Look guys, I don't know how to write love scenes or whatever. So hopefully when I do write it, It at least sounds okay. And I think at this point you have realized it, I'm no romance writer. Right enjoy the chapter!
30th of November 1994, Hogwarts Grounds
The week that followed was definitely a weird one for Adrian.
People didn't look at him the same anymore. Conversations quieted when he passed by, but not with suspicion but rather with respect. Curiosity. Awe. Some of the older students, ones who wouldn't have spared him a glance a month ago, were now nodding to him in the corridors like he'd earned his stripes. Even professors seemed different. Almost like... they were trying to figure out what he really was. For the first time since the Goblet spat out his name, the whispers weren't about whether he cheated. Now they were about how the hell he pulled it off.
Cedric, meanwhile, was having a rough go of it. His botched performance had left him in dead last, and while most of Hufflepuff clung to him with blind loyalty, even that was starting to crack. A few of them had started calling Adrian the real Hogwarts champion. It didn't help that the Prophet had called Cedric's attempt "valiant but painfully underprepared." That headline had done damage. Now it was Adrian they pinned their hopes on. The one who looked like he might actually bring the Cup home. And even if the rest of the school hadn't exactly rallied around him, well… they'd stopped treating him like a curse, and that alone made everything feel different.
Now, Adrian sat near the lake under a low-hanging tree, shoes kicked off, trousers rolled slightly at the cuffs. Daphne was beside him, flipping through The Daily Prophet with a smirk tugging at her lips. Between them was a little picnic setup — stolen pastries, a flask of tea, and two chocolate frogs.
She held up the paper, the headline bold and dramatic: "The Next Overlord?"
He rolled his eyes. "Let me guess — Skeeter again."
"Oh yeah," Daphne said, biting into a croissant. "She's having a field day. Calls you the 'prodigal son of Max Valor, "The Overlord of the Circuit" — a duelling legend lost too soon.'" She tapped the paragraph with her fingernail. "Apparently your father once took down three Aurors during an illegal duelling ring raid just for fun."
Adrian snorted. "Yeah, sounds like something she'd make up."
"She's not done," Daphne said, still reading. "Goes on about your wandless magic, how you 'wielded spells like no had seen before and how your control over raw magic made you look more like a force of nature than a student. A little dramatic, but not entirely wrong."
"She call me dangerous?"
"Of course," Daphne said with a grin. "The closing line is: 'Adrian Valor may be the school's brightest flame — but bright flames burn fast… and sometimes, they burn others.'"
Adrian leaned back in the grass and stared at the sky.
"Overlord, huh?"
That's right. Maybe not right now but soon, very soon, I am going to have my name written down in History.
For I, am the New Overlord.
7th Of December 1994, Charms Classroom.
He was only half-listening.
Flitwick was fluttering around the front of the classroom, chalk tapping against the blackboard as he diagrammed the layered casting technique for charm-stacking. Adrian already knew it. He'd figured it out two weeks ago during a training session in the Chamber. Most of the class, though, was still trying to wrap their heads around the idea of synchronizing two effects without accidentally blowing their eyebrows off.
Terry Boot's wand let out a puff of lavender smoke from the desk behind him.
"Oops."
Flitwick turned with a sharp little squeak of a sigh. "Mr. Boot, we are charming quills to hover, not attempting to summon perfume!"
The class snorted. Even Adrian cracked a smile.
And then the bell rang.
Bags rustled. Chairs scraped. Ravenclaws stood up and were trying to leave the classroom as early as possible to try and get some food.
But Flitwick raised a tiny hand.
"Just one moment, class," he said.
"I have an announcement."
Everyone stilled.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, watching as Flitwick clasped his hands behind his back.
"I'm sure many of you are aware that, as part of the Triwizard tradition, there is an event approaching. One that is… less academic in nature."
A low wave of murmurs started through the room. Padma and Jess giggled.
Flitwick smiled faintly. "The Yule Ball will be held on the evening of Christmas Day. It is open to fourth years and above—although inviting a younger student is allowed, if done respectfully."
At that, Morag MacDougal actually dropped her quill.
Flitwick ignored it.
"Dress robes will be required. And while this is intended to be a celebration, please remember that Hogwarts' standards for conduct remain firmly in place. This is a chance to socialize, yes—but it is also an extension of the school's representation during the Tournament."
Adrian blinked slowly. Yule Ball, huh?
Well that sounds... Interesting.
His heart fluttered a bit. There was one person in his mind that he wanted to... maybe... ask out? What would she even say?
Terry tapped him on the shoulder. Padma and Jess were standing next to him.
"Lets go uh... mate."
The air around them were a bit awkward if he was being honest. The tension was still there, courtesy of them accusing him of using dark magic a month ago and abandoning him. He hadn't completely forgiven them sure, but there was some progress.
"Sure."
Adrian started to stand, slinging his bag over one shoulder, but Flitwick's voice floated over again.
"Mr. Valor, if you would stay a moment?"
Adrian paused, straightened, and gave the others a quick shrug. "Catch you later."
Terry nodded. Jess and Padma hesitated, then walked off without much else.
Once the classroom had emptied, Flitwick stepped down from the small platform he usually taught from, his hands still neatly folded behind his back.
"I won't keep you long," he said, his tone lighter now, "I just wanted to remind you — as a Triwizard Champion, you'll be expected to open the Yule Ball."
Adrian blinked. "Open… as in, what? Speech?"
Flitwick chuckled. "No, no, my boy. Dancing. Traditionally, the champions open the evening with a formal dance. With their chosen partner."
Adrian's brain short-circuited for a second.
Dancing. In front of everyone.
Right.
Of course.
His mouth went a little dry. "That's, uh... required?"
"I'm afraid so," Flitwick said, not unkindly. "You're a representative of Hogwarts, Adrian. This is part of the tradition. Part of the spotlight."
Adrian let out a breath through his nose and nodded once. "Yeah. Got it."
He turned to leave — then hesitated.
The thing was, he wasn't nervous about the dancing. Or the crowd. Or even the pressure. He could handle all that. It was just...
