ã€ŠI am the Deathly Hallow.ã€‹


 Chapter 1. Along came the Reaper.

    ¡°Ben!¡± My mother¡¯s voice cut through the cool evening air, pulling me from my task.

    ¡°Yeah?¡± I called back, hands busy shaping a figure from mud in our backyard. It was a crude thing, barely the size of my palm, but it would do.

    ¡°Stop playing in the dirt, come inside and wash your hands. Dinner will be ready soon.¡± Sheila Diggory¡¯s voice was as warm as it was firm. I could imagine her, hands on her hips, watching me through the window with a mixture of love and exasperation.

    With a snap of my fingers, the little mud golem sprang to life, wobbling in place as it awaited my command. I stifled a smirk. My ¡°parents¡± could never know the truth of what I was, of the power I held in these young, unassuming hands. They would never understand¡ªor believe if I told them. My purpose had to remain hidden.

    Obeying her call, I raced inside, brushing my hands quickly under the water, and stealing a glance out the window. A heavy, ominous cloud loomed in the distance, dark and swollen like some harbinger of doom. A fitting image, really. For the dark days ahead.

    All of this, this charade of a life, should have been unnecessary. If only fortune hadn¡¯t favored the Dark Lord. The Potter boy was meant to live, meant to fulfill his destiny, but fate had intervened in a most twisted fashion. A Death Eater loyalist, a fool of a half-blood in Slytherin who worshipped Voldemort, had caught sight of Harry. It was the boy¡¯s scar¡ªa lightning-shaped mark¡ªthat betrayed him. Poor, doomed Harry never had a chance.

    With the Chosen One dead, no mortal wizard or witch remained who could challenge Voldemort. I, however, was not bound by the same rules as mortal wizards. I, who once bestowed three powerful gifts to the legendary Peverell brothers, could not stand by and let the world fall to ruin. But the laws of this universe restricted me in my true form, forbidding my interference in the mortal realm. Thus, I faced a choice: let chaos reign, or take matters into my own hands.

    So, I chose incarnation, and here I am, imprisoned in the flesh¡ªa young boy, bound by the fragility of human form. I am now Benjamin Diggory.

    ¡°Ben! Tell your brother Cedric that dinner¡¯s ready¡ªand get your father, too. He¡¯s probably still buried in papers in his study.¡± My mother¡¯s voice was warm but insistent, carrying the authority I¡¯d grown to respect in this life, if only for appearance''s sake.

    ¡°Yes, Mother,¡± I replied flatly, slipping from the kitchen to fulfill her command. Cedric, my older brother in this life, was oblivious to his future¡ªone that, if left untouched, would end tragically in 1995 at the hands of Voldemort and his followers. My task, however, was clear: defeat the Dark Lord and preserve the balance by saving Cedric. In exchange for Harry¡¯s life, I had given life to myself, crafting this vessel so I could rewrite fate and keep the cosmic scales in harmony.

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    When my purpose here is complete, I will ensure Cedric lives out the full lifespan Harry would have had. The balance will be restored¡ªor so I hope.

    I found Cedric near the fireplace, flipping through a Quidditch magazine, his face lighting up as he saw me.

    ¡°Dinner¡¯s ready,¡± I said.

    ¡°Great, I¡¯m starving!¡± Cedric grinned, ruffling my hair as he passed. I resisted the urge to pull away, masking my distaste. Cedric was... fine, for a mortal. Admirable, even, in his own way. He had a heart full of warmth and courage, qualities that would one day make him the embodiment of Hufflepuff¡¯s best virtues.

    I fetched Father next, tapping on his study door. Amos Diggory looked up from his paperwork with a distracted nod. ¡°Right, right. Be there in a moment.¡±

    As we gathered around the table, my mother set down a dish with a flourish, a proud smile on her face. ¡°How¡¯s the Beef Wellington, my little munchkin?¡± she asked, pinching my cheek in a way that momentarily jolted me from my carefully constructed facade.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ delicious, Mother,¡± I replied, managing a smile. ¡°Packed with all the dead animal protein my body needs to grow.¡±

    The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and I saw my mother¡¯s expression freeze, her fork pausing mid-air.

    ¡°Er¡ªsorry, I misspoke,¡± I added quickly, feigning innocence. ¡°I was just distracted, thinking about that amazing school Cedric¡¯s always talking about.¡±

    My mother relaxed a little, though she gave me a wary look as she took her seat. ¡°On that note, your father has something to tell you.¡±

    I turned to my father, who held an envelope in his hand, an owl feather stuck to it¡ªa letter from Hogwarts. My pulse quickened, an echo of excitement mixing with my steely determination. Finally, the next phase of my plan was coming into place.

    Amos cleared his throat, the corners of his mouth twitching with pride. ¡°Benjamin, Hogwarts has accepted you early. They¡¯ve noted your¡­ talents, and are willing to make an exception.¡±

    My mother¡¯s face softened, though a hint of worry lingered in her eyes. ¡°You¡¯ll be the youngest in your year, Ben. Are you certain you¡¯re ready?¡±

    Was I ready? I¡¯d walked this earth through countless ages, watching empires rise and fall, and civilizations crumble into dust. Mortal notions of readiness were irrelevant to me. But I simply nodded, managing a look of earnest innocence that I knew they expected.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready, Mother,¡± I replied, meeting her gaze. ¡°I¡¯ll make you and Father proud.¡±

    Yet even as I spoke, I felt the familiar weight settle in my chest, the burden of a destiny none of them could understand. The battle against the Dark Lord awaited, and I alone would wield the power to shift the balance.

    For now, though, I played my part, savoring the taste of Beef Wellington and the illusion of family, of normalcy, as we sat around the dinner table. Soon, the world would know my name again, and even Voldemort would tremble.

 Chapter 2. Dont Fear the Reaper.

    The letter was my official invitation to Hogwarts as a first-year student. Unorthodox as it was, my acceptance came with the personal endorsement of none other than Albus Dumbledore himself. According to the letter, Dumbledore believed I was too gifted to remain untrained, given the many ¡°accidents¡± surrounding me. That was my doing, of course; I¡¯d engineered each ¡°accident¡± to catch attention, leaving just enough magical residue to force the Ministry¡¯s hand. It was a straightforward strategy, one I knew would end with Dumbledore stepping in, his curiosity piqued by a wizard child showing unusual power at such a young age. I¡¯d created the circumstances; now, they would play into my plans.

    Of course, I couldn¡¯t very well announce to the world, ¡°I am Death, and I¡¯m here to stop Voldemort.¡± It wouldn¡¯t do. People were always so fearful of me, especially since a rather persistent rumor about me had circulated for centuries¡­

    ¡°Ugh.¡± I groaned, dismissing the thought. I hated even recalling that damned story. Deciding to shift focus before that particular annoyance dragged me into a sour mood, I carefully studied my acceptance letter, handwritten by Dumbledore himself, each word meticulously penned in his looping script.

    So, Dumbledore... you¡¯re keeping your eye on me, are you? A part of me, perhaps the ancient, jaded part, couldn¡¯t help but smirk at the irony. Dumbledore¡ªwho once had the Elder Wand, the wand I created for Antioch Peverell, the eldest of the three brothers I¡¯d gifted so long ago. To think that now, as a mere child, I would tread the halls of the school Dumbledore presided over, walking a careful line between secrecy and purpose.

    My mind wandered to my clay golems, wondering how they¡¯d fared in my absence. Back in the yard, hidden under a bush, I found their tiny treasure hoard: a collection of animal bones. Most of them were useless scraps¡ªburnt chicken bones from someone¡¯s discarded lunch, brittle with no magical value¡ªbut amidst them lay something far more promising. A cat¡¯s vertebra, perfectly preserved, would serve my purposes nicely.

    Animals were¡­ interesting, in their reactions to me. Dogs howled or whimpered in my presence, sensing the death that clung to me like a cloak. No dog would tolerate me for long, and none was allowed in our house. But cats were different. Mr. Mittens, my mother¡¯s cherished feline, adored me. Perhaps it was the cat¡¯s affinity for death, its quiet ability to stalk the edges of life¡¯s veil with every mouse it killed. They adore Death to the level of near worship. Thestrals, too, were my kindred spirits; creatures that thrived on death¡¯s edge, they recognized me instinctively and showed me a rare loyalty. Even I had a soft spot for cats. Wasn¡¯t their charm simply undeniable? Cute little killers that they are¡ªcharismatic enough to rival a love potion.

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    Mr. Mittens wasn¡¯t the only cat in my life, though. Soon, I¡¯d need a familiar of my own, one that suited my needs as I prepared for Hogwarts. In the meantime, this cat¡¯s tailbone would do. Although I could cast spells without a wand, channeling magic through my fingers like some magical creatures, it was a crude solution. A proper wand would be necessary for more advanced magic, especially given my current limitations.

    It was an irony I could barely stomach: once, I was an entity without limit, my magic boundless as the cosmos. But now, as a human, I was constrained, shackled to mortal laws. My magic had to be drawn from a finite pool within me, one that would slowly replenish over time. Without a wand, it would be nearly impossible to compete in the long run. Mortal wizards channeled magic through their wands, allowing them to draw power from their surroundings. In that way, even a lesser wizard could amplify his spells, stretching his abilities to match those far more powerful.

    Take the Killing Curse, for example¡ªAvada Kedavra. Cast with hate, it taps into that hatred, draining the caster until they are spent. But if one were detached, indifferent, as Voldemort was, the spell could be cast again and again, almost without limit. As a being of pure magic, I had once been like water in an ocean, constantly renewed. Now, bound within this mortal frame, I would need to ration my power carefully or risk losing to the more experienced wizards in a battle of endurance.

    Ollivander¡¯s shop would be useless for my needs. His wands, however finely crafted, would shatter under my touch. Every wand, after all, has a kind of life¡ªa spark of magic unique to its construction. But my touch, even now in this human body, was death to living magic. What I needed was a wand of undeath, something that could withstand my power. The notion of such a wand was incomprehensible to mortals. Let them stay ignorant¡ªit was better that way. They had nearly wiped out magical creatures in their foolish quest for potions and charms.

    Constructing my own wand would require rare materials. A Thestral hair, of course, for the core. Its natural connection to death made it ideal for containing my magic without burning out. I could collect the hair myself from the horseless carriages at Hogwarts. Then there was the vertebra I¡¯d found¡ªa perfect foundation. Wood couplings from magical trees would serve as bindings, holding the bones together in a way mortals had never conceived of, blind as they were to the potential of creature parts for wandmaking.

    For now, though, I would have to improvise, faking the appearance of a working wand before my parents until I had the means to craft my own. I could continue casting using the rudimentary method I¡¯d developed, channeling magic through my fingers, though it wasn¡¯t ideal. Soon, I¡¯d have a wand worthy of my true purpose.

    But for now, I had a role to play. The gears were turning, and the world was shifting in anticipation of what was to come.

 Chapter 3. Death in Diagon Alley.

    Diagon Alley bustled with wizards and witches hurrying between shops, the warm hum of chatter and the bright colors of robes creating an almost festive atmosphere. I walked beside my brother, Cedric, who¡¯d been assigned as my ¡°chaperone¡± for the day. My parents thought it would be a ¡°good bonding experience.¡± I rolled my eyes at the thought. If they only knew the ages I had seen, the lives I¡¯d lived¡­

    ¡°So, where to first, Ben?¡± Cedric¡¯s face lit up as he looked down at me, his gray eyes sparkling with excitement.

    ¡°Let¡¯s start at the wand store,¡± I replied, letting a small smile play on my lips. He¡¯d never guess my real thoughts. Cedric¡¯s gray eyes were a gift¡ªhad I joined any other family, my own silver-tinted eyes might have seemed unnatural. My parents often commented on how ¡°otherworldly¡± they looked, though they couldn¡¯t know how right they were. Eyes are windows to the soul, after all, and my soul had been polished smooth by ages of existence. I was neither good nor evil, merely... neutral. Balanced, like the forces I embodied.

    ¡°Excited for your first wand?¡± Cedric teased, a broad smile spreading across his face.

    ¡°More than you know,¡± I replied, my voice taking on an innocence I¡¯d perfected through practice.

    ¡°Then let¡¯s go! Ollivander¡¯s the best wandmaker in the world!¡± Cedric proclaimed, leading the way with a proud grin.

    Yes, for humans, perhaps, I thought. I knew, however, that no wand crafted by his hands could ever serve my purpose. But appearances had to be maintained.

    As we walked, Cedric pointed out each shop along the way with enthusiasm, practically narrating every sign and display, oblivious to the fact that I could read for myself. The Flourish and Blotts bookstore, Madam Malkin¡¯s Robes, Eeylops Owl Emporium¡ªeach shop called to memory lives I¡¯d spent in ages past, remnants of magic I¡¯d seen in forms no living wizard could imagine.

    ¡°There it is, Ben! Look!¡± Cedric¡¯s eyes sparkled as he pointed to Ollivander¡¯s shop, its windows fogged with age and mystery.

    ¡°Ooh, ahh,¡± I said in a tone so mocking it nearly betrayed me. Cedric, however, was too caught up in the excitement to notice. He practically dragged me inside, the shop door clanging with the sound of bells as we entered, the echoes unusually loud in the empty store.

    ¡°Hello, young Cedric Diggory,¡± a voice called out from behind a stack of shelves. ¡°And this must be your younger brother, Ben. Why, it seems like just yesterday you were here for your own wand.¡± Ollivander¡¯s eyes gleamed as he emerged, his silver hair and weathered face catching the dim light.

    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± Cedric replied, pride swelling in his voice. ¡°I know he¡¯s young, but he¡¯s going to Hogwarts, and he needs a wand!¡±

    ¡°Oh, I see¡­¡± Ollivander murmured, his voice as soft as parchment. ¡°Then let¡¯s see what we have that might suit him.¡± He reached up to a high shelf and pulled down a box, dust settling in the air between us.

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    ¡°Willow, fourteen inches, with a unicorn hair core,¡± Ollivander announced, handing me the wand with a gentle flourish. The feel of the wood in my hand was smooth and lifeless. A momentary silence hung in the air as I raised my finger just above the wand, casting a small spell wordlessly to mimic the effect of the wand ¡°accepting¡± me. The faintest shimmer of magic bloomed at the wand¡¯s tip.

    ¡°Ah, looks like a fit,¡± Ollivander said, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly as he observed me. I sensed his unease and smiled innocently, perfectly composed.

    ¡°Do you have any scrap pieces of magical wood I could purchase?¡± I asked, adopting a childish excitement. ¡°They don¡¯t have to be very big.¡±

    Ollivander tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. ¡°Why, certainly, young lad. I keep plenty of scraps for projects and repairs. Any specific wood you¡¯re after?¡±

    ¡°Yew would be perfect,¡± I replied.

    A brief shadow flickered across his face before he resumed his friendly demeanor. ¡°Ah, yew. Not the most desired material, but it has its uses. If you don¡¯t mind my asking, what might you need yew for?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a secret!¡± I replied with feigned innocence, my expression so wide-eyed and childlike that I saw his guard lower immediately. He chuckled, agreeing to my request, and returned a moment later with the scraps of yew I needed. Cedric paid him with a small tip for the ¡°gift,¡± his good-natured grin masking any suspicion.

    With the wand safely tucked away, Cedric and I made our way to Flourish and Blotts. The shop¡¯s rich aroma of parchment and ink filled the air as shelves stretched floor to ceiling, each crammed with books on every magical subject imaginable. As we browsed, my eyes fell on a small stack tucked in a forgotten corner: The Invisible Book of Invisibility. How amusing. Nothing truly vanished from my sight¡ªI¡¯d never needed to study invisibility before, being naturally beyond mortal perception myself. Still, becoming human had introduced annoying limitations, and having this book might help circumvent Hogwarts¡¯ more trivial restrictions.

    The shopkeeper nearly jumped for joy when he saw me pick it up, exclaiming that they¡¯d lost track of the books months ago. He even knocked off several Galleons in gratitude, which Cedric accepted with a smile. Our next stop was the pet store, where I planned to buy a new cat. This was something I genuinely looked forward to¡ªa rare treat.

    <hr>

    Back at Ollivander¡¯s shop, however, the old wizard paced, his mind troubled, lips pressed in a thin line as he chewed his nails in frustration¡ªa habit he thought he¡¯d broken years ago.

    ¡°What does it mean?¡± he muttered to himself, brow furrowed as he replayed the events in his mind. ¡°An eight-year-old casting magic wordlessly¡­ and without the wand¡¯s help. His magic didn¡¯t pass through the wand, but formed from his finger.¡±

    Ollivander stopped, his eyes clouded with unease. ¡°And then¡­ he asked for yew,¡± he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°The wood that symbolizes death¡­¡±

    ¡°Yew,¡± he repeated, his voice tense. ¡°It¡¯s rarely a good sign when a wizard chooses yew.¡±

    His fingers shook slightly as he took up his quill, intending to write a letter to Dumbledore, but he hesitated. What would he say? That a child had asked for scrap wood? That he¡¯d shown a remarkable skill for wordless magic? Ollivander¡¯s message would seem alarmist at best. He clenched his quill, realizing how unfounded his worries might seem, and yet¡­

    A cold doubt crept over him, an ancient instinct warning him that there was something unnatural about young Benjamin Diggory. Could he be some form of Voldemort reborn? The old wizard shuddered at the thought. But no¡­ Voldemort had never shown such skill. Even in his most powerful days, Voldemort¡¯s magic relied on calculated ruthlessness, not effortless ease.

    ¡°This is like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named all over again,¡± he muttered, the frustration of it all making him pull at his gray hair. He knew Dumbledore would take his warning seriously, but for now, all he could do was keep an eye on the boy.

    As he sealed his unfinished letter and placed it to the side, a shiver ran through Ollivander, a flicker of fear he hadn¡¯t felt in years.

 Chapter 4. Never more at the Petshop.

    Cedric led the way with enthusiasm, clearly set on introducing me to my ¡°first magical pet¡± at Eeylops Owl Emporium. His insistence on getting me an owl, however, was met with an immediate shake of my head.

    ¡°Really, Cedric, I don¡¯t want an owl,¡± I said, attempting to sound as casual as possible. If only he could understand¡ªowls, dignified though they were, lacked the resonance with death that I sought.

    ¡°Alright, if you¡¯re sure¡­¡± Cedric replied though he looked a bit disappointed. ¡°In that case, let¡¯s check out ¡®Magical Pets in All Sizes.¡¯ I hear they have a good variety.¡±

    The pet shop¡¯s name was somewhat absurd, but stepping inside, I could see Cedric hadn¡¯t exaggerated about the selection. Among the usual cages and crates filled with ordinary cats, there were Kneazle mixes too, their spotted coats and tufted ears giving them a wild look. Despite my impatience with the mundane, I scanned the shop, searching for any creature that seemed to resonate with the darkness within me.

    Then, in a far corner, I saw her: a sleek, black cat, fur smooth and shining like polished onyx. At first glance, she looked ordinary, but the slight elongation of her ears hinted at Kneazle''s blood. She lay curled in her crate, paws, and tail draped elegantly over her face.

    I approached her, my voice dropping to a soft murmur. ¡°Hello, beautiful. What are you doing in here?¡±

    Her ears perked up, and I sensed a flicker of recognition as she shifted her paws from her face revealing her onyx eyes. Much like how Voldemort can speak to snakes, I can speak to all creatures¡ªanything that can die or already has. It¡¯s a gift tied to my domain, for how else could I guide souls to the spirit realm? Wild creatures had always known me, even when humans could not.

    ¡°Captured¡­ trapped by humans,¡± she replied in a mournful tone, her voice carrying the faintest trace of shame. ¡°I ashamed, Death Lord.¡±

    I knelt beside her crate, the faintest smile tugging at my lips. ¡°Would you like to come with me?¡± I asked softly. ¡°Fair warning: there¡¯ll be human children who might try to pet you.¡±

    ¡°Is fine,¡± she replied, lifting her head. ¡°I desire freedom¡­ and to serve you, Great One.¡±

    I glanced around, ensuring no one was eavesdropping, then asked, ¡°What is your name, little one?¡±

    ¡°I call myself Nyx,¡± she replied, her tone full of pride.

    I nodded approvingly. ¡°Named yourself after the goddess of the night, hmm? I like it. Fitting, since your fur is darker than night itself.¡±

    I became suddenly aware of Cedric¡¯s curious stare. He had watched the entire exchange, his brows slightly furrowed, perhaps wondering if I¡¯d lost my mind. I gave him a small shrug and turned my attention back to Nyx, who was now gazing up at me with an almost reverent look.

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    ¡°My lord¡­ one request,¡± she murmured timidly, her eyes flicking to a large birdcage across the room.

    ¡°Go on,¡± I replied, curious.

    ¡°My friend Fidell¡­ he¡¯s here too,¡± Nyx whispered.

    ¡°Another cat?¡±

    ¡°No¡­ Fidell my eyes in the sky. He looks out when we search garbage bins.¡± Her voice was laced with loyalty and a touch of sorrow.

    I followed her gaze to the cage she indicated and had to stifle a laugh at the sight¡ªa massive raven, almost falcon-sized, with a fierce look in his beady eyes and a large scar running along his back. I could see why Nyx had chosen him as an ally; Fidell was intimidating even by raven standards. He stared back at me, his intelligent gaze unwavering, and I felt a spark of recognition.

    Another creature aligned with death. And, as luck would have it, Hogwarts permitted two pets.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have them both,¡± I declared, ignoring Cedric¡¯s surprised look as I approached the counter.

    Cedric put a hand on my shoulder. ¡°Wait, Ben, are you sure? I mean¡­ a cat and a raven?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure,¡± I replied, already pulling out the extra Galleons my father had slipped me for treats on the train. Cedric shook his head but let me proceed, perhaps deciding not to question my eccentricities.

    As soon as I¡¯d paid and the shopkeeper handed me the cages, Fidell fixed me with a baleful glare. ¡°Thank you for saving me from these filthy humans,¡± he cawed, his voice thick with contempt.

    Amused, I offered him a slight nod. I could hardly blame the bird for his disgust. Humanity had never extended much consideration to creatures they deemed inferior. Capture, confinement, forced servitude¡ªall ¡°for their own good,¡± they claimed. I doubted anyone here would have tolerated such treatment if the roles were reversed.

    In the depths of my memory, I recalled watching humans fight wars for the very freedom they so readily stripped from the creatures in this shop. There was a certain irony in their hypocrisy, I mused.

    ¡°Hey, Ben,¡± Cedric interrupted my thoughts, a note of concern in his voice. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you¡¯d need a bird to send letters? Well, now you¡¯ve got one.¡±

    I seized on his suggestion, smiling in my most reassuring way. ¡°Exactly! And now Mother will be thrilled when she gets regular letters.¡±

    Cedric sighed, half-amused. ¡°Fine, I guess that¡¯s fair. Just¡­ make sure you actually write to her, alright?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± I assured him. As long as it kept up appearances, writing to our parents was a small price to pay.

    Cedric gave me a wary look, his eyes flicking between Nyx and Fidell. ¡°You know, Ben, with those two, you look¡­ well, like a dark wizard.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± I asked, feigning concern as I examined my new companions. Nyx was already curled comfortably in her crate, while Fidell continued glaring with silent disdain at every human in sight.

    ¡°Oh, everyone¡¯s going to think you¡¯re a Slytherin the moment you walk in with that pair,¡± Cedric said, pointing at them.

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll just have to prove them wrong,¡± I replied, smirking.

    Cedric shook his head, a hint of exasperation in his smile. ¡°You¡¯re really daft when it comes to other people¡¯s opinions, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°Why should I care? Do other people¡¯s opinions feed me? Do they keep me warm at night? I chose these animals, and I¡¯ve already bonded with them. Let others think what they want.¡±

    He chuckled, ruffling my hair in the way older brothers do. ¡°You know, sometimes you¡¯re so wise you sound like an old man, Ben.¡±

    I grinned back, enjoying the rare moment of camaraderie. ¡°And sometimes you sound like a four-year-old, Cedric.¡±

    He laughed, his mirth filling the quiet shop, and I felt a strange warmth¡ªa flicker of something¡­ almost familial.

    As we left the shop, Nyx and Fidell both cast one last, resentful look at the place that had been their prison. I could sense their relief as we stepped out into the bustling street. They were free now, under my protection, and they would serve loyally in return. Whatever lay ahead at Hogwarts, I knew I would not face it alone.

 Chapter 5. Meeting at the Crossroads.

    My parents, ever concerned with my well-being, had gifted me a magic trunk to carry all my books and personal items. I suspected they feared I might be bullied due to my age and wanted to ensure I had everything I needed to ward off trouble. Though I doubted theft would be tolerated at Hogwarts, they clearly thought differently. After all, it would take only a simple spell to identify an item¡¯s owner. Yet I¡¯d read that Hogwarts preferred students to settle their own matters¡ªa folly, in my opinion, bound to breed grudges and rivalries that could span generations. Still, it wasn¡¯t my concern. I wasn¡¯t here to play savior for every bullied child. I was here to stop a war.

    At King¡¯s Cross Station, Cedric pointed out the hidden entrance to Platform 9 ?. The illusion spellwork was impressive. My eyes, attuned as they were to seeing beyond the mortal veil, could decipher the matrix of magic, the intricate layering, and weaving that made it both a solid passageway and an invisible portal to those without the sight. An intriguing enchantment, though I had no time to study or unravel it.

