The torches along the walls flickered unnaturally, as if sensing what was to come. The chill in the air wasn't from cold—no, it was from anticipation. A storm was about to be unleashed, and I stood in its eye. The fifteen upper-year Slytherins surrounded me, forming a rough circle with eyes full of scorn, some in amusement, and others seething with vengeance.
Nikita, standing to the side with the First Years, glanced between the circle and me. Her wand was subtly drawn, held low at her side, her mouth slightly open. Her nerves were evident, but her faith in me hadn't cracked yet.
She stepped forward. "Should I?" I raised a hand casually, my gaze never leaving the group forming around me. "Don't worry. I've got this." My voice was calm too calm. "Let the lesson begin," I said, arms at my sides. "Come whenever you're ready."
For a brief heartbeat, nothing moved. Then the room exploded. A cacophony of spells roared through the air. Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Confringo! Wand flicks became blurs. Beams of light, fire, and force burst toward me all at once.
And none of them reached me.
They rebounded—wildly, chaotically—off the invisible shield I had already cast. A layered barrier only I could see, one layer protecting me, another encircling the First Years.
Some spells slammed back into their casters. One boy was hit in the gut with his own Bludgeonerus spell and collapsed. Another girl was caught in the shoulder by a stray flame meant for me, her robes catching light before extinguishing with a yelp.
After five minutes, the dueling circle was in shambles. Some were on their knees, panting. Others groaned, arms limp, robes scorched, egos bruised. Not a finger had been lifted from me.
I raised a single hand.
A swirling golden-white flame a mixture of my healing fire and white purity magic along with a flame that amplifies in gold manifested above my palm, then shot out like a gentle ripple. It passed through the upper years. Their burns faded. Their bruises vanished. Their strength returned.
They stood straighter—then stumbled again, confused. "What… what was that?" one boy muttered. "Why can't we hit you? What are you using, some dirty."
His voice turned ugly. Too ugly. "you dirty N" The hard "R" sliced the air like a curse. Even Nikita gasped then the air changed. The magic around me trembled. My smile remained, but the room knew: I was no longer calm.
I was offended and worse I was disappointed. I raised my hand slowly, casually, as though brushing dust off my shoulder. A silent wave of Telekinetic Force focused on my magic missile focused like a bullet—slammed the student square in the mouth.
CRACK.
His nose burst. Blood streamed down his chin. Teeth clattered to the ground and he wailed only for his wounds to be healed immediately by flames. Then, again CRACK another strike. Break. Heal. Break. Heal. Break. Heal.
His screams echoed through the Room of Requirement. Others stepped back in horror. "Stop it! You're going too far!" one girl cried. I tilted my head with a cold callus look on my face. "Oh? Was he or the rest of you going to stop if it was me? Especially If I was weaker?"
No answer.
"Some of you have Death Eaters in your family and threatened your classmates with that like it's something to be proud of. And you think this is too far?" Silence. "No. This is where you learn what happens when monsters meet something worse, ME."
Over the next ten minutes, I didn't simply fight I disciplined each and everyone one of them. Each of the fifteen was dragged into a lesson of agony and recovery. No deaths and No lasting wounds physically at least maybe some a natural fear of me if the flame didn't heal that completely. Just a deep understanding of pain, humility and respect regardless of gender, blood purity or school year.
Five minutes later after breaking and healing I was done and continued healing for each of them. I snapped my fingers, casting a sharp Aguamenti, and streams of cool water washed over their faces, waking the unconscious. The once-proud upper years now lay scattered across the floor, wet, humbled scared, some crying, others looking anywhere but at me.
I stepped forward and said "Single file."
No one moved. "Single file." With a little base this time and, they obeyed. They lined up I folded my arms behind my back, voice steady. "After today are we going to have a problem?" Murmurs. Whispers. "I said are we going to have a problem?" The pressure returned from my magic and my presence.
"NO SIR!" they shouted in unison, voices cracking but loud. I smiled again. "Good." I turned toward the edge of the room. "Draco." He stepped forward without hesitation. Not a trace of his usual arrogance.
"Up front with me." He obeyed. The others watched as I placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned close. "I hope you took notes." He swallowed. "Yes." "Good. Now get back to the common room. Start studying."
They turned to leave. I winked. "And tell your families I said hello." A few flinched but no one argued. The door opened behind them, and they left in silence. Nikita approached me cautiously. Her wand was still at her side, her expression unreadable.
"That was… brutal," she said. I didn't answer at first. "They'll thank me later." She tilted her head. "You're terrifying." I chuckled. "And they'll remember not to test me again."
