Styx walked the third-floor corridor alone, the faces of the dead playing behind his eyes.
Dumbledore falling from the tower.
Snape dying in a boy’s arms.
One twin left standing while the other never got up again.
The old line echoed once, quiet and bitter: Here’s to our mutual destruction.
He stopped at a window.
Morning light broke across the Black Lake in silver fragments.
The Forbidden Forest rolled away in dark waves.
Styx rested his forehead against the cold glass until the restlessness in his chest settled.
“This time,” he said under his breath, “no one else dies.” Back in his rooms he opened the system.
— Host: Lethean Styx World: Harry Potter Age: 24 Talent: Wizard Talent Partners: Art, Jason, Pennywise Items: Merlin’s Old Socks, Ten-Draw Ticket ×3 Evil God Points: 23,150 System Evaluation: A weakling evil god and his three bodyguards.
— He ignored the evaluation and summoned the newest arrival.
A bright red balloon appeared at eye level and began to swell.
It grew until it filled his vision, stretched taut, and burst with a sharp bang.
The clown that stepped out of the rupture was pure nightmare fuel—Victorian rags on a body whose limbs were just a little too long, face painted into an exaggerated, hungry smile.
The classic movie image, but older and meaner underneath.
Most people only knew the version that got beaten by a bunch of kids shouting about friendship.
The real thing came from Stephen King’s It: an entity from the Deadlights beyond the universe, wearing the shape of a clown because fear tasted better that way.
It fed on terror.
The stronger the fear, the stronger it became.
Immortality was simply the baseline.
“System.
Why is Pennywise listed as a special evil spirit?” [Pennywise is a growth-type evil spirit.
Currently limited to basic abilities: immortality, transformation, mental influence, and domain.
Further abilities unlock as the system upgrades.] Pennywise’s smile stretched wider, as if it had overheard the explanation.
“A fair trade, wouldn’t you say?” It inhaled deeply, tongue flicking out to taste the air.
Saliva glistened at the corner of its mouth.
“This world reeks of fear.
Brand-new flavours I’ve never tried.
“The boy with the glasses is terrified he’ll wake up one morning and find the whole castle was only a dream he had under the stairs.
The red-haired one is terrified he’ll never measure up to his brothers—terrified that when his mother looks at him she’ll only see disappointment.
And the bushy-haired girl…” The clown’s painted lips curled.
“She’s having a nightmare right now.
She dreams she can no longer read.
Every textbook she once knew by heart has turned into meaningless marks.
She sees the professors looking at her with quiet disappointment.” Pennywise described each fear the way a gourmet might describe different ice-cream flavours.
Styx had the system recall it before the performance could escalate further.
“Which pool did it come from?” [Due to its nature, Pennywise is a T0 reward in the intermediate draw pool.] “When does the intermediate pool unlock?” [One hundred thousand Evil God Points.] For the near future, then, this was the strongest spirit in his arsenal.
“Does spending in the mall count toward the total?” [Any expenditure of Evil God Points counts.] Styx opened the mall and filtered for anything that strengthened him directly and stayed within budget.
[After system upgrade, the evil-spirit fusion function will unlock free of charge.
Host may also spend 20,000 points now to unlock evil-spirit possession early.
Possession allows temporary access to a portion of the possessed spirit’s abilities.] “It can upgrade?” [Too lazy to explain.] “Fine.
Unlock possession.
And use the three ten-draw tickets from check-ins.” [Evil-spirit possession unlocked.
20,000 points consumed.
Remaining balance: 3,150.] [Three ten-draw tickets detected.
Use all?] “Use them.” Nine “Thanks for participating.” One consolation prize of fifty Galleons.
Styx sighed.
“Next time just hide the participation messages.
They’re getting on my nerves.” The final two draws landed harder.
[Congratulations: Sectumsempra Mastery Skill Card] [Congratulations: Fiendfyre Mastery Skill Card] [Congratulations: Finite Incantatem Mastery Skill Card] Practical, high-difficulty magic.
The Killing Curse was too conspicuous under Dumbledore’s roof.
Sectumsempra he would simply keep away from Snape.
Fiendfyre and Finite Incantatem had both left an impression in the films—power and precise control in one package.
A distant roar yanked him out of the system interface.
“What have you two done this time?
Don’t let me catch you!” Filch, no doubt, on the receiving end of another Weasley-twin special.
Dungbombs or something equally inventive.
Styx watched the corridor for a moment.
A Squib living among gifted children, scraping together authority from the only power left to him.
After the final battle—Filch alone sweeping the ruined courtyard while everyone else celebrated—Styx’s opinion of the man had shifted a little.
He made a quiet note to check the mall later for anything that might help, provided Filch ever wanted the help.
The bedside clock read 23:00.
Tomorrow afternoon he had his first proper class with the first-years.
Nothing could go wrong on day one.
He went to bed.
— “Hurry up, Ron—we’re going to be late on the first day!” Harry sprinted down the corridor, robes flapping.
Excitement the night before had kept both of them awake far too late.
They had woken at 8:40 for a 9:00 class, thrown on clothes, and run.
One more flight of stairs and they would have made it.
The staircase moved instead and dumped them on the wrong landing.
By the time they found the classroom the rest of the first-years were already seated.
“At least Professor McGonagall isn’t here yet,” Ron panted.
“Can you imagine the look on her face if we walked in late?” The silver-grey tabby on the teacher’s desk leapt down and became Professor McGonagall in a single fluid motion.
“That was brilliant, Professor,” Ron said weakly.
“Thank you, Mr Weasley.
Perhaps I should turn one of you into a pocket watch so at least one of you arrives on time.” Her expression left no room for argument.
“Sorry, Professor.
We got lost.” “Then become a map.
You no longer need one to find your seats.” Harry and Ron sat.
McGonagall turned to the class and began the first Transfiguration lesson of the year.