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Chapter - 6: Ingenious Plans
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Honestly, I hadn't made much progress with my meditation, but something had changed. It was as if I had managed to awaken some kind of small flame inside me.
I couldn't tell if it was a good thing or not, but for the moment, I could feel it, burning deep within my being, like a tiny, pulsating heart of energy.
It was almost negligible, barely perceptible, but it was there. And I knew that if I didn't find a way to feed it somehow, sooner or later, it would go out again—perhaps forever.
I couldn't allow that.
Even though I still couldn't fully understand where exactly this power came from, one thing was certain: I was no longer the same as before.
Something inside me had shifted, something ancient and incomprehensible that seemed to awaken little by little. I wasn't about to let it fade away without taking action—especially since it could be another powerful card in my hand.
I had developed some theories about my lineage because if the Greek Pantheon truly existed, then other mythologies couldn't just be mere products of human imagination.
And then there was my last name: Nott. It echoed various deities associated with the night across different mythologies. I refused to believe it was just a coincidence.
For example, in Norse mythology, Nótt was the personification of the night, the daughter of the giant Nörfi. A presence that, according to legends, rode across the sky, bringing the veil of night with her.
Similarly, in Greek mythology, there was Nyx, one of the primordial deities—an entity so ancient and feared that even Zeus hesitated to face her.
Both represented darkness, but I seriously doubted I had any direct connection to them, since, as far as I remembered, they didn't have any contact with humans.
And I didn't think I was a demigod or anything like that either. I had no dyslexia linked to Ancient Greek, no satyr as a guardian, and most importantly, no superhuman combat instincts.
I was pretty sure Percy Jackson had received a much clearer welcome regarding his lineage than I had.
And yet… something about me didn't add up.
Darkness always seemed to surround me differently than it did others. I didn't fear it—I understood it. I felt it move around me like a living entity, as if it responded to my thoughts before I even verbalized them.
The shadows seemed to stretch slightly when I passed, as if they were trying to follow me in some way, and in dark environments—or better yet, at night—I felt more at ease.
Even the ghosts in the castle seemed to hesitate in my presence, unlike before, whispering their eerie murmurs while keeping a respectful distance.
They didn't fear me, nor did they flee. On the contrary, they watched me with a sort of silent reverence, almost as if they recognized something familiar, something superior within me…
But for the moment, I let all of that go, since I didn't really know what to do with this information without taking some drastic action.
And honestly, I had other things to think about. I was continuing my training in the Room of Requirement, trying to accompany it with a proper diet.
It was fortunate that the kitchen elves were so accommodating, allowing me to have personalized meals tailored to my needs. Thanks to them, I could follow a targeted diet designed to accelerate my muscle growth.
However, even with the perfect diet and the Time-Turner, without any magical potions, the process would be slow. It would take me months, maybe an entire year, to reach an acceptable physical level, and even then, I would still be inferior to many supernatural creatures capable of annihilating me with ease.
The same applied to my magic and alchemy. No matter how much I practiced, it took time to develop them to their fullest potential.
At the moment, I was still studying some basic spells, as well as the fundamental principle of equivalent exchange and every single line of every possible alchemic circle to start with—especially the ones that could prove useful to me in the future.
I knew well that knowledge was power, but in a world like this, having no power at all was a cardinal sin. And I certainly wasn't the type to let myself be trampled like some insignificant pet by whatever creature was fortunate enough to be higher up the food chain.
I needed something more concrete, a tangible advantage that could guarantee me a real chance of survival. And that was when a thought took shape in my mind—an idea born from the memories of my childhood when my mother was still alive.
I remembered her stories, the ones she read to me to help me fall asleep at night. Daedalus and Icarus, with their ingenuity capable of defying even the gods. Leonardo da Vinci and his extraordinary machines, inventions far too advanced for their time.
They were examples of brilliant minds that had found a way to transcend their human limits without any kind of magical power—only through science.
And what if I followed their example? What if I created something of my own?
The idea planted itself in my mind like a seed ready to sprout. If there was one thing I could say I had a talent for since childhood, it was building.
Ever since I was little, I had always loved taking things apart to understand how they worked. Toys, clocks, anything with gears or moving parts.
I would spend hours studying them, trying to put them back together—maybe even improving them. There was something fascinating about the idea that every piece had its precise place, its specific function.
