The castle had a strange hush to it, the kind that followed after something big—something people couldn't quite process. Even the portraits spoke more quietly these days, as if the stones themselves needed time to absorb what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets.
Five days. That's how long it had been since I stood in a pool of serpent's blood beside Harry Potter, both of us winded, bruised, but alive. The basilisk was dead, its monstrous body now reduced to myth again. Yet the silence it left behind felt heavier than its hissing ever had.
From the high windows of my office—a modest tower chamber gifted by Dumbledore when I accepted the role of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—I watched a pair of third-years cross the courtyard, their steps slow, careful. Maybe it was the trauma, or maybe it was because they'd learned how fragile everything was. Both were fair reactions.
I tapped a finger against my desk, eyes drifting to the scrolls left unmarked. Lesson plans. Assignments. Expectations. The usual hum of academia, now forced to compete with the memory of venom burning in the air and the weight of prophecy I never asked for.
I'd kept a low profile since that night. Not because I feared questions—Dumbledore had handled the public version of events with typical vagueness—but because I needed space. Reflection. Even as the system quietly updated my Synchronization Rate to 21.05%, I found little satisfaction in it. The points weren't the reason I couldn't sleep.
It was Harry.
The boy fought like he killed this things before and his expression and all those spells he used aren't something even an adult wizard can use yet he did it with ease though he might have had help from that artifact but it only gave him more mp to cast those spells nothing else. Just what is that boy? Is he aregressor or atransmigrator
There was a knock at the door. Two sharp taps. Measured. Intentional.
"Enter," I said.
The door creaked open and Hermione Granger stepped in, her expression composed but curious. She held a notebook tight to her chest like a shield.
"Professor Veylan," she said formally, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
I motioned for her to come in. "Not at all. You're always welcome, Miss Granger."
She sat at the edge of the chair across from me, spine straight, fingers fidgeting with the corner of her parchment.
"I had a few… questions," she said carefully, "about the creature that was in the Chamber."
Of course she did.
"I'll answer what I can," I said.
Hermione hesitated, then leaned in slightly. "Was it really a basilisk? The legend says they die instantly when looked at. But the victims here were only petrified."
I folded my hands. "You're correct. The basilisk in question used a reflective or indirect method to attack—reflections in water, ghosts, even through a camera lens. That's why no one died. It was smart… or controlled."
Her eyes flicked with thought. "And its age? Something that large… it had to be ancient."
I nodded. "Centuries old, likely bred and placed here during the time of Salazar Slytherin himself."
Hermione looked both horrified and fascinated. She opened her notebook, as if to write that down, then paused. "Professor… was it you and Harry who defeated it?"
I didn't answer immediately. The question lingered, heavy with implication.
"Officially," I said slowly, "the situation was resolved with the assistance of several parties."
She didn't seem satisfied with that answer. "But Harry's different. He's quiet. More serious. People think he's just shaken from what happened, but I don't think that's all of it."
I raised a brow. "You've been watching him closely."
"He's my friend," she said. "Even if he doesn't always want me to be." [A/N: Of course he is simply just a friend ]
A beat passed. For a moment, she looked older than her years.
"You're perceptive," I said quietly.
"I try to be."
There was another knock at the door—more casual this time.
Hermione turned slightly as Harry stepped into the room, his eyes flickering between the two of us. He gave a small nod.
"Professor," he said, his voice calm. "Granger."
"Harry," Hermione said, almost too quickly.
He gave her a slight look—half amused, half grateful. "Didn't mean to interrupt. Just… wanted to ask something."
I leaned back, gesturing. "Ask."
Harry stepped further in, arms crossed loosely, but I could sense the weight in him—like he was still shaking off the echo of battle.
"I need access to the lower library," he said. "Restricted Section. Research."
Hermione looked mildly scandalized. I didn't blame her.
"For what subject?" I asked, though I already knew he wouldn't answer directly.
"Advanced wards," he said simply. "And resilience enchantments."
I studied him. His tone was even. His aether presence, controlled. But there was something else. A pull around the edges of his soul. Something I didn't yet understand.
"Granted," I said. "I'll notify Madam Pince."
Harry gave a curt nod. "Thanks."
Hermione glanced between us, unsure if she was missing something or witnessing something she wasn't supposed to understand.
