Mannan and Jidin, two third-year Slytherins, followed Tarquin's lead. Like him, they believed strongly in pure-blood pride and shared his bold, wild streak, naturally drawn to his loud pure-blood cause. Over time, they became his loyal allies, eager to do his bidding.
They knew about Sean Bulstrode from the first day of school—a daring first-year who stood out. They didn't like him, but since he was tied to the Bulstrode family, they left him alone, avoiding trouble.
Now, with Tarquin's orders and a clash over the potion trade, Mannan and Jidin were thrilled to confront Sean, ready to rough him up and send a message.
Following Tarquin's plan, they didn't ambush Sean at the Potions Club's door. Instead, they chose the Slytherin common room entrance, far from Snape's office, past a Potions classroom and storage room. A fight here wouldn't reach Snape's ears.
After the Potions Club, Sean trudged back, his face heavy with frustration. Just as the club ended, Professor Snape had slipped him another note—a book list with eight titles. Fewer than last time, but Sean knew each book was thick, some as heavy as two from the previous list.
Three of the books were in the Restricted Section, and Snape's signed permission came with the list. Sean had no excuse to slack off.
Snape's demands made Sean half-wish he could switch to Gryffindor. But he knew if he tried, Snape would whip out his wand, thrash him for betraying Slytherin, and call him a traitor.
Clutching the books, Sean reached the common room entrance. About to say the password, he froze as Mannan and Jidin stepped out from a shadowy corridor nearby.
Sean didn't know them, but their smirks screamed trouble.
"Are you Sean Bulstrode?" Mannan asked. "Want to play with us?"
Sean's eyes narrowed, his expression odd. He stepped back and said flatly, "Sorry, I'm a guy who likes girls. I'm not into playing with you two. Find someone else. If you're desperate, try first-year Draco Malfoy. He might be up for it."
Mannan and Jidin's faces stiffened, but Mannan recovered, stepping closer. "Sean Bulstrode, you can't dodge this. You know what we mean. Come with us, or we'll make you regret."
Sean sized them up, realizing they were likely Dorian and Tarquin's goons. Still, he hissed playfully, "You want to fight me so bad? Fine, I'll play."
He reached for his wand, gripping it tightly. With quick flicks, he traced dark green arcs in the air. "Herbivicius!"
Thorny vines, sharp with barbs, sprouted fast from the ground, snaking along the floor and walls toward Mannan and Jidin.
Seeing Sean strike first, Mannan and Jidin yanked out their wands, firing spells. Mannan cast "Petrificus Totalus" to freeze Sean, while Jidin used "Expelliarmus" to disarm him. Their moves were smooth, strong for third-years, but not enough.
Sean's vines curled up like a shield, blocking both spells. Mannan started to cast "Incendio" to burn the vines, but Jidin grabbed his arm. "Stop! It's too tight here. Fire'll hit us too!"
"Then what?" Mannan snapped.
"Use Diffindo!" Jidin said. "Cut the vines down!"
Mannan raised his wand for "Diffindo," but a bright fireball erupted in the dim corridor. Sean had set his own thorn vines ablaze, the flames racing along them.
"This guy's nuts!" Mannan yelled. "He'll burn himself!"
The heat forced Mannan and Jidin back, forgetting Sean in their panic.
Flames shot forward, carrying half-burned vines. Sean had flung them, the fire clinging to the thorny strands, speeding toward his foes.
"He's just a first-year?" Jidin muttered, shocked.
"Shut up! Aguamenti!" Jidin shouted, spraying water from his wand to douse the fiery vines.
Water met fire, kicking up thick steam that clouded the corridor, hiding everything.
Jidin felt a sudden chill, but it was too late. A figure—Sean—moved with unnatural speed, his "Troll Strength" surging. He darted low, hands shooting out to grab Mannan and Jidin's ankles. In one swift move, he swung them up, slamming them against the wall and floor twice. Jidin passed out instantly.
Mannan stayed conscious, but pain tore through him, his body feeling broken, too weak to fight.
Sean tossed them to the ground, glaring at Mannan, who was still awake. He threw a hard punch to Mannan's face, knocking him out cold. Wand in hand, Sean cast "Aguamenti" to quench the fire and "Scourgify" to clean the corridor's scorch marks.
Soon, Snape appeared, his dark eyes scanning Mannan and Jidin's limp forms, then Sean, who was wiping away the last smudge. Snape's mouth twitched. "Go rest. I'll handle this."
Sean hesitated, feeling the need to explain. "Professor, these two jumped me—"
Snape cut him off. "They botched a magic experiment and passed out. Unless you want me to deduct a point from Slytherin for ignoring my orders and wandering at night, go to bed."
[Win the duel and randomly draw an ability of the duel opponent.]
