PART ONE:
"You sick son of a b***, if I see you again in here, I swear, I will call the Ministry of Magic, let's see how they react to the news! GO, GO AWAY! And do not come back again!!!" Henry shouted.
The other man, the one being shouted at, mumbled something in his mouth, something Henry did not wait to hear as he closed the door of his shop in the man's face, causing him to take 2 steps backward.
"PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU, HENRY, TAKE ME IN, TAKE ME IN! I am a changed man right now, I swear! I am no longer involved with those kinds of people! Please, my friend, you are my only hope, please, please help me!!!" The other man was named Tom.
Tom was kneeling in front of Henry's door, his eyes had tears in them that mixed with his own mucus.
But Henry's door was still closed.
Determined to try again, Tom said, "You are my only hope. Someone is after me, I know he is! I could feel him watching me, and Lock and Ray, they too disappeared!!! Please help me!"
But Henry's door remains titly shut. Behind the door, though, Henry's back was against the wall. He sat on the floor, tears in his eyes as well.
Tom was like a brother to him; they grew up together in the same neighborhood, and they both had different dreams. Tom dreamed of being a lawyer, while he dreamed of being a chef. It all changed on their 11th birthday, the day they learned that they both would attend a school of wizards, Hogwarts. The joy they felt was enormous after all, what boy or girl does not want to have superpowers? Henry and Tom were the same. They both attended Hogwarts; Both were in the same house.
'So what changed?' Asked Henry. ' Why did you have to go to crime, my friend, to deal with those scum, sigh… maybe if I had noticed sooner, maybe, maybe it would not be too late…'
As he looked at the door, Henry could not help but shout, "Didn't those children you kidnapped and sold to dark wizards also say, 'Please'? Where was your "Please" then, huh?
I begged you to stop, I bloody begged you on my bloody knees, and WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
There was pin-drop Silence.
"Well, answer to me, damn it!!!!!!!!!"
No one answered.
"What now, cat got your tongue, now you come to me after everything you have done after all the suffering you have caused…"
But Tom did not answer him.
"Well, answer me, damn it," he said, as he turned towards the door; he always hated it when people ignored him.
Opening the door, the sight that greeted him was not what he thought it would be. There was no Tom over here, only the quiet silence of Knockturn Alley.
Knockturn Alley was hidden just beyond the polished cobblestones of Diagon Alley. It is a place where the air itself seems to recoil from the light. The cheerful hum of the wizarding world fades the moment one steps past the shadowed archway, replaced by a hush thick with unease and the faint, metallic scent of something old — something forbidden.
The streets are narrow, their stones slick with years of grime and secrets. Shop signs creak on rusted hinges overhead, scrawled in peeling gold and dark ink that seems to shift when looked at too long. The only illumination comes from the occasional flicker of greenish lanterns, their glow dim and sickly, casting long, distorted silhouettes across the uneven walls.
Every door and window is barred or half-shuttered. Behind them, voices whisper in languages no sane wizard would wish to understand.
"Hi, Tom, where did you go?"
Silence.
"Come on, man, it isn't funny!"
Silence.
"You know what, fuck you! Here I was trying to be polite and help you, but good thing I didn't; fuck off, and if I see your face again, I would call that Auror office, you hear me!!"
BAM!
The door was closed.
Unknowingly to Henry, in the shadows of the alley, a figure merged with darkness itself watched him. He did not speak; he looked at the man at his feet, lying unconscious.
The dark figure waved his wand, and the unconscious man's body shrank to the size of a needle. He took form from his dark robe a special box. He opened the box, and inside were the other three needle-sized human figures, identical to Tom.
' I have collected enough for the ritual, it's time to go back'
The dark figure turned and left the alley. As he approached Digon Alley, his appearance began to change, yet strangely, none of the other wizards seemed to notice it.
DING, the sound of a bell rang, the same sound whenever someone entered the bar
"Oh, you are back sooner than expected. Do you want me to send your meal to your room?" Asked the kind bartender.
"That's okay, Old manTom, I already ate, and I will be resting in my room."
As he entered his room, the figure lifted his hoodie and disguise. He was a young man, 13 years old, he stood taller than most his age, about 1.7 meters tall, his hair was black as darkness itself, his white skin was reflected in the lantern's light, his eyes, brown and deep, held wisdom and intelligence that few his age could have. The young man was Adrian Atlas.
"Tomorrow I return to Hogearts. It has been a very good summer. I have accomplished many of the goals I set… The others, I will have to wait until school time."
Adrian took the sealed box from his robes and put it inside his Storage Bag and sealed it inside.
"It is strange, I thought that I would feel repulsed, or even guilt, by my actions.