"Is there anything else?" I asked.
Harry hesitated. "No. That's all."
He turned to leave, but paused just before stepping out.
"I'll see you later, Hermione."
Her smile was faint but real. "Yeah."
And then he was gone.
Hermione let out a small breath. "He's… different."
"So are you," I said.
She blinked. "Me?"
"Everyone changes after facing something ancient and deadly," I said. "Even those who only glimpse the truth."
She didn't respond, but the silence was telling.
After she left, I sat in stillness.
---
The students who had been petrified were waking, one by one. Their confusion was understandable. One day, they were staring into something strange—a ghost, a camera lens, a puddle—and the next, it was summer. They remembered nothing of the in-between. Most were just relieved.
I wasn't.
The attack had been real, the threat ancient. And though the creature was dead, I knew enough from my former world and from the Role Player System to understand that true danger rarely ended cleanly. There were always roots deeper than the surface.
I descended the winding stairs that led from my tower to the second floor corridor, my robes brushing the cold stone. My mind returned again to the Chamber—its architecture, the lingering aether, the way the runes along the stone serpents hummed faintly under my senses. The place had been dormant, not dead. That distinction mattered.
I passed a group of students along the way—fourth years, chattering about Quidditch. One noticed me and fell silent. The others followed. Even when I wasn't looking, I could feel them glancing my way.
That was new.
Before the basilisk, I'd been just another eccentric professor. One with sharp lessons, high expectations, and a tendency to vanish after classes ended. Now, I was something else. The one who'd gone into the Chamber. The one who had come out.
A war hero in the making.
They didn't say it out loud. But the change in how they looked at me… it was enough.
I arrived at the Defense classroom ten minutes early, a habit I'd held onto even in this new life. The room was quiet. My wards still hummed lightly in the corners, tuned to detect magical interference. I rechecked the shielding rune under the desk out of instinct. Still stable.
When the door opened, the students entered in a slow wave. Harry came in with Ron and Hermione, the latter glancing my way only briefly before she sat and immediately began scribbling notes. Ron slouched beside her, clearly already tired.
Harry… was unreadable.
He didn't look at me directly. But when I swept the room with my eyes, I found him already watching. It wasn't confrontational. Just… sharp. Measured. He was assessing me.
That was fine. I was assessing him too.
He sat three rows back—not at the front like Hermione, not all the way at the back like the bored or the proud. Middle of the pack. Hidden in plain sight.
I called the class to order.
"Today's topic is defensive spell layering. In particular, how to reinforce shields against sustained pressure. Contrary to what you've been taught, a shield doesn't need to be strong—it needs to be smart."
That got some attention.
I flicked my wand toward the board, and a set of diagrams appeared—layered sigils, fluid aether channels, intersecting enchantment loops.
Hermione raised her hand before I could ask anything.
"Miss Granger."
"How does this structure avoid magical feedback if the top layer collapses?"
"Excellent," I said. "It doesn't avoid it. It redirects it. Watch."
I stepped forward and sent a pulse of mana through the diagram. The class watched as the top layer glowed, cracked, and bled energy—only for the next two to catch it and reconfigure.
I turned back to them. "This is how magical cities defended themselves in the Great Wars. If you rely on brute force, you lose to precision every time."
A pause.
"Unless you're a dragon," I added, dryly.
A few students chuckled.
Hermione wrote so fast I thought her quill might burst into flame.
Harry's expression didn't change. But he was watching. And he understood. I could tell.
I gave them a task: design a three-layered defense rune capable of withstanding a Class 3 destructive spell. Most began sketching immediately. A few whispered questions to each other.
It was then that Hermione turned in her seat, whispering to Harry and Ron. I watched out of the corner of my eye.
Ron gave her a helpless shrug. Harry tilted his head slightly, glanced toward the diagram again, then shrugged. He said something short—I couldn't hear it—but Hermione frowned. Unsatisfied.
Eventually, she stood and walked up to my desk.
"Professor," she said quietly, "I think I've found a flaw in the second loop—if someone added a misdirection glyph, wouldn't it unravel the primary channel?"
She didn't ask it to challenge me. She asked because she wanted to know.
I nodded. "It would, unless you anchor the outer layer using a mirrored pattern. Watch."
I sketched a quick counterloop. Hermione's eyes lit up.