Girls.
He wasn't bad with them, not really. But he hadn't exactly grown up with a guidebook on how to ask one to dance at a fancy event. He'd spent more time learning how to break stone with his bare hands than he had figuring out how to talk to someone like Daphne Greengrass when it wasn't just hanging out and talking about shared trauma.
He liked her. And if he was reading things right… maybe she liked him too.
Maybe.
But one could never be too sure.
8th of December 1994, Chamber of Secrets
"You know I didn't think this was the type of advice you'd ever ask from me." Rem chuckled.
"Go fuck yourself Rem." Adrian gritted his teeth.
It was night time now. The rest of the castle slept. Adrian had ventured into the chamber three times after the task. One was to explain to Rem, play by play how the task went and how he had performed. Rem was very happy with his performance and congratulated him but also told him to not get cocky since he still had two more tasks and they did not know what those held.
The next one was to just train some more with his abilities and the third time was for a workout since the outside weather was ice-cold right now. Courtesy of winter properly arriving in Scotland.
And now Adrian, although feeling a bit embarrassed was asking his advice on something completely different.
"But hearing everything I told you... She's also got to like me right? Like... like like me? Right? Surely I mean... Right?"
Rem just stared at him for a second. Then slowly, dramatically, dragged a hand down his face.
"Oh my fucking God."
"What?" Adrian frowned.
"You are killing me, Valor." Rem started pacing, arms thrown up like this was somehow the most frustrating thing he'd dealt with all week—which, considering Adrian had nearly blown out the chamber's ceiling during training a few nights ago, was saying something.
"Listen boy. You beat a Hungarian Horntail. You outmanoeuvred a murder-lizard with wings. And now you're standing here in this ancient chamber, asking me if a girl might like you?"
Adrian opened his mouth, but Rem cut him off.
"No. Shut up. Listen." He pointed a finger at him like it was a wand. "You beat a dragon. Surely—surely—you can ask a fucking girl out. My God, you're a bigger pussy than I thought you were."
Adrian huffed. "You know... you used to swear less. Maybe you're becoming a bit more like me."
"Then God help us all."
Adrian groaned and covered his face with both hands. "I'm serious, Rem, I don't know. It's different."
Rem smirked, but his tone dropped slightly, more genuine now. "Look, you told me she's stuck around. That she sees you for who you are. And she touches your hand under the table? Maybe its changed from the time when I was alive... But to me, that sounds like a lot more than friendship."
Adrian peeked between his fingers.
"You think so?"
Rem tilted his head. "I know so. You don't sit through someone's meltdown arc and flirt over tea if you're not at least a little in."
There was a pause.
Adrian let out a breath. "Right. Okay. Yeah. Alright."
Rem raised an eyebrow. "You good?"
Adrian straightened up, brushing off his robes. "Yeah. I've got this."
"Good. Go be a legend or whatever. But maybe don't start the conversation with, 'So, hypothetically, if I were to fall in love—'"
Adrian rolled his eyes. "Noted."
"And try not to explode anything on the way out."
"Yeah yeah."
He was already walking toward the glowing symbol when Rem called after him, one last jab for the road:
"Oi, and if she says yes, please, for the love of Merlin, don't swift through the dance floor like a fucking lunatic!"
Adrian flipped him off without turning around.
Rem grinned and leaned back on a column "Godspeed, you love-struck fool."
9th of December 1994, Hogwarts Halls
Adrian hadn't realized how popular he had actually become. He knew that his reputation had gotten much better over past week but... He didn't think he'd be getting asked out several times to the Yule ball.
It started with a fourth-year Ravenclaw he barely knew handing him a note during Herbology. Neat handwriting, way too much glitter, a little heart drawn next to her name. He thought it was a prank. It wasn't.
Then came a Hufflepuff girl during lunch. She'd just walked up, blushed like she was about to faint, and squeaked, "Do you have a date yet?" before nearly running away.
Two Slytherin girls cornered him after Defence Against the Dark Arts and tag-teamed the ask like it was a coordinated operation.
A third-year Gryffindor who'd never spoken to him in her life tried to give him a chocolate frog with a ribbon tied around it and wouldn't stop giggling.
Even a fifth-year asked him. She looked like she could bench-press him.
It was weird.
Adrian knew he wasn't ugly — he was tall, had a decent face, long wavy hair and could hold a conversation without sounding like a troll — but this was another level. He supposed being the boy who knocked out a dragon in front of the school and didn't break a sweat came with perks.
Now, he was on his way to the Great Hall. Dinner was starting soon, and he wanted to eat early. Avoid the crowd. Maybe some peace.
He stepped into the hall, scanning quickly. No Daphne yet. No Terry, no Padma. Good. Just a scattered group of students already digging into bread rolls and shepherd's pie.
He made his way to the Ravenclaw table, slid into a bench, and filled his plate. No drama. No attention. Just food.
By the time he was finishing up, the Hall had started to fill. He stood, ready to leave, weaving between students, when—
"Hey, Adrian!"
He turned. Jess Brightwood.
"Hey," he said, polite but a little guarded. "What's up?"
Jess fidgeted with the strap of her bag. "Uh, I was just wondering... do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?"
Adrian froze.
She looked up at him, hopeful.
"Uhm... eh… no. Sorry," he said, shifting awkwardly.
Jess blinked fast. "Is it because I… because I abandoned you?"
There was a tear in her eye.
Adrian didn't answer right away.
She was nice. She was pretty. But she'd also doubted him the moment things got hard. And that stuck.
"...Partially," he admitted, voice soft but firm.
Jess looked down, nodded quickly, and turned — nearly running as she let out a small, choked sob.
Adrian stood there, guilt curling in his gut.
"Well... whatever."
He scratched the back of his neck, sighed, and was about to head toward the staircases when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned.
Daphne.
She was smirking, arms crossed, one brow raised. "Well well. Breaking hearts now, are we?"
Adrian exhaled through his nose. "You got any Noxleaf on you?"
She tilted her head. "What do you think?"
