The Hogwarts Express was like mix of emotions, students rushing around, swapping treats, talking about their summer adventures. Some were crying to be apart from their friends for two whole months. It was an emotional scene, with everyone chatting and laughing together.
Arthur found a way to escape all the noise. He came across a quiet spot in an empty compartment at the end of the train. As soon as he stepped inside, he shut the door and locked it, feeling a bit more at ease.
Then, he sat down by the window and stared out as the Scottish Highlands flew by in a blur of green and grey. But his thoughts weren't really on the scenery passing by outside—The beautiful view outside was just a backdrop, his mind was preoccupied with something else, and he couldn't help but let his thoughts wander.
He rummaged through his clothes and pulled out a small, worn leather notebook. As he flipped through the pages, they were filled with complex diagrams and intricate drawings, the kind of stuff that would confuse even the most seasoned wizards.
His mind was consumed by the possible theories surrounding the philosopher's stone. He had spent the final days of the term analyzing the mana signature he collected from the stone. The stone itself was allegedly destroyed—or so Dumbledore claimed—but Arthur didn't believe a single word the old man stated.
As he theorized, his quill flew across the parchment. 'It is not a simple transfiguration. Turning matter into gold is a simple trick. The Elixir of Life, where did this thing come from? How does it bypass the Law of Equivalent Exchange?'
He started drawing a complicated hexagon pattern on the paper. 'The stone has to get its power from somewhere else, or it also works like a power source. It doesn't actually create life, but it helps keep the soul connected to the body by constantly fixing the cells that are dying. It's like a secret code that can override the way our bodies normally work .'
For hours, the rhythmic clatter of the train tracks provided the metronome to his genius. He hypothesized that the creation of such an object would require a massive, concentrated source of energy, which the human body lacks. If Arthur were to replicate or surpass the Stone's effects, he would need to find a source of pure energy or upgrade his own biological vessel first. His human limits were already beginning to chafe
....
As the train finally came to a stop at Platform 9¾, the sun was starting to go down, throwing long, golden shadows all over the station.
Arthur stepped off the train, a large trunk sat beside him on the platform. The air was filled with the joyful sounds of families reuniting—mothers embracing their children, fathers giving their sons hearty pats on their back.
A short distance away, Granger beamed with excitement, waving enthusiastically at two elegantly dressed Muggles who appeared to be her parents, judging by their refined attire and affluent demeanor.
Her earlier frustration with the exam boards seemed to have melted away now that her family was by her side. She caught Arthur's eye and opened her mouth as if to bid him farewell, but the words never came.
Arthur did not stay for goodbyes and such.
He shifted his body slightly and activated his silencing barrier to mute all sound and block out his surroundings. He decided not to pull out his wand, as that would trigger the trace—a system implemented by the Ministry to monitor young wizards on vacation. However, magic that didn't require a wand, relying solely on mental focus and inner energy, was something the Ministry's outdated system couldn't pick up on. By not using his wand, the Ministry's detection tools would only register a minor disturbance in the air, a slight fluctuation in the energy. This way, he could keep his actions hidden from prying eyes.
With his amazing vanishing act, everything 4-5 meters around him blended in with everything in his surroundings, making it look like he vanished into thin air. Whether it was a muggle or a skilled wizard, he was completely gone.
He became a part of the brick pillars at the station, invisible to anyone looking. Then, with just a small movement of his wrist, a gentle magic lifted his trunk up, making it hover just above the ground. It just floated there, all on its own. He made his way through the crowded station, passing between platforms nine and ten, and it was as if he were a ghost, invisible and unnoticed by the people rushing to catch their trains.
Leaving the enchanting world of Hogwarts behind and stepping into the grimy, polluted streets of London was always a bit of a culture shock. The air was a far cry from the fresh, clean scent that filled my lungs at school—instead, it reeked of car fumes and damp pavement. It was like transitioning from one reality to another, a jarring shift that hit me like a ton of bricks. In London, the cacophony of car horns, chatter, and wailing sirens was a constant reminder that he was a long way from the peaceful world of magic.
Arthur made his way through the streets, silent and straight with the crowd as he always did. He walked with a sense of confidence that came from being just another face in the sea of strangers.
His trunk floated along behind him, his dark clothes and serious expression kept people from bothering him—no one wanted to catch his eye, and he liked it that way. As he walked, he was just another commuter in the streets of London, anonymous and unremarkable.
He made his way to St. Jude's Orphanage, the last half-mile feeling like a familiar walk home. This place was his foundation, his starting point—a little rough around the edges, maybe, but it was where he felt most like himself. The old building might be crumbling, but it held a lot of memories for him, like the time he first discovered his special gift, or the way he stood up to the kids who used to pick on him. And then there was Billy, his friend, who was waiting for him there. St. Jude's was more than just a place to live—it was his territory, where he felt safe and in control.
He was trying to figure out what to say to Billy so he could make things right between them. Maybe if he brought a small gift, it would help smooth things over and Billy would start trusting him again. He really wanted to fix their relationship and get back to how things used to be. The last thing he wanted was for Billy to stay angry with him, so he was thinking about how to explain everything in a way that would make sense and help Billy understand where he was coming from. He hoped that by being honest and apologizing, he could regain Billy's trust and they could move forward.
As he walked around the corner onto the small street he knew so well, the smell was the first thing that caught his attention.It wasn't the usual smell of damp brick and boiled cabbage that defined the neighborhood. It was the sharp, acrid stench of industrial chemical fires, pulverized concrete, and old ash.
