CHAPTER SIX: YEAR-FIVE- WHEN THE MASK FALLS. PART 1.
The room was silent. Silent, except for the soft hum of runes burning faintly along the stone floor.
Adrian stood at the center of the chamber — a vast, dimly lit space he had shaped with his own magic. The air itself seemed to vibrate with restrained power. Three stone altars stood before him, and upon each lay a man — unconscious, restrained, and glowing faintly with the residue of enchantments too complex for ordinary comprehension.
This was not a dungeon, nor a place of cruelty. It was a sanctum of discovery. His discovery.
The fifth year at Hogwarts would begin tomorrow. But Adrian had long since stopped thinking of school as a measure of his worth. While others wasted their summers on leisure and distraction, he had dedicated every breath, every waking moment, to understanding the one thing that eluded even the greatest wizards of history — the soul.
He had mastered the Magic Eyes over the past months — the gift that allowed him to see magic itself. The glow of enchantments, the pulse of spells, the way energy flowed through wands and human veins alike — it all unfolded before him like a second world, beautiful and terrible in its complexity.
He no longer needed to rely on instinct or theory. Magic was visible to him now — measurable, alive.
But mastery was never enough.
Once he could see magic, the next question arose naturally in his mind: If I can see magic, why not the soul?
And that question became an obsession.
Through weeks of sleepless study and experimentation, Adrian designed a spell that pushed the limits of known magic — one that separated the soul from the body temporarily without destroying either. It was delicate work. Dangerous, perhaps. But his control was absolute. The spell, which he called the Astral Form, allowed him to observe the very structure of existence: body, energy, and spirit — the triad of life itself.
When he cast it upon others, the results were fascinating. When he cast it upon himself, they were… transcendent.
He saw what others could not — his own soul, luminous and intricate, a web of threads connecting thought to power, emotion to creation. And through this vision, he uncovered a truth that reshaped his understanding of existence itself.
"The being we call a wizard," Adrian wrote in his notes," is composed of three interdependent elements: the soul — whose origin remains unknown; the energy — which we call magic; and the body — the vessel that contains them both. The harmony of these three defines potential. Their discord defines weakness."
He tested the theory ruthlessly.
Through the captives before him, he learned that when the body weakened, the soul dimmed. When magic drained, the body decayed. And when the soul was damaged, the body lived, but hollowed, like an empty shell pretending to breathe.
The experiments with Horcruxes only confirmed his conclusions. Adrian had learned of them during his study of Tom Riddle — a man who had tried to defy death by dividing his essence. Using his Astral Form and his Magic Eye sight, Adrian managed to extract the fragment of Riddle's soul from Ravenclaw's Diadem and rebind it into mundane objects — a cobblestone, a psychology book, and a steel sword.
Each vessel transformed the fragment differently.
In the stone, Riddle's mind became dull, reduced to instinct and stubborn will — a fitting mirror for cold, unfeeling matter.
In the book, his thoughts sharpened; the soul adapted, absorbing knowledge and using manipulation as its defense.
And in the sword… rage took form. It tried to strike him.
That, too, was data.
Adrian realized then that the vessel shaped the soul, just as the soul shaped the vessel. The three components — body, magic, and soul — were bound by something far more profound than even Dumbledore seemed to understand.
As for the once-corrupted relic of Rowena Ravenclaw shimmered weakly, faint blue light struggling to return. Adrian's fingers brushed over it. "Not yet," he murmured. "You'll be whole again soon." He had tried to repair it, but even his understanding had limits. Not yet an alchemist of the highest order, he would need more time.
The true brilliance came when he weaponized this understanding. From the Horcrux ritual — the one that tore a soul apart — he isolated a fragment of the process, reshaped it, and forged it into a curse. One that did not target the flesh, nor the mind, but the very essence within.
He called it "Soul Cer".
When cast upon a living being, the spell sliced through the soul itself, wounding something no potion could heal. It left no physical trace, only emptiness — a hollow in the victim's essence that bled light instead of blood.
The first time he used it, the chamber dimmed for minutes afterward. The runes flickered as if uncertain whether to obey their master or kneel before him.
Adrian smiled faintly at the memory.
Now, standing before the altars, he turned his gaze to the faint shimmer of energy that hovered above the captives — their souls.
His Magic Eyes illuminated them in threads of soft blue and white, gently coiling and pulsing like underwater light.
"So fragile," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "And yet, they call themselves men of reason."
His hand rose. The runes around him responded instantly, their glow deepening to violet.
"Let's begin."
The spell unfolded — not violent, not chaotic, but graceful, like a song sung through the structure of the world itself. The air thickened, bending under the weight of purpose. The souls wavered, detached, and hovered — translucent silhouettes drifting above their earthly vessels.