They stepped outside together, into the evening chill, walking the familiar path toward the lake. The cold bit at their faces, but neither minded. The castle glowed behind them. Voices drifted on the wind. A few students were scattered across the grounds, but no one close enough to care.
Daphne pulled a slender silver tin from her coat and offered it to him. Adrian took a roll, lit it with a casual flick of his wand, and inhaled deeply.
"You know," he said, blowing out smoke, "I think I owe you, like, ten Galleons for all the stuff I've smoked from your stash."
"Nah," she said, waving it off. "You're entertaining. Besides, that's what friends are for, right?"
Adrian was quiet for a second. "Friends, huh."
Daphne gave him a sideways glance. "Yeah?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, heart pounding. "Fuck it," he muttered. Then, louder: "Would you wanna go to the Yule Ball with me?"
Daphne stopped walking.
He looked at her.
She didn't say anything for a second.
His stomach dropped. Oh no. I've fucked it.
Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight, sudden hug. He dropped the roll of Noxleaf.
"Of course I'll go with you, you idiot."
He let out a breath, arms wrapping around her just as tightly.
They pulled back slightly, looking at each other.
Her arms were still loosely around his neck. His hands hovered at her waist, unsure whether to let go or hold on a little longer. Daphne's breath was warm in the cold air.
Her eyes flicked to his lips, then back up.
He didn't say anything. Just leaned in slowly, careful, like approaching a spell mid-cast. She didn't move. Didn't blink.
Then she rose to meet him halfway.
Their lips touched — soft, tentative — and for a moment, the world narrowed down to that single, impossible point. No lake. No castle. No tournament. Just her. Her breath. Her hands sliding up into his hair.
They separated after a minute.
Neither of them spoke, breath mingling in the cold night air, their faces still close. Daphne's cheeks were faintly flushed — from the cold or the kiss, Adrian couldn't tell. Her fingers slipped from his neck, but instead of stepping away, she reached down and gently laced her hand into his.
Adrian looked down at their joined hands, then up at her.
She just gave him a small shrug, like it wasn't a big deal.
He squeezed her hand once and they began walking back toward the castle in an easy silence, boots crunching over the snowy grass.
After a moment, Adrian broke the silence. "I should probably get some proper dress robes."
Daphne smiled. "That's a good idea. We gotta look good right?"
"Right."
Daphne squeezed his hand. "We should go to Hogsmeade. Saturday. I'll help you pick something out."
He raised a brow at her. "You planning on dressing me now?"
"I'm planning on saving you from public embarrassment," she said breezily.
Adrian chuckled. "Generous of you."
They reached the steps of the castle, pausing as the light from the entrance poured over them. Daphne looked up at him, still holding his hand.
"Saturday," she said again, softer now.
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Saturday."
Together, they stepped into the warmth of the castle, fingers still entwined. Neither of them let go.
11th of December 1994, Chamber of Secrets
The egg shrieked.
Adrian winced, eyes squinting shut as the piercing wail echoed off the stone walls of the Chamber. The sound was unnatural—grating, high-pitched, like a banshee being strangled underwater.
"For fuck's sake," he muttered, snapping it shut.
Silence dropped like a curtain.
Across from him, Rem chuckled. "Beautiful. Truly melodic. Going to put that on before bed, are you?"
"Yeah, right between the soothing sound of mandrakes screaming and Filch wheezing in his sleep," Adrian muttered, rubbing his temples. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"
He turned the golden egg over in his hands. It was heavy, ornate, beautiful in a way that made it feel mocking. He tapped it once with his wand. Nothing. He opened it again—instantly regretted it—and snapped it shut before the second note could claw its way into his skull.
"Maybe it's cursed," Adrian muttered, glaring at it. "Wouldn't put it past them."
Rem leaned against a broken column, arms folded. "Try deciphering it like a riddle. It's a clue, right? Maybe it's not meant to be heard normally."
Adrian frowned. "So what, it's encrypted through pain?"
He held it out in front of him again, this time casting a detection spell. Revelium. Golden threads of faint magic glowed around it—enchantment, yes, but no dark curses. The screeching wasn't a trap. It was intentional.
He tried Silencio—it didn't do shit. The sound punched right through the spell like it wasn't even there.
"Alright," Adrian muttered, "time for Plan Chaos."
He opened it again, braced himself, and fired a stream of different counter-charms at it in sequence: Muffliato, Quietus, Arresto, even Harmonia Nectere Passus for good measure. Nothing. The screech persisted through all of it.
"Just blast it," Rem called lazily.
Adrian didn't need much encouragement. "Fine."
Depulso!
The egg skidded across the stone floor, bouncing once, shrieking the whole way. Adrian followed, wand raised, and launched a barrage of spells as it screamed—Fractura, Finite, Impedimenta! anything that came to mind.
Still nothing.
"Bloody thing's indestructible," he muttered, grabbing it again.
"Try throwing it into the Basilisk skeleton," Rem offered. "Maybe it'll shut up out of respect."
Adrian cracked a grin. "Honestly tempted."
He turned the egg over again, thinking.
"Alright. Think. It's got to be hiding the actual message. So if the sound's wrong… maybe the environment has to change. A filter. Something to change how I'm hearing it."
Rem tilted his head. "Environmental interference?"
Adrian nodded slowly, idea sparking in his brain. "Maybe it's not meant to be heard in the air at all…"
He snapped it open again—and this time, cast Aqua Eructo, directing a high-pressure blast of water at the egg.
The shrieking shifted.
For just a second—barely a breath—he heard something buried underneath. A melody? No—words.
A voice.
He immediately stopped the spell, heart racing. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait—"
Rem straightened. "Did it work?"
Adrian didn't answer.
Instead, he pointed his wand at the ground, conjured a wide stone basin with a whispered "Concipio", then summoned water with a quick, clean "Aguamenti." The bowl filled to the brim, shimmering under the dim green light of the Chamber.
He opened the egg once more — the shrieking hit immediately — then, without hesitation, he dunked the entire egg into the water.
The sound stopped.
