June arrived, bringing with it a suffocating heat that turned the castle into a pressure cooker.
The atmosphere in Hogwarts shifted from the manic energy of discovery to the sheer, unadulterated terror of Exam Week. The corridors were filled with students muttering incantations under their breath, practicing wand movements in empty classrooms, and practically living in the library.
Cho Chang was currently hidden behind a fortress of books that towered over her head.
"Alister!" she hissed as he walked past her table, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too relaxed. "Where are your books? Magical Theory is tomorrow morning! You haven't reviewed Adalbert Waffling's first chapter on Intent!"
Alister paused, blinking slowly. "My books?"
He shrugged. "I left them with Astra over Easter break. She needed the reading material more than I did."
Cho looked like she might have a stroke. "You... you left your course books at home? How are you going to revise?"
"I don't revise, Cho," Alister said, tapping his temple. "I retain."
He left her sputtering and walked out of the portrait hole. He wasn't heading to the library. He had a standing appointment in the dungeons.
[Potions Laboratory]
The air in the private laboratory was thick with acrid, green fumes.
Severus Snape stood over a bubbling cauldron, his face illuminated by the sickly glow of the potion. He didn't look up when the door opened.
"You are late, Potter," Snape drawled, adding a pinch of powdered moonstone to the mix.
"I was waylaid by a panic attack in the Common Room," Alister replied, hanging his robe on a hook and pulling on a dragon-hide apron. He moved to the adjacent workstation without needing instruction. "They're convinced I'm going to fail."
"They lack imagination," Snape muttered. "And confuse memorization with understanding."
For the past month, Alister hadn't been attending the first-year Potions classes. It was a waste of time. Instead, he spent his evenings here, in Snape's private laboratory.
They weren't brewing Cures for Boils.
"The Mana-Stabilizer," Snape said, gesturing to Alister's cauldron. "The Headmaster believes that with the students... accelerating their growth, we will see a rise in Core-Burnout. He wants a prophylactic brewed by the end of term."
Alister inspected his brew. It was a deep, shimmering violet—the correct color for this stage, though the standard recipe would have it at pale blue.
"The standard recipe calls for Valerian root," Alister noted, picking up a silver knife. "But Valerian is a sedative. If we want to stabilize the flow without dampening the output, we should substitute it for Sopophorous Bean juice. Just a drop."
Snape paused. He looked at Alister, his black eyes narrowing.
"Proceed," Snape said softly. "But if you melt my cauldron, you will buy the replacement."
Alister crushed the bean with the flat of his blade, releasing the silvery juice in a controlled stream. He added exactly three drops, counting under his breath. The potion hissed violently, turned a violent orange that made Snape's hand twitch toward his wand, and then settled into a perfect, calm silver that seemed to glow with internal light.
Snape watched the transformation, a flicker of begrudging pride crossing his face.
"Adequate," was all he said.
Which, coming from Snape, was a standing ovation.
The Potions Master moved closer, inspecting the brew with professional scrutiny. "The stabilization is superior to the standard formula. More responsive to fluctuations in core pressure." He made a note on his parchment. "I will inform the Headmaster that the modification is viable for mass production."
"I could write up the process. Include diagrams for the critical stages."
Snape was silent for a moment, stirring his own cauldron with precise, controlled movements.
"Bottle your brew. Label it clearly." he said quietly.
[The Abandoned Classroom]
When he wasn't in the dungeons, Alister was usually found here.
Spread out on a desk were parchment notes written in thin, loopy handwriting that belonged to the Headmaster.
To Alister,
Regarding the geometric properties of the Runic Array 'Ehwaz'—I believe you will find Flamel's commentary on 12th century transmutation circles illuminating. Do try not to transmute the furniture. The castle is rather fond of its current arrangement.
— A.P.W.B.D.
Dumbledore had been a surprising ally. Unlike most professors who would try to slow down an advanced student "for their own good," the Headmaster seemed to understand the speed at which Alister mastered magic and actively fed it.
Advanced alchemy notes, ancient runic puzzles, theoretical frameworks that most wizards wouldn't see until their Mastery studies all delivered in casual conversations or left in his dormitory for Alister to find.
Alister traced a rune on the parchment with his finger.
"Alchemy," he whispered, feeling the balance of the equation in his mind. "Equivalent Exchange. To gain something, something of equal value must be lost."
He added a stroke to the rune.
"But with the System... I can optimize the exchange. Reduce the loss. Make the equation more efficient."
So, when exams finally arrived, he found them almost anticlimactic.
During Charms Practical, Professor Flitwick squeaked with excitement from his pile of books. "Now, Mr. Potter, if you could please make this pineapple dance across the desk."
Alister didn't just make it dance. He flicked his wand with a precise spiral motion, and the pineapple grew tiny legs, performed a perfect waltz complete with spins and dips, bowed deeply to the Professor with one leafy appendage extended, and then reverted smoothly back to ordinary fruit.
