Chapter 10 – Shadows Beneath the Snow
December 3, 1971
Snow fell silently over the high towers of Hogwarts, covering its roofs with a thick white layer that muffled the sounds of the castle. The cold wind whistled against the windows of the Slytherin common room, but inside, the warmth of the flames danced in the hearth, casting shadows on the walls that seemed to move on their own.
Marius Rosier—or rather, the shadow hiding behind that name—watched these shadows with a strange, almost fascinated attention. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the green leather armchair where he had settled. Each passing day strengthened his control over this body, and he discovered new ways to impose his will on the surrounding magic. Here, sorcery breathed, lived, pulsed with a raw vitality that Sauron exploited with growing pleasure. His simplest experiments—twisting the metal of a cup without a wand, extinguishing the light of a candle by sheer force of will—had evolved into bolder exercises. He could now feel the flow of magic in the very stones of the castle.
Yet, he remained cautious. Too much haste would attract suspicion, and already, some gazes lingered on him more than he wished.
The Whispers of James Potter
That morning, the Great Hall buzzed with excitement. Snowflakes swirled behind the immense windows, and the scent of hot chocolate mingled with that of steaming pastries. Marius entered, dressed in a perfectly fitted black coat that accentuated his tall frame and contrasted with the almost unreal pallor of his skin. His dark hair, impeccably slicked back, seemed to absorb the light of the floating candles.
He advanced toward the Slytherin table with glacial elegance. As he sat down, he felt eyes upon him. Discreet, but insistent.
James Potter.
The Gryffindor wasn't even really hiding it. He was there, with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew, a mocking smile on his lips, but his eyes shone with something else: mistrust.
"You're staring at him again, James," Sirius sneered, biting into a piece of toast. "You're becoming obsessed."
"I don't like that guy," James replied bluntly. "There's something... something off about him."
Remus looked up from his plate, intrigued:
"It's because he's a Slytherin. You see evil everywhere."
"No," James insisted. "It's not that. He's... too perfect. Too silent. And did you see in Transfiguration? He managed the beetle-to-button transformation before anyone else. Even before me."
Sirius raised an eyebrow, a carnivorous smile at the corner of his lips.
"That bothers you, doesn't it?"
James didn't answer. He simply looked away toward Marius, who, on his side, calmly brought a cup to his lips, as if tasting a refined wine. For a moment, their eyes met. The Slytherin sketched a polite, almost warm smile... but the eyes remained cold as steel. James felt a shiver run down his neck.
The Art of Manipulation
A few hours later, Marius left the Potions class, his hands slipped into the pockets of his black robe. Professor Slughorn had once again complimented him on the precision of his Wit-Sharpening Potion. The old master loved brilliant students, especially those from ancient families like the Rosiers. Marius exploited this carefully, multiplying intelligent answers and flattering comments. Each smile, each word was calculated.
But his true goal was not Slughorn. Not today.
A boy waited for him in the corridor: Evan Rosier, a distant cousin. Same blood, same aristocratic pride. But Evan lacked ambition, at least on the surface. He bowed too easily to orders, ready to follow whoever showed strength.
"Evan," Marius murmured as he approached, his voice grave and melodious like an incantation. "A moment."
The boy stopped, surprised, then nodded. The other students continued on their way, hurried by the cold seeping into the corridors.
"You have potential, Evan. More than you imagine," Marius said with a slight smile. "But you let yourself be trampled by those who are worth nothing. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff... the weak."
Evan gave a bitter smile.
"Maybe. But what does it change?"
Marius slightly tilted his head, his gaze lighting up with an almost hypnotic glow.
"Everything. Power is there for those who dare to take it. And I... I can teach you to take it."
He placed a light hand on the boy's shoulder. Evan shivered, not from the cold, but from a strange thrill of excitement. This touch seemed to burn, but with a fire that awakened forgotten instincts.
"Think about it," Marius concluded before walking away, his cape floating behind him like a living shadow.
A Duel in the Snow
In the afternoon, after classes, James decided to challenge Marius. The idea had been growing in his mind all day. He wanted to test this Slytherin, see what he was made of. Under the pretext of a dueling club activity, he waited for him in the inner courtyard, where the snow had accumulated in an immaculate layer.
When Marius appeared, James called out to him:
"Rosier! A duel, are you up for it? For honor."
Around them, a few students stopped, excited at the prospect of a spectacle. Sirius rubbed his hands together with a sneer. Evan Rosier, who had followed Marius, watched the scene with poorly concealed concern.
Marius stopped. The wind slightly lifted his black hair. Then he slowly advanced, each step leaving a clear imprint in the snow.
"If it amuses you, Potter," he replied calmly. "But I wouldn't want to... humiliate you."
A burst of laughter ran through the circle of students. James felt the anger burn his cheeks. They took their positions, wands raised. A murmur ran through the icy air.
"Expelliarmus!" James launched with lightning speed.
But before the spell reached Marius, he had murmured without even raising his wand:
"Protego."
The invisible shield appeared in a breath and repelled the spell. James widened his eyes. Without a wand? Impossible...
"Incendio!" he roared at once, a tongue of fire shooting toward the Slytherin.
A simple glance from Marius, and the flames extinguished in a gust of icy wind. Not a single spark reached his robe. He advanced, implacable.
"Is that all, Potter?" he murmured in a voice so low that only James heard it.
Then, with a slow gesture, he finally raised his wand. An invisible shockwave threw James backward, rolling him in the snow. Silence fell, heavy, punctuated only by the Gryffindor's halting breath. The spectators remained frozen, fascinated by the Slytherin's cold mastery.
Marius lowered his wand and extended a hand to James.
"Get up. We wouldn't want the... snow to freeze your heart."
James refused the hand, his eyes shining with rage and humiliation. But in his mind, a certainty was born: this boy was not normal.
The Shadows Thicken
Later, in the Slytherin dormitory, Marius watched the snow fall behind the windows. His thoughts stretched like black threads. This duel was just a game, but it revealed a truth: the forces at play were taking shape. James Potter would become an obstacle; he could already feel it. And an obstacle... is either bypassed or broken.
Yet, it was not time to act. Not yet. His plans required patience and precision. He had planted a seed in Evan's mind today. Soon, others would follow. His circle would form, slowly, under the noses of the blind professors.
In the shadows, Marius Rosier—Sauron—smiled. Winter was just a prelude. The true cold, the kind that freezes hope and consumes light, would come from him.