Arthur's footsteps slowed.The sound of sirens filled the air, their loud wails rising and falling in a frantic rhythm. It was a chaotic mixture of police cars and fire trucks, all blasting their horns at the same time. The noise seemed to be coming from everywhere, signaling that something big was happening.
Arthur walked forward, his trunk floating behind him, trembling as if sensing his turbulent magic.
As he crested the small hill leading to the orphanage's block, he saw the flashing blue and red lights painting the surrounding terrace houses in frantic bursts of color.
A large crowd had gathered at the end of the street, everyone packed tightly together. Neighbors, still in their morning robes, stood alongside local store owners and teenagers, all pressed up against the yellow police tape that cordoned off the area. They spoke to each other in hushed, frightened tones, their conversations laced with worry and uncertainty.
The atmosphere was tense, with an undercurrent of fear that seemed to hang in the air, as they all struggled to make sense of what was happening.
Arthur just walked right through the crowd, and people moved out of his way without him even asking. There was something about him that made them step aside, as if he had a cold, powerful air around him that they couldn't ignore.
He finally made it to the front of the police tape and came to a stop.His eyes, which were usually a deep blue color and half closed, as if bored,suddenly snapped open wide. Now wide awake and alert, a surprising scene to those who know him.
St. Jude's Orphanage was gone.
The old Victorian building, his home for ten years, was now nothing more than a massive, smoldering crater. It had completely collapsed, leaving behind a trail of destruction that was almost surreal. Huge piles of broken bricks, twisted metal beams, and crushed plaster lay there, like a war-torn landscape ravaged by bombs.
The air was thick with dark smoke, billowing out of the rubble like a living entity, making it hard to breathe as the light faded. The devastation was absolute, with nothing remaining but a vast expanse of debris and smoke choking the air. It was a sight that was both shocking and haunting, like something conjured up from a nightmare.
The building, once a proud and sturdy structure, was now nothing more than a distant memory, replaced by a scene of utter chaos and destruction.
Arthur's body went still, his hands clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white, a stark contrast to their usual steady calm.He scanned the perimeter. His mind desperately tried to organize the visual data into a logical explanation. A gas leak? Unlikely. The blast pattern is inward, not outward. A controlled demolition? Without permits or evacuation? Impossible.
He looked for the triage tents. He looked for the ambulances lined up to take the wounded.
There were none.
The atmosphere was strangely calm, lacking the commotion one would normally anticipate. Not a single loud voice was raised to give orders, there were no upset children holding tightly to their blankets for reassurance.There was no one.
The scene was deserted, except for the police, who had cordoned off the area, and the firefighters, who were battling to extinguish the remaining flames with their powerful water hoses. But it was obvious that the damage was irreparable. The ruins stood as a stark reminder of what had been lost, a haunting testament to the destructive power of the fire that had ravaged the area.
"What a shame," the woman whispered, pulling her coat tight around her. "It happened suddenly, in the middle of the night. Apparently, a group of thugs from around here, the ones who've been selling drugs out of that old mill, got into a fight over territory. Someone threw a firebomb, but it hit the gas pipes instead."
Arthur's eyes were fixed on the scene; nothing else seemed to matter. Everything around him was a blur; he couldn't look away from the charred metal sticking out from under the rubble. As he took a closer look, he saw it, what was left of a bunk bed. The bed, once a normal part of a room, was now a tangled, burnt mess. Arthur's gaze didn't waver, his eyes stuck on the destruction in front of him.
"Did..." Arthur's voice was barely a whisper. It didn't sound like the confident, arrogant prodigy of Ravenclaw. It sounded hollow. "Did anyone survive?"
The woman's eyes filled with pity as she shook her head, the smell of smoke still hanging in the air. "We haven't found a single body that's intact," she said, her voice breaking.
"The fire was just too powerful—it destroyed everything before the firefighters could even get here." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "It's like nothing was left behind, just ashes and embers." The woman's words trailed off, overcome with emotion as she thought about the devastation.
The words just hung in the air, feeling thick and suffocating, making it hard to catch his breath.
No bodies. No survivors. Just ash.
Arthur stood there frozen, engulfed by the chaotic glow of the police cars' flashing lights. His mind, usually a bastion of logic and methodical thinking, had hit a brick wall.
The situation unfolding before him refused to be broken down into neat, manageable parts—it was as if his brain had encountered a glitch it couldn't resolve. Everything about this moment was jarringly out of place, like a puzzle piece that refused to fit. His usual approach, one that relied on dissecting complex problems into simple ones, was failing him miserably.
The uncertainty was suffocating, leaving him feeling lost and disconnected from his normally reliable thought process.
Billy wasn't angry. Billy was dead.
A could aura suddenly erupted around him. All the onlookers and officers around the scene seem to feel a chilling cold all of a sudden.
The norm had been completely destroyed; it was no longer just altered but totally wiped out.
The system had failed him. The rules of this world—both Muggle and magical—allowed for random, inefficient destruction.
They allowed thugs to burn down his territory. They allowed the only variable he had ever cared about to be turned to cinders.
Arthur's thoughts just stopped, his mind completely still. It was like his mind had gone blank. Suddenly he felt calm, his occlumency shield putting his mind at ease; he thought about storming the gang who is behind this and burning them alive but then thought about the rules of the wizards No magic in the muggle world. He clenched his hands into fists.
As he stood there, he slowly turned his back on the ruins, his fingers wrapped tightly around the wand in his hand.
No tears fell from his eyes, no screams escaped his lips. Instead, he just walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the London streets, the only sign of him being the faint glow of his cold pupils in the night.
The young wizard who had departed from Hogwarts earlier that day was nowhere to be found.
From the ruins of his home, a new figure emerged. And his plan was to tear the world apart, piece by piece.