There was no longer any trace of bubbling cauldrons left from Potions class. However, I could still smell the stench of sulfur, various fumes, and ingredients all too uncomfortably distinctly. While Professor Snape sat quietly behind his desk with a quill in hand, my classmates were gradually leaving the classroom.
"We'll wait for you outside," Agnes whispered to me and followed the others.
I hadn't told them that I planned to speak with him. They simply knew me so well by now that they could tell just by looking at me that I wanted something. It gave me a strangely warm feeling in my chest.
When the door closed behind the last student, Snape continued scratching his quill across the parchment. I knew he had noticed me. Snape always saw and knew everything. He must have felt my gaze as well, so I waited patiently.
He scratched his quill across the parchment once more. Based on the movement, it looked to me like he was writing a "T". Then he let out a heavy sigh. He moved the parchment onto a pile of what were presumably already graded essays, set down his quill, and sighed again. Only then did he raise his face to look at me.
For someone who could have been thirty to thirty-five years old at most, he looked as if he had truly had enough of everything.
He measured me with a dark, intent stare, sighed once more, and finally spoke in a quiet, velvety voice.
"Yes, Mr. Rosier?"
"I have a minor problem, Professor," I replied calmly.
Snape raised an eyebrow and motioned for me to continue.
"With flying."
"I am not a flying instructor, Mr. Rosier," he frowned, and then spoke in a somewhat sharper tone: "Get straight to the point."
"Of course... Many people already know how brilliant I am on a broomstick," I remarked sarcastically. "I must admit, though, broomsticks never particularly appealed to me. However, I heard that the Dark Lord was able to fly even without one."
Flying had never particularly drawn me in. But if I could fly without a broomstick, I would be significantly more dangerous in combat. I would be far more mobile, able to close in on an opponent or move out of their reach faster, while also attacking from positions that wouldn't be possible on the ground. The earth element was quite dangerous for me as a wizard with a water affinity. Against it, I was at a disadvantage. Flying, however, could drastically alter that disadvantage. After all, against a wizard with an earth affinity, it was immensely useful to be able to get beyond the reach of the ground and attack from above.
And since Voldemort's main affinity was Fire, I doubted he had a Wind affinity. He could probably manipulate Wind to some extent, but without the proper affinity, the magical cost would be far too high to make flying with it practical. Yet he still managed to fly without a broomstick. That was precisely what intrigued me—how did he do it?
Snape remained silent. He merely observed me quietly and scrutinizingly, so I spoke again.
"I also heard that the Dark Lord was very close to a talented half-blood wizard... So it occurred to me that you might be able to help me. Even if only theoretically."
Snape's expression didn't change in the slightest. He kept watching me, unreadable and without a single movement. We locked eyes without making a single attempt at Legilimency.
After a moment, he spoke.
"How many things are you currently working on, Mr. Rosier?" he asked, more rhetorically. He didn't wait for an answer and continued straight away in a quiet, silken-cold voice.
"Your fascination with combat magic is no secret. Rumors from the Slytherin common room about your... extraordinary magical talent are more than telling. As are the reports from other professors who can see you running around the courtyard day in and day out.
While your theoretical essays are—bluntly put—pitiful, you have not the slightest trouble when it comes to the practical execution of magic. Your work in Potions is dangerously declining. Herbology and Astronomy are in the same state.
I assume, therefore, that you are not spending your evenings on harmless textbook study, but on an entirely different branch... And I strongly doubt those are innocent spells."
He slowly tapped his right-hand fingers on the desk with rhythmic precision and continued.
"Your interest is unmissable. And what is worse, it is beginning to raise concerns. Your magic literally bleeds from you, Mr. Rosier. Its density and power are growing in a manner that is... more than unusual for such a young wizard."
"Professor, I didn't come to listen to compliments," I said with a smirk. "I'm interested in flying without a broomstick."
"Foolish boy," Snape hissed. "Every single person who doesn't have the IQ of a common worm will consider you either a hope or a threat. What do you think will happen when they see you flying without a broomstick, just like the most powerful Dark Lord in history?"
"I don't really care about that," I shrugged. "And I feel like we dealt with something similar last year."
"Do you think your father would thank me if I made his son an even bigger target than he already is?" He shook his head. "Four, Rosier. Four."
I raised an eyebrow with a question in my eyes.
"Four families have contacted me in less than three weeks regarding your person."
"I'm still too young for marriage," I smirked. "So?"
"Foolish boy," he hissed, shaking his head. His lips were pressed tight, so much so that for a moment he reminded me of McGonagall.
