As I said before at every 5 membership I will drop bonus chapter. It does not matter if it is free or not.
Discount code for patreon: 717FA (only for 2 more days)
Want to read 10+ chapters ahead? Support me on Patreon! And here by donating powerstone
for every 50 power stone I will drop a bonus chapter.
https://www.patreon.com/c/kapa69
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The air in the corridor grew heavy and cold under the weight of Snape's unspoken accusation. Kaelen felt the familiar, insistent pressure of Legilimency, no longer a subtle probe but a direct, piercing question aimed at the heart of his mind. He did not retreat. He did not erect more walls. He simply opened the gates to his meticulously crafted decoy mind, allowing Snape a curated tour.
The Potions Master would see Kaelen's fabricated memories of observing Malfoy's childish spying. He would see a logical analysis of Malfoy's emotional instability and his obsession with Potter. He would see the formulation of a hypothesis: that Malfoy, if given the right stimulus, would self-destruct in a way that would ultimately benefit the house by removing a weak and unreliable leader. There was no malice, no glee. Only the cold, detached process of a social experiment.
"Unlikely events happen every day, Professor," Kaelen said, his voice a calm, even monotone that betrayed nothing. "However, predictable events are far more common. Draco Malfoy is predictable. His envy of Potter, his arrogance, his desperate need for his father's approval, and his tactical incompetence are all known variables. One does not need to be a seer to predict that if presented with an opportunity to humiliate Potter, he would take it, and likely bungle the execution."
Snape's eyes narrowed. He could find no lie in Kaelen's mind, only a chillingly honest and ruthless application of logic that was, infuriatingly, the very essence of Slytherin ambition.
"You are admitting, then," Snape hissed, "that you guided him."
"I merely presented him with a set of facts and allowed his predictable nature to run its course," Kaelen corrected smoothly. "I planted a seed in fertile ground. The weed that grew is his own creation. The house is now aware that a prominent name is no substitute for competence. We are stronger for it. And Gryffindor has likely lost house points and morale. From a strategic standpoint, the outcome has been overwhelmingly positive for Slytherin."
He met Snape's gaze without wavering. This is what you wanted, his silence seemed to say. A house of the cunning and ambitious. This is what it looks like.
For a long, tense moment, Snape simply stared, his sallow face unreadable. He had been presented with a perfect, undeniable Slytherin victory, orchestrated by a first-year who thought like a seasoned general. He could not punish Kaelen without being a hypocrite.
"You are playing a very dangerous game, using the students of this school as your pawns," Snape said at last, his voice a low warning. "See to it that your experiments do not cause any more… collateral damage… to my house's reputation. Or its points."
He turned and swept away down the corridor, his black robes billowing like a storm cloud of grudging acceptance. Kaelen had been warned, but he had not been punished. He had won.
He returned to the common room to find Nott and Daphne waiting, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"Well?" Nott asked.
"Professor Snape and I had a productive conversation about house management," Kaelen said, retaking his seat. "He is a man who appreciates results."
Daphne's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. The matter was closed.
The true results of his experiment returned from the Forbidden Forest long after midnight. Malfoy stumbled into the dormitory, his face the colour of parchment, trembling so violently he could barely stand.
"There's something in the forest," he whimpered, collapsing onto his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. "Something evil. We saw it… it killed a unicorn. It was drinking its blood!"
Nott and Kaelen exchanged a glance. Crabbe and Goyle just snored.
"Unicorn blood," Kaelen mused aloud, a flicker of genuine academic interest in his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "A fascinating choice. It will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You live a cursed life from the moment the blood touches your lips."
"Cursed?" Malfoy squeaked from under his blankets.
"A half-life," Kaelen continued, his voice laced with a dark, analytical humor. "A state of perpetual suffering. Honestly, from a practical standpoint, it's a terrible long-term survival strategy. The magical equivalent of taking out a loan from a goblin with an interest rate of your own soul. The desperation of the creature that would resort to such a measure must be… profound."
Malfoy let out a terrified sob.
Nott picked up the thread, his own eyes gleaming with cold curiosity. "And who do we know that is desperate, cursed, and barely alive?"
The answer hung in the silent, torch-lit dormitory. Voldemort.
The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place in Kaelen's mind with the cold, satisfying certainty of a well-oiled lock. It was Voldemort in the forest, weakened and parasitic. He was living off the lifeblood of magical creatures, clinging to a cursed existence. And he was being hosted by a servant. A servant who was constantly in the castle, who seemed weak and pathetic, and who wore a turban for no discernible reason.
Quirrell.
The Philosopher's Stone was not just a prize; it was a cure. The final ingredient in a resurrection potion of unimaginable power.
Kaelen lay in his bed that night, listening to Malfoy's terrified whimpers, and saw the entire board with perfect, chilling clarity. Dumbledore, the grandmaster, had set a trap, using the Stone as bait. Voldemort, the fallen king, was desperately trying to spring it. And Snape was a rogue bishop, moving between both sides, his ultimate allegiance still a carefully guarded secret.
The other students, the professors, the entire school—they were just background noise. They saw a school year punctuated by strange and frightening events. Kaelen saw a shadow war reaching its inevitable, violent climax.
He had no interest in saving the Stone for Dumbledore. He had no desire to see Voldemort rise. The conflict between the two ancient wizards was, to him, an irrelevance. A clash of outdated ideologies.
But the Stone itself… that was another matter entirely. An object that could grant eternal life and infinite wealth. It was the ultimate source of power, free from the messy, illogical constraints of love or loyalty.
He would not be a pawn for the light or the dark. He would not be a piece to be sacrificed in someone else's game.
He would watch. He would wait. And when the two kings finally met on the field of battle, when they were weakened and distracted by their own hubris, he would walk through the chaos and take the prize for himself. The world could have its heroes and its dark lords. He was going to be the one who owned the board.