December 11th, 1989
Cassius and I were walking away from Filch's lair — or rather, his office, a stuffy, gloomy room without windows, even though it wasn't even located in the dungeons.
I had been searching for the Marauder's Map among all the clutter. I'd turned the place upside down, including the filing cabinets stuffed with records of punishments… and then there were the chains and shackles. I didn't want to know what they were for, but there they were.
In one cabinet, I found a drawer that practically begged to be opened. It was labelled: Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.
I needed the map, and I knew where it was. The real problem was I couldn't remember when the Weasley twins had started at Hogwarts — only that it was this year. Even worse, I didn't know when they'd steal it. But I needed it now, for a couple of important plans. The dilemma was how much to interfere without messing up Harry Potter's path. I was still wary of Dumbledore — I'd never even spoken to him.
It's not like I'm the Chosen One, warranting weekly chats with the Headmaster. Anyway, back to the point. It all started when Flint landed detention with Filch — perfect timing, since waiting any longer was risky. Flint, of course, was happy to oblige my request. So when the moment came, I was in the office. Filch had rushed off towards a loud bang — like an explosion — which left Flint alone.
Naturally, I'd arranged that noise through intermediaries. If I'd been sure they could find the map without me, I'd have left it to Cassius and Flint. But I decided to play it safe — and I didn't want to share all the details.
Once I had the map, Cassius and I made a quick exit. Flint stayed behind to finish his detention — he'd be stuck with Filch for a few more days, but he'd earned that punishment himself. Honestly, without this setup, someone else would've had to take the fall, so in a way, he did us a favour. The Party is proud of him.
We moved fast, but still nearly got caught. Not that Filch could've done much — the map was hidden, and he had no idea what was in that drawer — but still.
"So what was it, anyway?" Cassius asked. "Please tell me we didn't do all that for a scrap of parchment."
"Cassius, do I ever do anything without a reason?"
"Fair enough. Will you show me later?"
We were talking almost as fast as we were walking. Once we reached the familiar chill of the dungeons, we slowed down. The common room was unusually full. After a few words with acquaintances, we finally made it to our room.
I took the map for two reasons. First, I needed to memorise every secret passage — especially the ones to Hogsmeade. We're only second-years, so we're not allowed to go yet. Having to ask older students for help is a weak link, and I hate asking.
I wanted that access now. Better to have it and not need it.
The second reason was simpler: if I didn't take it, the twins would. And the map is dangerous in the wrong hands. Imagine me moving around the castle, only for a pair of Weasleys — or the Chosen One in a few years — to be watching my every step.
That's the real dilemma. Return the map and try to preserve the future I already know I'm changing? Or keep it and do what's best for me?
Both choices have consequences. But giving it back just so the twins can play pranks and eventually hand it to Harry… as if they need it more than I do.
If I'm being honest, the "future knowledge" from my old life has been trash for a while now.
Everything's already changed. Slytherin house, my younger brother — I'm supposed to steer him right, or at least right for the family. And that's just the start. Every year, everything shifts. Uniting Slytherin alone is a big deal. Right now, I've only got the second-years under my thumb — more of an autocracy, really. But half the first-years are already following blindly, and the rest will come around. That's the plan: expand year by year, not just sideways.
Every day, as the first among equals in our little council, I reinforce the idea that following my lead is smart. It's the norm. By now, everyone sees where this is going — especially Amanda and Avery. Avery knows he'll always have a place beside me. Amanda… you'd think she'd mind playing second fiddle, but she seems content. This council wouldn't exist in its current form without her accepting that role.
I don't have direct power over the older students, but the two seventh-year prefects owe me. Their loyalty covers my tracks, plus I'm on good terms with several older students. All of this will change school life for everyone — including the future Chosen One. And that's bad if…
If Dumbledore in this world has already decided how to prepare Harry for what's coming.
And that's without even considering that my "future knowledge" is based on a children's story, and I'm living in a much darker world. Reality always is.
I could dwell on this forever. Better to review what's happened lately. For starters, we've had a new prefect for two months now — Foley, just as I wanted. Gryffindor's new prefect is Charlie Weasley.
As for the ones I replaced… oh, they had a wonderful chat with the Headmaster right after the duel, complete with owls to their parents. Both houses lost a pile of points, along with their prefects — though Farmus kept his badge for a couple more days. By the time the whole plan played out, it was too late. Answorth finally started to suspect who was behind it, but what could he do?
