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Chapter - 1: I Am Theodore Nott
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When the gong rang, announcing the end of Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration lesson, and with it, the first and second periods of the day, I was the first to walk out the door.
A rare event, or at least it seemed that way to the others, judging by the strange looks my classmates gave me. They were used to my usual calm and indifferent pace, the one that aimed to avoid attention.
But at that moment, I couldn't have cared less about them. I ignored the curious glances and pushed my way through the growing crowd of students, heading toward the courtyard. I needed air, space—anything that wasn't the suffocating noise of Hogwarts' classrooms.
As soon as I stepped out of the main area, I spotted an empty bench. I dropped onto it with a groan, not bothering to worry about the possible stares from other students. I brought a hand to my head, trying to ease the pressure that felt like it was about to split my skull in two.
It was killing me, seriously. This wasn't just a headache—no. "Ugh…" I grunted, letting myself fall backward with a slow, lazy motion, as if I were an old rag tossed onto a chair rather than a living person.
And not just because of the pain. But because of what I had learned from the memories that had assaulted my mind throughout the entire lesson, violating my skull in a way that felt both overwhelming and relentless. And I can assure you, trying to perform magic while an unexpected wave of memories—memories that weren't even mine—crashed into my head was far from ideal...
It was a miracle I had managed to keep my composure in class, especially during Transfiguration. It's not exactly a subject where you can afford to be distracted. It requires absolute concentration, precision, and control—leaving no room for mistakes.
The strain of following every word of Professor McGonagall while trying to ignore the chaos in my head had been almost unbearable. Yet, somehow, I had managed to pretend that everything was normal.
Paradoxically, I was almost grateful for the headache pounding at my temples. It was like an anchor—something physical to hold onto so I wouldn't completely lose control.
Without that dull pain reminding me of where I was, I probably would've lost my mind. And, more likely than not, I would've either succumbed to panic or—worse—spiraled into a full-blown existential crisis.
Do you believe in magic? Because, let's be honest, I had just found myself inside a damn children's fantasy book.
Yeah, a world that, in my memories, had only ever been a series of novels beloved by millions of people. Books that told the story of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and his adventures at Hogwarts—leading up to the final confrontation with the Dark Lord, Voldemort.
As a kid, I loved fantasy. I used to go to the circus to watch so-called "magicians" perform spectacular tricks, entertaining the crowd with their antics. Rabbits jumping out of hats, objects vanishing into thin air, illusions that left everyone speechless.
I was a sharp kid, and of course, I knew that none of this was real. Their "magic" was nothing more than a collection of well-crafted tricks, illusions expertly built, and incredibly ingenious props.
Their performances, where wands turned into bouquets of flowers, people sawed in half reappeared whole just seconds later, and young women floated in midair without any visible support.
All spectacular, sure, but always explainable with a bit of logic and attention to detail. In fact, I enjoyed trying to figure out the trick behind each performance—pure personal curiosity.
But now? Now everything was different. That world, which had only existed between the pages of a book or in the scenes of a movie, had become real. And I didn't know if it was my mind desperately trying to rationalize everything or if it was something else, something greater, something completely beyond my control.
Regardless of the answer, one thing was certain: everything had changed.
And I was part of it. And apparently, I was one of the villains in the series—or rather, I had become him. Theodore Nott. The last heir of the Nott family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
And as if that wasn't enough, my "father" in this world was a Death Eater. Yes, one of those. A follower of the Dark Lord himself, someone who believed in blood purity, wizard supremacy, and other nonsense like that.
Not even time to celebrate—because yes, ironically, I would have been the last one to want this—before I already had a target on my back. No matter how marginal I was in the original story: in the grand scheme of things, I was a Nott, and that name alone was enough to guarantee me endless trouble.
Basically, I was now officially part of Voldemort's little exclusive club…
Congratulations, and what do I get in return? Well, my situation was like walking on a razor's edge. As a pureblood noble, I was influential enough to command respect, but not so deeply involved in certain circles as to be irreversibly marked.
But the pain, as annoying as it was, was good because it helped me focus and see the bigger picture. My situation was not unfavorable at all—in fact, it had its potential.
After all, I came from a noble family with considerable wealth. That meant I had quite a few Galleons to spend as I saw fit, and naturally, I would make sure to use them to the fullest.
Slytherin House, when you really look at it, isn't as terrible as many describe it. There is a strong sense of solidarity, at least among those who are purebloods.
Of course, you can't deny that traces of prejudice still linger, especially against those from other Houses or without a pure lineage. However, considering we were all still young, the situation wasn't all that unbearable.
And above all, disagreements among us were never to leave the common room. Any kind of slander or gossip could cast a bad light not only on ourselves but also on our families—something no one wanted.
If I need something, the first step is always to ask a Housemate or one of the prefects. And if even they can't help me, then I can go directly to the Head of House.
