"Gryffindor loses five points. Those points will be returned only when Mr. Heiss submits those five feet of reflection."
As soon as Professor McGonagall finished speaking, two distinct sinking sounds echoed through the classroom.
Ugh— Whew—
The first ca from the Gryffindors, a collective groan of despair. The second ca from Kane, a sigh of pure relief. Just points? He had earned so many recently; losing a few now felt perfectly balanced and reasonable.
Class ended shortly after, and not a single soul ca to give Kane trouble. Excellent—it seed Hogwarts students were rational people after all. No one was going to risk expulsion over a trivial matter like a few lost points.
However, while Kane found the deduction reasonable, Hermione clearly did not. Back in the common room, she supervised him by the fireplace until every inch of the five-foot essay was covered, nodding only when the final period was inked.
"Your handwriting is as tall and spindly as Percy's, but I doubt Professor McGonagall will mind," Hermione said, satisfied.
"Thanks for the 'complint.' I'm off to see the Professor." Kane grabbed the parchnt and bolted.
After retrieving his five points from McGonagall's office, he didn't stop to rest. He marched straight to Snape's office and gave the door a brisk knock-knock-knock.
"Enter!"
Snape looked up to see Kane walking in with a bright, helpful smile.
"Professor, I'm heading to Professor Quirrell's office soon, so I'm here to pick up a bottle of Brain Mist Potion." Kane knew Snape couldn't stand him, so he kept his tone pleasant and deferential.
"The silver bottle on the shelf. Take it yourself," Snape said without looking up from his grading.
"Got it." Kane nodded and reached for the shelf. Suddenly, Snape's mind flashed back to a very unpleasant mory—how ordinary potion ingredients tended to turn into frog-leg sandwiches the mont Kane touched them.
What would happen to his entire inventory?
"Stop!"
Kane jumped nearly a foot in the air, almost reflexively conjuring an Abyssal Blade.
"What's wrong, Professor?" he asked, genuinely startled.
"Stay exactly where you are. Do not move," Snape hissed, his eyes locked onto Kane. He watched like a hawk to ensure that no part of Kane—hand, cloak, or stray hair—touched anything in the office besides the floorboards.
Snape carefully placed the potion on a tray, made Kane hold the tray, and practically escorted him out of the room.
Kane shrugged as the door slamd. Professor Snape... definitely has so issues. Then again, he's a professor. You have to be a little crazy to work here.
He uncorked the Brain Mist, downed it in one go, and let out a small burp. He turned and knocked on the door again. "Professor? The empty bottle?"
"Smash it!"
"The tray?"
"Give it to the kitchens to be lted down!"
Kane: "..." "...Oh."
He left the bottle in a corner and handed the tray to a nearby suit of armor to use as a shield before finally heading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.
"You don't look particularly happy," Quirrell—or rather, Voldemort—noted as Kane entered.
"I'd be a bit happier if you changed the incense in here, Professor."
With a wave of Voldemort's hand, the heavy smoke vanished instantly. The windows flew open, and a cool breeze swept through the room.
"Better?" "Much."
"Good. Kane, because I witnessed your... unique magic three days ago, I have tailored a specific curriculum for you." Voldemort handed him a piece of parchnt. It wasn't a long reading list like other professors gave; it was a list of raw, practical spells.
Most were Transfiguration-based; others were "Natural Magic," like summoning vast fields of darkness to hide oneself and the enemy (mostly for escapes) or weather charms to strike enemies with lightning in open environnts.
"Whoa, Professor Quirrell. Why didn't I co to you sooner?" Kane's eyes lit up as he scanned the plan. It might lead to a shaky foundation later, but the imdiate boost to combat power was intoxicating.
"Do not bla yourself. You are already leagues ahead of the diocre fools who ignore the knowledge in front of them. Let us begin with Shadow Surge."
Voldemort drew his wand. With a simple flick, Kane felt as though his vision was being stripped away.
He quickly realized this was the "Shadow Smokescreen." Starting from the wand, jet-black cracks filled the room until the entire space was saturated.
Inside the smoke, one literally could not see their hand in front of their face, let alone an enemy. Soon, Voldemort flicked his wand again, and the shadows retreated back into the wood.
"To be honest, this spell is useless against truly talented wizards; they can track your magical frequency.
But for a student who likes to wander at night, it is perfect for avoiding that Squib janitor. The incantation is Shadow Surge. The trick is to feel your magic flowing like water or smoke, pouring out from the wand."
Voldemort stepped back. "Try it."
Kane nodded, his wand ready. "Shadow Surge."
The effect was instantaneous. The magic in his body, which was never particularly well-behaved to begin with, found an outlet and surged forth like a flood. Pitch-black fractures erupted in Voldemort's vision, eventually leaving a semi-circular dark blotch in the center of the office.
Voldemort took another step back. "Perhaps try to expand the range."
Kane didn't need to be told twice. He released his control entirely. The dark blotch expanded in a heartbeat, swallowing the entire office.
"Excellent, Kane. Now, rember: the darkness you see now is a construct of your magic. But what if we replace that magic with your Shadows? Rember this feeling. Try it."
"The trick is the sa. Do not treat your shadow as a solid weapon. Treat it as water. Fill the room."
Voldemort's low, gravelly voice drifted through the void. Kane felt a surge of genuine appreciation—this teacher was so good he felt like paying him tuition.
Then he rembered: in both their hearts, the person opposite was already a dead man. One shouldn't waste extra emotion on the dead. But one should certainly listen to their lectures.
Kane focused on the sensation Voldemort described, gradually swapping his magical output for his Shadow. Suddenly, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.
He could clearly tell that his Shadow now filled the entire office. But unlike the previous darkness, he could actually see now.
Voldemort, however, was in a different position. In the previous magical darkness, he could use magical fluctuations to pinpoint Kane. Now? He could feel nothing.
One side rejoiced while the other suffered. Kane felt the shadow filling every crack of the room, ready to be commanded at a mont's notice. If he wished, he could use it to destroy anything in the office—including the man in front of him—provided he caught him off guard.
But then, a terrifying realization struck him.
This behavior—hiding in the darkness, watching silently, ready to strike from nowhere... wasn't it exactly like a certain "Big Sister" who liked to hide in the shadows and pet him without warning?
...Have I beco Charlie?
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