When I woke up the next day, I felt as if I’d been hit by a truck. My restless sleep stemmed from the realization that Vespera was in far greater danger than I had anticipated. It was a brutal wake-up call—a reminder that this world is, in fact, much more dangerous. The atmosphere of Hogwarts and the presence of children might have lulled me into a false sense of security, but reality was relentless.

  Lockhart and his Obliviate charm were small fry, even though he’d built an entire career on stealing credit from more talented wizards. After all, a memory charm is just a drop in the bucket compared to what can truly be done in this world. A single Imperio on a wealthy Muggle, and suddenly you're a millionaire. Furthermore, according to Vespera, all it takes is five to ten spells, and any record of wand usage vanishes from history forever.

  I went down to the common room where the others were already waiting, and together we headed to the Great Hall for breakfast. Mail usually arrived at eight; I was curious to see if news about Pettigrew and Black would finally show up.

  We ate breakfast in peace. I had an omelet and sausages with beans—a relatively healthy meal with plenty of protein, though the fats, especially in the sausages, were quite prominent. It was interesting to observe that since the others started training with me, they mostly copied my eating habits. Apparently, they were convinced by my lecture on the importance of physical fitness and a quality diet for magical combat.

  While Agnes and the boys discussed Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was our last class of the day, I was lost in thought.

  I needed to get rid of Gregor Mulciber. The question was: how? Honestly, I feared for Vespera’s life. She had grown dear to me. For now, I had no choice but to believe in her and trust her power. After all, she was an exceptionally capable and powerful witch.

  Precisely at eight, with a loud hooting, a wave of owls descended into the Great Hall, dropping newspapers for students and teachers alike. It didn’t take long for the Daily Prophet to land in front of me.

  On the front page, a massive headline blared: "MINISTRY SCANDAL: PETER PETTIGREW LIVES! SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT?"

  Instead of diving into the reading immediately, I watched the reactions at the High Table. Dumbledore went pale, and in his surprise, his cutlery slipped from his hands. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Snape looked like he was about to kill someone at any second; he crushed the newspaper in his fists as if he wanted to throttle it. If looks could kill, Sirius Black would have dropped dead right there on his own photo. I also noticed McGonagall—with watery eyes and trembling hands, she devoured every line. Quirrell read with a frown, though I saw no signs of anger on him, only concentration.

  Agnes and Theodore were completely absorbed in the article, while Tobias honestly "couldn't care less." He calmly continued his breakfast. If he keeps this up, he’ll soon be wider than he is tall, unless I invent that fat-burning potion. Before the others could start bombarding me with questions, I began to read as well.

  ***

  MINISTRY SCANDAL: PETER PETTIGREW LIVES! SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT?

  By Rita Skeeter

  Yesterday evening at the Ministry of Magic was no ordinary day of bureaucracy. It was the day one of the greatest lies in our modern history collapsed. Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, visibly shaken yet determined to restore order, called an emergency press conference to deliver news that sends a chill down the spine: Peter Pettigrew is alive.

  Yes, dear readers, you read that correctly. The very same "hero" who was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, in memoriam twelve years ago for allegedly being blown to pieces by the mass murderer Sirius Black, has spent an entire decade hiding under the guise of a common household pet. While we ask how this rat could deceive our security systems, a more important question arises: Who is to blame?

  Minister Fudge did not mince words, pointing the finger at the "tragic failures of the previous administration." In the spotlight is none other than the then-Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch Senior. It was Crouch, a man known for his ruthlessness and—as it now appears—blind arrogance, who sent Sirius Black to Azkaban without a trial.

  Black was branded a traitor to the Potters and their Secret Keeper without a single shred of evidence or an interrogation. Why was Crouch in such a hurry? What were his motives for closing the case faster than the ink could dry on the warrant? We must not forget the shocking fact—Crouch’s own son was caught as one of You-Know-Who’s most devoted followers. One must ask: Did Bartemius Crouch simply need a quick scapegoat to divert attention from his own family’s failure? Did he want to clean up his own doorstep by mercilessly destroying someone else?

  "It is a stain on our justice system," Minister Fudge declared, emphasizing that under his leadership, such barbaric methods would never be permitted. "We will investigate every single decision Mr. Crouch made during that period."

  And what of our "great" Albus Dumbledore? The Hogwarts Headmaster testified against Black back then, confirming he was the Secret Keeper. How is it possible that a wizard of his caliber failed to see through such a primitive lie? Was he too busy with his aura of untouchability, or did it suit him to have Black moved out of the way without a chance to defend himself?

