NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 8: Chapter 8 : Trials of Arcanist.
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– Third Person POV
Adam trudged across the castle courtyard, still blinking Stinksap horror out of his mind.
The sky overhead was brilliantly blue, fat white clouds drifting lazily above the Hogwarts towers. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance, utterly indifferent to his looming fate.
Adam's steps echoed on the flagstones as he headed toward the greenhouses, wand stuffed in his robe pocket, hair still wild from his insane cardio sprint.
He muttered to himself as he went, voice low and sardonic.
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> "You cannot create experience. You must undergo it." ~ Albert Camus.
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He blew out a sigh.
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> "Yeah, well, Camus, mate, you never met McGonagall or a bunch of exploding stink plants. But… I suppose this counts as 'undergoing.'"
---
He scowled at the greenhouse doors coming into view. The glass panes were fogged over, shadows of massive, tentacled plants shifting restlessly behind them. Every few seconds, a faint squelching splurt echoed from inside, followed by the hiss of something wet hitting glass.
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> Of all the days for McGonagall to decide I needed "productive activity…"
> Still… guess she's not wrong. The System wants me to push myself. And this… is definitely pushing.
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He pushed open the door to Greenhouse Three, bracing himself.
Immediately, a wave of humid, plant-scented air rolled over him—damp earth, crushed leaves… and something distinctly nose-wrinkling, like a blend of rotten eggs and pepper.
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Inside, chaos reigned.
Professor Sprout stood near a long wooden table, clutching her pointed hat to her head as a Mimbulus mimbletonia—its swollen, greyish-green surface pulsing like a living heart—whipped its rubbery tentacles in all directions. Glistening globs of silver-green Stinksap sprayed the room like a leaky fire hose.
Nearby, several other potted mimbletonias quivered ominously, their pores expanding and contracting as if they were breathing.
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Sprout spotted Adam and waved frantically, shouting over the chaos:
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Sprout: "Oh, wonderful timing, dear boy! Don't just stand there—grab some dragon-hide gloves and help me repot these beauties before they slime the entire greenhouse!"
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A huge splat of Stinksap smacked the glass wall beside Adam's head. He flinched, one eye twitching.
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> This is fine. This is completely fine. I survived a moving staircase obstacle course. I can handle plants with weaponized mucus.
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He stomped forward and yanked on a pair of thick dragon-hide gloves. They came up to his elbows, still slightly damp from some previous horticultural disaster.
____
Sprout: "They've all grown too large for their current pots. The roots are strangling each other, which makes them… testy."
Adam stared as another plant quivered and shot a high-pressure stream of Stinksap across the ceiling.
Adam: "Testy. Right."
Sprout: "I need you to help me re-pot them. Very quickly. Without getting sprayed. Or bitten."
Adam blinked.
Adam: "They bite?"
Sprout patted his arm, leaving a green handprint on his robes.
Sprout: "Only if they're nervous."
____
He surveyed the battlefield like a general before a siege.
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> Step One: grab the pot without losing an arm.
Step Two: avoid getting Stinksap in the eyes. Or nose. Or soul.
Step Three: don't die.
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Sprout pointed at the largest plant, whose bulbous surface was vibrating ominously.
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Sprout: "That one there, Adam! It needs to be transferred to a bigger pot. Mind the tendrils—they're a bit snappy today!"
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Adam nodded grimly.
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> Challenge accepted.
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He lunged forward and grabbed the plant under its spiny base. The mimbletonia immediately lashed a tentacle across his chest, leaving a glistening streak of sap. The smell hit him like a sledgehammer: sulfur, onions, and despair.
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Adam gagged but held on.
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Adam (gritting his teeth): "I'm beginning to think I preferred the running."
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Sprout shrieked as another plant exploded nearby, spraying a perfect arc of sap over several potted ferns.
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Sprout: "Steady, Adam! Steady!"
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Adam wrestled the plant into the new pot. The tentacles whipped around his arms and shoulders, trying to yank his hair into the soil. Dirt flew everywhere. One tendril managed to knock his wand from his pocket, sending it skittering under a bench.
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He heaved the plant into place with a grunt. Sap dripped down his robes like slimy rain. He paused, panting, and pushed a streak of hair off his forehead with one sap-coated glove, leaving a bright green smear across his skin.
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> Camus, you wise bastard… You were right.
You can't create experience. You must bloody well undergo it.
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Sprout clapped him on the back, nearly sending him face-first into another writhing plant.
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Sprout: "Splendid work, my boy! One more, and we might yet save the day!"