The flames dimmed. The room pulsed, shifting subtly, already readying itself for the next need. I turned toward her, my expression softening. "You mind staying with me, Nikita?" She nodded. "Of course someone's got to make sure you don't go full Dark Lord."
I laughed genuinely. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna hurt, but maybe his ego."
The Room had shifted again—no longer the harsh, stone dueling hall from earlier. Now it resembled something between a study still with wide space. Warm torches flickered along banners marked. Shelves of books hovered in midair behind wooden cases, and a single wide table sat in the middle of the room, where I placed the parchment I'd summoned from my cloak.
Draco stood beside me, his posture still rigid and nervous. The beatings both magical and emotional he witness had softened the pride in his eyes. I turned to him, hands behind my back. "Draco. Can I ask you something?"
He crossed his arms, slightly defensive. "You're going to anyway." I smirked. "Why do you think purebloods especially the Sacred Twenty-Eight families are they better than half-bloods, Muggle-born's and squibs?"
He scoffed. "That's obvious pureblood families have generations of magical refinement. My father says it's in our blood. That's why our spells are stronger, our magic more refined. Half-bloods don't have that legacy. And squibs well, they're accidents lucky to be even born."
I didn't react, just nodded and pressed further. "And why are the Sacred Twenty-Eight so important?"
Draco blinked. "Because… they're the original families. The purest. My grandfather says they've kept wizard kind from losing its way, from being diluted by Muggle influence. My father says"
I cut him off with a raised hand. "Exactly. Your father says. Your grandfather says. Is that all you believe in what others say?" He stiffened. "What's wrong with listening to my father? He's a great wizard! He has influence, gold, respect"
"He' has money and fear" I interrupted. "Not respected he buy's loyalty or favor instead of earning it through respect or power and is feared because the influence of the people he can bribe or corrupt. There's a difference ."
Draco's face flushed. I turned and unfurled the parchment across the table. "Do you know what this is?" He squinted. "That's a family tree."
"Not just any family tree. The Sacred Twenty-Eight purebloods. I charted out their major marriages, lines of descent, and alliances. Do you see all these tight loops?"
I pointed to branches that folded inward. "Do you know what happens when you keep marrying your own bloodline? Generations of arrogance created magical decay and mental instability." I tapped a dark curl branching from the Black family.
"Bellatrix Lestrange your aunt she's brilliant and powerful but also Insane. That's what centuries of magical inbreeding gets you." Draco stared, hesitant. "You're exaggerating."
"Am I?" I gestured again. "You're related to the Weasleys, you know. Distantly, but still. One of the few Sacred families that actually has numbers and potential. They could be the most powerful magical family in Britain… if not for their poverty and their rejection by fools who are stuck in old ways."
Draco's fists clenched. "My father says the Weasleys are blood traitors." I leaned in, eyes sharp. " What do you say, Draco?"
His mouth opened and no words came. "Can you think or speak for yourself, or do you only speak your father's truths?" " He's my father!" Draco snapped. "He raised me. He's a successful businessman, a powerful wizard"
"A man clinging to a world that's crumbling around him." I waved the parchment, letting the names and deaths hang in the air.
"How many of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are thriving? How many are gone? The Carrows? The Travers? The Bulstrodes? Name me five that haven't been diminished or disgraced."
Draco's silence was answer enough. "This superiority complex? It's a mask for fear—fear of change, fear of competition, fear that your bloodline doesn't mean you're better. Because it doesn't."
Draco turned his head, jaw clenched, struggling with everything I was saying. I stepped closer, my tone softening. "So I ask you now, Draco… Do you want to spend your whole life chained to your father's idea's and image? To be chained into walking in his shadow, obeying his rules, parroting his beliefs?"
He didn't move. "Or do you want to be better?"
He flinched. "Do you want to be your own man—one whose name is respected not because of his families past accomplishments, but because of his own? A man who earns his greatness with his own blood and sweat?"
The parchment on the table rustled slightly as the magic in the room quieted, sensing the weight of the moment. I watched Draco closely. His lips parted slightly. His eyes shifted from the parchment to the floor… then back to me.
His hands fell to his sides and he looked me directly in the eyes. He narrowed his gaze. "And what would you know about any of this?" he spat, the bite still present but weaker now. "You speak like you're different, but you're not. You talk about changing the world, but you use your power and your family name to lord over everyone. How is that any different from what you accuse my father of?"
There was a moment of silence—then I smiled. "Draco," I said softly, "you're absolutely right."
He blinked.
"I am using my families name and influence. I am using every drop of power I've got to bring people in line under me ." I took a breath, calm but fierce. "And I don't regret a single moment of it."
Nikita's restrained giggle behind Draco gave the air a brief lift. I could see her covering her mouth, pretending to study the family tree still laid out on the table. Draco looked confused. "Then what makes you different?" I stepped closer, gaze unwavering.
