A Rosier Legacy (HP AU M-SI)

[PatrikWriter]

Really enjoyed binge reading this story. The protagonist is the perfect mix of ruthless and selfish buy still loyal to his loved ones.

His ambition is also quite refreshing, my hope is he can find immortality from magic as in a way that is the ultimate freedom.

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Glad you're enjoying the story! Binge-reading around 140k words is quite an impressive feat!

I don't have the ending set in stone yet, as we're still a very long way from that point. So, we'll see what happens along the way!

Oof, Voldie's about to have bad time. Either that or Harry will lose a chunk of his plot armor(but not all of it since the prophecy is still there)

Imagine accidentally killing the chosen one? Couldn't be me

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Haha, you actually made me laugh! If he accidentally killed him, this would turn into a total comedy.

Asking the All-Powerful Mother Magic for a cleansing + Lily's sacrifice VS. Voldemort's smallest horcrux... I know that you know exactly what's going to happen!

 

[PatrikWriter]

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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[Trek]

To me if he truly wants to reach the peaks of magic he will eventually need to master everything. Focusing to grow stronger is all well and good early game but if you want to stand toe to toe with Merlin or be truly free then you will need to master everything.

 

[PatrikWriter]

To me if he truly wants to reach the peaks of magic he will eventually need to master everything. Focusing to grow stronger is all well and good early game but if you want to stand toe to toe with Merlin or be truly free then you will need to master everything.

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It's impossible to master everything because the world is vast and knowledge is infinite. As Socrates once said: 'I know that I know nothing.' Not even Merlin was truly free, and sadly, true freedom—or at least the kind worth having—doesn't really exist.

Sure, anyone can hide away on a deserted island and do whatever they want, but that's not it. To me, a more compelling path is becoming so magically powerful that no one dares to cross you.

Even titans like Dumbledore, Voldemort, or Grindelwald don't master every single branch of magic. I'm certain Voldemort is great at Transfiguration, for example, but he's nowhere near Dumbledore's level of specialization in that field.

 

[Trek]

It's impossible to master everything because the world is vast and knowledge is infinite. As Socrates once said: 'I know that I know nothing.' Not even Merlin was truly free, and sadly, true freedom—or at least the kind worth having—doesn't really exist.

Sure, anyone can hide away on a deserted island and do whatever they want, but that's not it. To me, a more compelling path is becoming so magically powerful that no one dares to cross you.

Even titans like Dumbledore, Voldemort, or Grindelwald don't master every single branch of magic. I'm certain Voldemort is great at Transfiguration, for example, but he's nowhere near Dumbledore's level of specialization in that field.

Click to shrink...

Ah but remember all Dumbledore, Voldemort, or Grindelwald are constantly pushed around against their will, by fate, by enemies, by traps, by death, by age. Freedom? Grindelwald is in prison, Voldemort is half dead and Dumbledore has aged and put himself in his own mental prison.

This demonstrates that their level of power is clearly not enough to be free enough that no one can cross them. Not to mention mc plans to travel to other world where power levels may be very different.

 

[PatrikWriter]

Ah but remember all Dumbledore, Voldemort, or Grindelwald are constantly pushed around against their will, by fate, by enemies, by traps, by death, by age. Freedom? Grindelwald is in prison, Voldemort is half dead and Dumbledore has aged and put himself in his own mental prison.

This demonstrates that their level of power is clearly not enough to be free enough that no one can cross them. Not to mention mc plans to travel to other world where power levels may be very different.

Click to shrink...

You make a fair point. We definitely have to become more powerful than them, then!

But wait—where did you get the idea that our MC wants to travel to other worlds? That hasn't been written or even mentioned anywhere. You might be getting ahead of me there!

 

[Trek]

But wait—where did you get the idea that our MC wants to travel to other worlds? That hasn't been written or even mentioned anywhere. You might be getting ahead of me there!

Click to shrink...

Ah my mind mixed up the multiverse travel aspirations from another HP fic oops.

 

[PatrikWriter]

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.

***

RAT IN THE BED: THE WEASLEYS' BLOODY SECRET REVEALED!

By Rita Skeeter

Shock and disgust. Those are the only words that can describe the atmosphere in the corridors of the Ministry of Magic after an anonymous Hogwarts student—a hero who (for now) wishes to remain in the shadows—tore the mask off the greatest beast of our time. Peter Pettigrew, the man we mourned for years, was not dead. He was something much worse. He was a parasite who fed on the lives of one wizarding family for ten years.

Ten Years of Sexual Slavery Under the Influence of Imperio

What has surfaced during the first interrogations under the influence of Veritaserum is too perverted even for the darkest novels. Pettigrew turned the Weasley home into his private den of pleasure. According to my sources, Molly Weasley was subjected to a continuous Imperio curse. This rat in human skin not only abused her but covered his tracks with brutal doses of the Obliviate charm. Every morning, poor Molly woke up with a smile on her face, unaware that her night belonged to a murderer. How long can a woman's mind resist such systematic rape of memories?

The Decomposition of Arthur Weasley: A Mind in Ruins

While Molly was a victim in the bedroom, Arthur Weasley was a victim in his own head. Pettigrew needed to keep him in a state of constant confusion so he wouldn't notice that his "pet" was spending more time with his wife than he was. The combination of the Imperio curse and amateur memory charms turned Arthur into a wreck. There had been whispers at the Ministry about his "eccentricities" for some time, but today we know the truth: Arthur Weasley is not an oddball. He is a man with a corroded consciousness whose mind is literally falling to pieces under the pressure of Pettigrew's magic.

Whose Children Are They? The Genetic Scandal of the Century Awaits!

And now for the most important part, dear readers. The question that is keeping the Department of Magical Law Enforcement awake and which forced officials to immediately take blood samples at the Burrow: Are the younger members of the Weasley clan even Weasleys? Given that Pettigrew had unlimited access to Molly for an entire decade, a massive investigation into their parentage is underway at this very moment. The world waits with bated breath for the results of the heredity tests. Is it possible that a traitor's genetic code is hidden behind that red hair? Are those children the fruit of love, or the result of a ten-year ordeal under the influence of Dark Magic?

One thing is certain—nobody is laughing at the Burrow anymore. And we ask: Who else in our neighborhood is hiding something in a cage that has a murderer's hands instead of paws?

***​

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

Join the Inner Circle - tgdTNZYVKt (Discord)
(Vote on plot | Dark FF recs | Chat with the Author)

Support the craft and keep the darkness spreading. Your support directly allows for faster updates.

 

[Trek]

The ideal would be to become a disciple of Flamel and learn alchemy from him so that one day he may tech you how to make your own stone.

If that cant be done then getting the stone now is critical it will give you more than enough years to figure it out yourself and attain immortality.

 

[PatrikWriter]

The ideal would be to become a disciple of Flamel and learn alchemy from him so that one day he may tech you how to make your own stone.

If that cant be done then getting the stone now is critical it will give you more than enough years to figure it out yourself and attain immortality.

Click to shrink...

Personally, I don't crave immortality, and neither does my MC.

It would be quite tragic to outlive all your friends and loved ones. Plus, sharing the elixir would inevitably ruin those relationships—everyone would want a dose for their own family or partners. So no, immortality is definitely not the goal here.

 

[sergey54321060]

"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."

Click to shrink...

RAT IN THE BED: THE WEASLEYS' BLOODY SECRET REVEALED!

Click to shrink...

Wow, that got dark fast. I guess we're in that kind of AU then, huh?
Looks like the basilisk won't be the most dangerous predator in the castle during their second year, cause if Pettegrew is like that, then Lockhart almost certainly would be worse.

 

[PatrikWriter]

Wow, that got dark fast. I guess we're in that kind of AU then, huh?
Looks like the basilisk won't be the most dangerous predator in the castle during their second year, cause if Pettegrew is like that, then Lockhart almost certainly would be worse.

Click to shrink...

It makes sense in its own grim way—a tragic life story, even if it is a disgusting one.

As for Lockhart... I think you and I both know exactly what our MC is going to do about him.

 

[PatrikWriter]

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.

***

Dear Mr. Patrik Evan Rosier,

Allow me, on behalf of the entire wizarding community, to express my deepest appreciation. Your vigilance and courage, demonstrated in the exposure of the unregistered Animagus and criminal Peter Pettigrew on the grounds of Hogwarts, have not gone unnoticed.

I hereby officially inform you that, by decision of the Wizengamot, you have been awarded one of our highest national honors:

THE ORDER OF MERLIN, SECOND CLASS

This award is a token of gratitude for your extraordinary service to the wizarding world. The formal investiture ceremony will take place on August 15th at 2:00 PM at the Ministry of Magic. This ceremony will also include the presentation of a financial reward in the amount of 2,000 Galleons.

Your actions are proof that justice will always find a way when aided by wizards as capable as yourself. It is my honor to be able to present this award to you in person.

Yours sincerely,
Cornelius Fudge
Minister for Magic

***​

"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

Join the Inner Circle - tgdTNZYVKt (Discord)
(Vote on plot | Dark FF recs | Chat with the Author)

Support the craft and keep the darkness spreading. Your support directly allows for faster updates.

 

[sergey54321060]

It was slow going, but once I succeeded, I felt magically vital.

Click to shrink...

Nice, that means he can be more liberal with spamming water in the future

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

Click to shrink...

She kinda has to, she's MC best option for a legal guardian. If she bites it then he'll be shunted off to either Sirius or Narcissa, and I'm not sure which one he'll hate more lmao

 

[theoretisch cool]

I think he's overlooking the fact that a reward for the Weasley family certainly wouldn't be mentioned in a letter to him. I'm not sure if it was Mulciber. It could also have been someone who doesn't like the fact that Sirius is free again and the Black family will probably soon be able to exert their influence and business interests once more. If his aunt dies, I think there will be a few fewer pureblood families.

 

[PatrikWriter]

Nice, that means he can be more liberal with spamming water in the future

She kinda has to, she's MC best option for a legal guardian. If she bites it then he'll be shunted off to either Sirius or Narcissa, and I'm not sure which one he'll hate more lmao

Click to shrink...

It depends on the scale, but basically, yeah—our MC has a massive affinity for water.

