Shadow Monarch in Hogwarts ( Harry Potter & Solo Leveling).

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The emerald-tinted sunlight filtered through the Black Lake's murky waters, casting shifting, serpentine patterns across the cold stone walls of the Slytherin dormitory. The light danced like liquid mercury, rippling over the carved four-poster beds and the heavy green drapes that separated Adam from the rest of the sleeping house.

With a groan, he cracked one eye open, wincing as the remnants of yesterday's exhaustion clung to his muscles. His arms ached from the brutal physical trials—climbing ropes charmed to resist grip-enhancing spells, dodging enchanted dummies that hit harder than a Bludger—and his mind still throbbed from the mental strain of the chess match.

Adam :

>Bloody hell. I feel like I got trampled by a herd of Graphorns.

He stretched, tendons protesting, before rolling out of bed. The flagstones were icy under his bare feet, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his blankets. His uniform lay neatly folded on the trunk at the foot of his bed—Slytherin robes, crisp white shirt, black trousers. He tugged them on quickly, fingers fumbling with the buttons in his haste. The tie he left loose, a small rebellion against the stifling formality of Hogwarts' dress code.

A splash of cold water from the dormitory's enchanted basin shocked the last dregs of sleep from his system. His reflection stared back at him in the fogged mirror—dark circles under his eyes, damp hair curling rebelliously over his forehead.

Potions. Right. Brilliant.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, the weight of his textbooks a familiar pressure against his side. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the System screen, its glowing blue interface materializing in the air before him.

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[ Daily Quest – In Progress ]

→ Brew a Class 2 Potion under exam conditions.

Time Remaining: 14:22:51

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His stomach twisted.

Adam:

> Don't screw this up.

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Breakfast & the Weight of Preparation

The Great Hall was alive with chatter, the enchanted ceiling a swirl of lazy morning clouds reflecting the mood of the students below. The Slytherin table was sparser than the others—first-years huddled together, older students already discussing assignments in low, calculating tones. Adam took his usual spot near the end, far enough from the prefects to avoid scrutiny.

A plate of scrambled eggs sat untouched before him, steam curling into the air. His fingers drummed against the edge of the table as he flipped through his Advanced Potion-Making notes, muttering under his breath.

Adam (muttering):

> "Valerian sprigs—finely chopped, not crushed. Moonstone powder must be added in three precise measures, no more, no less. Hellebore syrup—four drops, but only after the first simmer…"

The words blurred together. Class Two potions weren't just difficult—they were dangerous. A misstep could mean anything from a melted cauldron to a slow-acting poison simmering in his veins.

He snapped the book shut with a soft thud, exhaling through his nose. Overhead, the floating candles flickered, their light dancing across the silver-green banners of Slytherin House.

For a moment, he just stared, letting the hum of the Hall fade into white noise.

Adam (softly):

> "In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."

He smirked, shaking his head.

Adam:

> "Let's see if that summer can survive Snape's syllabus."

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The Dungeon's Embrace

The potions classroom was colder than the rest of the dungeons, the air thick with the scent of dried herbs and aged metal. Adam's breath misted slightly as he stepped inside, the heavy door creaking shut behind him.

Shelves lined the walls, crammed with jars of ingredients that glimmered ominously in the dim torchlight. Belladonna. Powdered Graphorn Horn. Moondew Extract. Labels written in spidery script warned of toxicity, volatility, curses.

The System pinged, its chime echoing in his skull.

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[ System Random Potion Selected ]

→ Calming Draught (Class 2)

Instructions:

Brew for exactly 28 minutes.

Maintain potion color pale blue throughout.

Do not allow steam to turn purple.

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Adam:

> "Of course it'd be the bloody Calming Draught. It's like the System's mocking me."

He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, the chill of the dungeon raising goosebumps along his forearms. Methodically, he gathered his ingredients:

Four Valerian sprigs, their leaves brittle under his knife as he chopped them fine.

Three measures of powdered Moonstone, glittering like crushed diamonds in the dim light.

Four drops of syrup of Hellebore, the viscous liquid clinging to the dropper.

A single crushed Jobberknoll feather, its edges disintegrating into iridescent dust at the lightest touch.

The copper cauldron hissed as he set it over the flame, purified water shimmering as it heated. Steam rose in silver tendrils, carrying the sharp scent of magic.

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The first fifteen minutes were textbook-perfect. The potion shifted from clear to pale blue, swirling like diluted ink under his steady clockwise stirs.

Then—disaster.

The liquid bubbled violently, far more than the instructions had warned. Steam curled upward, tinged with the faintest hint of purple.

Adam's pulse spiked.

Adam (half-whispered):

> "No, no, no… purple's the color of doom. Calm. Stay calm."

His fingers trembled as he yanked the flame lower, tossing in another pinch of Moonstone. The potion hissed, the blue darkening before lightening again—but the steam still threatened to shift.

Sweat beaded at his temples. His stirring arm burned with fatigue, each rotation of the spoon sending jolts of pain up his wrist. The timer ticked down mercilessly.

Adam (under his breath):

> "One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

The absurdity of quoting Camus mid-potion crisis almost made him laugh.

Adam (muttering):

> "Except my boulder's a bloody cauldron."

Then—purple. A wisp, just for a second, but enough to make his stomach drop.

No.

He acted on instinct. A few more drops of Hellebore, a frantic wand-flick:

Adam (yelling):

> "Stabilis!"

The steam faded back to white. The potion settled, its color once again a flawless pale blue.

Adam nearly collapsed with relief.

Adam:

> "YES!"

Two minutes left. His arm shook, but he didn't stop stirring.

Adam:

> "You cannot create experience. You must undergo it."

The timer dinged.

With a final incantation, the potion stilled—perfect.

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Reward

The System's chime was sweeter than any music.

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[ Daily Quest Complete! ]

→ +50 XP

→ +3 Magic Attribute

→ New Spell Unlocked: Protego (Shield Charm)

→ 1 Minor Recovery Elixir

[ Level Up! Congratulations, User Adam. ]

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His new status screen glowed proudly:

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[ System Status: User Adam ]

→ Level: 3

→ Experience: 5/300

Attributes:

Strength: 7

Endurance: 8

Intelligence: 11

Magic: 11

Observation: 8

Unlocked Skills:

Disillusionment Charm

Lumos Maxima

Protego

Inventory:

Minor Recovery Elixir (2)

Beginner's Spellbook Token (1)

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Adam grinned.

Adam:

> "Level 3… not bad for a dead person in another world .Not bad at all."

For a moment, he just breathed, the dungeon's chill a welcome contrast to the heat of triumph in his chest.

Adam (softly):

> "Live to the point of tears."

He laughed, shaking his head.

All right, System. Let's see what tomorrow has in store.

Somewhere in the shadows, unseen, something watched.

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[ End of Chapter ]

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