Stealing Magic: A Darker Hogwarts

Sean yanked his wand from his robes, eyes darting through the gloom. The room was a run-down shack, like a forgotten Hogwarts storeroom, its furniture buried under dust and cobwebs. Charmed dust motes hung in the air, glinting faintly. Beside him, Fleur Delacour scrambled to her feet, her face pale and dazed, clearly thrown by their sudden arrival.

A flash of green light—unmistakably a Killing Curse—sliced through the dark. Sean's wand snapped up, and with a sharp flick, he summoned a rickety cabinet to block the spell. It exploded in a shower of splinters, buying them seconds. Grabbing Fleur's arm, he pulled her behind another cabinet, its warped wood creaking under their weight.

Fleur's eyes were wide, her breath shaky. Sean leaned close, whispering urgently, "We were pulled by a Portkey. Someone's trying to kill me. If you've got your wand, get it out and protect yourself."

Before she could respond, the cabinet shielding them shattered, wood fragments flying like a misfired charm. No time for more words. Sean aimed his wand toward the curse's source, firing a "Petrificus Totalus!" to buy a moment. His gaze flicked to a grimy window across the room, its glass cracked but intact. An escape.

"I'll cover you!" he yelled to Fleur. "Blast the window—we can get out!"

Fleur, still rattled from the Portkey's jolt, blinked, then nodded. She raised her wand, aiming at the window, but panic muddled her spell choice. "Reducto!" she cried. The blast was overkill. The window exploded, and half the wall went with it, chunks of wood and plaster crumbling. The shockwave shook the shack's creaky floor and ceiling, and with a groan, the entire structure began to collapse, beams snapping like dry twigs.

"Go!" Sean shouted, shoving Fleur toward the gap.

Fleur stumbled forward, not noticing Sean deliberately lagging half a step behind. As she sprinted, a flood of black smoke poured from Sean's wand, the Smoke Rope Curse weaving around him. It coiled like a shadowy serpent, carrying him in the opposite direction, away from the gap and Fleur.

Fleur burst through the collapsing shack, emerging into a dense forest. The shack, a hunter's old retreat, was surrounded by towering trees, their branches blotting out the sky. The air was still, no sign of life—no birds, no footsteps, nothing but the creak of the crumbling wood behind her.

She spun around, expecting Sean, but the gap was empty. No Sean, no dark wizard who'd fired the Killing Curse—just the shack's ruins and the silent forest. Her heart raced, a knot of worry tightening in her chest. "Sean?" she called, her voice trembling.

"Sean!" she shouted again, louder, the echo bouncing off the trees.

No answer. Panic crept in, but so did a flicker of something warmer—concern for the boy who'd just saved her, his quick thinking a steady anchor in the chaos. She searched the wreckage, wand raised, but found no trace of him or their attacker.

Meanwhile, Sean heard Fleur's faint cries, each one tugging at him. He didn't respond. Crouched behind a sturdy oak in a forest clearing, he caught his breath, his Smoke Rope Curse dissipating into wisps. He'd chosen to split from Fleur, not just to keep her safe—though that mattered—but to hide his true power. The Smoke Rope Curse and Imperius Curse LV2 were secrets too dangerous to reveal, even to an ally like Fleur. Her worried voice stirred a pang of guilt, but also something else—a quiet warmth at her care, her voice lingering in his mind like a charm.

Footsteps crunched through the forest, heavy and deliberate, echoing behind Sean. He pressed himself against the oak, wand steady, as the pursuer stepped into view. Marwood, the dark wizard hired by Barnabas, emerged from the trees, his cloak tattered, a cruel smirk twisting his face.

"You fled deep into the forest alone, sparing that girl?" Marwood taunted. "Such a kind child. Behave, and I'll grant you a quick death. Act nicely, and maybe I'll let that little Veela girl live."

Sean stayed silent, hidden behind the tree. A head-on duel with a killer was suicide. His best move was to stay concealed, bide his time, and strike with everything he had. Fleur's worried cries from earlier flickered in his mind—her voice, sharp with fear, had stirred a quiet resolve to keep her safe. He pushed the thought aside, focusing. Gripping his wand, he took a steadying breath and whispered, "Smoke Rope Curse."

At LV5MAX, the Smoke Rope Curse was mastered to its peak. Sean could wield it wandlessly or silently, bending it to his will like a charm from a Hogwarts prank gone wild. Silent spells were weaker, though, which was why he'd used them to escape the shack but now spoke the incantation for maximum power, his voice low to avoid detection.

Thick black smoke poured from his wand and body, slithering to the ground like a living shadow. It spread across the forest floor, curling around roots and rocks, its charmed tendrils creeping outward, unnoticed at first.

Marwood, scanning the clearing, mistook the smoke for shifting sunlight through the canopy. But as it thickened, pooling around his boots and creeping closer, his smirk faltered. "What's this?" he muttered, wand twitching.

He'd underestimated Sean—a fatal mistake. Barnabas had warned Marwood that Sean was a talented first-year, strong for his age. But strong didn't cover it. Sean wasn't just talented; he was a wildcard, his system-fueled abilities like Troll Strength, Troll Spiked Hide, and Smoke Rope Curse LV5MAX far beyond any normal student's.

"Hiss… hiss… hiss…"

The smoke twisted, forming shadowy snakes that slithered from the forest's edges, their forms coiling through the underbrush. Marwood's eyes widened, his bravado crumbling. He stared at the smoke-formed snakes, trembling, and collapsed to his knees, crawling backward. "Dark Lord!" he choked, voice breaking. "Dark Lord!"

Sean, still hidden, caught Marwood's reaction. The man recognized the Smoke Rope Curse—Voldemort's signature dark magic, tied to the Dark Lord's terror. Marwood's fear confirmed it: he'd seen this spell before, likely in the service of Death Eaters. Sean's mind raced. He could fight, but Marwood's panic opened another path—a bluff. If he played it right, he could end this without a spell fired. But caution was key; Marwood might be faking.

With a flick of his wand, Sean shaped the smoke into a towering figure, cloaked in black, tendrils swirling like a twisted Hogwarts portrait. Drawing on the chilling memory of Voldemort's face behind Quirrell's head, he crafted the illusion—pale, serpentine, eyes glinting red. The figure stepped from the shadows, looming over Marwood.

Pinching his throat with his left hand, Sean deepened his voice to a hoarse, eerie rasp, each word dripping with menace. "Ah… You know my magic… Who are you?"