[Note: Read up to Chapter - 112 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]
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"Shafiq's tackling fifth-year questions?"
"Is this whole test just to give him some kind of special tutoring?"
"Those five papers in the classroom—do they actually represent five years' worth of difficulty?"
"Whoever came up with that theory must still be half-asleep! There's no way! I don't care how clever Shafiq is—he's just started school! Solving fifth-year material? That's pure fantasy!"
Somehow, Hermione's sharp analysis had begun to spread among the crowd of gathered students.
And honestly, it wasn't that surprising.
The three of them hadn't exactly been whispering during their discussion, and the corridor was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with nosy little eavesdroppers.
Still, it made all three of them a touch miffed that no one seemed to take the analysis seriously.
Especially since Hermione's logic had been bang on—measured, reasoned, and backed by clear examples.
Over the past few days, Aris had shown magical skills that were clearly well beyond first-year level.
Whether it was casting a flawless Silencing Charm, performing advanced Levitation, or literally flying on a sword during broom class...
None of that could be done without a solid knowledge base.
Out of all of them, Hermione was the most annoyed.
She, more than anyone, understood the depth of Aris's abilities.
That moment back in Flourish and Blotts—when he'd stunned the entire shop with a single spell—still echoed in her mind, vivid and powerful.
It was fine if people had trouble accepting how talented Aris was.
But to dismiss her analysis outright, without even considering the facts?
That was the bit that really stung.
This was something the proud little witch simply couldn't accept.
"You lot haven't the faintest clue—let alone understand just how frightening Aris's talent really is!"
Hermione snapped at the students nearby, her voice sharp with frustration. Then, with a huff, she turned away and fixed her eyes firmly on Aris through the classroom window, falling silent.
The young witches and wizards around her looked utterly baffled. None of them had the foggiest idea what they'd said to offend this know-it-all girl.
Harry and Ron, now clearly riled up, gave the others an indignant glare before joining Hermione by the window.
Just like her, they crouched down, turning their backs on the group in quiet defiance.
It wasn't just a gesture of solidarity with Hermione—it was support for Aris, plain and simple.
At this point, both boys had begun to accept a rather humbling truth: Aris was smarter than them.
And not by a little—by miles.
But rather than feeling jealous or bitter, they felt oddly proud.
After all, Aris was their friend.
A short distance away, Professor McGonagall checked the time.
"It should be wrapping up soon. Do you want me to fetch the other subject professors to help grade Mr. Shafiq's exam?" she asked.
"No need," Dumbledore replied calmly. "The lot of you here should be more than enough. As for the rest of the papers… I'll take care of them myself."
With Flitwick and Snape already present, and now McGonagall and Dumbledore as well, four of the most learned minds at Hogwarts were gathered together.
True, the tests spanned subjects like History of Magic and Herbology too, but these professors had all sat the highest-level wizarding exams in their youth and had studied widely across all twelve school subjects.
Marking tests up to fifth-year level was well within their wheelhouse.
McGonagall nodded in agreement.
Truth be told, she hadn't expected Dumbledore to personally handle the grading—and had she known he intended to, she wouldn't have even brought it up.
With his level of knowledge, there'd be no issues at all.
Not long after, the door to the Potions classroom swung open, and Flitwick appeared, practically beaming with excitement as he made his way over to Dumbledore.
"Mr. Shafiq has finished all the questions, Professor. Should we head to the Headmaster's office now, or…?"
Professor Flitwick looked toward Dumbledore with a questioning glance.
But Dumbledore shook his head gently.
"No need. Let's grade them here."
With that, he strode purposefully toward the Charms classroom.
Behind him, Flitwick and McGonagall followed quickly, both wearing rather serious expressions.
The students nearby looked on, puzzled—and more than a little intrigued.
Four professors marking the test papers of a single student? That sort of thing was unheard of.
Some of them began to recall Hermione's earlier analysis, and doubts started to creep into their minds.
"Could it be… that first-year girl was right all along?"
"This isn't just some regular classroom test, is it?"
"But it's still bonkers to think a first-year could tackle fifth-year questions!"
"Well, the truth'll come out soon enough—we just need to wait and see."
Their whispers filled the corridor again, and soon every neck was craning towards the classroom, hoping to catch the latest update.
The hallway buzzed with anticipation.