You're not wrong there... but I think he'd still prefer Sirius. Narcissa would be way too much of a control freak.

I think he's overlooking the fact that a reward for the Weasley family certainly wouldn't be mentioned in a letter to him. I'm not sure if it was Mulciber. It could also have been someone who doesn't like the fact that Sirius is free again and the Black family will probably soon be able to exert their influence and business interests once more. If his aunt dies, I think there will be a few fewer pureblood families.

Click to shrink...

You've got a point there, that's definitely a possibility. However, Vespera doesn't really have any connection to Sirius. In our world, there are plenty of pureblood families... they just lack the money or the influence. Unless, of course, they are specifically targeting the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I guess you'll just have to wait and see!

 

[Trek]

Personally, I don't crave immortality, and neither does my MC.

It would be quite tragic to outlive all your friends and loved ones. Plus, sharing the elixir would inevitably ruin those relationships—everyone would want a dose for their own family or partners. So no, immortality is definitely not the goal here.

Click to shrink...

There is a difference between not having it and not using it fully. Even if he does not want immortality does he not want a long and healthy life at the perk of his body with some life extension for him and his family? This is one of the very few chances he will get to grab the stone and if he misses it it may be impossible or extremely hard to get anything like it when the day comes and he is setting on his deathbed wanting just one more day with his children.

It would not ruin relationships as long as you limit it to just your close family and direct dependents, he only has like 1 family member in the first place.

 

[PatrikWriter]

There is a difference between not having it and not using it fully. Even if he does not want immortality does he not want a long and healthy life at the perk of his body with some life extension for him and his family? This is one of the very few chances he will get to grab the stone and if he misses it it may be impossible or extremely hard to get anything like it when the day comes and he is setting on his deathbed wanting just one more day with his children.

It would not ruin relationships as long as you limit it to just your close family and direct dependents, he only has like 1 family member in the first place.

Click to shrink...

I disagree. In a realistic world, I highly doubt Flamel would lend something as priceless as the Philosopher's Stone to someone like Dumbledore.

A 12-year-old boy, no matter how powerful, stands no chance against Dumbledore. And even with Quirrelmort being weakened, it's an extreme risk to become a real enemy of the Dark Lord while he's still young and vulnerable. It would be incredibly foolish to try for the Stone even if it were actually there. Honestly, it would be pretty pathetic if he tried to grab it only to get gunned down by Voldemort, or if Dumbledore simply snapped, deciding he doesn't want another Dark Lord on his hands.

He can worry about that kind of crap when he's older and significantly more powerful.

 

[PatrikWriter]

Snape led me all the way to the reception desk, where two witches sat. Both were immersed in paperwork and didn't even look up, though they surely noticed our arrival—we were the only ones there. If I hadn't been fearing for Vespera's life, I probably wouldn't have cared and would have waited. But now, I felt nervousness boiling inside me. I wanted to speak up, but Snape beat me to it.

"Good day, Miss Rowle," he said in a cold, silky voice.

I could see she was about to snap something unpleasant, but the moment he spoke her surname, she looked up instantly, her brown eyes widening.

"Pro-Professor Snape!" she stammered. "Forgive me, so much work, we're barely keeping up."

He didn't react, merely watching her coldly. I, however, could no longer contain myself.

"Vespera Rosier. What's happened to her, and where is she?!"

"I'm just filling out her papers. Who are you?"

"Her nephew, Miss Rowle," Snape answered for me. "What is her condition? I haven't much time, as you surely understand; I should prefer not to spend a moment longer here than necessary."

"Of course, of course, forgive me, Professor," she apologized immediately with deference, then looked at me. "Your aunt is alive. She was hit by a Confringo from the side. Healer Tonks saved her at the most critical moment; two minutes later and it would have been over. If you give me a minute, I'll take you to her."

I exhaled in relief. She would be alright. Even if half her body might be burned... I hoped she would survive. Disfigured, but alive. That was enough for me for now.

She spent a few more moments writing Vespera's papers. When she finished, she handed them to the other witch: "Nancy, please have this ready for the Healer in the morning."

She stood up at once, came out from behind the desk, and gestured for us to follow.

"Since it was an attempted murder, Madam Bones has assigned an Auror to guard her room. Visits are restricted to family only," she explained on the way. "Forgive me, Professor," she added, though she didn't have to.

We climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. There was a small room with tables—a waiting area—and immediately beyond it stretched a wide corridor with rooms. Above the entrance to the corridor, a sign glowed: Janus Thickey Ward.

She led us further. I noticed a large open ward where several patients lay, but we continued to the very last room. By the door stood a large, heavily decorated armchair that looked quite comfortable. Sitting in it was an exceptionally tall, bald Black man who stood up as soon as we approached.

He spoke in a slow, deep voice: "Professor Snape," he nodded, eyeing us all with a grave expression. "Visits are permitted for family only," he added immediately.

"Auror Kingsley," Snape greeted tersely.

"This is Vespera Rosier's nephew, Mr. Auror," Rowle spoke up imperiously. "Step aside!" she commanded him.

The respect and politeness she had shown Snape vanished in an instant. Perhaps she was a Slytherin? Rowle was quite young; maybe he had helped her once. Kingsley watched us for a moment but finally stepped back.

The nurse went inside, and I was about to follow immediately when Snape's voice stopped me.

"Mr. Rosier, you will return to Hogwarts the same way you came. I have other duties to attend to, so I shall leave you now."

I nodded in agreement without looking back and stepped inside.

I immediately caught the sterile scent of the room. It was small, windowless, and bathed in shadow. I didn't look around much; my eyes instantly fell on the single bed. Vespera looked like a mummy. Wrapped entirely from head to toe, missing part of her hair, she lay there as motionless as a corpse.

Honestly? I was in total shock. That powerful witch lay before me, and it had been only two minutes away from losing her forever.

I stared at her in silence until the nurse summoned a chair for me with a flick of her wand and quiet Accio. She whispered: "I'll leave you alone. She's under monitoring and protective charms, so do not touch her. I'll come for you in an hour."

She turned to leave, and I sat down by Vespera's bed. You know, a person only realizes how much someone matters when they lose them, or almost lose them. It's like a kick straight to the balls, and that's exactly how I felt. I was filled with pain, but the mental kind... Anyone who claims physical pain is worse hasn't experienced true psychological agony. My own mind tortured me, constantly replaying what would have happened if Vespera had reached the hospital two minutes later.

The only thing that calmed me was the slight rising of her chest. The longer I watched her, the more anger simmered within me. I felt hatred burning me from the inside. I had to be careful with my own magic—I kept it disciplined within me so it wouldn't destroy the surroundings. Every few moments, I had to pull it back.

I was certain of one thing: I will kill anyone who tries to hurt my family or the people I love.

Was it Gregor Mulciber? Or someone else? Why did they try to murder her? Mulciber wanted to take over the Rosier line, and for that, he needed her alive. Dead, she was useless to him... or had he decided it was a waste of time and tried to remove her out of wounded pride? And why would someone else entirely want to kill her?

Only now did I realize that I didn't know Vespera and her history in enough detail. Did she have trouble with someone outside of Mulciber? Perhaps she only warned me about enemies of the House, but not her own personal ones.

I'll have to find out. I might not be a detective, but a bit of waterboarding combined with Legilimency can loosen a tongue excellently. The problem was that getting into Knockturn Alley now as a schoolboy would be difficult... unless I became a rebel.

Screw them, I'll be a rebel. I firmly decided that straight from here, I would head to Borgin's.

For now, however, I silently watched the rising chest of my aunt and, in cold anticipation, felt the hatred. Revenge would be mine.

---

After a while, the door opened with a quiet click and Nurse Rowle entered. Had an hour passed so quickly? She approached the bed with her wand drawn. I covertly summoned mine. A hint of an attempt to harm her, and I'd slash her throat with Diffindo.

In silence, however, she only waved over the bed. A white light emitted from the wand and sank into Vespera's body. After a moment, with a satisfied nod, she tucked the wand away.

She must have noticed the wand in my sleeve, because she smiled at me with amusement. "A diagnostic charm, don't worry. Everything is fine," she explained, pausing for a moment while I hid my wand with a thought as well. "Ready to go?" she asked after a moment of silence.

I nodded and followed her out of the room. The Auror sat silently in the chair, alertly watching the corridor, ready to intervene. As we passed, he gave me a nod, which I returned. The corridor was almost empty, the doors to the rooms closed, except for the large ward full of beds.

It didn't take long before we found ourselves in the waiting room. The room was completely empty, except for one person. I didn't focus on him at first, but as soon as we approached, the figure stood up. It was a man. Average height, stocky build, a thin mustache under his nose, and slicked-back hair. It was immediately clear to me who it was. I knew him very well from Alexander Mulciber's memories, though they were skewed by Alexander's perception, a fact I only realized now.

I looked at him neutrally, as if he were a stranger off the street, and tried to assess him. He looked like a total sleazebag trying to sell you overpriced frying pans. He was approaching us. He looked me straight in the eyes with that disgusting smile of his.

I felt nothing from him. It was precisely the fact that I couldn't catch his emotions that snapped me out of neutrality, and hatred scorched me from within. I wanted to hurt him. I had a frantic urge to summon my wand and hit him with a Reducto right in the face.

Die, you son of a bitch.

But despite the hatred and the magic vibrating in the air, I knew it would be a bad idea. Attacking someone in a hospital, in front of witnesses and with a wand? Prior Incantato would immediately convict me, even if I successfully killed him. And there was a real risk I would lose the duel. Too great a risk.

He saw my hatred, felt my magic, and that brought an even wider smile to his face.

That infuriated me even more. I refused to feel helpless against someone who posed a threat to me and my family. The fact that he was here right after the attempt on Vespera's life... there was a high chance he was involved.

When he was three meters from me, I attempted a wandless technique I had practiced even before Hogwarts. I focused and directed my power straight at his throat. I felt resistance, though—some passive magic of his. I poured more strength into it. He kept approaching. Two meters. He cleared his throat and massaged his neck with his hand. It was working, but weakly.

