Stealing Magic: A Darker Hogwarts

Sean met her gaze, a sly smile tugging at his lips. He shook his head. "Lobbying for Oliver? No, that's not right. I don't know much about Oliver, but he's not foolish enough to send you as a lobbyist to sway me to his side. He's a bit dim, sure, but not that foolish. So, asking me this—either you're naive, or you've got your own game. I just don't know which."

Jennifer's face shifted, the half-naive expression she'd worn for months melting away. A half-smile curved her lips, sharp as a Slytherin's ambition. "You're smarter than I thought," she said, her voice low, like a charm whispered in the dark.

Sean leaned against the doorframe, his wand hand relaxed but ready, a habit honed by months in Slytherin's snake pit. "Since last year, you've been acting carefree with me. Call it naive if you're being kind, or a complete fool if you're not. Ravenclaw might have starry-eyed high-achievers, but Slytherin? There are no fools in a snake's nest."

Jennifer's eyes narrowed, a spark of respect flickering. "So, you already knew something was off with me?"

"I figured it out within my first month in Potions Club," Sean said, his tone casual but edged. "But what's that got to do with me?"

Jennifer leaned forward, her hair catching the torchlight, her figure graceful yet deliberate, like a Veela sizing up her mark. "Don't you want to know why I've been playing this part?"

Sean straightened, meeting her eyes with a cool stare. "Sorry, I don't. It's late, and I need to rest. Classes tomorrow."

He turned, hand on the door, ready to leave the dungeon's scheming behind. Jennifer's frown was subtle, but Sean caught it—a crack in her carefully crafted mask. She'd spent a year observing him, building a profile, testing him with this conversation. She thought she had him pegged, but his indifference threw her. For the first time, Jennifer Foley, sixth-year Slytherin and Sean's cousin, realized she hadn't seen through him at all.

As Sean pushed the door open, Jennifer's voice cut through the silence, sharp and sudden. "Are you interested in working with me to take down Oliver?"

Sean's hand paused on the handle, the words sinking. His mind raced. Oliver Foley, his cousin, a Slytherin in the Brotherhood's organization, had crossed him before—petty power plays in the common room, snide remarks in the corridors. The idea of bringing him down was tempting, a spark of Slytherin vengeance flaring in Sean's chest. But trust Jennifer? Oliver's sister? That was a cauldron waiting to explode.

He didn't turn back. Trusting a Foley to betray a Foley was like betting on a Blast-Ended Skrewt to play nice. One moment, they're all smiles and family loyalty; the next, they're at each other's throats. Getting caught in the middle? Only a fool would take that risk. And even if Jennifer was serious about taking Oliver down, blood ties were a tangled spell. She could change her mind tomorrow, leaving Sean exposed, his plans unraveling. Agreeing to her scheme would be out of his mind.

Sean stepped into the corridor, the door creaking shut behind him. "Lumos," he muttered, his wand tip glowing softly, lighting the winding path to the Slytherin common room. The dungeon's chill clung to him, but his thoughts were clear. Jennifer had miscalculated, expecting him to bite at the chance for revenge. She'd pegged him as vengeful—fair, given his history with Oliver—but she hadn't counted on his caution. Oliver's slights stung, but Sean wasn't about to trade one snake's game for another.

Behind the closed door, Jennifer stood alone, her expression darkening like a storm over the Black Lake. She'd expected Sean to engage, to probe her offer, to reveal his hand. In her mind, he was a grudge-holder, the kind to leap at a chance to settle scores. Oliver's provocations in the Brotherhood—blocking Sean's moves, undermining his standing—should've made her proposal irresistible. At the very least, Sean should've asked questions, fished for details, shown some curiosity. Instead, he'd walked away, leaving her plan flat as a deflated Puffskein.

Jennifer's fingers tightened around her wand, her mind replaying the year she'd spent building her facade—charming, naive, just another Potions Club member. She'd thought she knew Sean, thought she could steer him. Now, the dungeon's silence mocked her. Sean was a puzzle she hadn't cracked, and that misstep could cost her in Slytherin's game of shadows.