"No, Professor. Ever since the first week of last year, I've been either a threat or a hope. Weak or strong, the world can bring anyone to their knees."
I took a breath and then looked intently into his eyes. Without words, I projected a single emotion to him—sincerity.
"You're a good man, and your heart is in the right place."
His pupils dilated sharply.
"Flying can help me survive," I added. "And even if I am a foolish boy, if I learn it, I have no intention of boasting about it... After all, I'm a Slytherin."
Except for Vespera, no one knew the true extent of my abilities. Even Dumbledore thought I had a fire affinity.
A dead silence fell over the classroom. I felt like I had gotten to him, even though he didn't show a single thing... except for the nervous tapping of his fingers, which I considered more of a deliberate attempt to unnerve me, and that single dilation of his pupils, which I took as a physiologically genuine reaction on his part.
Finally, Snape nodded gravely and asked, "Do you know the principle on which broomsticks operate?"
"They shape a branch and enchant it? Runes and enhancements?" I answered with a question.
Snape sneered at me, enough for me to catch a glimpse of the tips of his yellowed, crooked teeth, and began to lecture.
"The first manufactured flying broomstick dates back to the era before Hogwarts, making it over a thousand years old. Over the centuries, there have been many master broommakers. Yet the foundation always remains the same, whether we are speaking of the earliest primitive broomsticks or today's Nimbuses. Wood as a conductor, enchantments, and supplementary runes for comfort and durability."
"So a broomstick functions like a wand? It conducts magic?" I asked curiously.
"It conducts and transforms," Snape nodded. "The first broomstick was essentially a crude piece of magical wood with a spell-transformer converting magic into flight magic. An uncomfortable piece."
He paused for a moment.
"Early broomsticks demanded significantly more of a wizard's magic and, in truth, drained their magical core in immense quantities. Modern, mass-produced broomsticks have an optimized transformation coefficient. They consume considerably less magic for the transformation itself, meaning a greater portion of the energy can be funneled directly into the broomstick's performance. That is why today's brooms are not only more efficient, but substantially faster as well. Less magic is lost during the transformation process, and more can go straight into speed, acceleration, and overall dynamics."
"I understand," I nodded with a smile.
Snape raised an eyebrow and then slowly nodded.
"The Dark Lord guarded his secrets and magical knowledge fiercely, so I cannot tell you more, unfortunately. But I trust that if you show the same fervor you display in combat magic, perhaps this hint will suffice for you to learn to fly even without a broomstick."
"Thank you, Professor. I appreciate it."
"Appreciate it by being more cautious... and for Merlin's sake, learn to dampen your magic," he frowned at me, then added: "And do not forget to carry a bezoar with you."
"Of course," I nodded and turned to leave.
Outside the classroom, the others were already waiting for me, and Agnes threw my bag straight at me as soon as I closed the door behind me.
With a smirk, I caught it before it could slap me in the face.
Theo smirked at Agnes. She dramatically dropped her shoulders in feigned disappointment and then smirked back at me.
"What did you want from Professor Snape?" Draco asked immediately.
"How to fly without a broomstick, of course," I answered with an exaggerated smirk.
Theo, Agnes, and Tobias laughed.
Draco merely snorted and muttered, "Of course."
No one pressed further, though. They all took it as a joke, so I just shrugged, and together we headed to the Great Hall for lunch.
Before we could settle at our table, flocks of owls flew into the Great Hall. They swooped down between the tables toward the students with deliveries, their muffled hooting mingling with the bustle of the entire hall.
By the time we sat down, I managed to take receipt of two unexpected envelopes from Vane and Borgin, followed by a copy of the Daily Prophet, which nearly half the Great Hall received.
An angry shout suddenly erupted from the Ravenclaw table from today's unfortunate soul. Every now and then, as the owls swooped down with packages, one of them would decide to execute an aerial strike. So, occasionally, someone ended up completely covered in droppings.
Usually, it was those who hadn't offered them a bit of food, water, or at least a snack beforehand... or had simply annoyed them in some other way. Owls were incredibly intelligent creatures. And those in the wizarding world especially so.
I quickly helped myself to a piece of beef with roasted potatoes and green beans, along with a glass of plain water. I sliced the steak into small pieces, set the knife aside, and opened Borgin's envelope first.
"Pancakes again, Agnes?" Draco chimed in. "You won't beat Theo like that."
Even though I was in the middle of opening the letter, I could clearly sense the smirk in his teasing tone. I ignored him and focused on reading the letter instead.