I tried the opposite—to tear his throat out telekinetically. The resistance, however, was immense. It seemed to me his larynx moved a millimeter, but nothing more. He kept coming.

"Are you alright?" Rowle asked after a moment as we stood there. I didn't answer. She must have felt my magic, and Gregor was almost upon us.

In my mind, I slapped myself. Tearing out a throat was physically almost impossible; the tissue was too firmly anchored. I decided on the complete opposite.

One meter.

I focused all my power on a single goal. Instead of blunt pressure, I needed surgical precision—I had mastered the cutting technique from the Diffindo spell.

He stopped directly in front of us. I caught the scent of expensive tobacco and sweat. In that moment, I almost collapsed from exhaustion. Sweat immediately poured from my forehead, while he slumped to the ground. He began to wheeze, and blood poured from his mouth.

I had successfully severed his trachea from the inside. Rowle screamed in surprise and moved to run toward him, but I immediately grabbed her by the elbow. Even though I was magically spent, I was still physically holding my ground.

He struggled on the ground for a while longer with a wet, disgusting wheeze until he finally stopped completely. Exactly then, I let go of Rowle, who stared in shock alternately at the corpse and then at me.

I felt immense magical fatigue, but at the same time, an even greater relief. It didn't bother me in the least that I had killed him. The feeling that I was rid of him and Vespera was safe was paramount to me.

"Why?" she breathed quietly into the deathly silence, her eyes wide.

"Who knows what happened to him and why he collapsed... it could have been dangerous for you as well, Miss Rowle," I replied coldly. My fatigue and sweat could easily be blamed on the stress of Vespera's condition. Her word would stand against mine.

"I see," she whispered.

By then, however, an elderly obese woman entered the room. The moment she saw Mulciber lying there with bloody foam at his mouth, she began to scream until, after a moment, she "hit the deck." She fainted.

While Rowle immediately ran to her, I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my hand and smoothed my robes. The room began to fill with people—Healers, nurses, and visitors. Kingsley, however, did not come, though he surely must have heard the noise.

"Probably still guarding Vespera," I thought as I watched the circus in the waiting room with cold satisfaction.

---

It didn't take long before the Aurors arrived. In a second, they cleared everyone from the room and took us—me and Rowle—to the Ministry as witnesses, or perhaps suspects. I don't even know how, but I was already waiting in a hollow, austere room behind a steel table that was bolted to the floor. They sat me on a chair, and across from me stood two others, presumably for the investigators.

Of course, they made me wait. Perhaps it was psychological pressure, or they were just overwhelmed while the rest of the Aurors investigated the crime scene. At least I had time to think.

I knew they had nothing on me. Even if Rowle testified against me... Wandless magic at this level? Prior Incantato doesn't work on that. The fact that I held her? Merely concern for her safety; who knows what dark magic was used against Mulciber. And the connection between us? None. We met for the first time. For a first-year to kill an adult wizard? Impossible. Veritaserum? My Occlumency should handle it. Fatigue? Stress and fear for Vespera.

I had successfully carried out the assassination and gained new knowledge because of it. It seemed that every wizard had a passive defense thanks to their magic. Throttling at three meters didn't work, though I hadn't used my full power. The closer he was, the more direct force I could apply. Under one meter, I might have throttled him if I exerted extreme power. Tearing out a throat? Currently impossible, and perhaps impossible even when I'm Dumbledore's age. Cutting the trachea worked, but it consumed an extreme amount of magic. I'm completely wiped; I wouldn't be able to fight anymore right now. I assumed that the more powerful the wizard, the better the passive protection. Moreover, I had surprised Mulciber. I doubt that if he had expected it, it would have ended so successfully.

I was completely lost in thought when I was snapped out of it by the sudden, grating opening of the door. Two people entered whom I recognized instantly.

The sound of a wooden leg rhythmically thudded against the floor, and his magical eye rolled wildly from side to side. Behind him walked a woman with violet hair. She had the same nose and lips as I did, but her eyes were the color of gold. A Metamorphmagus and my cousin.

They reached the table. Moody pulled out a chair with a slow screech and sat down heavily, watching me with a grave, piercing gaze. Nymphadora lifted her chair without a sound and sat beside him with a calm smile.

"Starting quite early, Rosier," Moody spoke matter-of-factly, while his scarred face twisted into a revolting grimace.

"Auror and Murderer Moody," I nodded cheekily. "Starting what quite early?"

---

Author's note:
Snape really does have connections everywhere, doesn't he?
Did you catch Kingsley? He's probably my favorite Auror, right alongside Nymphadora.

Our MC has successfully taken down Gregor and learned some vital new lessons in the process... but now, he's in a real bind. Sitting right across from him is the man who murdered his mother, probably killed his grandfather, and sent his father to Azkaban... and right next to him is a cousin who doesn't even realize they're related.

How do you think this is going to play out? Let me know your theories in the comments!

---

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:
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
56. The Boy Who Sponsored

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[theoretisch cool]

Snape has been a teacher for at least 11 years now. He should have Slytherins in almost every profession who learned under him. It's possible Mulciber just wanted to visit them. But he's not lost. I wonder if one could increase resistance against such an attack with runes or rituals. The question is whether Moody even remembers killing the mother. Because at that time, he had many deaths on his conscience. But Moody and Tonks can be verbally destroyed without hesitation. He should perhaps maintain contact with the healer. Even if the two don't become friends, they can have a business relationship.

 

[sergey54321060]

Okay, I'm not an expert when it comes to anatomy, but as far as I know trachea is just a windpipe, right? How cutting it would kill someone quickly enough that he'd be impossible to save even when he's already inside of St Mungo's? If he blocked it somehow it still would've taken minutes before brain damage and death, and that's by mundane standards. If he just cut it however, then, according to google, the guy could've stayed conscious and mobile for half a hour without medical attention.
His quick death looks more in line with severed arteries/veins, but then there'd be a lot more blood, it would've been literally everywhere in the hallway, not just a bit of bloody foam on his lips.

 

[PatrikWriter]

Snape has been a teacher for at least 11 years now. He should have Slytherins in almost every profession who learned under him. It's possible Mulciber just wanted to visit them. But he's not lost. I wonder if one could increase resistance against such an attack with runes or rituals. The question is whether Moody even remembers killing the mother. Because at that time, he had many deaths on his conscience. But Moody and Tonks can be verbally destroyed without hesitation. He should perhaps maintain contact with the healer. Even if the two don't become friends, they can have a business relationship.

Click to shrink...

You're right about that—realistically, Snape must have had an endless web of contacts. To be honest, I'm a bit 'anti-Moody' myself, though I'm not even sure why, since at the end of the day, it was all war.
Even though innocent people being killed by Aurors wasn't explicitly mentioned in the canon, I'm certain it happened. We see it in the real world all the time.
As for the runes, rituals, or even enchanted protective accessories—yes, those could definitely help. Though in this world, the best defense is simply being more powerful than the other guy.

Okay, I'm not an expert when it comes to anatomy, but as far as I know trachea is just a windpipe, right? How cutting it would kill someone quickly enough that he'd be impossible to save even when he's already inside of St Mungo's? If he blocked it somehow it still would've taken minutes before brain damage and death, and that's by mundane standards. If he just cut it however, then, according to google, the guy could've stayed conscious and mobile for half a hour without medical attention.
His quick death looks more in line with severed arteries/veins, but then there'd be a lot more blood, it would've been literally everywhere in the hallway, not just a bit of bloody foam on his lips.

Click to shrink...

First of all, the incision was made from the inside, so there was no external opening for him to breathe through. Furthermore, the cut damaged surrounding blood vessels and smaller arteries. In this case, he basically drowned in his own blood (aspirated it).

He probably had about 30 seconds... but as you saw, our MC held the nurse back (the little rascal! ), making sure help didn't get there in time.

 

[PatrikWriter]

The shadows are lengthening and our ranks are growing. Join the Dark Brotherhood on Discord: tgdTNZYVKt​

---

"Trouble," Moody growled, his magical eye coming to a rest on me for a second, as if searching for traces of murder. "A dead Mulciber in your immediate vicinity. That's quite a entry for a twelve-year-old brat's diary. What happened there? And tell the truth. I always spot a lie... before you can even blink."

I leaned back against the headrest of the cold chair. Cold sweat trickled down my temple, and my shoulders felt like lead. I wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the table, but it was a sensation I experienced regularly, so I looked him straight in the eye—coldly, with hatred in my heart.

"I didn't know his name was Mulciber. As we were leaving my aunt's room, he was walking toward us and suddenly collapsed. I had no idea what was happening. He started wheezing on the floor and died shortly after." I paused for a moment. I felt a faint echo of his emotions, which I couldn't quite specify, so I simply added: "If you thought I had a hand in his death, I wouldn't have had a wand on me for a long time now. Or do you want to throw me into Azkaban, Moody?"

"No, Patrik, we don't want to lock you up anywhere," Tonks spoke soothingly. "We're just finding out what happened. Standard procedure."

"Why are you so tired, Rosier?" Moody barked.

"Poor sleep, training, my aunt in the hospital," I replied dryly.

"Didn't you see anyone or hear anything?" Tonks cut in as Moody prepared to speak again. "Maybe there was someone under an Invisibility Cloak."

"No, no one. Only the nurse was there with us. You should talk to her."

"Another Death Eater spawn, ha," Moody snorted mockingly, pulling out a silver hip flask and taking a slurping gulp while his magical eye watched me intently.

"We've already spoken to her. She was the first," Tonks answered.

"Fine, I've told you everything. Now you tell me," I said, looking directly at Tonks. "Who attacked my aunt and why?"

Tonks and Moody exchanged glances. Moody slowly put away his flask, and silence settled in the room for a moment, broken only by the ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance.

"Officially, it's under investigation," Tonks began quietly, her hair turning dark blue for a second, a sign of stress. "Unofficially..."

"That's enough, Nymphadora!" Moody interrupted hoarsely. "A twelve-year-old brat doesn't need to know more."

She threw an apologetic look my way and shrugged. Moody was drawing breath to say something else when the door burst open and Madam Bones stormed in. Snape was walking right behind her.

"Alastor! What are you doing here? You know perfectly well you cannot question a minor without the supervision of a Head of House or a family member!" she snapped at him sternly.

"But Amelia..."

"No buts, Alastor, out! And you, Nymphadora, should have known the regulations instead of blindly following him!" she criticized her as well.

I watched with amusement as Moody heavily exited the room. However, I felt his eye still fixed on me. He didn't forget to drop one last remark: "I'll be watching you, Rosier. One single mistake is all it takes!"

As soon as they left, she asked me with an apologetic look, "Did you tell them everything, Mr. Rosier?"

"Yes, he just collapsed in front of me out of nowhere," I replied matter-of-factly. "I have no idea what happened."

Bones nodded and began to explain: "It looks like a ritualistic, time-delayed curse. He had a small, faint incision on the back of his neck, so it seems someone took his blood as well as a few strands of hair."

"Is that even possible?" I asked, my eyes widening.

She nodded in agreement. "It is. Be careful that your blood, hair, or any other biological material doesn't go unattended." She paused for a moment and added immediately, "I shouldn't be telling you this at all, but after Alastor's approach, consider it my apology."

Fuck. If something like this was possible, this world was even more dangerous than I thought. It was definitely the kind of magic I needed to look into more closely.

A brief silence followed until it occurred to me to ask about the attack on my aunt: "And what about my aunt? Can you tell me anything more?"

She shook her head in disapproval, but seeing my scowl, she decided to speak. "It's not that I don't want to, but we know absolutely nothing. In Knockturn Alley, Aurors find it hard to come by information, and it's honestly a miracle she even made it to St. Mungo's."

"I'll have to investigate it myself," I promised myself silently.

Suddenly, a cold, velvety voice rang out: "If that is all, we should be going."

Bones nodded, and so I set off with Snape for a quick departure back to Hogwarts.

---

We found ourselves back in his chambers. Snape sat down behind his desk and observed me curiously. I decided to interrogate him—after all, he was supposed to be an expert on the Dark Arts.

"Professor, that time-delayed curse... is it truly possible?" I asked.

He frowned slightly at my question but immediately donned a cold, detached mask. However, the curiosity in his gaze was still visible, even though he tried to hide it. After a moment, he decided to answer.

"Of course, anything is possible with magic," he nodded matter-of-factly. "It has its limits, though. Biological material degrades very quickly outside the body. Hair lasts the longest, but it's the weakest for establishing a connection. Blood and hair are a perfect combination, though blood degrades in a flash. It also depends on the power contained within it. The more powerful the wizard, the longer the blood retains its properties."

"What if I could somehow keep that blood in stasis?"

He shook his head in disapproval. "The blood might retain its quality, but its magical component required for binding would dissipate. A transfusion would be no problem, then, but rituals or curses would not work."

It sounded incredibly interesting. It was clear to me that the primary defense was to never allow anyone to possess my biological material.

"Would you have a book, Professor, that you could lend me?"

He hissed through his teeth: "Mr. Rosier, I wouldn't entrust a twelve-year-old brat with a wand, let alone a book of powerful Dark Magic."

"So, when I'm older?" I asked with an amused smile.

He stared at me gloomily without answering. I enjoyed it.

"My father would certainly lend it to me," I added with a hint of laughter in my voice.

Snape pressed his lips tightly together. His deep, dark eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of sadness in them. They were unreadable again an instant later. "When you are older," he nodded, and then curtly dismissed me: "You may go now. We can visit your aunt again tomorrow."

I nodded with a smile and headed for the door.

---

I walked through the dark corridors of the dungeons, wondering what to do next. I dismissed the idea of training immediately; I was magically drained beyond belief. I would have loved to throw myself into bed and sleep, but that might ruin my sleep schedule, which I didn't want. I could take a potion, but I didn't want to pour anything artificial into myself unless it was absolutely necessary. I trusted ordinary Muggle melatonin more than potions with all sorts of things added to them.

I didn't even feel like visiting the common room. That would only mean more annoying questions from the others, and while I couldn't avoid it forever, I definitely wasn't in the mood for it now. Also, if someone challenged me to a duel now—Blanár, for example—I probably wouldn't be able to handle a magical fight. And I hate losing.

And so, I slowly walked toward the Hogwarts kitchens. Fruit pie and cold milk—that's pure love.

It wasn't long before I found myself in front of the painting of the fruit. In classic fashion, I tickled the large pear, which immediately turned into a doorknob after a giggle. I was greeted by the familiar noise of industrious house-elves, the clattering of pans, and the clinking of dishes. The pleasant scent of cinnamon and freshly baked bread hung in the air.

I had only taken a few steps when my "personal-impersonal" elf, Dudi, noticed me. He ran up to me respectfully and bowed low.

"Young Master Rosier! What does the young master wish for so late? We have apple pie, it's still warm!"

"Hello, Dudi," I nodded. "I'd like two pieces and some cold milk with it, if you'd be so kind."

He bowed enthusiastically, so low his ears slapped the floor, and hurried toward the oven. I settled into my usual spot in the corner of the room. I had time to think about the current situation. Vespera is safe. She'll survive, though god knows what she'll look like after that Confringo spell—thankfully she managed to cast a shield in time. In the canon, it seemed that Dark Magic left permanent marks and injuries from it couldn't be healed. In this world, however, it worked a bit differently.

Dark Magic had a wide spectrum of spells. Confringo was explosive and lethal, but it didn't seep into the wound like some curses, so my aunt might be completely healed.

I was so deep in thought that I didn't even notice when Dudi placed the pie and milk in front of me. Only its scent snapped me out of it. I dug in with gusto and continued thinking.

Gregor Mulciber is dead—one less thing to worry about. But why would he attempt an assassination right now? He wanted to take over the Rosier family through her. Had he given up and wanted to get rid of her out of wounded pride? It was extremely strange, though I was glad he was gone. Did his death trouble me? Absolutely not. He threatened what I loved, and the choice was simple: us or them. I didn't intend to risk anything in between. But if it wasn't him who tried to kill Vespera? Too many questions and too few answers.

If she's conscious tomorrow, I must talk to her. The Weasleys were still missing from Hogwarts. After the Prophet was published, I'm not surprised—in the Muggle world, it would be illegal. The case caused a wave of disgust. Rumors were at their peak, but people clearly couldn't count. It was obvious that all the children were Arthur Weasley's; every single one was born before Pettigrew even got to them. The adults are presumably being treated, and the children are under supervision.

The Minister promised me two thousand Galleons, and I was firmly determined to give half to the twins. They deserve it.

I still haven't written back to Black, and for now, I'll leave it that way. Maybe I'll surprise him in the summer. Let him pull himself together at least a little after that hell in Azkaban.

The pie was already eaten, and I felt my physical energy slowly returning, though magically I was still nearly at rock bottom. I was just about to leave when another piece of hot pie levitated toward me from a smiling Dudi. I hesitated for a moment, but then greed got the better of me and I continued eating.

When I finally finished, I set off with a bloated stomach. Time flew insanely fast in the kitchen. It was long past curfew, so I had to sneak back to the common room. The castle was completely silent and the portraits were asleep; only their soft snoring echoed through the corridors.

It wasn't long before I was entering our room. I quietly closed the door behind me and immediately lay down on the bed. I tried to focus on Occlumency to tidy up today's brutal memories, but after a while, I succumbed and darkness swallowed me without warning.

---

In the morning, I woke up unusually late—an hour after my usual time. It didn't surprise me that I was left alone in the room. Luckily it was Saturday, so I didn't miss anything. Magically, I had regenerated somewhat, but it still wasn't quite right. I felt the fatigue in my bones, that nasty feeling of overtraining.

I was still lying in bed, considering today's plan. Training and then Snape? I definitely didn't feel up for a proper drill, and if I was to go outside Hogwarts, I didn't want to be exhausted in case something happened. The others were at breakfast, but I wasn't in the mood for talk. I decided on a short, light strength training session right in the room to wake up, then a relaxing shower and some time with books. A rest day. Although, I was missing some proper fantasy for relaxation and maybe even inspiration.

"I should fix that," I thought.

After a series of push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and shadow Thai boxing, I took a hot shower. A cold one would have been healthier, but at the moment I preferred comfort. I stayed in there for a good half hour.

It wasn't until around half past eleven that I left the room. I assumed the others would be training as usual and heading to lunch at twelve. I preferred to go to the kitchen for some privacy. I chose a beef steak with roasted potatoes and beans. I wondered if the elves would be interested in learning how to make a proper hamburger with fries.

Full, I headed to see Snape at half past twelve. I knocked twice and entered at his cold "Come in." A scowling Snape was sitting at his desk with a quill in hand. "I expected you this morning, Mr. Rosier," he spoke immediately.

"I figured the afternoon would be better for a visit if my aunt has rounds in the morning," I replied matter-of-factly.

He nodded in agreement. "I do not have time to go with you today." He gestured toward the fireplace with Floo powder and added: "Be back by evening. Do not fail my trust."

I immediately headed for the fireplace. "Is Snape reading my mind?" I wondered uneasily. It was unlikely, though. I felt no pressure, and my Occlumency was, according to Vespera, exceptionally strong. I didn't believe anyone was capable of just breaking into me like that. My mind was my most powerful weapon.

"Thank you, Professor," I nodded and clearly stated the destination: "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!"

A moment later, I disappeared into the green flames.

---

Author's note:

We bid farewell to Gregor Mulciber, but as the saying goes: "Dead men tell no tales, but they leave plenty of questions."

Snape sees through our MC's manipulations and he respects it—just basic Slytherin behaviour, really.

I'm curious to hear your thoughts: do you think Vespera will be permanently scarred, or will the healers at St. Mungo's manage to patch her up completely?

---

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:
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
56. The Boy Who Sponsored
57. The End of the Year
58. VR: The Warrior of Durmstrang

Join the Inner Circle - tgdTNZYVKt (Discord)
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[PatrikWriter]

Calmly, I stepped out of the fireplace at St Mungo's and made my way toward the reception desk. Today, there were several people waiting in the hall, but only one elderly man stood before me. Just as I approached, he was finished with and stepped aside. Behind the counter sat Nurse Rowle once again. One might have thought that after Mulciber's death yesterday, she would take some time off, but she was likely accustomed to death in the hospital and simply continued her work.