[Drawing...]
[Drawing completed, obtained: Cutting Spell LV1.]
[Win the duel and randomly select an ability of the duel opponent.]
[Drawing...]
[Drawing completed, obtained: Disarming Spell LV1.]
From Mannan and Jidin, Sean gained the Cutting Spell and Disarming Spell, both at level 1. He already knew the Disarming Spell, and the new power stacked onto his skill, sharpening his aim and speed with "Expelliarmus." The Cutting Spell was new, a fresh trick added to his arsenal, ready to slice through obstacles.
So far, his talents—Troll Strength and Troll Thorns—had carried him through fights, their raw power unmatched. But Sean knew they'd only shine until third or fourth year. By fifth year, duels would demand sharper skills, and most students would outgrow brute force. To stay ahead, he'd need to boost these talents further.
Even if he couldn't, they weren't useless. Troll Strength and Troll Horned Spike blessed him forever, making his body tougher than most wizards'. Like Hagrid, whose giant blood let him shrug off spells and fight without tiring, Sean's talents gave him a similar edge. His magic resistance, weaker than Hagrid's but still strong, dulled spell damage, letting him recover fast.
Tonight's fight spread like wildfire. Everyone thought Sean was in the common room, but they all saw him crush two third-years.
No one would suspect a first-year, fresh from that brawl, had the energy to sneak out and cast a dark curse beyond Hogwarts.
With that thought, Sean reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a hidden box. Inside, preserved in potions, were Tarquin's hair, teeth, diluted blood, and a vial of unicorn blood, silver and glowing.
He grabbed the curse ritual materials from another drawer—powders, runes, and tools. Leaving Kulkan asleep in its nest, Sean cast the Disillusionment Charm, his body fading into the dungeon's shadows. He slipped out of the Slytherin common room, silent as a ghost.
The Forbidden Forest was too risky now. After Quirrell's ambush and Sean's fire, Hogwarts guarded it closely. Sneaking there would get him caught. Instead, Sean chose the secret passage under the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack, planning to curse Tarquin in a quiet spot near Hogsmeade.
He navigated the twisting tunnel with ease, emerging in the Shrieking Shack's dusty rooms. From there, he sprinted away from Hogsmeade, avoiding its streets.
Aberforth, a powerful wizard in the village, wasn't as fearsome as Dumbledore, but Sean knew better than to cross him.
After a short run, Sean found a small forest by a trickling stream, its trees dark and still.
He stepped in, checking for wild beasts. Finding none, he waved his wand, casting "Incendio" to burn away weeds and bugs in a clearing, then "Aguamenti" to douse the flames. The ground was clean, ready for his work.
"First, an altar," Sean muttered.
He pointed his wand at the dirt, chanting softly. Soil and rocks churned, piling into a small mound, then flattening into a smooth platform under his next spell.
Sean pulled out his materials, working fast with magic to build the cursed altar. A magic circle, drawn with ground powders, shimmered on the stone. Ancient runes, copied from Gavin's notes, lined its edges. Sean didn't understand the runes—like letters he could write but not read. He followed the notes exactly, carving them carefully.
"Now, the real curse begins," he said, voice steady.
He'd memorized every step. Sean took the four core materials, starting with Tarquin's teeth. His wand flicked, guiding a tooth to the altar's center. A low chant spilled from his lips. "The teeth of my enemies turn into cursed bones…"
The tooth clicked, twisting into a tiny, trembling skeleton, no bigger than a thumb.
"The blood of my enemies turns into cursed flesh…"
The vial of diluted blood boiled, its red hue fading to clear. A single drop rose, arcing under Sean's wand to land on the skeleton. Flesh bloomed, wrapping the bones in a writhing mass. The skeleton shook harder, trapped by the altar's magic.
Sean watched the figure, sensing a dark energy growing within it. Steady as ever, he opened the third vial. Tarquin's hair floated out, guided to the altar. "The enemy's hair turns into a cursed shape…"
The hair sank into the flesh, shaping it. A front and back formed, with seven black holes for eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. Crude hands and feet sprouted on its stubby limbs.
The figure's shaking grew wilder, a sharp cry echoing from its gaping holes.
Sean opened the final vial. Unicorn blood, silver like liquid starlight, drifted out, hovering before him. His wand moved, twisting it into a complex rune, its evil aura clashing with the blood's holy glow, yet blending perfectly.
Sweat dripped down Sean's face, his head throbbing . He gripped his wand tighter, guiding the rune toward the figure. Its cries grew deafening as the rune touched it.
In a flash, the figure and rune fused, collapsing into a swirling vortex of flesh and blood. It shrank, forming a silver-glowing seed. As the altar crumbled, the seed fell, burying itself deep in the earth.
The curse was complete.