  While Sirius Black, now officially an innocent man, recovers from twelve years of wrongful imprisonment, the Ministry promises a purge. Bartemius Crouch faces disciplinary action, and the public demands answers: How many others are rotting in Azkaban due to the ambitions of one man?

  ***

  I had to admit, it was a brilliant article. Rita had a real talent; she wrote it like a juicy "treat," and Fudge would come out of it looking like a hero. Since he announced it to everyone so quickly, no one had time to bribe him. Now it would be too late—all of wizarding Britain, and undoubtedly the world abroad, would be discussing it. The House of Black was exceptionally well-known in Europe, especially for its dark and bloody history.

  "Patrik?" Agnes called out softly, while the boys were already staring at me intently.

  "Not here. We’ll talk later," I replied curtly.

  I saw the entire hall whispering excitedly. Draco looked thrilled, proudly proclaiming that Black was his uncle and that justice had finally prevailed. I ignored it and began to stand up from the table. The others followed me immediately, and together we headed to our first class—Transfiguration with McGonagall.

  By the time class started, McGonagall had managed to compose herself and looked properly stern again. Instead of casting spells, we were back to theory and the risks involved if Transfiguration didn't go as planned.

  "At the moment, as we are transforming simple objects such as a match into a needle, there is only a small chance of something going wrong. Concentration and imagination are key in this process. In the future, however, we will be transforming inanimate objects into living ones, and there the risk of failure is substantially higher. Any failed transformation can be reversed with the universal spell Reparifarge. By the end of the school year, you will all be expected to master it," she explained, pausing for a moment to scan the room with a sharp gaze.

  Then, she flicked her wand. Chalk began to write on the board in sync with her narration: Transformation, Untransfiguration, Vanishment, and Conjuration.

  "We are currently learning Transformation. We will cover Untransfiguration next year, as we progress in the difficulty of the transformations themselves. Vanishment and Conjuration—bringing things into existence—await us later, though we will try simpler spells like Avis or Serpensortia as early as our second year." She tapped her wand firmly on her desk. "It is essential that you gain a sufficient theoretical foundation in your first year. I do not want us to be delayed in the future by explaining basic principles." She waved her wand, and a large letter X appeared on the board. "However, there are limits. It is not possible to…"

  The day dragged on in a boring fashion after the first class. Although it was important to know why I shouldn't try to transfigure a stone into food, the theory exhausted me. I had to admit it was necessary, though; a lack of theoretical knowledge would hinder my path to power, especially if my future opponent happened to be a master of transfiguration.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Currently, we were sitting in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which reeked brutally of garlic.

  Quirrell explained the material with a stutter: "V-vampires are divided into n-natural and t-turned. Natural vampires, those b-born, are more powerful, faster, have sharpened senses, and limited magical abilities. They master the mind arts, which they use very successfully when hunting Muggles. The most powerful among them can even use elemental m-magic, though they have no access to our type of wizarding magic or wands. Turned vampires—whether from Muggles or w-wizards—lose access to m-magic entirely and gain only physical advantages. A turned vampire is very difficult to control at first and is d-dangerous to everyone around them. They are found mostly in the d-darker corners of Europe, such as Bulgaria, Romania, or Czechoslovakia."

  He paused for a moment, which I took advantage of to ask a question: "Will a stake through the heart kill them? And what about silver or a cross?"

  Quirrell looked at me with surprise in his restless eyes, as if he couldn't believe I’d asked such a thing.

  After a moment, however, he answered: "I-interesting questions, Mr. R-rosier. A stake through the heart is... let’s say... effective for almost all creatures. A spell, a sword, and a stake in the heart will all k-kill a vampire. S-silver? That is a s-superstition from the M-muggle world; in our world, it works more on w-werewolves. And a cross?" He paused for a moment and then continued: "Abs-absolutely nothing happens. In the m-magical world, Muggle faith has no significance. There are theories that their s-savior was merely a p-powerful water mage, nothing more."

  "And garlic? Is it fatal to them?"

  At this, Quirrell gave a chilling smile and spoke without a single stutter: "No, garlic will not kill them. It only bothers them immensely. The allicin in garlic irritates them, and being near it burns their mucous membranes. It is the price they pay for their sharpened senses. While it wouldn't stop a determined and hungry vampire, if they had a choice between two victims, they would undoubtedly choose the one who doesn't smell of garlic."