Dear Mr. Rosier,
I trust this letter finds you well.
I am pleased to inform you that the item you entrusted to my care — the dagger once attributed to Nero — has been sold at auction for the exceptional sum of 1,200,000 Galleons. The piece drew considerable interest from several serious collectors, and the final bidding exceeded even my own expectations.
As per our agreement, I have retained 5% of the sale price (60,000 Galleons) as commission for arranging the auction and handling the necessary discretion the matter required. The remaining balance of 1,140,000 Galleons has already been delivered to Mr. Ranrok, acting on your behalf as your manager, along with the full documentation of the transaction for your records.
It has, as always, been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Rosier. Items of this calibre do not cross my counter often, and rarer still is a client who understands the value of both patience and discretion. I look forward to many more fruitful ventures between us in the future — should further such pieces come into your possession, you know where to find me.
Yours in confidence, Borgin
The first thing I noticed was that, except for the signature at the bottom, the letter wasn't written in Borgin's handwriting. The script was more elegant, refined, and far more ornate. The difference was noticeable at a glance.
It reminded me of Daphne Greengrass's handwriting. Elegant, sleek, with a distinct touch of femininity. Borgin definitely hadn't penned it. Only the signature at the end was his.
In the end, though, I merely smiled with satisfaction. Digging through the items in the Room of Requirement had definitely paid off. One million one hundred forty thousand Galleons for a single day of sorting... plus it would easily cover the Enchanted Chest from Master Vane.
I quickly pulled out a piece of clean parchment and wrote a response.
Thank you, Borgin.
I appreciate your cooperation and, of course, if I come across any more interesting items, I will certainly drop by with them.
Best regards,Patrik Rosier
I set the prepared letter aside, took another bite of steak with potatoes, and then pulled out the letter from Master Vane.
Rosier,
Research is done. Here's what you're getting.
The ring. Gold band, corundum stone, runic core. The instant a projectile crosses the ward's range, it reads the outer surface — the ward fires on first contact, there's no time for it to look any deeper — and if that surface matches what it's keyed to, it stops the thing dead in the air, right there. Not deflected, not sent wide into whoever's standing next to you — stopped.
Now, why that matters. Muggle ammunition is built in layers. Underneath, it's almost always lead — that's just the weight doing the damage, and irrelevant here, since the ward never touches it. What it actually meets first is the jacket, the outer casing, and my team confirmed something useful: Muggles only really use a handful of metals for that — copper, steel, brass. Between those three, you're covered against the overwhelming majority of anything that could be fired at you.
One thing I won't do is promise you more than that. If a round is wrapped in something the ward isn't keyed to, it won't recognize it, and it won't fire. And apparently, some of these Muggles do get creative — my researchers turned up records of silver rounds, blessed water loaded into cartridges, and a few other combinations I'd rather not dignify by listing in full. What possesses a man to bless his ammunition, I couldn't tell you. But the gap exists, so you'll know it's there rather than assume the ring reads everything. It doesn't. Nothing does.
This gets you through nearly every situation you're likely to face. It doesn't make you untouchable. Wear it knowing the difference.
Price: 25 000 Galleons.
Send word if you want to proceed, and I'll have it ready within the month.
Cilian Vane
P.S. The chest will be with you soon. Most of it's already done.
I certainly didn't know much about modern Muggle weaponry, but as a master of his craft, I trusted him implicitly. The same went for his research team. The price was more than reasonable, quite literally twice over... especially considering my aunt was practically robbing drug dealers using the Imperius Curse. So, without further hesitation, I wrote a reply.
Master Vane,
thank you very much for the prompt offer. Please craft two of these rings.
Thank you for the information. The sooner the chest is finished, the better.
Best regards,Patrik Rosier
The sooner I received the Horcrux chest, the better. Little Weasley had seemed somewhat paler over the past few days. I had a feeling she was already dutifully writing in Voldemort's diary... but perhaps I was only imagining it. After all, a gigantic basilisk could already be slithering through Hogwarts' pipes by now, and I really didn't want to find out the hard way.
In my mind, a basilisk was a hundred times more terrifying than a lunatic Voldemort and Lord Grindelwald combined.
For the past week, Greengrass's younger sister had been keeping little Weasley company. Ever since the confrontation with that idiot in the common room, everyone had been leaving her alone anyway. As for the idiot himself, I hadn't seen him for a good few days, as if he had swallowed up by the earth. Naturally, I wasn't going out of my way to look for him.