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Adam stood there, sap dripping off his robes, blinking at her in disbelief.
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Adam (deadpan): "Fantastic. My hero's journey involves gardening and slime warfare."
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Sprout just beamed and shoved another pot into his arms.
As Adam staggered under the weight, another mimbletonia started pulsing ominously, preparing to unleash a fresh volley of Stinksap.
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> Just one more quest left after this… he thought.
Assuming I survive the greenhouse apocalypse first.
---
And that's how Adam found himself battling living stink plants in Greenhouse Three, discovering firsthand the wisdom of Camus, and questioning every life choice that led him to this precise moment.
– Third Person POV:
Three hours later, Adam stumbled toward the greenhouse door looking like he'd barely survived a war.
His robes were soaked in patches of silver-green Stinksap, bits of soil clung to his hair and eyebrows, and a small leaf was stuck to his cheek. His dragon-hide gloves, once black and polished, now resembled some eldritch creature coated in slime and dirt.
Behind him, Professor Sprout was still fussing over the last few Mimbulus mimbletonias, humming a cheerful tune as though she hadn't just presided over botanical mayhem.
Adam braced one arm against the greenhouse doorframe, panting. He peeled off the gloves and let them fall to the floor with a squelch.
> Three bloody hours.
If McGonagall thinks this counts as "productive activity," she's got a twisted definition of the word.
He stepped out into the open air. The breeze hit him like salvation, cool and crisp, carrying away at least a little of the reeking Stinksap stench.
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Checking the System
He lifted a sap-splattered hand and called up the System screen. It flickered to life before his eyes:
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[ Daily Quest Progress ]
→ Physical Objective: ✅ Completed
→ Mental Objective: ✅ Completed
→ Magical Objective: Pending
[ Time Remaining: 17:02:37 ]
Current Level: 1
Experience: 25/100
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Adam stared at the timer, blinking sweat (and possibly Stinksap) out of his eyes.
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> Seventeen hours left. Plenty of time. I can finish Lumos Maxima, level up, and maybe even shower before someone tries to hex me for smelling like a swamp.
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He straightened, rolling his shoulders. Despite being utterly exhausted, there was still fire burning in his chest. He was this close to finishing his first full day as a System User. And he was not about to fail at the last hurdle.
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Sudden Realization
He took a step toward the castle—and froze.
A memory clicked in his brain like a door slamming shut.
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> Wait…
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His eyes widened, and he slapped a hand to his forehead.
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Adam (groaning): "Snape's class."
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The words came out like a death sentence.
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> Bloody hell. I've got Potions. With Snape. Now.
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He glanced at the System clock again. The minutes ticked away mercilessly.
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> If I show up late and smelling like a compost heap… he'll skin me alive.
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He bolted forward so fast he nearly slipped on a puddle of mud at the greenhouse threshold. Dirt and leaves flew off his robes as he tore across the lawn toward the castle entrance.
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Adam's Dash
Students scattered out of his path as he charged past them, arms pumping, boots slamming against the stone steps. A couple of second-years pointed and whispered as he flew by, looking equal parts horrified and impressed.
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> Lumos Maxima can wait. I'll blind the whole dungeon later if I have to. Right now, I need to get to Snape's class before he deducts points for existing.
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He disappeared through the castle doors, robes flapping wildly behind him, leaving a faint trail of swampy odor in his wake.
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He reached the dungeon corridor gasping for breath, clothes still stained from greenhouse horror and lungs burning from the run.
He skidded to a stop in front of the door to the Potions classroom—just as it swung open with an ominous creak.
Professor Severus Snape glided in from the hallway, robes billowing behind him like black smoke, not sparing a glance at Adam as he swept past.
Adam quickly fell into step behind the rest of the students as they filed into the classroom.
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> By some miracle of fate or physics, I'm not late. Still smell like moldy death, though.
---
Inside, the dungeon was dimly lit, as always. The air was thick with a faint scent of sulfur, cloves, and something metallic—leftover traces of past experiments. The stone walls sweated with damp, and candlelight flickered against shelves of ingredients that looked like they'd come out of nightmares.
Snape took his usual place at the front of the room without a word. The door snapped shut behind him with a flick of his wand.
The class sat still, every student suddenly very interested in not breathing too loudly.
Adam slipped into his seat at the far edge, beside a cauldron still faintly stained from last week's mess. He tried to make himself smaller and wiped his hands on the cleanest bit of robe he could find.
Snape's cold eyes scanned the class. Then he spoke.
