I spent the entire rest of the day thinking about the legendary duel I'd had the honor of witnessing. The immense respect of the wizards standing behind Grindelwald versus the bureaucratic army behind Dumbledore. Honestly, I found Grindelwald's side more sympathetic. That memory gave me a lot; thanks to it, I understood that I wouldn't last even a minute against a magical titan. Both were capable of elementally decimating entire armies and countries.
My style is closer to Grindelwald's – I prefer powerful Dark Arts curses and elemental lightning. Gellert was visibly a master of rituals, as his speed was otherworldly. I don't believe a normal human could fundamentally move that fast and cast spells in such a sequence. It simply wasn't possible. Dumbledore, however, was his perfect opponent. A total "counterpick."
His mass transfiguration and conjuring were too much even for Grindelwald, who eventually had to burn everything around him with the legendary Diabolica. For Dumbledore, however, it was mentally exhausting. And then, when it came to elemental power...
Grindelwald was magically more powerful, but elementally he found himself at a disadvantage. Lightning couldn't pass through that mass of water, and his tornado, though larger and more powerful, was fundamentally destroyed by the massive volume of water from Dumbledore. It was interesting that he had an affinity for the same element as I did. In the end, Gellert overcame even that – he cleverly used the mobility of the wind and the power of his magic to defeat Albus. Yes, he defeated him. Dumbledore wasn't more powerful. It was only because of Gellert's momentary mercy that Dumbledore managed to take his wand. In the end, Grindelwald was so broken in spirit that he didn't even attempt wandless magic.
I read more about the Bombarda spell in Vespera's book. It was a neutral spell, not too demanding. Its essence lay in exploding an inanimate object. It had basically no effect on a living target, unless it was overpowered – then it could at least slightly move the living target. It was originally invented for sieging castles; a group of wizards could use it to break through gates and stone walls if the location's protections were insufficient.
What a master of magic Grindelwald must have been to successfully use a single spell so many times in a row. With each use, a specific concentration was required, which was, so to speak, consumed by the casting of the spell. So either his mind had to be as fast as his spellcasting, or his thought was so powerful that it worked even at a lower level of concentration.
I'll have to learn Bombarda. And I also need to figure out a way to defend against mass transfiguration. Grindelwald was stronger and faster, but the transfigured army still gave him a hard time.
A simple water wave would wash away transfigured objects, but would it be able to completely destroy them? I doubted it. And that's where the "Hitsugaya" style could help. Water and ice. Freeze them and then shatter them into thousands of pieces.
I was already lying in bed, my head full of thoughts. It was really a lot for me. Aegis Aurum was still giving me trouble. I needed to learn more powerful Dark Arts curses, gain a deeper understanding of transfiguration, and defense against it. Conjuring animals would also come in handy, and improving my elemental magic was absolutely essential.
How could I be hidden under a shield and attack at the same time? Maybe if I finally master Aegis, I'll be able to modify it. What if I could hold it in my left hand like a real shield and continue casting curses with my wand?
"Damn it, I'm still only twelve years old. Where am I rushing to? I have time," I whispered into the quiet bedroom, where only Sebastian's occasional snoring echoed.
Inhale, hold, exhale. Once I was at least a little calmer, Occlumency followed, and preparation for sleep. I fell asleep instantly as soon as I finished the training in my mind.
***
The following morning I woke up a bit tired. Not that Occlumency didn't help or calm me down... but a person's mind, even when controlled and protected, sometimes does what it wants.
I dreamed I was in Grindelwald's shoes – I took mercy on the enemy and lost everything because of it. I dreamed someone murdered Vespera in Knockturn Alley, right at Borgin and Burkes. I dreamed Umbridge tortured Agnes.
Just nasty, stupid dreams. So it was no surprise that I was completely out of sorts at breakfast. The others saw it, so they didn't even try to involve me in the conversation. Even the omelet with sausage didn't taste as good as usual.
It wasn't long before owls flew into the hall. I wasn't expecting any mail, so I was surprised when a stout eagle owl landed in front of me with an envelope on which the Black family crest with a flock of crows was clearly visible.
With a slight sense of reluctance, I opened the envelope and took out the letter. I had to force myself for a moment before I started reading. I wanted to help him, but by all accounts, Sirius had that fanatical mindset of a black-and-white world without any shades of gray. But people change, so I began to read.
