CHAPTER FIVE: YEAR FOUR- A HISTORY LESSON. PART 3
When he stepped toward the starting line, the Hogwarts crowd erupted. Every student — without exception — cheered, shouting his name. Their admiration was spontaneous, electric, and almost reverent. Within moments, a ripple of awe spread, whispers of admiration turning into chants, and for the first time, Adrian felt the subtle energy of being truly watched… of being revered.
The other champions hesitated at the edge of the lake, but Adrian moved forward with absolute calm. As he entered the water, he conjured a shimmering protective barrier around his body — a blue, armor-like shell that clung to him as he descended. The water did not resist him, did not slow him; it parted and flowed, acknowledging something beyond ordinary comprehension.
He reached the bottom first. There, illuminated faintly by the glowing magical wards that still lingered in the depths, he saw her — Ginny Weasley, the chosen "treasure" of the professors. Without a word, Adrian touched her gently with a finger, whispering a soft incantation. Her eyes widened as she woke; she recognized him.
The spell lifted her safely toward the surface, leaving him in the depths. He remained, remembering the difficulties Fleur had faced in the original story, yet here, weeks of training had given her the skill to follow him easily. Soon, Fleur appeared, swimming gracefully toward him, her movements powerful and precise. When she saw him, he gave her a subtle signal: time is running out.
Fleur took her sister first, then began to ascend. But as she rose, her eyes caught Adrian's just behind her. A flicker of competitive fire sparked across her gaze. She wanted to win. She wanted to best him.
Adrian, in response, allowed himself a faint, amused smile. His partner wanted a challenge — how delightful.
He let her gain a small lead, her determination burning brightly, before a single surge of telekinesis shot him upward. He burst through the water with fluid grace, landing on the stage above. The Hogwarts crowd gasped, some screaming, some frozen in disbelief — no one had anticipated that he could manipulate the water, his body, and magic with such mastery.
Fleur reached the stage shortly after, determination still blazing in her eyes. Behind her, Harry emerged, breathless and pale. And last, Krum appeared, powerful but delayed, his steps measured yet slow.
Adrian stood there, calm, surveying the scene. The blue sheen of his magical armor had dissipated, leaving only the aura of control and effortless dominance. Fleur, catching her breath, realized the game had just begun — and so had their subtle, unspoken contest.
Adrian's dark eyes scanned the crowd briefly, noting the ripple of astonishment and awe, yet he did not linger on it. Every movement, every breath, remained measured. Fleur, her wet hair clinging to her elegant frame, emerged just seconds later, carrying her prize. She glanced at him with a triumphant smile, pride and challenge mingling in her gaze.
"Impressive," she said softly, her voice carrying over the lapping water and the cheers of the crowd.
Adrian inclined his head slightly, a subtle praise. "Well done," he replied, calm, precise, and entirely unhurried. The judges scribbled furiously, their faces taut, murmuring among themselves. Krum, still dripping and breathing hard, looked between Adrian and Fleur with something close to disbelief. "How… how did you—?" he started, then stopped, realizing words failed him.
Adrian did not explain. Words were often unnecessary; action spoke louder. He waited for the judge's word and turned toward the exit with calm authority. Fleur fell into step beside him, dripping water, her expression a mix of triumph and admiration.
The Hogwarts crowd erupted into renewed applause, some students standing, some craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the champions.
Whispers filled the air: He's not human… He must have magic beyond what's possible…
Adrian ignored the noise. His mind, as always, was already moving forward. The second task had been conquered — quickly, efficiently, flawlessly. Yet, there was more to come. The next challenge would demand cunning, intellect, and perhaps a measure of unpredictability. Adrian welcomed it.
Fleur stole a glance at him, curiosity evident in her eyes. "You seem… almost bored," she teased lightly, brushing her wet hair behind her ear.
Adrian allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible smile. " I merely await the true test."
As they walked back toward the castle, the students' whispers followed, but Adrian remained untouched, a shadow moving through the light, as always observing, always calculating. And deep within, beneath the calm and the mastery, a small ember of worry for Fleur — for her safety — flickered quietly, unfamiliar and unwelcome.
The second task was complete. The next trial awaited.
But in the quiet moments, alone with Fleur later that night, he allowed himself a thought he seldom entertained:
'Even I… cannot control everything. '
And that, perhaps, was the most human thing about him. Or so he thought.
\\\
The Room of Requirement awaited him.
The moment Adrian stepped inside, the air shifted; the stones themselves seemed to recognize his presence. The space reshaped into a vast, circular chamber lined with mirrors of black glass and sigils of molten gold crawling across the walls like living veins. At the center stood the great cauldron — two meters tall, carved from a single piece of obsidian. Its surface shimmered, alive, and the liquid inside churned as though aware of what was about to happen.