After all, I did kidnap 3 people just so they could be used as sacrifices for my ritual, a ritual that I have designed based on the two books that Dumbledore confiscated from the library; the same books Tom Riddle used himself." Adrian found those books as copies in the R.O.R. in his second year. By following the instructions from the books, he designed a body ritual, a ritual he believed Riddle used as a similar version as well, albeit when he was much older than Adrian.
' The ritual is a body-strengthening ritual, and is designed to push the wizard's body to absolute human-level strength. The younger you are after the age of 11, the better it is to perform the ritual. If the ritual is done before the age of 17, there is a chance that it will push the wizard's body into awakening its hidden potential, thereby increasing the sensitivity of the wizard's body and soul to magic itself.
Saving the wizards decades, if not centuries of training. After all, the only known way to increase the strength of a wizard's magic is by age and training, with age being the dominant factor. But this ritual can shorten the process, allowing the wizard to overcome his own limitations and go even beyond them.'
Though, like all other rituals, it comes with a price. Nothing is ever given for free in magic; everything has a price.
The price for this ritual?
Adrian chuceld to himself, "the wizard has to endure enormous pain in every cell of their body and their soul. "
It is a very cruel ritual, something that Adruan will never accept if not for the benefits of it. If one can survive it and endure the tremendous pain, the benefits are far bigger than the losses. But if he fails? Only one outcome— DATH!
" The human heart, there is nothing more fickle than it." Adrian did not feel a tiny bit of guilt for his actions.
One could argue that Adrian did not feel guilty simply because the humans he is about to sacrifice are bad people, criminals, so, to him, it is a just death sentence. If Adrian could hear those people, he would simply laugh at them and smile. The reason Adrian chose those people is simply that no one would bother to look for them.
Good, Bad, Right, Wrong… Those are just words, meaningless words. They are like a variable in Math, like X or Y, they change based on the circumstances.
And who created those circumstances?
Us.
Humans did, the Ministry of Magic did.
Why though? Why could the ministry or other authorities create those rules, those terms?
Because they have the power, they have the support.
There was a saying in Adrian's first life, "GIVE A MAN POWER AND YOU WILL SEE WHO HE REALLY IS. IF HE IS GOOD AT HEART, HE WILL DO GOOD, IF HE IS BAD..."
But Adrian was neither good nor bad; he was simply himself.
He didn't wait for justification, or to the so-called 'Have To Have A Reason To Act', he was not built like that.
So be it in his previous world, the power of an individual mattered not; you are only one man at the end of the day. But in this world, where magic and knowledge are rich… Why limit yourself?
Adrian shook his head. He lifted his arm onto his head. " The Ministry of Magic forbade young wizards from using magic unless it was proven that the wizard was in danger.
However, the wards do not detect the magic of a minor if he is near other wizards, adults mostly, that is why I was able to practice magic this summer and implement my plan."
Adrian furrowed his brows. " I was able to take some of the basilisk remains, and sold for money using that money, I have bought all that I need for the ritual and more… now all I have to do is wait for the next full moon. That shall be the time of the ritual." As he thought about it, a smile formed on Adrian's face as he slowly drifted to sleep.
\\\\
The morning mist over King's Cross shimmered faintly with early sunlight, a fragile warmth that did little to pierce the cold within Adrian's chest. He walked through the barrier at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters with his usual calm, his dark eyes scanning the crowds — parents saying tearful goodbyes, students laughing, owls hooting from their cages.
The noise felt distant, like a world separated from him by an invisible wall.
He carried no trunk — his possessions, enchanted to weigh nothing, rested inside his charmed satchel. His black cloak trailed lightly, brushing the platform floor, its hem faintly embroidered with protective runes of his own design. He looked less like a student and more like a scholar, or perhaps a shadow that had taken human form.
"Adrian Atlas."
The voice startled him — not because it was loud, but because it was so normal, so mundane. He turned, expecting to see a Ministry official or perhaps a curious professor. Instead, it was Hermione Granger waving politely beside Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
"Adrian!" Hermione called again, smiling. "Come on, there's room in our compartment!"
Adrian hesitated.
Last year, he would have chosen solitude. But this year was different. His goals had evolved — and so had he.
He inclined his head slightly, his voice smooth.
"Very well."
The scarlet steam engine screamed, a cloud of white smoke enveloping them as they boarded. Adrian followed the trio down the corridor until they found an empty compartment — one soon joined by Professor Lupin, fast asleep, and a red-haired girl who looked both nervous and curious.
"Hi," Ginny said softly, sitting across from him. "You're Adrian Atlas, right?"
He nodded. "And you must be Ginny Weasley."