    After lugging our trunks onto the train, Cedric gave me a quick hug before heading off to find his friends. ¡°Try to get to know some kids in your year, Ben,¡± he encouraged. ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll make some new friends. But don¡¯t stress it too much; I¡¯ll always be your buddy.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I replied, almost groaning. Still, there was an unexpected warmth in Cedric¡¯s words. The bond I shared with him, simple as it was, was unlike any I¡¯d experienced before. How could something as mundane as a hug or a pat on the head carry such a strange comfort? Cedric was kind in a way that even my twin, Life, had never been. Life¡¯s a cruel joke at best, I thought with a hint of bitterness. She and I had always been two sides of the same coin, and though we shared knowledge, we could not wield each other¡¯s power. I knew every spell for healing and restoration, yet I¡¯d never be able to cast one. She, in turn, was forbidden from harnessing spells of death. Some might see this limitation and brand me ¡°dark,¡± but dark didn¡¯t always mean evil.

    Settling into a compartment, I pulled out The Invisible Book of Invisibility and began reading, losing myself in its pages until a voice interrupted.

    ¡°Excuse me. Do ya mind? Everywhere else is full.¡±

    I looked up to see a red-haired boy standing in the doorway, looking hopeful and a bit desperate. I sensed an aura around him and instinctively called on an ability I rarely used¡ªone that let me see true names, so I could guide souls to their rightful afterlife. It was risky to use in my current state, as powerful wizards could detect it, but my curiosity got the better of me. Ron Weasley, his true name gleamed, unmistakable. I knew he would be one of the four heroes who would shape the outcome of the war against Voldemort. Though I lacked full details, causality had assured me I would need Ron, Hermione Granger, and even Neville Longbottom¡¯s help in the battles to come.

    ¡°Ah, sure. Have a seat,¡± I offered, gesturing to the spot across from me.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said, settling in with a grateful smile. ¡°I¡¯m Ron, by the way.¡±

    ¡°Benjamin Diggory,¡± I replied.

    Ron¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Diggory? Like, Cedric Diggory¡¯s brother?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Why?¡±

    ¡°Your brother¡¯s really popular at Hogwarts,¡± Ron explained, leaning in, clearly intrigued.

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    I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. ¡°Yes, I know. He¡¯s something of a favorite, especially among the girls.¡±

    Ron made a face of disgust. ¡°Ew, why would you want that?¡± he asked, and I realized he was still in that stage where girls seemed gross.

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°I meant he¡¯s popular for being an amazing Quidditch player,¡± Ron clarified.

    ¡°Right¡­¡± I replied, nodding and hoping the topic would change soon. Ron¡¯s enthusiasm for trivial school gossip was¡­ amusing, if a bit distracting.

    He looked at my hands, frowning slightly. ¡°Why are your hands positioned like you¡¯re holding a book?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m reading The Invisible Book of Invisibility,¡± I answered, raising the invisible tome slightly.

    Ron reached out, his eyes wide, and gingerly poked the book. His face lit up as his fingers touched something solid. ¡°That¡¯s amazing!¡± he exclaimed, as though I¡¯d just performed a miracle.

    ¡°It¡¯s certainly not your average book,¡± I replied, entertained by his excitement.

    ¡°But how do you read it?¡± he asked, intrigued. ¡°I mean, if it¡¯s invisible and all?¡±

    ¡°I was born with a magical ability that allows me to see hidden things,¡± I explained with a shrug, giving him a half-truth. There was some honesty in it¡ªI didn¡¯t know how others read such books, and I¡¯d never needed spells to see the invisible.

    ¡°Lucky,¡± he muttered, looking slightly disappointed. I noticed his gaze drift toward Nyx, who lay curled beside me, her dark fur blending almost perfectly with the shadows in the compartment.

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve got a cat. I thought that was a black pillow,¡± Ron said, peering at her with interest.

    ¡°Not just any cat,¡± I replied, pointing to Fidell, who was perched on the luggage rack above us, his head tucked beneath his wings. To an untrained eye, he might have looked like a statue or decoration, blending in seamlessly with his surroundings.

    ¡°A black owl?¡± Ron guessed, tilting his head.

    ¡°No, a raven,¡± I corrected, sensing his confusion.

    Ron blinked, then grinned. ¡°Mate, you¡¯re going to look like a right Slytherin with pets like that.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°And what¡¯s wrong with that?¡±

    ¡°People will assume you¡¯re, you know¡­ a dark wizard,¡± he said, shifting awkwardly.

    I sighed. ¡°Just because my pets have black fur and feathers doesn¡¯t make them evil. People rely too much on appearances.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to offend you,¡± Ron quickly apologized.

    I softened my tone. ¡°No harm done. I just get tired of people making assumptions.¡±

    ¡°Anything off the trolley, dears?¡± A gray-haired witch appeared at the door, pushing a cart brimming with sweets.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m all set,¡± Ron replied, holding up a crushed, cling-wrapped sandwich. I shook my head as well, letting her pass.

    Once she was gone, I pulled out some of my mother¡¯s homemade shortbread and snickerdoodles, offering them to Ron.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± he asked, wide-eyed.

    ¡°Just take them. My mother made them, and I¡¯m not too fond of sweets,¡± I replied, gesturing for him to help himself.

    He took a bite, his eyes widening in delight. ¡°These are amazing!¡± he mumbled through a mouthful, crumbs spilling everywhere.

    At that moment, a rat crawled out of his pocket, drawn by the crumbs. My senses prickled. Scabbers, I¡¯d known of the pet in passing, but now, seeing him in person, I saw the truth. Peter Pettigrew, the Dark Lord¡¯s most loyal servant, disguised as a rat. My fingers itched with the urge to act, but I restrained myself. Perhaps Nyx and Fidell could handle this, at the right moment when no one would suspect a thing. I almost smiled at the thought of Ron merely assuming his ¡°pet¡± had scampered off.

    Ron sighed. ¡°This is Scabbers. Pathetic, isn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied simply, holding back the full truth. A man reduced to the life of a rodent¡ªa fitting punishment, though it didn¡¯t go nearly far enough.

    ¡°Fred gave me a spell to turn him yellow. Wanna see?¡± Ron asked eagerly, clearly hoping to impress.

    ¡°Sure,¡± I replied, amused by the idea of Pettigrew cursed with a garish yellow coat.

    Ron pulled out a battered wand, one that clearly wasn¡¯t his own. If he managed the spell at all, it would show he had a rare gift for magic.

    But before he could attempt it, a girl¡¯s voice interrupted, ¡°Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville¡¯s lost one.¡±

    In the doorway stood a bushy-haired girl, her expression earnest and slightly exasperated. Hermione Granger, my mind supplied. Another future ally, one I would need to learn to work with. And with her, perhaps the final piece of this puzzle was falling into place.

 Chapter 6. Its just the way that you use it!

    ¡°Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville lost one,¡± called a brown-eyed girl with a tangle of bushy hair as she stood at the compartment door. The name ¡°Neville¡± instantly caught my attention. So, he¡¯s on the train already. I glanced at the girl and, with a whisper of magic, sought her true name. Hermione Granger, it revealed. I had found another key figure sooner than expected. Was this where the fated group of four would first meet?

    ¡°No, I haven¡¯t seen a toad¡­¡± I replied, watching her reaction.

    She looked at me with sudden recognition. ¡°Wait! Are you Benjamin Diggory?¡±

    Caught slightly off guard, I nodded. ¡°I am¡­ why?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the youngest wizard in modern history to attend Hogwarts! I read an article about you in the Daily Prophet,¡± she explained, her eyes wide with excitement.

    I grimaced. ¡°I read that article, too. They got most of it wrong. They claimed I was two years younger than I am and made up all sorts of powers I don¡¯t have.¡± I kept my tone casual, hiding the satisfaction of knowing I possessed other powers that were far more dangerous¡ªand thankfully unknown to the wizarding public.

    Hermione tilted her head curiously. ¡°Then, how old are you?¡±

    ¡°I just turned nine in August,¡± I said, noticing Ron shake his head in disbelief.

    ¡°Blimey! I thought you were just small for your age. If my sister Ginny knew about you, she¡¯d be kicking up a storm! She¡¯s a year older than you, and Mum wouldn¡¯t even let her try for an early start,¡± he chuckled.

    Hermione, still fascinated, turned her attention to the wand in Ron¡¯s hand. ¡°Oh, are you going to do magic?¡± she asked eagerly, sitting down across from him with an expectant smile.

    Ron looked flustered but cleared his throat and raised his wand. ¡°Ahem¡­ Daisies, sunshine, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!¡± he chanted.

    Hermione and I winced in unison, sensing the spell¡¯s improvised nature. When nothing happened, she arched an eyebrow, her tone slightly condescending. ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s a real spell? Well¡­ it¡¯s not very good, is it?¡±

    Ron¡¯s ears turned pink, but before he could retort, I interjected, ¡°His brothers are two of the worst pranksters in the wizarding community. They probably gave it to him as a joke before he got on the train. Let¡¯s cut him some slack.¡±

    Hermione blinked, taken aback. ¡°Why would his brothers do that?¡±

    ¡°You must be an only child,¡± I said, smiling slightly. ¡°Sometimes siblings mess with each other; it¡¯s called sibling rivalry.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­ well, I managed to learn a few real spells already,¡± Hermione continued, clearly expecting admiration. ¡°I even memorized how to fix eyeglasses, and I¡¯ve read all the first-year textbooks.¡±

    I glanced at Ron, who shrugged with a ¡°Who does that?¡± expression. ¡°I know a spell for invisibility,¡± I said, hoping to shift the topic from Hermione¡¯s self-praise and Ron¡¯s embarrassment.

    Hermione¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°You mean you¡¯ve learned it already?¡± Even Ron looked impressed.

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    ¡°Well¡­ I think I have, though I haven¡¯t cast it yet,¡± I said modestly.

    Hermione¡¯s eyes sparkled with excitement. ¡°I want to see it! Please?¡±

    Her expression was so eager that I relented. ¡°Alright, just give me a bit of space,¡± I said, making sure I had enough room to perform the spell.

    Taking a breath, I focused my energy and chanted, ¡°Invisibilia Aorat!¡±

    In a blink, I vanished from sight. The astonished gasps from both of them were satisfying, confirming the spell¡¯s success.

    ¡°You¡­ you cast it without a wand!¡± Hermione breathed, awe-struck.

    Dispelling the charm, I returned to visibility. ¡°Yes, I did.¡±

    ¡°How is that possible?¡± she asked, her tone laced with both wonder and confusion.

    ¡°It¡¯s all just magic,¡± I replied with a shrug. ¡°A wand draws power from around you, but casting directly from yourself draws on your internal reserves. It¡¯s not as powerful, but it works without a wand.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fascinating! I¡¯ve read so many books, but none of them mentioned that¡± Hermione gushed, her face lighting up with excitement.

    ¡°It¡¯s an old technique,¡± I explained, leaning back. ¡°Considered obsolete, so no one uses it anymore¡ªexcept me. It¡¯s useful in situations where you might not have your wand.¡±

    Ron gave a low whistle. ¡°Blimey¡­ I only got my wand a few months ago, and I can¡¯t imagine going without it now.¡±

    Hermione nodded in agreement, her face a mix of fascination and slight fear at the thought. ¡°Are your parents famous wizards? Do they expect a lot from you?¡±

    ¡°No, they¡¯re not magical at all,¡± she said, her eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to gauge my intent.

    I met her gaze evenly. ¡°You¡¯re probably not the only one in that position. Lots of wizarding families already know each other, and there¡¯s¡­ well, prejudice. It¡¯s common for kids to pick on those who are different¡ªthe unusually young, the poor, and those not of ¡®proper¡¯ breeding.¡± I let my gaze flick briefly between Ron and Hermione, hoping to build rapport through shared outcast status. I had the sense that both needed reassurance.

    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Hermione demanded a flicker of defensiveness in her voice.

    I raised my hands in a gesture of peace. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to pry. It¡¯s just that wizarding families can be¡­ particular. The pure-blood lineages, the expectations¡ªcoming from a non-magical family can be challenging, to say the least.¡±

    ¡°Are you saying we¡¯re all outcasts?¡± Hermione asked, frowning.

    ¡°Not exactly. Just that, no matter what house we¡¯re sorted into, we should stick together,¡± I replied calmly. ¡°We might each be the best in our own way, but I can¡¯t fight a dozen wizards by myself. In a physical fight, they¡¯d all have the advantage over me.¡± I allowed my voice to tremble slightly, feigning vulnerability, my eyes just moist enough to suggest I was worried about potential bullying.

    Hermione softened, nodding in understanding. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ I just assumed¡­¡± She straightened, her tone resolute. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll make sure no one bullies you.¡±

    ¡°Me too,¡± Ron added, his expression fierce. ¡°No one hurts my friends without getting through me first!¡±

    There it is, I thought. A true Gryffindor. For all his bluster, Ron had a fierce loyalty that would serve him well.

    Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully. ¡°So, which house are you hoping for? I hear Gryffindor is the best, but Ravenclaw sounds nice, too.¡±

    ¡°Ravenclaw is my preference,¡± I answered truthfully.

    ¡°Gryffindor, like all my brothers,¡± Ron said proudly, grinning.

    Hermione nodded, looking contemplative. ¡°Then, there¡¯s a good chance I¡¯ll end up with at least one of you¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± I said with a reassuring smile. ¡°We can still be friends even if we¡¯re in different houses.¡±

    She seemed relieved, her confidence returning. ¡°Regardless, you¡¯ll have to teach me that no-wand casting technique.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± I agreed, amused by her determination. ¡°I was planning to teach Ron the invisibility spell, too. Maybe we can make it a study group?¡±

    Hermione¡¯s eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands. ¡°Yes! I¡¯d love that.¡±

    Ron looked a bit panicked, either at the idea of spending extra time with Hermione or the thought of additional study sessions.

    After a moment, Hermione excused herself to continue searching for Neville¡¯s toad. I¡¯d have to find a way to meet Neville soon¡ªhe was the final piece of the puzzle.

    As I leaned back, savoring the successful beginnings of these alliances, a voice called down the corridor, ¡°Get your robes on, we¡¯re almost there!¡±

    A wave of anticipation washed over me as I reached for my robes. Soon, I would set foot in Hogwarts, my plans and alliances in motion. It was time to take the next step toward my purpose, and, surrounded by my new companions, I felt more prepared than ever.

 Chapter 7. Guided by the Ferryman.

    Ron tugged at his robes, muttering, ¡°They¡¯re old¡­ used to belong to my brother Bill.¡± He glanced down, his expression slipping into one of uncertainty. ¡°I¡¯m probably just going to blend into the background, though. All my brothers did amazing things at Hogwarts already. Even if I manage to do something good, they¡¯ve done it first.¡±

    I nodded, understanding more than he might realize. ¡°Everyone doubts themselves sometimes, but you can be greater than anyone believes. The hardest battle you¡¯ll ever fight is against the part of yourself that says you can¡¯t do it. Trust me,¡± I added with a reassuring smile, ¡°one day, your son will be the one hoping to live up to your name.¡±

    A flicker of surprise passed over Ron¡¯s face before he grinned, nudging my shoulder in a friendly way. ¡°Thanks, Ben. You¡¯re one heck of a friend.¡±

    The truth was, I didn¡¯t have true empathy in the way most humans did, but I had spent centuries observing their behaviors, learning to mirror their gestures and words. Over the ages, I¡¯d become quite skilled at passing as one of them. I knew exactly what needed to be said, how to time my gestures, and even how to simulate a genuine smile. It had become second nature¡ªthough sometimes, I¡¯d slip up, saying something that didn¡¯t quite fit the moment. Nobody¡¯s perfect, I thought, amused at the irony.

    Ron sighed, adjusting his robes. ¡°Well, I guess I¡¯m as ready as I¡¯ll ever be.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit,¡± I encouraged, giving him a confident tap on the shoulder. I¡¯ll make a brave and confident man out of you yet, Ron.

    We stepped off the train onto a small, bustling platform shrouded in mist. Almost immediately, I heard a booming voice call, ¡°Firs¡¯ years! Follow me!¡± The speaker was a towering figure with wild hair and a kindly, if somewhat worn, face.

    ¡°I need to do something real quick, Ron. Don¡¯t worry¡ªI¡¯ll catch up. Save me a seat in your boat,¡± I said, activating my invisibility charm and slipping away before he could reply.

    Rushing off, I darted into the dark woods surrounding the station. I knew Cedric had mentioned the ¡°horseless carriages¡± that would bring older students to Hogwarts. Only a creature of magic could be pulling them unseen, and I suspected I knew exactly which creature it was.

    When I finally reached the spot, I saw them¡ªThestrals. They stood like spectral guardians, skeletal bodies cloaked in thin, ghostly skin that gave them an eerie, otherworldly beauty. Winged, with raven-like faces, they seemed to hover between life and death. They were creatures of a high death affinity, drawn to those who had encountered mortality. Even their appearance was a reflection of this: partly in our world, partly in the realm beyond.

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    I approached one quietly, reverent. ¡°Hello, friend,¡± I whispered to the nearest Thestral, and it turned its head toward me, a soft, cooing sound rumbling from its throat. Many would find the sound haunting, but to me, it was familiar and comforting.

    Thestrals were rare creatures of unusual magic, one I don¡¯t know fully how it came to be. Being Death I do know the most about them. While they resembled horses, they were carnivores, with a diet closer to that of scavengers. The thin skin stretched over their bones allowed them to slip partly into the realm of death. Their tail hair¡ªwhile unseen by most¡ªwas a powerful conduit of magic, but only a handful of wizards could handle it.

    ¡°Excuse me, friend, but could I trouble you for a tail hair?¡± I asked, keeping my tone soft.

    The Thestral nodded, its skeletal head lowering slightly in a gesture of respect. ¡°Of course, Old One,¡± it replied, plucking a long hair from its tail and extending it to me.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I whispered, stroking its head with gratitude. ¡°I¡¯d love to talk longer, but I have to go now.¡±

    The Thestral gave a gentle nod, understanding. ¡°I¡¯ll see you next year,¡± it replied, eyeing my robes with a knowing gaze.

    Tucking the hair carefully into a hidden pocket within my robes, I waved to the Thestral and ran back through the trees toward the boats, weaving around trunks and branches in my rush. When I arrived, Hagrid and the others were already at the water¡¯s edge, and Ron and Hermione were looking around anxiously.

    ¡°Are you sure he didn¡¯t get on another boat?¡± Hermione was asking, her tone impatient.

    Ron shrugged. ¡°He said he needed to do something.¡±

    I dropped my invisibility charm and reappeared beside them. ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± I announced casually.

    Hermione jumped, clearly startled. ¡°Where were you?¡±

    ¡°I wanted to see the horseless carriages. Now I have,¡± I replied simply.

    ¡°Horseless carriages?¡± Hermione asked, baffled.

    Hagrid¡¯s face turned stern. ¡°Yer not supposed ter know ¡®bout them yet. Tha¡¯s second-year stuff.¡±

    I widened my eyes at him, doing my best impression of what humans call ¡°puppy eyes.¡± It seemed to work; Hagrid¡¯s sternness softened immediately.

    ¡°Well, come on now¡ªwe¡¯re runnin¡¯ late as it is,¡± he muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of scolding me. For all his imposing size, there was a gentleness to him that reminded me of creatures I¡¯d encountered over the centuries.

    As we piled into the boat, I glanced over at Hagrid, sensing an odd melancholy beneath his surface cheer. His clothes smelled faintly of alcohol, and his eyes, though bright, seemed shadowed. Was it a sadness related to Harry¡¯s death? Perhaps he had known him or his parents, and their loss still weighed on him. Whatever the cause, I doubted I would be spending much time with him in the future. But in this moment, he intrigued me.

    The boat drifted into the misty water, Hogwarts Castle looming ahead like a dream carved into the mountainside. As we approached, the castle lights flickered in the twilight, casting warm glows across the water. Ron and Hermione stared up, awe on their faces.

    ¡°Hogwarts is bigger than I imagined,¡± Ron whispered, his eyes wide.

    ¡°Bigger and older than most realize,¡± I replied, my gaze fixed on the castle. Even for me, there was something about Hogwarts that was almost... timeless, as though it held secrets even I couldn¡¯t see.

    As we neared the shore, Hagrid called for us to gather our things, and Ron gave me a reassuring nudge. ¡°Ready, Ben? This is it.¡±

    I looked back at him, nodding. ¡°As ready as I¡¯ll ever be.¡±

 Chapter 8. A Hat in the dining hall of the Dead.

    I sat quietly at the back of the boat, my eyes fixed on the looming silhouette of Hogwarts Castle. The fleet of boats glided across the lake¡¯s dark, mirror-like surface, seemingly pulled along by some unseen force. As we neared the cliff beneath the castle, I sensed a sophisticated enchantment guiding us, one far beyond any typical magical design. I couldn¡¯t fully decipher it, but the spellwork intrigued me, reminding me of the ways certain ancient charms function independently of conventional structures.

    ¡°Heads down!¡± Hagrid¡¯s bellow jolted me from my thoughts.

    I ducked just in time to avoid a face full of trailing ivy, the boats slipping under the dense foliage into a narrow cave beneath the castle. It was a clever design¡ªmore lasting than a spell, as it relied on natural formations rather than magic. As we drifted through the tunnel, I wondered if Godric Gryffindor had come up with this. He¡¯d always appreciated simple, enduring solutions.

    The boats finally reached a small dock, and Hagrid led us single-file along the dark passage to a tall, oak door. Shadows flickered as students tripped in the near-darkness, Hagrid¡¯s lamp the only source of light. I could hear murmurs about someone named Neville finding his toad, but I was preoccupied with something else: the darkness obscured my way, making each step uncertain.

    Thinking I could bypass the issue, I activated a power that allowed me to see everything in a room at once. Immediately, I realized my mistake. The overload of sensory input was overwhelming, forcing every color and detail, every dimension and movement, into my mind at once. I staggered, disoriented, and practically blinded. I¡¯d underestimated my human limits¡ªseeing through death¡¯s sight in a body as fragile as this was reckless.

    Before I could steady myself, a cool hand slipped into mine, guiding me forward. ¡°Come on, Ben,¡± Hermione whispered, nudging me along. Her presence steadied me, her grip both grounding and surprisingly gentle. I forced myself to focus on her voice, letting the lingering haze of my vision fade.

    Hagrid¡¯s deep knock sounded against the oak door. ¡°Firs¡¯ years here, Professor McGonagall.¡±

    The door swung open to reveal a tall, stern-faced woman. ¡°Thank you, Hagrid. I¡¯ll take it from here,¡± she replied, a slight wrinkle in her brow as she caught a whiff of the alcohol on him. Though clearly displeased, she let it pass unremarked.

    Professor McGonagall led us into the Great Hall, a grand room filled with floating candles and enchanted to look like the night sky. My gaze drifted upward, noting the charm¡¯s intricacies, though I couldn¡¯t help but mentally critique it. If you¡¯re going to use magic, why not make the ceiling truly transparent, or create a barrier of force that opens to the night above? The possibilities seemed endless, and yet they¡¯d settled for a mere enchanted mural.

    The hall bustled with older students, the quiet hum of their voices filling the room. Professor McGonagall welcomed us with a short speech, explaining the sorting process and the importance of the four houses. The other students listened in near silence, a mix of excitement and anxiety written across their faces. I could feel the tension, as though each of them feared being placed in the house they least wanted.

    A ripple of gasps swept through the first-years as nearly two dozen ghosts drifted into the hall, passing through walls and hovering above us. Wonderful, I thought, doing my best to keep my gaze firmly on the floor. To a ghost, meeting my eyes would be like staring into the void. While most feared death as an end, it was more accurately a crossing, a beginning of another kind. But that understanding wouldn¡¯t comfort the dead still clinging to this world. Please, don¡¯t notice me, I prayed silently.

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    But the Bloody Baron, the infamous Slytherin ghost, locked his ghastly gaze with mine. He shrieked, his wails echoing through the hall, and bolted through the walls in a fit of terror, pointing vaguely in my direction. I kept my eyes down, silently urging the sorting to proceed quickly. So, this is what humans mean by ¡°out of the frying pan and into the fire.¡±

    At last, the Sorting Hat was brought forward. It was more than just a hat¡ªit was a legendary artifact of nearly unmatched craftsmanship, one I admired. Godric Gryffindor had given it a form of false life, an entity of pure magic bound to an object. It was a feat I had yet to understand, even with my centuries of experience. The sword Gryffindor had enchanted was equally impressive, forged from rusted scrap that consumed stronger materials, allowing it to become more powerful over time. These items spoke to his character: a pure-blooded wizard who had known poverty and had valued potential over birthright.

    ¡°Gryffindor!¡± the hat shouted as it touched Ron¡¯s head, and a small smile crossed my lips. History sometimes repeats itself. The boy bore a faint resemblance to Gryffindor himself, a distant trace of the red-haired founder¡¯s spirit in his demeanor. I could only hope Ron would one day find the courage that had propelled his ancestor to greatness.

    The hat called out ¡°Ravenclaw!¡± for Hermione, and I blinked in surprise. Hadn¡¯t my sister predicted that the three heroes would all come from Gryffindor? My gaze shifted toward her as she joined the Ravenclaw table, and for a moment, I thought I caught a small wave from her direction. Just my imagination, I told myself, pushing down the unsettling idea that my presence here might be altering destiny¡¯s course.

