Richard materialized in the quiet air of Prewett Manor. It was a modest country estate, lacking the grand, cold aesthetic of Malfoy Manor, but it held a subtle, living feeling of legacy.
The furniture in the living room was draped in white sheets, but the sight of it brought a flood of memories from his second childhood. Being the youngest, Richard had been the apple of the family's eye. It was here that he had discovered his "System"—a framework that divided all learnable knowledge into Talents, STATs, and tasks.
By performing activities, he gained proficiency, which in turn increased his STATs; his talent for any specific branch of magic was calculated based on a weighted combination of those stats.
He practiced basic spells to learn them, boosted his stats like DEX (Dexterity) and PWR (Magical Power), and researched the theory behind them to increase INT (Intelligence) and SPR (Spiritual Power).
Transfiguration was derived from PWR and INT.Charms talent was based on INT and DEX.Curses talent relied on SPR and PWR.Potions/Alchemy were built on SPR and INT.Herbology and Magizoology were rooted in SPR and DEX.
This allowed him to create a self-sustaining loop to increase his aptitude, eventually reaching a threshold that allowed him to move beyond rote memorization and invent his own original magic.
He had been happy, but he knew the shadows were gathering. He had tried to protect his brothers and the Longbottoms from the gruesome fate the original timeline had in store for them. He had helped his brothers become formidable wizards. He had tried to warn the Order about Peter Pettigrew, but his early clashes with the Marauders—the school's golden boys—and his refusal to bow to Dumbledore's "greater good" had branded him a troublemaker. His warnings were dismissed as petty spite.
Then came October 31st.
When news broke of the Potter's deaths, Richard knew the Longbottoms, and his brothers were next. He had broken every school rule to reach the safe house, but he had been too late. He had arrived to find his brothers' bodies cooling on the floor and Bellatrix Lestrange standing over the broken Longbottoms, her wand raised for the final Cruciatus.
Something in Richard had shattered. He unleashed three newly invented Transfiguration spells, disintegrating the Death Eater mob and beheading the three leaders Bellatrix, Carty Crouch Jr. and Rodolphus before they could even draw breath.
Barty Crouch arrived moments later, finding the carnage. He didn't process the scene rationally; he saw his son dead and immediately ordered an attack. Richard, lost in grief and rage, had apparated away.
Even though no one saw his face clearly, Richard's absence from Hogwarts and his physical description led to his arrest on Crouch's word alone. During the trial, the remaining Pureblood supremacists attempted a ploy: they offered false assurances of an acquittal if he would simply confess, intending to trap him with his own words. Richard remained silent.
Luck was on his side; since he was still underage at the time, the Ministry noted that the Trace had never activated for the killing curses. Combined with a Prior Incantato that only showed him practicing Transfiguration for his NEWTs, the evidence was deemed circumstantial. He was acquitted of the murders but expelled from Hogwarts for breaking various school rules.
The storm had passed. Richard was home, and the future was about to change.
The weeks following Richard's return had transformed Prewett Manor from a dusty tomb into a living home. By late August, the heirlooms were polished, the air was clear, and the silence of the house felt peaceful rather than oppressive.
Richard had spent his time refining the manor's defences. Leveraging his high Warding skill, he had woven a series of intricate detection grids into the ancient wards. These "filters" didn't just keep people out; they hummed with information, deciphering the magical signature and intent of anyone who approached the property. He had ensured that while the Prewett name was once again known, the Prewett home remained a fortress.
A day before the start of term, the wards vibrated with a rhythmic, gentle pulse—a signature of immense, controlled power.
Albus Dumbledore did not attempt to bypass the gates. He apparated with a soft pop on the gravel path just outside the boundary, standing patiently in his plum-coloured robes. Richard watched him through the window for a moment before manually parting the shimmering veil of the wards to allow the headmaster entrance.
Richard opened the heavy oak door before Dumbledore could reach for the knocker.