"Because I'm doing it for change—real change. Not to maintain power, not to glorify my lineage, but to make sure no other child has to grow up believing they're less because of where they come from."
Draco's brow furrowed, uncertain.
I continued, voice steadier now. "If this world had been even slightly better… if it valued merit over legacy, compassion over corruption… my mother wouldn't have lost a dear friend who was like a sister. My godbrother wouldn't have grown up without his parent's. A boy wouldn't have to grow up to see his parents in a bed not know who he is let alone who they are in a vegetable state. And people like Voldemort wouldn't exist, Draco."
That last part came with a sharpness even I hadn't expected. For a flicker of a second, I could see their faces in my mind—my mother, Aster, my father, and Harry, Neville and the Longbottom's. The quiet tears they never showed in public. The loss they all bore silently. Every word I said I believed in after the years I spent with my family living in this world.
I drew a breath, grounding myself again. "So yes. I will use my power. I'll play this broken game and win. But I'll bend the rules until they shatter—until only merit matters. Not blood. Not name. Just truth and action."
Draco stared at me, and I could see his facade beginning to crack. He had never heard anyone his age speak with this weight, this conviction. For all his pride and upbringing, he was still just a 11 year old boy, one who didn't know what he believed in yet.
"Why me?" he asked softly. "Why do you want me on your side?" I held my hand up. "Because I believe in you."
His eyes widened.
"I see potential in you that even you don't realize yet. I see greatness—real greatness. Not because of your father. Not because you're a Malfoy or a Black. But because of the man you could become. And I'm willing to invest the time, energy, and strength to help you find him—if you'll let me."
He looked down at my hand, fingers twitching slightly. "Would I be able to do the things you can?" he asked, voice quieter than before.
I chuckled, just slightly. "Draco, if you apply yourself… if you really try, what you saw me do earlier? That would be the bare minimum of what you're capable of. You could soar past me if you really wanted (I actually believe that to)."
His lips thinned as he swallowed hard, visibly shaken by the idea of being more—better. After a long, tense pause… he took my hand.
"Fine," he said, gripping it tightly. "I'll trust you… for now. But the moment you slip up—the moment you fall—I'm out." I grinned, gripping his hand firmly. "Then I can't wait to see you one day pledge loyalty to me with your own free will."
He rolled his eyes, but I could see the blush rising in his cheeks. Nikita was smiling behind him, arms folded, her posture relaxed for the first time all evening.
"Is that it?" she asked, half teasing. I turned my head to her, then back to Draco. "No," I said with a smirk. "I have one more thing to say."
Draco raised a brow. "What?" " I want you to still be an arse to Harry and his friends."
Both Draco and Nikita blinked, staring at me. "What?" Draco asked, genuinely confused. "Didn't you say no more bullying the other houses and talk about blood purity and all that?"
I chuckled. "You heard me right. Be an arse if you see him slacking or getting ahead of himself Ron and Harmonie to. Keep your snide comments, your jabs—don't completely change that just yet."
"Why?" Nikita asked, her voice amused but puzzled. I turned back toward the door of the Room of Requirement, which shimmered again as if sensing our conversation was coming to an end.
"Because conflict breeds growth and tension forces people to act. If Draco suddenly starts singing getting chummy with the Gryffindors, no one will believe it. And besides…" I glanced back at them with a mischievous smile.
"Some rivals are more valuable than friends. There is a muggle saying iron sharpens iron. You don't need to be anyone's friend just the respect them enough to not insult them for no reason and if you think your better then them because your smarted stronger, etc then prove it with your actions not words."
Draco looked like he was trying not to smile. Nikita raised an eyebrow. "You're really something else, you know that?" I adjusted my collar and turned toward the hall.
"If any of this works then maybe your right, but for right now I'm gonna keep I trying."
The three of us walked in silence down the darkened stone corridor that led to the Slytherin common room. As the stone door opened to reveal the heart of our House, we were greeted by a sight I had longed to see.
All the Slytherins—every year, from the green-eyed first-years to the brooding seventh-years were gathered in study clusters. Some were bent over books, quills scribbling furiously. Others quietly practiced charms and transfiguration, practiced potion brewing, and studying magical history. What stunned me most, however, was the sight of the upper years assisting the juniors.
I blinked, watching as a sixth-year helped a second-year adjust her wand griping for a spell movement. A fourth-year coached a trio of first-years through their spell pronunciation with patience most professors would envy.
I smiled faintly. "It's a good start," I murmured. Nikita's expression was warm, satisfied. Draco said nothing, but the glance he gave me held quiet acknowledgment.
The rest of the night passed without incident.