He lost his cool — the only thing tying him to Slytherin: cunning and calculation. He tried to accuse me more than once, but the prefects had my back. Still, I have a feeling Answorth isn't done with me. Farmus took it better — he still has the Quidditch team.
Speaking of Quidditch, our team beat Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw. This spring, we'll have the match for third place and the final between Gryffindor and us.
My plan went off without a hitch — I didn't even need the last phase. If I had, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement might have gotten involved, and I didn't need that. The teachers seem to have forgotten the whole thing. If I'd pushed further, I'd have had a mountain of trouble on my head.
October was exhausting. Thank Merlin for the winter holidays — a chance to rest. Though I did manage to get out of the castle once, and that was its own kind of hell.
What happened? Oh, I took a brief trip outside Hogwarts. On Samhain, Mother fetched me, citing family reasons — which was technically true. But we didn't Apparate to Malfoy Manor. We went to Black House, where Mother and I performed the second ritual in the chain. The second ritual was simply called: Magical Body Tempering.
The ritual was demanding in terms of resources, but of course, Grandmother had prepared everything long before her death — well, the things that could be stored. For the rest, Kreacher took care of it. He seemed much sharper and more independent than our Dobby.
The ritual required the blood of a dragon that had lived at least a century. Fortunately, the Black vaults had blood from even older dragons. Preserved through charms, expensive alchemical glass, and more, it was still usable. Merlin, if people knew how many vials of that priceless blood were used to saturate the ritual circle and anoint my body… Even worse, I had to mix that blood one-to-one with my own.
There were other ingredients too, including a couple of not-too-deadly poisons, which I drank right before the ritual began. It took place in the ritual chamber at Black House, with its stone platforms and carved channels for blood flow. There were about nine pentagrams there — the ones most commonly used.
Mother drew the runic chains using powder ground from bones — dragon bones, in our case — mixed with my blood and the dragon's.
The ritual array was incredibly complex, so I just stood in the centre and waited for her to finish. I'm still not great with rituals, but I noticed it had, besides the main pentagram, four blocks with smaller pentagrams and other patterns made entirely of runic chains. At the centre of each block lay organs from various magical creatures I couldn't identify. Everything was connected to the main pentagram through arterial channels — the same grooves, all linked by blood. Blood was everywhere.
The most painful part wasn't the burning sensation of the dragon's blood smeared on my skin, which felt like it was melting into me. No, the real torture was the poison I'd drunk. Because of it, I didn't return to school for two days, spending the time fighting fever and convulsions, as if a fiery dagger were searing away impurities inside me.
Without the ritual, that poison would have killed me in five minutes. But as Mother explained, the ritual was burning away all the blockages in my magical channels — magical contamination, that is.
It felt like it scorched away everything hindering the free flow of magic. I hadn't even known I had such issues, but after the ritual, my control improved noticeably, and the walls of my magical channels strengthened. Now I can be more confident they won't suffer as much if I use more powerful spells. The next ritual awaits me on my birthday.
As for another matter… I've put off dealing with Peeves and the Bloody Baron again, choosing to enjoy what I've achieved and keep honing my control, without letting go of the pulse of events. But this freedom, lacking clear threats, made me relax. And when you don't have to act constantly, there's time to think about the future.
I remember back in September of my first year, I thought about how to stop Voldemort's resurrection. Now I'm not so sure. I'm too afraid of making things worse — the story might end in tragedy, not a happy ending, if the Dark Lord wins. Still, I'd change the course of events for my family's future anyway. And I have serious doubts that a seventeen-year-old can defeat a powerful dark wizard. These aren't just doubts — we live in the real world, not a fairy tale where the Chosen One wins just by being chosen and with an Expelliarmus.
Either way, I'll finally decide what to do when I see what this "Chosen One" is made of. What if he turns out to be a prodigy, becoming a truly powerful wizard in his six years at Hogwarts?
What nonsense is spinning in my head! Laughable, really. Enough worrying about others… I needed the map — I took the map. If I need to return it, I will — but only if it's more useful than keeping it.
And now, it's finally time to open the Marauder's Map.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
***
POV: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
The Marauder's Map… At first glance, a simple prank. But any skilled artificer who saw it once could never call it simple. The map showed everything — every corridor, every tower, every secret passage, at least those found by the four Gryffindors during their school years. It showed everyone, even those hidden under charms, revealing them like a living eye tied to the very essence of the castle.