As soon as she noticed me, her neutral expression shifted into one of alertness in a second. Her dark brown eyes narrowed slightly, and I felt a waver of fear radiating from her—she lacked Occlumency.

"M-Mr. Rosier, good day," she greeted politely, immediately turning to the colleague beside her. "Margaret, please, take over here for a moment."

Without waiting for an answer, she stepped out from behind the reception and headed toward me. I finally had the time to look at her properly; I hadn't even thought of it during yesterday's stress. It was clear she came from a pure-blood line. An alert expression, elegant features, dark brown hair pulled tightly into a knot, an upright posture, and a groomed appearance. A white robe covered her clothes, but a gold necklace with an emerald spoke a clear language.

Without a word, I followed her toward Vespera's room. After a moment, I realised she wasn't walking beside me, but a step behind, as if following me. It was strange, but for the most part, I didn't care. Only when we reached the fourth floor, near the Janus Thickey Ward, did she decide to break the silence.

"Mr. Rosier, I didn't tell the Aurors anything," she declared directly, though her voice trembled slightly.

I merely nodded to signal that I acknowledged her and kept walking. Even if she had told them I had held her, it wouldn't have changed anything. She was clearly afraid, though. One powerful wizard who decides on revenge can wipe out an entire line, and no Auror would do a thing about it. A cruel world.

In front of the last room, I noticed Tonks sitting in a chair. She had replaced Kingsley, who had previously watched us with constant vigilance. Tonks was engrossed in some ladies' magazine, judging by the gaudy pink cover. Instead of her pink ponytail, her hair was completely loose, black and curly. It seemed she had inherited her basic appearance from her mother.

We were almost upon her when Rowle couldn't stand it anymore and cleared her throat loudly: "Hem, hem!"

Tonks yelped and leapt to her feet. The magazine fell to the floor with a rustle, and her hair immediately changed shade. The black curls turned a vibrant pink; she looked like a giant piece of candyfloss. I would have laughed, were it not for the fact that my injured aunt lay in the next room. I only scowled at her and walked inside with Rowle.

The room was no longer dim but bathed in neutral light. No longer did a "mummy" lie on the bed, but Vespera as I knew her. And what was better? Her eyes were open, and she was looking directly at me with a smile.

"Aunt Vespera," I said, immediately quickening my pace and stopping by her bed.

She wasn't wearing an elegant robe, just simple white clothing from which her slender arms emerged. She wasn't malnourished, just naturally slight.

"Nephew," she greeted me with a smile.

"How are you? I thought the Confringo would leave permanent marks."

"I feel as if a herd of Hippogriffs has jumped all over me..." she answered tiredly, having to take a deep breath. Rowle, therefore, decided to provide additional information.

"Since the spell didn't hit her directly, the tissues weren't devastatingly destroyed. It was relatively simple to restore the skin and hair with potions. What fared worse were the internal organs, damaged by the pressure wave. Your aunt has a strict potion regimen that she must follow regularly."

"Thank you for the explanation, Miss Rowle. Could you leave us alone?" Although I formulated it as a question, my tone carried a clear command.

She stiffened for a moment but then nodded. "I'll wait for you outside the room. If anything happens, call."

I immediately pulled up a chair and sat by my aunt, who watched me with a tired but gentle smile. Slowly and carefully, I took her hand so as not to hurt her. It calmed me that her palm was warm; I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Silence fell over the room. We just looked at each other until I broke it.

"What happened, Aunt? Who attacked you?"

The smile vanished from her face, and she frowned for a moment. After a while, however, she only shrugged. "I don't know, I don't know at all. One moment I was just walking, and the next I heard a whisper. At the same time, I felt the necklace quiver and pull. Thanks to it, I realised a spell was flying at me and managed to conjure at least a weak Protego."

She paused for a moment, took a breath, and continued: "The spell threw me against the nearest shop. People and shouting appeared immediately after, so whoever attacked me couldn't finish me off."

"No one comes to mind? Do you have any enemies? And what about Gregor Mulciber?" I threw out questioningly.

She smiled amusedly. "Every wizard has enemies, Patrik. You can't spend seven years at school and not have them... But I can't think of anyone who would just try to kill me like that."

A heavy silence fell again. She squeezed my palm finalisingly; she saw my anger. "And Gregor?" I asked again.

She shook her head amusedly. "Not Gregor. Gregor had other plans for me. I'll take care of him soon, don't worry."

Quickly, I pulled out my wand and whispered: "Muffliato!"

Vespera looked at me in surprise, but I knew I should have done that first. In fear, one sometimes forgets the basics.

"There's no need to take care of Gregor anymore, Aunt. He died yesterday just a short distance from your room."

"What?!" Vespera blurted out. Her eyes widened, and she gasped for breath.

I looked at her in silence. Did I imagine it, or did I see sadness in her eyes?

"What happened? How did he die?" she asked quietly.

"He choked on his own blood. The Aurors say it was a timed ritual curse. A severed windpipe," I replied matter-of-factly, with a faint, satisfied smile.

She looked at me searchingly, an unspoken question in her eyes. I only gave a curt nod. She took a heavy breath in and out, her hand shook slightly, and silence filled the room.

"Are you alright? I thought you'd be glad," I suggested after a while.

"You know, Patrik, you're still young. I planned to take care of Gregor myself. If it were necessary for your safety, even kill him," she sighed heavily and continued. "But I still remember that scared little boy. We were some of the few from English families who enrolled at Durmstrang back then. We stuck together in those first years. He was once a friend... until his own ambition destroyed him."

She paused for a moment and then continued: "On one hand, I'm sad. He no longer has a chance to change, to realize that being the head of a house isn't everything. On the other hand, I'm glad we're no longer in danger. I'm just being a bit sentimental."

It made sense, so I nodded. Did I have regrets about Gregor? Absolutely not. Even if he might not have had a hand in the murder attempt, he still threatened my house. The choice was clear, and I didn't plan on showing mercy.

Vespera drowned in memories for a melancholic moment with glassy eyes, but immediately after, she shook her head and returned to the present. "Does anyone know you're responsible for it?"

I shook my head in disagreement, but immediately after, I shrugged. "They can assume, but they have no chance of proving anything to me."

She nodded and decided to change the subject. "How is school? Have you made progress with Aegis or Reducto?"

"Yes and no," I answered her questioning look. "Aegis has improved, but it still has translucent parts at times. I'm reducing their number, but it's going really slowly."

"Why did you actually choose Aegis and not Horribilis? I assume because of the constant magic requirement, but I'm curious why, when it's more demanding."

"Precisely because of that constant magic. I have to keep maintaining and feeding Protego. I assumed it would be the same with Horribilis, but Aegis Aurum with constant magic? If I learn it properly, I could modify it, or perhaps even cast through it..."

"And Reducto?"

I shrugged helplessly. "It's going terribly slowly, Aunt. I can erase a small diameter. If I hit a person in the right place, they would die... but I'm definitely far from mastering the curse." I paused for a moment and decided to confide: "I don't understand it. I have enough magical power, a firm and sharp intent. I know what I want to do, but it's just not right. Do I perhaps lack talent for the Dark Arts?"

Vespera let out a raspy, amused laugh. After a moment, however, she had to stop, tiredly wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, and looked at me as if I were stupid.

"I have never in my life met anyone who had such an enormous talent for the Dark Arts and magic in general as you," she grinned amusedly. "Not only do you have talent, you have an enormous magical core to go with it. If someone told me a twelve-year-old kid could manage Aegis or Reducto, I would laugh in their face."

"Why am I having such trouble with it then? The other curses came easily to me."

"Simply because they are extraordinarily demanding curses, not only magically but also mentally. It isn't spoken of, but the magic in the body matures and refines itself. If you were seventeen, these spells would be easier for you to learn. By starting earlier, you are ahead, but your magic—though powerful—is still young. You need substantially more training, and in the end... every spell is about hard work. Repeating and repeating."

"How long did it take you to learn Reducto?"

She looked thoughtful and then just shrugged. "About a few months? I don't know, it was a long time ago. But it took a long time, and I was almost an adult then."

"And Confringo?"

"I don't know that one," she replied honestly. Seeing my questioning look, she continued: "Confringo is too 'flashy'. It's a powerful spell, but far too visible and noisy. I prefer precision—I assume you chose Reducto for the same reason."

"So I should skip Confringo as well?"

"That's up to you, Patrik. I don't have the same talent as you. It's possible that when you're older, you'll learn it in a day. As I said, you have a gift for the Dark Arts," she paused for a moment. "I have a feeling, however, that you don't know how a duel between adult wizards proceeds. You have a distorted idea because of your power."

"What do you mean?"

"Simple. Currently, as a first-year, you can cast common spells and occasionally more powerful ones without much fatigue. Your magical core is above average. You take it as if an adult wizard has the same power as you do now... but you are mistaken. Even now, you are magically above the level of many adults; your magic just isn't refined. And as for those duels... no wizard masters hundreds of destructive spells. Dead is dead. Learning thirty more spells that do the same thing in a slightly different way makes no sense. An above-average duellist usually masters one powerful, deadly spell and one strong shield. A duel isn't about firing the strongest thing you have immediately, which would exhaust you and which an opponent would easily avoid. You'd die quickly then. A duel escalates. From weak spells to more powerful ones, until the opponent makes a mistake. A wizard creates combinations to 'open' the opponent, and only then finishes them off. That's why in advanced duels, you see even ordinary Flipendo or Expelliarmus."

"And what about Grindelwald, Voldemort, or Dumbledore?" I asked.

She smirked amusedly, yet she didn't shudder at Voldemort's name at all. After a moment of consideration, she answered.

"Those are definitely not just above-average wizards... As you've surely noticed, if you, Agnes, or I cast Everte Statum, the spell differs. In power, magical density, effect... Grindelwald's Reducto is not my Reducto. There is an enormous difference in it. Grindelwald was known for his mastery of the Dark Arts; he mastered countless curses and counter-curses with an almost academic love for magic. Dumbledore, on the other hand, is known for Transfiguration, not curses... And Voldemort? It is said he mastered every Dark Arts spell that ever existed."