Her eyes widened slightly, then lowered, her cheeks pink. "Harry… he told me about you. About last year. How you helped… save me."
Adrian's gaze was steady — not cold, just unreadable. "You don't need to thank me," he said simply. "It was circumstance, nothing more."
Ginny fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her blush deepening. "Still, I owe you my life. That diary—it almost killed me."
Adrian tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Be careful, then. Gratitude can become a chain if you wear it too long."
She looked confused, but Harry gave a small laugh, easing the tension.
"He's always like that," Harry said. "Talks like Dumbledore, only quieter."
"Quieter and far less sentimental," Adrian replied mildly, and that made Hermione laugh — a small, genuine sound that even Ron couldn't help but join.
The conversation drifted from classes to Hogsmeade visits to Quidditch, but Adrian's mind was elsewhere.
As they spoke, he traced invisible runes with his fingertip on his knee — the schematic of a spell he'd been constructing all summer. It wasn't quite Transfiguration, nor purely Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was a synthesis — the manipulation of magical matter through intent alone. If successful, it could allow him to alter matter's form without verbal incantation or wand movement.
In theory, it bordered on true creation.
In practice, it bordered on madness.
He listened absently as Ron complained about school food, Hermione argued about elf rights, and Ginny giggled at something Harry said. The compartment was warm and filled with that peculiar scent of steam, chocolate, and parchment — the scent of Hogwarts.
And yet beneath the warmth, Adrian felt something stirring — a chill, ancient, and oppressive.
He looked up sharply.
Outside, the sky had darkened unnaturally fast. The rain on the windows turned to frost, creeping in spiderweb patterns. The temperature plummeted, and a horrible stillness filled the compartment.
"Wh–what's happening?" Ginny whispered.
Before anyone could answer, the lights flickered and went out. The door to the compartment slid open with a slow, dreadful creak.
A tall, hooded figure floated in — its movements fluid, boneless, its presence suffocating.
The Dementor.
The moment it entered, breath vanished from lungs. Hermione gasped. Ron froze. Harry's scar burned bright with pain. Ginny clutched her chest, trembling violently.
Adrian felt the cold seep into his bones — ancient, predatory.
His hand tightened on his wand.
'Enough'.
Adrian stood. His wand rose, slow and deliberate.
No shout, no dramatic flair — only control, absolute and calm.
A blinding surge of silver erupted from his wand, not the shape of an animal at first but a wave — a storm of light that crashed into the Dementor, forcing it back through the doorway. The creature screamed soundlessly as the radiance condensed into form — a serpent, vast and ethereal, coiling protectively around the compartment before lunging forward, devouring the darkness itself.
The Dementor fled. The serpent dissolved into silver mist.
The light returned. So did warmth.
Adrian exhaled once, eyes narrowing. His hand did not shake. His expression was unreadable.
Lupin had awakened during the chaos. He stared at Adrian, astonishment breaking through his normally calm face.
"That— that was a fully corporeal Patronus," Lupin said quietly. "And not just that… I have never seen one of such strength from a student, let alone one your age."
Adrian merely shrugged. "A matter of focus, Professor."
Harry, still pale, looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "You… you drove it off," he said.
Adrian turned to him. "They feed on fear," he said evenly. "I learned long ago to starve such things."
Ginny, still trembling, whispered, "Thank you."
He glanced at her, and this time — just faintly — smiled. "You seem to make a habit of needing rescue, Miss Weasley."
Her blush returned, deeper this time. "Maybe I just like the company," she muttered.
The rest of the journey passed in subdued silence. The warmth returned, but the mood had changed. Lupin offered everyone chocolate; Adrian accepted it without comment. Harry kept glancing at him, as if trying to understand. Hermione looked thoughtful — calculating, curious.
As the train slowed and Hogwarts came into view — its towers glowing in the distance through mist and rain — Adrian leaned against the window, watching the castle lights shimmer on the lake.
He thought of the ritual, of the full moon waiting for him, of power singing in his veins and pain yet to come.
And beneath all of it, one single, quiet thought drifted through his mind,
'What is a wizard, if not the sum of what he is willing to endure?'
He closed his eyes, the faintest smile playing at his lips, as the train hissed to a halt.
Hogwarts awaited.
The train ride had been long and restless. The sky outside had turned an ocean of grey, heavy with mist and rain that lashed against the windows like ghostly fingers. Adrian Atlas stood by the window of the carriage for a moment before stepping off the train. The platform of Hogsmeade Station glistened under the weak lantern light, cloaked in fog. Students bustled around him — laughter, chatter, the shuffle of boots — all blending into a faint, distant hum.
He took a deep breath.
