Thaddeus could still feel the lingering effects of the Pepper-Up Potion coursing through his body. The temporary surge of energy pushed away the heaviness in his limbs, leaving his mind sharp and restless. It was the strange kind of alertness the potion was known for—unnatural, almost overwhelming, but undeniably useful. Tonight, he could do more.
After resting briefly, he rose and began moving through the ship. One by one, he lit every lamp he could find using flint and steel. Small flames flickered to life along the narrow corridors and wooden stairways, pushing back the darkness creeping over the vessel. Soon the silent ship was illuminated by rows of warm lantern light. It created the illusion that the ship had returned to life, though the quiet surrounding him made the truth impossible to ignore.
With the lamps burning steadily, Thaddeus began his work.
He started gathering every valuable item he could find throughout the ship and brought them back to his wooden cabin. Gold coins hidden inside drawers, silver utensils stored in cabinets, decorative ornaments left behind in the passenger rooms—anything that carried value did not escape his attention. A few chests belonging to wealthy travelers were also discovered, their locks already broken during whatever chaos had occurred on the ship.
Since every person aboard the vessel had died, there was no longer anyone to claim these belongings.
Which meant everything left behind now belonged to him.
Trip after trip, he carried the valuables back to his cabin using the levitation charm. The wooden room slowly transformed into a storage chamber for treasure. Coins piled across the table. Silverware clinked softly as he stacked them along the walls. Jewelry glittered beneath the warm lantern light.
Gold reflected the glow like liquid sunlight.
Gemstones shimmered with quiet brilliance.
Thaddeus stood in the center of the room for a moment, silently taking in the sight. He could not help the small smile that formed on his face. Seeing wealth accumulate so quickly was intoxicating.
Once he reached Britain—or any magical settlement within the wizarding world—these valuables alone would allow him to establish a foothold. Survival in an unfamiliar world required resources, and right now he possessed more than enough to begin carving out a future.
His thoughts drifted further ahead.
A comfortable residence somewhere within wizarding society. Access to magical libraries and rare spell books. The freedom to study magic without limitations.
The original owner of this body had already passed the age of acceptance for Hogwarts. That opportunity was long gone. But Thaddeus was not discouraged by that reality.
If he could not enter Hogwarts, he would simply find another way to learn.
Gold opened many doors.
Even if this truly was an older era of the wizarding world—far before the structured magical society he remembered—knowledge would still have value. Wizards had always passed their craft to apprentices, assistants, or paying students. Private tutors, wandering scholars, or retired professors should still exist somewhere within the magical world.
And people like that would always be willing to teach for the right price.
His gaze shifted toward the small chest where he had placed several heavy gold bars earlier.
Surely a chest filled with gold bars would be enough to hire a capable wizard instructor.
Maybe even several.
The thought of freely studying magic without restriction filled him with quiet anticipation.
Yet despite the greed stirring inside him, there were still boundaries he refused to cross.
When it came to the valuables still resting on the bodies of the dead passengers, Thaddeus chose not to take them. Even if part of him was tempted, he still had a conscience. Rings, necklaces, coins—whatever remained on those bodies would stay where they were. Those items would accompany their owners into the afterlife.
It was the least respect he could offer them.
After securing everything in his cabin, Thaddeus made his way to the captain's quarters.
The room was larger, sturdier, and far better suited for long-term use. A heavy wooden desk stood bolted to the floor, maps and navigational tools still scattered across its surface. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and abandoned instruments.
This would be his new base.
He returned to his cabin and gathered everything important from the system—the Standard Book of Spells, potion supplies, enchanted pouch—and transferred them into the captain's room. One by one, he arranged them across the desk and shelves until the space felt less like an abandoned command room and more like a workspace.
Then he sat down and opened the spellbook.
Before continuing his practice, a memory surfaced.
Incendio.
The Fire-Making Charm.
A simple spell, yet one of the most practical. In the wizarding films, it was often used casually—wizards flicking their wands to produce controlled flames for lighting, clearing obstacles, or igniting objects. It wasn't flashy magic, but it was dependable.