"Headmaster," Richard said, inclining his head. "A bit of a trek from the gates, I'm afraid. I've grown fond of my privacy lately."
"And a very sturdy privacy it is, Richard," Dumbledore replied, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles as he surveyed the reinforced stonework. "It is a pleasure to see the old house breathing again. May I?"
Richard stepped aside, ushering him into the drawing room. Dumbledore settled into a high-backed armchair, looking for all the world like a grandfatherly visitor, yet his eyes never stopped moving, subtly assessing the state of Richard's magic.
"I must confess," Dumbledore began, his voice pleasant and light, "when I sent that owl to the Continent, I did not truly expect you to accept the post. The Defence Against the Dark Arts position has acquired a... certain reputation over the last decade."
"I've always enjoyed a challenge, Albus," Richard replied, leaning against the mantelpiece.
"Indeed. I have heard whispers of your challenges abroad. A rather curious report from a colleague at Ilvermorny regarding a visitor who knew far more about ancient ward-breaking than his age suggested, and some impressive work in the Black Forest," Dumbledore said, his tone remaining conversational. "Your travels have clearly been... educational. One hears so many things through the grapevine, though I find the truth is often far more complex than the rumours."
Richard met the headmaster's gaze. He knew exactly what Dumbledore was doing. The headmaster wasn't asking for travel stories; he was probing for a gap in Richard's history—a period where he might have been recruited, or a moment where his "educational" travels might have turned toward darker arts. With the world feeling increasingly fragile, Dumbledore was looking for a pattern, and Richard's sudden, powerful return fit a very specific, dangerous mold. Richard offered no defense; he knew that to Dumbledore, a denial was often as suspicious as a confession.
"The world is a large place, Headmaster. Much of what I learned doesn't fit neatly into a school curriculum," Richard said simply.
"Quite so," Dumbledore murmured. "It is often the things we learn outside of a classroom that define us. I was quite taken aback to hear of the commotion at the Ministry last month. It is rare for a single wizard to manage so many of our Ministry's finest with such... economy of movement."
"I prefer not to be touched when I've just stepped off a Portkey," Richard said, offering no further clarification.
Dumbledore smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "A sentiment I can appreciate. However, Hogwarts is a place of transparency. I hope that your time with us will be as enlightening for the students as your travels have clearly been for you."
The headmaster stood, his presence filling the room. "The Hogwarts Express departs tomorrow at eleven. I believe it would be beneficial for you to be on it. The students—and perhaps some of the staff—will be quite curious to meet the man who has finally filled the vacancy. I shall see you at the feast, Richard."
With a polite nod, Dumbledore walked back toward the gate, leaving Richard with the distinct feeling that he had just been placed under a very large, very invisible magnifying glass.
September 1st: The Hogwarts Express
The following morning, Richard walked down the narrow corridor of the Hogwarts Express. The scarlet steam engine was a roar of nostalgia, filled with the scent of coal smoke and the excited shrieks of students. He passed several compartments until he found one that looked particularly chaotic, filled with a cluster of red-headed children. He recognized them instantly: the twin boys, Fred and George; a younger boy with a smudge on his nose; and a small girl who looked like a miniature version of Molly.
He slid the door open. The compartment went silent.
"Excuse me," Richard said, his voice warm. "I couldn't help but notice the Prewett nose on a few of you. I don't suppose any of you are Weasleys?"
The younger boy, Ron, blinked up at him. "Yeah. I'm Ron. Who are you?"
"A friend of the family," Richard said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handful of self-shoveling sugar quills. "And your new Defence teacher."
Fred and George exchanged a look of pure delight. "A teacher? Giving out sweets?"
"We like you already," George grinned.
"I expect to see all of you in my classes eventually. Try not to blow up the train before we get to the castle, alright?"
With a playful wink, he slid the door shut, leaving the children whispering frantically behind him. As he moved down the train, he knew the easy part was over. The school awaited, and with it, a Headmaster who looked at him and saw a potential enemy.