Flitwick clapped so hard he fell off his stack of books. "Extraordinary! Outstanding! That was N.E.W.T. level animation work! 120%!"
Professor McGonagall watched him like a hawk, her expression stern despite the approval in her eyes. "Turn this mouse into a snuffbox, Mr. Potter."
Alister tapped the mouse once. It didn't just turn into a box; it transformed into an ornate, silver snuffbox with the Hogwarts crest engraved on the lid in perfect detail. The hinges worked smoothly, and the interior was lined with what appeared to be actual velvet.
McGonagall picked it up, examining it from every angle. "The detail work is exceptional," she said, her lips thinning slightly to hide what might have been a smile. "Though I should note that a simple wooden box would have sufficed for full marks. This is... perhaps showing off?"
"Is there a penalty for exceeding expectations, Professor?"
"No, Mr. Potter. Just... try to leave some achievements for your later years." She made a notation on her marking sheet. "Outstanding. Obviously."
As for History of Magic, Alister slept for two hours, woke up, wrote "The Goblin Rebellions were caused by economic disparity and the refusal of Wizards to grant wand rights," and handed it in. It was the only answer Binns would ever agree with.
By the time the last quill was set down, Alister was the only student in the castle who didn't look like he'd survived a war.
He stood in the courtyard as the other first-years celebrated the freedom of summer. Cho was frantically cross-referencing her answers with other Ravenclaws, convinced she'd failed everything despite being one of the top students.
Alister stood apart, watching the sun dip lower in the sky, his mind already moving ahead.
The term was over. The distraction of school was done.
"June 30th," Alister murmured, checking the date on his pocket watch.
The exams were easy. Now came the real work.
Before second year started, he would give the magical world another spark—but this one would bring bigger changes than even the Circulation Method.
[King's Cross Station]
The Hogwarts Express rattled into King's Cross, the steam billowing onto a platform that felt very different from the one Alister had left months ago. The air wasn't filled with the usual joyous reunions. It was filled with whispers.
As Alister stepped off the train, a discarded copy of the Evening Prophet fluttered against his leg. He picked it up, smoothing out the crumpled parchment.
MINISTRY DECREE #429: UPDATE ON 'THE ARCHITECT'
STATUS CHANGED: CAPTURE ALIVE ONLY
LETHAL FORCE PROHIBITED
NEW BOUNTY: 10,000,000 GALLEONS
"We have determined that the Architect, while operating outside legal frameworks, has not demonstrated hostile intent toward the magical community," stated Minister Fudge in a press conference this morning. "The Circulation Method has proven... beneficial... to magical society. We now seek dialogue rather than confrontation."
Alister stared at the bold letters, a cold smirk curling his lip.
"So," he whispered to himself, tossing the paper into a bin. "They realized they can't kill the goose if they want the golden eggs."
The Ministry had panicked. They realized that with rising influence of muggle born wizards and squibs if kept targeting him their ministry will soon need to change hands.
And they wanted his knowledge. They wanted to chain him in the Department of Mysteries and milk him for power.
"Good luck with that."
Alister didn't head straight for the barrier. Instead, he slipped into a restroom, tapped his chest, and cast a high-level Disillusionment Charm layered with a perception filter.
[Diagon Alley]
Diagon Alley was bustling, but the mood was feverish rather than festive. People were practicing magic openly in the streets—levitating heavy trunks with casual flicks of their wands, repairing cobblestones, even demonstrating combat spells in the dueling supply shop's window.
The Architect's influence was everywhere. He had fundamentally changed how people interacted with magic.
Alister walked straight to the snowy white building that towered over the shops: Gringotts Bank.
He walked up to a teller, his face hidden deep within a cowl. He used a generic, wealthy persona.
"Currency exchange," Alister said, his voice modulated to sound older.
The goblin peered over his spectacles, his black eyes glittering with suspicion. "We are offering standard rates for—"
"I am selling Galleons," Alister interrupted. "For British Pounds. Large volume."
The goblin paused. Usually, wizards wanted gold, not paper. "How much?"
Alister placed a heavy, undetectable extension bag on the counter and a key. "Fifty thousand."
The goblin's eyes widened. "That is... significant liquidity. The exchange rate for selling gold is—"
"May I ask the purpose of such a large conversion?" the goblin asked carefully. "Standard anti-laundering protocols require—"
"Investment diversification," Alister said smoothly. "I'm establishing holdings in the Muggle financial sector. Perfectly legal. If you need documentation, I can provide—"
"No, no," the goblin said quickly, already pulling out forms. "That won't be necessary for a standard conversion. Though I should warn you—fifty thousand Galleons will produce approximately two hundred fifty thousand Pounds at current rates. That's a substantial amount of Muggle currency to transport."
"I have appropriate containers."
The goblin nodded and began the process.
Ten minutes later, Alister walked out with a briefcase filled with crisp, high-denomination Pound sterling notes.
______________________________________________________
[North London - Highgate]
Highgate was an upscale, leafy neighborhood in North London, far removed from the grime of industrial areas or the cramped suburban rows.
Alister stood in the office of a high-end estate agent, a place called "Sterling & Associates" that specialized in "discreet property acquisitions for distinguished clients."
Mr. Sterling himself sat across the mahogany desk, a portly man in an expensive suit who was currently sweating despite the office's excellent climate control.
"I... I'm afraid, sir, that the property you've inquired about is not currently on the market," he said, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. "It belongs to a family trust, and the legal complexities alone would take months to navigate, possibly years—"
Alister sat in the leather chair across from him, looking perfectly relaxed. He was still using his appearance-alteration charms, presenting as a wealthy businessman in his thirties.
"Mr. Sterling," Alister said softly. "Look at me."
The agent looked.
Alister channeled a careful fraction of his mana into his eyes—not enough to glow, just enough to enhance the Confundus Charm he was weaving into his words. A subtle Suggestion layered underneath, making his statements feel like the agent's own memories.
"The paperwork is already processed," Alister said, his voice gentle but firm. "The previous owners were quite desperate to sell—family financial troubles, I believe you mentioned? They accepted my cash offer eagerly. The keys are in your drawer, ready for transfer."
Mr. Sterling blinked slowly, his eyes glazing slightly.
"Yes..." he murmured, his voice distant. "Financial troubles. Desperate to sell. Cash offer... very generous cash offer."
His hand moved automatically to his desk drawer, pulling it open and retrieving a set of heavy iron keys attached to a brass tag.
"Here you are, Mr. Potter," he said, sliding the keys across the desk. "A pleasure doing business with you. The house is everything you hoped for—Victorian architecture, completely private, excellent location..."
Alister placed a stack of cash on the desk—far more than the house was actually worth, enough to ensure that when the confusion charms faded, Mr. Sterling would have no reason to question the transaction.
"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Sterling. I'm sure you'll find everything in order."
"Yes, yes, of course..." The agent was already filing papers, his movements automatic.
Alister took the keys and left the office, stepping out into the warm summer evening.
[The Highgate Mansion]
Twenty minutes later, Alister stood before a massive Victorian detached house hidden behind high iron gates and ancient oak trees. The property was enormous—at least five bedrooms, multiple reception rooms, extensive gardens.
He walked up the gravel driveway, the crunch of stones under his boots the only sound in the quiet evening.
At the front door, he paused.
Then he placed his hand flat against the wood and released his magic.
The wards he'd designed over the past month unfurled like a blooming flower—layer upon layer of protective enchantments that settled over the property like an invisible dome.
He unlocked the door with the iron key and stepped into the grand entrance hall.
Hardwood floors. High ceilings with ornate molding. A sweeping staircase.
"Home sweet home," Alister whispered.
He was building a base of operations. And now, it was time to bring Astra home.
[Privet Drive]
The taxi ride from London to Surrey was slow, but Alister didn't mind. He used the time to plan, to organize, to think through the next steps.
When he finally stepped out onto the familiar pavement of Privet Drive, the sun was setting. The house looked exactly as he had left it—unassuming, quiet, and wrapped in a web of protective wards so dense that a dark wizard could walk right past it and forget it existed.
He unlocked the front door.
"Astra?" he called out, his voice soft.
There was a thud from upstairs, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps.
Astra appeared at the top of the stairs. She looked older, though it had only been a few months. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun, and she was wearing a oversized t-shirts. Her eyes, usually soft, held a sharp, alert glimmer that hadn't been there before.
She didn't run down the stairs like a child. She gripped the banister, scanning him for injuries.
" You're late," she said, though her voice wavered with relief. "Term ended yesterday."
Alister smiled, closing the door behind him and dropping his appearance charms. "I had to run some errands. Prepare a surprise."
Only then did Astra abandon her composure, flying down the remaining stairs to tackle him in a hug.
Alister caught her easily—his Tier 2 body enhancement made the impact negligible. He held her tight, feeling the steady thrum of her magical core against his own.
It was stronger. Much stronger.
She'd been practicing the Circulation Method religiously, he could tell. Her core had nearly doubled in capacity and density.
I missed you," she mumbled into his coat.
"I missed you too," Alister said, patting her hair. "But don't get too comfortable. Go pack your things."
Astra pulled back, confused. "Pack? Are we going on a trip?"
Alister grinned, a spark of excitement in his blue eyes. "No. We're moving. I think we've outgrown suburbia, don't you?"
Astra's face lit up with joy so pure it made Alister's chest tighten.
"Really? We're really leaving?"
"Really. So go pack. Everything you want to keep. We leave in an hour."
Vernon and Dudley weren't able hold his joy after hearing them finally going away. Petunia was somewhat sad not because she was reluctant to part with them but with the pay, he was giving them to take care of astra.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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