A/N: I just want to say that all the rolls are actually random. I don't choose them. If I get something powerful, I write it into the story. Book 2, I somewhat limit him, but Book 3 I'm making him less OP. Thak you all for your feedback and I hope you continue to read and like my story.
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Time has a way of slipping past when you are surrounded by laughter, music, and a growing sense of belonging. Or so they say.
Our usual gang is crammed into one of the larger compartments, knees bumping, snacks already half-eaten, jokes halfway finished. But this time, there are new faces among us. My eyes drift toward Millicent Bulstrode, all quiet confidence and unexpected warmth. She is a Half-blood. Both have started orbiting closer to our strange little constellation of outcasts and allies.
We are no longer first-years.
We are second-years now.
And I plan to enjoy it... once I take care of a few lingering issues.
The train slows. A familiar jolt rattles through the floorboards. We spill out of the Hogwarts Express together, our voices rising with excitement as we tread the path toward the waiting carriages.
And then I see them.
The Thestrals.
Elegant. Eerie. Their skeletal wings stretch outward, unfurling like shadows. They stomp the ground once, snorting into the cool evening air. To some, they are invisible. But I see them clearly. Of course I do.
We break into two groups, climbing into carriages with casual chatter. As mine begins to move, I glance up at the towering silhouette of the castle beyond the trees.
And then—
The world stills.
Just for a moment. Just long enough for the wind to hush and the hum of old magic to thrum in my chest like a second heartbeat.
A soft glow pulses before my eyes.
[CONVERGENCE SYSTEM SYNCED – HOGWARTS: YEAR TWO]
A flicker of pale silver light appeared in the air before me, weaving itself into the form of the Gacha interface. Familiar. Comfortable. Still elegant in its odd, shifting magic.
But then it pulsed — deep gold this time.
New lines of text unfurled:
[Upgrade Path Unlocked]
[New GP Conversions Available:]
➤ 50 GP → Upgrade Rare to Epic
➤ 75 GP → Upgrade Epic to Legendary
I leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.
This was… different.
Not just random luck now. Not just pull and hope. This was progress I could shape.
Control.
Rare to Epic. Epic to Legendary.
With effort. With investment.
Not every power needed to be discarded or replaced. Some were just waiting to evolve — to be honed into something stronger. Just like me.
My fingers hovered in the air, scrolling through my current cards.
Rasengan. Chart. Spirit Gun. Bakudō #1. Phantom Slash.
All Rare.
Each of them useful. Potential. But not their final form.
I stare for a long moment, letting the weight of this new power settle.
The carriage jolts forward, the castle rising slowly behind the trees like a sleeping titan. My friends chatter behind me, the sky darkening above us. Another year begins.
And I cannot help but smile.
This changed everything.
<><><><><><><>
The feast, as always, is divine.
Plates refill themselves with roasted lamb, seasoned potatoes, buttered rolls. Conversation flows freely. Laughter echoes along the high-arched ceilings beneath the floating candles.
Harry sits beside Hermione, whispering something that makes her roll her eyes and smile anyway. Ron, noticeably distanced, now shares a bench with Seamus and Dean. The summer hadn't healed everything, but at least Dobby's sabotage was no longer an issue — our house-elves frightened him enough to keep him away.
Across the Hall, girls whisper behind their hands and giggle like bewitched pixies.
Lockhart.
He really doesn't look like the actor from the films. No, this version is younger, handsomer. All golden hair and smug charm. Jamie Lannister with a wand.
And, unfortunately, just as full of himself.
I scan the tables, letting my eyes settle for a beat too long on the red-headed first year peeking through her lashes at Harry. She turns crimson and ducks her head the second I catch her. A pattern begins.
I sigh.
This year's drama will be a speedrun. I have plans. Bigger things.
<><><><><><><>
After the Sorting, the return to Slytherin House is smooth. Snape delivers his usual cold, calculated speech. I suspect he writes a fresh variation each summer, updated venom with the same old poison.
Once dismissed, most students drift toward their rooms or whisper in corners, eager to unpack secrets and gossip.
We claim our usual space by the enchanted windows overlooking the Great Lake. It's a corner claimed through presence, not politics. Warm lamplight spills across soft green velvet and polished stone.
Daphne sits cross-legged, brushing invisible lint from her robe. Tracey lounges like a cat, head tilted against Blaise's shoulder. Millicent, newer to our group, shifts quietly beside Tracey, petting the fat gray cat curled in her lap.
She's changed. Last year, she was all bristle and growl. Isolated. Mistrusted. Bullied by Parkinson. Ignored by most. But Daphne worked on her, subtle invitations, quiet compliments. Now she's here. Quieter than the rest, yes. But steady.
She's finally allowed to be warm.
That's what we build. Something real.
The conversation drifts between classes and speculation about the new Defense professor. No one expects him to last. Even Tracey said, "He's too pretty to survive Slytherins."
I'm mid-sip of pumpkin juice when I feel the mood shift.
Malfoy.
He walks toward us with careful steps, more composed than last year. Gone is the petulant strut. In its place is something cooler. Calculated. But not quite there.
He stops a few feet away, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, Pansy twitching beside him like a wind-up toy, and Theodore Nott — sharp, dark-eyed, watching everything.
