𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥

Skills

The gentle chime of the alarm pulled me from sleep around 6 AM. The room was still dim with the remnants of night, but I knew the day ahead awaited, promising a mix of routine and surprises.

I indulged in a lingering shower, the warm cascade of water easing away the last vestiges of drowsiness. The bathroom filled with the invigorating scent of eucalyptus from my favorite shower gel, adding a touch of freshness to the morning air.

Dressed in the outfit I had meticulously planned the night before, I felt a quiet satisfaction in the coordination of colors and textures that reflected my mood for the day ahead. Adjusting the collar of my shirt and smoothing down the creases of my trousers, I took a moment to admire the reflection in the mirror-ready to face whatever challenges awaited me.

After swiftly sorting out my bed with military precision, I checked the time. There was still a generous window before classes began at 8 AM. I decided to make the most of it by indulging in a book that had been waiting patiently on my bedside table. The familiar weight of the novel in my hands brought a sense of comfort as I delved into its pages, immersing myself in a world far removed from my own.

Outside, the sky began to lighten with the promise of a clear day. Through the window, I could see the gentle sway of tree branches in the morning breeze, a soothing backdrop to the anticipation building within me. Each page turned brought a deeper understanding of the author's narrative, and as the clock ticked closer to the start of lessons, I reluctantly marked my place and set the book down.

With a final glance around my tidy room, I gathered my essentials and made my way towards the classroom, the echoes of the morning's tranquility still lingering in my mind. As I walked, the morning sunlight filtering through the campus trees cast shifting patterns on the ground, creating a mosaic of light and shadow that mirrored the thoughts dancing through my head

Stepping into the world of skills and dark arts, I felt like an outsider amidst seasoned players. The air crackled with whispered conversations and knowing glances that seemed to dissect my every move. To them, I was fresh meat, a newcomer to be toyed with or discarded at whim. Little did they know, beneath my composed exterior, I saw them not as individuals but as pawns-pieces waiting to be maneuvered to suit my ambitions.

The classroom buzzed with an intensity that mirrored the undercurrents of power and intrigue within our circle. As I settled into my seat, I observed my classmates with a calculating gaze, noting their alliances and rivalries, their strengths and weaknesses. Each interaction, each exchange of words, revealed layers of strategy and hidden agendas that fascinated and repelled me in equal measure.

The instructor, a formidable figure with piercing eyes and a commanding presence, began the lesson with a calm authority that drew the attention of even the most indifferent among us. Spells and techniques were discussed in hushed tones, their implications and applications unfolding like a tapestry of shadows and light.

Despite my newness to this realm, I absorbed every word, every gesture with an avid hunger. The thrill of wielding knowledge that could reshape reality itself sent a shiver of excitement down my spine, a sensation I concealed beneath a mask of attentive curiosity.

Outside the classroom, I navigated the corridors with a cautious step, aware of the subtle shifts in power dynamics that ebbed and flowed like tides in a clandestine sea. Conversations paused as I passed, eyes followed my every movement-a reminder that in this world, perception could be just as potent as proficiency.

In their eyes, I was a blank canvas, an unknown quantity waiting to be defined. Little did they realize, behind the façade of uncertainty lay a mind sharpened by observation and calculation. Each interaction, each encounter became a piece in the puzzle I was determined to solve-a puzzle of power, influence, and the delicate dance of manipulation.

As I delved deeper into the teachings of the dark arts, I honed not only my skills but also my understanding of human nature-of desires, fears, and the vulnerabilities that lay hidden beneath polished exteriors. In their arrogance and complacency, my peers underestimated me-a mistake I intended to exploit to the fullest.

In the dimly lit Slytherin common room, the air was thick with whispered conversations and the occasional flicker of wand light. I had managed to find a quiet corner by the fire, engrossed in a book, until the interruption came.

"You're alone?" The voice was familiar, belonging to Leon Rosier, known for his quick wit and sharp tongue. He nudged my feet off the couch, taking a seat beside me with a smirk. "One half of the sibling duo, the psychopath one. Leon, right?"

I raised an eyebrow, closing my book with a sigh. "Looks like someone's been doing their reading."

Another figure approached from behind, and I turned to see Mattheo Riddle, his posture confident as he sat on the coffin-shaped coffee table nearby. He adjusted the cuffs of his robes, his gaze piercing as it met mine. "Why are you here, Miss Blackwood?" His voice was calm, yet held an underlying curiosity.

I chuckled softly, amused by the formal address. "No need for the formality, Mattheo. If you're that curious, ask your dad."

I reclined comfortably, crossing my legs and meeting his gaze with a playful smile. "You and Draco?" His question was direct, but I had already grown weary of such inquiries after our previous conversation the night before.

"What interests you, Mr. Riddle?" I leaned forward slightly, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor. "Stop itching and be blunt. I'm not going to bite."

Mattheo paused, considering his words carefully. "Okay... You and Draco-are you nothing more than what my dad wants you to be? Acting like some happy couple?"

I shook my head, a smirk playing on my lips. "You catch on fast, but that ain't the reason." I glanced over at Leon, who seemed equally puzzled by the dynamic between us.

"Are you like your father?" Leon interjected, his tone tinged with confusion.

I sighed softly, my gaze turning towards Mattheo once more. "I have these... habits. Once I start, I can't stop." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Draco helps along the situation, but it doesn't stay this way forever."

Leon leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "Which is?"

I glanced at Mattheo, who met my gaze with a knowing look. He smirked slightly, as if he understood more than he let on. "Oh... that explains why Lord wanted the Blackwood daughter always," Leon mused aloud.

Mattheo cleared his throat, interrupting Leon's train of thought. "Not that, you idiot. Death."

The word hung heavy in the air, casting a solemn shadow over our conversation. The implications were clear, and for a moment, the common room fell into a thoughtful silence as we each contemplated the weight of our choices and alliances in the world of magic and power that surrounded us.