Hogwarts: From Little Wizard to White Lord

The next day was Saturday.

Peter, who had decided to visit the Gryffindor common room that morning, happened to spot Harry and Ron sneaking off in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Trailing behind them, arms folded tightly around a thick book, was Hermione.

"I'm coming to watch you," she said simply when Ron glared at her.

Ron was convinced she was out for revenge, determined to catch them doing something wrong and report it to the professors.

"She's still mad about what I said," he muttered. "Just wait. She's going to shadow us the whole time, write down our crimes, and hand them straight to McGonagall."

Harry wasn't so sure.

"Hermione cares too much about house points. She wouldn't do anything that might get Gryffindor penalized," he said, adjusting his glasses.

Ron wasn't convinced. "Then what's she planning? Merlin's beard, every time I turn around, she's just there. Staring. