A DUEL OF WITS
CHAPTER 27: A DUEL OF WITS
The return to Hogwarts was largely uneventful, but it was still comforting in its own way. King's Cross Station was bustling with its usual mix of excitement and nervous chatter as students reunited and parents waved goodbye. As I boarded the train, I immediately spotted James and Christian, already grinning and waving me over from our usual compartment. We spent the first few minutes catching up on the holidays, laughing about all the Christmas disasters and triumphs.
"Thanks for the gift, by the way," Christian said, holding up the new leather-bound notebook I’d sent him. "Been using it to plan some ideas for next term."
"Yeah, it's been a huge help!" James chimed in. “Mum even caught me writing in it and nearly hexed it, thought it was one of those trick notebooks.”
I laughed. "Good, means it’s doing its job. We can't have you looking too serious."
Just then, Tonks burst in like a whirlwind, her grin mischievous. "Oi! There you are, troublemakers!" she teased. "Thanks for the prank potions, they were… well, let’s just say they worked very effectively." She winked, leaving us wondering what chaos she’d unleashed with them before dashing off down the corridor.
And so, a new term began at Hogwarts.
As I settled back into the familiar rhythm of classes and late nights, I returned to my routine of using the Room of Requirement and the time-turner to maximize my study time. My focus remained on honing every skill I could get my hands on, and to most of my classmates, I was simply always a step ahead, even if they didn’t quite understand how. I spent countless hours pushing the limits of my magic, learning not only spells but also the intricacies of magical theory. It was exhausting, exhilarating work, and it felt like I was getting a glimpse into an entirely different level of magic.
Of course, it didn’t go unnoticed.
Snape had become sneakier, slipping around corners as though he thought I wouldn’t catch him watching. He often gave me that suspicious glare of his, but he’d only ever mutter vague warnings about overstepping boundaries before sweeping away. McGonagall, on the other hand, observed with a kind of wary curiosity. Her eyes followed me with a mixture of pride and, perhaps, a little concern.
I knew what it meant—the Headmaster was probably already on edge, watching for signs that I might turn dark. Part of me was insulted; they knew me, didn’t they? But I couldn’t afford to underestimate Dumbledore. The man was far more powerful and knowledgeable than I was. Even though I had a rare dual-core in its second stage at the age of eleven—an unusual phenomenon that allowed me to absorb ambient magic and strengthen my abilities rapidly—Dumbledore’s power was different. His core had long been solidified in the third stage, honed by the Elder Wand and years of experience. To face him, I’d have to continue growing, refining every spell, every skill.
It was a daunting thought, but it only fueled my resolve. I’d surpass him, given time.
Months rolled by with little trouble. Hogwarts was as lively and unpredictable as ever, and while cases of bullying popped up here and there, they mostly bypassed me. When I wasn’t with James and Christian, I was usually hidden away studying, immersed in books or practicing spells, so I was generally out of sight.
One person who couldn’t stand staying out of sight, however, was Victoria. She’d taken to challenging me in every subject, convinced she’d best me if she just tried hard enough. While she worked tirelessly, burning the midnight oil to improve her marks, I had a different approach—I simply enjoyed playing with magic, exploring the possibilities without the pressure to compete. It didn’t seem fair to her, as I often scored higher purely by accident, focused as I was on pushing boundaries rather than acing tests.
One afternoon after Charms, she stormed up to me, her face red with frustration. “Do you ever stop studying? Or is this all a game to you?”
Caught off guard, I gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m not trying to outdo anyone, Victoria. I just… like to explore, see what magic can do.”
She glared at me, her eyes narrowing. "You know, some of us actually have to put in real effort. You’re just… it’s infuriating."
I scratched my head, feeling a bit guilty. “I don’t mean to make it harder for you. I could probably hold back a little…”
“Don’t bother,” she interrupted, crossing her arms. “I’ll just have to try harder.” And with that, she stomped off, leaving me chuckling at her unrelenting determination.
Meanwhile, my magical core continued to grow stronger, seemingly feeding off the rich, ancient magic surrounding Hogwarts itself. Sometimes I’d feel a surge of energy, like electricity, tingling through my hands during spells. It was thrilling, if a bit unsettling, but I figured Hogwarts would be the best place to explore my abilities. My core had a mind of its own, but I felt confident I could handle it—for now.
But beyond all of this, I knew I was being watched. Dumbledore’s gaze was a silent reminder that I wasn’t simply another student, and while I was wary of his suspicions, I felt the need to push myself further, to learn more. The time would come, eventually, when I’d have to prove myself, not just to him but to everyone.
Aside from the daily routines and the usual intrigue of life at Hogwarts, my personal goals for the year had actually been met with impressive success. With the help of the Time-Turner, I managed to stretch the hours in a day and gain invaluable extra time for study and exploration. In what felt like months but was really just the span of a single term, I pushed my knowledge in all the core subjects to NEWT level—a feat that honestly felt surreal. Originally, I had planned to let a few subjects hover between OWL and NEWT, but things kept clicking. The progress was exciting, even if I knew it would take considerable practice to translate all this theoretical knowledge into seamless wandless application.
