The first few weeks at Hogwarts were as dull as Toji Fushiguro expected. He sat through classes, already knowing most of the material being taught. Charms, Transfiguration, Potions—all subjects he had mastered in the years leading up to Hogwarts. The basics felt like a waste of time, and while other students struggled with casting their first simple spells, Toji found himself effortlessly excelling, collecting house points without even trying.
The professors took notice quickly. Professor Flitwick praised him for his near-perfect wand movements. Professor McGonagall marveled at his ability to transform objects with precision. Even Severus Snape, notoriously hard to impress, grudgingly awarded Slytherin points for Toji's flawless potion-making.
It was all painfully easy.
He couldn't help but feel a growing boredom. While other students fawned over their first successful spells, Toji stifled yawns, often glancing around the classroom, silently counting the minutes until the lesson ended.
But Hogwarts had its interesting points, too—if you knew where to look. After one particularly dull lesson in History of Magic, Toji found a surprising source of intellectual stimulation: conversations with the professors outside of class. After a lecture on wand movements in Charms, Toji approached Flitwick with questions—questions that delved far deeper into the theory behind spellcasting than the professor had anticipated.
"What's the relationship between intent and motion in non-verbal spells?" Toji asked, leaning against the desk casually as the other students filed out. "And why do some spells seem to require more physical movement, even when the caster's intent is strong enough to perform the magic without it?"
Flitwick blinked, clearly taken aback by the sophistication of the question. His eyes twinkled with genuine excitement. "Ah! That's a fascinating query, Mr. Potter," he said, launching into a passionate explanation of magical theory that lasted well beyond class hours.
The same happened with other professors. Snape was more curt but no less intrigued when Toji inquired about the more complex properties of potion-making. Toji found that these moments of deeper discussion brought a slight sense of challenge, a chance to sharpen his knowledge.
Then there were the portraits—fascinating relics of Hogwarts' history. Over time, Toji befriended several of them, realizing that while many students overlooked their value, the portraits were an untapped resource. They were more than static relics of the past; they had stories to tell, secrets to share.
One particular portrait, Phineas Nigellus Black, a former headmaster and proud Slytherin, often grumbled at the foolishness of the current generation. But when Toji asked about Hogwarts' hidden passageways, Phineas' attitude shifted.
"Ah, so you're interested in something more useful than foolish Gryffindor bravery, eh?" Phineas remarked with a smirk. "There are a number of ways to get around this castle that even the Headmaster doesn't know. Secret corridors, rooms only those who are cunning enough can find."
It was through Phineas and other portraits that Toji learned of secret passageways connecting various parts of the castle. These paths allowed him to slip from one location to another unnoticed, avoiding the crowded hallways and ensuring he was always one step ahead of everyone else. It gave him a sense of control, of being able to manipulate the castle itself.
But the most valuable piece of information came from the house-elves. He overheard a group of them talking one night while delivering food to the Slytherin common room. They mentioned a hidden room on the seventh floor—referred to as the "Come and Go Room." The elves claimed the room would appear if one walked past its entrance three times, thinking about what they needed.
The idea intrigued Toji. A room that could change itself according to his needs? That had potential. One night, when the moonlight bathed the castle in silver, he decided to find out for himself.
He navigated the hallways, his footfalls silent against the stone floors, until he reached the seventh floor. There it was—the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls ballet. Toji chuckled at the absurdity of it before turning his focus back to the task at hand.
He closed his eyes, walking past the blank wall three times while focusing intently on what he needed. Not just any room, but a place where he could perform a ritual—a space filled with ancient magical tools and circles, designed to help him connect with nature itself.
After his third pass, the stone wall shimmered, and a door appeared, as if from thin air. Toji's eyes widened slightly. It had worked.
Opening the door, he stepped inside and was immediately greeted by the sight of a vast, circular room. The atmosphere was heavy with magic, the air thick and almost humming with power. The walls were adorned with arcane symbols, shelves stocked with rare ingredients, and in the center of the room was a large magic circle, glowing faintly with a mix of green and gold runes.
"This is perfect," Toji muttered to himself, a small smile creeping onto his face.
He moved to the center of the circle, inspecting it carefully. The magic here was potent—stronger than anything he had encountered in the magical world so far. This would do nicely for the ritual he had planned. A ritual to connect himself to the magic of nature, something deeper than what wizards usually tapped into.
After preparing the necessary components, Toji stepped into the circle. The runes flared to life, casting an eerie glow over the room. He could feel the magic wrapping around him, seeping into his body. The sensation was unlike anything he had felt before. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of earth, leaves, and life itself.
Then, as the magic surged through him, a bright, emerald-green light engulfed the room. Toji's breath caught in his throat as he felt the power of nature itself course through his veins. It was as though the very essence of the earth, the forests, and the winds had fused with his own magic.
Every imperfection in his body, every defect left over from his past life, was burned away by the raw energy. His muscles felt stronger, his senses sharper, his magic more in tune with the world around him. The aches and pains he had grown used to vanished, replaced by a newfound vitality.
As the green glow subsided, Toji opened his eyes and exhaled slowly, feeling more alive than ever.
"This feels like I've been reborn," he whispered to the empty room, his voice tinged with awe. For the first time in both lives, he felt truly connected to something greater than himself—something primal and untamed.
He stood there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of the ritual, before his mind returned to the future. This power wasn't an end. It was only the beginning.
Toji smirked, already thinking about his next step. He had Hogwarts, its secrets, and now a connection to nature itself. There was no telling how much further he could push his abilities. But one thing was certain—he had time, and he had plans.
And nothing—not the wizards, not the professors, not even Dumbledore—could stand in his way.