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "I'm sure it's a lie. We know of him that he had a huge affinity for fire and immense magical power because he could cast one Avada Kedavra after another in battle. But as for curses, besides the Avada, he only used a few repeating spells. I doubt he mastered such a quantity of them as Grindelwald."

"And who do you think was more powerful?"

"I think the Dark Lord was magically strongest. As for skill and knowledge, however... I'd probably say it was Grindelwald," she shrugged and added: "But we'll never know that now."

Vespera looked quite tired now. Her face was ashen, and her hand was beginning to go limp. She was still looking at me with a slight smile, so I decided to let her rest.

"Get some rest. I'll come to see you again," I promised.

I stood up slowly and cancelled the Muffliato with a short Finite incantation. When Vespera gave a supportive nod and closed her eyes, I made my way out.

As soon as I stepped out, I saw Tonks and Rowle scowling at each other. Apparently, my arrival was enough for them to turn away from each other with a huff.

"Miss Rowle, we can go," I said. I didn't wait for an answer and headed for the entrance hall. I still had some plans and didn't intend to waste time.

She quickly caught up with me and, instead of silence, decided to introduce herself.

"My name is Lyra, by the way. Lyra Rowle."

"Patrik Rosier," I introduced myself dryly and continued walking. A silence fell, in which only the rhythmic clicking of our footsteps echoed. We stopped only at the fireplace. I stepped inside, but before I could utter the address and throw the Floo powder under my feet, Lyra spoke again.

"Mr. Rosier... Patrik, if you need any information or anything else, feel free to get in touch," she offered.

I only gave a supportive nod, threw the powder under my feet, and clearly stated the destination: "The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley!"

In green flames, the whole world immediately began to spin with me.

---

Author's note:
In this chapter, we take a closer look at the aftermath of the recent events and delve deeper into the theory of magic within this AU. I wanted to explore the dynamic between Patrik and Vespera, showing that even in the world of the Dark Arts, there is room for history and sentiment. Enjoy the read!

---

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(11):
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
56. The Boy Who Sponsored
57. The End of the Year
58. VR: The Warrior of Durmstrang
59. The Mind of a Rosier

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[sergey54321060]

While Vespera does seem to be correct about his skewed view of adult duels, it's probably has less to do with his own power and more with Dumbledore VS Grindelwald duel he got to see. Now those two will always be his measuring stick, no matter how unlikely he is to face anyone on that level.
Or maybe Vespera is just weak even by normal wizard's standards lol. Every time we've seen her in action she ended up jobbing, after all

 

[PatrikWriter]

While Vespera does seem to be correct about his skewed view of adult duels, it's probably has less to do with his own power and more with Dumbledore VS Grindelwald duel he got to see. Now those two will always be his measuring stick, no matter how unlikely he is to face anyone on that level.
Or maybe Vespera is just weak even by normal wizard's standards lol. Every time we've seen her in action she ended up jobbing, after all

Click to shrink...

Yep, it's a bit sad, but our MC is still out here struggling with a Reducto. As for Vespera, she's actually above average in terms of raw power, and her skill level is pretty much on par with Snape or around that. She's definitely not weak, just wait for the training duel between the MC and Vespera!

 

[PatrikWriter]

I found myself in the back of the Leaky Cauldron. Even with my eyes closed, I would have known exactly where I was. The familiar, comforting scent of beef stew hung in the air, and from the front of the inn came the muffled whisper of people lingering over a late lunch. The sound of a wizarding radio was audible, punctuated by the occasional clinking of glasses.

I was certain that Tom was busy pouring some wizarding brew for the regulars again. To be honest, I was quite curious about how such beer tasted, although... a Muggle Czech or German one would have hit the spot much better right now. A pity about this cursed age of mine.

I was in quite a hurry, so I quickly brushed the soot off myself and walked straight into the courtyard that led to Diagon Alley. Fortunately, it wasn't raining today and I was making good time; the alley was half-empty. People moved leisurely between the shops, while I headed directly for the white marble building with its wide staircase that towered over the others—Gringotts Bank.

I didn't have to wait even a minute at the first counter. A goblin curtly informed me that Ranrok, the vault manager for the Rosier family, was already expecting me, and led me immediately to his private office. He didn't even pause at the door—he opened it without knocking and motioned for me to enter.

As soon as I stepped inside, the door clicked shut behind me and absolute silence fell. I couldn't even hear the footsteps of the departing goblin, so the room was clearly perfectly soundproofed. Ranrok stared at me with a sharp, predatory smile. He pointed to a chair by the desk and asked directly, "How can I help you, young heir?"

"I have a few hypothetical questions, Ranrok. Perhaps... not entirely legal ones."

The manager's mouth stretched into an even wider grin, until I could count perhaps every single one of those sharp teeth. He watched me for a moment, but after a split second, he made his decision. He unclasped his long, claw-like fingers and reached under the desk with his right hand. Out of nowhere, I felt a surge of raw magic, and in a second, his office lit up with a blue glow. It wasn't a lamp; it was the carved runes along the walls that had suddenly activated.

"You may speak, Mr. Rosier. Your hypothetical questions will not be heard by anyone outside this room," he beckoned. His dark eyes glinted with undisguised amusement.

His toothy grin gave me goosebumps—not out of fear, but because it felt downright epic. I probably wouldn't get used to that sight even if we met ten times over.

"I'm interested in knowing, if I were to come across millions of pounds, how I could convert them into Galleons and gold," I said bluntly. "In short: legalizing illegal money."

"The long answer, or the short and to the point?"

"Short and to the point, Ranrok," I replied, adding immediately, "Hypothetically, I would bring a few bags full of pounds. No questions asked, just a pile of money I need clean in my account."

A spark flared in Ranrok's eyes. He nodded and slowly rubbed his chin, considering. After a while, he spoke: "It depends on the exact amount, but we can take care of it. You bring the pounds, we 'sift' them through our system. We pay the mandatory taxes to the Ministry, and clean gold will be added to your account. No worries—the funds will be credited as a private contract between Gringotts, my clan, and yourself."

"And the fee?"

I was willing to go as high as fifty percent, though a higher share for myself would, of course, please me. I knew I couldn't avoid taxes... those are eternal, but I can acquire illegal money quickly.

"Twenty-five to thirty percent of the total sum, depending on the volume," he replied matter-of-factly, but immediately added a warning: "However, the pounds must be genuine, Mr. Rosier. It would be very... unpleasant if we were to receive only worthless slips of paper."

"And if the vast majority were genuine? With illegal money, it's hard to vouch for every single banknote."

He nodded without hesitation. "In that case, it is fine... we understand the circumstances. However, the percentages will increase proportionally to the number of counterfeits."

I nodded. "That's perfectly fair, Ranrok. I believe that in a year, we could close our first profitable deal."

There was a brief silence. Ranrok drummed his claws rhythmically against the massive desk while I curiously observed the pulsing runes. After a moment, he broke the silence again. "Time is money, Mr. Rosier. Is there any other hypothetical question that interests you?"

I was also interested in investments, especially regarding the Muggle world. The IT sector was due for a brutal boom in the coming years, and I would soon have enough capital.

"If I had Galleons and wanted to invest them back into the Muggle world, specifically into certain companies, is that possible? To buy shares through you?"

He laughed huskily. It was an unusual, sharp sound. Soon, however, he calmed down and nodded. "It is possible, of course. We offer favorable percentages, again depending on the volume. But we can discuss that once you have real funds to invest," he paused for a second and added amusedly, "I never thought I would see a pure-blood wizard so eager to sink money into Muggle firms."

I shrugged and replied drily, "Money is power. I don't care where it flows from."

Silence reigned again for a moment. Actually, I had nothing left to ask, except about those runes on the walls. Since time really is money, I decided to move on to their magic. "What about those runes on the walls? Did a wizard create them for you?"

His smile froze for a moment. Then he began to smile again, but this time it was quite forced. I felt a sudden flicker of suppressed anger from him. He merely shook his head curtly. "No. We, the goblins, master runic magic without problem on our own. We do not need your help for that."

I certainly didn't want to spoil my relationship with the manager of our family vault, who seemed like an extremely valuable contact, so I chose a more conciliatory tone. "My apologies if I offended you. I am merely genuinely interested in how specifically you work with magic and whether a wand would even help you with anything."

Ranrok's eyes narrowed into two black slits. He measured me for a moment, as if weighing whether I was worth the explanation. Finally, he sighed deeply.

"Very well. I owe your family much, so I can provide you with some common information. We do not have a magical core like you wizards. Our magic flows through us passively. It enhances us biologically—we are stronger, faster, and more resilient, but we cannot cast with gestures and a wand as you do. Runes, however, are a different category. We use them ambiently, and I would modestly add that our masters are far better at them than yours."

"Why then do you so fiercely want wands, if they wouldn't actually help you?"

He laughed gutturally, almost bloodily, a spray of saliva flying from his mouth. "Between us... do not repeat this anywhere outside, or you would very quickly become an enemy of the nation. It is our private joke. Every wizard pales with horror imagining us with a wand... but for us, it is essentially just a piece of wood. We have already acquired several in various rebellions long ago, but nothing revolutionary happened."

"And this information regarding passive magic?"

He shook his head in amusement. "That has been known for a long time. One only needs to read books properly..." He paused for a moment, but then added with a dangerous glint in his eyes: "If you didn't have your magical titans, goblins would have ruled here long ago."

Thank God that didn't happen. There would be severed hands and other limbs in the streets regularly, I thought, but aloud I only asked: "Why titans specifically?"

He puffed himself up like a peacock, thrust out his chest and began: "Every goblin warrior is better than an ordinary wizard. We are born warriors!" He proudly struck his chest with a closed fist. "Our armor and weapons deflect and absorb your curses. An average wizard usually died against us... But the titans? What can an armored army do against a tornado, or when the earth itself swallows you? What can we do against flames that burn us to ash, lightning that fries a soldier in armor, or water that drowns an entire army?"