  It was more than interesting. I highly doubted Quirrell would know exactly what was in garlic. But Voldemort? He was powerful and educated. I had no doubt he studied everything, even the composition of food, to become the most powerful wizard in history.

  After a while, he ended the class, stuttering once more: "S-so, today’s l-lesson is over. For your h-homework, write how you would d-deal with a vampire. At least ten i-inches of parchment."

  We were already heading toward the exit when his voice stopped me—this time perfectly clear, without a single stutter: "Mr. Rosier, a word, please."

  I stopped. What was he after? I didn't believe I was in any immediate danger at this moment. Voldemort was incredibly powerful in his own body, but from Quirrell, I felt only weakness. I believed that in the worst-case scenario, I could kill him in this body.

  Agnes, Tobias, and Theodore stopped with me, but I immediately sent them away. In a conflict, they would only get in my way. Since they didn't expect anything bad, they obeyed without issue and left for the next classroom. If only they knew I was staying in that room with Voldemort.

  "Yes, Professor?" I said calmly.

  "I heard from Professor Snape that you come from Wool’s Orphanage," he spoke, and there was no trace of stuttering in his voice. "How is it possible that a member of a powerful pure-blood house ended up in an orphanage? It must have been difficult... growing up among those filthy Muggles."

  Mhm. Voldemort had completely revealed himself with that last sentence. He clearly assumed I would share his hatred and prejudice. For a moment, I weighed my answer. Finally, after evaluating all the pros and cons, I decided on honesty. I was curious about his reaction. Even though he couldn't sense a lie through my shields, sometimes a person reveals a falsehood through unconscious physical gestures.

  I nodded with a slight smile. "Yes, I come from Wool’s Orphanage. Honestly? Growing up there wasn't as bad as it might seem. We had a matron who took exemplary care of every child. Moreover, she already had experience with one magical boy, so she knew what to expect," I paused, watching as Voldemort observed me with feigned indifference.

  "It turned out that Matron Benson grew up in the same orphanage as that young wizard. She admitted to me that when she was a foolish child, she wasn't exactly kind to him. However, she acknowledged that the previous matron was a horrible old harpy and, along with the local vicar, they tormented that boy. The more they hurt him, the worse it got. It was only over time that Benson understood that what happened to him wasn't right. That’s when she swore she would help every future magical child so that history wouldn't repeat itself. That is actually why she became the matron."

  I saw anger and hatred flicker across Quirrell's face, but beneath them lay a strange, nostalgic melancholy. I decided to finish it. "To this day, she regrets not knowing what happened to that boy. And me? It was only this year that I learned my father was a loyal follower of the Dark Lord and why I actually ended up in the orphanage. Alastor Moody is to blame for everything. He killed my mother and threw my father into Azkaban," I finished with genuine hatred in my voice.

  I felt Voldemort’s magic pulsing in the room. It was saturated with anger and madness, but in Quirrell’s weak body, there wasn't much of it.

  ?Did Voldemort go mad because of dark magic or because of the Horcruxes?“ I asked myself a vital question while his magic slowly calmed down.

  "And as for Muggles? Honestly, I don't care about them at all. Wizards are naturally superior to them."

  "Y-you h-have that in common with your f-father," Quirrell stammered. "I am g-glad you grew up among the M-muggles alright and it w-wasn't as bad as I th-thought. You may go, Mr. Rosier."

  I calmly said my goodbyes and left the classroom. I walked on guard, ready for the possibility that Riddle might, in a fit of madness, decide to attack me in the back. But nothing happened.

  Upon arriving at our practice classroom, I saw Agnes finishing a duel against Theodore and Tobias, who were dodging frantically before her.

  "Everte Statum!" "Incarcerous!"

  Her multitasking was going quite well. Theodore was thrown back a few meters after being hit by the orange beam, while Incarcerous immediately bound Tobias. I watched with interest.

  Incarcerous was technically the most difficult spell Agnes knew. It required the ability to conjure something from nothing—in this case, ropes—and impose a specific function on them: to tightly bind the first thing they touched. It was much more complex to execute than a simple disarming charm. After a moment, she noticed me. While the boys were picking themselves up off the floor, she walked over to me.

  "What did that stutterer want with you?"