When I returned to my dorm room, I changed out of my uniform and settled into bed with Nyx resting on my pillow. The soft emerald glow of enchanted candlelight lit the space as I pulled out the letters I hadn't yet read. I'd been waiting for this moment all day.
The first was from Grindelwald.
"Young one,
I thank you for reaching out. It is rare to find a child willing to grasp at flames others fear to name. Still, an old fool like me has little to teach that would not be a warning of how not to change the world. If you truly seek guidance to better the magical world, ask the one who once stood opposite me on the battlefield. Ask your Headmaster Dumbledore.
Gellert Grindelwald"
I frowned slightly, but as I lowered the parchment, I noticed something at the very bottom. Scribbled beneath his signature was a string of absolute gibberish.
Or… was it?
I narrowed my eyes and cast a Decoder Charm—a subtle spell I'd practiced in secret for moments just like this.
The words shimmered and shifted before my eyes.
"If you are reading this , you have passed the first test.
Return to me the code 'Silver Phoenix Ascends Alone'
and I will test your worthiness for my tutelage."
My grin came unbidden. "Grindelwald, you sly bastard…" I carefully sealed the original letter and wrote a quick, encoded response, including the hidden phrase. I'd send it off tomorrow with an enchanted locking charm. This was just the beginning.
Next was Madam Bones' letter. It was longer formal but with undercurrents of exasperated affection.
Dear Callum, "I've received a disturbing number of complaints from parents about you. Claims of magical overreach, intimidation, unorthodox behavior in school grounds. I must ask—what exactly are you doing, and why? Consider this your opportunity to explain before a proper inquiry is raised.
Amelia Bones"
I didn't hesitate. I wrote back immediately.
"Madam Bones,
I'm trying to change things starting with Hogwarts. Discipline, accountability, and guidance are missing in our world. If I don't fix it now, I fear what our future will look like I assure you no student will ever die under my watch only grow stronger and bring true recognition to the house, school and out country. I only ask that you continue to support me, and I'll make sure the Ministry sees change it can be proud of.
Sincerely,
Callum"
Then came the letter from Flamel. His tone was curious, intrigued.
Dear Callum, "You mentioned something quite troubling in your previous message…
Human life as a component in creating the Philosopher's Stone? Where did you hear such a claim?
I've never written or said in public such a thing, and you are the first to imply this. Please explain."
I smirked. Hook, line, and sinker. My response was cautious, but suggestive. I only mentioned it because of a anime I watched from my old life that used the same method. (Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood). I wrote back "It's more theory than fact. I based it on a speculative idea—if the soul and the body contain vast stores of energy, perhaps it's been used in rituals unknowingly. But I don't think it's the only way. What if instead of a whole life we could purify and condense then solidify ambient magic? Or crystallize emotions through alchemical resonance? I don't have the answers yet but if you're open to discussion—perhaps in person over the winter holidays or over the summer when my first semester is complete I'd be honored to explore it together with anytime you are willing to share."
Once sealed, I set the letters aside. Now came the hardest part of my day. I pulled out the enchanted mirror my dad gave me and used the activation charm he taught me.
My parents' faces appeared almost instantly. "About time," my father said with crossed arms but the warmth in his eyes was undeniable. "You look healthy," my mother said with a proud, almost misty smile. We exchanged pleasantries briefly—talk of classes, friends, and meals. Mom was happy I chose Slytherin like her. Then just like that their expressions turned serious.
"What exactly are you doing, Callum?" Dad asked. " We seen the complaints Aster and Madam Bones, received on our behave ." I sat straight, looking them both in the eye and told them the same thing I told Draco and Madam Bones"
"It's all true. I'm doing this because this world first with these spoiled brats and then the school as a whole then work my way up to the world. So that people like my godmother and Harry. So they don't have to worry about their safety and lose their love ones because of other peoples backwards mentality and hatred for what they can't understand and live a good life they can work hard towards.
They were silent for a moment. Then my dad nodded, slow and certain. "Good. Then see it through to the end no matter how bad it get's and don't hesitate especially when to ask for help remember your only 11. You can't do everything on your own."
My mother leaned closer. " Your father is right Callum ,You're not alone. And no matter what happens—we believe in you."
My chest tightened. "Thank you… I love you both." "Goodnight, Callum." The mirror dimmed. I sat for a long moment in silence, the room quiet.
In my past life… I never had this type of unconditional love or encouragement. My first set of parents were the best but they still loved me but this was different. Less loneliness and disconnection from constant disappointment.
Now I have a more real family and maybe a future.
"…AIA," I whispered.
The system interface pinged to life in my mind.
"Yes, Callum?"
"Bring up my notifications. All of them."
The glowing menu shimmered into existence before me.