    ¡°Benjamin Diggory!¡± Professor McGonagall called out, and I felt Fidell¡¯s talons dig into my shoulder as he landed, Nyx rubbing against my leg as we made our way to the front of the hall. As I passed, a voice from the crowd¡ªa blonde boy named Draco Malfoy¡ªsneered, ¡°Look at him. He¡¯s Slytherin for sure.¡±

    I clenched my jaw, suppressing the urge to retort. His foolishness isn¡¯t worth my time.

    I reached the stool and allowed the Sorting Hat to settle over my head, its brim falling over my eyes. At least now, the ghosts couldn¡¯t catch my gaze. Under other circumstances, I¡¯d have taken this chance to study the hat¡¯s enchantments, but for now, I simply waited.

    ¡°Oh my!¡± the hat gasped as it delved into my memories.

    ¡°Not what you expected, is it?¡± I murmured with a faint smile.

    ¡°No¡­ it is an honor to sort the Reaper himself,¡± the hat whispered, its voice filled with awe.

    ¡°So, where do you think I belong?¡± I asked, curious to hear its assessment.

    ¡°Well, you have no fear, but that¡¯s not the same as courage. You don¡¯t fit in Gryffindor,¡± it said, which I¡¯d anticipated.

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re patient, fair-minded, and enjoy the company of certain creatures. You¡¯d do well in Hufflepuff,¡± it suggested thoughtfully.

    ¡°My brother¡¯s in Hufflepuff,¡± I replied. ¡°What are my other options?¡±

    The hat hummed. ¡°There¡¯s also Slytherin. You have a desire for power¡­ but not the ambition to pursue it at all costs.¡±

    ¡°I see. And what about Ravenclaw?¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes. You¡¯re clever, wise, and inventive. It¡¯s a close tie between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw,¡± the hat admitted.

    "Then I''ll take Ravenclaw," I decided, grateful for the distance it would give me from Cedric. And, I had to admit, choosing anything other than Hufflepuff would spare me endless teasing from Life, my sister in the Primordial realm if she ever found out.

    ¡°Ravenclaw!¡± the hat proclaimed, and as I removed it, Fidell took a celebratory lap around the hall¡¯s ceiling, Nyx muttering her discontent that there was no house named after a feline.

    I joined the Ravenclaw table, and met with polite greetings from my new housemates, though their welcome was slightly more reserved than what Hermione had received. I focused on my food as the banquet began, glancing only occasionally at the other tables. Hopefully, these restless ghosts wouldn¡¯t frequent the Great Hall too often. If I could avoid their gaze, I might yet keep my secret intact.

 Chapter 9. Death in all Forms.

    Navigating the winding corridors of Hogwarts proved to be more of a challenge than I¡¯d anticipated. Each turn led into what seemed like an endless series of staircases, passages, and rooms, many of which moved or changed as if the castle itself had a mind of its own. Along the way, we encountered Peeves, the infamous poltergeist whose mischief was well-known even among the ghosts. Unlike ghosts, though, Peeves had a tangible form, one born from bottled-up emotions and magical energy rather than a soul. He could touch objects, throw things, cause a fair amount of chaos¡ªand even the ghosts detested him.

    As I observed Peeves darting around, I noted the difference between him and other spirits: he was bound to this place, protective of it in his own bizarre way. Unlike most magical beings, he had no awareness of my true nature. His lack of mortality shielded him from seeing me as a threat, which was useful enough for now. Hogwarts was fortunate it had never needed to call on Peeves for real protection¡ªthough if ever tested, I wondered what he might truly be capable of.

    My thoughts were interrupted by a blond boy¡¯s voice. ¡°Hey! You¡¯re Ben Diggory, right? I heard you¡¯re the youngest wizard at Hogwarts.¡± Draco Malfoy, I realized, turning to see his sneering face.

    ¡°So?¡± I asked, not bothering to mask my indifference.

    Draco smirked, clearly unused to anyone being unimpressed with him. ¡°Well, it¡¯s just¡­ you should have been in Slytherin. I think the Sorting Hat made a mistake. Now you¡¯re hanging out with the wrong sort,¡± he added, casting a disdainful look at Ron and Hermione.

    I knew enough about the Malfoys to understand their stance on blood purity, as well as their animosity toward the Weasleys. The Malfoys despised anything that challenged their idea of superiority¡ªwhether that meant wizards from Muggle families or pure-blood families who refused to flaunt their status. And yet, picking an open fight with Draco would be shortsighted. Why make an enemy when I didn¡¯t have to? I could pretend neutrality, keep him close enough to observe, and maybe gather some useful information in the process. Children, after all, often had loose lips, and Draco seemed to be no exception.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care much about the house I¡¯m in,¡± I replied. ¡°Distinctions like that are meaningless in the long run.¡±

    Draco¡¯s mouth dropped open slightly. ¡°That¡¯s not true¡ªit¡¯s tradition!¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°Traditions are, by definition, old habits. They¡¯re not always worth keeping.¡±

    Draco just stared at me, visibly taken aback by my response, neither quite for nor against him.

    I extended a hand, meeting his gaze with polite indifference. ¡°Nice to meet you¡­ Draco, was it? As for my friends here, we¡¯re already close, but that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t look past our differences and be friends, too. I don¡¯t care about heritage.¡±

    Draco looked scandalized, as though I¡¯d declared some great heresy. ¡°But you should,¡± he insisted. ¡°Heritage is everything.¡±

    ¡°How?¡± I asked, a slight smile playing on my lips. ¡°How does a wizard or witch from a different background, minding their own life, affect me in any way?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll dilute the bloodlines until there¡¯s no magic left!¡± Draco spluttered as if reciting a mantra learned by heart.

    ¡°Will they?¡± I replied calmly. ¡°There¡¯s no proof of that. Recent history alone gave us Albus Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Voldemort¡ªthree of the most powerful wizards alive today. ¡®Live and let live¡¯ doesn¡¯t mean everyone will intermarry, and those who feel strongly about pure-blood heritage can choose to marry within it. It¡¯s not as complicated as you make it sound.¡±

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    Draco recoiled slightly at my willingness to say Voldemort¡¯s name aloud. ¡°Well, I¡­ I hadn¡¯t thought of it that way. But what if, in enough generations, no one knows who¡¯s pure-blood or not?¡±

    ¡°Then does it matter?¡± I replied. ¡°If magic has been in a family long enough that their descendants are all wizards, how does it weaken the line? Even among pure-blood families, there¡¯s no guarantee magic has been consistent for centuries. It just means they¡¯ve been magical so long that Muggle-borns are rare in their line.¡±

    Draco scowled but seemed at a loss for words. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ll look into it myself. Then I¡¯ll be able to prove you wrong.¡±

    I nodded. ¡°I look forward to it.¡± Engaging in debates like these held a strange appeal. Wizarding society was filled with contradictions and inherited biases, and I enjoyed the chance to examine them.

    With the conversation diffused, Draco seemed to lose interest and walked off with a huff. Now, however, we had to hurry to Herbology. Ron and Hermione, after a quick glance to confirm Draco was out of earshot, wasted no time in asking why I hadn¡¯t just punched him.

    ¡°Children tend to solve problems head-on,¡± I said, ¡°but adults know that staying neutral can be more effective. Draco doesn¡¯t have the emotional intelligence to play nice with others yet, but that makes him an open book. If I play it right, he could be a valuable source of information¡ªor even change his mind one day.¡±

    Hermione looked skeptical. ¡°You think he could really change?¡±

    I nodded. ¡°It¡¯s rare, but I¡¯ve seen it happen. Wars have divided fathers and sons, and changed hearts when no one expected. I don¡¯t expect it from him, but it doesn¡¯t hurt to leave that option open.¡±

    Hermione seemed to accept this, though her frown suggested she wasn¡¯t quite convinced. Ron, on the other hand, looked impressed. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d ever have the patience for that,¡± he admitted.

    The conversation dropped as we arrived at our Herbology class, where Professor Sprout greeted us cheerfully. Her energy filled the greenhouse as she introduced us to an array of magical plants. Hermione and I already knew the names and basic properties of each one, though I sensed she was holding back to avoid appearing too keen. I decided to do the same, feeling that any additional attention might interfere with my goals here. For all my knowledge, it would be unwise to reveal it fully.

    Transfiguration, however, was harder to navigate without notice. We had Professor McGonagall¡¯s attention almost immediately, as Hermione and I both managed to transfigure our matchsticks into needles on the first try. Had I known failure was the expectation, I might have held back. My impatience betrayed me, and I succeeded a bit too quickly.

    One little trick most wizards didn¡¯t understand about Transfiguration was that familiarity with the object made it easier. The stronger the image in your mind, the smoother the transformation. The problem was, that I didn¡¯t know sewing needles well. But since the Professor hadn¡¯t specified a type of needle, I chose one I did know well¡ªa Chinese assassin¡¯s needle, nine inches long, thin, and deadly. Traditionally used to deliver poison, it was a weapon perfected over centuries. Of course, lacking the power for gold, I transfigured it from the matchstick into brass instead.

    Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow as she examined the length, shape, and material, commenting that it was ¡°not quite what we¡¯re looking for.¡± Nevertheless, she was pleased enough with the transfiguration itself to suggest that Hermione and I attend advanced classes. It would mean more attention and more scrutiny¡ªa disadvantage, perhaps, but also a chance to gain a deeper understanding of this branch of magic. So much for my hopes of a low profile¡­

    Despite the drawbacks, Transfiguration intrigued me. Its applications were endless. With enough mastery, I could change my height, adjust my appearance, slip through small spaces, or even transform myself into an animal. It was almost limitless, and it appealed to me because it would likely be one of the magics I could channel without a wand. Wizards believed Metamorphmagus abilities were inherited, but in truth, they instinctively formed magical patterns within themselves, reshaping their appearance at will.

    In a way, it was similar to my method of forming spells through my fingers, a technique created from observing house elves that was lost to time. If given enough time, even I could master this ability. The process would be grueling and painful, but it was worth it. Death comes in all forms, I mused. It changes shape, it¡¯s wielded in ways both known and unknown. With each lesson, and each experiment, I was growing stronger¡ªone step closer to becoming whatever Hogwarts, or fate, required me to be.

 Chapter 10. To put a Stopper in Death?

    With Transfiguration behind us, we made our way to Potions. I¡¯d heard plenty of rumors about the professor teaching this class, Severus Snape. Some claimed he was a potion-making genius; others whispered he was a former dark wizard who¡¯d served Voldemort. As I entered the dungeon classroom, I was curious about which side of those rumors I¡¯d encounter.

    Snape stood at the front of the room, surveying us with a sharp, calculating gaze. His tone was low and almost theatrical as he began, ¡°In this class, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even¡­ put a stopper in... death.¡±

    His arrogance was palpable. But it was that last line, that offhand comment about putting a stopper in death, that struck a nerve. My mind flared in anger. Stop me? I thought, my body tensing at his words.

    Snape¡¯s gaze snapped toward me as he sensed my momentary surge of fury. I¡¯d reeled it in almost immediately, but not quickly enough¡ªhe¡¯d felt the edge of my reaction. His hand twitched toward his wand before he hesitated, glancing at the room full of students. Attacking a student with no provocation would not be easy to justify, even for him.

    Instead, he directed his anger verbally. ¡°You there! The small boy with the unearned confidence. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Benjamin Diggory,¡± I replied, keeping my tone icy.

    ¡°Ah yes, our resident celebrity,¡± Snape sneered. ¡°Tell me, Diggory, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?¡±

    His gaze was intense, as if daring me to answer incorrectly.

    ¡°A sleeping potion so powerful it¡¯s known as the Draught of Living Death,¡± I replied, leaving out some of the subtler details, ones I doubted even he fully understood. Snape¡¯s lip curled, clearly unhappy with my answer.

    ¡°Very good, Diggory,¡± he spat, his tone laced with bitterness. ¡°And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?¡±

    Hermione¡¯s hand shot up, but Snape ignored her, focusing solely on me.

    ¡°In a goat¡¯s stomach,¡± I replied calmly. ¡°A bezoar is a hardened mass that can be used as an antidote to many poisons.¡±

    I felt a spark of satisfaction at his tightening expression. He¡¯d likely assumed his questions would trip me up, but his attempts to stump me only fueled my determination.

    Snape¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Correct,¡± he said through gritted teeth. ¡°And tell me, Diggory, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?¡±

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    ¡°They¡¯re the same plant,¡± I replied, holding his gaze evenly. ¡°Also known as aconite.¡±

    I refrained from adding that I¡¯d learned of aconite under a dozen other names and variations. To a being as old as I, poisons and antidotes were basic knowledge, and for all his skill, Snape¡¯s understanding of these substances would be merely functional. For me, it was instinct.

    Snape glared at me for what felt like an eternity before finally ending his tirade. ¡°Fine. Take your seats,¡± he barked, his voice full of resentment.

    We moved to our brewing stations, and Snape began instructing us on the basics of a cure for boils. The recipe was rudimentary, to put it kindly, with instructions to stir ¡°precisely seven times with a one-second interval between each stir.¡± Has potion-making truly fallen to this level? I wondered. Gone were the carefully measured beakers and precise measurements that had once defined potioncraft. What used to be a science of exactitude had devolved into following recipes as if they were nothing more than cooking instructions.

    It wasn¡¯t long before the pressure of the class began taking its toll. Neville was the first to stumble, adding an ingredient too early in the process. His potion bubbled over, the liquid quickly melting through the cauldron and spilling onto the floor, transforming into a caustic brew capable of producing boils instead of curing them.

    I acted swiftly, casting a freezing charm that spread across the floor, rendering the potion inert before it could reach Neville. Snape flicked his wand to banish the ice and potion residue, then rounded on Neville with a sneer.

    ¡°Longbottom! You blundering fool! Five points from Gryffindor.¡±

    I could feel Neville¡¯s embarrassment, his shoulders slumping as Snape continued his tirade. But something else simmered beneath Snape¡¯s rebuke¡ªa cruelty that struck me as personal, almost as if he took pleasure in Neville¡¯s failure. I stepped back, unable to contain my disdain any longer.

    ¡°AND YOU, DIGGORY!¡± Snape snapped, his gaze flicking to me. ¡°There will be no uncontrolled incantations in my class. Ten points from Ravenclaw.¡±

    I bit back a retort, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. The house cup held little interest for me. It was a petty game of points. Hermione, however, bristled beside me.

    ¡°That¡¯s unfair,¡± she muttered. ¡°It wasn¡¯t even your fault.¡±

    Ron nodded. ¡°Neville just had a bad day. Besides, instinctive casting happens in dangerous situations. I thought Snape would understand that.¡±

    I glanced at Neville, who looked up with wide, grateful eyes. ¡°Thanks for what you did¡­¡± he mumbled, his tone awkward but sincere.

    ¡°No problem,¡± I replied. ¡°Just be careful. Snape would¡¯ve let you suffer if it meant he could make an example of you.¡±

    Neville gave a small shiver, and Hermione looked at me with newfound understanding. ¡°Wait¡­ you froze the potion on purpose?¡± she asked, her eyes widening as she realized the extent of my control.

    I nodded, shrugging as if it were nothing. ¡°Snape doesn¡¯t need to know. But yeah.¡±

    Neville¡¯s face turned pale, imagining the potential outcome if I hadn¡¯t intervened. ¡°Thanks¡­ again. Do you mind if I come along to the next class with you all? I¡­ don¡¯t have that many friends.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± I replied, and we fell into step, making our way to the next class.

    As we walked, Neville seemed to relax, joining our conversation more freely. He even managed a few smiles. The sense of camaraderie, however slight, was enough to lift my spirits, and the tension Snape had left behind began to dissipate.

    Through all the challenges, my resolve grew. This was more than a passing annoyance with Snape or an irritation with outdated traditions¡ªit was a step toward my purpose. As I made progress with my newfound companions, I felt the first stirrings of a deeper bond, one that could alter the fate of this world.

 Chapter 11. The Wand of Undeath.

    After the evening banquet, I retreated to the Ravenclaw common room. The space was quiet, its vast blue-hued windows dimly reflecting the starlight, and aside from a few scattered chairs and tables, the room was empty¡ªsave for Hermione, who sat near the fireplace, her nose buried in a large book. As I settled in, she seemed too absorbed in her reading to notice me. Fidell perched near the doorway, his watchful gaze alert for any approaching footsteps, ready to warn me if anyone entered. Nyx lay comfortably across my feet, her warmth spreading pleasantly, though I suspected she also enjoyed the idea of pinning me in place.

    From my robe pocket, I carefully removed the materials for the wand: the Thestral hair, the cat¡¯s tail bones, and the bits of wood I¡¯d acquired from Ollivander¡¯s. The last thing I needed was for an unwelcome visitor to stumble upon my work and ruin the project¡ªor worse, harm themselves by meddling with things they didn¡¯t understand.

    I began by casting a faint Diffindo charm to cut the wood into the precise shapes I needed. Concentrating intently, I felt each sliver fall into place, the small bits of wood shaping into a unique form that would bond with the bones. The final shape was an intricate bead¡ªtwo pyramids joined base to base, with a hollow center that would connect the bones. Only one piece of wood differed from the others; this piece formed the back of the wand handle, resting against the bones in a design that allowed the wand to align smoothly with my palm.

    Satisfied, I started assembling the pieces. The wood fit tightly around the bones, creating a skeletal form with an almost unworldly elegance. The Thestral hair lay untouched for now, waiting for the final stage of enchantment.

    Just as I allowed myself a moment to breathe, a face hovered inches from my own, her wide eyes inspecting my work intently. Startled, I nearly toppled over backward in my chair, and Nyx jolted awake, her claws digging into my ankles.

    ¡°Shit!¡± I hissed, clutching the back of my chair to steady myself.

    ¡°Sorry!¡± Hermione exclaimed, clearly surprised. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to scare you. I was just¡­ fascinated by what you¡¯re doing.¡± Her gaze fell on the wand components laid out before me. ¡°When did you learn to craft wands? And¡­ I didn¡¯t know you could use bone.¡±

    Fidell hadn¡¯t warned me because, in his eyes, Hermione was an ally. I hadn¡¯t expected her to be curious enough to take a closer look. I hastily gathered the wand pieces, but Hermione¡¯s intense gaze never wavered.

    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ a talent of mine,¡± I said, trying to divert her curiosity. The truth, simple as it was, often made the best disguise. As Death, I couldn¡¯t lie.

    Hermione¡¯s brow furrowed slightly, her expression unreadable. ¡°You really are talented¡­¡± she murmured, though her face held a strange intensity. Was she doubting me, or just envious?

    ¡°Is there¡­ something else?¡± I asked, feeling the silence stretch between us.

    ¡°Do you mind if I watch?¡± Her eyes softened a mixture of eagerness and trepidation.

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    I rolled my eyes in resignation. ¡°Fine, but I need absolute silence. I need to focus.¡±

    Hermione settled back into her chair, her body rigid with intent as she watched. I turned back to the wand, pushing her presence from my mind. Using my finger, I began tracing runes along the wand¡¯s body, channeling magic into each stroke, which glowed obsidian against the pale bone. These runes would give the wand its unique power, binding the pieces as if they had always been one. Another rune would fuse the components to make the wand virtually indestructible, while the last set ensured that no one else could wield it. The wand would shock any unwelcome hand, reflect spells cast by another, and return to me whenever I summoned it.

    With the main structure complete, only one task remained. Picking up the Thestral hair in my left hand and the wand in my right, I began channeling death magic through the hair, causing it to slip into a state ¡°less here¡± so it could phase seamlessly into the wand. Once the hair reached the center of the wand, I focused, drawing every kind of magical energy through me to awaken it fully. General magical energy fused all types, allowing the wand to come to life¡ªthough in this case, it was more accurate to say ¡°unlife.¡± I channeled an extra surge of death energy, reinforcing the wand¡¯s alignment to undeath.

    In an instant, the wand sparked, sending a burst of green sparks shooting from its tip, its energies aligning themselves to me. The final result was both beautiful and ominous, a wand reflecting my connection to both life and death.

    Hermione gaped at the new creation in my hand, her face a mixture of awe and trepidation. As I began clearing away my materials, she finally spoke her voice barely a whisper.

    ¡°What¡­ are you?¡±

    I froze her words echoing in the silence. ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    Her face tightened, and her hands balled into fists. ¡°You¡¯re not human¡­ you can¡¯t be. What are you?¡±

    My heart (or whatever had taken its place in this form) skipped a beat. ¡°Hermione, that¡¯s a bit dramatic, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    But Hermione¡¯s eyes were sharp, suspicious, as she took a step back. ¡°People can¡¯t just do what you did. You¡¯re crafting wands, enchanting them, and performing spells you shouldn¡¯t even know yet. It¡¯s not normal.¡± Her voice wavered as she tried to contain her fear.

    I met her gaze steadily, maintaining as calm a demeanor as I could. ¡°Hermione, I¡¯m gifted in certain areas, yes, but I am as much a student here as you are.¡±

    She seemed to waver, but her gaze remained intense. ¡°But that¡­ magic. It doesn¡¯t feel like anything I¡¯ve ever seen.¡± Her eyes flicked to the wand still glowing faintly in my hand.

    There was no clear way to explain myself without risking more questions. Her insightfulness was both good and a problem and as much as I valued her intellect, I needed to be careful.

    I took a deep breath, letting the weight of my words settle. ¡°Hermione, some things are difficult to explain, even to those with the sharpest minds.¡± I set the wand down, folding my hands. ¡°Magic¡­ can manifest differently for different people. What I did tonight was simply part of my¡­ unique affinity.¡±

    Her expression softened, curiosity mingling with suspicion. ¡°So you¡¯re saying it¡¯s just¡­ you, then?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied, holding her gaze. ¡°It¡¯s just me.¡±

    She studied my face for a long moment, her breathing slow, as if weighing her options. Finally, she sighed, nodding slightly as she took a step back. ¡°Alright¡­ but you can¡¯t blame me for asking. I¡¯ve never seen anyone do that before.¡±

    I gave a slight nod, acknowledging her persistence. ¡°And I respect your curiosity, Hermione. Truly.¡±

    After a moment, she finally relaxed, her expression softening. ¡°You are remarkable, you know that?¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I replied, the tension easing from my shoulders. With that, Hermione returned to her book, casting the occasional glance my way, as if she were still piecing together some puzzle.

    I sighed inwardly, grateful for the moment of calm but well aware that this was only a temporary reprieve. The shape of death may be ever-changing, but here, in the world of the living, secrets were far more difficult to bury.

 Chapter 12. The Cost of Secrets.

    After the evening banquet, I headed to the common room. It was nearly deserted, save for Hermione, who sat in an armchair by the fireplace, hunched over yet another book. She didn¡¯t look up as I entered, and Fidell settled himself at the doorway, as if sensing that tonight¡¯s tension wasn¡¯t quite over. I tried to ignore the quiet but unmistakable sense of being watched.

    I barely had time to unpack my thoughts when Hermione rose, her eyes hard as steel. ¡°I need to talk to you, Ben,¡± she said, her voice unusually sharp.

    I blinked, taken aback. ¡°Alright¡­ what about?¡±

    She took a step closer, holding up the book she¡¯d been reading earlier. Its cover read A History of Lost Magic. ¡°When we first met, you mentioned magic that was supposed to be lost centuries ago. The book I¡¯m reading says it was destroyed in a fire over a thousand years ago. So, either you¡¯re lying¡­ or you¡¯re hiding something big.¡±

    She had been piecing this together for some time. I¡¯d seriously underestimated her sharp memory, her attention to detail, and her curiosity. She hadn¡¯t looked away from my every action as casually as I¡¯d assumed.

    ¡°So you¡¯ve been suspicious of me?¡± I asked, fighting to keep my expression neutral.

    ¡°Observant,¡± she corrected, her eyes narrowing. ¡°How do you know all these things, things no one else seems to know?¡±

    My usual deflection wouldn¡¯t work here. ¡°I¡¯m a wizard, Hermione,¡± I replied, attempting calm. ¡°Just like anyone else here.¡±

    Her frown deepened. ¡°Magic or not, wizards are human. They have families, they grow up, they learn. What you know¡­ it¡¯s like you¡¯ve lived centuries.¡±

    It struck me how young she truly was and yet how perceptive. I sighed, realizing I would have to offer something. ¡°Look, I know more than the average wizard because¡­ well, because I¡¯m not exactly the average wizard.¡±

    She crossed her arms, gaze unyielding. ¡°What are you, then?¡±

    I hesitated, grappling with the danger of this knowledge. ¡°I am¡­ an ancient magical being. Reincarnated, yes. But human now.¡±

    Hermione¡¯s face morphed from suspicion to wide-eyed wonder. ¡°Reincarnated¡­?¡± she whispered, as if weighing every syllable. ¡°You mean¡­ before, you weren¡¯t human?¡±

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    ¡°Correct. I was something else before this life. And I¡¯ve retained a certain amount of¡­ knowledge.¡±

    A fierce spark lit her eyes. ¡°An elf? A centaur? Some magical being we¡¯ve only read about?¡±

    I shook my head, struggling to find the right balance of honesty without revealing too much. ¡°Not an elf or a centaur. My nature is¡­ unique.¡± I could feel Fidell¡¯s alert gaze on us, even though he remained at the door. Hermione was no threat, but she was closer than anyone had ever come to understanding the truth.