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Snape:
> "Today, we will not waste time brewing bubbleheaded draughts for bruises or hangovers."
"Instead, you will attempt something that requires actual concentration—assuming any of you still possess such a faculty."
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There was a pause. Snape turned sharply toward the chalkboard and with a swish of his wand, a series of elegant, flowing instructions appeared.
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POTION OF REACTIVE VEILING
Purpose:
A defensive potion used to momentarily blur the user's appearance—useful when dodging detection in magical environments or concealing one's magical aura during duels.
Key Effects:
Temporary optical veiling
Weak aura dampening
Lasts 3–5 minutes depending on magical strength
Primary Ingredients:
Powdered Moonthorn leaves
One strand of Diricawl feather
Mistroot essence (cold-distilled)
3 drops of Lunar Dew
Stirring Sequence:
Clockwise x8 → Counterclockwise x3 → Sharp reverse with heat spike
Warning:
Inaccurate brewing may cause temporary color distortion, nausea, or random partial invisibility.
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Snape turned back to face the class.
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Snape:
> "This potion has practical use in stealth missions, auror operations, and—if brewed incorrectly—in hospital wings. You will work in pairs. You will not ask me to save your potion if it begins emitting smoke."
> "You have one hour."
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Chairs scraped the floor as students shuffled to pair up. The room filled with the sound of opening supply cupboards, clinking glass, and nervous whispering.
Adam glanced to his side and found himself, unsurprisingly, alone.
> No surprise. Stinksap boy isn't exactly the hottest lab partner right now.
He exhaled, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.
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Adam's Attempt
He fetched powdered Moonthorn and measured it out exactly—remembering from his reading that too much could make the potion smell like burnt lemons and fizzle on contact. The Diricawl feather was trickier—its strands dissolved slowly in liquid, and too much stirring could unravel its magic.
The Mistroot essence was cold and shimmering, like distilled fog. He added it in a slow pour, watching the potion shift from grey to blue, then to a murky green.
The last step—Lunar Dew—had to be timed just as the potion began to shimmer again. Adam leaned close, watching for the subtle flicker. His heart pounded as he counted three perfect drops and stirred exactly as written:
Clockwise eight times…
Counterclockwise three…
Then—sharp reversal with a quick pulse of wand heat.
A light fizz emerged from the cauldron. Wisps of vapor curled upward. Adam held his breath.
The liquid inside swirled into a cool, smoky silver.
> Got it.
He gave a small, smug nod.
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Of course, that's when Snape appeared behind him like a wraith.
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Snape (coldly):
> "Surprising. I would have expected you to cause the cauldron to vanish."
Adam didn't flinch.
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Adam:
> "What can I say, Professor? I had three hours of live-plant combat training just before this. I'm tuned in."
Snape's eyebrow twitched. Whether from irritation or amusement, no one could tell.
He leaned forward, peered into Adam's cauldron, then straightened again with a curt nod.
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Snape:
> "Adequate."
And just like that, he swept away.
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Adam exhaled deeply and leaned back in his seat.
> That's the closest thing to a compliment I've ever heard from him. I'll take it.
He stared into the smoky potion, watching the veil-like fog coil above the surface.
> One more quest left.
> Time to light the dungeon on fire—with light, hopefully.
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He gazed into the cool silver swirl of his potion, sweat drying on his forehead. The soft mist rising from the cauldron curled into delicate ribbons, exactly as the instructions described.
He couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
> Adequate, Snape had said.
From Snape, that was practically a standing ovation.
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The System Message
Suddenly, a soft chime echoed in Adam's head. The familiar translucent screen popped into view, hanging in the air before his eyes.
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[ System Notification ]
Daily Activity Detected → Class Progression Bonus
→ Potions Crafting Success Recorded
→ +10 XP
→ +1 Intelligence
→ New Spell Unlocked: Disillusionment Charm
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Adam blinked. He rubbed his eyes, half expecting he'd imagined it.
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> New spell? Already?
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Curiosity burned in his chest. He focused on the new spell listing and thought the question:
> System. Disillusionment Charm—explain.
Another screen materialized instantly.
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[ System Explanation: Disillusionment Charm ]
→ Type: Utility Magic
→ Function: Conceals caster from visual detection by blending them with surroundings.
→ Strength of invisibility depends on caster's magical power and control.
→ Mastery achieved instantly due to System Integration. Spell will feel instinctive, as if user has always known it.
Usage Command: "Disillusionment."
