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Hi everyone !
It's the start of the holidays in my country, so I hope you don't get bored during this free time. To celebrate, I'm running a crazy promotion on my P@tre0n: 1 chapter for $1 in a pack of 5 chapters!!!
Go for it! You won't be disappointed!
So, I'm announcing it again! For every 100 power stones, I'll release a new bonus chapter! Let's start working towards our goal of becoming one of the top fanfictions!
Second announcement: I've posted a bonus chapter on my Patreon, so if you want more, go check it out!
In the meantime, you can contribute to the release of a bonus chapter on P@tre0n.
(PS: A friend suggested I create a P@treon account. If you'd like to see advanced chapters posted on Webnovel, that's where you can find them! I'll also mention all the supporters at the end of each chapter!)
Search : StoryLabo on the website or click the link on my bio
Happy reading !
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The rest of the day passed in a sort of pleasant haze. Aiden dined in the Great Hall with Charlie and Narwick, all three exchanging nerdy jokes incomprehensible to the rest of the Ravenclaw table. Charlie did a disastrous imitation of Dumbledore that almost made Aiden spit out his pumpkin juice, while Narwick passionately dissertated on the potential mathematical applications of transfiguration magic.
Back at the dormitory, they continued talking late into the night, exploring the philosophical corners of the magical world with that freedom eleven-year-old kids have when no one's watching them. When Charlie and Narwick finally fell asleep, their snoring resuming its usual symphonies, Aiden remained lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling.
The mattress was okay, not great, but not catastrophic either. You could say it was standard for a castle that was millennia old.
And yet...
I wonder if I wouldn't sleep better outside, he thought with amusement. After that luxury nap with the earth spirits, this bed feels like a sack of potatoes laid on planks.
He smiled in the darkness before finally sinking into restorative sleep.
The next morning, Aiden woke at dawn, well before his roommates. This time, he didn't take time to linger. He dressed quickly, went down to the deserted Great Hall, swallowed a few toasts with jam and a large glass of apple juice, then discreetly headed toward the stairs.
He climbed to the seventh floor, taking care to regularly check behind him that no curious student or nosy ghost was following him. The castle was still immersed in that morning quietude that made it almost magical well, more magical than usual, if you could say it like that.
Arriving in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his clumsy trolls, he repeated yesterday's ritual. Three back-and-forths in front of the empty wall, concentrating intensely on his need: A training course room to train my body with obstacles and coordination challenges for my current physique.
On the third pass, the familiar door materialized.
- "Showtime," he murmured like a routine ritual, entering the room.
The course was exactly as he had left it the day before, super intimidating, very complex, and apparently impossible. But this time, Aiden wasn't there to be intimidated.
He removed his wizard robe, stretched at length, activating each muscle group, then began a serious warm-up consisting essentially of joint rotations, shoulder mobilization, dynamic leg stretches, and trunk activation...
You don't launch into a ninja course without preparing the machine. Otherwise, it's guaranteed sprain or even worse.
Once warmed up, he positioned himself at the starting point and launched himself.
His hands gripped the first bar, his body swung, generating that kinetic energy he was beginning to understand better. The transition to the second bar was smoother than yesterday, his pelvis better aligned, his shoulders properly oriented. Third bar, fourth... and at the fifth, his release timing was still approximate. He fell onto the mat, swearing through his teeth.
But a bit less catastrophic than yesterday. There's progress.
He got up immediately and started again. This time, he adjusted the angle of his wrists at the moment of capturing the fifth bar, which allowed him to reach the sixth. But his rotation was poorly engaged, his body went into a spin, and he had to let go to avoid dislocating his shoulder.
Sixth bar. That's better. But this rotation...!
On the third attempt, he concentrated specifically on initiating the twisting movement from the fifth bar, pre-orienting his body for the next one. The sixth bar was therefore a clean capture, controlled swing, release at the right moment... but when the seventh bar was reached, the fall inevitably arrived.
But it was a clear improvement.
That's it repeat, analyze what went wrong, adjust the gesture, and repeat again. Sink or swim. Sink or swim. If falling were a killing spell, I'd already be back in the Beyond.
Aiden chained attempts with almost obsessive determination. Each failure taught him something a micro-adjustment in hand positioning, slightly different timing for release, a modification of pelvis angle during the swing...
After the twentieth attempt, he reached the tenth bar before crashing onto the mat, short of breath and muscles trembling.
He continued until his arms literally refused to lift, until sweat burned his eyes, until every muscle fiber screamed its surrender. When he finally collapsed on the floor, he was barely able to move.
He mentally checked the time through the Great Hall that indicated it to him when he wished—he still had plenty of time to shower and arrive early for his first class. With superhuman effort, literally, he dragged himself out of the Room of Requirement and returned to Ravenclaw dormitory.
The shower was a divine blessing. The hot water unknotted his aching muscles, and he emerged from the bathroom reinvigorated, ready to face his first official day of classes at Hogwarts.
First class today is Potions with Snape and the Hufflepuffs. Better not arrive late if I want to avoid him turning me into an ingredient for a Draught of Living Death.
He descended toward the dungeons a good twenty minutes early, appreciating the relative calm of the corridors before the arrival of the student horde. The dungeons were cold, damp, and frankly depressing. The lighting dimmed by torches and a few narrow windows gave the whole thing a medieval dungeon atmosphere.
Charming. Perfect for cultivating seasonal depression and the desire to throw oneself into a boiling cauldron.
He spotted his roommates arriving together a few minutes later, Charlie making large animated gestures to explain something to Narwick who was rolling his eyes with affection.
- "Aiden! You're already here?" Charlie exclaimed, seeing him.
- "I like to arrive early. It avoids bad surprises."
They entered the classroom together cold, dark, decorated with jars containing things that even a neurosurgeon would prefer not to identify. The desks were arranged in rows, and Aiden strategically chose a spot in the middle not too far forward, which would have directly painted a target on him for Snape, but not too far back either so as not to miss visibility of the board.
Charlie and Narwick took the desk in front of him, immediately launching into a discussion about their expectations for the class. Aiden settled alone behind them.
A trio must always separate. It's sad but it's the universal law of friendship one is always abandoned...
He was calmly taking out his materials when he heard a violent noise on his right. A wooden bench had just been brutalized without ceremony, and a young Ravenclaw was sitting down next to him with a big beaming smile.
Behind her, another girl lay on the ground, hair disheveled, looking completely stunned.
Oh no. Oh hell no.
The girl next to him had curly brown hair, freckles, a carnivorous smile looking at him with the intensity of a cat that had just spotted a particularly juicy mouse.
Aiden shook his head in resignation, casting a sympathetic look at the poor girl on the ground who was getting up painfully.
I hope the professor arrives soon. VERY SOON, he told himself, glancing at the parasitic thoughts reaching him.
As if the universe had heard his prayer, or simply wanted to add drama, the classroom door opened with a theatrical slam.
Severus Snape entered.
And wow, what an entrance.
His black cape floated behind him as if a personal wind had been programmed just for this effect, his steps clicked on the stone floor with the regularity of a mortuary metronome, and his presence seemed to suck all the light and warmth from the room.
Okay, let's acknowledge it the man has style. A badassly terrifying style, certainly, but style nonetheless.
Silence fell instantly. Even the most talkative students closed their mouths as if a collective Silencing Charm had just been cast.
Snape positioned himself in front of his desk, swept the class with his black and penetrating gaze, then began his introductory speech with a soft and dangerous voice.
- "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began, each word articulated with surgical precision. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you to really understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..."
Fuck, the guy should write gothic poetry. Or scripts for horror movies. He's talented.
- "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death. If, that is, you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."