    Hermione¡¯s eyes shone, fueled by an intense determination. ¡°Why are you here, then?¡±

    I took a breath, deciding to give her one piece of the truth. ¡°The Dark Lord will return. He isn¡¯t gone for good. And Harry Potter¡­ he¡¯s no longer here to face him.¡±

    She flinched, shaking her head in disbelief. ¡°Harry Potter¡­ he¡¯s the boy who lived.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but the spell protecting him¡­ it failed.¡± I held her gaze, steeling myself for the next part. ¡°Dumbledore miscalculated. Harry¡¯s aunt, who was supposed to protect him, didn¡¯t have the bond Dumbledore thought she had. Lily Potter and her sister were only half-sisters. When the spell relied on love and blood, it was only halfway there. That¡¯s how Voldemort found him.¡±

    Her jaw dropped. ¡°How¡­ how can you know all of that?¡±

    ¡°Some things just¡­ can¡¯t be explained.¡± The answer felt flimsy, even to me, and Hermione¡¯s expression showed she wasn¡¯t satisfied.

    ¡°That¡¯s not good enough, Ben,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling. ¡°What are you? How can I trust you when you keep holding back?¡±

    The accusation stung. ¡°Hermione, I can¡¯t tell you everything. Some truths are dangerous, even for those who hear them.¡±

    Her eyes glistened, her voice breaking. ¡°Then¡­ I don¡¯t think we can be friends. I can¡¯t trust someone who¡¯s hiding so much.¡±

    ¡°Hermione¡­¡± I began, but she stepped back, her face hardened by determination and hurt.

    ¡°If you can¡¯t tell me what you really are, then we¡¯re done,¡± she choked out, tears slipping down her cheeks. Then, before I could speak, she slapped me¡ªa small hand, but the sting lingered, sharper than I could have anticipated.

    I watched in silence as she fled to the girls¡¯ dorm, her footsteps echoing in the empty room. I was left standing alone, the pain of the slap fading slower than I¡¯d expected. This, I realized, was the cost of holding back. Being human had introduced an unexpected frailty, a vulnerability that extended beyond my body.

    Pain, both physical and emotional, was a creation of my sister¡¯s domain, one I¡¯d never had to experience like this before. How could a child¡¯s slap hurt so much?

    As the other Ravenclaws began filing into the common room, the weight of Hermione¡¯s loss grew heavier. Until now, I¡¯d dismissed human relationships as fleeting distractions, but somehow, my time with Hermione had begun to chip away at that detachment. Her logical nature, her hunger for understanding¡ªthey¡¯d made our conversations something I¡¯d come to look forward to.

    I sat in silence long after the common room filled with students, replaying our conversation in my mind. This feeling of loss was foreign, and yet it lingered with a bitterness I couldn¡¯t easily shake. For the first time, I regretted my inability to share the full truth. I¡¯d told her what I could, yet even now, it seemed painfully inadequate.

    Surely, I thought, she will see reason once her anger cools.

 Chapter 13. Trust is a two-way street.

    To my surprise, Hermione didn¡¯t appear outwardly angry the next day. However, each time I approached, she seemed to withdraw slightly, creating an awkward distance between us. It wasn¡¯t anger, but something equally unsettling¡ªsomething I couldn¡¯t place.

    Later in the day, Ron, Neville, Hermione, and I gathered in the library for our usual study group. I was deep into a book, quill in hand, marking up every incorrect detail as I read. There¡¯s a certain satisfaction in scratching out false statements and correcting them. However, I noticed Ron and Neville exchange glances.

    ¡°Sorry, Ben, I¡­ have to go help Percy with something,¡± Ron blurted out, his face reddening.

    ¡°Er, yes, and I need to¡­ go find something,¡± Neville added, glancing at Hermione as if for approval.

    I raised an eyebrow, amused. ¡°So you need to help Ron¡¯s brother¡­ by finding something in your dorm?¡±

    Neville stammered, ¡°Well, no, but¡­ uh, I¡¯ll catch up later.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± I replied, ¡°but in the future, maybe just pass me a note.¡± I gave a slight nod as they shuffled out, their relief obvious.

    The silence that settled afterward was thick, charged with unspoken words. Hermione fidgeted with her book, her eyes focused on a point just beyond the pages.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry,¡± she finally murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

    ¡°What was that?¡±

    ¡°I said, I¡¯m sorry, Ben.¡± She glanced up, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush.

    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Did you ask the others to leave just to say that?¡±

    Her face flushed. ¡°Yes¡­ are you happy now?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I replied, returning my attention to the book, making a deliberate show of nonchalance.

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    She fidgeted, clearly frustrated. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±

    I glanced up, genuinely puzzled. ¡°What more is there?¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you curious why I was so upset?¡±

    ¡°Does it really matter?¡±

    ¡°Of course, it matters!¡± she insisted, her voice laced with exasperation.

    ¡°Then please, by all means,¡± I gestured, giving her the floor.

    Hermione took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. ¡°I¡¯ve always been at the top of my class. Every time, all I had to do was work harder, study more, and I¡¯d succeed. And then you arrived¡ªyoungest wizard at Hogwarts, knowing things no one could know, even correcting a Potions Master in his own subject. I felt¡­ threatened.¡±

    ¡°Threatened?¡± I asked, surprised. ¡°But I¡¯m your friend.¡±

    ¡°Not in that way,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°It¡¯s not about harm. I felt like¡­ for the first time, I couldn¡¯t keep up, no matter how hard I tried.¡±

    I studied her for a moment. ¡°So you were competing with me?¡±

    ¡°No, well¡­ maybe a little.¡± She sighed, her expression softening. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly like that. It¡¯s just¡­ I wanted to be the best so I could help others. But when I couldn¡¯t keep up with you, I felt like I was losing my place.¡±

    ¡°An interesting perspective,¡± I said, nodding slowly. ¡°But know this: there will always be someone better at something. No one stays on top forever.¡±

    She bit her lip, glancing down. ¡°Then, I thought I had figured it out. You weren¡¯t just a wizard. And when I realized that, I¡­ I pushed you to tell me, hoping to prove that I could solve the mystery. But I shouldn¡¯t have demanded it of you. It wasn¡¯t my place to force you to share your secrets. And now¡­ now, I¡¯d understand if you never trusted me again.¡±

    I closed my book, turning to face her fully, locking eyes. ¡°Hermione, it¡¯s not that I don¡¯t trust you. There¡¯s more to this than I¡¯m ready to explain. I wanted us to build trust over time so that one day, you¡¯d understand without me having to spell it all out.¡± I hesitated, choosing my next words carefully. ¡°You have to understand¡­ I am demonized by wizard society in spite of never having wronged it. That¡¯s all I can say for now. If you choose not to trust me, I¡¯ll understand.¡±

    She straightened slightly, her face softening. ¡°You might be underestimating me,¡± she replied quietly, her gaze unwavering.

    ¡°Or,¡± I countered, ¡°I¡¯m not. There are lives at stake, Hermione¡ªyours, Ron¡¯s, Neville¡¯s. One day, you may have to trust my warnings, without question, because hesitating could cost us dearly.¡±

    She studied me, something unreadable in her expression. ¡°I trust you, Ben,¡± she said, her voice calm but resolute.

    I let out a breath I hadn¡¯t realized I¡¯d been holding. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    She nodded, and a tentative smile broke through her stern expression. At that moment, I felt the weight of my words, of the trust she was placing in me, and of the responsibility I held, both for her and for everyone around me.

 Chapter 14. Most things die on the ground anyway...

    Walking out into the courtyard for our first flying lesson with Madam Hooch, my companions were buzzing with excitement. Flying is one of humanity¡¯s oldest dreams, and they were all clearly eager to experience it.

    I, too, was curious, though I had my reservations. The idea of riding a broom seemed uncomfortable, to say the least. How do wizards manage to stay on these sticks for so long without, well¡­ compromising certain anatomical comforts? The mechanics of this broom-riding culture perplexed me, yet Quidditch¡ªa broom-riding sport¡ªwas widely popular among wizards. Humans and their eccentricities never cease to surprise me.

    Madam Hooch laid out several worn-looking brooms. I watched as each broom hovered slightly off the ground, enchanted just enough to hold its position until it sensed a rider. As I examined one, I noticed the complex weave of spell matrices embedded in each broom. The enchantments did more than provide lift; they seemed to use subtle gyroscopic assistance to help with balance, control, and forward momentum. These spells allowed a wizard¡¯s subconscious to influence the broom¡¯s movements, adjusting for shifts in balance and direction. It was brilliantly conceived, but I sensed it might present a problem for me.

    When I finally mounted my broom and pushed off, I found myself wrestling with it almost instantly. My magic didn¡¯t seem to harmonize with the enchantments. Instead of a smooth ascent, the broom jittered and lurched, veering sideways as if fighting my every command. The gyroscopic spell would start, only to sputter and fail as the broom shuddered, trying to regain control. It seemed my death-aligned magic disrupted the delicate enchantments.

    The broom settled just long enough for me to hover and follow the group through basic maneuvers, which allowed me to earn a passable grade. However, the broom itself had suffered from the ordeal and, to anyone else, would now be nearly impossible to control. I sighed. If broom flight required this kind of enchantment, I¡¯d need an alternative method. I had no intention of struggling with brooms forever.

    In my true form, flight was unnecessary¡ªI could float effortlessly, like a ghost, unburdened by physical limitations. But now, trapped in this human shell, I was bound to gravity and the constraints of physical matter. Flight hadn¡¯t been my power, after all, but weightlessness. Most beings die on the ground and those few that don¡¯t usually find their way back to it eventually. Astronauts, however, had added a new layer to my duties¡ªbut that was a modern challenge.

    ¡°Well, it seems you¡¯re not good at everything, after all,¡± Hermione teased, a smirk tugging at her lips.

    I gave a dismissive shrug. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly worried. It¡¯s an outdated method of flight. If it weren¡¯t a part of Hogwarts¡¯ curriculum, it would have been obsolete by now.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s part of the curriculum for a reason, Ben,¡± Hermione replied, arching a brow. Ron shot her a look, clearly hoping to avoid another debate.

    I rubbed the bridge of my nose in exasperation. ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t understand how to use a broom, Hermione. It¡¯s that my magic¡ª¡± I stopped myself, realizing I¡¯d nearly said too much.

    She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. ¡°Your magic¡­ what?¡±

    ¡°Nothing,¡± I muttered, quickly dropping my gaze to the ground. Hermione¡¯s intuition was, as always, laser-focused, and I could almost feel her probing gaze.

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    ¡°What about your magic?¡± she pressed.

    I sighed. ¡°It interferes with the broom¡¯s gyroscopic enchantment.¡±

    ¡°Why would it do that?¡± she asked, her curiosity undeterred.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, but I¡¯ll figure it out eventually. Just wait and see,¡± I replied, managing to divert the conversation before I revealed too much.

    Her curiosity didn¡¯t wane, though. Even if she was willing to wait, I knew she¡¯d be piecing together every detail. Her mind was always working, looking for answers, and I could only hope she¡¯d be patient.

    At that moment, Draco sauntered over with a smirk. ¡°Hey, Ben! I saw you struggling with the flying lesson. These brooms are rubbish, honestly.¡±

    ¡°Why are you here?¡± Hermione asked sharply, her tone laced with irritation.

    I couldn¡¯t deny that Draco¡¯s interruption was well-timed, but I kept my response neutral. ¡°I¡¯ll figure something out.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, Slytherin, he doesn¡¯t need your help,¡± Ron added, scowling.

    Draco¡¯s face flushed red, and I could see he was about to launch into a tirade. Anticipating the slew of insults he was likely readying, I stepped in.

    ¡°Hold on, Ron. Let¡¯s not judge a book by its cover,¡± I said, glancing at Draco meaningfully.

    Ron looked at me incredulously. ¡°But he¡¯s¡ª¡±

    I held up a hand to silence him. ¡°Let¡¯s give him a chance to prove he¡¯s capable of making his own decisions. Maybe he¡¯s not controlled by his house¡­ or his father.¡±

    The comment hit its mark. Draco stiffened, torn between his pride and the expectations of his family and house. ¡°I make my own decisions!¡± he declared with defiance.

    I held out my hand in a gesture of invitation. ¡°We have a study group¡ªa chance to become the best witches and wizards we can, regardless of where we come from. If you¡¯d like to join us, Draco, you¡¯re welcome to do so. But we accept members from every background. This group values knowledge, power, and potential, not just heritage.¡±

    Draco hesitated, clearly calculating his response. ¡°Well, sounds like you need a Slytherin in that group anyway. Plus, it wouldn¡¯t be the best without me in it, so I¡¯ll be doing you a favor.¡± He smirked, regaining his usual arrogance.

    ¡°Then it¡¯s a deal,¡± I said, shaking his hand. ¡°See you tomorrow after classes.¡±

    As Draco left, flanked by a couple of his housemates who¡¯d hung back waiting for him, Ron, Hermione, and Neville rounded on me.

    ¡°Why did you do that?¡± they demanded, almost in unison.

    I looked between them, choosing my words carefully. ¡°Draco has potential. His arrogance and prejudices aren¡¯t all his own¡ªhis family and Slytherin have influenced him heavily. But if we can show him there¡¯s a different path, he might change.¡±

    Hermione crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. ¡°You¡¯re taking a big risk. He¡¯s still a Malfoy.¡±

    ¡°I know that,¡± I replied, meeting her gaze. ¡°But he also has a hunger for knowledge and power. If we can guide him, that drive could be turned toward something¡­ better.¡±

    Hermione sighed, her skepticism apparent. ¡°I hope you know what you¡¯re doing.¡±

    Ron muttered something about Draco¡¯s ¡°ferret face,¡± but I could tell he, too, was reluctantly intrigued by the idea. Hermione seemed lost in thought, and I took advantage of the pause to redirect the conversation.

    ¡°Now, about this flying problem¡­ are there other enchantments that allow for flight?¡± I asked.

    Ron perked up. ¡°My dad has a flying car that drives itself.¡±

    ¡°Fascinating,¡± I mused, though I doubted it would be useful for combat. ¡°Flying enclosed in a metal box would make spellcasting difficult.¡±

    ¡°At least I¡¯m not the only one bad at flying,¡± Neville added, giving me a sympathetic grin.

    I grimaced. ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard, Professor Snape knows a non-broom method of flying, but he¡¯s hardly approachable.¡±

    ¡°Could you ask Dumbledore?¡± Hermione suggested, her tone thoughtful.

    I scratched my chin, weighing the idea. ¡°It¡¯s possible, though he isn¡¯t exactly easy to reach. However¡­ I have a feeling our paths will cross sooner or later.¡± I glanced at Hermione and added, ¡°And who knows? Perhaps he might appreciate a student who¡¯s not afraid to ask unusual questions.¡±

    She gave a small, approving smile, and for a moment, all tension melted away. As we walked back to the castle, I couldn¡¯t shake the sense that this was just the beginning of a much larger journey, one that would demand everything from each of us, even the reluctant Draco. For now, though, it was enough to walk alongside my friends, our goals aligned.

 Chapter 15. The heirs of great wizards and witches.

    The trio sat across from Draco at our library table, all visibly uncomfortable. I couldn¡¯t help finding it mildly humorous¡ªhow quickly they¡¯d demonized him as the embodiment of Slytherin cruelty. A few mean comments, some rough company, and in their eyes, he was already a villain.

    Yet, as I know well, evil isn¡¯t born; it¡¯s shaped. Draco¡¯s beliefs in pureblood supremacy stem from his upbringing and the worldview his parents imposed on him. His disdain for Muggles and those of mixed blood was learned, and his cruel tendencies were just as common in any child who struggled with an ill or absent parent.

    As Death, I am privy to many things hidden from others. Narcissa Malfoy has cancer¡ªan illness wizards barely understand and for which even magic offers no cure, only temporary relief. Narcissa, a highly talented witch, has likely found ways to slow the disease, but her knowledge can only take her so far. Draco, though he¡¯d never say it, would be deeply affected by watching his mother suffer. His anger at the world was understandable, though I doubted he saw it that way himself.

    ¡°You know, you can talk to Draco,¡± I said lightly, casting a glance around the table. ¡°I doubt he¡¯ll bite.¡±

    Hermione gave me a sharp look, crossing her arms. ¡°Why did you invite him here in the first place?¡± she demanded.

    Before anyone could respond, Nyx stretched and lazily swatted at Hermione¡¯s hand, mistaking her finger for something edible. Hermione¡¯s frustration softened as she scratched Nyx under the chin, earning a deep, satisfied rumble from the feline. I saw Draco¡¯s mouth open, ready to make a likely rude comment about Hermione¡¯s bloodline, and I released a subtle pulse of my spiritual presence¡ªa reminder of my own origins.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± I said, my tone cool. The faint touch of my presence sent a chill down their spines, a primal reminder of fear that¡¯s woven into all of humanity. It was a gift from my sister, a perpetual jab at my existence.

    ¡°But he¡ª¡± Draco began.

    ¡°I¡¯ve already told you,¡± I cut in, ¡°I don¡¯t care where anyone here comes from. Each of you is uniquely gifted and carries the potential of a great legacy. Many of you may well be the heirs of the greatest wizards and witches who ever lived.¡±

    Draco¡¯s lips pursed in defiance. ¡°But how am I supposed to sit here with someone so¡­ impure? Didn¡¯t Salazar Slytherin teach us to keep bloodlines pure?¡±

    I sighed, meeting his eyes steadily. ¡°Salazar Slytherin was, unfortunately, misguided in that belief, though he was one of the most powerful wizards of his age. And he was influenced by his own ancestor, Herpo the Foul¡ªwho instilled that very notion into him.¡±

    A stunned silence followed. Then Draco asked, ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±

    ¡°Do you know of any other famous Parselmouths?¡± I replied, raising an eyebrow.

    Draco scratched his chin thoughtfully. ¡°Even if that¡¯s true, he¡¯s still the greatest wizard Slytherin House has ever known.¡±

    ¡°Actually, he isn¡¯t.¡± I corrected him gently. ¡°Slytherin¡¯s greatest wizard wasn¡¯t Salazar himself but his student, one of the most brilliant minds our world has ever seen. His views couldn¡¯t have been more opposite to his mentor¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± Draco asked, tilting his head.

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    ¡°Why, Merlin, of course,¡± I replied. ¡°Merlin surpassed his master in nearly every respect except the Dark Arts. And unlike Slytherin, he believed that all of humankind had the right to magic, regardless of blood.¡±

    ¡°Merlin was Slytherin¡¯s student?¡± Ron asked, his eyes wide.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I said, nodding. ¡°Merlin¡¯s philosophy was an evolution of his master¡¯s, and I believe, Draco, that you have the potential to become Merlin¡¯s true heir¡ªnot just in power, but in understanding.¡±

    Draco¡¯s cheeks flushed, his pride clearly stirred. ¡°But Slytherin¡¯s heirs¡­ I¡¯ve never heard of anyone but his descendants having a legacy.¡±

    ¡°Nearly all of the great wizards and witches left an inheritance of sorts. They each feared their knowledge would one day be lost to time. Gryffindor, too, left a legacy,¡± I continued, ¡°and it isn¡¯t the hat or the sword.¡±

    Hermione leaned forward, curiosity lighting her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re saying we each have the potential to inherit these legacies?¡±

    I nodded. ¡°Yes. Each of you possesses qualities that align with these ancient legacies as if you were meant to continue what those wizards began.¡±

    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°And what about you?¡±

    ¡°There are no legacies for me,¡± I replied calmly. ¡°I¡¯ll have to carve my path.¡±

    Draco, who had been silent for a moment, scowled. ¡°But why should she,¡± he spat, gesturing at Hermione, ¡°have any part in this? She¡¯s¡­ a Muggle-born.¡±

    Ron bristled. ¡°Hey!¡±

    I raised a hand to forestall them, my voice was sharp as a knife. ¡°Let me ask you something, Draco. Magical society barely understands cancer. Magic hasn¡¯t yet found a cure, and Muggle technology isn¡¯t there yet either. But what if someone like Hermione¡ªwho understands both worlds¡ªfound a way to bridge that gap and save your mother?¡±

    Draco¡¯s jaw tightened, his gaze darkening. He opened his mouth but said nothing.

    ¡°Now imagine,¡± I pressed, ¡°that she saved your mother¡¯s life, and your father ordered you to repay her by ending hers. What would you do?¡±

    Draco¡¯s face flushed as he fumbled for words. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t¡­¡±

    ¡°Your family has gained much from Muggle society, Draco. Most of the Malfoy''s wealth came from the Muggle world long ago. So why do you hate them so much?¡±

    ¡°How do you know about my mother?¡± Draco asked, his expression shifting to one of barely concealed anger.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t hear it from anyone,¡± I replied calmly. ¡°My¡­ unique background allows me certain insights.¡± I cast a meaningful glance at Hermione, who gave a slight nod, understanding the unspoken truth of my origins.

    Draco¡¯s tension eased, though he seemed lost in thought. At that moment, Nyx pawed at my arm, swatting at me in a bid for attention. I began to stroke her fur, causing Fidell to caw jealously from his perch on a nearby bookshelf.

    I met each of their gazes, speaking with a quiet intensity. ¡°In spite of what any of you may think, we need each other. Dark days are coming, and alone, we¡¯re weaker than we are together.¡±

    Draco¡¯s eyes widened slightly, the weight of responsibility settling on him. The words stirred something in him, that youthful desire to be important, to make a difference. ¡°I¡­ I understand,¡± he stammered, his voice laced with both awe and fear.

    Turning to Ron, I softened my tone. ¡°Ron, I¡¯ll need your help with something. I want to begin training in fencing, and you have a sharp mind and an athletic edge. I think you¡¯d be the perfect sparring partner. I¡¯ll compensate you, of course.¡±

    Ron shook his head, looking slightly taken aback. ¡°You¡¯re a friend; you don¡¯t have to pay me.¡±

    I held his gaze firmly. ¡°No, I insist.¡±

    He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. ¡°If you¡­ insist.¡±

    ¡°On that note,¡± I added, reaching into my bag, ¡°I have your first payment.¡± I pulled out the wand I¡¯d purchased from Ollivander¡ªthe one with unicorn hair. I handed it to Ron, who looked at it in confusion, turning it over in his hands.

    ¡°A wand?¡± he whispered, staring at it. As he gripped it, a burst of bright sparks erupted from the tip, illuminating the room in warm, shimmering light.

    ¡°It¡¯s yours,¡± I said, smiling. ¡°Brand new, directly from Ollivander¡¯s. It¡¯s bonded to you now. You deserve one that¡¯s fully yours.¡±

    Ron¡¯s eyes filled with a mix of shock and gratitude. ¡°Thank you,¡± he managed, his voice thick with emotion.

    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me now,¡± I replied with a smirk. ¡°You¡¯ll be cursing me tomorrow after our first lesson.¡±

    The group chuckled, and even Draco managed a small smile. For now, there was a tenuous truce at our table, a shared sense of purpose. It was enough for tonight. But as we rose to leave, I felt the weight of what lay ahead¡ªa heavy burden, perhaps too great for any of us alone, yet one we might bear together.

 Chapter 16. The Master of the Sword.

    Ron panted on the ground of the courtyard. "How the heck, Ben!" he yelled, frustration and exhaustion mixing in his voice.

    ¡°Again,¡± I said evenly, as though we hadn¡¯t already repeated the exercise twenty times.

    With a fierce determination in his eyes, Ron struggled to his feet. Perhaps it was his competitive spirit or something else, but either way, he had a fire within him, rare for one so young.

    He assumed a nearly perfect form, something he¡¯d achieved shockingly fast. His talent is a thing to envy. If only I were so fortunate... Let¡¯s just say that without my longevity, I¡¯d never have learned the basics of swordsmanship myself.

    But I am no master of the blade. I know the forms and techniques, but my movements are too basic, too stiff, compared to the fluid, effortless way Godric Gryffindor once wielded a sword. To a beginner, I might look skilled, but any true swordsman would see through it in an instant. I knew it was only a matter of time before Ron surpassed me, as anyone could with enough practice and perseverance.

    ¡°Haha!¡± Ron shouted, charging forward with a determined roar that gave away his intent. If he¡¯d stayed quiet, he might have taken advantage of my momentary distraction, but his inexperience got the better of him. I kept my position, deflecting his attack with a simple parry¡ªjust a slight shift of the handle, angling my blade to catch his with the flat. His own momentum caused him to overextend, stumbling forward. With a fluid motion, I tapped him on the back with my wooden sword.

    ¡°Bloody bollocks!¡± Ron cursed, livid.

    ¡°You¡¯re doing great,¡± I assured him.

    He grumbled. ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just more familiar with the forms,¡± I told him. ¡°Think of it like playing chess for the first time against someone who¡¯s been playing for years. With time, it¡¯ll be you one-sidedly beating me.¡± Memories of a long-lost era, of a young Gryffindor perfecting his craft, surfaced for a fleeting moment before fading.

    Ron perked up at the encouragement. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go again!¡±

    ¡°No, we should take a break here. Climbing a mountain doesn¡¯t happen in a single step.¡±

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    ¡°Now that you mention it, I¡¯m starving. I could eat half a hog,¡± Ron said, rubbing his stomach.