Back in the Slytherin dorms, Sean pushed open the heavy door to his room, the faint glow of enchanted torches casting long shadows across the stone walls. He set his books and potion vials on the bedside table, their clinks echoing in the quiet. Kurkan, his sleek, snake-like companion, slithered toward him from the bed, scales glinting like polished obsidian. Sean reached out, letting Kurkan coil around his waist and shoulders, its cool weight a familiar comfort. Settling at his desk, he opened his Potions notes, the parchment filled with Snape's precise script. Jennifer's scheming lingered in his mind, but Sean had no interest in dwelling on her unreliable games.

His focus this semester was clear: master Lockhart's Memory Charm, secure Tom Riddle's diary, and face the Basilisk in a duel that would test every ounce of his cunning and skill. Those three goals alone were enough to keep him up at night, like a cauldron bubbling over with too many ingredients. Getting tangled in Jennifer's Slytherin intrigues—or worse, her feud with Oliver—was a distraction he couldn't afford. The Brotherhood's power plays, Oliver's slights, Jennifer's double-talk—they were all noise, and Sean had bigger dragons to slay.

As he scanned his notes, a sudden thought jolted him. His duel with Lockhart earlier that day, and the chaos of those Cornish pixies, had consumed his focus. He'd nearly forgotten to check the system interface for the abilities he'd earned from the pixies. The system was finicky—abilities weren't his until he reviewed them, like claiming a prize from a lucky dip at Zonko's. If he didn't check, they'd stay locked away, useless as a wand without a core.

With a flick of his wrist, Sean summoned the system interface, a shimmering, translucent panel only he could see. It hummed softly, like a distant charm, displaying the results of his duel with the pixies in Lockhart's chaotic lesson. He braced himself, expecting little—Cornish pixies weren't exactly known for powerful magic.

[Win the duel and randomly select an ability of the duel opponent.]

[Drawing...]

[Drawing completed, obtained: Prankster Trick LV2]

[Win the duel and randomly select an ability of the duel opponent.]

[Drawing...]

[Drawing completed, obtained: Prankster Trick LV1]

…

Sean sighed, his shoulders slumping. The interface scrolled through a dozen notifications, each one piling on more Prankster Trick abilities. The pixies, true to their mischievous nature, had gifted him a flood of prankster skills, pushing his Prankster Trick to LV4. Brilliant, he thought wryly. I can now pull off pranks worthy of a Weasley twin. Useful for a laugh, maybe, but hardly the edge he needed against a Basilisk or Voldemort's diary. He'd hoped for something from Lockhart—perhaps a hint of Memory Charm—but the pixies' chaos had drowned out any chance of that.

Just as he moved to dismiss the interface, two notifications caught his eye, glowing brighter than the rest amidst the sea of prankster tricks.

[Win the duel and randomly select an ability of the duel opponent.]

[Drawing...]

[Drawing completed, obtained: Flight]

[The target of ability extraction is not of the same race as the host, so it cannot be perfectly inherited. Solutions are being screened...]

[Filtering...]

[Based on the host's personality, the screening program ends.]

[Change the extraction ability to make it suitable for the host's racial characteristics and physical condition.]

Sean's breath caught, his fingers hovering over the interface. Flight? From pixies? Their buzzing, erratic hovering flashed in his mind—small, winged creatures darting like Fizzing Whizbees. The system was adapting their ability for him, a human, reshaping it to fit his body and mind. His heart raced as the final notification appeared.

[Obtained: Talent: Blessing of the Cornish Pixie·Flying LV1.]

A grin spread across Sean's face, wide enough to rival a Gryffindor's after a Quidditch win.

What a surprise! All his effort chasing Lockhart's Memory Charm had yielded nothing but flashy duels and useless boasts, yet the pixies had handed him the ability to fly. Not broomstick flight, not Wingardium Leviosa, but something new, something his.

A talent born of pixie magic, tailored by the system to his Slytherin cunning and second-year frame.

He leaned back, After all the trouble his luck had turned.

Blessing of the Cornish Pixie·Flying LV1. It wasn't Memory Charm, but it was a start.