Snape won't take points from us, but breaking the rules doesn't go unpunished—discipline exists for a reason. I also discovered that older students volunteer to lead study groups dedicated to the more difficult subjects.
By speaking with the prefects, the senior students organize themselves to decide which subjects to help the younger ones with. It's a well-thought-out system, I must admit, and it's also a smart way to set our House apart from the others.
I'm sure this will be useful, especially for tackling the more difficult subjects where I might struggle since I never believed I was some kind of genius appearing once in a millennium like in some cultivation novel.
Well, this was the real turning point in my new life. With all the new knowledge I had acquired, the prestige of my family's name and its wealth were no longer the only advantages at my disposal.
But most importantly, I had access to information no one else could obtain. I knew who the real allies were and who would turn out to be an enemy. The hidden secrets within the castle—details that could change everything.
And, even more crucially, I knew who would play a pivotal role in the future and who would remain on the sidelines. Essentially, I had the best possible overview I could wish for, allowing me to act, make a difference, and perhaps change the course of events in my favor.
Until that moment, before my awakening, I had only been attending lessons and keeping a low profile in the dormitory. Not wanting to be involved in anything complicated, I preferred to stay in the shadows.
I was a good student, probably among the most promising in this first year. I didn't need the professors' explanations nor hours in the library—ugh, Hermione—Of course, I knew she studied not out of necessity but for the sheer pleasure of accumulating knowledge, driven by her love for magic.
Me, though? I was the same, but I knew that no matter how talented I was, I couldn't do everything alone. If I wanted to achieve my goals, I would need to build connections, forge alliances that would help me reach what I desired.
Honestly, I felt a bit like Leylin Farlier, one of my favorite characters from Warlock of the Magus World. Of course, unlike him, I didn't have an artificial intelligence chip integrated into my soul, always ready to provide detailed analyses or solutions to every problem.
I must admit, I wouldn't have minded having something like that, especially in such a complex situation. In fact, even Cheon Yeo-Woon's nanomachines would have been incredibly useful...
But I was probably asking for too much, wasn't I? With such an aid, maybe I could have tackled everything with the same calculated coldness and ruthless violence that characterized them.
And of course, I couldn't forget his memories. Or rather, my memories. Those of Theodore Nott—or the version of him that I had become—were fragmented, like scattered pieces of a puzzle difficult to reassemble.
There were fragments of his childhood, blurry images of conversations with his father, lonely evenings spent in the Nott manor's library, and those judging gazes he received at family dinners—so cold and filled with expectations.
After absorbing those memories, I realized that things were definitely different from how I had known them... First of all, there was the fact that my body seemed to have been on some sort of autopilot until my awakening.
But from what I had been able to understand, the world I found myself in was different from the one I knew in ways I had not foreseen, diverging completely from what I would have defined as canonical or, at least, from what I remembered of my previous life.
For example, students here were accepted at thirteen and graduated at nineteen. This meant that the main characters I knew were very different from what I expected in this first year at Hogwarts.
Additionally, adulthood in the magical world was only reached at twenty. This was no small detail, and I had to take it into account for one very important reason: in this world, there seemed to be a certain Girl-Who-Lived.
Yes, her: Harriet Lily Potter, to be precise. And she didn't seem to be just another case of a fanfiction where Harry had undergone a gender swap. No, even her name fit perfectly with classic British naming conventions, like Emily or Mary. A seemingly insignificant detail, but in reality, it was further proof that this world was different from the canon I knew.
Some might get excited about the idea of a new waifu in a story, but for me, it was just another blaring alarm ringing loud and clear, making me far more uneasy than I'd like to admit.
I couldn't help it: I had always been far too paranoid for my own good, and finding myself in a magical world full of absurdities certainly wasn't helping my case. Every out-of-place detail could be a sign of something much bigger and more dangerous.
As the saying goes: The mere flapping of a butterfly's wings can trigger a hurricane on the other side of the world. And in my case? For all I knew, I could have found myself in an AU crossover universe with Marvel or, even worse, with DC...
Although, honestly, I wouldn't have minded having a long and ineteresting conversation about magic with Magik or even Raven hoping she would eventually end up with her big ass in my face.
"Alright, I need to set my priorities straight," I thought, finishing organizing my thoughts. "First of all, I need to actively participate in lessons. I have to build a solid foundation in these years—not just to excel, but to survive. To do that, I need a place where I can regularly practice everything I'll learn in the various subjects."
After reviewing my memories, I easily determined that I couldn't rely on my future DADA professors, given how unimpressive most of them were. Only the teachings instilled by Professor Lupin and Professor Moody were considered adequate—though the latter ended up being replaced by a damn Death Eater...
"The less said about the teaching methods of Professors Quirrell and Lockhart, the better," I concluded dryly, my tone full of disdain.