One might assume the map saw everyone in the school without exception. Almost everyone, everywhere. Only the Room of Requirement, with its ancient, unpredictable will, could hide someone who truly didn't want to be found. The magic of a place always surpasses human magic. But that wasn't entirely true.
Dumbledore knew well who had created the map. Of course, it wasn't just four students, however bright-eyed with mischief they were. They couldn't have managed such a complex task alone.
They were rule-breakers, troublemakers, but they were also the ones who stood up to defend magical Britain when the time came. James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew — the Marauders, as they called themselves, their mischief bordering on genius.
But the true creator of the map was Fleamont Potter — he was the architect of this little marvel. The old artificer had once greatly surprised him, for the shrewd Potter always had a knack for combining opposites: nobility and mischief, light and shadow. He was as mixed as the neutral faction the Potters held sway in. He helped his son create a masterpiece of artifice, and all James and his friends had to do was weave into the map a charm bundle that could only resonate with the Book of Admittance when applied within the school. Fleamont Potter's design was so cunning that even Albus had spent a week understanding how it functioned.
Yes, he had known back then… known the children had an artifact that could see through the castle. He knew and allowed it, because outside the school, the map lost its resonance with the Book of Admittance and all its functionality. Otherwise, the Headmaster would not have turned a blind eye. Fleamont Potter understood that too, which is why he created the map merely as a prank and a gift.
Dumbledore had also decided to give a gift and looked the other way. All to let youth have room to make mistakes. For without mistakes, as is known, there is no growth.
He had looked away then, and later — forgiven. Forgiven Fleamont and James. Forgiven them as one forgives those whose flame of life has long been extinguished.
Fleamont died long ago, and with him went most of his contemporaries — wizards of that era, who were dangerous. Those today are not like those long gone.
The map remained — a memory and a shadow of the past, an artifact he, the Headmaster, had once briefly taken from the young rascals. Only to make one tiny adjustment. A minuscule charm to divert the map's attention when needed. So that he, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, could remain unseen at key moments. Not out of fear, no — out of necessity. And Albus had also arranged for a trace on the student who activated the map.
Many years had passed since then. He thought the map lost, destroyed, or at best lying at the bottom of an old trunk in the Potter home.
The map didn't work outside Hogwarts — it needed a connection to the castle's magical network, to the Book of Admittance, the ancient artifact Albus himself guarded. All information flowed from it. Without the book, the map was just lifeless parchment.
So his surprise was genuine when the Book of Admittance suddenly shuddered — responding as if disturbed. And then a name flared up: "Arcturus-Corvus Armand Malfoy."
He even took off his glasses and wiped them before convincing himself he wasn't mistaken.
The son of Lucius Malfoy. Lucius often tried to needle Albus… and here was his son and heir, upon whom Albus, truth be told, hadn't particularly focused his attention and had nearly forgotten.
Half an hour. The boy held the map for half an hour without letting go. Looking. Studying.
Dumbledore sat in his office, watching the glowing lines of the Book of Admittance, tapping his fingers quietly on the arm of his chair.
"Curious," he murmured aloud. "How quickly he found it. And more importantly, why, my boy?"
His thoughts flowed slowly, like smoke over a cooling cup of tea. The young Malfoy was just a child now, yes, intelligent, ambitious, and… potentially dangerous in the future. But the Headmaster never blamed children for their fathers' sins. He only regretted not paying attention to the young Slytherin sooner — perhaps he wouldn't have sensed that vile self-assurance so inherent in his father. Yet somehow, the Headmaster was sure the second-year had found the map but wouldn't use it merely for mischief.
Albus leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. Snow was falling outside, drifting slowly onto the towers of Hogwarts. He remembered James, Sirius, Remus…
"All for the greater good," he said to himself, and the words tasted bitter.
Pain, like a curse — a constant companion to knowledge. He had allowed too many deaths, too many mistakes, all justified by good intentions. Sometimes it seemed his life was a chain of forced decisions, each tearing something inside. Yet he would pay that price again if needed. And perhaps… that need would come.
But he needed to return the map… Maybe not right away, but he must. Not for control, no. For atonement. Let at least one child receive what is rightfully theirs.
The boy, living now among Muggles, knows nothing of his past, nothing of the fate approaching. And if fate doesn't give him a chance, then let the map, as it once did for his father, help him find his way — not to mischief, but to understanding.
Dumbledore closed the Book of Admittance, and the light of magic faded.
But first, he said quietly:
"Everything returns, if it must. Even that which seemed long lost…"