Adrian blinked, heart hammering in his chest. Then he dropped to his knees and plunged his head under the surface.
The shift was instant.
Gone was the ear-splitting wail. In its place, a slow, haunting melody filled the water — eerie, echoing, but crystal clear.
And then came the voices. Cold and melodic. Singing, not screaming.
Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching, ponder this:
We've taken what you'll sorely miss.
An hour long you'll have to look,
To recover what we took.
But past an hour—the prospect's black—
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.
Adrian surfaced, hair dripping, blinking water out of his lashes.
"I think we got it, Rem."
Rem raised his brows. "That sounded like more than static."
Adrian was already dunking his head again. He needed to be sure. The song played once more — same melody, same message. He focused on the words this time, letting them burn into memory. Then he came up again and shook the water from his face.
"It's a riddle," Adrian said, standing now.
Rem stepped forward. "Well? What did it say?"
Adrian repeated the verses, pacing as he spoke, replaying them in his head with every step. His voice echoed in the Chamber:
"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground..."
He paused. "That's water. It has to be. Something that lives underwater—"
"Mermaids," Rem said.
"Merpeople," Adrian corrected, pacing faster now. "They can't sing above ground, right? It'd make sense."
Rem gave a slow nod. "And Hogwarts has a lake…"
Adrian pointed. "Exactly. The Black Lake."
Rem raised an eyebrow. "So, the second task's underwater?"
"Seems like it." Adrian crossed his arms. "And the line: We've taken what you'll sorely miss. That's what bugs me."
Rem hummed, folding his arms. "You think they're going to steal something of yours?"
Adrian frowned. "Like an object?"
"Could be," Rem said. "But... it could also be a person."
Adrian stopped.
He looked at Rem.
"A person?" he repeated slowly. "No way. They wouldn't."
Rem tilted his head, half a shrug. "You're in a tournament where they made you fight a dragon. Publicly. As a teenager. Are we really betting on the organisers having a moral line?"
Adrian didn't answer right away.
He thought about the line again. What you'll sorely miss.
He thought about Daphne.
His jaw clenched.
"Well... fuck."
"Yeah," Rem said, leaning on the basilisk's rib like it was a chair. "So. Lake. One hour. And probably a hostage."
Adrian ran a hand through his damp hair, eyes narrowing.
"I need a way to breathe underwater for a full hour."
Rem grinned. He grinned. "Now that's the kind of puzzle I can help with."
Adrian crossed his arms. "Alright… breathe underwater for a full hour… Any ancient magic tricks I can use for that?"
Rem raised a brow. "Hmmmm." He started pacing slowly, hand stroking his chin. "Not directly, no. At least not anything I know of that'll let you breathe underwater safely."
"So nothing?" Adrian frowned.
"Not nothing. But No. gotta think of other things."
Rem perked up. "How good are you with Transfiguration?"
Adrian gave him a sceptical look. "I'm alright. Why?"
"Well," Rem said, voice way too casual, "you reckon you can transfigure your head into a fish's?"
Adrian gave him a full-body grimace. "No. And even if I could — fuck that. I'm not transfiguring parts of myself. That's asking to end up with gills where your ears are. Or worse."
"Fair," Rem said, smirking. "Was worth a shot."
Adrian paced again. "Okay. What else? Bubble-head charm?"
"Not bad in theory," Rem said, shrugging, "but one strong current, a sharp rock, maybe a well-placed spell — pop. And then? Lights out, kid."
Adrian muttered something under his breath. "Alright… what about gillyweed?"
"Now that's doable," Rem said. "Take the right amount, it'll last an hour. Maybe a bit more if you prep it right. It's natural magic — not flashy, but solid."
"But if I finish early," Adrian said, "I'll have to stand there with fins and flippers, dunking my head in a bucket until it wears off."
"Yep."
Adrian rolled his eyes. "Great."
A beat passed.
He rubbed his chin. "You sure there's nothing ancient magic related I can do? Come on, Rem… give me something. I'm not just trying to survive the task. I'm trying to make a statement. I didn't illegally enter myself into this tournament just to use some bloody pond weed. I've got a rep now. I've got to deliver."
Rem gave him a long, level look. "You're really about to guilt-trip me into giving you a bad idea, huh?"
Adrian grinned. "Obviously."
Rem sighed. "Alright. Fine. There is something."
Adrian leaned forward. "Now we're talking."
"But," Rem said, raising a finger, "it's… advanced. Very advanced. Not a spell. A ritual."
"I'm listening."
Rem walked over to the broken remains of a pillar, sitting on it like a throne. "It's called The Deadman's Lungs."
Adrian stood still. "...That's metal as fuck."
"Oh, it is," Rem said. "Basically, it upgrades your lungs permanently. Alters them. Removes the need for air entirely. You'd be able to survive underwater, in a smoke-filled room, even in a void."
Adrian's eyes lit up.
"That's perfect. How do I do it? Wait... is it safe?"
Rem chuckled. "No, not in the slightest."
"Oh."
Rem hesitated. " And, well. Here's the kicker. This ritual... well you, uh... need to have mastered a specific branch of death-aligned magic before even prepping for it."
"Okay…"
"You need to be able to summon Inferi."
Adrian stared. "The fuck?"
"Yeah." Rem looked dead serious. "It's not inherently evil, but it is the kind of magic that gets you on Ministry watchlists."
Adrian thought about it for a second. Using gillyweed would work. And it would be so much simpler. But that upgrade to his lungs. He would no longer need air... The applications of that shit on duelling alone would be insane.
"How detectable is this?"
"Hmm?"
"Say that I were to go into a duelling tournament. They check with spells for illegal strength potions and whatnot. Would they be able to detect it?" asked Adrian.
Rem shook his head. "No. Just like they can't detect any usage of ancient magic when you're swifting and using the magic hands, Since this ritual is steeped in ancient magic they cannot detect it. That is unless they are also sensitive to Ancient Magic themselves."
Adrian stilled. "How many people in the world do you reckon are like me?"