The most important N.E.W.T.-level subjects—Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, and History of Magic—were fundamental in building a solid and respectable future.
I couldn't afford to aim for the bare minimum; I had to strive for the highest marks, aiming for at least an Outstanding, perhaps even with distinction if possible. Every grade represented much more than just academic recognition.
It was a declaration of worth and competence, and I needed both. After all, I was the last heir who would eventually become the lord of a noble house. In a world where appearances mattered as much as—if not more than—actual abilities, an impeccable academic record was a powerful weapon.
But beyond that, HP magic is practically limitless when you learn enough. I took into account that every spell seen in Harry Potter—from the Levitation Charm to Horcruxes—was created by wizards. With enough knowledge, skill, and talent, it's absolutely possible to create any form of spell one desires.
Moreover, having high-level qualifications wasn't just a matter of personal prestige; it was also a way to reinforce my house's standing in the eyes of others, which was essential for me.
In a way, it was a reflection of our society: making things appear better than they really were was the norm, and I had to play by those rules.
Astronomy, in particular, intrigued me more than I expected. Celestial bodies held an intrinsic power, a meaning that went beyond just mapping the sky. They opened doors to branches of magic I found incredibly fascinating.
And no, I'm not talking about Transfiguration or Charms. Kabbalah, for example, was deeply tied to astronomy, astrology, alchemy, and rituals. It was a branch of magic I seriously wanted to explore—perhaps because, in my past life, I was obsessed with anime like Fullmetal Alchemist and To Aru no Index.
Above all, it didn't help that I was absolutely captivated by the lore of Radahn, the legendary general from Elden Ring, who mastered gravitational magic to an unimaginable level, allowing him to "challenge the stars"—directly influencing them, halting their movement in the sky, and earning the title of "Scourge of the Stars."
Despite his deteriorating condition, Radahn continued unconsciously holding back the stars, keeping their motion suspended—interfering with fate itself and attempting to defy it, underscoring his ambition as a demigod.
Thinking back on all of this, I couldn't help but remember Malenia—that bitch who massacred me so many times I lost count. Just the thought of her made my blood boil,Â
If I ever meet her again, I have sworn to myself that I will completely subjugate her, I will fuck that whore's big white ass until she forgets even her own name.
Returning to the point, though... I couldn't help but think about the other elective subjects I could choose in my third year, ranking them in order of importance—at least based on what I believed at the moment: Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies, Arithmancy, Divination.
Was it too early to decide? Definitely. But planning a bit in advance wouldn't hurt. Having a clear strategy was crucial to making sure things didn't blow up in my face at the last moment.
Then, something crucial came to mind: A Time-Turner. I had to obtain one, one way or another. I remembered that I couldn't request it directly, but the Head of House could send a letter of recommendation to the Ministry of Magic.
Obviously, to obtain a Time-Turner, one had to prove reliability and ensure that its use would be strictly academic. Moreover, its possession had to remain a secret—no one should know of its existence.
Thinking it over, the Room of Requirement was the perfect place to begin my search. A secret environment, capable of adapting to any of my needs and, most importantly, far from prying eyes. Exactly what I needed.
The room had an incredible peculiarity: it kept an inventory of itself and used objects already stored inside to create the space and tools requested.
If a specific object wasn't present, it could conjure it by transforming or combining other elements. However, this mechanism had a clear limitation: it couldn't create food, probably because no edible ingredients had ever been stored within it.
After centuries of use, the room had to be filled with all kinds of objects. Considering the introduction of plumbing in the castle, it was likely that entire shelves were stacked with old chamber pots. And as far as I was concerned, I hoped to find a good assortment of useful materials for myself.
My hypothesis was that House-Elves were responsible for preserving everything that was discarded, storing away old, unused, or unnecessary items. With their natural inclination to collect things, they probably never threw anything away, not even if it was broken.
House-Elves likely used the Room of Requirement as a storeroom. Maybe, when it was first opened, it was neatly organized with shelves and furniture, but over the centuries, it had become a chaotic pile of objects stacked to the ceiling.
For this reason, I absolutely had to check if a functioning Time-Turner remained in the Room of Hidden Things. And if there wasn't one, I was determined to push the Room of Requirement to its limits until it produced what I needed.
But another thought crossed my mind. Why not aim for the Philosopher's Stone? One might ask. After all, it was a legendary object, capable of producing gold and granting the Elixir of Life.
However, to me, immortality held no appeal. In the end, what would be the point of living for so long? The only truly intriguing aspect of the Philosopher's Stone was understanding its creation.
The knowledge behind that alchemical masterpiece would be an invaluable treasure, far more precious than the stone itself. I thought to myself: "Perhaps I could arrange a conversation with Nicolas Flamel."