And as the afternoon wore on and more lessons ended, word of the 'first-year genius' spread like wildfire. Students from all over the school began turning up to see what all the fuss was about.
Inside the classroom, the four professors stood at the front desks, brows furrowed in concentration as they marked through Aris's work at speed.
Aris himself—after nearly two hours of solid writing—looked thoroughly knackered.
He slouched in his chair, idly spinning his quill between his fingers, clearly bored now that the excitement had passed.
"The first-year paper's done. Final verdict: excellent—all answers correct with deep insight," Professor Flitwick announced in an even tone. He didn't sound surprised.
He'd likely expected as much.
"Second-year test now graded. Still excellent—every answer spot-on," he added a few minutes later, his voice calm but steady.
"Third-year paper—excellent, all correct!"
Professor Flitwick's voice was starting to go hoarse, as though he were struggling to contain something.
"Fourth-year paper—excellent, all correct answers..."
"Fifth-year paper... also all correct!"
By the end of it, Flitwick was shaking with excitement.
The expressions on the other professors weren't much better—astonishment written all over their faces.
When the final result came through, Snape stared at Aris like he was something out of a fever dream.
His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched—he looked like he desperately wanted to crack open the boy's skull just to see what was ticking inside.
Of course, being Snape, he managed to keep a lid on it. He wasn't one to show his emotions so easily.
Flitwick, on the other hand, wasn't nearly as reserved.
"Genius—oh Merlin's beard, absolute genius!"
He practically bounced over to Aris, hands hovering like he'd just stumbled upon a priceless artefact. His eyes were practically glowing with excitement, and the energy in his voice made Aris shift awkwardly in his seat.
"Mr Shafiq, I daresay the school will need to make some serious changes to your timetable!"
Professor McGonagall was trying to remain composed, but the tremble in her voice and the way her hands twisted together betrayed her emotions. Even her normally stern face seemed to twitch from the effort of holding it all in.
As for Dumbledore, he was the picture of calm—though the flicker of something warm behind those half-moon spectacles suggested he'd already seen this coming.
Without a word, he strode over to Aris, cloak trailing behind him, placed a hand gently on the boy's shoulder, and said with quiet pride,
"Well done."
Then, without further fuss, he turned and walked out of the Charms classroom.
As the door swung open, the roar of the corridor outside flooded in like a tidal wave.
"It's true—all of it's true! Shafiq's test actually covered everything from first-year to fifth-year material!"
"Merlin's beard... he scored top marks on the whole lot—every single answer was bang on!"
"Unbelievable... how did he even manage that? It's completely mental!"
"A first-year smashing fifth-year questions? That's just not normal!"
"If there hadn't been two professors watching him the entire time, I'd've thought he'd found some brand-new way to cheat. It's mad!"
The corridor outside the Charms classroom was buzzing. The students who'd been loitering there weren't holding back—they were practically shouting their reactions, every voice echoing with disbelief.
Apparently, when the professors had gone into the classroom earlier, one particularly crafty little wizard had left the door slightly ajar.
So, most of the kids in the corridor had heard every word that had come from inside—including Professor Flitwick reading out the results, one paper after another.
And each announcement had landed like a sledgehammer.
"That's exactly what I said!"
Hermione grabbed at Harry and Ron's sleeves, her face flushed with excitement. She was absolutely beside herself.
"They didn't believe me, did they? But now look! The facts speak for themselves. Everything I said was spot on!"
"Aris is... he's not just a genius. Genius doesn't even cover it. He's—he's a proper monster!"
Her voice was a strange mix of awe, excitement, and something close to fear.
"Hermione, maybe... maybe take a deep breath, yeah?" Harry said cautiously, looking more than a little alarmed.
Ron, nodding quickly, added, "Yeah, we get it—he's brilliant. But you're acting like he just turned water into wine or something."
Even though they were just as amazed by Aris as Hermione was, her current reaction was definitely a bit much.
Before long, Professor Flitwick and Snape escorted Aris out of the Charms classroom.
As he stepped into the corridor, the crowd of students parted almost instinctively, clearing a path for him. Their gazes followed him in stunned silence, every pair of eyes wide with disbelief—and perhaps, a touch of reverence. It was as though they were watching a living legend walk by.
…
Meanwhile, in the Defence Against the Dark Arts office...
