As I slipped through the crack of the library's door, the world around me was bathed in darkness. Emerging from the shadows, the familiar scent of old books and parchment filled the air. The library was completely silent, save for the faint rustle of my robes as I moved swiftly between the towering shelves.
I wasted no time. With the memory of my earlier studies still fresh in my mind, I began collecting every Transfiguration book meant for first-year students. I stacked them neatly on a nearby table, a sense of satisfaction growing within me. This was where I thrived—in the quiet hours of the night, where I could explore and learn without interruption.
Once I had gathered all the books, I willed the Sinking Shadow card to transform back into its original form. The elegant gloves that had allowed me to blend with the shadows turned to ash, and the card reappeared in my hand. With a quick flick of my wrist, I placed it back in my inventory, feeling the familiar weight of the next card in my hand.
"Play… Marvelous Genius," I whispered.
The card dissolved, transforming into a pair of sleek, red gloves adorned with intricate patterns. As soon as the gloves touched my skin, I felt my mind sharpen, thoughts accelerating as if a fog had been lifted. The Marvelous Genius card lived up to its name—my brain was now operating on a level far beyond normal capacity. Multitasking became effortless. I could memorize, understand, and even visualize complex concepts all at once.
With this newfound clarity, I set to work. I flipped through the pages of each Transfiguration book with lightning speed. My eyes scanned the words, absorbing every detail. It was as if the knowledge was being directly downloaded into my brain. I didn't just read; I understood. Every spell, every theory, every principle made perfect sense. I could see the transformation of objects in my mind's eye, the magic flowing seamlessly as I imagined the spells in action.
Hours passed in what felt like minutes. My mind was a machine, processing information with unmatched efficiency. By 4 a.m., I had finished the entire stack of books. I closed the last one with a sense of accomplishment and leaned back in my chair. The library was still cloaked in darkness, but I could see the first faint rays of sunlight starting to creep through the windows. Dawn was approaching, but there was still enough shadow for me to make my escape.
As quietly as I had entered, I slipped back into the shadows, the Sinking Shadow card once again guiding my way. Moving through the black-and-white world of shadows, I navigated the silent corridors of Hogwarts, avoiding any chance encounters with patrolling staff or ghosts.
I returned to my dormitory just as the sun began to rise. The room was bathed in the soft glow of dawn, but the shadows were still deep enough for me to emerge unnoticed. I transformed back into my physical form and carefully slipped into bed. My roommates were still fast asleep, none the wiser to my midnight excursion.
Despite only sleeping for three hours, I awoke feeling refreshed and energized, thanks in part to the residual effects of the Marvelous Genius card. My mind was still sharp, the knowledge I had gained the night before perfectly organized and ready for use.
I dressed in my Ravenclaw robes and joined my housemates as we made our way to the Great Hall for breakfast. The chatter around me was filled with the excitement and gossip typical of first-year students, but my thoughts were elsewhere, racing with the possibilities of what I had learned.
As I sat down to eat, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. I was ahead of the curve, and I intended to stay there. Hogwarts had many secrets to uncover, and I was determined to learn them all—on my own terms, in my own way.
But for now, I blended in, just another student among many. Let them think I was just a curious, studious Ravenclaw. They didn't need to know the truth: that I was preparing for something much bigger, something that not even the likes of Dumbledore could anticipate. And as I nibbled on a piece of toast, my mind was already planning the next steps in my journey.
**Hecate's POV**
As we headed to the Quidditch pitch for our flying lessons, the excitement in the air was palpable. This was the moment many students had been looking forward to—our first time on broomsticks. As I walked towards my housemates, I noticed James, Sirius, and Remus heading straight for me. The sight of Pettigrew standing at a distance, looking utterly terrified, almost made me laugh out loud.
James sighed, clearly aware of the amusement in my eyes. "Yes, laugh all you want, Hecate. It won't happen again."
I couldn't resist a teasing smile. "Good morning. Your rat friend isn't with you today, I see."
Remus chuckled, glancing back at Pettigrew, who was watching us nervously from afar. "He's too afraid of you, Hecate."
I gave Remus a playful look. "Good morning to you too, Remus. And you, Sirius. No pranks today?"