He paused mournfully for a moment, then continued: "We were always winning the war at the beginning, until some powerful titan appeared and turned the whole tide... And besides, you were more mobile. This is the basic knowledge that might help you with the history of wars under that ghost of yours at Hogwarts," Ranrok concluded bitterly.

It made sense. However, I was interested in how things stood now—in this day and age. "And now? Are you interested in another war?"

"Yes and no, Mr. Rosier." He saw my questioning look and explained: "We are warriors and we enjoy battle. War is quite good for business if it's a conflict outside this country... But now? In this year? On a larger scale, it wouldn't make sense for us, though hotheads can be found everywhere. The biggest warmongering fanatics died along with my grandfather... And their descendants don't really want war anymore. They prefer the comfort of gold."

"Hm, that's sensible. Gold is better than death," I nodded in agreement and stood up. "Thank you for your advice and information, Ranrok."

"You are welcome, Mr. Rosier. May your gold flow and your enemies bleed."

I couldn't think of anything better than a dry: "And may your vaults never know a bottom, Ranrok."

With a final nod, I stepped out of the bank. I would need high-quality dragon-hide gloves so I could properly examine the things in the Room of Requirement. I finally had to get on with it and stop procrastinating—even if I was technically procrastinating by training.

As soon as I entered the shop, a bell rang. I found myself in a pleasantly lit but empty space. A faint lemon scent hung in the air, and apart from a young woman behind the counter, there was no one. Not even old Madam Malkin herself.

"Good day, how can I help you?" she called out to me while I was only halfway there.

"I need high-quality dragon-hide gloves," I replied, walking toward her. I wasn't wrong; she had the gloves right at hand. Before I even reached her, she laid out three different pairs on the counter.

"These are three Galleons, ideal for Herbology at Hogwarts. Half-dragon hide." When I shook my head in disagreement, she moved to the next one: "Eight Galleons, pure dragon hide. Specifically, these are from a Welsh Green."

There was one more pair left, matte black. "And the others? The black ones? What is the price and what is the difference?"

"These are from a Hebridean Black," she paused, as if that name should tell me everything. At my questioning look, she continued: "The Welsh Green has softer, more flexible skin, great for precise work with herbs. The Hebridean has tough and extremely durable hide—it provides much greater protection. Curse-breakers or Aurors often take these. The price is fifteen Galleons."

I didn't need to tinker with herbs; I needed gloves that would ensure I didn't lose a hand while handling dangerous artifacts. Fifteen Galleons was essentially nothing to me.

"The Hebridean ones, please." In a second, I laid the coins on the table and headed out with the new gloves in my pocket.

On the way, I wondered if I should stop by Borgin's. Maybe he could know something about the attack on my aunt... but after a while, I dismissed it. Everyone will be wary now. Aurors will surely be hanging around there, and apart from Legilimency, I didn't master any clever spells like Imperius or Confundus. I had neither the space nor the darkness for a proper interrogation. Unless Borgin knew something on his own... but I had no plan to be indebted to him, and at the moment, I had absolutely nothing to trade. Gregor was dead and my aunt knew of no one else who would want to hurt her.

I decided to treat myself. Through the Leaky Cauldron, I stepped out again into the noisy Muggle street, where I could smell petrol and the dirty London air. Did the wizarding world have some kind of filtration? It was an incredibly noticeable difference. I headed for a bookstore a short distance from the inn.

I went straight to the fantasy literature. I felt like something relaxing, so I picked out a few Narnia books. It didn't end there, though—a cookbook for "healthy fast food" also caught my eye. I took it as a gift for Duddy. If he doesn't have a heart attack from happiness, at least I'll have a proper meal for once.

I was already on my way out when I noticed the blue cover of a Record with a newborn baby swimming in water. I immediately went over to it. The album Nevermind by Nirvana. With a heavy heart, I realized how much I missed the dopamine hit from music. There was no YouTube, Spotify, or Netflix here, so I snatched that Record without even checking the price.

The whole purchase cost only a few pounds. I quickly stuffed everything into my magical pouch and hurried back to Diagon Alley. Now I only needed that cursed magical gramophone. Honestly, I had only ever seen it in pictures; in my time it wasn't used anymore, and it was going to be quite fun just to get it working.

I doubted they would have it in the bookstore. Vane didn't have it either. But there was a shop I hadn't been to yet—Wiseacre's Wizarding Supplies. I stepped inside and, without wasting time looking around, blurted out the question to the shopkeeper: "Do you have a magical gramophone?"

He measured me drily, then reached under the counter and pulled out a small, five-centimeter box. He placed it on the counter, tapped it with his wand with a quiet Finite, and suddenly a massive, wrapped gramophone stood there.

"Eighteen Galleons. Permanent Sonorus charm, zero vibrations, lifetime warranty—except for mechanical damage, of course."

I pulled out the money and contentedly tucked it into my pouch. I couldn't wait to play Smells Like Teen Spirit at full volume during training. With a feeling of a job well done, I set off on the journey back to Hogwarts. Today, I really made myself happy.

Now, all that lay ahead of me was a tedious interrogation by the others. They were undoubtedly dying to know what Snape had wanted and where exactly I had vanished to.

---

Author's Note:
Even though our MC is craving a cold beer, he's staying sober for now. It's not that he couldn't get his hands on a bottle if he wanted to... but realistically, alcohol isn't exactly the best choice for a 12-year-old's development, so he's holding back. (Just putting that out there before anyone starts nitpicking! )

Regarding the wand situation: realistically, it wouldn't be an issue for goblins to jump a wizard in an alley, steal a wand, and eventually reverse-engineer their own. The truth is, they just don't need them.

This was a bit of a "breather" chapter. Honestly, as I was falling asleep, I started wondering what I would miss most in the wizarding world, and the answer was definitely having music to listen to while training.

---

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(12):
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
56. The Boy Who Sponsored
57. The End of the Year
58. VR: The Warrior of Durmstrang
59. The Mind of a Rosier
60. The Lioness and the Black Blood
61. A Rosier, Not a Goyle

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[PatrikWriter]

It was already late afternoon, with an hour to go before dinner. I was certain my friends would be in the Room of Requirement, so I headed straight there. We would have privacy there, allowing me to answer their questions without the worry of being overheard by anyone unauthorized.

I made my way leisurely to the seventh floor. I encountered a few students, but no one I knew, so I reached the portrait where some buffoon was trying to teach trolls how to dance ballet without interruption. I knew his name, of course, but I found it funnier to think of him as a buffoon, and so he remained one to me.

I walked past the blank stretch of wall three times—only, of course, after ensuring no one was nearby—and a massive door appeared immediately. I stepped inside without hesitation... and naturally, they were right in the thick of it.

I watched them. Judging by their visible exhaustion, it was clear the end was drawing near.

"Everte Statum!" Agnes barked, an orange beam flying from her wand. Draco promptly joined in with a calm, "Flipendo!"

Theodore didn't have much of a choice. A weary Tobias was barely holding on, so a faint blue shield pulsed in front of him as he cried out, "Protego!" However, the orange light shattered it completely, and the impact threw Theodore back several meters. He began to roll across the floor, and a moment later, Tobias landed with a heavy groan as well. Draco's Flipendo had hit him, though I was certain he had originally been aiming for Theodore.

"Expelliarmus!" Agnes barked again. A red beam shot directly at the grounded Theodore, while Draco simply stared at her in surprise.

Theo, however, didn't wait. The moment he heard Agnes's voice, he rolled half a meter to the side. His timing was perfect—the red light splashed harmlessly against the cold floor. Tobias remained lying there tiredly, acting a bit like a lazy lump, though I was sure he could still fight magically if he wanted to. Theodore, on the other hand, refused to give up.

"Aculeus! Everte Statum! Flipendo!" he launched into a rapid combination.

"Protego!" Agnes snarled. Her shield successfully absorbed the purple bolt, the orange one nearly broke it, and the blue spark of the Flipendo fortunately flew wide. She immediately returned fire: "Expelliarmus! Aculeus! Incendio!"

At that moment, Draco was unfortunately struck by the final Flipendo. It threw him back painfully, but luckily he wasn't near a wall, so he merely hit the ground with a dull thud.

Theodore ducked under the first two spells instantly, but when he heard the final incantation, he turned slightly pale. Nevertheless, he summoned a shield with determination: "Protego!"

A blue, pulsing shield appeared before him. He had clearly poured all his remaining energy into it, judging by his pale face. However, Agnes's fire caught me by surprise—there wasn't much of it, but it was unexpected. It was elemental magic. Had she intended to surprise me with it? A small wave of fire crashed against Theo's shield. Agnes was pale but focused; she was forcing the flames to concentrate on the center of the Protego.

Both were exceptionally exhausted, and the question of who would succumb to magical depletion first hung in the air. I didn't even dare to guess; I had no idea how great Agnes's affinity was. I was surprised enough that she had managed Incendio at all. Then, however, I was startled by two voices I had completely written off.

"Expelliarmus!" "Expelliarmus!"

It was Draco and Tobias.

Two things happened at once: under the pressure of the fire, Draco's Expelliarmus finished off Theodore's shield and ripped the wand from his hand, causing his robes to catch fire. Tobias, meanwhile, disarmed the focused Agnes. Her fire immediately began to lose its strength, which meant Theo didn't go up like a torch.

Theo immediately started slapping his stomach with his hands. Fortunately, he wore high-quality robes, so he managed to extinguish the fire quickly.

"Flipendo!" "Flipendo!"

The same curse again. Both were tired, but while Tobias preferred food and little movement, Draco was lithe and quick. It came as no surprise to me that Draco managed to dodge, while Tobias found himself on the floor again—this time wheezing, as if the breath had been knocked out of him.

Draco looked around the room in disbelief for a moment: Theodore was still smoking, Tobias was sprawled on the floor, and Agnes, disarmed and drained of energy, was slumped a short distance away. As soon as Draco realized he had won, a happy, triumphant smile spread across his face.

I walked toward them with a smile. Draco had finally achieved success through his own effort, and I was genuinely happy for him. Near the door where I had been watching the duel, it was quite dark, and in the rush of adrenaline, no one had noticed me. But as soon as I stepped into the light, Draco spotted me immediately.