Professor Quirrell sat nervously in front of a mirror, his hands trembling slightly as he reached up and began unwrapping his turban.
A low, rasping voice echoed in the room.
"Well? Is there any progress on our plan?"
As the final layer of cloth fell away, the back of Quirrell's bald head was revealed—grotesquely marked by the presence of a face... a face that could only belong to one man.
Voldemort.
Quirrell bowed his head low. "No, Master. But… I did hear something—about a boy at the school."
"Harry Potter?" Voldemort's tone sharpened instantly, thick with barely contained fury.
"No, not Potter. Someone else... Aris Shafiq."
There was a long pause.
"What about him now?" Voldemort's voice had taken on a dangerous edge.
Clearly, this wasn't the first time the name had come up. Aris might not have the same weight in Voldemort's mind as Harry Potter, but he wasn't far off either.
That fact alone irritated him.
How was it that a mere first-year kept cropping up in conversations about disruption and interference?
Voldemort had received regular updates from Quirrell on all school events relevant to his schemes—and somehow, this Aris boy kept appearing in all the wrong places.
It baffled him. During his own time at Hogwarts, he had kept his ambitions close to his chest, careful not to draw too much attention—especially from Dumbledore.
But this Shafiq brat?
He flaunted himself. Drew attention like a moth to flame. Bold as brass, he paraded around like he owned the place.
It was idiotic. And yet...
"That boy… he just took a special exam," Quirrell said hesitantly. "Word is… he's already mastered material up to OWLs level."
Quirrell relayed the information he'd gathered, his voice timid and unsteady.
Truth be told, the news had already spread like wildfire through Hogwarts. He'd overheard plenty of students whispering about it in the corridors and common rooms.
In fact, Quirrell barely left his office these days unless absolutely necessary. The fear of someone—especially Dumbledore—catching wind of his… condition, was enough to keep him hidden away.
"A first-year student mastering knowledge meant for fifth-years?" Voldemort's voice was low and measured, but there was a flicker of something unusual in his tone—surprise… and something darker. Wariness.
"M-Master, maybe… maybe it's nothing to worry about. He's still just a boy, barely elev—"
"What do you know?" Voldemort's growl cut through the room like a whip.
"That boy's shown that level of talent in his very first year!"
"In time, he could become a true threat—someone capable of standing in my way… just like Dumbledore."
There was a pause. Voldemort seemed to consider the weight of his own words.
"That old man hasn't got much time left… but this child—this Aris Shafiq—he's only just begun."
"If we don't snuff him out now, he'll become a problem far greater than Potter ever was."
"Find a way to test him. Carefully. The professors will be watching him like hawks now."
"But Master… wouldn't that be far too risky? If we're discovered—"
"I need to know," Voldemort snarled. "I must know whether that boy will stand against me in the future."
Quirrell bowed his head quickly. "Y-Yes, Master. Understood."
"And another thing—we need to accelerate the plan."
"I've already begun preparations," Quirrell said hastily. "I stumbled upon a troll in the Forbidden Forest. I thought… maybe I could lure it into the castle, cause a bit of chaos… and while everyone's distracted, slip into the fourth-floor corridor…"
"You'd better not botch this up," Voldemort hissed.
His voice faded into silence—but the malice it carried lingered in the air like a curse, making Quirrell shiver where he stood.
…
At the same time, in the depths of Nurmengard Tower…
An old wizard—gaunt, withered, and long imprisoned—gazed out at the setting sun through the iron-barred window. A faint, ambiguous smile played across his cracked lips.
His eyes shimmered strangely, as though laced with ancient magic. Deep as whirlpools and glowing with a soft silvery-white light, they held a glimpse of something far beyond the present.
"The age of decay… It's finally nearing its end."
In the river of time and space, he seemed to glimpse fragments of the future—images scattered like broken glass. A young figure stood tall atop the magical world, leading wizard kind with unmatched brilliance. From beneath the ruins of the old world, a new magical civilisation was rising, brighter and more radiant than ever before.
The last sliver of sunlight touched his gaunt cheek as the breeze whispered through the cracks in the stone.
"Perhaps… all hope lies with that boy."
He chuckled softly.
"Seems it's time I made my move as well."
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Drop power Powerstonessssssssss!
[Note: Read up to Chapter - 112 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]