Sirius grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Not yet, but the day is still young."
James rolled his eyes but smiled. "Let's just hope you can keep your broom under control, Hecate."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, I'm sure I'll manage. But you boys should keep an eye on your own brooms. I wouldn't want any accidents today."
Sirius laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. "Sounds like a challenge."
I gave a mock curtsey. "Take it as you will."
As we reached the Quidditch pitch, the banter died down as we all turned our attention to the brooms laid out before us. Professor Hooch stood waiting, her sharp eyes surveying the group. The lesson was about to begin, and I was ready to show these Gryffindors just what I could do.
**Beginning of the Class**
As the students gathered around the brooms laid out on the grass, Professor Hooch strode forward, her sharp eyes sweeping over the crowd. Her presence commanded attention, and the excited chatter quickly died down.
"Good morning, class," she began in her brisk, no-nonsense tone. "Today, you will learn the basics of flying. Flying is an essential skill for any witch or wizard, and it can be dangerous if not done correctly. So, I expect you to listen and follow my instructions carefully."
She demonstrated the correct way to stand beside the broom and instructed everyone to do the same. "Now, extend your right hand over the broom and say 'Up!'"
A chorus of "Up!" echoed across the pitch as the students followed her command. Some brooms jumped into eager hands, while others rolled lazily on the ground. My broom immediately snapped into my grip, and I couldn't help but smile slightly, the familiarity of it all sending a wave of nostalgia through me.
"Good, now mount your brooms," Professor Hooch continued. "And remember, keep a firm grip. We'll start with a gentle lift-off. On my whistle, I want you all to push off the ground, hover for a moment, and then come back down. Understood?"
With the sound of the whistle, I kicked off the ground. The broom responded smoothly, lifting me into the air. The sensation was both familiar and strange—I hadn't flown since arriving at Hogwarts, and I realized how much I had missed it. The air rushed past me, and for a moment, it felt like I was in my peregrine falcon form again, soaring freely through the sky.
But flying on a broomstick wasn't quite the same as flying with wings. It was controlled, guided by the wood between my hands, and yet it was exhilarating in its own way. I decided to mimic some of the maneuvers I used to do as a falcon—diving and twisting in the air, letting the wind guide me.
I held my hands up as I swooped down from above, feeling the thrill of the dive. "Wee~!" I couldn't help but let out a small sound, more to myself than anyone else, fully immersed in the joy of the moment.
Suddenly, Professor Hooch's sharp voice cut through the air. "Hands on your broomstick, Miss Targaryen!"
Startled, I quickly grabbed the broom with both hands again. "Sorry," I muttered, the apology more out of obligation than actual remorse as I leveled out and began flying at a lower altitude.
As I flew closer to the ground, James, Sirius, and Remus approached, their brooms moving in sync with mine.
"You have great control on your broom," James remarked, clearly trying to gauge me. "I bet you used to fly with it even before Hogwarts, huh?"
I met his gaze with a slight smile. "Perhaps."
Sirius smirked, leaning in slightly. "You know, that's illegal for underage wizards."
I shrugged, giving him a knowing look. "Did I say I did?"
Remus watched me curiously. "You're not making it easy for us to figure you out, Hecate."
I just smiled, saying nothing more. The boys exchanged glances but didn't press further. We continued flying together, enjoying the moment as students simply learning how to fly.
**Care of Magical Creatures (CoMC) Class**
After our exhilarating flying lesson, we made our way to the Care of Magical Creatures (CoMC) class, which took place on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The dense trees loomed ominously nearby, casting long shadows over the grassy area where a variety of magical creatures were kept in enclosures. The air was filled with a mix of earthy smells and the occasional mysterious rustle from the forest, reminding us of the dangers that lurked within.
Professor Kettleburn, the caretaker of this fascinating class, stood waiting for us. He was an older wizard with a kind, weathered face and a missing limb or two—rumored to be the result of a few too many close encounters with magical creatures over the years. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as we approached.
"Welcome, everyone!" he greeted us warmly. "Today, we'll be getting to know some of the magical creatures that live around Hogwarts. It's important to learn how to care for these creatures properly, as they're an integral part of our world. Some are dangerous, some are friendly, but all deserve our respect."
