A New Different World

Leaky Cauldron, Morning

Severus Blackwood woke to the dim light filtering through the dusty curtains of his rented room at the Leaky Cauldron. The ceiling above him was uneven, darkened with years of smoke from the pub below. The faint clinking of glasses and the murmur of early patrons told him it was well past sunrise.

He sighed, rolling onto his back and staring at the wooden beams above. A new day, another step forward.

Though he hadn't yet secured permanent lodgings, the arrangement suited him for now. The Leaky Cauldron was more than a cheap inn—it was a hub of information. Wizards, in their drunken or careless states, spoke too freely here, making it an ideal place to listen, observe, and gather knowledge. And if anyone asked, he was simply a young, ambitious wizard between jobs. Nothing suspicious about that.

Money wasn't an issue. His little ventures in the Muggle world had seen to that. A few well-placed Confundus Charms, some strategic 'miracles,' and the gullibility of wealthy Muggles had ensured that his pockets were well-lined. They called it sleight of hand, but in truth, it was magic in its simplest, most deceptive form.

With a final stretch, he sat up and ran a hand through his dark hair.

The bathroom was small but functional. A cracked mirror hung above the sink, warped at the edges from age. Severus turned the tap, letting the cold water wash over his hands before splashing his face. As he reached for a towel, his gaze landed on his reflection.

It still startled him sometimes.

This body—his body now—was nothing like what he remembered. The Severus Snape he once was had been wiry, pale, and perpetually gaunt, a relic of years of neglect and malnutrition. But this? This was different.

His skin was smooth, unblemished. His face sharper, but without the hollowed, sickly look he had grown accustomed to. His shoulders broader, his arms more defined. The musculature potions he had been taking were doing their work, subtly enhancing what was already there. But even before them, this body had been stronger, healthier.

He ran a hand over his chest, feeling the firm muscle there. No signs of the past life's frailty. No marks of suffering. He had not earned this body, but he would make use of it.

After a long, hot shower, he stepped out feeling refreshed. He pulled on his robes, fastening the buttons with practiced ease before slipping his wand into its holster.

He descended the stairs, nodding briefly at Tom, the barkeep, before claiming a seat in the corner. The morning crowd was thin—mostly witches and wizards stopping for a quick breakfast before heading into Diagon Alley. He ordered toast, eggs, and black tea, eating methodically as he listened to the conversations around him.

Nothing particularly interesting. A group of Ministry workers discussing paperwork. A pair of elderly witches gossiping about a scandalous affair. A young wizard fretting over his upcoming exams.

Severus finished his meal, left a few coins on the table, and returned to his room. It had become more of a routine now.

The moment he shut the door, a sharp tapping sound made him turn.

His eyes flicked to the window, where an owl sat impatiently, pecking at the glass. A rolled-up newspaper was attached to its leg.

Severus strode over, unlatching the window to let the bird in. It hooted once before extending its leg. He untied the paper, and the owl took off without waiting for payment—likely a subscription service.

He unrolled the Daily Prophet, his gaze immediately catching on the headline at the bottom half of the page. The first half of the page was already dedicated to the Triwizard Tournament with a catchy headline of 'Disaster in Triwizard Tournament.'

The bottom of the page was however clearly dedicated to him.

The Wizard Who Saves – The Mysterious Healer of the Triwizard Tournament!

By Rita Skeeter

Severus frowned. That was never a good sign.

His eyes dropped to the large photograph beneath the headline. It was a moving image, capturing his face from the side, his expression sharp and focused. He recognized it instantly—it was taken during the aftermath of Fleur Delacour's revival.

His frown deepened as he began to read.

Magic has always been a thing of wonder, but even the most learned minds of our world are left speechless by the events that transpired at the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. While the audience was expecting bravery, wit, and skill from the young champions, no one anticipated witnessing what could only be described as a miracle—or perhaps, something far darker.

The Triwizard Tournament, already infamous for its perilous nature, took a shocking turn during the First Task when a young, unknown wizard achieved feats beyond belief.

His name? Severus Blackwood.

His title? A mere intern at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

A name that, until recently, was nothing more than an obscure record buried in recent OWL and NEWT results. No Hogwarts history. No past affiliations. Nothing but a sudden appearance in our world, a perfect record, and an immediate placement as an intern at St. Mungo's.

His recently taken OWLs and NEWTs—both of which he aced with perfect Outstandings in 12 subjects.

Twelve.

Both OWLs and NEWTs.

Taken just weeks before he joined St. Mungo's as an intern.

A feat so impressive, it's nearly unbelievable.

But after what transpired during the First Task, one must ask: Who is Severus Blackwood, and what kind of magic does he truly wield?

The First Task was supposed to be a test of mettle for our young champions, but it became a nightmare. The Hungarian Horntail, one of the most vicious dragons known to wizardkind, did not take kindly to being challenged. The scene was nothing short of a bloodbath.

By the time the dust settled, fifteen dragon handlers lay broken, burned, and barely conscious—the unfortunate souls caught in the wake of the Horntail's unrelenting fury. And if that wasn't enough, the tournament saw what should have been the tragic death of Fleur Delacour.

She faced the Hungarian Horntail in what can only be described as a hopeless battle. According to sources, the dragon, already enraged, swept the Beauxbatons champion into its merciless flames before anyone could intervene. Screams filled the air as Fleur's body was thrown back, charred beyond recognition.

