Night had fallen over the Rosier mansion like a thick veil, enveloping the gardens and towers in an almost supernatural silence. Shadows danced to the rhythm of branches cracking under the gentle wind, while the stars, barely visible, seemed to secretly watch the activities of the young boy who occupied a room on the top floor.
Marius Rosier sat at his desk, his fingers distractedly brushing the yellowed pages of an old grimoire borrowed from the family library. His intense green gaze scanned the lines of fine, twisted writing. He was not just reading words: he was deciphering opportunities, keys, and flaws.
At twelve years old, he already possessed that rare mastery of silence and dissimulation. He was a patient observer, a strategist in the making. Every detail, every emotion felt by the adults around him, every forgotten murmur, every fleeting glance, he stored away with insatiable avidity.
He knew he could not yet afford to attract attention. Caution was the first of magics, the one that had to precede all others. His true power, buried beneath this juvenile appearance, had to grow slowly, discreetly, away from prying eyes.
For a few days, he had decided to intensify his reading. Texts on ancient magics, forgotten rituals, creatures of the night, but also historical accounts of pure-blood families and methods of social and political control.
He found himself smiling inwardly as he read the stratagems of ancient sorcerers, their maneuvers to seize power in the shadows, far from frontal conflicts. "Impatient is he who burns the steps," he murmured mentally, repeating an adage borrowed from an old manuscript.
He had not forgotten the defeat of his past being, the humiliation of being vanquished by an insignificant hobbit. But this secret, he guarded jealously, not out of shame, but out of calculation. Showing his true intentions now would expose him to a swift fall.
Once the books were closed, he stood up, and with a fluidity that betrayed an unusual maturity, he paced the room in silent reflection.
On the desk, a sealed letter awaited, slipped there by his mother a few days earlier. Marius hesitated for a moment before opening it. It was an official letter from Hogwarts, confirming his enrollment for the next school year.
A smile flickered across his thin lips. The game was about to begin.
The next morning, he showed an almost exaggerated politeness towards his mother, hiding behind his childish face a mask of propriety.
"Thank you for the letter, Mother," he said softly, placing the letter on the breakfast table.
Countess Rosier looked at him with a mixture of tenderness and concern. She had always struggled to understand her son, this boy so calm, so reserved, but with a strange presence that seemed beyond his years.
"You seem ready for this new step," she said, trying to smile.
Marius nodded, his gaze clear.
"Hogwarts is a great school. I will learn a lot. I will honor our name."
She nodded, unaware that beneath this assurance lay a cold, almost icy determination.
In the following days, Marius took advantage of the apparent calm to refine his plans. He spent hours studying the map of Hogwarts, absorbing every detail: the secret passages, the common rooms, the teaching places, the areas where professors passed.
He had heard about the houses, the rivalries, the alliances. He knew that Slytherin would be his playground, but he also had to observe Gryffindor, understand its leaders.
His coldly analytical mind calculated influences, strengths, and weaknesses of the students, but also of the professors.
He noticed that some teachers were stricter, others more lenient.
One night, taking advantage of the darkness, he ventured alone into the manor garden. The full moon bathed the flowers in a silvery light.
He concentrated, murmuring an incantation softly, a fragment of an ancient magic he had deciphered from a forgotten manuscript.
The grasses on the ground quivered, a gentle breeze swept across the lawn, and in the silence, Marius felt a shiver of energy run through his body.
But he showed nothing. No cry, no outburst.
For him, power had to be a well-guarded secret, a hidden weapon until the opportune moment.
In the following week, he also observed his parents with increased attention. His mother was attentive but worried, his father distant, almost cold.
He understood their fear, even if they were unaware of the real nature of this fear.
Marius knew he had to keep them in ignorance to be able to use their influence without hindrance.
The day he received a small owl sent by a family acquaintance, an old and discreet sorcerer, Marius smiled as he discovered the coded message: "Patience opens all doors. Be ready."
It was a confirmation that his plans were already being followed, that his allies, even invisible, were moving in the shadows.
He folded the parchment, slipped it into his pocket, and looked beyond the windows of the mansion, towards the distant horizon.
"The game begins," he thought. "And soon, the whole world will bend to my will."
The days passed, but Marius did not change. In the eyes of all, he remained that calm, reserved boy, perhaps a little too mature for his age.
But behind this mask lay a sharp mind, an iron will, and a patience of steel.
He learned, he calculated, he waited.
As the sun set over the estate, Marius returned to his room, opening an old chest where he kept a few precious objects, forgotten legacies of a distant past.
He took out a small black ring, adorned with a single dark red ruby.
He placed the ring on his finger, feeling a wave of ancient power flow through his being.
"Soon," he murmured, "the true game will begin."