I felt a gaze on me from the right side of our table.
Slowly, completely casually, I slipped the response for Master Vane into a new envelope. Then I helped myself to another bite of meat and potato, and only then looked in that direction.
Blaise Zabini.
A guy who was almost as tall as I was. An overgrown adolescent with Italian roots, a confident, dazzling smile, and eyes darting back and forth between me and a copy of the Daily Prophet.
When I raised an eyebrow inquiringly at him, he gave me a broad grin and a wink.
I preferred to just shrug, took another bite of meat, and began reading my issue of the Prophet.
It was clear to me now why he was staring. Right on the second page was a full-page advertisement for a new restaurant in Diagon Alley—The Fit Wizard & Witch.
And the photograph? A half-naked me on Aging Potion, draped in a white Roman toga that covered only the bare necessities. The rest of my body was fully on display—sculpted muscles, a defined six-pack, and veins standing out on my arms and shoulders. In short bursts, a fiery Incendio burst from one of my hands; the flame would flare up and extinguish, only to ignite again a moment later.
All of it was capped off by my confident, practiced, charming smile.
I preferred to start reading. That promo article had cost me quite a bit, after all.
THE FIT WIZARD & WITCH: THE SECRET BEHIND WIZARDING BRITAIN'S NEWEST OBSESSION
Author: Prudence Fairweather
Move over, Pepperup Potion — there's a new secret to feeling unstoppable, and it isn't brewed in a cauldron. It's served on a plate.
Since quietly opening its doors on Diagon Alley, The Fit Wizard & Witch has become the talk of every dinner table from Godric's Hollow to Hogsmeade. The owners have chosen to remain out of the spotlight, letting the food speak for itself — and speak it does. Word has spread fast about a menu that promises something witches and wizards never thought to ask for: food that's delicious, light, and — according to a growing chorus of devoted regulars — practically magical in its own right.
"I used to feel sluggish after every meal at the Leaky Cauldron," says local Healer Petunia Norton. "Now I grab lunch there most days, and by afternoon rounds, my Patronus is stronger than it's ever been. I'm not saying there's a connection. I'm just saying I've stopped questioning it."
She's not alone. Diners across the country report flatter stomachs, sharper focus, and — increasingly — spellwork that seems to land just a touch more powerfully than before.
"My Stunning Spells used to wobble," admits Auror trainee Marcus Whitlock. "Three weeks of eating there for dinner, and now my instructor says I hit like I mean it."
Coincidence? The Fit Wizard & Witch isn't making any wild claims — regulars will simply tell you the menu is built on lean proteins, fresh enchanted greens, and portions designed for witches and wizards who want to look as good as they cast. But try telling that to the queue that now stretches past Flourish and Blotts every lunch hour.
What keeps them coming back:
A daily selection of hearty, protein-rich mains that regulars swear leave them feeling lighter, not heavier
Fresh greens prepared with a little something extra — customers joke they walk out standing taller A signature warm beverage that's become a pre-match ritual for more than one Quidditch team this season
Portions calibrated by someone who clearly understands both a wizard's stomach and a wizard's waistline
Whether it's the ingredients, the portion science, or simply the confidence that comes with finally fitting into last year's dress robes, one thing is clear: witches and wizards across Diagon Alley are eating differently — and they're not going back.
The Fit Wizard & Witch — currently open exclusively on Diagon Alley. "Healthy body, powerful magic."
***
Author's note:
Honestly, Snape strikes me as a genuinely good guy who was just dealt a terrible hand in life... right from childhood.
J.K. Rowling actually mentioned that the most gifted wizards don't need a broom to fly. In canon, Voldemort and Snape are the only two wizards we see flying unaided in the books.
Did our MC make the right call ordering an anti-Muggle weaponry ring for Vespera too? I definitely think so. After all, she's dealing with Muggles way more than he is right now…
And why is Zabini winking at our MC?! Wink, wink. ;)
***
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(15):
99. Flight and Fortune
100. Calculated Arrogance
101. GW: A Cunning Kind of Courage
102. GW2: My Best Friend
103. Pride Before the Haircut
104. Fire and Thunder
105. Better to Be Feared
106. A Serial Killer Under the Bed
107. The Legacy of Rookwood Castle
108. Worse Than Horcruxes
109. Cleansed by Fire
110. Running Dead
111. I'm Dying
112. AM: Everything We Had Left
113. Still Breathing
114. The Headmaster Is Expecting You
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 me to dedicate more time to crafting this world.