He led us to a small paddock where a group of creatures was waiting. They were small, brownish creatures with long snouts and spindly legs—Bowtruckles. Professor Kettleburn explained that Bowtruckles were tree guardians, known for their fierce loyalty to the trees they inhabit.
"You'll each take turns interacting with the Bowtruckles," he said. "They're generally harmless, but they can be quite protective if they feel their home is threatened. Remember to approach them calmly, and don't make any sudden movements."
I watched as some of the students hesitantly approached the creatures, offering them twigs or bits of wood as a peace offering. The Bowtruckles would sniff the offerings curiously, their tiny eyes watching us warily. When it was my turn, I moved slowly and offered a small twig. One of the Bowtruckles extended a long, delicate finger to take it from me. I couldn't help but smile at how gentle they could be, despite their reputation.
As the lesson continued, Professor Kettleburn shared fascinating facts about other magical creatures that we'd be learning about in future classes, including Hippogriffs, Thestrals, and even the elusive Nifflers.
The Forbidden Forest loomed in the background, its secrets tantalizingly out of reach. Although we weren't allowed to enter, I couldn't help but feel a thrill at the idea of what might be hidden within its depths. The professor seemed to notice my interest and gave me a knowing look, as if he could sense my curiosity.
After the class, we made our way back to the Great Hall for lunch. The usual chatter filled the air as students discussed their experiences with the Bowtruckles, some more enthusiastic than others. I ate quickly, eager to get back to my dormitory for my usual nap. The thrill of the day's activities had left me feeling both exhilarated and exhausted.
**Defense Against the Dark Arts (DADA) Class**
Refreshed from my nap, I headed to our next class: Defense Against the Dark Arts (DADA). The classroom had an air of mystery about it, with dark wood paneling and shelves lined with strange artifacts and books on dark creatures and dangerous spells. The room felt colder, more serious, as if the very walls held the weight of the dark magic we were about to study.
Professor Merrythought, an elderly witch with sharp eyes and a voice that commanded attention, began the lesson by discussing the basics of defensive spells and the importance of being prepared for any situation. Her presence was intimidating, but there was a reassuring wisdom in her every word.
"We live in a world where danger can strike at any moment," she said, her voice firm. "Understanding the dark arts is essential, but what's even more important is knowing how to defend yourselves against them. Today, we'll start with the basics: the Disarming Charm, also known as *Expelliarmus.* It's a simple spell, but incredibly effective in the right hands."
She demonstrated the spell with a flick of her wand, sending a student's quill flying out of their hand and into her own. The class was rapt with attention as she explained the importance of mastering this spell.
I was eager to learn, my mind still buzzing with the new information I had absorbed from the library. As we practiced the Disarming Charm, I could feel my magic responding eagerly. With each attempt, I refined my technique, finding the right balance of power and precision.
When it was my turn to demonstrate, I focused intently, recalling the details Professor Merrythought had shared. I pointed my wand at the target and firmly said, "Expelliarmus!" The wand I was aiming at shot out of its owner's hand and flew straight to me, landing perfectly in my grip. Professor Merrythought's stern face softened slightly as she nodded in approval.
"Well done, Miss Targaryen," she said. "Ten points to Ravenclaw."
As the class continued, I found myself thinking about the complexity of magic—how it wasn't just about waving a wand and saying the right words. It was about intention, focus, and understanding the magic itself. Each class, each new spell, was like unlocking a new piece of the puzzle that was my magical education.
By the end of the lesson, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. My few days at Hogwarts had been filled with new experiences and challenges, but it also left me feeling more determined than ever to master the magic that was now at my fingertips.
After classes ended, I followed my usual routine and headed straight to the library. This time, I was particularly interested in delving into the *History of Magic*, hoping to uncover more about the origins of magic and the ancient practices that predated modern spellcasting.
Finding a quiet, empty aisle in the library, I equipped my *Marvelous Genius* card, feeling my mind sharpen and my focus intensify. With my enhanced mental capacity, I began flipping through the thick, dusty tomes that chronicled the long and complex history of magic.