Thaddeus himself had never really watched the films in detail. It was his friend Marco who was the fanatic—the one who would drag him into watching, then bombard him afterward with endless trivia and explanations. Marco would talk about spells like Incendio as if they were real academic subjects, pointing out scenes where wizards cast it effortlessly, fire bursting from their wands like an extension of their will. At the time, Thaddeus only half-listened, treating it as meaningless background noise, never imagining any of it would ever matter.
Now it felt different.
Now it mattered. It wasn't just something from stories his friend Marco used to obsess over—it was a real tool. Fire meant cleansing. Fire meant control over the situation on the ship. Fire meant an end to what was waiting on the upper deck.
He closed the memory away and forced his focus back into the present.
Before even reaching the page he needed, his attention drifted across another section of the Standard Book of Spells. His fingers paused as he turned pages almost absentmindedly, scanning unfamiliar headings until something caught his eye.
Utility Charms.
He stopped.
The section wasn't flashy. No dramatic illustrations or combat-focused descriptions. Instead, it listed spells designed for daily use—moving objects without physical effort, adjusting environments, assisting with repetitive tasks, and simplifying labor that would normally require multiple hands.
Household magic.
Simple, practical, almost unremarkable at first glance.
But Thaddeus stared at it longer than he expected.
His mind shifted instinctively toward the ship around him.
A ship this large was never meant to be managed alone. Even in its current stillness, he could already imagine the roles that once existed here—sailors adjusting the sails, crew maintaining ropes, someone at the helm, others handling navigation and maintenance. Every part of the ship demanded coordination.
Utility magic, in theory, could replace some of that.
If objects could be moved without hands… if mechanisms could be operated through sustained charmwork… then perhaps parts of the ship could be automated. Sails adjusted through enchanted control. Ropes tightened or released through guided motion. Even the rudder might be influenced through structured spells.
The thought formed slowly, then deepened.
If applied correctly, utility magic could replace sailors entirely.
The ship might not need a crew at all.
It could continue its voyage across the sea, driven purely by magic and intent.
For a brief moment, the idea felt almost achievable. Plausible. A system of controlled enchantments layered together, each handling a different function of the vessel.
But reality quickly followed.
His current magical capacity was still limited. A ship of this scale was not a household object. It was a massive structure built for coordinated human effort, not single-handed magical control.
Attempting something like that now would be impossible.
Still, he didn't dismiss the thought completely.
He simply set it aside.
A future possibility—if he ever reached that level of mastery.
For now, survival came first.
He finally reached the page he was looking for.
And as he turned to it, the word Incendio appeared on the page like it had been waiting for him all along.
Simple.
Unassuming.
Unexpectedly important.
He stared at it for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he exhaled and stood.
This was the spell that mattered right now.
The rest could wait.
He positioned himself in the center of the captain's cabin, adjusting his grip on the wand as the book instructed. His wrist loosened slightly. His breathing slowed. The movement was short, precise—an arc meant to draw something out of nothing.
He tried.
"Incendio."
Nothing.
No spark. No flicker. Just silence.
His jaw tightened slightly, but he did not let frustration settle. He returned to the instructions, studying the wand motion again. Too stiff. Too controlled in the wrong way. Magic required precision, but not rigidity.
He reset.
Inhale.
Focus.
Then he moved again.
"Incendio."
A spark burst at the wand tip, brief but real.
His eyes sharpened.
Better.
He repeated it.
Again.
And again.
Each attempt refined something small. The angle of his wrist. The timing of his breath. The clarity of the image in his mind—fire not as something forced into existence, but something shaped into form.
"Incendio."
A flicker.
"Incendio."
A flame.
"Incendio."
A steadier burn.
The cabin filled with brief pulses of orange light, each one reflecting across maps, wood panels, and the quiet stillness of the captain's cabin.
Outside, the ocean remained endless and indifferent.
Inside the captain's cabin, Thaddeus raised his wand once more, eyes fixed on the empty space before him, and continued.
He did not let himself stop.
TBC
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