Of course, it wouldn't be easy. But if I showed enough talent, if I managed to catch Dumbledore's attention to the point where ignoring me became impossible, then maybe I'd find a way.
The old headmaster was no stranger to the idea of using people in his plans for the future. Not that he was evil, but he was accustomed to making difficult, even painful, decisions for what he considered the greater good.
This time, however, I would be the one to "use" him—or at least, I would try.
After all, I didn't consider myself anywhere near his level. Even if my magical power were to grow massively over the years thanks to external assistance—not just in terms of raw magical power, but also in knowledge and magical skill—he still surpassed me immensely.
That's why I first needed to start digging into books. Not the ones you could buy in Diagon Alley, nor the ordinary ones in the Hogwarts library. No, I needed the tomes hidden in the dusty corners of the Restricted Section, the ones that told far more than they should about dark magic, its potential, and its deepest secrets.
Beyond that, I needed to at least acquire the basics of Occlumency. It wouldn't make me a master at protecting my mind, but it would be enough to organize my thoughts and keep distractions at bay.
"Snape probably has some potion lying around to ease headaches…" I mused, standing up. Maybe I could take advantage of that to sort out a few things immediately.
There were quite a few ways the old professor could be useful to me, given that he was a master of Potions and, like it or not, one of the most competent people in the castle at his craft.
As these thoughts ran through my mind, I looked up at the sky; the sun was high. Without thinking too much, I slipped my hand into the pocket of my robe and pulled out my wand.
A masterpiece: twelve inches, ebony wood with a dragon heartstring core. Black as the deepest water, elegant and powerful. A wand suited for combat, Transfiguration, and advanced spellwork.
"Eh… not bad," I murmured, instinctively twirling the wand between my fingers. It was my most loyal tool, the extension of my will in the magical world.
Every time I held it, I felt as if it were part of me, a natural extension of my own body. The moment I grasped it, I could tell that it didn't directly absorb my "magical energy" but rather channeled it, almost like a greeting to its new master.
It was like breathing—spontaneous, necessary, vital.
A truly strange sensation when I stopped to seriously think about how wands were actually made. From my knowledge of this world, I knew they were composed of different types of wood, imbued with magical cores from creatures like unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes.
I gripped the wand between my fingers, turning it slightly to observe its smooth, polished surface. I knew that inside, tiny runes were etched—imperceptible to the naked eye but essential to its ability to channel magic.
I couldn't help but wonder about the precision and craftsmanship required to carve them, a process demanding ancient knowledge and an incredibly skilled hand.
And yet, I questioned just how necessary a wand truly was. Not all magical cultures considered it an essential tool. It was said that the wizards of pre-colonial Native American and African civilizations channeled magic directly, without the need for external supports.
An extraordinary example was Uagadou, the renowned African school of magic. From what I knew, students there learned to perform spells with mere hand gestures, without the aid of wands, yet they were considered some of the best Transfigurers in the world.
Even in Asia and the Middle East, different traditions existed. I had heard of wizards using paper talismans, sealed spells, or other enchanted objects as magical catalysts. Every culture had developed its own method of manipulating magical energy, making magic something incredibly diverse and fascinating.
Maybe I should consider an apprenticeship with Ollivander after finishing school. Studying the art of wand-making up close might give me a broader perspective. Or perhaps, I could look into other methods, exploring alternative ways to channel magic.
A nice golden ring, like a certain King of Magecraft, wouldn't be a bad option.
Once again, I was thinking too far ahead…
But I couldn't help it. Magic in the world of Harry Potter was often looked down upon as if it were inferior to other types of power, but it was insanely powerful. Voldemort could literally redirect an atomic bomb with a simple Oppugno.
Hell, he could even Transfigure one mid-air and make it vanish into nothingness. And wizards… wizards were incredibly resilient and strong. I didn't feel safe at all, especially considering that a fragment of his soul was right here in the castle, embedded in my teacher.
And then there was the biggest unknown: Would this world truly follow the story as I knew it? I couldn't be sure. Everything seemed so similar, and yet… different. Too many details escaped me, too many things could change if I wasn't careful.
That's why I needed to move, take the initiative, and make sure Voldemort was destroyed for good. After all, I fully intended to live a long and comfortable life. I wouldn't allow it all to be ruined by war or the plans of someone like him.
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Marvel: I'm Spider-Man in this Damn Reincarnation:Â 3 advanced chapters
Hybrid Man (Ichigo Si/WC Fic) 1 advanced chapters
Son of Li Qiye?: 3 advanced chapters
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 Chapter - 14: Symbionte - Chapter - 15: White Tiger - Chapter - 16 (Incoming)
 Chapter: Interlude - Chapter - 8 (Incoming)
 Chapter - 7: Hobby - Chapter - 8: New Hunt - Chapter - 9: Past unknown
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