St. Mungo's Healers, seasoned and wise, watched helplessly. They knew what the world refused to believe in that moment—there are some wounds that even magic cannot heal.

And yet, standing among them was a mere intern, a newcomer, who defied what centuries of healing magic had deemed impossible.

Severus Blackwood didn't hesitate.

According to accounts from Senior Healer Grant, Blackwood moved with an urgency and precision that suggested a deep knowledge beyond his years. He used three unique spells and a potion—none of which are recorded anywhere in known magical texts.

But the true shock came when it was discovered that Miss Fleur Delacour had stopped breathing for over five minutes.

Yes, dear readers, you heard that correctly. By all laws of magic and nature, the girl was dead. As the unwilling innate magic of our Half veela champion, interfered with the magical healing. To see, Mr Blackwood, challenge the natural course of magic. Was it natural? Or was it something obscure and dark?

And yet, she lives.

Necromancy, Resurrection, or Something Else?

Resurrecting the dead has always been a thing of myths, whispered in the dark corners of history. Even the most powerful magical beings have never found a way to reverse the finality of death. Yet, Severus Blackwood has done what no one else has.

The implications are terrifying.

Is this Necromancy? The forbidden art of raising the dead has been outlawed for centuries, but could Blackwood have discovered an unknown variation—one that grants life rather than undeath?

Or could it be something even older, magic that predates wizarding society itself?

We heard words from some of the greatest minds in Healing magic, and none could explain what was witnessed that day.

"It wasn't just healing. It was something else entirely. The body should not have restarted. Not after that long. And yet… here we are."

— Senior Healer Crowther, St. Mungo's

"There's no record of magic like this. Family magic, perhaps? Some old bloodline secret? But Blackwood claims no ties to any known wizarding family."

— Healer Montgomery, Spell Damage Department

And let's not forget—family magic is never shared. Entire generations have been built upon the secrecy of bloodline spells, spells that offer their wielders advantages in duels, politics, and, in this case, healing. Yet, Blackwood has offered to share his secrets freely as per our anonymous sources.

Why?

According to the reports from our anonymous source. Mr Blackwood has offered to share the spell and potions he used for saving our half veela champion. We got to hear about the three spells in detail too. One of them was apparently a heart restarting spell, the second is a magic suppression spell, which suppress a person or creature's innate magic temporarily for some minutes, a feat which has never been achieved before. The potion however is a nerve simulator potion which helps to fix the nerves better.

However, It wasn't just the resurrection that has the wizarding world talking. Reports state that, in the heat of battle, Severus Blackwood performed another unbelievable feat.

The Hungarian Horntail, still raging from Miss Delacour's attack, was brought down—not by force, but by magic unseen before.

Blackwood sank the beast into the earth, as if the very ground had become quicksand. Witnesses recall watching the terrifying dragon thrash, unable to escape, before finally being subdued.

No one knew the spell. No one had seen anything like it. And the implications? Terrifying.

If such magic could immobilize a dragon, what else could it do?

And then there was the Conjunctivitis Curse.

Cast upon the Chinese Fireball by Harry Potter, it was not an ordinary curse. In the heat of battle, to defeat a fiery dragon. The boy who lived had used a permanent variant—one that could not be reversed by traditional means. It should have remained for life. To those who don't know, the permanent variant of the Conjunctivitis curse can't be reversed with spells or even the ocular potion. An affliction that no known healer or spellcaster has ever been able to lift.

Until Blackwood removed it. A feat that has never been done before. Something which was considered impossible till now.

One of the attending Healers, speaking under the condition of anonymity, described it best: "It's as if he reached into the magic itself and plucked the curse away. I don't even know how to begin explaining it."

The mysteries don't end with his magic.

Mr Blackwood is, in the most official sense, a ghost.

There is no record of him at Hogwarts, no childhood ties, no known family. The only thing that exists is a recent entry into the wizarding world—marked by his flawless OWLs and NEWTs, taken just weeks before joining St. Mungo's.

A perfect student with a perfect record.

But who taught him? Where did he come from?

And more importantly—why now?

Is he a Hero or Something Else?

Severus Blackwood has done the impossible. He has healed wounds that should never heal. He has reversed curses that should last lifetimes. He has saved lives when seasoned Healers could do nothing.

But with such power comes fear.

What magic is he using? Where did it come from? And should the world be concerned about someone who can toy with life and death?

Severus finished reading and slowly set the paper down.

His hands were steady, his face carefully neutral.

Inside, however, he was calculating.

He had expected publicity. His work at the First Task had been too public, too blatant to go unnoticed. But this—this was more than mere recognition.

This was spotlight. Unwanted, intrusive, dangerous.

Skeeter had done what she did best—exaggerated, twisted, and dramatized the truth until it was unrecognizable. Necromancy? Forbidden magic? Dark arts? Ridiculous. And yet...

It would work.

This article would cement his reputation in ways he hadn't anticipated. It would make him both revered and feared. Healers would seek him out, scholars would whisper his name, and the Ministry—well, they would start watching.

He needed to be careful. He needed to control the narrative before it controlled him.

Slowly, a smirk curled at his lips.

"Let them wonder," he murmured, folding the paper neatly.

Let them speculate. Let them obsess over who he was, what he had done, and what he could do.

He would use their curiosity to his advantage.