"Rosier," Malfoy says, crisp and cold.
"Malfoy and his parade of loyal ornaments," I reply with a bright smile. "To what do we owe the pleasure? Come to beg for etiquette lessons?"
A few of our housemates snicker, but Malfoy doesn't flinch. He's trying to act above it now.
"Word is spreading," he says, voice tight. "You play Muggle music now. That the Rosier name, once feared, is now a laughingstock."
I lower my drink and stand slowly. The room quiets around us. My voice drops into something softer, but sharper.
"Malfoy," I say, taking a step forward, "I understand your brain never fully developed, must be hard growing up in your father's shadow and still managing to fall short. But let me be clear…"
I stop inches from him.
"I earned my place in this House. Through wit. Power. Control. You? You bark when someone stronger tells you to roll over. Just like your father."
The words strike home. His sneer twists into something more feral. His wand flashes upward—
Too slow.
With a flick of my wrist and the memory of Alucard's strength, I cast a concentrated force wave. No wand needed.
The spell hits like a hammer.
Malfoy and his entourage go sprawling backward in a heap of flailing limbs. His wand skitters across the floor.
I step over it and speak calmly, just loud enough for the watching crowd to hear.
"You always talk about power. About blood. But all I see is someone who kneels faster than he thinks. You want to stay in this House? Learn how to stand."
He snarls from the floor. Crabbe groans. Pansy's lip wobbles.
Several older students rise from their chairs. Seventh years. Wands in hand. Their eyes hard.
They are not here to protect Malfoy.
They are here to defend tradition.
I raise my hands.
Fire blooms.
Not a spell. Not a wand in sight. Just roaring flame swirling in my palms.
The gasps are immediate. Even the seventh years take a step back.
"Ancient magic," I say. "Rosier magic. Older than your petty allegiances. You think power is in names? Mine was forged in blood, tempered in silence, and reborn by choice."
I let the fire rise higher for a heartbeat, casting flickering shadows across the common room.
Then I close my hands.
The flames vanish.
All that remains is silence, and awe.
And the lingering echo of one truth:
They are watching a new kind of Slytherin.
And he does not bend.
<><><><><><><>
[87 GP]
I sit alone in the Undercroft, the quiet pressing in like velvet. Shadows curl along the walls, docile, waiting. My interface hovers before me, glowing softly with golden light.
It is time.
My finger hovers over the prompt, but there is no hesitation. This power has been at the core of my strategy since the beginning. Now, it is ready to evolve.
[Upgrade Shadow Clone Jutsu – Epic to Legendary for 75 GP?]
[Yes] [No]
I tap Yes.
A pulse erupts from the interface. Purple smoke spills out of my chest, coalescing into the familiar card. It flickers once, then begins to shift.
Gold ink veins its surface.
The artwork sharpens. The shadows on the card begin to animate — dozens of figures leaping through darkness, striking with precision, vanishing into mist.
Then the card disintegrates into golden dust and pours into me.
My breath catches.
I feel it immediately.
The magic floods my veins like wildfire, but colder — controlled, coiled like a serpent ready to strike. The clone limit rises. Their durability hardens. Their autonomy sharpens. They are no longer just illusions of me.
They are me.
[GP Remaining: 12]
Too low to do more tonight. But I can feel the future stretching before me, every ability I possess has new potential. Some are due for an upgrade. Soon.
I raise my wand and flick it once.
From the floor, from the shadows, from the folds in the stone, twenty of me step into existence.
Some flicker with heat from Zuko's fire. Others are barely there, riding the edges of visibility, cloaked in stealth from Alucard's magic. They nod silently and vanish in bursts of smoke or shadow.
Most will train. Some will read. A few will test combinations we have yet to master. One walks off flipping the Weighted Cape (One Punch Man) around his shoulders, muttering about improving our durability tests.
But four remain.
Two stand at my side, silent and ready. I hand one the Handheld Matter Scanner, a slim tool that glows faintly with arcane symbols and circuitry. It chirps once as it's calibrated.
"This should let you track residual enchantments. The diary is steeped in dark magic. It will resonate."
He nods and vanishes with his partner. Both melt into shadow, slipping through the Vanishing Cabinet with destination pre-set: the Hogwarts Library.
The other two clones approach and I hand them tools as well.
"Take this," I say, giving one clone the Spirit Scent Jar (Zelda). "If Pettigrew is using any Animagus scent-hiding charm, this will counter it. Track him."
The other straps on the Tracked Zip-Bomb (GTA) under his sleeve. I grin.
"Just in case the rat tries to run."
They share a look, then disappear. One through shadow. The other via a flip of the Hoverboots(Ratchet and Clank), shooting up to the rooftops in silence. Their mission is simple, find Peter Pettigrew and bring him back alive.
The air stills again.
I breathe deeply, my magic still humming from the upgrade. My clones are out there now. The second year has just begun, and yet already the board is shifting.
Two Horcruxes down by month's end.
Pettigrew captured.
Sirius freed.
Let the world think it is a quiet year.
Let them think I am resting.
Because while Hogwarts sleeps…
I sharpen every blade.
And multiply.