This was where it would end — or begin anew.
On the floor lay a network of intricate runes, arranged in concentric circles. Each rune glowed faintly with crimson and green light, pulsing in rhythm with Adrian's heartbeat. The circles extended outward, linking to three smaller arrays — the remnants of the earlier experiment, where life, magic, and essence had been woven into fuel. The air still remembered their echo.
Months ago, he had taken the first step — an attempt to merge the essence of three beings into one: himself, his Animagus form, and the ancient serpent whose blood he had claimed in his second year. The idea had been simple, the execution monumental. He sought to awaken something within his blood — not an external power, but a natural sense, a forgotten trait buried beneath centuries of human evolution. It was all theory once — fragments of manuscripts, obscure references to "inner resonance," and his own analysis of the link between the Animagus form and the Patronus. Both, he had realized, were reflections of the self — one of body, the other of soul. The failure of his earlier ritual had not been an error of technique, but rather an error of understanding. He had tried to force an awakening. Tonight, he would invite it.
That ritual last year had failed to awaken it.
But it had not been in vain.
From that failure came understanding. The essence had fused partially — enough to create a link, but not enough to ignite the dormant potential. The DNA — that perfectly coded language of life — had intertwined, yet remained asleep, waiting for the right catalyst.
And now, he had it.
The pot before him contained the synthesis of everything: his own human blood, his Animagus form blood, and the blood sample of the Basilisk. The energy drawn from the captives — their souls distilled into pure, unaligned life force — had become the perfect reagent. Together, these formed the blood of three natures.
Adrian lifted his hand. With a single gesture, the room stirred.
The runes flared alive in brilliant crimson and jade, energy streaming into the cauldron. The liquid inside began to boil, then spiral, forming a whirlpool that shimmered with countless lights. Adrian reached into his robes and produced a small vial — the result of that earlier ritual. Inside it glowed a faint violet substance, translucent, suspended between states of matter.
"This," he murmured, "is what I could not awaken before."
He unsealed the bottle. The instant the cork left the glass, the air trembled. The contents rose like a ribbon of liquid light, hovering above the cauldron. Adrian's eyes followed it, calm and unblinking.
He began to move his hands — slow, deliberate gestures, tracing sigils into the air. His voice dropped to a whisper, speaking words that were more concept than language — thoughts given shape. The vial's contents drifted downward, merging with the swirling mass below.
The reaction was immediate.
The liquid erupted into color — scarlet, emerald, and amethyst, intertwining like serpents dancing in flame. A hum resonated through the chamber, soft yet immense, echoing from the very stones. Adrian felt it in his bones, in his pulse. The energy within the cauldron reached outward, brushing against him, seeking its origin — himself.
He understood what it wanted.
He extended his hand above the cauldron. The liquid responded, rising like a living thread, coiling up toward his palm. It shimmered with impossible beauty — the union of three lineages, three powers, three identities converging into one. The energy wrapped around his hand, neither burning nor freezing, but alive, pulsing in perfect harmony with his heartbeat.
There was no pain — only warmth, light, and a deep, resonant clarity.
He watched as the energy seeped through his skin, merging with his veins. His blood responded instantly. He could feel it — the rhythm shifting, quickening, as if the very essence of his body were rewriting itself. He closed his eyes and inhaled, letting the sensation wash over him.
Moments passed.
Then the runes dimmed.
The cauldron stilled.
Silence.
Adrian opened his eyes.
They were no longer brown. They glowed faintly — a soft, luminous violet that reflected the light of unseen stars. For the first time, he saw it!!
The invisible weave of energy that permeated everything. The walls glowed faintly with the enchantments layered into their structure. The air itself shimmered with threads of latent magic, twisting and coiling like auroras in the dark.
He could see magic.
Its flow, its shape, its color, everything!!.
He blinked once, and the glow faded, returning his eyes to their human hue. Another blink, and the world shifted again — alive with light and motion.
He smiled.
The ritual had succeeded.
The dormant ability in his blood, the natural sight once buried deep within his lineage, had awoken.
Now, magic was no longer a theory. It was visible, tangible, alive.
Adrian stood still for a moment, gazing into the air, watching the faint streams of power rise and fall like a tide. His thoughts were calm, analytical, yet his heart was deeply moved. The world would never appear the same again.
He whispered to the quiet room,
"The third step is complete. The awakening is real. However, like any other ritual, this one has a price as well, huh…" In exchange for the gift of Magic Eyes (M.E, for short), Adrian lost both his Animgus transformation and his ability to cast the Patronus spell forever.