Rem crossed his arms, gaze distant. "If I had to guess? Maybe a hundred people in the entire world can properly tap into Ancient Magic like you can. Maybe. And that's being generous."
Adrian blinked. "That few?"
"It's not like other magic," Rem said. "It's not taught. Not really. You can't just open a book and study your way into it. You either have the affinity… or you don't. And most people don't."
"And how many people have you met in Britain that can use Ancient Magic?"
Rem thought about it. "Hmmmm... Merlin was one of them. He was an incredible wizard. And I've met five other people that could use it in Hogwarts over a thousand years."
So only six people... Ancient Magic really was incredibly rare.
Adrian tilted his head, changing the subject, "So if I go through with this ritual—this Deadman's Lungs thing—"
Rem spoke. "It'd make you something else entirely. You'd never have to worry about being drowned, choked, or poisoned by gas or smoke. Hell, you could fight for hours without ever losing breath. You'd be walking into every duel with a built-in advantage nobody would see coming. But... this isn't easy to do Adrian. The amount of prep work that goes into the start of the ritual alone would stomp most people. The materials and items you'd need to gather... I'd imagine they'd be very expensive. And even if you could afford them, some of them are not exactly uh... legal. Honestly you'd be better off just using gillyweed."
Adrian exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're right… but I've got about two months. That could be enough time to do it."
Rem gave him a look.
"I'm just saying," Adrian went on, "if I've got time, I might as well look into it. Worst case, I prep with gillyweed. But if I can pull off Deadman's Lungs? That's a permanent upgrade for me. And like you said It'd be incredibly hard for me to get tired from duelling ever again. I don't know... I don't want to pass up something like that."
Rem shook his head. "Look, lets say you did do it. Which I'm not sure you can. You said you wanted something flashy. People won't be able to detect this. It's not exactly flashy either. So to them you'll just look like you used gillyweed or something. They won't know that you somehow managed to complete an incredible Ritual that makes you no longer need air."
Fuck he was right. But... I don't know... Maybe I'll just finish the task in record time or something? That could be my 'something flashy'.
Adrian exhaled. "Look, I want to at least try it. What would be the first step in this... ritual?"
"Alright Valor, lets say you wanted to go down this path. Ignoring all the insanely hard to get materials for this, first you're gonna need to be able to create an Inferius. Which is very hard to pull of to begin with. But we also have another problem. You're gonna need a corpse."
Adrian sputtered. "W-wait... I need to kill someone?!"
"No, you absolute idiot," Rem snapped. "You just need a corpse. Not one you necessarily killed yourself, but a corpse nonetheless. A corpse that is not decomposed. A human corpse. Any ideas genius?"
He didn't have any. "Shit... so a corpse that has recently died, that I can have convenient access to and I'm gonna need to be able to get it here... Since I wouldn't want to do this anywhere else. It just wouldn't be safe. I'd be in Azkaban before I can say Lungs."
"Yeah." Rem added.
Uh, the fact that I am even thinking about this is so messed up. Maybe just stick to gillyweed? I even get caught sniffing around topics like this and I'm done. But... the advantages...
"There seriously no other way to do this without a corpse?" Adrian asked with a hint of hope.
Rem folded his arms. "No, Valor. You want to play in the big leagues? Be the next Overlord? You gotta get used to this shit."
Adrian made a face. "This shit is messed up man."
"And you want to alter your lungs using death magic," Rem shot back. "What part of this sounded not messed up? But that's the price of success if you want to take this route. It'll make you so much more powerful. But like I said. Everything comes at a price."
Rem let the words hang in the air, his voice echoing slightly against the ancient stone of the Chamber.
Adrian ran a hand through his hair, pacing in slow circles around the basilisk skull. "Alright. Let's say I go through with this. Let's say I get the corpse, somehow. I master Inferi magic, gather the materials… what then? What does the actual ritual even look like?"
Rem gave him a flat look. "It's a ritual involving death-aligned magic. It's not gonna be a bubble bath and candles."
"Yeah, figured."
"There's blood involved. Yours. There's chanting, sigils, infusions. You bind part of yourself to the essence of death, tether it through the lungs specifically. And the corpse acts like… a conduit. A sort of intermediary. Like using a broken door to open another. The ritual 'kills' your lungs and reawakens them, unbound by normal rules."
Adrian whistled low. "And people just… figured this out?"
"People back in the day were wild," Rem said dryly. "No laws. Just curiosity, desperation, and too much Ancient magic. Well, I suppose in the old days it had a different name. Most of it's been lost or banned. You're lucky I remember enough pieces to even guide you."
Adrian looked at the ground, quiet for a moment. Then he muttered, "Right, yeah. Okay it would have to be in this chamber."
Rem nodded. "Nowhere safer. Magic's thick in here, it can even help with the Ritual."
Adrian clicked his tongue. "Still need a corpse though. How would one even..."
Rem shrugged.
He went quiet again, gaze flicking to the golden egg, still resting beside the basin. It looked so small now. Like a child's toy. This ritual felt bigger than the tournament itself.
"Rem… do you think this is all worth it?"
Rem didn't answer right away. Then he stepped forward, put a spectral hand on Adrian's shoulder — or the closest thing he could manage.
"You're not doing this for a task. Not really. You're doing this because you want to be more than just another name on the list. You want to be remembered. And that means walking roads no one else dares to."
Adrian stared ahead, jaw tightening.
"But is worth it? That is a question only you can answer Adrian."
Adrian didn't reply.
The silence in the Chamber of Secrets wasn't new, but now it felt heavier now.
"Look, you don't have to find a corpse yet. If you just want to practice you can grab some ants and bugs and just practice trying to turn them into Inferi. The spell works on any living -or rather -dead being."
"But the corpse that I use in the ritual has to be human yeah?"
Rem nodded. "Yeah. Bugs are just for practice. To see if you can actually pull it off. If you can't... well then gillyweed it is."
He didn't say anything.
Is this the path he wanted to go down? No longer needing to breath... The stamina gain... The fact that he can no longer die from so many things... Almost like, becoming death itself.