Behind her, I caught Harry looking—not at the board, but at the glyph I'd drawn. He blinked once. Then turned back to his notes without saying a word.
Class ended twenty minutes later.
Most students filed out in groups. A few lingered to ask about the assignment. Harry didn't. He packed his things, nodded to Ron and Hermione, and slipped out before I could catch his eye.
But I felt something as he passed by. A flicker of suppressed magic. No wand, no visible cast—just a tug against my senses. A flicker of power bound too tightly for someone his age.
The artifact.
He'd used it. I didn't know how or why, but I could feel its echo in his aether signature. That reservoir of stored magic—it was his now.
And yet, he didn't flaunt it. He barely acknowledged it.
He was hiding it.
Good.
I waited until the last student had left before closing the door. The silence of the classroom was heavy, but not empty. More like a pause.
---
I moved quietly toward my office, mind turning over everything from the last days. The way Harry fought beside me. How the students reacted afterward. How the castle seemed to pulse with wary energy, as if holding its breath for the next threat.
I'd been thinking a lot about strategy. About protection. About how fragile life was here, yet how powerful it could be if you knew how to tap into the right forces.
The door to my office creaked open as I pushed it, and I caught sight of a familiar silhouette standing in the hallway.
Hermione Granger.
Her brow furrowed, hands gripping her books tightly. She didn't startle at my appearance, which was telling. She'd seen enough to know what I was capable of—or at least suspected it.
"Professor Caelum," she said, voice low. "I wanted to ask you something."
"Of course." I gestured toward the room. "Come in."
She stepped inside, settling on the edge of a chair, eyes flicking around as if expecting the walls to listen.
"I was reviewing the defensive layers you showed us in class," she began, "and I'm trying to understand something. How do you maintain a shield's integrity under continuous attack? Not just the first blow, but the second, the third—when the energy tries to find any weakness?"
I smiled faintly. It was a good question. One many seasoned wizards overlooked because their magic relied on bursts of power rather than sustained defense.
"The key is resilience, Hermione," I said, settling into my own chair. "You build a shield that can absorb shock and redistribute energy. The outermost layer may shatter, but it sends that energy sideways, into a secondary system designed to repair or transform the blow."
She nodded slowly. "So, it's about flow. Not force."
"Exactly."
A moment passed. She glanced down at her books again, then back up.
"Do you think it's possible to train oneself to instinctively create such shields in the heat of battle? Without drawing on complex spells?"
I leaned forward. "It takes practice, and a deep understanding of magic's nature. But yes. With time, the right training, it becomes reflexive."
She was silent for a beat, then spoke again.
"Do you think Harry could do it?"
I hesitated, thinking of him sitting in that classroom—the way he watched, the way he didn't speak much. The quiet strength beneath his calm exterior.
"I think he's capable," I said carefully. "He has more potential than he lets on. But potential doesn't mean much without discipline."
Her gaze sharpened. "I've noticed… there's more to him than most students realize."
I gave a brief nod, not offering more.
Before she could respond, a knock came at the door.
"Come in," I called.
The door opened, and Harry stepped inside, closing it behind him with quiet assurance.
Hermione's eyes widened slightly, but she kept her composure.
"Professor," Harry said, voice even, "I wanted to discuss today's lesson. The layered shields."
I smiled again. "Good timing."
He approached the desk and rested his hands on it. "I've been practicing what you taught. But I'm struggling with the feedback loops you mentioned. Sometimes the energy overwhelms me before I can redirect it."
"That's natural," I said. "The key is to anticipate the attack's rhythm, not just react to it."
He looked thoughtful, then asked quietly, "Would it help if I meditated before casting? Focused more on my breathing and the flow of mana?"
"Absolutely," I said. "Calm and control are your best allies."
Hermione leaned forward. "If you like, I can help you practice."
Harry gave a brief smile. "I'd appreciate that."
They exchanged a look, an unspoken agreement between student and friend.
I stood and stretched. "You two have a good start. Remember, mastering defense isn't just about power. It's patience. Precision."
Harry nodded. "Thank you, Professor."
As they left, I stayed behind, watching the empty classroom with a strange mixture of pride and caution.
-----------------------
If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/Amon0_0"
Or Just search Amon_The_Error in your patreon and you can find the advance chapters there