"This is a very small price to pay for the ability to see magic, the control of my magic while using those eyes and my achievements… I used to think that by the time I am in my late thirties, I would have surpassed both Dumbledore and Riddle, but now? Hahaha, thirties? What a joke, by the time I reach Magic-adulthood, I will surpass them both, by the time I am in my thirties?" The excitement on his face could no longer be surpassed. "Even if they both come at me, I could wipe the floor easily with them both!"
And with that, he turned, leaving the Room of Requirement bathed in a gentle violet light — a silent witness to the moment when knowledge itself had taken new form within him.
The days after the ritual blurred into one another, as though the castle itself had fallen under a quiet spell. Adrian moved through Hogwarts with that same calm precision as always, but there was a subtle difference — an awareness that hadn't been there before. It was as if every corridor whispered a little louder, every candle flame flickered in response to his presence.
When he looked at the world now, something shifted. The glow of magic — faint, living threads of energy — occasionally shimmered at the edges of his sight. They were fragile, almost like the glint of sunlight on glass, and yet, unmistakably alive. He didn't call upon it often. He didn't need to. Just knowing it was there, that he could, was enough.
He kept his distance from most people, as usual. Fame had become something he could no longer walk away from. The aftermath of the second task had turned him into Hogwarts' favorite mystery. Students whispered when he passed — some out of awe, others out of fascination, and a few out of jealousy. The rumors only grew: that he could see magic itself, that he had ancient blood, that Merlin's soul had been reborn in him.
Adrian ignored it all.
He spent his mornings by the Black Lake, his afternoons in the library, and his nights either in the Room of Requirement or wandering the empty corridors of the castle. Something was soothing in the silence. He liked listening to the hum of the walls — Hogwarts was a living thing, and it responded to magic like a heartbeat under stone.
Fleur often found him there. Sometimes she would just sit beside him without speaking, watching the lake's surface ripple with reflected light.
"You always look like you're thinking of something impossible," she said once, her voice breaking the stillness.
Adrian smirked faintly. "I usually am."
She rolled her eyes, leaning back on her elbows. "Do you ever stop thinking?"
"Rarely. It's dangerous to leave your mind idle — it tends to wander into places best left unexplored." A smirk appeared on his face as he gazed downwards.
Fleur blushed under his gaze and laughed softly. "You sound like Dumbledore."
"That's an insult."
That earned him another laugh. And yet, beneath her teasing, Fleur was curious. She had seen glimpses of what Adrian could do — the shield under the lake, the effortless control of magic that seemed to flow from him rather than be summoned. When they were alone, she sometimes asked questions that betrayed that fascination.
"How did you move so quickly under the water?"
"Magic is motion," he answered once. "If you understand how it flows, you don't resist it — you ride it."
She frowned at that.
Their exchanges became a rhythm of their own — quiet, sharp, sometimes playful. There was a strange comfort in their companionship, though neither of them called it that aloud. When she trained for the Third Task, Adrian often watched her from a distance. He didn't offer help unless she asked, but when she did, his advice was always simple and precise, like cutting threads in the right place.
"You're thinking too loudly," he told her once during practice, as she struggled to focus her spellwork.
She stopped, blinking. "What does that even mean?"
"Magic listens. If your thoughts are noise, they get confused. You have to make them whisper."
Fleur stared at him for a long time, then nodded, repeating his words quietly to herself.
Evenings often ended with both of them in the Great Hall, surrounded by noise and laughter neither of them really joined. Students would approach him sometimes — mostly younger ones — asking for advice, for autographs, even for charms to bring them luck. Adrian never refused directly, but his sharp gaze often made them retreat before they finished asking.
The only one who seemed unbothered by his quiet intensity was Harry. He'd approach now and then, half-smiling, a little uncertain. Their relationship had become strange — a mix of rivalry and unspoken respect.
One afternoon by the lake, Harry sat beside him, skipping stones across the water.
"They're saying you're going to win," he said after a pause. "Everyone's betting on it."
"Are they?" Adrian murmured, eyes half-lidded.
"Yeah. Even the Slytherins. They're… proud of you, I think. Scared too."
Adrian's lips curved faintly. "Fear and respect aren't opposites, Harry. They often share the same face."
Harry frowned. "And you're fine with that?"
"Why wouldn't I be? Both make people listen."
There wasn't much Harry could say to that. He threw another stone, watching it skip three times before sinking.
The weeks drifted by like this — quietly, steadily. The Third Task loomed closer, and tension began to crawl through the air of Hogwarts. Whispers of dark omens circulated in the corridors, but Adrian paid them little mind. The world outside the tournament still turned, and the castle remained his sanctuary.