Adrian observed them with quiet fascination, adjusting the energy flow with a flick of his fingers. Each movement of his wand was precise, mathematical, perfect.
He noted the resonance, the stability, the slow diffusion of light between them and their bodies.
"Body. Energy. Soul," he whispered, voice soft as silk. "Three mirrors, reflecting one another."
He moved the first soul into a small crystal orb, sealing it with a rune. Then the second. Then the third. When it was done, he exhaled softly, his expression unreadable.
"I'm close," he said. "Closer than anyone's ever been."
That night, as the stars drifted quietly over the invisible wards of his hidden home, Adrian sat at his desk and reviewed his notes. Dozens of pages filled with calculations, runes, and diagrams sprawled before him — the anatomy of the impossible. The room smelled faintly of parchment and metal. Candles flickered in rhythm with his heartbeat.
He paused, staring at the ink-drawn circle that represented the trinity of existence.
Body.
Soul.
Magic.
Each word carried meaning that still escaped him, yet every discovery only confirmed one truth: potential — real, unbounded potential lay not in the power one wielded, but in the harmony between those three.
'What AM I missing?' He smiled faintly. The fifth year at Hogwarts would begin tomorrow. And though he had long since surpassed its lessons, the game of appearances must continue.
The next morning, sunlight broke over the hills, golden and sharp. Adrian walked calmly along the quiet London street, his steps precise, his presence deliberate. To anyone else, he looked ordinary — a tall, composed young man in neat robes.
Only his eyes betrayed him. In their depths, faint violet light shimmered — a power that could not be hidden, only controlled.
When he stepped onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, the world was alive with noise and color. The red train billowed smoke, laughter and shouts filled the air, and the scent of steam and sugar mixed with the metallic tang of magic.
And yet, beneath it all, something darker lingered.
Whispers.
Glances.
A subtle shift in the air when he passed.
It took only a moment for Adrian to understand — the Ministry's work had been effective. Cornelius Fudge, still smarting from being publicly contradicted by a fourteen-year-old boy months ago, had turned his anger into politics. Newspapers now call Adrian dangerous, unnatural, a child corrupted by dark magic.
They called his abilities a threat. They called him cursed. Some went further, claiming his parents had been Death Eaters in Voldemort's first reign.
Adrian found the irony almost poetic.
How quickly the world adored what it could not understand — and how quickly it turned to fear once it realized the truth. He thought
He passed groups of students whispering behind their hands
"He's the one they said made a deal with Death himself."
"I heard he can see through you."
"My father said he's dangerous — Mum told me not to even look at him."
Adrian said nothing. Their fear was irrelevant — but it was amusing.
Just months ago, those same students had chanted his name, begged for his signature, and followed him in adoration. Now they recoiled as he walked by. Fame, he mused, was merely worship painted in ignorance.
He boarded the train without a word.
Harry met him midway through the corridor. His expression was tense, uncertain. "They've turned everyone against us," he muttered. "The papers… they're saying we lied about everything."
Adrian raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "Let them."
Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You really don't care, do you?"
"No," Adrian said simply, gazing out the window as the countryside began to blur past. "They fear what they cannot measure. That is their nature."
Outside, the sun glinted faintly against his reflection — violet eyes meeting violet eyes.
He smirked. 'Besides, fear is a kind of respect.'
\\
By the time the Hogwarts Express arrived at the castle, dusk had fallen. The air was colder than usual — the kind of cold that carried omens. Students hurried inside, whispering as their gazes darted toward the pair walking down the hall.
Adrian didn't need his eyes to see their thoughts. He could feel them — the weight of suspicion, the ripple of doubt. He ignored it. But when he entered the Great Hall, his gaze locked on the figure sitting beside Dumbledore at the staff table.
A woman in pink, smiling too widely.
Her magic — or lack of it — radiated like static.
Dolores Umbridge.
Adrian's lips curved in faint amusement. "So," he murmured under his breath, "the Ministry sends a dog to watch the lion."
Her speech was exactly as hollow as he expected: words about "order," "discipline," and "the preservation of moral wizardry." Adrian didn't even look at her — he just watched the magic that bled from her. A dull, suffocating pink aura that stank of control and ignorance.
Her eyes found him almost instantly. She paused mid-sentence.
"And of course," she said, her voice syrupy, "some students may find this year challenging — particularly those with a… dark reputation." Her smile widened.
Adrian didn't move. He didn't even blink.
The entire hall waited — for an outburst, for mockery, for something. But Adrian simply raised his goblet, took a quiet sip, and continued eating.
Umbridge's smile faltered — just a little.