"Patrik! Where have you been? What did Snape want from you?!" he began shouting immediately, even though I was still some distance away.

As soon as the others heard Draco's words, they began to haul themselves off the floor with effort.

"Wait, Draco, let me not repeat myself. Congratulations on the win," I said calmly.

Draco's face and the tips of his ears turned slightly pink. He puffed out his chest, began to fidget a little, but then nodded gratefully: "Thank you."

It didn't take long for the others to join us.

"Hi, Patrik." "Hello." "Hey there."

"Hi everyone. Nice duel. What gave you the idea to fight two-on-two?" I asked curiously.

Agnes and Tobias immediately looked at Theo. He answered, still clutching the scorched part of his robes: "I thought it would be good training. My father told me that when they fought against Aurors, it was usually in small groups... and for instance, I can handle Protego better than Tobias." He glanced at Tobias, who simply nodded in agreement. "So we tried it, and it seems quite useful. One defends, the other attacks... we're building trust between us."

I doubted that Death Eaters ever shared genuine trust... but if it concerned groups of friends like my father, Snape, and Barty Jr., there might be some truth to it. You only truly know a friend when your life is on the line. I, however, had never fought on a team with anyone.

"Great idea, Theo," I nodded after a moment.

"Yes, but without you," he replied at once with a laugh. "You're far too powerful. Any team you were on would definitely win, even if you just stayed in the background."

"All right, all right. His ego is sufficiently stroked," Agnes interrupted impatiently. "Where were you? What did Snape want?"

I could see they were all burning with curiosity, so I began to explain to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Someone tried to murder my aunt in Knockturn Alley. Luckily, she survived and is now recovering at St. Mungo's. And while I was there, old Mulciber showed up—the one she warned me about... He died. The Aurors said it was a delayed ritual curse. He choked on his own blood just a step away from me. They took me to the Ministry for questioning immediately, and I went to visit my aunt again today. She's fine; they should release her within a week," I concluded bluntly.

"He died a meter away from you? A delayed ritual curse?" Theodore asked skeptically.

In fact, they all looked that way, except for Draco.

"The Aurors said: a delayed ritual curse," I nodded firmly.

Theodore, Tobias, and Agnes smirked with appreciative nods. Only Draco stared in bewilderment. He wasn't stupid, just too shielded by his parents from the harsh realities of life. The others, however, knew about my power and the history with the Mulciber family. It was clear to them that if someone died right in front of me, the truth was likely much darker than the official reports suggested.

"So, is your aunt safe now?" Agnes asked.

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Not even the Aurors have a clue who tried to murder her. Vespera thought only Gregor could have had a motive, though not for murder..."

"How do you know the Aurors don't know?" a puzzled Theo asked curiously.

"Madam Bones," I replied directly. When he looked skeptical, I continued: "The Aurors who interrogated me broke protocol. Snape wasn't with me, nor was anyone from my family. And since Bones has known me since Pettigrew was caught, she decided to answer my questions."

"I don't know about the rest of you... but I'm starting to get quite hungry."

Of course, it was Tobias. Food was his priority, but honestly, I was in the mood for something myself.

"Dinner will be served soon, but I'm not in the mood for crowds," I paused for a moment and added: "I think I'd rather go eat in the Hogwarts kitchens. Does anyone want to join me?"

"With the elves?" "With the elves?" Theo and Agnes blurted out at once with scowls. I saw Draco and Tobias frowning too.

"What do you have against them?" I asked, bewildered. "They're great."

"Pfff," Agnes snorted. Seeing my surprised expression, a flash of understanding crossed her eyes. "Sorry, I forgot you wouldn't have any way of knowing." She paused for a moment before starting: "To you, they are just great, kind, and honest servants... but it wasn't always that way. In pureblood families, a story is passed down from generation to generation. They didn't originally look like they do now, nor did they act like it."

"Oh?" I prompted curiously for her to continue.

"No one knows when it was—how many millennia ago. But tradition says that the house-elves were once a powerful and ancient race of elves who ruled the earth. They hunted humans for food and sport, and humanity was oppressed for thousands of years. Eventually, our ancestors were blessed by Magic herself, because the cruelty of the elves was immense. Bloody battles followed, which the humans were losing. However, the elves never managed to wipe everyone out—though they lived longer, for every elf born, dozens of humans were born. Every battle was a massive loss for them."

Agnes took a breath and continued: "The human population grew until two powerful brothers were born. No one remembers their names today, but they were magical titans. One ruled the earth and the other the wind. After a hundred years of bloody war, both races were nearly extinct, but the elves were far worse off. When their last city fell, they surrendered. But that wasn't enough for the brothers. They remembered the suffering and knew that elven cruelty had no bounds. They decided on a bloody ritual."

"Tradition says that Mother Magic herself helped them so that the ritual would target every living elf. They were ritually disfigured into the form you know now. Their magical core was twisted as well. They must serve to survive and to even be able to use magic... Their strength comes from their human masters. Over those millennia, they forgot their entire history. We, however, have never forgotten—we pass this story down by word of mouth."

It made sense why they despised and hated them. But I couldn't judge the elves for the actions of their ancient ancestors...

"Why doesn't the public know about this?" I asked into the silence that followed.

"The history of their race has been described in several books; you can look it up yourself. Of course, over those millennia, it will vary from book to book, from storyteller to storyteller, but the core remains the same. The elves were so cruel that Magic herself helped defeat and enslave them. And as for the public... the average wizard is happy if they can manage a few cosmetic spells and Apparate. If they looked for it, they would know... but we tell it so that we don't forget," Agnes explained.

"I understand. But I can't judge them for what their ancestors did—I wouldn't want to be judged for what mine did either. And the privacy in the kitchen suits me."

"Hmm," Agnes nodded. "I'll go with you. But don't expect me to be overly nice to them."

"I'll join as well," Theodore agreed. "I don't feel like going to change."

Tobias just shrugged and nodded. Draco didn't much care either way, so we slowly made our way toward the Hogwarts kitchens.

It didn't take long before we stood before the painting of a fruit bowl. My friends watched with interest as I tickled the pear, which immediately turned into a doorknob. I didn't hesitate for a second and stepped inside, with the others following me.

The room smelled of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spices. The clatter of pots, wooden spoons, and ladles could be heard. Most of the elves looked at us with interest, but as soon as they noticed me, they went right back to work. However, an old acquaintance, Dudi, came running toward us.

He immediately began to squeak happily and bowed so deeply that his ears slapped against the floor: "Young master, young master! Welcome! Dudi is happy you brought friends too. Please, please, sit down!"

He led us to a corner immediately. With a snap of his fingers, he lengthened the corner table and bench so that all five of us could fit. We sat down without hesitation.

"What will you have? We have everything!" Dudi asked eagerly.

"Chicken soup and chicken sauté with rice," Agnes chose. "Beef steak with roasted potatoes and beans," Draco added. "Chicken with rice and compote," Theodore and Tobias blurted out at once.

I was in the mood for something "evening-like," something that reminded me of home and movies, so I chose something extremely non-standard for them: "A few slices of bread with butter, ham, cheese, and green pepper. And some milk to go with it."

It wasn't long before we were all eating happily. The atmosphere in the kitchen was relaxed. Theodore was blowing on his hot rice, Draco tucked into his steak with relish, and Tobias had already managed to finish half his portion. My bread slices looked a bit out of place among their plates, but the scent of fresh pepper was refreshing.

When we finished eating contentedly, Dudi returned.

"Would you like anything else?" he asked thirstily.

"Pancakes!" Agnes blurted out immediately, but then shook her head. "No, no, I couldn't manage them."

"I'd have seconds," Tobias said greedily, though he fortunately maintained decorum and didn't speak with his mouth full.

The rest of us had had enough, so we just sat there comfortably. However, I hadn't forgotten the book I bought for Dudi. I pulled it out of my magical pocket.

"Don't tell me you're going to study now, Patrik?" Agnes said.

I shook my head in disagreement: "No, this is for Dudi."

She frowned at me. "You shouldn't give him gifts."

I laughed amusedly. "This is more a gift for us, dear Agnes. You'll see!"

Just as Dudi finished levitating a second plate in front of Tobias, I stopped him.

"Dudi, I have something for you," I said, handing him the book. His huge round eyes grew to the size of tennis balls.

"Master gives Dudi a gift?" he whispered in surprise.

"Yes. Do you know how to read?" I asked directly, at which the others began to laugh. I ignored them.

Dudi shook his head sadly, but after a moment his expression brightened. "Dudi can learn! Oh yes, he can!"

"In this book, there are mysterious but extremely delicious recipes, Dudi. If you all learn them... you will be legends among the students," I suggested cryptically.

"Recipes?"

"Yes, for the great dishes of the modern world."

I could have sworn a fire appeared in his eyes. Pressing the book to his chest, he ran toward the back of the kitchen.

"What kind of cookbook did you buy him?" a hungry Tobias asked. When it came to food, he was a great ally.

"Healthy versions of unhealthy foods. I believe it will be great," I replied contentedly.

A fancy burger with fries or fried cheese... pizza, kebab, kapsalon... hmm. It was all in there and more, moreover in healthier versions. I was very curious to see how they would manage to prepare such dishes using magic.

---

Author's note:

Yay, Draco finally won a duel! It was about time, haha!

Regarding the House-elf lore: to be honest, I read something similar in another fanfiction once and decided to incorporate it into my own story. It felt like a perfect fit. Realistically, it's hard to hate something as helpful and sweet as a house-elf without a solid reason—few people hate dogs, for example—so I wanted to give the purebloods a deeper, historical reason for their disdain.

And finally, our MC just wants to treat himself to some modern fast food (the healthy version, of course). If I were at Hogwarts, I'd definitely miss burgers and kebabs, so... once again, we're just solving the problem of what's missing in the wizarding world!

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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.

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Upcoming Chapters – Already Written(12):
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
56. The Boy Who Sponsored
57. The End of the Year
58. VR: The Warrior of Durmstrang
59. The Mind of a Rosier
60. The Lioness and the Black Blood
61. A Rosier, Not a Goyle
62. The Babel Charm and the Emperor's Dagger

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