Back then, though, it was just a game. A pastime that kept me occupied during long, silent afternoons. I had no idea that, one day, that same curiosity could become something greater.
Now, however, I had access to magic. And that changed everything. This was no longer about small experiments done in secret in my backyard, trying to figure out how a lock or a broken music box worked.
Now I could build something truly mine, with an entire universe of possibilities before me.
The idea was simple on paper but incredibly ambitious in reality: creating golems. Animated beings from Jewish folklore, built from inanimate materials like clay or mud and brought to life through mystical rituals.
Perfect servants. Tireless, obedient, devoid of fear or free will. They don't get tired, they don't betray, they don't waver in the face of any danger, whether it's a man or a god.
If I managed to bring them to life, I would finally have a weapon that depended solely on me. And, without wanting to sound arrogant, my intelligence had already led me to identify a model from which to draw inspiration: Han Jihan.
It wasn't like I had any of his powers, like The Gamer, but that didn't matter. This, after all, was a long-term plan. The difference, however, was that unlike other strategies I had in mind, this one could give me tangible results in a relatively short time—a year, maybe even less, thanks to the Room of Requirement and my Time-Turner.
Creating golems wasn't just an experiment in magic and alchemy—it was an investment in the future. Every step forward in that direction meant reducing my dependence on others, increasing my security, and, more than anything else, growing my real power.
My mind began calculating the possibilities. First of all, I would need the right materials: high-quality clay, alchemical components, and, most importantly, a proper place to experiment without being disturbed.
For the moment, I could use the Room of Requirement since it was my best option—a secret refuge, adaptable, and perfect for hiding my progress.
Later on, once I had refined my technique and found something more stable, I could move everything elsewhere using a Vanishing Cabinet, creating a passage between the two locations so I could still use the room if needed.
I had no divine blood, no fate written in the stars. But I had my mind. And intelligence, over time, could be deadlier than any spell.
Even if it meant playing with forces that no one before me had ever dared to control…
But those were thoughts for the future. For now, I had to focus on more immediate matters—like my next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.
The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was practically doomed: ever since Riddle had placed his curse on the post, no one had managed to hold it for more than a year.
Not that it surprised me much. After all, anyone who taught that subject inevitably found themselves involved in some kind of supernatural trouble.
Every professor, without exception, had met an unenviable fate—fired, dead, possessed, vanished, or turned into a walking disaster.
Of course, I knew that Snape wanted the position, and apparently, he didn't believe in the curse. It seemed that most others didn't either, considering there was always plenty of competition for the prestigious job.
But year after year, it seemed that teachers had faded into oblivion since it was the former Muggle Studies professor who had taken over, returning home after a sabbatical year spent traveling the world...
It was said that he had lived through adventures everywhere—from hunting Albanian vampires to exiling Egyptian undead. Frankly, I wouldn't be so impressed with him if I didn't know the whole truth about him.
From what I remembered, Professor Quirrell had encountered Voldemort and had become some sort of anchor for him and that fragment of his soul. I found it almost ironic.
Did people really believe that having a Dark wizard bound to one's soul would make them a better teacher?
I didn't know if he was a good actor or simply an embarrassing coward. He had a way about him that people seemed willing to ignore—stammering, flinching, always looking as though he was about to be attacked by something lurking in the shadows.
For a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, he certainly didn't seem like a winning choice. I couldn't even understand why Dumbledore had let him stay at this school.
Snape's attitude towards him, however, was truly amusing to watch. I couldn't help but wonder how he would react if he knew the truth about him.
Honestly, it was hard to feel fear for someone who seemed to fear me more than I feared him. Quirrell had no confidence in himself; his entire demeanor was utterly submissive to the will of the fragment of Riddle that lurked inside him.
Not that I cared much.
I walked confidently toward the classroom, followed by most of the Slytherins. I was at the front, flanked by Daphne and Blaise, while Davis kept just half a step behind me, at my right.
After my verbal clash with Malfoy—or, as I preferred to call it, "the moment I put the spoiled daddy's boy in his place"—I had gained a certain level of regard from some members of Daphne's group.
Not that I had planned to earn their trust that way, but it seemed that putting Draco in his place had been enough to leave them with a good impression of me.
And that was more than fine by me.
As for making an enemy out of Malfoy… That didn't worry me in the slightest. I knew he would try some childish retaliation, maybe with the help of those two gorillas he always dragged around with him, but the truth was simple:
Draco was not a threat.