\\\
Weeks passed, and her irritation grew. She targeted him in class, asked pointless questions, attempted to corner him in conversation — always coated in that nauseating sweetness.
"Oh, Mister Atlas," she said once, her voice lilting like a lullaby, "you do seem to enjoy playing the misunderstood genius, don't you? But I do wonder… all that power, all that arrogance — doesn't it ever frighten you?"
Adrian looked up from his desk, his tone perfectly neutral. "Does it frighten you?"
The silence was heavy. Students froze, waiting.
Her smile tightened. "Careful, Mister Atlas. Insolence—"
"—is often mistaken for honesty by small minds," Adrian finished quietly, returning to his book.
The class laughed — softly, nervously — and Umbridge's face flushed pink.
That was the beginning.
From then on, her vendetta became personal. She deducted points from Slytherin, assigned pointless detentions, and spread her venom through the corridors. And still, Adrian didn't react.
Because to him, she wasn't a threat.
She was an insect. Why would an insect bother him?
And then it happened—
It happened after one of her "special lectures." Adrian had barely spoken the entire hour, ignoring her passive-aggressive remarks. When the bell rang and he stood to leave, her voice cracked through the room.
"Mister Atlas. Stay behind."
He paused, turning slightly.
She approached him slowly, wand already in hand, her voice soft but trembling with anger.
"I think it's time someone taught you respect."
Adrian tilted his head, his tone almost curious. "Respect is earned. Not demanded."
Her face twisted. "You will not speak to me that way!"
Her wand snapped up — but before she could utter a single word, her wrist froze.
The air thickened. Her wand hand trembled violently, pinned by an invisible force. Her feet lifted from the ground — slowly, gracefully — as though gravity itself had forgotten her.
The room darkened. The violet glow in Adrian's eyes shimmered like twin flames.
"Calm down," he said softly.
She didn't. She couldn't.
She hovered midair, pressed gently against the window as if weightless. Her breath came shallow, her eyes wide. Adrian stepped closer, every word precise, quiet, and terrifyingly calm.
"You think you have power over me?" he whispered. "No. At best, you have authority. A difference you seem too foolish to understand."
Her lip trembled. "Y–you'll regret—"
"No." His voice cut through her words. "You will."
He leaned close enough that only she could hear."You confuse me with Dumbledore. You believe I will tolerate your delusions out of principle. But I am not him."
His tone dropped lower, colder.
"What happened today is a warning. If it happens again…"
He let the magic around her tighten just slightly, her face pressed faintly against the glass.
"…I won't hesitate to throw you through that window."
And then — just like that — he released her.
She fell to the floor, gasping.
Adrian turned away, his expression as calm as ever. "Have a pleasant evening, Professor."
He left the classroom, his steps silent, his aura perfectly composed.
Behind him, Umbridge remained trembling on the floor — not from injury, but from the unbearable realization that her power meant nothing.
\\\
The days following his confrontation with Umbridge were a study in silence and observation. She did not challenge him again, did not summon him to her office, nor attempt to trap him with rules or manipulations. Instead, she moved around him like a cautious predator, her posture rigid, eyes flickering in irritation whenever Adrian crossed her path. To anyone else, her distance might seem like meekness or avoidance, but Adrian understood the truth.
She was waiting. Waiting for a moment when her authority would be absolute, when the Ministry's political tides would allow her to act with impunity. She was counting on hubris and bureaucracy to create a trap from which he could not escape. He found it amusing, the way humans so often relied on rules and power as shields, believing those shields were impenetrable.
Umbridge may have been a nuisance, but Adrian had bigger troubles than her. One of which was Dumbledore, the avoidance of him, to be exact.
Adrian could feel it when the school year started, but now? He could see it with his eyes; for some reason, the headmaster was avoiding him like a plague.
He could understand if he avoided Harry, after all, such a thing happened in the original story, but him? It didn't make much sense to him. Shouldn't he try to earn Adrian's trust and recruit him into the Order? That was typical Dumbledore, always trying to look at the good,hahah….
'The only reason I could think of that he is avoiding me is,' Adrian's eyes flashed open, his gaze sharpened as he understood.
Adrian's eyes drifted to the teacher's table in The Great Hall, his eyes searched for him, but couldn't find not only him but also Snape. A shiver ran down his back as he understood it.
'I nearly fell for it. I underestimated that man and his wisdom, but never again, that I vow!' A flash of purple appeared in Adrian's eyes; his emotions had activated his hidden gift for a moment. He looked at the teacher's table, as he secretly thought to himself, 'Who else is in it?'
'It doesn't look like the other professors are in it yet, except my head of the house, of course…It doesn't matter who else knows what's important is that I know…'
"And I know just what to do to break his plan," Adrian smiled to himself.