    I chuckled. ¡°Let¡¯s head to lunch then. We¡¯ll grab a seat for everyone.¡±

    As we made our way, I remembered Hermione¡¯s initial reaction. ¡°Boys and their stick games,¡± she had scoffed when we¡¯d started training, dismissing it as chaotic play. But there is grace in swordplay; it¡¯s much like a dance¡ªa dance I¡¯ve mastered, if only in response to souls who, in their final moments, wanted a partner in one last duel or waltz. The age of grand balls and duels is mostly gone now, and with it, those rare requests.

    Draco, too, had attempted a match with Ron, only to be swiftly defeated. ¡°Figured you¡¯d be good at such a ruffian¡¯s sport, Weasley!¡± he¡¯d snapped, his frustration clear.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Draco,¡± I reassured him afterward. ¡°Swordsmanship isn¡¯t everyone¡¯s strength. There are plenty of skills better suited to you that the rest of us don¡¯t excel in.¡±

    Despite his harsh words, Draco had left more dejected than angry.

    Ron, for his part, wasn¡¯t shaken by Draco¡¯s comments. He¡¯d told me later, ¡°It¡¯s hard to hold it against him when you know what he¡¯s going through.¡± I¡¯ve often wondered why people hide their pain from each other. With understanding, there is always room for forgiveness.

    Our training wasn¡¯t only about swordsmanship, though. I was preparing Ron for something greater: to inherit what Gryffindor himself left behind. The great wizard bequeathed his riches to Hogwarts, but he wanted his true successor to be of his own bloodline.

    When we arrived in the dining hall, we found an empty table on the far left and dug into the feast that appeared. We were savoring lamb chops when the rest of the group joined us.

    ¡°Did you have fun with your toys?¡± Hermione teased, glancing disapprovingly at the wooden swords I¡¯d carved with the Diffindo charm.

    ¡°We made progress,¡± I replied, not rising to her bait.

    She wrinkled her nose but thankfully made no further comment.

    Neville arrived last, looking drained and clearly weighed down by another rough Potions class. I¡¯d already saved him from several mishaps, but Snape¡¯s relentless criticism was taking its toll.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m cut out to be a wizard,¡± Neville muttered.

    ¡°Listen closely, Neville. You must first believe in yourself. Never let a fool like Snape shake your confidence.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m terrible at casting spells, and everything I do in Potions ends in catastrophe,¡± he said, sounding defeated.

    ¡°Neville, remember what I told you about Potions class? It¡¯s structured poorly. Let¡¯s focus on the basics, starting with what you¡¯re already good at¡ªHerbology. Understanding the magical effects of herbs and how they interact with each other will help you far more than any of Snape¡¯s critiques.¡± I made a mental note to focus on these fundamentals in Neville¡¯s private lessons. He had the makings of a remarkable alchemist if he¡¯d only believe it. Snape, so blinded by his own insecurities, couldn¡¯t see beyond the surface.

    I¡¯m determined to help Neville grow into a wizard of his own standing. He¡¯s even shown a glimmer of talent with the sword, though not enough to reach mastery in his lifetime. Still, he could become as adept, as I am.

    As for Hermione and Draco...

 Chapter 17. The recipe for success.

    Nyx and Fidell lay cuddled together in a quiet corner as Neville and I pored over a variety of Herbology books. The cat had curled up with her tail and paws tucked over her face, while Fidell, perched atop her like a small, feathered guardian, seemed wholly at ease. They were clearly unimpressed by our reading material, given the soft snores that rose from Nyx and occasionally Fidell¡¯s watchful murmurs, though even they couldn¡¯t break the library¡¯s hushed silence.

    Though I understood much of death and endings, most magical effects related to cures, healing, and growth lay outside my usual expertise. After all, these arts belonged to my sister, Life, whose creations¡ªso often enduring despite their frailties¡ªnever ceased to astound me. As the entity of Death, I never had cause to look into the finer points of medicinal potions or salves. I realized now that if Neville was to become proficient in his studies, I would need to learn alongside him. He was showing even greater proficiency than I had anticipated, but if we were to explore the depths of Herbology and the subtle workings of alchemy, we¡¯d have to delve beyond what even Snape¡¯s curriculum offered. This task required dedication that neither of us yet had found within ourselves.

    If Neville was to become a master of Herbology, he needed something to spark his interest¡ªa deeper motivation. I needed to connect this knowledge to something personal for him. ¡°Hey, Neville,¡± I began casually, keeping my tone light, ¡°did you say your father gave you your toad?¡±

    Neville¡¯s expression softened, though his voice grew muted. ¡°No, my parents are dead. My great-uncle gave me Trevor.¡± His words carried a resignation, as if he had learned to say them by rote but never grew accustomed to them.

    Neville¡¯s belief in his parents¡¯ death was clear; there was no trace of doubt. I knew, of course, that his parents were technically still alive but lost to him, their minds fractured beyond what wizarding medicine could mend. His parents lived trapped in a painful stasis, a purgatorial state that was neither life nor death. I had witnessed similar tragedies over the millennia, all manifestations of my sister¡¯s relentless experiments in the name of ¡®experience.¡¯ As Life, she made the horrors of illness and psychological pain, and yet I knew each served some purpose that she and Fate understood. I doubted she could fathom the pain these mortal conditions inflicted on minds left broken and bereft of self.

    I, however, could see potential in alchemy to restore his parents, though the mind was notoriously more fragile than any limb or organ. It was one of Life¡¯s darker gifts, but if I could learn enough about alchemy to reverse the physical damage, I would take on the task of mending their spirits myself. Perhaps one day, Neville might even be able to see his parents whole. It was more than merely a hope¡ªI despised illness and suffering, and these weren¡¯t merely Life¡¯s creations but were her machinations upon my territory. Pushing her designs beyond mortal life meant that I, too, would be motivated to make such changes. What did Fate once tell me? ¡°Be mindful of the natural course, for fate bends and twists around a Primordial¡¯s presence. The world itself will always seek balance.¡±

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    My role in Neville¡¯s healing would not be free, though, even for me. I would need to offset the weight of lives saved with the taking of another life¡ªa necessary balance. The fall of a Death Eater or another dark soul for each I intervened to save. For as long as I focused on defeating Voldemort, Fate would remain content to allow these small shifts.

    ¡°Sorry to hear about your parents, Neville,¡± I murmured, feeling a deeper empathy than he could know.

    Neville tried to muster a reassuring smile. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Ben. It happened when I was young. I¡¯ve only ever known my other relatives.¡±

    I nodded, steering the conversation to a safer topic. ¡°How¡¯s that book you¡¯re reading?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fascinating!¡± he replied, a light returning to his eyes. ¡°Have you heard of Gillyweed?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I replied with interest. ¡°What does it do?¡±

    He brightened even more, excited by his discovery. ¡°It lets you grow gills and webbing so you can breathe underwater!¡±

    I smiled, his enthusiasm contagious. ¡°Could be useful if we ever need to go exploring underwater.¡±

    Noticing his wand on the table, I gestured towards it. ¡°Did you inherit that wand?¡±

    ¡°Yes. It was my father¡¯s,¡± he answered simply.

    This explains Neville¡¯s struggles in charms and other areas. An inherited wand, especially one that had belonged to a living ancestor, would respond poorly, blocking rather than amplifying his magical potential. What he truly needed was his own wand, crafted and bonded uniquely for him. Under other circumstances, I could have made one myself, but his unique affinity for light and life magic rendered it beyond my capabilities. My touch would leave it an unbonded relic, perhaps as cursed as the Elder Wand.

    Creating a wand for him, then, would require someone both resourceful and adept in magic. It had to be Hermione. She was the only one intelligent enough, aware of my nature, and determined enough to craft the kind of wand Neville needed.

    Though she was aware of some of my abilities, my true nature remained a closely guarded secret. However, I sensed the sands of time shifting, the inevitability of truth inching closer. My relationship with Fate, the Primordial force of destiny itself, was unusual, and they had once warned me, ¡°Trust is best seeded early. A truth told too late is a trust betrayed.¡±

    The idea of revealing myself fully to Hermione was a risk I¡¯d long weighed. Her sharp intellect would lead her to the truth soon enough, and perhaps it was best if I were the one to tell her. My sister, Life, understood more deeply the nuances of trust and loyalty that lay beneath mortal friendships, but I had learned enough from observation to know that trust must be nurtured, or it could dissolve. This would need to be shared on my terms, and soon, for I could not allow her to stumble upon my true nature without proper context.

    For now, I would enlist her help with Neville¡¯s wand. She didn¡¯t need to know everything just yet, but when the time was right, I knew Fate would make the path clear for this revelation. In the meantime, Hermione¡¯s talents would serve to help me craft the tool Neville needed to fulfill his potential. For now, our shared studies in the library would keep both her curiosity and my secret safe.

 Chapter 18. Teacher of the Dark Arts.

    The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor made me wish for Snape¡¯s cutting remarks. Professor Trocar Sanguini, a vampire, was brought in by Dumbledore himself, under the notion that no one was more qualified to teach students about handling dark creatures than one who was a dark creature himself. Yet this was precisely the issue: if we ever crossed eyes, he would likely know what I truly was.

    Vampires were among my least favorite entities. They existed in an uncanny imitation of life, a misguided sorcerer¡¯s attempt to defy death and attain immortality. The originator of vampirism believed that by existing in a state neither fully alive nor fully dead, he could evade me. But true vampires do eventually succumb, if not by a blade, then by the inevitable degradation of their magical reserves over centuries.

    Still, Trocar was a cut above the typical vampire. Most couldn¡¯t even cast a simple spell without weakening their reserves. Yet here he was, wielding magic as skillfully as any witch or wizard. I quickly checked my senses, half-suspecting he might not be a true vampire at all. But my powers confirmed it: he was very much a vampire and, more troubling, was every bit as aware and self-possessed as he seemed.

    With Trocar around, I¡¯d have to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Unfortunately, I had other concerns as well. I¡¯d recently taken on Draco¡¯s training in archery as a way to hone his accuracy, a skill he¡¯d shown potential for during sparring sessions.

    ¡°Draco,¡± I asked as we reviewed his progress, ¡°how¡¯s archery coming along?¡±

    Draco shrugged, giving the faintest hint of a smirk. ¡°It¡¯s all right, I suppose. Hitting targets is satisfying, but I¡¯d rather practice with a wand.¡±

    ¡°The weapon isn¡¯t the point,¡± I replied. ¡°It¡¯s about training your hand and eye, not the type of projectile. Think of arrows as a way to measure your consistency.¡±

    Hermione, who¡¯d overheard our exchange, raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms with mock impatience. ¡°What about my ¡®training,¡¯ Ben? Any other ¡®lame¡¯ exercises planned for me?¡±

    I smirked. ¡°Honestly, Hermione, your spellcasting is already strong. The only way you could enhance your abilities further would be through¡­¡± I hesitated.

    ¡°Through what?¡± she pressed, her curiosity piqued.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± I said, hoping to leave it there. But her sharp eyes told me she wasn¡¯t about to let it drop.

    ¡°Come on, just tell me,¡± she insisted.

    ¡°Sorcery,¡± I muttered, hardly loud enough for her to hear.

    ¡°Sorcery?¡± she repeated. ¡°As in¡­ the Sorcerer¡¯s Stone?¡±

    ¡°Precisely. The stone¡¯s original name was the Philosopher¡¯s Stone. Abraham the Mage invented it, but its reputation grew so much that sorcery became a term for magic that channels and amplifies power.¡±

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    Hermione¡¯s eyes sparkled with interest. ¡°What¡¯s the difference between regular spellcasting and sorcery?¡±

    ¡°Not much if you¡¯re using a wand,¡± I explained. ¡°But a sorcerer¡¯s body is naturally more magically conductive. It¡¯s what makes someone¡¯s spells inherently more powerful, even without a wand. Take Voldemort, for instance.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a sorcerer?¡± Her voice lowered as if even speaking the word carried weight.

    I nodded. ¡°He was born with a rare ability for magic conduction. His body and soul are extremely receptive to magic, though that¡¯s due in part to¡­ alterations he made himself. His soul is scarred and split by magic, which makes it even more conductive¡ªbut at a heavy cost.¡±

    ¡°Then¡­¡± She paused, chewing her lip thoughtfully. ¡°How would someone become a sorcerer without damaging their soul?¡±

    ¡°Well, there is one method,¡± I admitted reluctantly. ¡°The bones conduct magic. They¡¯re what make simple wands, and they can be refined to increase magical conductivity. But it¡¯s excruciating, and there¡¯s no guarantee of survival.¡±

    Hermione¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    ¡°No, absolutely not.¡±

    ¡°Yes, absolutely.¡±

    ¡°Did you not hear me? It¡¯s risky, Hermione. People have died trying to enhance their bones for sorcery,¡± I argued, frustration rising.

    But she met my gaze, resolute. ¡°I trust you. You wouldn¡¯t let me die.¡±

    I groaned, rubbing my temples. ¡°You¡¯re a stubborn one, you know that?¡±

    She smiled, crossing her arms with a triumphant look. ¡°A witch has to do what a witch has to do.¡±

    I sighed. ¡°Fine. But you¡¯re not going to like it once we start.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see about that,¡± she said, holding her chin high.

    ¡°Good. Because if you¡¯re so eager to help, I could use a hand with a project,¡± I added. ¡°I need to make a wand for Neville, and I¡¯ll need a reliable assistant.¡±

    ¡°Why me?¡± she asked, her expression softening.

    ¡°Because I trust you,¡± I answered simply. ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone else is up for the task.¡±

    For a second, Hermione blinked, looking taken aback. ¡°Careful, Ben. You¡¯ll make a girl blush with words like those.¡± She gave a wink that I suspected was more out of habit than intent.

    ¡°¡­¡± I stared, unsure of how to respond.

    She rolled her eyes, laughing. ¡°I was joking! You¡¯re hopeless sometimes.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± I replied flatly, hoping she¡¯d let the subject drop.

    She gave me a playful whack on the shoulder with her rolled-up parchment. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s head to Diagon Alley. What do we need?¡±

    I shifted back into focus. ¡°We¡¯ll need materials Snape wouldn¡¯t keep in his inventory¡ªrare ingredients more suited to enchantments than potions. Some components are completely inorganic, things most wizards ignore because they only think of magic as organic.¡±

    She nodded, intrigued. ¡°I¡¯m all for a supply run with a side of knowledge.¡±

    ¡°¡­¡±

    Smack! Her hand struck my shoulder again. ¡°Stop staring off into space!¡±

    I rubbed my shoulder, muttering under my breath. ¡°You could try not hitting so hard¡­¡±

    ¡°You could try not being so infuriating,¡± she shot back with a smirk. Her cheeks had a faint flush, though, and she quickly turned, leading the way out.

    As we walked toward the library doors, I couldn¡¯t help but shake my head. For all the mysteries I¡¯d seen in my time, I still hadn¡¯t figured out why humans, especially young ones, acted so unpredictably. Hermione, in particular, seemed to find joy in pushing every one of my boundaries. And now, I¡¯d somehow agreed to turn her into a sorcerer. I only hoped she understood what she was getting into.

    It seemed the recipe for success was turning out to be far more complex than I¡¯d expected, with allies as determined and unpredictable as these. But if Hermione, Ron, Neville, and yes¡ªeven Draco¡ªcould master their gifts, they might just be ready to face what lay ahead.

 Chapter 19. Beginning a troubled Journey

    I pulled a small satchel of Floo powder from my pocket as Hermione and I stood in the fireplace of an old, abandoned building just outside Hogsmeade. We¡¯d slipped out early that morning under the cover of my invisibility spell, and with it being a Saturday, no one would expect us back anytime soon.

    The building looked as though it had once belonged to an outcast witch or wizard, someone who needed to be close to society but far enough to keep their distance. It served our purposes perfectly. I tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, and blue flames roared to life, swirling with a soft hum of magic.

    ¡°Are you ready, Hermione?¡± I asked, noticing her nervous fidgeting.

    ¡°Y-yes,¡± she replied, trying to steady her voice.

    She stepped into the blue flames, whispered ¡°Diagon Alley,¡± and vanished in a whirl of light. I followed, throwing the powder, stepping into the flames, and pronouncing the same destination.

    The sensation was¡­ peculiar. I felt something tugging at me, not just on my body but deeper, as though my very essence was being dragged along reluctantly.

    Bang!

    I was thrown out of the fireplace and landed hard against a table, knocking the breath out of me and sending a sharp pain shooting through my side. Dazed, I looked around, realizing I was not in Diagon Alley at all.

    An elderly couple hurried over, their faces lined with concern.

    ¡°Oh dear, are you all right?¡± the woman asked, looking at me with wide eyes. ¡°How on earth did you come crashing down our chimney?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m not quite sure how that happened,¡± I stammered, struggling to my feet and trying not to wince. ¡°I¡¯m fine, though. So sorry to trouble you.¡± I recognized their names before they even spoke them: Thomas and Isabella Renald. They were muggles, both in their late seventies and healthy enough now, though their time in this world would end in a few years. They were good-natured, a fortunate thing since they thought I¡¯d merely slipped and somehow landed in their fireplace.

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    ¡°No trouble at all, son,¡± the old man said, clapping me on the shoulder. ¡°The name¡¯s Thomas, and this is my wife, Isabella.¡±

    ¡°A pleasure,¡± I replied, managing a smile.

    ¡°Are you all right to walk?¡± Isabella asked, her face creased with worry.

    ¡°Yes, yes, thank you,¡± I assured her. ¡°Actually, I could use a little help, though. Could you tell me where in the city I am?¡±

    Thomas chuckled and gestured out the window. ¡°We¡¯re about a thirty-minute walk from the heart of London. You see Big Ben over there?¡±

    I followed his finger to the massive clock tower standing tall in the distance.

    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯m¡­ not exactly from here,¡± I said, excusing myself with a polite nod before I stepped outside.

    The morning air was cool, a small relief against the ache in my side. I had made it most of the way to Diagon Alley, it seemed, but something had interrupted the Floo journey. As I walked, I replayed the sensations in my mind, trying to understand the drag I¡¯d felt. The enchantment had pulled my body easily enough, but my spiritual essence, bound within this mortal form, must have resisted. The magical channel would have detected this as a problem, redirecting the journey to avoid harm¡ªa necessary safety, but one that had cost me a smooth arrival.

    When I checked my satchel, I found it empty. A typical wizard could travel several times on a single handful of Floo powder, but transporting my entire self had burned through the whole bag and drained a portion of my own energy reserves. More Floo powder would solve the problem, but it revealed something troubling: there would be unforeseen complications in adapting wizarding magic to my unique nature. I would need to be cautious or risk far worse outcomes.

    Pressing a hand to my side, I winced. It felt like I had cracked a rib in the tumble. Healing magic was useless to me¡ªmy body resisted life magic on principle. Only time and mundane methods would ease this pain.

    By the time I reached Diagon Alley, I was more exhausted than I should have been. The hidden entrance loomed ahead, and as I passed through, I sighed. ¡°Always more problems¡­¡±

 Chapter 20. Never Back Down.

    I moved quickly through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, searching for Hermione. I heard her voice before I saw her: ¡°I¡¯m telling you, something went wrong! My friend should have been here by now!¡± She was nearly shouting at a Floo-pow clerk, her frustration obvious. I knew their front door was typically locked, so she must have used Alohomora to let herself in.

    Her hair was frizzed and her face flushed, making her look almost wild, like an avenging spirit. I could see she was working herself into a fervor. I decided it was time to intervene before she unraveled completely. ¡°Hermione, calm down. I¡¯m here now.¡±

    She turned abruptly, her eyes flashing with a mixture of relief and irritation. ¡°Where were you?¡± she demanded, her voice thick with frustration.

    ¡°I ended up at the wrong destination,¡± I admitted, raising my hands in a placating gesture. ¡°It was a¡­ miscalculation.¡±

    ¡°I knew it!¡± she said, her voice carrying a note of triumph as she glared at the clerk, who looked very relieved to see her anger diverted.

    ¡°It¡¯s not his fault, Hermione. I should¡¯ve accounted for¡­ well, my ¡®unique¡¯ situation,¡± I added with a wink to signal her to hold her questions until later.

    She nodded, her cheeks flushed, ¡°Alright, then.¡±

    With that, Hermione¡¯s temper eased, and I turned back to the now visibly relieved clerk. ¡°Thank you for your patience. Could you refill my Floo powder satchel, please?¡±

    The clerk hastily measured out the powder and handed it over after I paid. We stepped out, Hermione¡¯s curiosity piqued and hovering over me like a brewing storm.

    ¡°What happened?¡± she asked as soon as we were out of earshot.

    I sighed. ¡°I underestimated how much my nature would affect the magic. The Floo powder drew from my reserves, draining everything in the bag, and only brought me partway here.¡±

    Her eyebrows shot up. ¡°That¡¯s an insane amount of magic to consume over such a short distance.¡±

    ¡°I know. I didn¡¯t fully understand how much would be needed.¡± I shifted, and a sharp sting in my ribs reminded me of my haphazard landing.

    ¡°Are you hurt?¡± Hermione¡¯s face immediately turned from curiosity to worry, her hand on her wand.

    ¡°It¡¯s just a bruise or maybe a cracked rib; I landed a bit roughly¡­¡±

    She didn¡¯t wait for me to finish. ¡°Sanatio Ossio!¡± she cast, and healing energy surged through me before I could stop her.

    Pain exploded through my entire body like fire and ice, ripping through my bones. I fell to my knees, a cry escaping as the spell felt like knives twisting through every nerve.

    ¡°Ben!¡± she gasped, horrified. ¡°I thought¡­ Why didn¡¯t it work?¡±

    My vision swam, but I managed to steady myself, breathing deeply as the pain began to recede. ¡°Healing magic¡­ doesn¡¯t work on me. It¡¯s more like¡­ Cruciatus in effect.¡±

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    Hermione stared, her face drained of color as she looked down at her wand, horrified. ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t know! I didn¡¯t mean to¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I managed, my voice strained but sincere. ¡°I should have warned you. You¡¯ve mastered a difficult spell at your age. That¡¯s something to be proud of.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, but¡­ why doesn¡¯t healing magic work on you?¡±

    ¡°Affinity,¡± I replied, noticing her confusion. ¡°But I¡¯ll explain more another time. Let¡¯s focus on our list. Since Floo powder¡¯s unreliable for me, we¡¯ll need extra time to get back on foot.¡±

    She nodded, refocusing on the task. ¡°Alright. We need a Boggart¡¯s bone, some pure silver, unicorn hair, cherry wood, and an enchanted ruby of high quality.¡± She read each item aloud with a sigh. ¡°Where on earth are we supposed to find any of this?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll check every shop if we have to. Someone here is bound to have them,¡± I replied with a shrug.

    After hours of searching, we¡¯d finally gathered almost everything but the enchanted ruby. Hermione¡¯s resourcefulness and her knowledge of Diagon Alley¡¯s hidden shops were impressive. I might have spent all day on my own, but she knew of a few out-of-the-way places that had what we needed.

    ¡°You know what?¡± she said suddenly, her eyes brightening with excitement. ¡°I think I know one place that might have an enchanted ruby¡ªa jeweler that specializes in enchanted gemstones.¡±

    ¡°Perfect,¡± I said, handing her the bulk of our funds. ¡°You handle that, and I¡¯ll grab us something to eat.¡±

    She nodded and flashed a quick smile. ¡°Deal.¡±

    I made my way to the nearby vendors, eventually choosing Cornish pasties that smelled rich and savory. I waited a few moments longer, expecting Hermione to reappear soon, but a sense of unease began to prick at me. She should have returned by now.

    Suddenly, a chill settled over the air, unnatural and bone-deep. The faint but unmistakable rattle of a Dementor sent a pulse of dread through my veins. I ran toward the jeweler, fear heightening with every step. This wasn¡¯t some random attack¡ªit was planned. The pieces fell together, horrifyingly clear: Voldemort was already back, silently building his power and eliminating potential threats before the world even knew he had returned. Hermione, with her potential, was someone he saw as a future threat, even now. Out of all of us, she was crucial in this fight against him.

    When I reached the shop, my worst fears were confirmed. Hermione lay collapsed on the steps, her wand gripped tightly in one hand, a ruby clutched in the other. Above her loomed a Dementor, its skeletal fingers reaching out as if savoring its claim over her very spirit.

    Fury surged through me. I grabbed a nearby stick and stormed toward the fiend. ¡°Get away from her, you miserable wretch!¡± I shouted, voice thick with rage.

    The Dementor turned its eyeless gaze toward me, and for a split second, it hesitated. I swung the stick at it, the hollow smack giving me no satisfaction, but it was enough to break its focus on Hermione.

    It reeled back, momentarily dazed, but then it shifted, and I felt the chill intensify as it began trying to feed on me instead. I could feel its emptiness tugging, searching for something it could never consume.

    It let out a terrible screech, a sound that clawed at the edges of reality itself. ¡°You are¡­Death,¡± it rasped, the words slow and garbled as if they hadn¡¯t spoken in centuries.