Death Eater's BratRosier,
I admit this is the bitterest ink I've ever dipped a quill into. My mother would be thrilled – finally writing to one of "our circles." Our families always watched each other's backs over expensive whiskey and promises that were meant to last forever. Then the war came, and I spent a full decade in Azkaban. Ten years in the cold, Rosier. All that time I waited for someone from the "Light" side whom I trusted. No one came. Everyone wrote me off before the Potters' bodies had even gone cold.
And in the end, you're the one who pulls me out. The son of a Death Eater. It's an irony that makes my stomach turn – your "dark" blood had more conscience in it than everything I fought for.
But let's not lie to ourselves, in our families, nothing is done for free. You're not a charity. So write to me straight, what favor do you expect from me in return?
I owe you my freedom. That's a fact that even my bitterness won't change. So speak up, what is Lord Black to do for young Master Rosier?
Regards (and with a good dose of distrust),
Sirius Black
Interesting. The letter was written in elegant, proud calligraphy, for which I certainly had no practice. I scratched like a cat and writing with a quill was difficult for me, even though I tried. However, it showed me two things: first, Sirius put effort into the letter, as he wrote it neatly and without a single smudge. And second, that that harsh pureblood upbringing was still in him somewhere, whether he liked it or not.
I noticed that Potter was also reading a letter from the same envelope I had received. At least now that Black is free, he won't have to return to the Dursleys.
"Yay, good deed done," I said to myself matter-of-factly in my head.
Moodless, I stood up and headed to the first Potions class. I felt eyes on me from both the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables. I managed to notice Granger looking at me with wary distrust. Had Potter perhaps confided in her about my offer and my knowledge?
I didn't really care. From a global perspective, those thousand galleons from Potter were just a drop in the ocean. Black owed me, and if I asked him for money, he would undoubtedly pay. But I didn't intend to do that. Family knowledge was much more valuable to me.
I believed that if Sirius found out I grew up in an orphanage and was the son of Carina Black, he would approach me differently. Given that either I or Draco could accept the Black family ring... his choice might be clear. It would be enough for Potter to be left some money; he had more than enough of that anyway.
***
I calmly entered the empty Potions classroom, where the smells of various ingredients, herbs, and long-standing dampness mingled in the air. I settled comfortably into the last desk on the right side as usual. I took out my cauldron and other tools; I still had plenty of time before the others arrived.
I sat there depressingly alone for about ten minutes until the first students arrived. Among them were my friends. Agnes immediately sat next to me; she cast a concerned look at me but remained silent. Theodore, as always, sat with Tobias. Then the "golden trio" walked in, with Granger sitting next to Longbottom.
Gradually, the whole room filled up. Honestly, I only noticed the more prominent people. Draco classically sat with one of his trolls, while the other sat with Bulstrode. Davis sat with Greengrass, and Zabini with Sallow. That was strange – Sallow had been a major hater of other Slytherins for almost a year now.
But I didn't have the energy to deal with it. Snape marched into the classroom with his cloak billowing, and the lesson began. He stopped in front of the blackboard and turned sharply. His black eyes swept the room and stopped on me for a moment, but immediately he fixed his attention on the Gryffindors.
"Today," he began in a silky, dangerous voice, "we will attempt the Wiggenweld Potion. It is a challenging solution that heals minor injuries and sterilizes wounds. It also serves as an antidote to sleeping drafts and the Draught of Living Death. This potion is among the basic but extremely important mixtures and frequently appears in O.W.L. exams."
With a wave of his wand, he animated a piece of chalk, which began writing instructions on one side of the board. With a second wave, he brought a second piece of chalk to life, which began listing the ingredients. The list was quite long. Potions really weren't easy – this one required almost fifteen different ingredients, even without professional preparation.
I was more interested in his animation of the chalks, however. He could bring objects to life without a single word and force them to write specific text. There was no mention of it in the first-year textbooks. At the moment, I had too many other things for self-study, but I should look into it in the future. It would definitely make my life easier.
Snape gave the signal. While I remained lost in thought, Agnes willingly brought me all the ingredients. I set to work. I gradually poured salamander blood into the cauldron and stirred, causing a wild play of colors – from red to orange, yellow, and green to a deep turquoise.
