Obliviate – The Magic of Forgetting
Harry sat alone in the dimly lit Slytherin common room, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over the pages of the worn book in his lap. He had "borrowed" it from the Restricted Section—not that Madam Pince would ever know.
Obliviate.
A spell that erased memories. But not just erased—rewrote. Reshaped. A carefully applied Obliviate didn't just remove an event; it filled the gap with something else. Something harmless. Something useful.
"The mind is an intricate tapestry—pull a thread too roughly, and the entire weave may unravel."
His fingers traced the old ink. The spell wasn't just about words and wand movement—it was about precision. Will. Control.
Harry's lips curled. This spell is perfect.
No more loose ends. No more problems.
If someone learned too much? Obliviate.
If he slipped up? Obliviate.
If a witness became inconvenient? Obliviate.
Simple. Clean. Untraceable.
His wand twirled between his fingers as he practiced the motions, feeling the intent solidify in his mind.
Dark Wizards and the Abuse of Power
As the knowledge settled, so did something else—a dark realization.
How many wizards had abused this?
A single whisper of magic, and someone's entire reality could change. They could be used. Violated. Discarded.
And they'd never even know.
His jaw clenched.
The Ministry outlawed the Unforgivables, but what about this? This was sanctioned. This was allowed.
A slow exhale. That's why rules mean nothing. They exist to keep the weak in line.
But Harry refused to be weak.
And if someone tried to control him?
He'd make them forget they ever tried.
The Mind's Defense – Occlumency
As he continued practicing, he noticed something strange.
Every time he focused inward, there was… resistance.
Not from the spell.
From himself.
A barrier. A shield.
Instinctive Occlumency.
Most wizards had no natural defense against Legilimency. But Harry did. It was as if his mind refused to be touched.
Was it the entity's gift? Something deeper?
Either way, it was another advantage.
Because no one would be reading his mind.
A Morning Distraction
His stomach growled, pulling him from his thoughts. With a sigh, he made his way to breakfast.
The Great Hall was loud as ever, but something felt… off.
Hermione sat stiffly. Daphne looked unimpressed. The Slytherin table hummed with whispered conversation.
Then he saw it.
The Daily Prophet.
THE BOY WHO LIVED—ON THE PATH OF A FUTURE DARK LORD!
Harry scanned the article, irritation curling his lip.
Speculation. Accusations. Wild claims about his dueling, his House, even the idea that he had been trained in dark magic before Hogwarts.
Complete garbage.
Across from him, Draco smirked. "Famous now, aren't you, Potter? A Dark Lord at making ? Impressive. Should I start calling you 'My Lord' already?"
Harry chuckled, tossing the paper aside. "At least wait until second year. Give me some time to earn it."
Daphne remained unreadable, but Hermione huffed. "This is ridiculous. Who even wrote this?"
Harry already knew. His eyes flicked to the byline.
Rita Skeeter.
That bitch.
He smirked, his mind wandering.
Rita—on her knees. Whimpering.
Just like Petunia.
A plaything. A pet.
His magic pulsed at the thought.
Hermione shivered beside him. Daphne's fingers twitched.
Something about Harry's expression just then was… wrong.
Like a shadow had passed over his face.
Like something wicked had smiled.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
He finished his meal. He had something far more important to do tonight.
It was time to find the Weasley twins.
The Forbidden Book and the Pocket Universe
Late that evening, under the cover of darkness, Harry retrieved the book from his pocket dimension.
A stolen book from the Restricted Section.
Slipping it inside had been effortless—he didn't need to carry things anymore. His pocket universe was an invisible space, separate from reality, where anything he stored was beyond reach.
It was his.
And it was convenient.
He traced the cover. Ancient Magicks: The Art of the Mind.
Inside were spells far more dangerous than Obliviate.
Legilimency. Thought manipulation. False memory creation.
But those would come later.
For now, he needed one thing.
The Marauder's Map.
