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? :D
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.
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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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