Under strict supervision, I regulated the heat until the surface turned indigo blue and then pink. I threw lionfish spines into the mixture and added thick Flobberworm mucus, which turned the potion purple and then orange again. The finish belonged to honeywater and a few drops of berry juice, which returned a turquoise luster to the liquid. After half an hour of slow bubbling, I extinguished the flame and let my work cool in silence.
My potion had the right color. I was sure I hadn't messed anything up, so I decided to secretly fill vials for myself as well. One would go to Snape for approval, I'd keep ten, and the rest, after approval, would go to the hospital wing as usual. Agnes's potion turned out just as well, and she was observant enough to notice what I was doing. Without a word, she imitated me, took ten vials of the healing solution, and carefully packed them into her bag. Technically we weren't supposed to do that, as the ingredients were school property, but I was betting on Snape ignoring it. After previous experiences, I knew he didn't mean me ill.
We began to pack up gradually depending on how fast each person brewed their potion. Students handed in samples to Snape, who, of course, criticized the Gryffindors significantly more than the Slytherins; for them, he only evaluated what they had done wrong in a quieter voice. He was a true expert. At a glance, by the color alone, he knew exactly at which step the error had occurred. I wondered how many times he had brewed this potion himself.
When it was Draco's turn, the whole class heard what a great potion he had brewed. Of course, he got fifteen points and walked out of the classroom puffing out his chest like a peacock. I had to admit that Draco probably had the greatest talent for Potions. In spellcasting, however, he was only average, while Agnes, Tobias, and Theodore were absolute top-tier thanks to our hard training.
When we handed in our samples, Snape frowned at us. He noticed very well that we had poured some of the potion for ourselves, but since Agnes was with me and I was his favorite, he ignored it and dryly graded our potions with an O – Outstanding.
The rest of the day passed classically and extremely boringly. School didn't entertain me, and I missed combat and adrenaline. I felt a growing tension within me and a desire for a proper, bloody fight.
***
After school, we were in the classroom again. Tobias sat in the corner with a healing book, and Theodore was training hard with Aculeus on the opposite wall. Meanwhile, I was putting myself through a physical workout, which the others weren't very keen on yet. I really didn't feel like training Aegis; failing over and over again was already demotivating. Besides, I'd had a miserable mood since morning, and a hard workout was the best cure for that. Endorphins and dopamine are the foundation of a good day.
Agnes, as was her habit, was missing for the first hour. She was still trying to find the secret room I had told her about. She didn't give up, though I wouldn't have lasted even half that time searching for that cursed room.
I was just doing clap push-ups. My arms were already shaking, my triceps were burning, and large drops of sweat were falling from my forehead onto the floor. With a final clap, I stood up. It was time to move on to squats when suddenly the door burst open and Agnes walked in. I wouldn't have paid attention to it if she didn't look so incredibly happy and satisfied.
"Don't tell me she found the room?" I thought incredulously and stopped immediately.
Agnes shouted enthusiastically at the top of her lungs: "I've got it! I found it, Patrik!"
I immediately put myself back together magically and went after her eagerly.
"Let's go then, Agnes. I'm really curious."
I wasn't the only one interested in the secret room. Theodore had been listening to Agnes's curses about not being able to find it for quite a while, and Tobias, as a loyal friend, followed us too – at least he took a short break from the healing textbook.
We walked quickly up to the seventh floor. We followed her to the painting where some madman was trying to teach trolls to dance ballet. Agnes began to pace decisively in front of the bare wall while I watched her with anticipation. Suddenly, a large, massive door materialized on the wall.
"Finally," I whispered, feeling a surge of genuine joy.
***
Author's note:
What do you think of the duel analysis? I see Grindelwald as a true master of rituals and the Dark Arts, whereas Dumbledore stands as a master of Transfiguration and an adept of the Water element. I wanted to highlight that clash of completely different magical foundations.
Sirius is... well, he's Sirius. Even our MC has those moments where he just doesn't have the energy to deal with someone's drama.
And finally—the Room of Requirement! We're about to make full use of it, so stay tuned for some serious training!
***
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:
37. The First Blood
38. The Black Legacy
39. HP: The Boy Invisible
40. Theory, Tears, and Hidden Things
41. A Potter's Ambition
42. Pain as a Teacher
43. Blood and Runes
44. Blood, Sweat, and Special Editions
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