"This started with trying to find a good way to pass the second task. And look at me now. Talking about raising Inferi, death magic and how to find a bloody corpse." Adrian chuckled.
Rem let out a soft laugh. "That's usually how it goes. You aim for the door and end up blowing a hole in the wall instead."
Adrian dragged a hand down his face, still half-laughing. "I swear I'm going to hell for even entertaining this."
"You're already in the Chamber of Secrets learning necromancy from a manifestation of Ancient Magic. Heh, maybe you'll be welcomed with open arms."
"Great. Hope they serve tea."
Rem smirked. "Not unless you bring your own kettle."
Adrian went quiet again, tapping his wand against the stone absently. The sound echoed around the Chamber. The thought of power—of control, of pushing himself beyond human limits—was intoxicating. But the price of it...
"I don't just want to win this tournament," Adrian said quietly. "I want to make them remember I existed. I want the world to look back and say 'that guy changed the game.'"
Rem watched him for a moment, then nodded once. "Then this might be your shot."
Adrian took a long breath, then finally stood. The golden egg was still there, gleaming softly under the green light next to the basin he conjured.
"I'll start with the bugs," Adrian said.
"Good," Rem replied, nodding. "You'll know pretty quick whether you've got what it takes."
"And if I do?"
"Then we start making a list. Materials. Preparation. A plan for the corpse, too."
Adrian shook his head, half amused, half terrified. "Can't believe this is my life now."
Rem grinned. "It's not your life, Valor. It's your legacy. Better make it count."
Adrian turned to leave the Chamber, his thoughts a storm behind his eyes. There was a tournament to win. A legacy to forge. And possibly... a corpse to find.
"Bug hunting tomorrow," he muttered to himself picking up the golden egg.
Rem's voice echoed faintly behind him. "Every legend starts somewhere."
Pfft. I wonder what would Daphne think of all this?
13th of December 1994, On the way to Hogsmeade
He hadn't gotten around to collecting bugs yet. Instead here he was walking hand in hand with Daphne having a nice little... date?
It felt like a date. A real one. The kind normal students had. The kind that didn't involve dragons or death rituals or necromantic to-do lists.
Daphne's fingers were laced with his, snug in leather gloves. She looked effortlessly composed, scarf tucked neatly under her coat, eyes squinting a little in the pale winter sun.
Adrian, on the other hand, looked... vaguely distracted.
She noticed.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked, cutting through the quiet.
He blinked, eyes still unfocused, looking ahead at nothing in particular. "Bugs."
"Bugs?" she repeated, giving him a side-eye.
"Uh. Yeah. Just trying to figure out how to approach the second task, you know…"
She tilted her head, amused. "Bugs help with that?"
"Kinda." He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "It's a long story."
Daphne let out a short laugh. "Right. Triwizard logic."
They walked a little further before she nudged him. "So… have you figured out what it is yet? The task?"
"Almost," he said, then exhaled, his breath fogging the air. "But I don't want to think about that right now."
He turned to look at her. "Right now, I just want to spend some time with you."
Daphne gave him a smirk. "Smooth, Valor."
"Thank you," he said with a mock bow. "I practice in the mirror."
They crossed the main street into Hogsmeade, passing by groups of students huddled in twos and threes, most of them darting in and out of shops, all bundled in coats and scarves.
Eventually, they ducked into a shop called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions: Hogsmeade Annex—a smaller, tidier version of the one in Diagon Alley. The warmth inside was instant, and the scent of fabric and steam wafted through the air.
Adrian immediately perked up as they stepped inside the shop.
"Alright, let's find something that doesn't make me look like I just crawled out of a tomb," he said, cracking his knuckles as he approached the racks.
Daphne raised a brow. "Look at you. Thought you hated shopping."
"I don't hate it," Adrian replied, thumbing through a collection of dark formal robes. "I just hate shopping for boring stuff. Dress robes? Now that's a mission. It's an aesthetic."
"An aesthetic," she echoed, amused.
A short, squat witch bustled over to them, her silver spectacles perched low on her nose. "Looking for something formal, are we?" she chirped, eyes flicking between them. "For the Yule Ball, I presume?"
"Exactly," Adrian said. "Something that says 'elegant' but also 'might hex you into next week.'"
The shopkeeper let out a laugh like tinkling bells. "We have just the thing, darling. Right this way."
She led them toward the back, waving her wand at a display mannequin. With a swish and a shimmer, the robe morphed into a sleek navy number with sharp lapels, subtle silver thread at the cuffs, and a faint enchantment that shimmered.
Daphne gasped softly. "That's the one."
Adrian stepped up to the mirror, turning left, then right. "Alright… yeah. This one slaps."
"Young people," the shopkeeper muttered with a smile, then waved her wand again to summon a price tag. "Eight Galleons."
Adrian winced. "Yeesh."
He handed over the coins anyway. If it made her smile like that, it was worth every bloody knut.
As they stepped back outside, Daphne glanced over at him. "Thanks."
Adrian shrugged, adjusting the bag with the robe. "You deserve to have someone who doesn't show up to a ball looking like a crumpled Howler."
"Low bar," she teased, but her voice was soft.
They wandered through the gently buzzing crowd until the familiar timber frame of The Three Broomsticks came into view, warm light glowing from its windows.
Inside, the pub was cosy and lively, filled with laughter, clinking mugs, and the warm scent of butterbeer and roasted nuts. They found a small table tucked in the corner by the window, half-hidden behind a cluster of students.
"You want anything?" Adrian asked, already half-rising from his seat.
"Butterbeer," Daphne said. "Extra foam."
He headed to the bar.
Madam Rosmerta spotted him immediately. "Well if it isn't the dragon-slayer himself," she purred. "Two butterbeers?"
"Yeah," Adrian said, a bit awkward as she leaned slightly over the bar. "Thanks."
"You sure you don't want something a little stronger, love?" she winked, placing the mugs on the counter.
"I'm good. Butterbeer's dangerous enough when it's this frothy," he said with a grin.