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± I snarled, gritting my teeth. ¡°And she¡¯s with me, so back off!¡±

    The creature, oddly, shook its head slowly. ¡°The Dark Lord commands¡­¡±

    My blood ran cold as the final pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. Voldemort wasn¡¯t merely hiding; he was orchestrating, sending his dark forces to hunt down anyone he deemed a threat. Hermione wasn¡¯t just a random victim¡ªshe was targeted.

    In my current form, there was little I could do to banish this thing, and Patronus charms were beyond my reach. Dementors, twisted remnants of dark wizards who¡¯d tried to escape death, were beyond my command. Though a single Dementor couldn¡¯t destroy me, it could still harm Hermione and drain what little time I had.

    A raw determination blazed within me. I raised the stick, hoping to keep it at bay. ¡°Enjoyed the taste of death, did you? Here, have some more!¡± I struck again, my voice echoing through the alley as I prepared for a final stand.

 Chapter 21. Confronting Darkness.

    The indignation of this thing knowing who I really am¡ªand daring to consider me on par with Voldemort¡ªburned deeper than I could have anticipated. I¡¯ve never been one for arrogance, but how on earth had a copycat like him managed to win the loyalty of a Dementor?

    Throughout history, I''d faced my share of insults. My image twisted and diluted, my essence reduced to tales meant to frighten children. But this situation¡­ it kindled an anger in me I hadn''t felt in ages.

    I glanced over at Hermione, unconscious on the ground beyond the cloaked fiend. My mind raced with possible ways to help her as my blood simmered. My arsenal contained only a handful of spells capable of hurting a Dementor, but every single one risked harming her as well. I need to get it away from her!

    "Flipendo!" I cast, watching as the spell pushed the Dementor a few feet back, giving me the smallest window to think.

    Not far enough! I thought, feeling the urgency of the situation press on me. This was where things would get difficult. I¡¯d never truly pursued mastery of the sword¡ªswordsmanship had always been more of a pastime, a way to pass the centuries. Now, I needed a skill I never fully embraced, a skill Godric had once tried to teach me. His words echoed in my mind from when I¡¯d once admitted, ¡°I have no talent with the sword, Godric.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true, my friend,¡± he¡¯d said with that characteristic steadiness. ¡°What you lack is not talent, but the need. Once your life, or something you desperately care about, rides on the use of your blade¡ªit will cut truer than ever before.¡±

    Godric had honed his swordsmanship to a level that verged on myth. His skills were such that some said he could cut through spells themselves. A fully cast spell could typically only be blocked by another spell, yet Godric¡¯s blade was an exception to almost anything¡ªsave the Killing Curse.

    He¡¯d discovered that a true swordsman could channel their will into the blade, drawing magical energy from the environment and funneling it through the weapon. This effect, similar yet opposite to the way a wand worked, temporarily strengthened the blade, allowing it to impact objects and beings beyond the ordinary. But the technique was not for everyone¡ªit demanded magical prowess and complete focus.

    For the rest of the magical community, this ability was impractical. The focus required slowed the user¡¯s natural recovery of magical energy, and unlike a wand, a metal sword was a poor conductor of magic, making it incredibly draining. It was powerful, but it came at a steep cost.

    had long since mastered channeling my will into a blade, but drawing on external magical power in tandem remained a skill just out of reach¡ªuntil now.

    Oddly enough, a stick proved a better conduit than a metal sword, allowing the energy to flow, albeit imperfectly. Like a match igniting with a swift strike, the energy surged through the stick in a concentrated line, its edge now crackling with my will. This time, I didn''t need a resilient weapon; I needed raw, explosive force.

    Focusing intently, I compressed every ounce of magical energy at the tip of the stick, watching as it began to glow an intense red, a warning of imminent eruption.

    I lunged, executing the cleanest fencing thrust I¡¯d ever managed, and the stick connected directly with the Dementor''s chest.

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    BOOM!

    The stick shattered upon impact, fragments bursting outward and embedding into the Dementor like shrapnel. All that remained was the small section I¡¯d held, my hand miraculously unharmed save for a few splinters. The Dementor, however, was sent flying back, crashing against a nearby brick wall, temporarily dazed but at last separated from Hermione.

    Without wasting a second, I raised my wand. "Incendio Maxima!"

    A torrent of flame roared forth, spiraling into a fierce inferno that could melt stone, colliding directly with the Dementor. Yet, despite the raw, blazing heat, it merely staggered, emerging almost unscathed save for a faint singe. The creature¡¯s resilience to fire was maddening.

    ¡°Maxima¡± is an ancient and largely forgotten modifier, intensifying a spell¡¯s effect to its absolute limit. Today, it¡¯s mostly known through Lumos Maxima, used for a brighter light. Few remember that any spell with three words or fewer can have "Maxima" added to it. Its power, though, is perilous; spells with no natural cap could drain a caster to death. Many a wizard fell victim to their own amplified attacks, which is why most professors taught to avoid its use altogether. Only Lumos Maxima remains in regular practice since the light spell poses no danger.

    The Dementor rose once again, visibly enraged by my last attack, but I refused to relent. ¡°Sectumsempra Maxima!¡± I shouted, channeling every ounce of my focus.

    As much as I loathed Snape, I couldn¡¯t deny he had crafted a powerful death curse. Knowing all death spells, I was familiar with this one¡¯s creator and the devastating force it wielded. Unlike Diffindo, Sectumsempra cut deeper, its wounds laced with a dark anti-healing curse akin to basilisk venom or a recluse spider¡¯s bite, making recovery nearly impossible.

    The curse slashed cleanly through the Dementor, bisecting it and leaving a gash that extended into the brick wall behind it. Yet, even with its body split, the creature didn¡¯t die. Its two halves clung together, barely separated, as if held by a ghostly force, a crack in reality itself. I staggered, falling to one knee, my energy almost entirely drained.

    ¡°Damn thing¡¯s resilient,¡± I muttered through clenched teeth.

    I knew from the start I could not defeat the Dementor. My only hope was to either make it too much trouble for the creature so it would retreat or stall long enough for someone capable to arrive.

    Unwilling to back down, I pointed my wand toward a nearby building. ¡°Accio!¡± I called, summoning a piece of rubble. It ricocheted off the Dementor¡¯s head, causing it to momentarily falter before making its way into my hand. Hogwarts'' first-year spells might seem basic, but they had their uses, even in desperate times.

    The object I caught was a piece of old drainpipe. Exhausted but determined, I prepared for another charge. Just as I braced myself, a voice called out, ¡°Expecto Patronum!¡± and a bright, silvery bat burst forth, flooding the area with calming light.

    The Dementor recoiled, shrieking before it was forced to retreat into the shadows, banished by the Patronus. I looked over my shoulder, and my eyes met those of our unexpected savior: Trocar Sanguini. Of all people¡ªSod it all to hell!

    For a few moments, we simply stared at each other, each recognizing a profound truth about the other. He now knew that I was Death incarnate, bound in mortal form, and I realized that Trocar Sanguini was far more than just an undead mage. Only a soul of true purity could cast a Patronus like his¡ªa feat difficult even for powerful wizards and nearly impossible for a vampire, whose very nature defies light and life. There was something undeniably unique about this man, something that hinted at a deeper mystery beneath the surface.

    ¡°Benjamin Diggory! Dumbledore would like to speak with you in his office¡­ and so would I,¡± said the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, his voice calm but insistent.

    I then noticed Hagrid, the groundskeeper, standing nearby, his massive arms gently lifting Hermione off the ground. The gentle giant held her as carefully as if she were made of glass. Even in her unconscious state, Hermione''s hand remained tightly wrapped around the ruby, and a faint, wheezing breath reassured us all that she was still with us.

    ¡°It¡¯s about damned time,¡± I muttered, smoothing down my robes with a sharp tug. No matter the circumstances, it was always essential to keep up appearances.

 Chapter 22. I am Death!

    Professor Sanguini cast the Apparition spell on all of us, transporting our group to just outside Hogwarts. The buildings and campus were warded against Apparition magic, but we could still get within a mile of it. With Hagrid carrying Hermione, the walk passed quickly, though everyone remained deathly silent.

    Once inside Hogwarts, Hagrid carried the unconscious Hermione to Madam Pomfrey for a check-up. With a flick of Sanguini''s wand, a spiral staircase appeared where a statue had once stood. At his signal, I climbed the stairs leading up to Dumbledore''s office.

    Now, within the domain of the man celebrated as the hero of the First Wizarding War, I observed the powerful magical artifacts he kept well hidden. Two of them, in particular, piqued my interest¡ªitems that had once belonged to me...

    "I assume I have the pleasure of meeting Benjamin Diggory," announced an aged voice. I hadn¡¯t noticed his presence¡ªan impressive feat, even for a powerful wizard. The old man¡¯s long white beard reached down to his waist, lending him an appearance of age beyond even that of most magical folk, who already age slower than Muggles.

    Thinking, I shrugged. "As much as he ever has and ever will exist."

    "Then... who is it you truly are? Be warned, lies hold no power here." Dumbledore¡¯s eyes sharpened, perhaps fiercer than before, as he gazed at me. The man who had seemed jolly moments ago transformed in an instant. One could almost question if the two were even the same person after witnessing both sides.

    Meeting his intense gaze with my own, I let my eyes turn silver as I answered, "I am the end of all things, the great equalizer, and deliverer of souls. I am the one... you call Death."

    Caw!" whines a bird in the corner, one I¡¯d already recognized as a Phoenix. A magical, immortal bird of fire and rebirth, it dies in a blaze of flame only to be reborn from the ashes¡ªa being of pure life and fire, one of my sister¡¯s creations meant as a mockery of my purpose.

    Whining again, Dumbledore stands from his chair. "What is it, Fawkes?" he asks.

    "It¡¯s a being of life, and my presence disturbs him," I add.

    Shaking his head, Dumbledore replies in disbelief, "That... cannot be."

    "I tell no lies," I explain.

    At that moment, Professor Sanguini enters the room. "He speaks the truth," he insists.

    "Professor, if he is Volde¡ª" Dumbledore begins, his voice hesitant.

    "I stared into his eyes and knew him for who and what he is! There is no faking that to a true vampire," Sanguini assures, his tone unwavering.

    Turning to me, Dumbledore asks, "If you are who and what you say you are, then prove it."

    "Tch!" I click my tongue and roll my eyes. "You think I didn¡¯t come here trying to hide what I am? I am limited by this human form. There¡¯s little I can do that will prove beyond a doubt that I am Death."

    "Then you best try," the aged wizard demands, his voice firm and unyielding.

    Letting my eyes glow with the power to glimpse the names and lifespans of others, I direct my gaze at Dumbledore. In that brief moment, his essence reveals itself to me¡ªAlbus Dumbledore. The old wizard shivered, visibly unsettled by what he felt.

    "What¡­ was that?" he asks, his voice tinged with apprehension.

    "I used my power as Death to see your true name," I explain.

    "And?"

    "You are Albus Dumbledore," I reply, watching his expression carefully.

    He raises an eyebrow. "How does this prove who you are?"

    "It doesn¡¯t," I admit. "But before going any further in this conversation, I needed to know for certain that you are who you claim to be."

    With a flick of my hand, I summon a hidden object from within Dumbledore''s office. "This was made from a piece of myself, and I will be taking it back!" I exclaim, holding up the Cloak of Invisibility.

    Dumbledore¡¯s eyes widen slightly, but he quickly regains his composure. "I can''t let you do that," he says, his voice measured. "I received it from a friend and am holding it for a greater purpose yet to come."

    A soft pecking at the window draws our attention. Nyx and Fidell have somehow perched themselves on the outer ledge, both staring at us through the glass.

    ¡°Mrowl,¡± Nyx whines, as if saying, ¡°Let us in!¡±

    Dumbledore is rushed by the two critters as soon as he opens the window.

    I pet Nyx as Fidell caws at Fawkes, attempting to assert dominance. The two flap their wings at each other, eventually settling into a silent agreement¡ªa truce of mutual destruction and restrained tension.

    ¡°Let me see the Elder Wand, and I will prove I made it,¡± I say to Dumbledore.

    After a moment¡¯s hesitation, he hands me the wand. ¡°As you know, only a wand¡¯s original enchanter can modify the enchantment without breaking it?¡± he asks, his voice guarded.

    ¡°Yes, that is true,¡± Dumbledore nods.

    In a swift motion, I etch a final rune onto the wand¡¯s handle. ¡°This will prevent others from using the wand while you live. And when you die, it will turn to ash,¡± I explain, watching his reaction.

    Dumbledore¡¯s gaze sharpens as he questions, ¡°Why would you do that?¡±

    "Because this wand has brought me great shame. I would prefer that no more lives be wrecked by it!"

    "Caw!!!" Fawkes cries indignantly as Nyx helps herself to some of the nuts in Dumbledore''s bowl. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore refills the bowl, and Fawkes makes sure to eat his fill. Funny how a creature is picky about something until another wants it.

    "This proves only that you created the wand and not that you are Death," Dumbledore adds.

    "Then how about that¡­ Harry Potter is dead," I add with some frustration.

    "¡­ Harry Potter is very much alive," Dumbledore replies skeptically.

    "That''s a lie¡­ I took his soul to the other side. Personally!" I call his bluff.

    "¡­ Then who have we been protecting in secrecy?" Dumbledore asks, his voice edged with uncertainty.

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    "¡­ Bugger!" I shout.

    "What?" Dumbledore¡¯s voice falters, barely a whisper.

    "It''s Voldemort!" I exclaim, the realization settling over both of us like a dark fog.

    Dumbledore mutters, "That''s not¡­"

    "Don''t you see?" I press. "I felt his death, and I took his soul to the other side after Harry died, but his body is still alive¡ªpossessed by the Dark Lord! A body is like a machine; it can be repaired. You fools have been protecting the very villain you''ve meant to destroy."

    Dumbledore¡¯s face pales as he flicks his wand, his expression turning increasingly grim.

    "What is it?" I ask, sensing his dread.

    "The people I left to watch Harry¡­ they''re not responding to my summons."

    "After his pet Dementor returned and reported I am Death, I would assume he''s figured out why I am here and knows I''ve discovered whose body he''s taken."

    "What are the names of those you left to supervise him?" I ask, keeping my tone steady.

    "Vere Moderna, Jane Atsa, and several others," Dumbledore replies, the weight of his words heavy in the room.

    I shake my head slowly. "They are all dead. Deceased within the last 30 minutes."

    "Sod it all," Dumbledore curses, his usually composed face etched with a rare, fierce anger.

    Leaving Dumbledore¡¯s office, I allowed the old wizard a moment to gather himself. He¡¯d finally handed over the Invisibility Cloak with solemn assurance that he would find Voldemort. Ultimately, I¡¯d needed to summon his sister¡¯s soul itself to prove beyond doubt that I was who I claimed to be¡ªDeath incarnate. Now, I thought it best to leave him alone with his memories and the unexpected, tearful reunion with his sibling.

    As I stepped away from the office, a sudden force nearly knocked me off my feet. Hermione had thrown herself at me in a full embrace, clinging tightly. "What?" I gasped in surprise.

    "Thank you¡­" she choked out, her voice thick with tears.

    She had been waiting for me outside Dumbledore¡¯s office, looking small and worn but with a half-eaten chocolate bar clutched in her right hand. Her tear-streaked face lit up when she saw me.

    "I¡­" Unsure of what to say, I gently patted her head, sensing she needed comfort more than words. "What for?"

    "For saving me from that monster," she whispered, her voice breaking as she fought back more tears.

    ¡°You¡¯re very welcome,¡± I replied softly.

    "I won''t... I won''t ever ask you what you are again. I owe you so much," she stammers, her voice barely holding steady.

    A pang of guilt surfaces as I realize how deeply shaken she is, but I know hiding the truth from her would be worse. The genie is out of the bottle, so to speak. Someday, she¡¯ll understand fully, and perhaps she won¡¯t hold it against me¡ªbut I would rather she know me now for who I am.

    "I am the end of all things..." I tell her quietly.

    ¡°What?¡± She questions, taking a moment to wipe away her tears, her expression shifting between confusion and apprehension.

    ¡°I am one of the oldest magical creatures in existence. I am the Primordial incarnation of Death,¡± I say, letting the weight of the truth settle in the air.

    Her face goes pale as she instinctively steps back, her eyes wide. The realization stings, more deeply than I expected. ¡°I see how it is¡­ I¡¯m just a monster to you now,¡± I say, my voice laced with hurt and bitterness that surprises even me. This human form seems to make me vulnerable to emotions I once considered trivial and amplify them immensely.

    ¡°No, Ben, wait!¡± She says quickly, realizing the impact of her reaction, guilt evident in her eyes.

    ¡°You think me a devil with a monkey''s paw, don''t you?¡± I ask, my voice holding a hint of accusation.

    She hesitates, then shakes her head. ¡°That''s what the story says, but¡­ I know you, and you''re nothing like what attacked me. You are¡­ my closest friend.¡±

    Without a second thought, I reply, ¡°Same.¡± The word escapes before I can stop it, and at that moment, I¡¯m struck by an undeniable truth. Bound by my nature, I cannot lie. This child¡ªthis young, mortal soul¡ªis, indeed, the closest friend I¡¯ve ever had. The realization is both startling and, somehow, grounding.

    Hermione watches me intently, her curiosity pushing aside any lingering fear. I motion for her to sit down on a bench outside Dumbledore¡¯s office, and once we¡¯re settled, I begin, ¡°The Tale of the Three Peverell Brothers and the Deathly Hallows is widely known, but few know the truth. In the tale, it¡¯s said that the brothers were minding their own business, using magic to cross a river, and that angered Death. Supposedly, I appeared before them and gifted each brother an item: a wand, a stone, and a cloak¡ªtwo of which were traps meant to bring about their downfall.¡±

    Hermione leans in, intrigued. ¡°So¡­ it didn¡¯t happen that way?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Not quite. The truth is far darker. The Peverell brothers were not innocent travelers. They were deeply ambitious wizards, intent on defying nature itself. The second brother, Cadmus, was an alchemist and had recently lost the woman he loved. In his grief, he convinced his brothers to join him in an experiment to resurrect her. Antioch, the eldest, was an exceptionally powerful caster, and Ignotus, the youngest, a skilled healer. Together, they attempted what should never be attempted: they tried to create a homunculus, a vessel that would house her spirit by blending fragments of animal parts and other magic into something resembling her body.¡±

    Hermione¡¯s eyes widen, her face a mixture of horror and fascination.

    ¡°They nearly succeeded,¡± I continue. ¡°They created a creature¡ªa monstrosity that looked like her in form but was wrong, stitched together from the remnants of animals, animated by fragments of dark magic. It was an abomination, a violation of life and death, of nature¡¯s balance. Their act threatened the very fabric of existence.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ you intervened?¡± she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

    ¡°Yes. I was permitted to appear because their actions disrupted the natural order to such an extreme degree. The universe would have barely stirred if I had simply ended them then and there, but instead, I gave them a choice¡ªa final bargain. I gave each brother an item tailored to their desires, though each would lead to its own consequences.¡±

    Hermione waited for me to continue.

    ¡°Their greed could have been apocalyptic if left unchecked,¡± I continue. ¡°It¡¯s fools like them that created vampirism and other dark paths that plague humanity. But no, I didn¡¯t kill them; I gave them a choice instead.¡±

    I look at Hermione, seeing her growing understanding mingled with unease, and go on. ¡°Cadmus, the one who had lost his love, wanted nothing more than to bring her back. I told him plainly that I couldn¡¯t truly return her to life. Still, I offered him the Stone of Resurrection, a way to summon her soul from beyond, allowing him to see and speak with her once more. He accepted, though¡­ seeing her without being able to fully reach her eventually led him into despair deeper than death itself. He took his own life not long after. It¡¯s ironic, isn¡¯t it? He wanted to be with her again, and I gave him the means, yet it wasn¡¯t enough. Humans seem perpetually dissatisfied with what they have.¡±

    Hermione nods solemnly as if weighing that thought.

    ¡°Then there was Antioch, the eldest, whose ambitions lay in power. He asked to become the most powerful wizard in history, but when I told him I couldn¡¯t change his abilities, he instead demanded the most powerful wand that could ever exist. I warned him of the dangers such a weapon would bring, yet he persisted. In the end, I crafted the Elder Wand for him¡ªa conduit of unmatched strength. But with such power, he became consumed by its allure, and it ultimately led to his murder.¡±

    Hermione¡¯s expression turns contemplative as if piecing together the story she thought she knew with the truth I¡¯m sharing.

    ¡°The youngest brother, Ignotus,¡± I say, ¡°was different. He had a healer¡¯s nature, but he was also cautious. Unlike his brothers, he asked for a way to hide from me. He feared retribution for what they¡¯d done. And so, he requested a cloak that could make him invisible even to Death. The tale says I gave him a piece of my cloak, but that¡¯s not quite true. What I gave him was part of my aura¡ªa manifestation that cloaked him in such a way that no magic or entity could find him, even me. It¡¯s a strange thing to admit, but when I created that cloak, I gave up a piece of myself, a part of Death¡¯s essence, in doing so.¡±

    Hermione sits back, letting the story sink in. ¡°So¡­ the Hallows are parts of you?¡± she whispers.

    I nod. ¡°Only the stone and the cloak carry a piece of what I am, crafted from my essence to honor our deal. The wand¡­ was merely a powerful weapon, nothing more. The world may see them as legendary artifacts, but that wasn¡¯t my intent. These items weren¡¯t meant to shape or influence their lives; they were simply payments, a neutral exchange to leave the natural order untouched. Each was a price paid so that balance could remain as it was, without my interference.¡±

    "Wow... That''s a lot to absorb," Hermione mutters.

    "So, what now?" I ask.

    "Just one question¡ªwhy?"

    "Why what?" I ask, trying to understand what she means.

    "Why do all this? Why spare them? Why does the fate of humanity matter to you?" she asks, her gaze both curious and searching.

    "Because it is my purpose," I say, letting the words settle. "When I came into existence, I witnessed both the beginning and the end of the universe¡ªand it was beautiful. Its beauty lies in its transience; it has an end. Humanity and the creatures of this world have such remarkable potential, and I am not their enemy. I am part of the balance, serving as I always have. This is my responsibility, one I¡¯ve upheld since the beginning. It¡¯s a purpose I have never¡ªand will never¡ªabandon."

    "What do you get out of it?"

    I cock my head to the side. "Nothing," I reply, genuinely puzzled by the question. Why would I need anything for fulfilling my role?

    Hermione''s expression shifts, and a hint of resolve hardens her gaze. "Then I trust you," she says softly, yet with a quiet fervor, "and I will follow you, regardless of where it takes us."

    For a moment, the weight of her words lingers between us, binding our fates in a way even I hadn¡¯t foreseen.

 Chapter 23. Overcoming Trauma.

    For several nights after the Dementor¡¯s attack, Hermione had been haunted by nightmares. Nearly every night, she¡¯d wake up gasping, her face pale and drenched in sweat. Hogwarts¡¯ answer to such trauma was simple: hand the child a chocolate bar and trust that time would heal. But the scars that magic couldn¡¯t fix¡ªthose left by terror and despair¡ªwere something altogether different.

    Many nights, I found myself keeping vigil in the common room, staying close to her. She didn¡¯t say much, but my presence seemed to help calm her, even if her nights were still plagued with restlessness. Nyx and Fidell, sensing her distress, had also taken it upon themselves to offer what comfort they could, curling up by her, purring softly as if to tell her that, in some way, she was safe.

    Monday morning arrived, and as we headed to Defense Against the Dark Arts, I updated Ron.

    ¡°How is she today?¡± he asked in a low voice as we took our seats.

    ¡°Better,¡± I replied. ¡°Still jittery but better than yesterday.¡±

    Our conversation was cut short by Professor Trocar, who, to our surprise, announced, ¡°Today¡¯s lesson will be a bit more...hands-on.¡±

    Hermione glanced up nervously. ¡°What do you mean, Professor?¡±

    Professor Trocar¡¯s eyes glinted with a challenging gleam. ¡°I believe that no one can truly defend against a Dementor without understanding the full horror of what it can do. So today, you will be confronting it through a recorded image¡ªa memory of a Dementor feeding on its victim.¡±

    Hermione paled, her grip tightening on her desk. ¡°Professor, surely you don¡¯t mean...¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Trocar replied, without a trace of hesitation. ¡°Fear must be faced head-on if it is to be conquered. Courage is not the absence of fear but the will to rise above it. And if you don¡¯t start confronting this fear now, it could settle into something far worse¡ªsomething you carry with you for the rest of your life.¡±

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    I shot up from my seat, frustration boiling over. ¡°Are you mad? She¡¯s already suffered enough!¡±

    Trocar¡¯s gaze met mine, steady and unyielding. ¡°If you want to protect her, you¡¯ll help her face this. And you¡¯ll be there for her while she does.¡±

    I felt Hermione¡¯s hand slip into mine, her touch gentle but determined. She nodded up at me, showing that she was willing to try. On her other side, Ron took her other hand, and Neville placed a hand on her shoulder in silent support. Draco, off to the side, tried to look indifferent, but he lingered close.

    With a flick of his wand, Professor Trocar conjured a lifelike image of a Dementor. It was startlingly real¡ªthe rotted, thin skin, the floating cloak, every horrific detail mimicked the fiend we¡¯d seen. A shiver went through the classroom, and several students backed away in shock, instinctively drawing their wands.