Warning: Overuse may cause mental fatigue and sensory disorientation.
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Adam sat back a little in his chair, eyes wide. He flexed his wand hand experimentally, feeling a new hum of magic running through his fingers.
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> Instant invisibility. Bloody hell.
I could vanish right now and skip the rest of this class… tempting.
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He stifled a grin and shook his head. Not yet. He'd have to test it later—preferably when he wasn't in the front row of Snape's dungeon.
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Meanwhile, the rest of the class was descending into utter disaster.
Harry and Ron were paired together over a cauldron that hissed ominously. A faint green steam was pouring out, accompanied by a smell reminiscent of old socks.
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Ron (panicking):
> "Harry! You were supposed to stir it counterclockwise three times, not clockwise! Clockwise makes it… I dunno… bubble!"
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Harry was flapping his hands over the bubbling mess.
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Harry:
> "I was going counterclockwise! Or… wait… maybe that's clockwise from your side?"
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Snape glided over like a predator sensing wounded prey.
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Snape (silky voice):
> "Potter. Weasley. Is there some particular reason your potion currently resembles the contents of a Hippogriff's digestive tract?"
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Ron swallowed hard. Harry just stared at the cauldron, face pink.
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Harry (weakly):
> "Er… experimentation, Professor?"
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Snape's nostrils flared. He flicked his wand, extinguishing the cauldron's contents with a sizzle.
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Snape:
> "Zero marks. And two points from Gryffindor—for creative stupidity."
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Further down the row, Draco Malfoy and his usual henchman, Theodore Nott, were locked in a heated argument.
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Draco:
> "It said Lunar Dew, you idiot, not Lunar Water!"
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Nott:
> "What's the difference? They're both from the moon!"
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Their cauldron suddenly emitted a pop and sprayed a fine purple mist straight into Draco's platinum hair. He shrieked in horror, frantically trying to wipe it away.
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Draco:
> "MY HAIR!"
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Snape glided over, one eyebrow twitching with what might have been savage delight.
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Snape:
> "Five points from Slytherin, Malfoy, for desecrating the sanctity of this classroom with… glitter."
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Meanwhile, Hermione Granger sat near the front, her potion shimmering with perfect silver mist. She added her final drop of Lunar Dew and gave a satisfied nod.
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She glanced sideways—and spotted Adam watching her, leaning back in his chair looking entirely too smug for someone half-soaked in plant slime. Hermione's eyes narrowed into twin dagger-slits.
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Hermione (hissing quietly):
> "Show-off."
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Adam raised an eyebrow and flashed a cheeky grin.
Hermione responded with a look of pure disgust and turned away, stirring her potion precisely eight times clockwise.
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> Ice Queen's still mad, Adam thought, grin widening.
But hey… invisibility trumps disapproval any day.
---
All around him, chaos continued to reign: potions spilled, cauldrons bubbled, and Snape's robes billowed menacingly as he prowled the rows like a dark shark.
Adam, meanwhile, sat comfortably, feeling the faint hum of new magic in his veins and trying not to look too pleased with himself.
____
At precisely half past three, the bell rang through the dungeon corridors, echoing like a tolling doom.
Snape snapped his textbook shut with a sharp crack.
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Snape:
> "Bottles sealed. Tables cleaned. You are dismissed. Try not to blow anything up on your way out."
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Students exploded into motion, slamming lids on cauldrons, stuffing notes into bags, and fleeing as though the Basilisk were back in the pipes.
Adam collected his things calmly, despite still emanating faint hints of greenhouse stench. He caught Harry's and Ron's exhausted faces as they slumped out, bickering softly about who'd ruined their potion more thoroughly.
Hermione shot Adam a scathing glare one last time before sailing out the door, ponytail swinging.
Adam smirked, then slipped out after them.
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Fresh Start
First stop: showers.
By the time Adam returned to the Slytherin common room, he was scrubbed clean, dressed in fresh robes, and feeling almost like a human being again. His hair, still damp, hung in dark waves around his face.
The Slytherin common room was quiet at this hour—a few students reading by the flickering green fire, the lake's shadows rippling across the walls.
Adam dropped into a leather armchair, stretching out his legs, feeling an almost giddy buzz of relief.
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> One more quest. Just one. Then I'm officially a Level 1 wizard-monarch hybrid… or whatever the hell I am now.
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He opened the System screen.
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[ Daily Quest Progress ]
→ Physical Objective: ✅ Completed
→ Mental Objective: ✅ Completed
→ Magical Objective: Pending
[ Time Remaining: 14:49:21 ]
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> Right. Time for magic.