One of my other ambitious goals for the year had been a bit more… mischievous. I wanted to crack the code behind the Marauder’s Map and, if possible, replicate it for myself. After countless hours studying and deconstructing charms and enchantments, I’d finally cracked the base magic. The map relied on a modified form of the Homenum Revelio charm—one that used Hogwarts' wards as a foundation. In essence, the map was a magical display of what the wards themselves sensed within the castle's borders, enhanced by the Marauders' mischievous spirit and ingenuity.
It also explained a few things that I had always wondered about, like why the Room of Requirement and the Chamber of Secrets didn’t appear on the map. The Room of Requirement, being Unplottable, evaded detection entirely, while the Chamber was likely outside of the Hogwarts wards altogether—not to mention, the Marauders probably hadn’t known about either one. The brilliance of the map lay in its unique combination of enchantment, runic work, ward theory, and a touch of pure audacity. But now, with the model figured out and full access to the map’s magic thanks to my knowledge of the password, I could recreate it.
It wasn’t just a simple copy, though. By the time I’d finished my version of the map, it was more sophisticated, with some added features I’d thought up along the way. For one, I left out the Marauders’ snarky comments (as amusing as they were), and I created a unique password that no one would guess. Most importantly, I added a new function that marked any instance of people disappearing or appearing in the castle—tracking the exact location and time they vanished or reappeared. This would allow me to know if anyone was sneaking in and out of the castle grounds.
The day I completed the map, I held it up with a grin, feeling a rush of satisfaction. In my hands was not only the culmination of weeks of intricate spellwork but also a tool that would help me uncover all manner of secrets Hogwarts held within its ancient stone walls.
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I muttered my password, watching as the map unfurled, lines tracing the familiar halls and staircases of the castle. I watched students moving along the corridors in real time, tiny dots labeled with names I recognized. It was a powerful thing, this map. As I gazed over it, I felt like a true successor to the Marauders, equipped with my own means of mischief—and, perhaps, a little bit of mastery over this enchanted castle.
With my map in hand and a firm resolve in my heart, I was ready to tackle the challenges and mysteries that awaited in the years to come. There was a thrill in knowing that each secret I unraveled at Hogwarts would bring me closer to understanding—and ultimately shaping—the world around me.
One of my primary goals had already been achieved this year: securing Outstanding with distinction in every subject. Yes, even in Potions, where I had the rare pleasure of watching Snape reluctantly mark the highest grade possible. It was clear that the man despised me for it, but it was even clearer that he couldn't ignore the quality of my work. I'd poured countless hours into my studies, even going so far as to compile a personal potions guide based on everything we’d covered, along with my own improvements on several recipes. From efficiency to ingredient substitutions, my guide was thorough—and quite possibly revolutionary, if I ever decided to release it. For now, though, only a few close friends and family members knew about it. Aunt Amelia, of course, was practically glowing with pride, convinced that I was on track to become a major figure in the wizarding world.
The end of the school year brought with it the usual sense of anticipation and nostalgia. Slytherin House had claimed the House Cup, thanks to their quidditch season win. Gryffindor had been in the lead, but a few lost matches had knocked us down. It didn’t sit well with most of the other houses, but there it was—Hogwarts’ own form of politics, playing out through points and banners in the Great Hall.
As I packed my trunk and prepared to head home for the summer, I promised to keep in touch with my friends. James, Christian, and I had already made plans to meet up when possible, and even Tonks had joked about joining us for a few prank-filled afternoons. But despite the lighthearted end-of-term farewells, a part of me was already turning to thoughts of the future—and the battles I knew lay ahead.
When Voldemort returns, the wizarding world would be thrown into chaos again. In my time, I’d seen people close to me suffer, even die, because of the Dark Lord’s brutality. My aunt Amelia had been one of them, a sacrifice to the hatred and cruelty that seemed to breed unchecked among those who blindly followed him. If I didn’t act, if I didn’t take steps now, I would risk seeing that dark timeline play out again. Dumbledore’s strategy might have been noble—an attempt to avoid bloodshed and foster peace—but the reality was harsher. Some of Voldemort’s followers treated muggle-borns and so-called “blood-traitors” as less than human, and they went so far as to push laws making it illegal to be a muggle-born wizard. British wizarding society had always harbored a quiet prejudice, but under Voldemort’s influence, that bigotry would only deepen. Positions, employment, and basic respect were denied to anyone who didn’t fit the half-blood or pureblood ideal, and even with Dumbledore’s power on the Wizengamot, there was only so much he was willing to do. Too often, he was distracted—focused on Harry, on the prophecy, and his careful, diplomatic approach to change.
And the prophecy… It was a powerful thing, and from what I knew, meddling with prophecies almost never ended well. They were far more concrete than the fluffy predictions of typical divination. They shaped fate, drove people toward unavoidable consequences. Voldemort’s destiny was linked to Harry, and that was a battle I had no intention of interfering with. But Voldemort’s world—the influence, the connections, the prejudices and institutions that bolstered his power—that, I could target. And I would.
