I focused on my breathing to pull myself back together. Once I was somewhat calm, though still full of suppressed hatred, I wanted details.

"What happened?"

He watched me for a moment before explaining: "Officially, it is still under investigation. Unofficially, according to the Headmaster's sources, someone tried to murder her in Knockturn Alley. She was hit by a Confringo curse from the side, at almost full strength. According to witnesses, she only noticed it a fraction of a second before impact, and her Protego wasn't powerful enough, so it only dampened the force of the explosion. She is fighting for her life, and we will know the outcome in a few hours."

"I want to go to her. Now," I decided immediately.

"The Headmaster expected as much. You have his permission, but not yet. At the moment, you would only be a hindrance at St. Mungo's."

My magic began to leak again. I struggled to get it under control, along with my terrified and hateful thoughts. Once I calmed down again, I blurted out: "When, Professor?!"

"Do not raise your voice at me, Mr. Rosier," he replied with a frown, but immediately added: "In two hours, I can take you to St. Mungo's."

He saw that I wanted to object immediately, so he cut me off: "You are a Slytherin! Act like it. You won't help her if you keep losing your nerve every five minutes! She will be fine. Have faith in her, Rosier!"

Inhale, hold, exhale. Inhale, hold, exhale. Inhale, hold, exhale.

I repeated it a few times, and when I was sure I was at least outwardly composed, I asked him: "So, here in two hours then, Professor?" He nodded silently, so I turned to leave.

I felt his gaze on my back, but I thought only of my hatred and terror. I hadn't even known my aunt for a year, but I definitely didn't want to lose her. I was certain I would kill anyone who had a hand in her attempted murder... and if she died in that hospital, I couldn't even imagine what I would do.

I felt my magic vibrating with hatred again. A suit of armor I passed collapsed to the floor with a crash, so I had to breathe again. I felt like smashing something to pieces. I thought about training in the Room of Requirement, but I couldn't afford to exhaust myself magically now. Who knows what the situation at St. Mungo's would be like, or if an assassination attempt would be waiting there for me as well. I needed to save my strength.

I didn't feel like going to the common room or the Room of Requirement where the others would be waiting for me. I didn't want to answer any questions, so I spent the next two hours just wandering through Hogwarts until it was time.

Five minutes before the limit, I was already standing outside Snape's classroom. Without hesitation or knocking, I entered boldly. Snape was waiting behind his desk. He didn't say a word of reprimand; he saw my expression, so he just stood up and motioned for me to follow him into his private quarters.

I paid absolutely no attention to the interior. The only thing that interested me was the fireplace in the center of the room, next to which stood a jar of green powder.

"You must say exactly: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London," Snape instructed as he handed me the bowl.

I didn't wait and stepped into the fireplace. I grabbed a handful of powder and threw it at my feet. "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London!" I shouted in a firm voice.

Everything began to spin. After a while, the movement stopped, and I found myself in one of the massive fireplaces in a huge, chaotic hall. I immediately smelled the scent of disinfectant, potions, and parchment. I stepped out. Snape emerged from the adjacent fireplace a moment later with a dark look. He nodded for me to follow him and walked straight toward the reception desk.

I desperately hoped Vespera was still alive.

---

Author's note:

Bones did say we could use a ceremonial mask if we wanted to remain anonymous... but somewhere along the line, things went sideways. Is our MC becoming the poster boy for the Dark Side? Or was Fudge just desperate to highlight his own success? Who knows...

Vespera has grown on me just as much as she has on our MC. What do you guys think? Will she make it?

---

Step into the Restricted Section

The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.

Enter the Restricted Section here: you-know-what/PatrikWriter

Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:
46. The Unseen Blade
47. The Blood Connection
48. The Ghost of a Friend
49. Hypothetical Questions
50. Ancient Crimes and Modern Recipes
51. The Smell of Teen Spirit and Dark Arts
52. More Than Just a Name
53. The Rat's Final Kiss
54. Deus Vult
55. The Underworld Gambit

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