Thaddues could still feel the lingering effects of the Pepper-Up Potion coursing through his body.
Tonight, he could do more.
After resting briefly, he rose and began moving through the ship. One by one, he lit every lamp he could find using flint and steel. Small flames flickered to life along the narrow corridors and wooden stairways, pushing back the darkness creeping over the vessel. Soon the silent ship was illuminated by rows of warm lantern light. It created the illusion that the ship had returned to life, though the quiet surrounding him made the truth impossible to ignore.
With the lamps burning steadily, Thaddues began his work.
He started gathering every valuable item he could find throughout the ship and brought them back to his wooden cabin. Gold coins hidden inside drawers, silver utensils stored in cabinets, decorative ornaments left behind in the passenger rooms—anything that carried value did not escape his attention. A few chests belonging to wealthy travelers were also discovered, their locks already broken during whatever chaos had occurred on the ship.
Since every person aboard the vessel had died, there was no longer anyone to claim these belongings.
Which meant everything left behind now belonged to him.
Trip after trip, he carried the valuables back to his cabin using the levitation charm. The wooden room slowly transformed into a storage chamber for treasure. Coins piled across the table. Silverware clinked softly as he stacked them along the walls. Jewelry glittered beneath the warm lantern light.
Gold reflected the glow like liquid sunlight.
Gemstones shimmered with quiet brilliance.
Thaddues stood in the center of the room for a moment, silently taking in the sight. He could not help the small smile that formed on his face. Seeing wealth accumulate so quickly was intoxicating.
Once he reached Britain—or any magical place within the wizarding world—these valuables alone would allow him to establish a foothold. Survival in an unfamiliar world required resources, and right now he possessed more than enough to begin carving out a future.
His thoughts drifted further ahead.
A comfortable residence somewhere within wizarding society. Access to magical libraries and rare spell books. The freedom to study magic without limitations.
The original owner of this body had already passed the age of acceptance for Hogwarts. That opportunity was long gone. But Thaddues was not discouraged by that reality.
If he could not enter Hogwarts, he would simply find another way to learn magic.
Gold opened many doors.
Even if this truly was an older era of the wizarding world—far before the structured magical society he remembered—knowledge still had value. Magic was still taught, one way or another. Through apprenticeships, private tutors, wandering scholars, or retired practitioners willing to trade skill for coin.
His gaze shifted to the small chest where he had placed the gold bars earlier.
A chest like that should be enough to hire a competent wizarding instructor—maybe even several.
The idea of learning magic without limits stirred a quiet sense of anticipation.
But even so, there were lines he wouldn't cross.
When it came to the valuables still on the dead passengers, Thaddues chose not to take them. Even if temptation lingered, he held himself back. Rings, necklaces, coins—everything remained untouched.
What they carried would stay with them into whatever came after.
It was the least respect he could offer them.
After securing everything in his cabin, Thaddues made his way to the captain's quarters.
The room was larger, sturdier, and far better suited for long-term use. A heavy wooden desk stood bolted to the floor, maps and navigational tools still scattered across its surface. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and abandoned instruments.
This would be his new cabin.
He returned to his cabin and gathered everything important from the system—the Standard Book of Spells, potion supplies, enchanted pouch—and transferred them into the captain's room. One by one, he arranged them across the desk and shelves until the space felt less like an abandoned command room and more like a workspace.
Then he sat down and opened the spellbook.
Before continuing his practice, a memory surfaced.
Incendio.
The Fire-Making Charm.
A simple spell, yet one of the most practical. In the films, wizards often used it casually—flicking their wands to produce steady flames for lighting, clearing obstacles, or igniting objects. It wasn't flashy magic, but it was reliable.
Thaddues had never paid much attention to the films. It was Marco who was the fan—the one who dragged him into watching and then filled the silence afterward with endless trivia and explanations. He treated spells like Incendio as if they were real subjects of study, breaking down scenes where wizards cast it with ease, fire erupting from their wands as if it were second nature. Back then, Thaddues only half-listened, dismissing it as background noise.
Now it felt different.
Now it mattered. It wasn't just something from stories Marco used to obsess over—it was a tool. Fire meant control. Fire meant cleansing. Fire meant an end to whatever waited on the upper deck.
He closed the memory away and forced his focus back into the present.
Before even reaching the page he needed, his attention drifted across another section of the Standard Book of Spells. His fingers paused as he turned pages almost absentmindedly, scanning unfamiliar headings until something caught his eye.
Utility Charms.
He stopped.
The section wasn't flashy. No dramatic illustrations or combat-focused descriptions. Instead, it listed spells designed for daily use—moving objects without physical effort, adjusting environments, assisting with repetitive tasks, and simplifying labor that would normally require multiple hands.
Household magic.
Simple, practical, almost unremarkable at first glance.
But Thaddues stared at it longer than he expected.
His mind shifted instinctively toward the ship around him.
A ship this large was never meant to be managed alone. Even in its current stillness, he could already imagine the roles that once existed here—sailors adjusting the sails, crew maintaining ropes, someone at the helm, others handling navigation and maintenance. Every part of the ship demanded coordination.
Utility magic, in theory, could replace some of that.
If objects could be moved without hands… if mechanisms could be operated through sustained charmwork… then perhaps parts of the ship could be automated. Sails adjusted through enchanted control. Ropes tightened or released through guided motion. Even the rudder might be influenced through structured spells.
If applied correctly, utility magic could replace sailors entirely.
The ship might not need a crew at all.
It could continue its voyage across the sea, driven purely by magic and intent.
For a brief moment, the idea felt almost achievable. But reality quickly followed.
His current magical capacity was still limited. A ship of this scale was not a household object. It was a massive structure built for coordinated human effort, not single-handed magical control.
Attempting something like that now would be impossible.
Still, he didn't dismiss the thought completely.
He simply set it aside.
A future possibility—if he ever reached that level of mastery.
For now, survival came first.
He finally reached the page he was looking for and as he turned to it, the word Incendio appeared on the page like it had been waiting for him all along.
He stared at it for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he exhaled and stood.
This was the spell that mattered right now.
The rest could wait.
He positioned himself in the center of the captain's cabin, adjusting his grip on the wand as the book instructed. His wrist loosened slightly. His breathing slowed. The movement was short, precise—an arc meant to draw something out of nothing.
He tried.
"Incendio."
Nothing happened.
No spark. No flicker. Just silence.
His jaw tightened slightly, but he pushed the frustration down. His eyes returned to the instructions, tracing the wand movement again. Too rigid—precision without flow.
He reset.
Inhale.
Focus.
Then he tried again.
"Incendio."
A spark burst from the wand tip—brief, but real.
His gaze sharpened.
Better.
He tried again.
And again.
Each attempt refined something small: the angle of his wrist, the timing of his breath, the clarity of the image in his mind—fire not as something forced, but shaped.
"Incendio."
A flicker.
"Incendio."
A flame.
"Incendio."
A steadier burn.
Orange light pulsed through the captain's cabin, reflecting across maps, wood panels, and the stillness within.
Outside, the ocean remained vast and indifferent.
Inside, Thaddues raised his wand again, eyes fixed ahead, and continued.
He didn't stop.
TBC
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