"First years! First years this way!" boomed Hagrid's familiar voice somewhere in the mist. Adrian smirked faintly, walking past the crowd toward the line of carriages waiting beyond. Thestrals pulled them, their dark skeletal wings glistening faintly in the moonlight. He could see them — creatures invisible to most, but not to him. Death had marked his path long ago in his first life.
He climbed into one of the carriages. It was silent inside, but warm, the soft rumble of the wheels filling the air. When the castle came into view — its towers piercing the fog, lights flickering like fireflies across its windows — Adrian's heart steadied.
"Home," he whispered, almost without realizing it.
The Great Hall was magnificent as always. Floating candles shimmered above the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the stormy night sky. The chatter of hundreds of students filled the vast chamber — the sound of returning voices, laughter, and plates clinking. Adrian sat among the Slytherins, quietly observing. His posture was calm, his eyes sharp, scanning faces like a hawk.
He noticed subtle changes — the way students glanced at him and then quickly looked away. Some had heard whispers about what happened last year — the Chamber of Secrets, the basilisk, the name "Adrian Atlas" whispered alongside "Potter." Others didn't dare approach him at all. Adrian didn't mind; attention was a currency he preferred to spend, not waste.
Dinner passed in a blur of roasted meats, pumpkin juice, and idle chatter. Adrian ate little. When the feast was over, and students began returning to their dormitories, Adrian lingered behind. He didn't follow the others right away. He preferred the quiet.
By the time he reached the Slytherin common room, the dungeon corridors were dim and echoing, the torches casting cold, dancing shadows on the stone walls. The entrance revealed itself to him with a hiss, the serpent-shaped door sliding open at his whisper.
The room inside glowed faintly with greenish light, reflecting off the dark waters of the Black Lake outside the tall windows. The atmosphere was cool, damp, and heavy with secrets — just the way Adrian liked it.
He dropped his bag onto one of the leather couches and sat down. For a while, he said nothing. He simply let the silence wrap around him. The faint flicker of the fire painted his pale face in orange and gold.
He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. The storm raged outside the lake, thunder rumbling through the stone foundations of the castle.
"Another year begins," he whispered, his voice low, calm. "Let's see what this one has to offer."
\\\
The dungeon slept in silence.
Even the fire had died down to faint, pulsing embers — the room's breath slow and heavy under the weight of night. The storm that had raged earlier had passed, leaving behind a mist that coiled around the windows of the Slytherin common room like serpents of vapor.
Adrian lay in his bed, eyes closed, mind awake. Knowledge called to him even in his dreams.
At the stroke of midnight, his eyes opened. Brown irises gleamed faintly gold in the dim light.
He sat up slowly, whispering under his breath. "Tempus."
The glowing numbers appeared in the air. 12:03. Perfect.
He stood, stretching his arms slightly before moving to his desk. From a hidden compartment beneath it, he retrieved a small cage — forged of silver wire and bound with silencing charms. Inside lay a few strands of enchanted rope and a crystal that shimmered with faint runic inscriptions.
"Everything is ready," he murmured. "Now to retrieve the specimen."
With a flick of his wrist, he cast Disillusionment, his form rippling until he blended with the darkness of the room. A second spell followed — Muffliato — to mask his footsteps.
Then, without hesitation, Adrian left the common room.
He moved like a shadow through the silent halls of Hogwarts. Portraits slumbered in their frames; the castle's torches burned low, giving off a dull orange glow. The only sounds were the faint hum of distant magic and the whisper of his boots against stone.
When he reached the stairway leading toward the Gryffindor Tower, he stopped, leaning against the wall, and whispered:
A faint magical echo responded — a detection charm confirming that no teachers were nearby.
Adrian began his ascent.
He reached the portrait of the Fat Lady within minutes. The guardian spirit snored softly in her frame, wine glass tilting in her hand. Adrian pointed his wand toward the wall beside her and whispered. The painting froze mid-breath; her sleeping deepened.
Then, with the grace of a "trained assassin", Adrian traced three quick sigils on the wall — an ancient unlocking charm used by curse-breakers. The bricks shimmered faintly before parting just enough for him to slip inside unseen.
The Gryffindor common room was warm and dim, lit only by the dying fire. Shadows danced across red and gold tapestries, the room filled with the faint scent of ashes and books. Adrian moved quietly between the couches, his eyes sharp, scanning for any hint of movement.
He made his way up the boys' staircase. Each step creaked faintly, but Adrian's magic dampened even that sound.
When he reached the third-year dormitory, he paused. Five beds lined the room — Harry's was closest to the window. Ron's, cluttered and messy as always, was beside it. On the small table near Ron's bed sat a cage. Inside it — Scabbers.
