“Strange…” Styx stared at the skill card still floating in the system interface.
The Killing Curse had come from the advanced pool in the starter pack.
The Patronus Charm—arguably its equal in prestige, pure light against pure darkness—had just dropped from four primary ten-draws.
Same tier.
Completely different pools.
Before he could ask, the system answered on its own.
[Gacha items possess an upper limit only.
There is no lower limit.] [Advanced draws may produce low-tier results.
Beginner draws will never produce high-tier results.] Styx was quiet for two seconds.
So drawing a Patronus from the beginner pool meant he had hit the absolute ceiling.
Drawing the Killing Curse from the advanced pool had simply been ordinary performance.
“That tracks.” He eyed the higher pools still locked behind Advanced—Special, Supreme.
The names alone made him suspicious.
“System, you wouldn’t actually put something like Nyarlathotep or Yog-Sothoth in the back, would you?
Because if one of those shows up, even the things sealed in the cabin in the woods might refuse the call.” He shook his head.
“Forget it.
Let’s see what this one actually is.” Happy memories.
He searched and came up almost empty.
Pre-transmigration life had been a long stretch of salted-fish existence.
If the Patronus reflected personality, he had always expected a capybara.
He stood in the middle of his office, raised the blackthorn wand, and spoke clearly.
“Expecto Patronum.” Nothing appeared.
[Warning: Current space is insufficient to accommodate the complete form of the Patronus.] [Proceed to an open area.
Failure to do so may result in unnecessary losses.] Styx looked around the room.
Fifty-plus square meters.
Four-meter ceiling.
Perfectly adequate for most magical constructs.
Apparently not this one.
“…What exactly did I just unlock?” Curiosity won.
He left the office and headed for the Quidditch pitch.
On the second-floor landing he nearly walked into Professor McGonagall.
“Good afternoon, Professor.
My lesson plans are already on your desk.” McGonagall’s reply cut off when she saw his expression.
“You look unusually cheerful, Professor Styx.
Where are you going?” “I’ve been meaning to test the Patronus Charm.
The pitch should give me enough room.” The four words “Patronus Charm” caught her interest at once.
She had nothing urgent scheduled.
“May I come along?” “Of course.
Advice is always welcome.” They reached the pitch together and found they were not alone.
Snape, Flitwick, and several other professors stood in loose groups on the grass, talking in the late light.
The air still carried the faint sweetness of pumpkin juice from dinner and the warm scent of sun-baked turf.
Flitwick waved.
“Evening, both of you!
Out for a walk?” “Professor Styx intends to attempt a Patronus,” McGonagall said.
Interest sharpened immediately.
A true Patronus was advanced magic; everyone wanted to see what form the new colleague produced.
Snape remained at the back, arms folded.
“Let us hope it does not detonate on the spot.” Styx offered a polite smile that did not reach his eyes.
“I’ll do my best to avoid including Professor Snape in the blast radius.” Snape’s only answer was a cold snort.
Under the collective gaze, Styx walked to the center of the pitch, drew a breath, and raised his wand.
“Expecto Patronum.” Three full seconds of silence followed.
Flitwick opened his mouth, already preparing a gentle remark about first attempts.
Then the sound arrived.
A jaunty, almost cheerful melody cut through the evening air—bright, repetitive, and somehow deeply wrong.
At the same moment a thick stench of decay rolled across the pitch, the smell of a sealed tomb that had finally been opened.
Styx froze.
That music.
He knew that music.
The professors did not.
They only knew the atmosphere had shifted into something they did not control.
Darkness swallowed the pitch in seconds.
Light vanished until only a faint dark-red afterglow remained.
McGonagall raised her wand for a mass Shield Charm and discovered, with genuine shock, that she could not reach her magic at all.
Neither could Flitwick.
Neither could Snape.
The others felt the same sudden emptiness.
The ground under their feet began to sweat a cold, viscous liquid that was definitely not water.
The darkness contracted toward a point three steps in front of Styx, then split open like a curtain.
What stood there made every professor draw a sharp breath.
A tree assembled from enormous white bones.
Tattered human skins hung from the branches and stirred in a wind that did not exist.
Half a dozen life-sized human skulls dangled at various heights, empty sockets somehow still watching.
None of that was the worst part.
Nailed upside-down to the trunk was a four-meter humanoid shadow.
A massive spike pinned it through the chest.
Black blood ran steadily from the wound and collected in a perfect circle at Styx’s feet, stopping one inch short of his shoes.
The shadow’s head had no features—only a shallow indentation where eyes should have been, glowing a dull, sickly red.
Flitwick’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Merlin…” Styx looked up at the inverted figure and felt his thoughts empty out.
“It seems,” he said quietly, “things have gotten a little out of hand.” The system spoke in its usual flat tone.
[Congratulations.
Host has summoned the exclusive Patronus: Giant Bone Tree.] [Origin — Mysterious Revival.]