He was a spoiled brat, used to getting what he wanted simply by the weight of his surname. I, on the other hand, had a much more pragmatic view of things.
If he wanted to play the part of the offended little aristocrat, he was free to do so. I, however, was focused on more important goals.
And then there was another detail—Malfoy was predictable. If he tried something, I would know in advance. He moved with the subtlety of a troll in a china shop, and I had the feeling that, at the right moment, he himself would offer me the perfect opportunity to put him in his place once again.
But Draco wasn't the only problem. His father, Lucius Malfoy, was another matter entirely. A dangerous man, with influence, power, and the ability to move the right pieces without even getting his hands dirty.
If he ever decided to intervene directly, then I would have to be careful. Not that he scared me. But underestimating Lucius Malfoy would have been a mistake.
He was the kind of man who never forgot an offense and, more importantly, never forgave anyone who threatened his image or his pride.
For now, though, there was no reason to worry. Draco would whine to his father—that was certain—but as long as I didn't do anything truly dangerous to their interests, Lucius would simply observe, at least for the moment.
He was probably waiting to determine whether I was a useful pawn or an obstacle to be removed. But even then, my father could hold his own against him if things got complicated.
Anyway, I was with a perfectly composed entourage. I just hoped this wouldn't be another shared lesson with the Gryffindors, since I had plans for the Golden Trio.
Harriet needed to be involved as soon as possible, or at the very least, she had to get closer to me. If she could take Potions, training, and maybe even Animagus transformation seriously, she would have a much better chance of surviving.
At this point, I absolutely had to find a potion or a treatment to improve her eyesight. She couldn't possibly face Voldemort with those mole-like glasses… And at the same time, I could take advantage of the opportunity and keep the leftovers for myself.
A treatment to enhance vision would be incredibly useful—not just for Harriet but for me as well. She needed to grow stronger as quickly as possible, and if I played my cards right, she would come to me on her own.
The Troll, the Chamber of Secrets with the Basilisk—I could use these opportunities to my advantage, maybe even experiment with the Basilisk's body…
Or perhaps make an offering to some god? Honestly, I had been considering it for a while, but I wasn't sure how wise it would be, considering it would clearly attract attention to me. The gods were always pleased to find something interesting.
Maybe I could even request souls from the underworld? I didn't know how to create Flamel's Philosopher's Stone, but the one from FMA was definitely something I could make…
I needed a solid plan.
But for the moment, I had other matters to focus on. Mostly, I concentrated on strengthening my connections within the house. Everyone needed to know who I was and learn to give me the respect I deserved.
Managing my small first-year circle was already demanding enough—especially with Pansy and her group of Slytherin girls always eager to compete for influence.
And then there were the occasional encounters with Daphne.
Overall, it had been another intense week, and it was about to end with our first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Slytherin was present, of course, but I wasn't sure which other house we would be sharing it with.
At least Quirrell was punctual—or at least early—unlike Flitwick. When I arrived, the Ravenclaws were already there. Little bookworms, busy chatting and reading, completely unaware of the real world.
The professor, on the other hand, seemed to have retreated behind his desk, as if he didn't even want to start the lesson.
Several Slytherin students were already inside, taking their seats.
Unlike in Charms earlier, the hostility between houses wasn't as severe. Some Slytherins sat near Ravenclaws. Some Ravenclaws crossed into Slytherin territory. It was definitely a minority, but it seemed to be happening.
There weren't many Ravenclaws who caught my attention as people I should know. The Patil and Turpin girls at least came from actual wizarding families, though nothing as significant as the Malfoys or the Greengrasses.
As for most of the others, I had no idea. The half-bloods, the Muggle-borns—they could be anything. As Ravenclaws, at least by reputation, they were useful for the knowledge they could gather.
But they didn't even value loyalty and order the way Slytherins did, which meant they could never be as close, could they?
Some other students were preparing to enter, just as I was. There were still plenty of seats to choose from. My group was more than willing to follow my lead at this point.
I found an empty seat on the Slytherin side of the room. Daphne sat to my right, while her friends took the seats behind her, keeping troublemakers away while also staying farther from the professor to avoid drawing any unwanted attention.
Honestly, it was a well-knit little group.
Over the course of the week, I had started to get to know them better. Daphne's entire group—useful, in a year where most witches and wizards had no idea how to cast truly useful spells when it came to trouble.