Peter Pettigrew.
Adrian moved closer. His breathing was calm, measured. He whispered a charm deepening the sleep of everyone in the room. Harry turned slightly in his bed, muttering something under his breath about Quidditch, before falling still again.
Adrian raised his hand. With a quiet snap of his fingers, the lock on the rat's cage clicked open. Scabbers stirred but didn't wake — Adrian had layered the cage with a temporary calming charm.
He reached inside and lifted the rat gently, wrapping it in a small cloth soaked with a mild stasis potion. Then, from his satchel, he withdrew the small silver cage — one he had enchanted earlier. He placed Scabbers inside and sealed it with a soft hum of magic.
"Perfect," Adrian whispered.
He turned to leave, ensuring no trace of his presence remained. Before stepping out, he glanced once at Harry and Ron — both asleep, unaware.
And with that, he vanished from Gryffindor Tower, melting back into shadow.
The Room of Requirement appeared before him moments later, shifting and shaping itself as if aware of his intent. When the door solidified, Adrian entered. Tonight, the room resembled a dark laboratory — stone floor, shelves filled with tomes, and a single circular table in the center, engraved with protective runes. A faint green flame burned in midair, casting an eerie glow.
Adrian set the cage on the table. Scabbers stirred weakly.
"Let's begin."
He took a breath and whispered, "Legilimens."
His consciousness shot forward, diving into the rat's mind. Memories, fragmented and chaotic, flashed before his eyes — darkness, fear, trembling before the Dark Lord, the gleam of a silver hand, the terror of betrayal, James and Lily's laughter before the fall.
But Adrian wasn't interested in emotions. He was hunting for information.
He pushed deeper, bypassing layers of resistance — Pettigrew's mental defenses were crude, born of paranoia rather than discipline. Soon Adrian found what he sought: memory sequences filled with spells, dark rituals, and the faint feeling of transformation — Animagus.
The first target had succeeded.
He pulled back slowly, his breathing steady but shallow. "Too slow," he muttered. "At this rate, I'll need more control if I want to do this without a wand."
He tried again — Legilimens, but this time, wandless.
It took focus — immense, excruciating focus. His magic pressed through his gaze, piercing the rat's mind. The strain was intense, but he persisted. Bit by bit, he could see flashes without his wand: the silver blur of apparition, the feel of transformation, the sickening loyalty to Voldemort.
He smiled faintly. "Progress."
For three weeks, he returned every night.
Each time he refined his skill — pushing Pettigrew's mind further, mastering silent Legilimency until he could read surface thoughts and memories with nothing more than a glance.
During the second week, he began extracting specific memories — visualizing the patterns Pettigrew used to transform into his Animagus form. The key, he realized, was not the ritual itself but the synchronization of body and magic — the exact pulse of one's soul when shifting shape. Pettigrew's method was inefficient but clever. Sirius had improved it for him, creating a shortcut most wizards wouldn't dare attempt. 'The black family, sigh… Those ancient Pure-blood families have a vast collection of knowledge… I should pay a visit sometime.'
Adrian studied it, replicated it, and perfected it.
By the third week, he no longer needed the rat's "conscious cooperation". He could simply see the memories through touch. He had learned every spell, every trick — from apparition technique to shadow-flight, the method Voldemort's followers used to turn into dark mist.
His final act was to erase it all.
Adrian opened the cage one last time. Scabbers — weak and trembling — stared up at him with terrified, intelligent eyes.
"Don't look at me like that," Adrian said softly. "You'll live."
He raised his hand, magic flaring at his fingertips. "Obliviate Totalis."
The spell washed over the rat, erasing every trace of memory related to Adrian — every sound, scent, and image. Pettigrew's body twitched once before falling limp, unconscious but unharmed.
Adrian placed him back in the same stasis cloth, then quietly went back to Gryffindor Tower under Disillusionment. He returned Scabbers to Ron's bedside cage, locking it precisely as before.
The boys never stirred.
Standing in the shadows, Adrian whispered, "Three weeks well spent."
He turned and disappeared into the dark, his form fading like smoke.
That night, the Room of Requirement remained still — a silent witness to another secret buried in Hogwarts' endless heart.
And as Adrian lay back in his bed before dawn, exhaustion finally tugging at him, he smiled faintly to himself.
He had achieved all three goals:
He could now read minds without a wand.
He had mastered the secrets of Animagus transformation.
And he had glimpsed the forbidden techniques of Voldemort's flight and Apparition.
The knowledge alone was worth the risk.
Adrian could not help but say, "Power belongs to those who dare to reach for it — not to those who ask for permission."