"~Suit yourself, Dragon-slayer.~ I'll be here if you need something with a bit more... kick." Rosmerta gave him a sultry salute, her bust nearly in his face.
He turned to go, but—
"Adrian!"
He spotted Padma waving at him from a nearby booth. Jess sat next to her, half-turned, visibly uncertain.
"Hey," he said, walking over with the two mugs in hand. "Didn't see you guys."
"Yeah, we noticed," Padma teased. "How've you been?"
"Busy," Adrian said with a grin.
Jess shifted, then looked up. "Hey, Adrian."
It was quieter. Still a bit awkward.
He nodded. "Hey."
Padma gestured to the empty spot across from them. "You can join us, if you want?"
He hesitated, glancing toward the corner where Daphne waited, elbow on the table, spinning a straw with her fingers.
"Maybe later," he said gently. "I'm here with someone."
"Ooooh," Padma drawled, eyes sparkling. "I see."
Jess just gave him a small, faint smile. "Later, Adrian."
He nodded and turned, weaving back through the tables.
Daphne glanced up as he returned and slid the mug toward her.
"Took you long enough," she teased.
"Sorry, Madam Rosmerta was flirting with me. I felt very objectified."
She snorted. "You'll live."
They clinked their mugs together lightly and took their first sips.
Adrian leaned back, one arm slinging across the top of the bench, and without a word, Daphne leaned into him, warm and solid. She nuzzled her head under his chin, kissed his neck once, gently.
He pressed a kiss to her temple.
They sat like that for a while, just talking about nonsense.
Like why the ceiling of the Great Hall didn't ever show random weather, like a tornado just for laughs. Or if portraits ever got bored of pretending to sleep. Adrian swore the one of Barnabas the Barmy winked at him last week. Daphne insisted he was hallucinating from inhaling too much Noxleaf.
"Okay but real question," Daphne said, resting her head on his shoulder. "If you had to fight one, would you rather go against a centaur with a crossbow or five angry garden gnomes armed with steak knives?"
Adrian blinked. "What kind of question is that?"
"A very important one."
He pretended to ponder it. "Centaurs are terrifying. Like, majestic and terrifying. But gnomes? Gnomes are gremlins with tiny vendettas. They'd aim for the ankles. I need my ankles."
Daphne snorted. "So what, you'd take the centaur?"
"Nah. I'd just run. Let fate decide."
They both laughed again, and Adrian found himself staring at her for a second too long. The slope of her cheek, the way her lips curved slightly even when she wasn't smiling, how her nose crinkled a bit when she was amused.
God, she was beautiful.
And she was smart. And quick. And a little scary. And somehow, still here—still with him.
How the hell did I manage to pull this off?
Daphne shifted slightly against him, gaze still lazily scanning the room. "Okay, but what's your opinion on cauldron cakes?"
Adrian blinked. "What, like… in general?"
"Yes. Like, do you love them? Hate them? Secretly hoard them under your bed?"
He laughed. "They're fine. Bit overrated. I always feel like I'm chewing a potion ingredient."
Daphne gasped, mock-offended. "That's slander. Cauldron cakes are elite."
"Says the girl who eats toast with plain mustard."
"That was one time and I was curious."
"You're disgusting."
"You like that I'm disgusting," she said smugly, nuzzling back into his shoulder.
He smiled, eyes closing for a second. "...Yeah. I kinda do."
He liked that, with him, Daphne could just be a regular girl that doesn't have to pretend to be a cold, pure-blooded Slytherin Ice-Queen.
They sat there a little longer, the noise of the Three Broomsticks fading into the background. Adrian shifted, just enough to tilt his head toward her. She met him halfway this time, no hesitation.
Their lips touched again—softer now, slower. No rush, no nerves, just the quiet hum of something steady. Something nice.
When they pulled back, Daphne's smile was easy, her fingers still lightly hooked into his coat.
Adrian leaned back again, arm around her, letting the warmth settle in.
He could get used to this.
3 Weeks Ago, 25th of November 1994, The Village of Little Hangelton, The Riddle House
Lord Voldemort was deep in thought. His frail body was feeling even weaker today. That fool, Wormtail should have been back by now.
The fire in the hearth crackled, casting twisted shadows across the peeling wallpaper. Nagini slithered lazily across the floor, tongue flicking in and out. Voldemort's long fingers tapped idly against the arm of the chair, bone-thin and trembling slightly from effort.
CRACK.
Wormtail apparated into the room, immediately falling to his knees.
"My Lord—" he gasped, breath fogging in the cold air, his cloak soaked from rain and panic.
Voldemort didn't even look up. "You're late."
"I—I apologize, my Lord. The boy… Adrian Valor. It took time."
Voldemort turned his gaze slowly toward him. "Speak."
Wormtail's voice quivered. "Adrian Valor is not British. He was born in Iceland, in the city of Akureyri. He was enrolled in Durmstrang Institute untill his fourth year but was expelled for using dark magic on other students."
Voldemort's fingers twitched slightly, the faintest glimmer of intrigue in his red eyes. "Dark magic, you say?"
"Yes, my Lord. The exact nature of the incident was covered up by the school, but there were rumours he incapacitated three older students."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Unusual..."
Wormtail continued. "His father was Max Valor, the duelling legend, also known as the 'Overlord of the Circuit'. He died around five years ago during a duel from a heart attack. Sources say that he had dragon-pox prior to his death."
The Dark Lord's red eyes narrowed again. "I've heard of him, Max Valor. Didn't know he had a son. What about the mother?"
Wormtail shifted nervously. "That… was more difficult, my Lord. There's little to no information about her. Her name was Hazel. A Muggle. That's all I could find."
Voldemort's expression darkened. "A Muggle?"
"Yes, my Lord. After Valor married her, there was a… significant fall from grace. Among the old families, it was seen as disgraceful. He was already infamous, but marrying a muggle? It all but exiled him from the pureblood community."
Voldemort stared into the fire for a long, cold moment, saying nothing.
Wormtail, cautiously, went on. "Hazel died giving birth to the boy. There are no records of her magical lineage—because she had none. That might be why there's barely anything about her in any archives."