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Adam's Magical Quest
Today's magical task was simple—at least in theory.
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[ Magical Objective ]
→ Successfully cast "Lumos Maxima" and maintain it for at least 20 seconds.
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> Finally. Time to light this place up.
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Adam drew his wand, feeling the polished wood cool against his palm. He glanced around. The few Slytherins in the common room gave him suspicious side-eyes but otherwise minded their business.
He focused, took a deep breath, and lifted his wand.
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Adam (softly):
> "Lumos Maxima."
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At first, only a small spark sizzled at the tip of his wand. Adam scowled and pushed harder.
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> Come on. You can outrun staircases and wrestle stink plants. You can handle one spell.
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He inhaled again, summoning every ounce of magical force he possessed, and shouted it properly:
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Adam (louder):
> "Lumos Maxima!"
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Suddenly, a brilliant sphere of white light erupted from his wand tip, blazing like a tiny sun. It hovered above his head, casting dazzling beams across the common room.
Slytherin students yelped, shielding their eyes.
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Random Slytherin:
> "Oi! Trying to blind us, you maniac?!"
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Adam ignored them, focusing on counting under his breath.
One… two… three…
By the time he reached twenty, the sphere remained bright and steady. He grinned and flicked his wand downward. The blazing ball faded, leaving behind shimmering afterimages.
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> Quest complete. Nailed it.
---
System Rewards
The System chimed.
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[ Daily Quest Complete ]
→ Magical Objective: ✅ Completed
Daily Completion Bonus Awarded
→ +20 XP
→ +1 Magic Attribute
→ [ New Item: Beginner's Spellbook Token ]
→ [ Level Up! Congratulations, User Adam. ]
---
Adam sat forward in his chair as the screen shifted. New data appeared, glowing blue in the flickering green light of the common room flames.
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Adam's New Status Screen
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[ System Status: User Adam ]
→ Level: 2
→ Experience: 5/200
Attributes:
Strength: 7
Endurance: 8
Intelligence: 9
Magic: 8
Observation: 6
Unlocked Skills:
Disillusionment Charm
Lumos Maxima
Inventory:
Minor Recovery Elixir (1)
Beginner's Spellbook Token (1)
Available Quests:
→ New Daily Quests available in: 09:58:47
---
Adam leaned back, a slow grin spreading across his face.
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> Level 2. Not bad for my first day as the "Judgment of God's chosen."
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He twirled his wand between his fingers, eyes glinting.
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> Tomorrow, I wonder what else I'll unlock…
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The fire cracked softly as Adam sat in the common room, with swirling ambitions—ready for whatever came next.
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Far from Hogwarts, far from warm fires and laughing students, the night lay thick and silent over a small, half-ruined graveyard. Moonlight fell through drifting clouds, pale and ghostly, illuminating crooked headstones and tangled weeds.
A handful of hooded figures stood gathered in a circle, their breath steaming in the cold air. Their robes rustled softly, a low murmur of Latin incantations passing from one to the next like a secret wind.
At the very center of their circle, a shallow stone basin blazed with unnatural fire—blue and white flames leaping high, crackling like dry bones. But it wasn't the fire itself that held their eyes.
Something was rising from within the flames.
A shape.
A body.
It started as wisps of black smoke coiling upward, twisting around itself, thicker and thicker until it became flesh—a pale, hairless figure, lean as bone and slick with magic. Long fingers curled, clawlike, as the figure lifted its head.
Red eyes snapped open, glowing like coals in the dark.
The nearest Death Eater fell to his knees.
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Death Eater (voice trembling):
> "My Lord… You have returned."
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The creature's mouth curled into something that might have been a smile.
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Voldemort (softly, like silk):
> "Yes… I have returned."
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He stepped from the flames, skin translucent, veins showing like dark rivers beneath parchment. His cloak materialized around his shoulders as though woven from the smoke itself.
He turned his red gaze slowly over the kneeling figures.
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Voldemort:
> "The world has grown complacent… soft… while I have waited. No more."
---
The fire behind him roared higher, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky. Shadows leapt across the tombstones, dancing like specters.
Somewhere far off, a dog howled.
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Voldemort's eyes glowed brighter as he lifted one white, skeletal hand.
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Voldemort:
> "Soon… they will remember fear."
---
And as the fire flared, casting monstrous shapes on the crumbling stone walls, the Dark Lord stood reborn—alive, breathing, and already planning his next move.
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[ End of Chapter ]
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