As I sifted through the pages, it became clear that much of the history before the invention of wands was either lost or deliberately obscured. The records from that time were vague, with only fragmented accounts of how wizards and witches harnessed their core magical abilities through rituals and raw willpower. There was an unsettling sense of mystery surrounding this era, as if it had been intentionally erased from the collective memory of the magical community.
The more I read, the more I realized that the gap in this historical narrative could serve my purposes perfectly. By painting the Targaryen family as one that survived through this ancient era—long before wands became the standard tools for magic—I could craft a believable and compelling lie. The lack of detailed records would work in my favor, allowing me to claim that my family had intentionally stayed hidden, preserving the old ways while the rest of the world moved on.
Hours passed as I pieced together a plausible backstory, using the gaps in the historical accounts to create a mythos for the Targaryen line. By the time I was done, I felt confident that this fabricated history could withstand scrutiny, providing a solid foundation for my identity in the wizarding world.
as usual I went to sleep early then by 11pm I equipped my Sinking Shadow and went in the shadows
As I slipped into the shadows, the world around me shifted to that familiar black-and-white landscape where everything hidden became exposed. My form blended seamlessly with the darkness, and I moved with ease through the shadowy corridors of Hogwarts. Tonight, my destination was different—no more library or quiet study. This time, I was headed to the Room of Requirement, a place of endless possibilities.
As I walked through the monochrome world, I couldn't help but notice them again—James, Sirius, Remus, and, of course, Pettigrew—huddled under the Invisibility Cloak like before. Even without wanting to, I couldn't resist playing a little trick on the rat-like boy. His presence irritated me, and tormenting him had become something of a guilty pleasure.
With a mere thought, I willed a thin tendril of shadow to snake out from my own, slipping silently beneath their cloak and wrapping around Pettigrew's ankle. He didn't notice, of course; he never noticed anything until it was too late. I allowed the tendril to coil around his leg, tightening just enough to make him shiver, a subconscious reaction he couldn't quite place.
I leaned into the shadows, letting my voice travel along the tendril, directly into his ear. "Behind you, Peter... do you feel it?"
I saw his body stiffen, his eyes widening in that delightful mix of confusion and fear. His heart began to race, the sound of it loud in the stillness of the night. Perfect.
"Repent, sinner... the shadows know your secrets," I whispered, my voice low and haunting, weaving through his mind like a nightmare.
I could feel his panic rising, his grip on the cloak tightening as he glanced over his shoulder. It was pointless, of course; he wouldn't see me. I was everywhere and nowhere, a part of the darkness itself.
"The darkness is watching... waiting... it's coming for you," I murmured, enjoying how his breath hitched, his terror palpable even from where I stood.
"There's no escape... the shadows see all..."
"Run, little rat, run... before the shadows claim you..."
His entire body began to tremble, and I had to stifle a laugh. He was absolutely petrified. The other boys didn't seem to notice, too caught up in their own conversation. Pettigrew's eyes were wide, his face pale as he tried to keep his composure, but he was failing spectacularly.
"You're not safe anywhere, Peter," I whispered one last time, savoring the way his name twisted in my mouth. "The shadows will find you... always."
Satisfied, I pulled the tendril back, letting it dissolve into the surrounding darkness. I watched as Pettigrew stumbled slightly, his hands shaking as he tried to steady himself. His fear was so raw, so deliciously obvious. I had to suppress a grin.
James noticed his friend's distress first. "Peter, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I... I think I heard something," Pettigrew stammered, his voice barely more than a shaky whisper.
"Probably just your imagination," Sirius said with a chuckle. "You're always jumpy, Pete."
I stayed silent, hidden in the shadows, watching as Pettigrew continued to glance around nervously. He wouldn't find me, of course. He'd just have to live with the uncertainty, the creeping dread that something was always lurking just out of sight.
Content with my handiwork, I continued my journey to the Room of Requirement. The thought of Pettigrew lying awake in fear for nights to come was enough to bring a smirk to my face. There were more important things to focus on now, but this little diversion had been well worth the effort. After all, I couldn't let him get too comfortable, could I?