  "Nothing interesting, Agnes. He just heard that I grew up in an orphanage," I replied neutrally, but then I decided to warn her: "Keep an eye on him. He’s more dangerous than he seems."

  She immediately gave me a puzzled, almost disbelieving look. "That trembling wretch? He’s afraid of his own shadow."

  "Not everything is as it seems at first glance. Trust me, he is extremely dangerous."

  She was already taking a breath for more questions, but I decided to stop her. "I can’t tell you more. First, you must learn Occlumency. And before you ask—it is the art of mind defense that prevents others from reading your memories or thoughts. Currently, your mind is open to any capable mage."

  Agnes became visibly uneasy. Theodore and Tobias listened intently to my every word.

  "Occlumency? You mean someone can see into our heads right now?" she asked with unconcealed concern.

  "No, Legilimency requires direct eye contact," Theodore spoke up immediately. We all looked at him in surprise. He just casually shrugged his shoulders.

  "My house makes a point of us mastering at least the basics of Occlumency. It’s a precaution to prevent someone from stealing family secrets. I’m no master, but I would likely feel an attack on my mind."

  Excellent. Theodore could teach them at least the basics while I fully devoted myself to spell practice. However, his defense was clearly quite leaky; I occasionally picked up his emotions subconsciously, which meant his shields were more theoretical than practical.

  "Theodore, try to explain the basics of Occlumency to Agnes and Tobias," I commanded him in a firm, authoritative voice. Then I shifted my gaze to the other two. "If you want to know more and have access to more important information, you must have at least basic mental shields."

  Theodore nodded in agreement, Agnes put on a determined expression, while Tobias still seemed a bit unsure.

  I liked this Slytherin behavior. Theodore accepted it as an order without unnecessary talk; he valued how much he had progressed magically in our circle, and I was sure he would fulfill what I had assigned him. In my past life, if I had ordered a classmate to do something like this, he would likely have ignored me completely and gone to play FIFA instead. Here, however, different rules applied. Young wizards were more mature, more serious, and fully aware of the price of power.

  While Theodore pulled them aside to explain the basics of Occlumency, I decided to move on to the advanced spells from Vespera. I needed a more stable shield and a more destructive curse. Protego was fine, but during duels, I discovered its greatest weakness: under constant attack, it had to be continuously fed with magic, which exhausted me in the long run.

  I chose two spells that I intended to learn first.

  Reducto—a spell with enormous lethal potential. It literally erased the hit portion of an object. If I remembered correctly, Molly Weasley later used it against Bellatrix. It was dark magic, no doubt about it. Though it was a murderous spell, it wasn't among the Unforgivables; it could be blocked relatively easily by a shield, whereas Avada Kedavra passed through almost everything except solid physical obstacles.

  The problem, however, was that there was nothing left in this classroom on which I could safely test Reducto. I needed better facilities. There had to be plenty of hidden rooms in Hogwarts—perhaps the house-elves could advise me on where to retreat?

  I therefore decided to focus on the second spell: Aegis Aurum. It was a powerful golden shield, extremely popular in ancient Greece. Vespera speculated in her notes that it was a favorite of the Spartans. What was fascinating about it? It was significantly stronger than Protego or even Protego Horribilis. While it required a large amount of magic to cast, this value was constant—it couldn't be "refilled" with magic like common shields. I calculated that although casting Aegis is more expensive, during intense fire, the ratio of energy consumed would shift in favor of this golden shield after just a few seconds.

  I tried to cast it with the same inner mindset as Protego, though I expected failure beforehand. I was curious, however, about how the magic would behave.

  "Aegis Aurum!"

  A golden glow flared around me for a fraction of a second. However, the almost transparent dome immediately evaporated with a quiet hiss. The spell failed.

  Vespera emphasized in her notes that the spell required more than just the desire to defend oneself. I had to summon a feeling of steel-like solidity in my mind. I imagined the massive bronze shield of Greek warriors forming an impenetrable wall in battle. With this vision, I gripped my wand firmly again and continued my practice.

  Author’s note:

  So, Fudge acted like a true politician and immediately went on the offensive against the previous administration. For now, nobody important suspects that Patrik was the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, but we have a conversation with Madam Bones coming up very soon.

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  Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:

  33. In the Shadow of Lineage

  34. The Greater Good's Echo

  35. Memory: Dumbledore vs Grindelwald

  36. The Bitterest Ink

  37. The First Blood

  38. The Black Legacy