    ¡°Calm yourselves!¡± Trocar ordered. ¡°Remember, this is an illusion.¡±

    But even knowing that didn¡¯t quell the fear. We watched as the illusion of the Dementor sucked a soul from its victim¡ªa young adult, barely in his twenties¡ªwho was left to fall to the ground, an empty shell.

    Trocar¡¯s voice was low as he explained, ¡°This young man¡¯s life was taken by a Dementor, but the fiend was slain, and his soul freed. Had it not been stopped, his soul would have been consumed¡ªlost forever.¡±

    Hermione winced, clutching my hand tighter. ¡°Neville, your hand is hurting me,¡± she said, her voice strained.

    ¡°Oh¡ªsorry,¡± Neville stammered, releasing his grip on her shoulder, the skin red where his fingers had been.

    ¡°Blimey, that¡¯s what attacked you?¡± Ron whispered, clearly horrified.

    ¡°How on earth do you even fight something like that?¡± Draco¡¯s voice had an edge of disbelief.

    ¡°Typically, you don¡¯t,¡± I replied, my voice calm. ¡°You cast a Patronus, and it flees.¡±

    Draco frowned. ¡°But you fought it, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I did,¡± I admitted. ¡°And it was a losing battle. Had the professor not arrived when he did, I wouldn¡¯t be here now.¡±

    Hermione¡¯s grip on my hand tightened as she heard those words, her fear resurfacing.

    Just then, Professor Trocar called my name. ¡°Benjamin Diggory,¡± he said, ¡°if you¡¯d stay after class, Headmaster Dumbledore and I would like to see you in his office.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯d be delighted,¡± I replied, my tone firm.

    Trocar raised an eyebrow. ¡°We?¡±

    ¡°My friends will join me,¡± I said, leaving no room for debate. ¡°If Dumbledore wants answers, he¡¯ll find that they¡¯re better shared in good company.¡±

    Trocar sighed, resigned. ¡°Very well. This once, he will make an exception.¡±

 Chapter 24. People are Complicated.

    As we sat across from Dumbledore, he placed cups of hot cocoa before each of us. The warm, rich scent filled the room, but I pushed mine aside.

    "I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not one for sweets," I remarked.

    With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore transformed my cocoa into a cup of unsweetened tea, still steaming gently.

    ¡°Excellent,¡± I nodded, taking a sip.

    Dumbledore settled into his seat, leaning forward. ¡°Now, there are some matters we must discuss.¡±

    I raised a hand to stop him. ¡°You still can,¡± I said, looking toward my friends, seated around the room.

    Dumbledore¡¯s gaze shifted to the others. I nodded. ¡°They know who I am¡ªor at least, they know part of it. I am, as some here already know, not just any magical entity but the incarnation of Death himself.¡±

    Ron nearly choked on his cocoa. ¡°Blimey, you¡¯re what?¡±

    Hermione quickly added, ¡°It¡¯s not what you think, Ron.¡±

    ¡°You knew?!¡± he stammered, his face paling as he turned to her.

    ¡°Not until recently,¡± Hermione replied calmly. ¡°And he¡¯s nothing like the stories say. He¡¯s...our friend, and nothing changes that.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªhe¡¯s the damn reaper!¡± Ron argued.

    ¡°And he¡¯s our bloody friend,¡± Hermione insisted, her voice unyielding.

    Ron looked at me, his voice wavering. ¡°You lied to us.¡±

    ¡°I never lie, Ron,¡± I replied steadily. ¡°I simply withheld what you did not yet need to know.¡±

    Ron¡¯s gaze hardened. ¡°But... but you use the darkest of magics!¡±

    ¡°By your understanding, yes. I embody what you consider dark. But that does not make me evil,¡± I said, meeting his eyes.

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    Ron hesitated. ¡°Then why...why are you here? In the flesh?¡±

    I nodded, expecting his question. ¡°Because each of you is special. You are meant to stand together against the Dark Lord when he returns. Without Harry Potter, you would have lost before you even grew strong enough to be a threat. I am here to even the odds.¡±

    ¡°What?!¡± Draco interrupted, shaking his head. ¡°No, you¡¯re meant to support his rise! To bring about the return of pure-blood rule!¡±

    I held his gaze. ¡°Voldemort may promise that, but in reality, he would use and discard your family the moment it serves his purpose. He cares only for himself, Draco. He¡¯ll risk everything you hold dear without a second thought.¡±

    Draco¡¯s mouth opened as if to speak, but he closed it again, his gaze flickering with doubt.

    Dumbledore cleared his throat, reclaiming our attention. ¡°Perhaps we might focus on the matter at hand,¡± he said, looking at me meaningfully. ¡°I wish to understand how Harry¡¯s protection spell could have failed.¡±

    I sighed, feeling the weight of that question. ¡°It wasn¡¯t the spell that failed, Professor. The magic was perfect. But it relied on the love of a blood relative. Had Petunia loved him or been a full sister to Lily, the spell would have held.¡±

    Dumbledore shook his head. ¡°They were sisters. They shared the same parents.¡±

    ¡°No, Professor. Raised by the same parents, yes. But Petunia¡¯s mother had an affair. Petunia and Lily did not share both parents.¡±

    Dumbledore¡¯s eyes filled with sorrow as he murmured, ¡°Petunia once wrote to me, you know. She asked to attend Hogwarts. She believed her parents loved her less because she wasn¡¯t a witch. She never suspected...¡± His voice trailed off, and his hands trembled slightly as he clenched them together.

    ¡°People hide their flaws,¡± I said softly. ¡°And in doing so, they often hurt others in ways they never intended. You couldn¡¯t have known.¡±

    Dumbledore¡¯s voice was faint as he asked, ¡°Is there anything I can do to help? Anything to make up for...for my error?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied. ¡°I need an item that once belonged to Ron¡¯s ancestor.¡±

    Ron¡¯s face went blank with shock, and Dumbledore looked at me quizzically. ¡°Ron¡¯s ancestor?¡±

    ¡°Godric Gryffindor,¡± I confirmed.

    Gasps rippled through the room. Ron, Draco, and even Neville wore expressions of astonishment.

    Dumbledore¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°That...may be harder than I anticipated.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not the sword you know,¡± I assured him.

    ¡°Because that is a national relic,¡± Dumbledore replied, relief flickering briefly across his face.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s technically a sword but not the one you know. It¡¯s a wooden sword, one used for training knights back when wizards and witches ruled as lords. It bears Godric¡¯s personal mark, a symbol he used before his rise to fame.¡± I quickly sketched the symbol on a piece of parchment and handed it to Dumbledore.

    He studied the paper, then nodded. ¡°I will do my best to find it. But...a toy sword?¡±

    I smiled. ¡°It may look like a toy, Professor, but this sword holds a legacy unlike any other.¡±

 Chapter 25. The Wand makes the wizard.

    I laid the rosewood branch gently on the table, examining it for a moment. "Alright, Hermione," I began, glancing up at her focused expression. "I¡¯ll hollow out the center First. Once I¡¯ve done that, you¡¯ll need to place the unicorn hair carefully inside. After that''s done I''ll carve the runic symbols along the wood."

    Hermione nodded, her face serious and intent. ¡°Got it,¡± she replied, watching closely as I prepared the wand. She always took the details seriously, a trait that made her an ideal partner for something this delicate.

    With steady hands, I cast Diffindo, guiding the spell with exacting precision to create a narrow groove down the wand¡¯s length, just deep enough to secure the unicorn hair. Every move felt deliberate, every cut securing the wand¡¯s potential. I could feel Hermione¡¯s gaze on me, absorbed in the process, and it reminded me just how much she enjoyed learning the intricacies of magic.

    "Now, Hermione," I instructed, pointing to a small bottle on the table. Cover the hair with that white paste¡ªit¡¯s in that bottle there¡ªand then carefully let it slide into the groove."

    Hermione picked up the bottle, curiosity flickering across her face as she examined it. ¡°Is this¡­ Elmer¡¯s glue?¡± she asked, eyebrows raised in amusement.

    ¡°Close,¡± I replied with a slight grin. ¡°It¡¯s a similar formula, but it¡¯s fortified with ground unicorn bones for magical binding. The consistency helps lock magical elements of similar composition together in wands.¡±

    Her eyes went wide. ¡°What? You¡­ killed a unicorn for this?¡±

    I met her gaze, letting the pause settle for a moment before answering. ¡°Hermione, I¡¯m Death. I don¡¯t go around killing unicorns,¡± I said, voice steady. ¡°Unicorns rarely die naturally, so I can remember where each one falls. I used my powers to locate the remains.¡±

    Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down, abashed. ¡°Oh¡­ I¡¯m sorry, Ben,¡± she murmured.

    I gave a slight shrug. ¡°It¡¯s alright. Using this paste isn¡¯t strictly necessary, but it strengthens the bond between the wand¡¯s core and wood. A bit of extra effort makes a better wand,¡± I explained, watching as her interest returned.

    Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully, hands still. ¡°So, why didn¡¯t you use this method on your own wand?¡±

    "Mine didn¡¯t need it," I replied. ¡°The Thestral hair fused directly with the wood and bone of my wand, a bond that can¡¯t be matched by anything else. A strong, natural blend of magic, unlike what we¡¯re doing here.¡± I paused, considering. ¡°Strange, really, that modern wandmakers still just lay a loose hair in a hollowed stick.¡±

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    Hermione¡¯s eyes sparkled as she absorbed this. ¡°When you put it that way, it does sound a bit¡­ primitive,¡± she remarked, carefully setting the unicorn hair into the groove before adding more of the magical paste to fill in any gaps.

    ¡°My turn,¡± I said, taking the nearly completed wand back into my hands. I began carving the runes down its length, each symbol interlocking elegantly with the next. The patterns were intricate, resembling delicate snowflakes and ancient symbols that held their own silent power. When I finished, I placed the wand on the table, a soft hum of magic radiating from it.

    Hermione¡¯s eyes widened with excitement. ¡°What happens now?¡±

    ¡°Channel a bit of your magic through it,¡± I instructed. ¡°But keep your thoughts on Neville¡ªimagine this wand as his. It needs to align with his magic, not ours.¡±

    Taking the wand carefully, Hermione closed her eyes and focused. A soft, bright blue glow wrapped around the wand, steady and calm. Unlike the chaos of a new wand choosing its wizard, this was serene, a deliberate infusion of purpose.

    ¡°That¡¯s it! The wand is ready,¡± I said, pleased with the result.

    Hermione grinned, satisfaction lighting her face. ¡°So, now we go give it to Neville?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied, sharing her enthusiasm. ¡°Let¡¯s say it¡¯s an early birthday gift.¡±

    She hesitated, thinking. ¡°What if he doesn¡¯t want to stop using his father¡¯s wand?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll need to convince him,¡± I explained. ¡°An inherited wand never serves well, especially if the original owner is still alive.¡±

    Her face grew somber as understanding dawned. ¡°But¡­ Neville told me his father was dead.¡±

    I exhaled, choosing my words carefully. ¡°Neville believes that, yes. But his parents didn¡¯t die¡ªthey were driven mad by the Cruciatus Curse. They¡¯re alive, though¡­ in a sense, they¡¯re not themselves. As long as his father lives, that wand will resist fully serving him.¡±

    Hermione¡¯s eyes filled with emotion. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s so awful,¡± she whispered.

    I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ¡°I know. But I intend to do everything I can to help them. It won¡¯t be easy, and it¡¯ll take all of us. But together, I believe we can set things right.¡±

    With great care, Hermione wrapped the wand in packing paper, adding a small bow with some tape. She looked at it, satisfaction evident in her eyes, then followed me down the corridor to the Gryffindor common room.

    At the door, I knocked, and Percy, Ron¡¯s older brother, opened it, peering at us sternly. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡±

    ¡°Ron and Neville¡¯s friends,¡± I replied.

    He eyed us, then sighed, stepping aside. ¡°Make it quick. The common room closes to visitors soon.¡±

    We moved quickly, making our way to Neville, who was seated by the fire, glancing up as we approached. Hermione handed him the wrapped wand with a warm smile. ¡°Happy early birthday, Neville.¡±

    He looked bewildered, carefully unwrapping it until the wand lay in his hands. "A¡­ wand?¡± he asked, glancing between us.

    ¡°Yes, Neville,¡± I said, meeting his gaze. ¡°This is a wand suited to your magic. Your true magic. You¡¯ve struggled with your father¡¯s wand, but it¡¯s not you¡ªit¡¯s the wand that¡¯s held you back. Accept this, and you¡¯ll see what you¡¯re truly capable of.¡±

    Neville looked at the wand, then at us, his face full of uncertainty but slowly giving way to something like awe. Holding the wand reverently, he nodded.

    As we left the common room, I felt a renewed sense of hope¡ªfor Neville, for Hermione, and for the battles we would face. Each of us was stronger together.

 Chapter.26 Losing Game.

    Sitting in the Hufflepuff common room, I found myself surrounded by a group of girls who seemed far more interested in my brother than in anything I had to say. I¡¯d come here hoping to catch up with Cedric, but instead, I¡¯d become the unwitting center of attention for his admirers, each trying to charm their way closer to him through me.

    ¡°Some cookies, little Ben?¡± one of the girls offered sweetly, her smile pleasant yet purposeful. I could tell her kindness was more strategic than sincere.

    I shook my head, glancing away. ¡°No thanks, I¡¯m not much of a fan of sweets.¡±

    One of the other girls pouted, visibly disappointed. ¡°What kind of person doesn¡¯t like sweets?¡± she muttered. Judging by the pile of treats she¡¯d amassed, she¡¯d gone all out, probably hoping to score points with Cedric through a ¡°little brother¡± connection.

    As I endured their attention, my mind wandered to more serious thoughts. I¡¯d already shared the truth about who I am with a few trusted friends. Cedric would need to know someday, too, though the idea sent a wave of anxiety through me. He might understand, but he could just as easily tell our parents, and the thought of their potential disappointment felt like nails on a chalkboard.

    Turning to Cedric, I finally voiced my frustration. ¡°Cedric, can we stop playing games? I didn¡¯t come here to find out how many girls have a crush on you.¡±

    The comment had its desired effect. The girls around us went silent, some blushing furiously at the not-so-subtle implication.

    Cedric raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. ¡°You¡¯re one to talk about popularity with girls. I heard you¡¯ve already got yourself a little girlfriend. Why, I didn¡¯t even have one at your age! Mother¡¯s going to be ecstatic.¡± He grinned, signaling to the girls that he needed a bit of space.

    A few of them retreated, looking embarrassed, though a couple lingered until Cedric gave them a more pointed look. Once they were out of earshot, I winced, realizing that Cedric had likely read my letters to Mother.

    As Cedric joked about Hermione, I felt a mix of irritation and¡­ something else, maybe a bit of embarrassment. Yes, Hermione had become my closest friend, but calling her my ¡°girlfriend¡± didn¡¯t feel right. Even so, she was special to me¡ªsomeone who understood a side of me I¡¯d hidden for a long time.

    ¡°She¡¯s not my girlfriend, Cedric,¡± I said, feeling the heat rise in my face. ¡°She¡¯s just a friend. A friend who happens to be a girl.¡±

    ¡°Yes, a friend,¡± he teased, ¡°who also happens to be inseparable from you. And a girl.¡±

    Cedric wasn¡¯t wrong; Hermione had gravitated toward me, relying on my knowledge and abilities even before I¡¯d saved her life. She hadn¡¯t initially planned on joining Ravenclaw, but after meeting me, she¡¯d changed her mind. It wasn¡¯t surprising, then, that people assumed more.

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    ¡°Not funny, Cedric,¡± I replied, crossing my arms. ¡°Is this really why you wanted me to come?¡±

    Cedric¡¯s expression turned a bit more serious, though his mischievous gleam remained. ¡°Well¡­ truth is, little brother, Mother wrote to me with that assumption. She¡¯s thrilled, actually. She knows Hermione is Muggle-born but doesn¡¯t care. She¡¯s even convinced Father to go along with it.¡±

    A cold shiver ran down my spine. This was exactly the sort of meddling I¡¯d worried about. I gestured for him to continue.

    Cedric sighed, leaning back in his chair. ¡°There¡¯s this girl I like from Ravenclaw¡ªCho Chang. I¡¯ve kept my distance, mainly because¡­ well, you know how Father feels about, er, Orientals.¡±

    I nodded, seeing where he was going with this. ¡°But since I supposedly have a Muggle-born girlfriend, you think he¡¯ll be more accepting?¡±

    Cedric nodded, looking hopeful. ¡°Exactly. And it doesn¡¯t hurt that my little brother is in Ravenclaw, too.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± I replied, ¡°but be¡­ tactful, at least.¡±

    ¡°Oh, and Mother¡¯s already asking when you¡¯ll bring Hermione and her family over for a visit,¡± he added with a smirk. ¡°She¡¯s pushing for Christmas break.¡±

    I let out a long sigh, not sure whether to laugh or groan. ¡°You know, these girls might think you¡¯re charming, but I see right through you, Cedric. You put on this act, but you¡¯re really just a fanboy for those cowboy films. I bet that¡¯s why you think wands are dorky¡ªeven though they¡¯re magical tools we¡¯ve had longer than guns.¡±

    Cedric chuckled, pretending to look offended. ¡°Guns are undeniably cool. That¡¯s why I hold my wand the way I do,¡± he said, striking a ridiculous pose as if holding a pistol.

    I smirked. ¡°Maybe one of these days, I¡¯ll help you craft something more to your taste than a wand.¡±

    ¡°Studying wand-making, are you? Planning to replace Ollivander?¡± Cedric asked, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°Not exactly. I¡¯m already working on a magical rifle for my friend, Draco. Maybe I¡¯ll make one for you too, if I figure it out.¡±

    ¡°Why would you make a rifle for your friend?¡± Cedric asked, genuinely curious.

    ¡°Because one of Draco¡¯s strengths is his aim, and wands are medium-range weapons¡ªthey lose nearly all accuracy after a hundred meters or so. He¡¯s learning spells well enough, but he has trouble in close combat.¡±

    Cedric laughed. ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯re training him to be a soldier, Ben.¡±

    The joke struck a bit too close to the truth. Preparing Draco wasn¡¯t just about enhancing his talent; it was about arming him for the conflicts to come. Draco was learning, his perspective shifting, but in the end, only time¡ªand whether he succeeded in gaining Merlin¡¯s legacy¡ªwould reveal where his loyalties lay. Merlin wouldn¡¯t choose someone who would side with someone as vile as Voldemort. Merlin had believed in the worth of Muggles just as much as that of magical folk, valuing the strength and potential in both.

    ¡°I just want my friends to be the greatest wizards and witches of our era,¡± I said carefully. ¡°And that includes you, Cedric. If you don¡¯t like wands, I¡¯ll make you a weapon that suits you better.¡±

    His face lit up, and he grinned. ¡°Now that would be the greatest gift¡ªwell, aside from having you as a little brother.¡± He reached over, ruffling my hair affectionately, but beneath his warm expression, I felt a pang of guilt. How would he look at me if he knew the whole truth?

    These emotions weighed on me heavily, making me wonder how long I could keep up this game of secrets. This ¡°game¡± of kept secrets felt less and less like something I could manage and more like a trap I couldn¡¯t escape.

 Ch. 27. The Last Resort.

    As soon as the day¡¯s lessons ended, I made my way to Dumbledore''s office. Professor Sanguini had handed me a note from the headmaster earlier, summoning me to discuss a matter of importance. I could only assume it was in regard to my previous request.

    The halls of Hogwarts were quieter now, save for the occasional murmur of students rushing to dinner. Passing through the Griffin stairwell, I muttered the password and ascended past the concealing Gargoyle. Knocking on the ornate door, I heard Dumbledore¡¯s familiar, calm voice: ¡°Come in.¡±

    The headmaster greeted me with a thoughtful look and gestured for me to sit. A cup of green tea floated over, landing neatly on the table in front of me. "I have the item you requested," Dumbledore said, revealing a cloth-wrapped parcel that could only contain the wooden sword I''d asked for.

    ¡°Perfect,¡± I said, inspecting the package but not yet unwrapping it. ¡°But there¡¯s one more thing I need.¡±

    Dumbledore¡¯s sharp eyes narrowed slightly as he stroked his long, silver beard. ¡°And what would that be?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I need a Time-Turner,¡± I replied, meeting his gaze evenly. ¡°But I¡¯ll need to modify it, and for that, it¡¯ll have to vanish from all records.¡±

    Dumbledore¡¯s expression hardened as he leaned forward. ¡°That is not a small request. And why, may I ask, would you need such a dangerous device? If you intend to alter events of the past, let me tell you now, it is impossible¡ªor at least fraught with peril far beyond comprehension.¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°No, you¡¯re right¡ªthat wouldn¡¯t work. Any Time-Turner that made you believe you could alter the past would only send you to a nightmare dimension. A false timeline designed to punish anyone who tampered with the natural order. In the best case, it¡¯d be so horrifying you¡¯d do anything to undo it. In the worst case, it¡¯d be a dream that someone terrible would want to live in forever¡ªa timeline where people like Cedric were evil or where someone as principled as Hermione ended up a Death Eater. The flaws would be obvious, but the damage would be done.¡±

    Dumbledore¡¯s piercing gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°Then what do you intend to do?¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t about the past,¡± I clarified. ¡°I plan to modify it to go forward in time. A lot forward¡ªenough to obliterate Dementors and anyone else trapped within its field. Including myself.¡±

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    Dumbledore¡¯s chair creaked as he shifted uncomfortably. ¡°That would be¡­ suicide,¡± he said, his voice quieter than before.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied simply. ¡°It would be a last-ditch effort, should everything else fail. I know it won¡¯t kill Voldemort outright, but it will damage his soul¡ªjust enough to matter. The centuries that pass in an instant will deform his body and mind. The shock could leave his fractured soul vulnerable, allowing you the chance to erase his memory while he¡¯s unconscious. That window of time would be your opportunity to destroy his Horcruxes.¡±

    Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. ¡°A desperate plan,¡± he murmured, ¡°but one with merit¡­ as a final resort.¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± I said, my voice steady. ¡°If Voldemort were to regain full strength before his Horcruxes are destroyed, the odds of winning this war drop significantly.¡±

    Dumbledore¡¯s gaze grew even sharper. ¡°And yet this plan rests upon a great personal sacrifice. Why would you propose such a thing?¡±

    I took a deep breath, letting the truth settle between us. ¡°Because I am not truly human, Professor. This form¡ªthis body¡ªis a curse, one that I can only maintain because of the incarnation of Life¡¯s assistance. By ancient law, even entities like myself are entitled to a life. Without that loophole, what I¡¯ve done here would have caused¡­ complications with causality.¡±

    Dumbledore¡¯s hand rose to his beard again, stroking it thoughtfully. ¡°And what will you tell the children? Your friends? The people who care for you?¡±

    I froze. The weight of his words pressed heavily on my chest. I hadn¡¯t thought about that.

    Hermione¡¯s face flashed through my mind¡ªher sharp wit, her unyielding curiosity, and, most of all, the trust she had in me. The thought of her sorrow, her anger, or her disappointment at my decision stung more than I expected. I could almost picture her standing before me, demanding answers with a look of betrayal. Cedric¡¯s face followed, full of warmth and pride, but twisted by the hurt he would feel if he knew the truth. These images lingered, irritating and unsettling me in a way few things ever had.

    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know,¡± I admitted finally. ¡°But I¡¯ll find a way. They have to understand that this isn¡¯t about me. It¡¯s about giving the world a fighting chance.¡±

    Dumbledore sighed deeply, the lines of his face growing more pronounced. ¡°A heavy burden to bear, Benjamin. And yet, one you seem willing to shoulder. I will consider your request for the Time-Turner. But remember¡ªsacrifice, while noble, is rarely as clean or as painless as we imagine.¡±

    I nodded solemnly, the image of Hermione¡¯s expression still lingering in my mind. Could I truly face her¡ªor Cedric¡ªif it came to this? Could I ask them to forgive me for a decision they¡¯d never truly understand?

    As I turned to leave the office, the wooden sword wrapped tightly in my grip, and a sense of foreboding settled over me. This wasn¡¯t just a game anymore. It was a race against time itself, and every step forward felt heavier than the last. The weight of what lay ahead was enough to make even Death feel mortal.

 Chapter 28: Unresolved

    When Hermione and I finished our classes for the day, we began gathering the remaining ingredients we¡¯d collected during the day of the Dementor attack. The enchanted ruby and pure silver were vital components for her Sorceress ritual, while the Boggart¡¯s bones were critical for mine. A Boggart¡ªa shape-shifting magical creature that manifests as one¡¯s deepest fears¡ªcontained unique magical properties, making it an irreplaceable element for this task. Yet, even with these rare materials in hand, we were still missing a few critical items. To fill the gaps, I¡¯d ¡°borrowed¡± supplies from Snape¡¯s private stores using the Alohomora spell. But Snape wasn¡¯t a fool; I had no doubt the fiendishly sharp Potions Master had already fortified his storeroom security tenfold.

    As I knelt to draw the ritual circle with chalk, a chill ran down my spine. This wasn¡¯t just any circle¡ªit was a design refined over centuries by the great sorcerers and sorceresses of the past, those who had succeeded where countless others had failed. Their hard-earned wisdom had been passed down sparingly, shared only with those willing to risk everything for such power.