Tracey was the one who welcomed me most favorably into the group. She was a bit insecure and seemed genuinely happy to have found a friend, probably because she didn't have many due to her half-blood status.
She seemed somewhat sensitive to the idea of being called out for her family or for not being at the forefront of magical power and status.
She was willing to participate when they were throwing their weight around, but she pulled back whenever things seemed like they were about to get difficult. Nothing particularly remarkable about her so far.
But this could have been her chance to really do something to impress me. She had taken out her book and quill, seemingly ready to take notes.
Even though he didn't consider her a nerd at all—more than willing to talk, relax, and hang out instead of studying all the time—she took her studies as seriously as he did.
She followed suit as the professor finally emerged from behind his desk.
"E-e-everyone is here, r-r-right?" he stammered.
… Really? Was he afraid of facing even a few first-years? Riddle's choice in servants was rather terrible.
"R-right!" He clapped his hands. "Welcome to D-defense Against the Dark A-a-arts," he stuttered again. "T-today we will continue your purely theoretical studies."
Theoretical? Please. I seriously doubted everything that came out of his mouth—or anyone else's, for that matter, if they were a servant of Riddle.
There were a few complaints from the Slytherins. But the Ravenclaws seemed to accept it perfectly. Of course, the nerds would feel safe with that.
"O-okay!" He took a deep breath, as if he had just overcome a major obstacle. "Now open your books to, uh…" He started searching for an answer, seemingly unprepared.
A useless teacher. And to think I had hoped to learn something useful from him—but it seemed I was expecting too much from someone like him.
"Turn to p-p-page th-th-thirty-two," the professor finally decided.
Flipping through the book, I realized the page covered the topic of curses. However, it didn't focus on specific spells. Rather, it analyzed the very concept of a curse—what defined it, what elements made it one, and which magical principles determined its effectiveness.
The students next to me were flipping through their books. Quills ready, notes to take. At least I had my quill. I wondered if anything useful would come from this.
The only ones who didn't seem interested were Malfoy's cronies. Relaxing, whispering jokes to each other. Judging by their glances, they were probably mocking the professor's stutter.
"Curse. Yes, curses," the professor began. "Can anyone tell me what a curse is?"
One of the Ravenclaws raised their hand. I rolled my eyes at their bootlicking behavior—the professor didn't deserve it. It felt like I was surrounded by hundreds of little Hermiones.
The professor pointed at her to answer.
"Curses are magical spells with malevolent effects, ranging from disabling to being outright illegal within the British wizarding community."
"P-p-partially correct," the professor added, seemingly looking for something else. Some Ravenclaws exchanged glances.
The Muggle-born Slytherin girl raised her hand, waiting to be called on.
"Curses depend on intent. They are meant to cause explicit harm to the target, not merely disable them. They are fueled by the ill will of the caster—the stronger and darker the feelings, the stronger the curse."
"I-i-interesting…" Quirrell said. "Closer to the truth," he added. "Curses are…" He seemed ready to drone on endlessly with his stuttering voice.
The topic was honestly interesting, but having to listen to this man stumble through a lecture for two hours felt like agony in the truest sense of the word.
And yet, as fascinating as it was from an academic standpoint, I couldn't shake the feeling of uselessness.
Especially with a subject so vast and complex, explained by someone who clearly didn't have the ability to teach it properly. The professor spoke with enthusiasm, but it was evident that his understanding of the material was superficial—almost purely academic.
Not that it surprised me. If he had at least taught us actual curses—how to cast them, different ways to deal with them, or even how to break them—then the lesson would have been worthwhile.
But like this? It was just theoretical knowledge—sterile definitions on what distinguished a Curse from a Dark Spell or how certain curses could even arise spontaneously without the need for a wizard.
An example? The killing of a unicorn… An act so horrific that it left an indelible mark on the soul of anyone who committed it. An interesting concept, yes—but completely useless in my current situation.
I tapped my fingers on the desk, trying to suppress a sigh of frustration. It was always the same story: if I truly wanted to learn something, I would have to find the answers myself.
With each passing day, it became clearer that I couldn't rely on the teachers—especially when they could barely handle the subjects of their own lessons.
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Chapter- 16: Shocker - Chapter- 17 (Incoming)
Chapter - 10: Dark-Skinned Goddess
Chapter - 7: Hobby - Chapter - 8: New Hunt - Chapter - 9: Past unknown
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