A Midnight Meeting
The castle slumbered in darkness, its ancient stones whispering with forgotten secrets. Shadows stretched long in the deserted corridors, torches flickering weakly as Harry moved like a ghost through the halls.
He was getting better at this.
His footsteps made no sound. His magic wrapped around him like a second skin, dampening his presence to near invisibility. He had studied the castle's blind spots, memorized the prefect patrol routes, and mapped out the quirks of its shifting staircases.
And tonight, all of it would lead him to the Weasley twins.
Fred and George were an enigma—reckless yet cunning, careless yet perceptive. They had spent years perfecting the art of slipping past Hogwarts' defenses, and if there were ever students who understood the castle's secrets, it was them.
But Harry was no ordinary student.
He had spent weeks observing them, tracking their movements, noting the hidden passageways they used. And tonight, they were holed up in an abandoned classroom, brewing something that reeked of mischief.
Perfect.
With a flick of his wand, he whispered, "Silencio." The corridor ahead of him fell into absolute silence, the torches dimming as if retreating from his presence. He stepped closer, taking his time.
Then, without hesitation—
"Incarcerous."
Thick ropes shot from his wand, coiling tightly around the twins before they could react.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
Before they hit the ground, Harry lifted them effortlessly, keeping them suspended mid-air.
Fred and George twisted in their bonds, eyes wide with surprise.
"Potter?" Fred managed, straining against the ropes. "Merlin's beard, a little warning next time?"
"Bit dramatic, don't you think?" George added, amused despite the situation.
Harry didn't respond immediately. He simply stared, letting the silence stretch, letting the weight of the moment sink in.
Fred and George exchanged glances. They were used to being the ones in control. Not the ones caught in someone else's game.
Finally, Fred sighed. "Alright, mate. What's this about?"
Harry's gaze flicked between them. "The Marauder's Map."
A beat of silence.
Then George chuckled, shaking his head. "Sorry, mate. Family heirloom. Can't just hand it over."
"Yeah, nothing personal, but—"
Harry sighed. He had expected that answer.
He held out his hand. "Accio Marauder's Map."
A folded piece of parchment shot from George's pocket, landing neatly in Harry's grasp.
Both twins groaned. "Oh, come on," Fred muttered.
Harry turned the parchment over in his hands, feeling the worn edges, the faded ink. This was no ordinary map—it was a relic of a past generation. The legacy of four boys who had once ruled these halls with cunning and rebellion.
The Marauders.
James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.
They had created something extraordinary—a living map of Hogwarts, charting every hidden passage, tracking every soul within its walls. It was more than a prankster's tool; it was a masterpiece of magic.
He could imagine them in their youth—his father, cocky and untamed; Sirius, wild and reckless; Remus, quiet but brilliant; and Peter… the coward who had betrayed them all.
Harry's grip tightened.
No.
He wasn't like them.
This map wouldn't be used for childish mischief.
It would be a weapon.
A tool to control his surroundings.
To know everything.
To never be caught off guard.
Fred and George were still watching him carefully, eyes sharp despite their predicament.
Harry raised his wand. "Now, I can't have you remembering this."
Both twins tensed.
"Obliviate."
Their faces slackened. Their eyes lost focus. Then—unconsciousness.
Harry watched as they swayed, blinking in confusion.
By the time they regained awareness, the ropes were gone, and Harry had disappeared into the shadows.
The Map's Secrets
Back in the safety of his dorm, Harry unfurled the Marauder's Map.
The parchment was blank, lifeless. But he knew the words that would awaken it.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Ink bled across the surface, swirling, stretching, forming intricate lines and loops. Hogwarts unfolded before him, its halls and passageways breathing to life.
And there—
Moving names.
Filch, lurking near the dungeons.
Snape, pacing near the Astronomy Tower.
Dumbledore, strangely still in his office.
The entire castle, laid bare.
Harry smirked.
This would make things so much easier.
But there was one place he needed to find.
The Room of Requirement.