The summer ahead would be a turning point. This was the time to lay down plans and begin setting the foundation for a stronger, more inclusive wizarding world. The status quo—a society clinging to outdated and narrow-minded ideals—was something I could no longer accept, especially given what I knew was coming.
My first priority was to improve the conditions for Muggle-borns, both in the immediate future and the longer term. The discrimination they faced was not only cruel but dangerously shortsighted. Wizarding bloodlines were shrinking, with magical families often marrying within the same circles. The simple fact was that Muggle-borns brought fresh blood, energy, and potential to the magical world. Their presence was crucial to keeping our community alive and strong for generations to come. And yet, instead of embracing this, the Ministry and traditionalists condemned them to lives of suspicion and limited opportunities, with some even advocating for their persecution and suppression.
"The purebloods are trying to keep a grip on power," I muttered to myself as I paced around the room, mentally listing what needed to be done. "But what good is power if it tears the whole society apart from the inside out?" Muggle-borns contributed so much—skills, knowledge, even a broader understanding of the world. It was foolish to alienate them. Beyond the numbers, I wanted Muggle-borns to be able to feel what I felt—the awe and excitement of discovering magic, of understanding what they were capable of. To do that, they needed more support, access, and respect.
Then there was my second goal: to address the injustices facing werewolves. People like Remus Lupin deserved to live in peace, not to be shunned and feared. The prejudice against them was staggering, especially given the Ministry’s refusal to work toward a solution. "They've already created the Wolfsbane Potion, haven't they?" I thought aloud. "It’s costly, but it works—at least enough to let them retain their minds during the transformation."
But the real issue went beyond the potion. Werewolves had already been forced into isolation, often gathering in remote areas to transform safely. The Ministry had even made agreements with some packs in the past, providing safe areas for transformation, which shows that they already knew the solution. Yet here we were, with Umbridge and her ilk pushing werewolves further to the fringes of society, making their lives unbearable. By cutting off their opportunities for employment, werewolves were being driven into the arms of people like Fenrir Greyback, who weaponized their suffering to fuel his own violent agendas.
I sat down at my desk, grabbing a quill and parchment to start outlining ideas.
"Muggle-born rights, werewolf rights," I murmured as I wrote. "Start with public outreach… maybe anonymously at first." It was too soon to put my name out there, but anonymous pamphlets, articles, and perhaps some strategic alliances could start shifting the public's perception. I could work on bringing awareness, educating people, and perhaps even secretly funneling resources to support groups.
And then there was Hogwarts itself. If I could get the support of students here, perhaps through clubs or study groups, we could build solidarity between Muggle-borns and other students. It was a start, a way to plant the seeds of change right here where they would grow.
The lack of clear, accurate information was something I knew I could change—and it would be the first step in tearing down some of the barriers that made the wizarding world feel so outdated. The misinformation about werewolves, combined with the total lack of guidance for Muggle-born students, created dangerous gaps in our society. So, I took matters into my own hands, channeling my frustrations into two books, written under the pen name Michael Folster.
The first, Blinded to Facts About Werewolves, aimed to clear up the baseless fears and misconceptions about werewolves that plagued wizarding Britain. The book wasn’t just a plea for understanding; it was full of evidence, real stories, and actionable information. I poured research into it, detailing how werewolves could live safely with others, manage their condition, and contribute to society, if only given the chance. It even laid out clear ways the Ministry could support them without sacrificing public safety. I arranged for the goblins to publish it and ensure its distribution not just in Britain but across Europe, knowing the reach of Gringotts would give the book legs. My friendship with the goblins—and my profitable arrangements with them—helped smooth the way.
The second book, A Muggle-Born’s Guide to the Wizarding World, was perhaps even more crucial. Every Muggle-born student deserved to know their rights, the lay of the land, and how to navigate a world they’d never even heard of until their letter arrived. It was baffling that nothing like this existed, considering the challenges they faced: unfamiliar culture, discriminatory laws, and limited access to opportunities. So, I compiled everything from magical customs and common practices to legal rights and potential career paths. The book was designed to help Muggle-borns feel empowered, prepared, and knowledgeable as they entered a world that could otherwise easily swallow them up.
Unlike the werewolf book, I intended this one to be free, spread widely among those who needed it most. I struck a deal with the goblins, paying them to distribute copies to Muggle-borns and their families when they came to exchange money or open accounts. I trusted the goblins more than most of the wizarding world, knowing they valued honesty and a fair deal. They respected me as a warrior, someone who knew their worth and never looked down on them like so many wizards did. After all, the goblins had never lost a war against wizardkind—why would anyone think it wise to disrespect them?
With these two books in circulation, I knew I was stirring up the beginnings of real, meaningful change. I’d planted seeds that could, over time, grow into something powerful—something that could challenge the deeply rooted injustices that kept the wizarding world locked in the past. And as the ideas within these books spread, people would start to question, to challenge, and, hopefully, to change.