    Had I not consulted the spirits of these accomplished masters, I wouldn¡¯t have known where so many had gone wrong. Their guidance had been invaluable, revealing nuances and dangers hidden in even the smallest details. Using their insights, I have refined the ritual further, making it as safe as possible. Even so, it was still a perilous undertaking, and Hermione understood the risks as well as I did. One misstep¡ªa faltering will, an imprecise line¡ªand the results could be catastrophic. Failure left participants as lifeless husks, their essence drained away. The art had been lost for a reason: one mistake, one moment of weakness, and it would end in tragedy.

    ¡°Is it ready?¡± Hermione asked, her voice steady, though a hint of nervousness bled through.

    ¡°¡­Yes,¡± I replied somberly.

    She nodded and stepped into the circle, settling into a meditative pose. I carefully placed the reagents into their respective positions: the ruby to the left, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light, and the silver to the right, its pristine surface reflecting the flickering lamplight. These materials weren¡¯t just symbolic; they would fuse their magical properties with Hermione¡¯s very being, enhancing her physical and magical capabilities.

    Then came the part I had been dreading. To channel the energy safely, I needed to use a special potion-like ink to draw intricate magical circuits directly onto Hermione¡¯s skin. It was a critical detail I should have anticipated causing trouble.

    ¡°YOU NEED TO DO WHAT?!¡± Hermione squeaked, spinning around to face me, her cheeks blazing red.

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    I sighed, already exhausted by the inevitable back-and-forth. ¡°It¡¯s fine if you don¡¯t want to do this. Honestly, it¡¯s safer if we don¡¯t proceed with the ritual at all.¡±

    Her flush deepened, but she raised a hand, her expression determined. ¡°Fine,¡± she said, her voice firm despite her embarrassment. ¡°Just¡­ just get it over with and don¡¯t look!¡±

    She turned her back to me, awkwardly raising the hem of her shirt to expose her skin. Her attempt at compromise was admirable but impractical.

    ¡°I have to look,¡± I said flatly. ¡°If I don¡¯t, the circuits won¡¯t be precise enough.¡±

    She froze, muttering something under her breath about responsibility¡ªor maybe dignity. I couldn¡¯t quite catch it, nor did I care. Instead, I focused on the task, carefully tracing the intricate runes onto her back with steady hands. The ink dried almost instantly, leaving no room for error.

    When I finished, Hermione hurriedly pulled her shirt back down, her face scarlet. ¡°You¡¯re done, right? Please tell me you¡¯re done.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s perfect,¡± I reassured her, double-checking my work. ¡°Now, hold still while I activate the circle.¡±

    I placed my hands at the edge of the circle and began the incantation. The room seemed to darken as the magic surged to life. Hermione¡¯s body glowed faintly, and then the power overwhelmed her. She floated off the ground, her back arching as raw energy coursed through her. Her face contorted in pain, but no scream escaped her lips.

    ¡°Hermione!¡± I called out sharply. ¡°Listen to me. Don¡¯t give up. This power will test you¡ªit will show you the lies buried in your mind. But that¡¯s all they are: lies. Hear my voice. Stay here, with your friends. Stay with us.¡±

    Her hands clenched into fists, her body trembling as she fought against the overwhelming force. My heart pounded as I watched her struggle. This wasn¡¯t just a test of magic; it was a test of will. And if anyone could endure it, I knew it was Hermione.

    She had to.

    The glowing light intensified, then suddenly faded. Hermione¡¯s body went limp, and she began to fall. I darted forward, catching her just before she hit the ground. Her breathing was shallow, but steady. The ritual had worked.

    As I carried her to her bed, her eyes fluttered open. ¡°Ben?¡± she whispered.

    ¡°Yes, Hermione,¡± I said softly.

    ¡°Did I succeed?¡± she asked, her voice weak but hopeful.

    I nodded. ¡°Yes, you did.¡±

    She frowned slightly, her brows furrowing in thought. ¡°I think I heard you say that I¡¯d see lies in my mind.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I confirmed. ¡°The magic will try to deceive you¡ªshow you things like the people you care about not loving you. Anything it can to make you give up and accept failure.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ what if some of it wasn¡¯t a lie?¡± she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± I asked, confused by the sudden shift.

    She locked eyes with me, her gaze piercing. ¡°Are you planning to die?¡±

    I froze, setting her gently on the bed. ¡°¡­Yes.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± she demanded, her voice breaking.

    ¡°Because I am Death, Hermione,¡± I said quietly. ¡°Every minute I spend here, away from my realm, the balance grows more chaotic. I am here to stop Voldemort¡ªand then I must return to where I belong.¡±

    Her eyes glistened with tears, but she said nothing, the weight of my words sinking in.

    The silence stretched between us, heavy and unresolved.

 Chapter 29: Scaring Me to Death.

    Ron and I stood in the courtyard, the crisp autumn air swirling around us. I held the old wooden sword carefully, feeling the weight of history embedded in its grain.

    ¡°I need to meditate with it briefly. Then it¡¯ll be your turn,¡± I assured Ron, gripping the hilt as I prepared myself.

    Closing my eyes, I whispered the phrase meant only for me: ¡°A Blade Beyond Death¡¯s Grasp.¡±

    Instantly, the world shifted. A blinding white void stretched infinitely in every direction, and before me stood the towering figure of Godric Gryffindor himself.

    Or rather, a magical imprint of him¡ªhis consciousness preserved within the training sword.

    The man¡¯s sharp eyes scanned me at first in confusion, then flickered with recognition. ¡°Who¡­?¡± He squinted, then suddenly gasped. ¡°The password is¡­ Grim?¡±

    Before I could react, he rushed forward and lifted me into a bone-crushing hug.

    ¡°Godric¡­ that hurts¡­¡± I rasped.

    ¡°Oh? Yes,¡± he said, unceremoniously dropping me before straightening his posture into something far more dignified.

    The man before me wasn¡¯t the real Godric Gryffindor, but a reflection of his mind¡ªhis will forged into this blade. Long ago, he had created this remnant of himself to test his own spells and swordsmanship, but in the end, he had abandoned the path of the blade, choosing to dedicate his remaining years solely to magic. This sword was meant to continue where he left off, to pass on his legacy to a worthy descendant.

    And that descendant was waiting for his turn back in the courtyard.

    ¡°I always knew someday you¡¯d set foot in this world, Grim,¡± Godric¡¯s copy grinned.

    ¡°Well, it took an immortal Dark Lord to get me here. I¡¯d rather you¡¯d been wrong about that, but here I am.¡±

    Godric¡¯s brows furrowed, his expression sobering. ¡°That bad?¡±

    ¡°Worse. And that¡¯s why I need your help,¡± I said, waving my hand. An image of Ron Weasley manifested beside me. ¡°This is the one. He¡¯s your descendant, and he¡¯s the one who will inherit your legacy.¡±

    Godric stared at the projection, unimpressed. At that unfortunate moment, Ron was picking his nose.

    The legendary warrior made a face. ¡°He¡­ doesn¡¯t look like much. Scrawny. Poor stance. No real presence.¡± He folded his arms. ¡°Not a lot to work with there.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Godric, he¡¯s the spitting image of a young you.¡±

    Godric shifted uncomfortably, pulling at his collar as if the room¡¯s nonexistent temperature had risen. ¡°What are you implying?¡±

    ¡°That you were a scrawny, reckless idiot before you nearly got yourself killed by that troll. It took me recognizing your potential for you to even think about swordsmanship. If that moment hadn¡¯t happened, you¡¯d have never reached the heights you did.¡± I crossed my arms. ¡°So trust me when I say he¡¯s worth your time. And just so you know, he¡¯s one of Fate¡¯s chosen to fight the Dark Lord.¡±

    That got his attention. His gaze flickered with something thoughtful before he let out a heavy sigh. ¡°Fate¡¯s chosen, you say?¡± He rolled his shoulders and groaned. ¡°Fine! Fine! Twist my arm, old friend. I¡¯ll do this favor for you.¡±

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    I smirked. ¡°I knew you¡¯d see reason.¡±

    With that, the void faded, and I snapped back into reality.

    Ron looked at me, expectantly. I held out the wooden sword to him. The moment he grabbed it, his eyes snapped shut, his body going rigid as the magic of the sword pulled him into Godric¡¯s world.

    Dumbledore had arranged for Ron to have the rest of the day off from classes, rescheduling his lessons. The headmaster hadn¡¯t told anyone why, only that certain things needed to be ¡°delayed.¡± It wasn¡¯t hard to guess that Ron¡¯s training had been prioritized.

    As for me? I had Potions class next. And with Snape as my instructor and Hermione still refusing to talk to me, I was in for a miserable time.

    <hr>

    Walking into the castle classroom, I caught sight of Hermione seated at her usual station. I raised a hand in a small wave.

    She didn¡¯t react.

    Didn¡¯t even glance in my direction.

    I sighed, resigning myself to the silent treatment.

    With her newfound power, Hermione had excelled far beyond her peers, earning the rare privilege of working alone. That left me to partner with Neville once again.

    Not that I minded. Ever since getting a new wand, Neville had transformed. Where he had once struggled, now he flourished¡ªespecially in Potions. The newfound confidence radiated off him, and with a wand that truly suited him, it was clear now that his past failures had never been his fault.

    Even Snape, though still his usual sneering self, had taken notice. He still delivered his biting remarks, but there were moments¡ªfleeting as they were¡ªwhere something like pride flickered in his gaze.

    Still, my focus wasn¡¯t on Neville¡¯s progress. My mind was elsewhere.

    ¡°She¡¯s really mad at you, huh?¡± Neville murmured, following my gaze to Hermione.

    ¡°Seems that way,¡± I muttered.

    ¡°You should probably apologize.¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°I can¡¯t apologize for what I am, Neville. She¡¯s mad at the way things are, and neither of us can change that.¡±

    Neville frowned but didn¡¯t respond. If Hermione had told him why she was angry, he wasn¡¯t letting it show. He simply looked frustrated, unhappy that the rift between us hadn¡¯t mended.

    Class began, and Snape wasted no time directing his usual questions at me and Hermione. Neither of us missed a single answer. The only time Hermione so much as acknowledged me was when I wasn¡¯t looking¡ªlike she could feel my attention disappear.

    If this was a game, I wasn¡¯t playing.

    The potion we were assigned today was a simple healing salve for cuts and scrapes. It was a safe, straightforward mixture. Nothing should have reacted.

    That¡¯s what I thought.

    Boom!

    An explosion rocked the room. Glass and wood splintered into the air. A jagged piece of desk struck my upper chest, narrowly missing anything vital. Sharp shards of glass and debris nicked my face, leaving stinging cuts, though my robes shielded me from the worst of it.

    It all happened in less than a second.

    I looked up, immediately searching for Hermione¡ªbut she was gone.

    The explosion had been magical in nature. I could tell that much. And after her sorcery ritual, her body had an unnatural resistance to magical forces¡ªmeaning the blast itself wouldn¡¯t have truly harmed her.

    But she wasn¡¯t here.

    The window where she¡¯d been seated was blown wide open.

    Without hesitation, I sprinted toward it.

    ¡°Hermione!¡± I yelled and leapt through.

    The rush of cold air hit me instantly as I plummeted, my eyes locking on Hermione¡¯s unconscious form far below.

    We were falling at the same rate¡ªI wouldn¡¯t reach her in time.

    "Accio Hermione!"

    The spell yanked her toward me, her body colliding into my arms just as the ground loomed dangerously close.

    I tightened my grip around her and bellowed at the top of my lungs, ¡°Annartam!¡±

    As Death, I could know the names of all things. I had long avoided using this ability on the witches and wizards of this world¡ªto preserve the illusion of my identity¡ªbut Thestrals were different. When I had claimed his hair, I had memorized his name.

    A piercing shriek tore through the sky.

    My companion answered my call.

    The Thestral broke free of its bindings, rushing toward us with a speed no broom could match. My heart pounded. I had no way of knowing if he would reach us in time¡ª

    But then, less than a hundred feet from the ground, he did.

    The Thestral swooped beneath us, and I seized hold of its back, securing Hermione against me as we soared just above the earth.

    Holding her unconscious form tightly, I felt the weight of the moment settle in my chest.

    This was the second attempt on her life.

    Someone inside Hogwarts¡ªsomeone close¡ªwas working for Voldemort.

    We had a spy among us.

 Chapter 30. Wrath of the Reaper.

    I carried Hermione across the Hogwarts grounds, her weight barely registering in my arms. The adrenaline coursing through me made it effortless, but there was something else¡ªsomething far more potent burning within me.

    Rage.

    A slow, seething wrath curled deep in my chest, an ember roaring into an inferno. Someone had dared to lay claim to what was mine.

    Hermione wasn¡¯t mine. Cedric wasn¡¯t mine. And yet¡­ the thought of losing them, the audacity of someone trying to take them from me, sent my blood boiling.

    Another human emotion I barely understood.

    This time, I didn¡¯t fight it.

    I let it consume me.

    By the time I reached the castle, whispers spread like wildfire. Wide-eyed students pressed against the walls, giving me a wide berth as I stormed past. They could feel it. The weight of something ancient, something they did not understand.

    Dumbledore and Professor Sanguini had already been alerted. The Dark Arts professor appeared before me, his usual detached demeanor flickering with unease as he took in Hermione¡¯s unconscious form in my arms.

    He reached out wordlessly. My grip tightened for just a moment before I forced myself to let go.

    ¡°Don¡¯t leave her unattended,¡± I ordered, my voice colder than ice. ¡°This was an attempt on her life.¡±

    Sanguini met my gaze, his crimson eyes narrowing. He dared not argue.

    Instead, he asked, ¡°What are you going to do?¡±

    I didn¡¯t hesitate.

    ¡°Confront Snape.¡±

    Sanguini¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°I¡¯ll take her to Dumbledore, but I¡¯ll be right behind you. A student confronting a professor could get ugly. Even if it¡¯s called for.¡±

    I exhaled slowly, letting my anger sharpen into something colder.

    "It won¡¯t be a child he sees," I said, my voice low and cryptic.

    It will be Death.

    Sanguini grimaced at my words but said nothing. With a stiff nod, he turned and cradled Hermione carefully, vanishing down the corridor.

    I walked through the castle, each step deliberate. A slow march of fury.

    If Snape was behind this, he would pay. If someone was disguised as him, they would suffer the consequences.

    By the time I reached the Potions classroom, the halls were empty. As if the castle itself sensed what was coming.

    I stepped inside.

    The air was thick with tension.

    The room was vacant.

    Except for Snape.

    He stood behind his desk, rolling up a scroll, likely unaware of what had just transpired.

    Until he saw me.

    I flared my power to its absolute limit, pushing my body beyond what it should endure. A sickly green light burned in my irises, bathing the dim room in an eerie glow.

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    Snape¡¯s entire body tensed. His wand snapped into his hand, raised before he even knew why.

    For a split second, he hesitated.

    Then, he locked eyes with me.

    And froze.

    His expression flickered¡ªfirst confusion, then alarm, then something much deeper.

    Fear.

    The weight of my presence pressed down on him, magic sinking into his very bones.

    ¡°Who?¡± Snape demanded, voice sharp as steel, wand steady despite the way his fingers twitched.

    I didn¡¯t hesitate. My own wand was already aimed.

    ¡°I am that which claims all lives in the end.¡±

    My voice rang out, reverberating with something more than human.

    ¡°I am, and have always been, Death. No one can escape me forever¡ªnot even a Dark Lord.¡±

    The room darkened. The very air seemed to still.

    Snape¡¯s breath hitched.

    His eyes flickered with something I hadn¡¯t expected. Hurt.

    My power surged. Truth bloomed in my mind.

    He was himself. No Polyjuice Potion. No disguises. No traces of the Imperius Curse.

    It must have been him.

    ¡°Brat, what are you implying?¡± Snape sneered, though his voice was quieter than usual, his grip unsteady.

    ¡°That you tried to end one of the few I cherish most,¡± I snarled. ¡°Hermione was a threat to your Dark Lord, and you took the opportunity to remove her.¡±

    The accusation hung in the air like a guillotine.

    Snape¡¯s lips curled into an offended scowl, his black eyes flashing with fury¡ªbut also something else. Injury.

    Then, before either of us could move¡ª

    A sharp gust of air whipped through the room as the door slammed open.

    Dumbledore entered, his presence commanding, his expression grave.

    He carried Hermione.

    Her unconscious form rested in his arms.

    Professor Sanguini followed close behind, crimson eyes darting between me and Snape.

    ¡°Both of you,¡± Dumbledore said, voice quiet but firm, ¡°put down your wands.¡±

    ¡°Not unless he¡¯s innocent,¡± I barked, my fingers tightening around my wand.

    The glow in my eyes intensified, flickering like embers ready to consume everything.

    Dumbledore hesitated.

    For a fraction of a second, I saw it¡ª

    Doubt.

    Even he was shaken.

    Sanguini stepped forward, breaking the silence, holding out a large beaker filled with a shimmering, transparent liquid.

    "Then let us verify his innocence,¡± the vampire said smoothly.

    ¡°Veritaserum.¡±

    A dose this strong would bypass even a skilled Occlumens.

    ¡°This is madness,¡± Snape hissed.

    Dumbledore shook his head. ¡°This is necessary, Severus. I believe you, but we must be certain. For who else had access to the ingredients? Who else could have swapped only hers?¡±

    Silence.

    The implications were clear.

    If it wasn¡¯t Snape¡­ then the traitor was still among us.

    And they had planned for this.

    Snape hesitated, then, seeing no other choice, drank the potion.

    Sanguini waited half a minute before beginning.

    "Were you behind this?"

    "No!" Snape rasped.

    ¡°Did you play any part in it?¡±

    "Only that I chose the lesson plan and laid out the ingredients this morning," he admitted, voice bitter.

    Dumbledore¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°Who else had access?¡±

    Snape exhaled sharply. "Only the other professors. I checked for signs of Alohomora on the storeroom, and someone had used it¡ªbut the ingredients taken were minimal. What concerns me more is that something strange has been happening even when the spell hasn''t been used.¡±

    Dumbledore¡¯s eyes sharpened. ¡°What strange things?¡±

    Snape hesitated.

    "Polyjuice ingredients have been going missing."

    A chill settled over the room.

    "I didn¡¯t tell anyone because I wanted to catch the culprit myself," Snape admitted bitterly. ¡°But I should have realized sooner¡ªit couldn¡¯t have been a student.¡±

    Sanguini scoffed, expression dark. ¡°Your lack of foresight nearly got a child killed.¡±

    Dumbledore¡¯s lips thinned. Disappointed.

    I turned to leave, but Snape¡¯s voice stopped me.

    His tone was soft. Genuine. Regretful.

    "For what it''s worth, I''m sorry for my failings.¡±

    I glanced back.

    His black eyes burned with something I couldn¡¯t place.

    "I have loved a girl as much as you do. I wouldn¡¯t wish her loss upon you¡ªI know that pain. I lost my Lily first to my own foolish prejudice and second to my trust in the Dark Lord. I couldn¡¯t even protect her son.¡±

    My gaze flickered to Dumbledore.

    So.

    He told him.

    Everyone keeps using that four-letter word like I know its meaning.

    The longer I stay here, the more human-like I seem to become.

    I don¡¯t know what to do.

    Part of me welcomes this change.

    The other fears it.

 Chapter 31: What Is Love?

    Sitting on the edge of my bed, I gripped the jagged piece of wood still lodged in my shoulder.

    With a sharp breath, I yanked it free.

    Pain.

    A sharp, searing sensation tore through my nerves¡ªsudden and overwhelming. My body locked up, muscles tensing involuntarily as I tried to understand it. It was foreign. Unnatural.

    I had witnessed pain before, understood its purpose. But feeling it? That was different. That was real.

    For a moment, my breathing faltered. I forced myself to exhale, pushing past the confusion. The wound throbbed, blood trickling in slow, rhythmic pulses down my skin.

    I pressed a cloth against it¡ªtoo tight at first, then too loose. I had never needed to do this before.

    Stop the bleeding first.

    I counted the seconds. Then the minutes. Twenty. Maybe more. The ache settled in, dull but persistent.

    When I reached for the disinfectant, I wasn¡¯t prepared for what came next.

    Fire.

    It burned¡ªworse than the wound itself. My hand trembled slightly, but I forced myself to keep going. Instinct screamed at me to stop. But this was necessary.

    A knock at the door.

    "Ben? Can I come in?"

    Hermione.

    My shirt was still off, the bandages fresh, but I wasn¡¯t about to turn her away.

    ¡°Sure,¡± I called.

    The door creaked open, and she stepped inside.

    She hesitated. Her eyes flickered to my bare torso before darting away, a faint pink dusting her cheeks.

    She schooled her expression quickly.

    "Does it hurt?" she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

    I glanced down at my shoulder, flexing it slightly. Another sharp sting, like molten metal pressing into my skin. My fingers twitched involuntarily.

    I considered lying.

    But I never lie.

    The closest I get to it is withholding information or misdirecting¡ªbut even that, I rarely do. Lies have no power. Only truth does.

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    ¡°¡­Yes,¡± I admitted. ¡°It does.¡±

    Her lips pressed together, concern flickering across her face.

    Then, after a beat of silence¡ª

    "Thank you for saving me again..." Hermione¡¯s voice was quiet, filled with something heavier than simple gratitude.

    She dipped her head slightly, a hesitant bow.

    There was something in her expression¡ªa storm of emotions flickering across her face. Gratitude. Frustration. Reluctance.

    And something else. Something unspoken.

    "You''re welcome," I replied, my voice steady.

    But she didn¡¯t leave.

    She lingered. Fidgeted. Wringed her hands. She was working up to something.

    Finally, she spoke.

    "Do you really have to die, Ben?"

    I met her gaze evenly. "Once the balance is restored, yes."

    Her expression tightened. "Can you come back again¡­ if you want to?"

    I shook my head.

    "This life is an exploit of sorts," I explained. "All beings are entitled to one life, and I was created already dead. This body¡ªthis existence¡ªis something that multiple primordial personifications worked together to make for me. It¡¯s the only life I will ever have."

    Her hands clenched at her sides. "That''s not fair..." she whispered, her voice cracking.

    "Life isn¡¯t about fair, Hermione," I said gently. "You know that."

    Her eyes shone, but she wasn¡¯t ready to let it go.

    "You should stay here. With us. We''re your friends, Ben."

    I turned to her, my expression carefully neutral.

    "You think I value the friendship of a bunch of children?"

    The words were sharp. Cutting.

    The moment they left my mouth, I regretted them.

    Hermione¡¯s face twisted¡ªhurt, raw, open.

    She didn¡¯t yell. Didn¡¯t argue.

    She just turned and bolted, running into the halls of Hogwarts, tears slipping down her face.

    For a moment, I thought I was alone.

    Then¡ª

    "That was mean," Ron¡¯s voice cut through the silence, steady and unimpressed. "And very unlike you."

    I didn¡¯t turn. "So?"

    Ron stepped inside, arms crossed. "I get what you''re doing."

    "You''re trying to make it easier," he said. "Trying to push us away so we won¡¯t miss you when you go."

    He let out a humorless chuckle.

    "But you¡¯re terrible at it."

    I exhaled slowly. "Oh? And what makes you so sure?"

    Ron leaned against the wall, eyes sharp with understanding.

    "Because, Ben¡ªyou never lie. That¡¯s why you asked it as a question."

    I stilled.

    Ron smirked faintly.

    "You¡¯ve gotten pretty clever, Ron, in the time I wasn¡¯t watching," I muttered, almost to myself.

    But Ron just shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe I just know you better than you think."

    Then, after a pause, he added, "You know everyone thinks you and Hermione are dating, right?"

    I grimaced. "People will make rumors."

    Ron smirked wider. "Your mum writes to her."

    I froze.

    "Shit."

    Ron laughed. "It¡¯s not that bad. It¡¯s not like you don¡¯t like her."

    I shot him a glare. "You know I¡¯m not dating her. Why don¡¯t you ask her out, then?"

    Ron mock-gagged. "Gross. She¡¯s like a sister to me."

    I sighed, rubbing my temples. "I am incapable of love, Ron."

    His smirk faded. He studied me, his blue eyes thoughtful.

    "You say your mission is to save this world at all costs," he said, "but you risked everything to save her¡ªtwice.

    "If that¡¯s not love, then I don¡¯t know what is."

    With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

    Nyx and Fidell curled up beside me, their warmth grounding me as I absentmindedly stroked their fur.

    Ron¡¯s words echoed in my mind.

    I stared at the ceiling, feeling something unfamiliar. Unsettling.

    I muttered to myself,

    "What¡­ is love?"

 (Not a chapter) Why I have been abs not the last few weeks

    Just letting you all know that I haven''t gone anywhere. With everything I already had going on it got way worse. My sister was in a car wreck, so not only did I have to deal with that but had to baby sit my 4 year old niece this weekend because she no longer had a car and that''s a 6 hour round trip drive too. On top of that the last storm destroyed the gate on a piece of land I own and I had to spend several weekend on it. Just finishing it today. On top of all this I had credit card fraud happen. So I am struggling just to deal with regular life right now. So I am going to try and pick everything back up again this next week but it''s gonna be hard with all the hours I work and looking for a house by July. I don''t think there will be a problem but please be understanding. Chapters may be shorter than I intended and often I know they already feel rushed. I will try to fix this even if I am having to rush myself .

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