"I see," Voldemort murmured. "So the boy is half-blood."
"Half-blood, yes," Wormtail confirmed. "But determined. From what I've gathered, he's currently a fourth-year in Ravenclaw House at Hogwarts. Fifteen years of age. A good scholar, has excellent grades. Keeps to himself mostly. But... it's known he wishes to follow in his father's footsteps. He wants to join the duelling circuit when he is older. He also seems to be very close to Daphne Greengrass, though I'm not sure if its romantic or not."
Voldemort's gaze snapped toward Wormtail.
"Greengrass?"
Wormtail flinched under the intensity of the name on the Dark Lord's lips. "Y-Yes, my Lord. Daphne Greengrass. Slytherin. Fourth year as well. She and Valor seem... close. She's often seen with him."
Voldemort's thin mouth curled into something that might have been a smirk.
"One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," he said softly. "A respectable family. Old blood."
Voldemort exhaled a raspy breath. "Her father… Cyrus Greengrass. I remember him."
Wormtail stayed silent, not daring to interrupt.
"A pureblood of moderate talent. He remained neutral during the war. Refused to pick a side. Claimed he was protecting his family… but really, he feared the consequences of backing the wrong victor." Voldemort's voice turned bitter toward the end, disgust curling around the words. "A coward draped in civility."
Voldemort's red eyes gleamed. "Curious… isn't it, Wormtail?"
Wormtail nodded quickly. "Very curious, my Lord."
"This boy, Adrian Valor… does he preach that he has entered himself into the tournament?"
"He claims he didn't, my Lord," Wormtail explained. "But it seems he is eager. He is already six points ahead of the rest of the champions. And if what you said was true... then he is certainly very talented. Using advanced wandless magic at the age of fifteen..."
"How curious indeed..." Voldemort muttered.
The flickering firelight made his skeletal features even more cadaverous as he leaned forward, fingers steepled under his chin.
"He has undoubtedly thrown a wrench into my plans," he said softly. "For that, he will be punished."
Nagini hissed quietly, coiling herself tighter at his feet.
"But... who knows?" Voldemort's voice dropped to a low, thoughtful murmur, "the game has changed… and on rare occasions, I do enjoy new players."
Wormtail shifted awkwardly, the floor creaking beneath his knees. "My Lord... perhaps we could simply kidnap the Potter boy? From the school?"
There was a long silence.
Then—Voldemort turned his head, slowly, the look he gave Wormtail so sharp it could cut stone.
"I know I should not expect brilliance from you, Wormtail," he said with icy calm, "but your intelligence level continues to astound me."
Wormtail flinched.
"The boy is protected. Watched closely by Dumbledore himself. The old fool never lets him out of sight for long, and certainly not now—not while the tri-wizard tournament is taking place."
"Even if we somehow managed to seize him…" Voldemort's lips curled, "it would raise too many questions. Too much suspicion."
Voldemort's eyes blazed as he turned his head towards the fireplace once again.
"You think I would risk all of this—my resurrection, my plans—for some reckless snatch-and-grab in the middle of Dumbledore's precious school? You think I've waited thirteen years just to gamble everything on a broom-closet abduction? You are truly as dim as you are cowardly, Wormtail."
Wormtail quivered, but didn't speak.
"The boy's death must be unquestioned."
He paused looking at the window, staring out at the gnarled trees.
"That's what made the Triwizard Tournament perfect," he said, almost to himself now. "An internationally sanctioned event. Dangerous by design. Three tasks, each more perilous than the last. And Potter—poor, foolish, filthy-blooded Potter—would be sent into that final task with the eyes of the world watching."
Voldemort's lip curled. "And when he didn't return from the maze? When his lifeless body was found in some dark corner of the maze crushed by a creature or pierced by a trap? Tragic, yes. But believable. No questions. Just a boy who wasn't ready."
He turned back to Wormtail, the fury simmering just beneath the surface.
"And when he died, I would rise—unseen, unknown. I would return in silence, with the protection of his mother's blood flowing in my veins, and the world would never see it coming."
Voldemort's hand twitched.
"But now," he said, voice sharp, "the plan is foiled. Potter is not in the Tournament. He is no longer a target hidden in plain sight. If he vanishes, they'll scream foul. Dumbledore will dig. The Ministry will panic. And I will lose the one thing I have above all—time."
Wormtail bowed his head lower, nearly pressing to the floor. "I-I'm sorry, my Lord... I was only trying to offer—"
"Silence," Voldemort spat. "You were trying to think, Wormtail. Not something I ever asked of you."
He turned his frail head back to the fire.
"No... I... have a new plan. The third task remains our opportunity. The cup… yes, the cup can still serve."
He smiled thinly. "We'll adjust."
Wormtail dared to glance up. "But, my Lord… Valor—he's interfering. If he wins—"
"If he wins," Voldemort said slowly, "then perhaps we need not view him solely as an obstacle. The boy is ambitious. Gifted. And from what we have gathered... dangerous. It's always the dangerous ones who are most useful—or most satisfying to break."
Nagini nuzzled closer to him.
"Prepare yourself, Wormtail. We may yet see Potter in the graveyard when the time is right."
He leaned back, eyes fixed on the fire, voice quiet.
"And no boy—no matter how clever or powerful—will stand in the way of The Dark Lord."
So... What do you think?
Hope you're enjoying my Voldemort scenes.
Also the entire plot with the Deadman's Lungs. That was gonna be just a little thing for Adrian to use in the Second Task and I don't know how it happened but I just kept on writing and writing and the more I wrote, the more complex of a thing It became. Honestly? Still have no idea what happened there. But I love it. Hope you did as well. Now I have even more stuff I want to write about.
Also please tell me what you think about Rem. Did you like his interactions with Adrian?
Adrian's gonna be experimenting with way more Ancient Magic stuff and things are only gonna get crazier from here on out. Next chapter:
Yule Ball, Some more experimenting and on our way to some sick duels. At least that's the plan. Might change depending on how I write.
Hope you enjoyed and see y'all next time!