The world did not need a name to fear him. It needed only a whisper.
And now the whisper had spread.
By morning, newspapers across Europe carried fragmented rumors. Leviathan Stirs Beneath Hogwarts. The Architect is Real. Prophecies Rekindled. None had proof. All had panic. The wizarding world thrives on secrecy, but fear leaks through cracks faster than truth.
In Geneva, the headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards was in uproar. Its high council chamber, carved in marble and lit by floating lanterns, quaked with voices. Dozens of envoys from every major magical nation were gathered—robes fluttering, tempers short.
"This is exaggeration!" spat the French delegate, robes of deep sapphire. "Another Grindelwald ghost story!"
"You call earthquakes in Cairo and leyline ruptures in Kyoto a ghost story?" snapped the Japanese envoy. "Our wards have not faltered in six hundred years. They cracked in one night."
"The boy is seventeen," said the American Director of Magical Security, leaning forward. His voice was gravel, unshaken. "Seventeen and already rewriting ley currents. Do you understand what that means? He isn't following Grindelwald's path. He's charting a new one."
At the head of the chamber, the Supreme Mugwump raised a hand. His face was pale, older than most, but his eyes burned with a clarity that silenced the hall.
"We cannot underestimate what has awakened," he said. "The Leviathan is not a rumor. Our seers confirm it. The Architect is real. And if we do not act, he will be more than legend."
Silence followed, heavy as a curse. Then, the words everyone knew must come:
"A coalition must be formed."
---
Eric Dillan sat within the Chamber of Slytherin, Nemesis resting on his knee, eyes closed. The Throne pulsed against his spine, feeding him visions of power like a bloodstream. He did not need spies to know what was happening. The ICW was predictable. Fear breeds unity, but unity is brittle when cracked by ambition. He knew they would gather. He wanted them to.
Ailis' voice broke the silence. She stood near the edge of the chamber, arms folded, gaze sharp as broken glass.
"They're hunting us," she said. "You feel it too. They'll gather armies, alliances, every spell they can dredge up from tombs and temples. And they will come for us."
Eric opened his eyes slowly. The glow in them was not fire, not storm, but the stillness of a vast depth.
"Good," he said. "The Architect cannot build in silence. We need opposition. We need pressure. Hunters force the prey to evolve. I will let them gather, let them march, and then…" He raised Nemesis, its dragonbone catching the green light. "…then we will test what their survival is worth."
Lisette shifted uneasily, her transmutation flickers turning a stone pebble into a shard of crystal without intent. Regulus said nothing, though his loyalty kept him rooted. Cyrus scratched in silence, his quill bleeding images of towers collapsing, men chained by glowing runes.
"You sound like you want them to come," Lisette muttered.
Eric looked at her, and for a heartbeat she thought he might strike. But he only smiled, thin and sharp.
"Of course I do. Every empire is baptized in the blood of those who resist it. If they come for me, they crown me. If they die by me, they prove me inevitable."
---
Meanwhile, in the ruins of Hogwarts, resistance was already stirring.
McGonagall stood in what remained of the Great Hall, her robes damp from the rain leaking through shattered windows. Before her, a group of young Aurors, surviving professors, and even a handful of seventh-year students had gathered.
"We cannot face him alone," she said firmly. "This is no longer about Hogwarts. This is about every society that clings to order. If the ICW wishes to act, we must stand with them. But do not mistake this—we will not wait for them to save us. We will move first."
Among the students stood a young witch with hair like fire and a glare that refused to dim. Emily Rookwood—descendant of a Death Eater, now defiant against everything Eric promised.
"He calls himself the Architect," she said. "Then we tear down what he builds before it rises."
The Aurors nodded. A fragile alliance was born in that hall, bound not by certainty but desperation.
---
Far across the continent, in a monastery hidden among the Alps, a different kind of preparation stirred. The Order of the Veil—an ancient society of seers long thought extinct—convened under a blood moon. They had all seen the same thing: serpents of shadow circling the globe, binding cities in chains of rune-light.
"The Leviathan is not beast," one whispered, her voice like cracking stone. "It is code. Living law. And it will consume even us."
Their leader placed a dagger upon the altar. "Then we will pierce the code. Find its writer. End him before the world bends."
For the first time in centuries, the Order prepared for war.
---
Eric felt the shift before word reached him. Seers bending their gaze toward him. Ministries raising his name in fear. Old orders stirring. Hunters coming.
He rose from the Throne, eyes sweeping over his Inner Circle. They were fraying, yes—but fraying steel still cuts sharper than dull unity.
"The hunt begins," he murmured. "And when hunters draw near, the Architect does not hide. He builds traps."
He moved to the wall of the chamber where runes pulsed faintly. With a gesture, they flared, revealing a new lattice of designs. The Leviathan's next evolution: not only a weapon of resonance, but a system of Invasive Equations—spells designed to enter enemy wards, infect their magic, and rewrite their defenses into servitude.
"You fear they will break me," Eric said, his voice low, resonant. "But you do not understand. Their spells, their wards, their armies—they are clay. I am the mold."
The chamber trembled as the Leviathan core beneath the Black Lake pulsed again, its shadow stirring the waters.
And in the skies above Europe, stormlines began to connect—not natural storms, but deliberate ones. Clouds twisted into spirals shaped like runes, visible to anyone who dared look up.
The world now knew he was coming.
And Eric Dillan, the boy who wore Severus Snape's face but spoke with the voice of inevitability, whispered into the storm:
"Come hunt me. I will build with your bones."
---
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Next Chapter Preview — Chapter 15: Fire in the Shadows
The hunters are moving.
From the Alps to the ruins of Hogwarts, factions gather, each sharpening their blades, each preparing to strike at the boy they now call the Architect.
But Eric Dillan is not waiting. His Leviathan expands with invasive equations that infect wards and drink power from enemy strongholds. Every move against him only feeds his dominion.
In London, the Aurors prepare their first strike—a raid meant to cut off Eric's influence before it spreads. Emily Rookwood volunteers to lead it, her hatred burning brighter than her fear.
But Eric already knows. His Inner Circle fractures under the weight of paranoia, Ailis questioning loyalty, Lisette doubting survival, Regulus torn between duty and destiny.
When hunter and hunted finally collide in the alleys of London, blood will spill, allegiances will shatter—
and the world will see the first real battle in the Architect's war.
---