Late at night, when everyone else slept, he would return to the Room of Requirement. Sometimes to read. Sometimes to test the limits of his new sight — that violet shimmer that revealed the living veins of magic within every wall, every spell, every breath of air.
It was beautiful in a way few would ever understand. Not power — not control — but understanding. Seeing the skeleton of the world itself, the pulse that wove life and spell together.
He'd stand in the center of that quiet, breathing light and whisper to himself, "So this is what they call magic."
And as the moonlight fell across the windows, painting the floor in pale silver, Adrian would close his eyes and wait — for the final task, for the next challenge, for the inevitable clash that destiny seemed to be sculpting around him.
\\\
The night was alive with tension. Torches burned along the edges of the Quidditch pitch, casting wavering light over the vast black maze that loomed before the champions. The air felt heavy, charged with expectation — and perhaps something darker.
Adrian stood before the entrance, his expression unreadable. The wind stirred his dark hair, brushing it back from his sharp features as the faintest smirk curved his lips. Around him, the crowd whispered his name in low excitement, their voices swelling with awe and admiration. He had become the school's living legend — the boy who tamed monsters, who defied magic itself.
Dumbledore's voice broke through the murmuring:
"Champions… prepare yourselves."
The gates of the maze creaked open. A cool, damp breath of wind rolled from within, smelling of earth and ancient spells.
"Adrian Atlas," Dumbledore called.
Adrian took a calm step forward. His wand rested loosely in his hand; his eyes — calm, sharp, calculating — gleamed with faint amusement. Without a word, he crossed the threshold and disappeared into the darkness.
Next came Harry, then Fleur, and finally Krum.
Inside, the maze was a living thing. Its walls shifted, its paths changed, and its silence was oppressive — the kind that hummed like distant thunder. Adrian moved through it like a shadow, every step deliberate. He encountered traps — thorned vines that lashed at him, illusions that tried to twist his perception, spells meant to frighten or confuse — but he dismantled them all with precision, sometimes with a single flick of his wrist.
Hours seemed to pass, though time felt distorted inside the maze.
Then — a scream.
It was Fleur's.
Adrian froze for only a heartbeat before his body moved on its own. The walls of the maze parted as if obeying his Magic, vines bending and curling aside to clear his path. He found her not far ahead — Fleur was on the ground, her wand out of reach, and Krum stood above her, his eyes glassy, movements stiff and unnatural.
"Imperius," Adrian muttered, eyes narrowing.
Fleur looked up, panic in her expression. "He—he's cursed!"
Adrian didn't answer. He flicked his wrist; invisible energy rippled through the air. Krum's wand flew from his grasp, and an unseen force slammed him backward into the hedge wall. The vines coiled around him, restraining his limbs as he thrashed.
Adrian's voice was low, calm, and commanding. "Stay down."
Krum fell still, unconscious — his curse broken.
Fleur pushed herself up, breathing heavily. "Thank you… I—"
Adrian turned toward her, eyes softening slightly. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, brushing dirt from her robes. "No. I'm fine."
"Good." He paused. Then, quietly, "I'm sorry."
Fleur frowned, confused. "For what?"
Before she could finish, a soft pulse of light flashed from Adrian's hand — a stunning charm so quick and gentle it almost looked like a whisper of red smoke. Her eyes widened in surprise before her body slumped, unconscious but unharmed.
Adrian caught her before she fell, lowering her carefully to the ground. "Forgive me," he murmured, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. "But this isn't your fight."
He raised his wand and fired a red flare into the air — the signal for the professors. The sparks burst high above the maze, illuminating the darkness for a moment before fading.
Then, without another glance, Adrian turned and walked deeper into the maze.
The air grew thicker the further he went. Spells of confusion shimmered faintly in the darkness, but he ignored them. His mind was sharper than the maze's illusions. He could feel it now — the pulse of magic, strong and rhythmic, coming from ahead.
The Cup.
He wasn't alone.
From a different corridor, Harry appeared, his robes torn, breathing heavily. Their eyes met briefly — not as rivals, but as two people walking parallel paths.
They didn't speak. Words would have been meaningless. Both knew what they were here for.
The maze opened before them into a wide corridor. At its end, the Triwizard Cup glowed faintly blue, pulsing with ethereal light.
They both began to run.
Harry's steps pounded against the earth. Adrian's movements were smooth, his body gliding forward with near-silent precision. But as the Cup drew closer, he slowed — just slightly — enough that Harry would reach it beside him.
Their hands touched the Cup at the same instant.
There was a blinding flash.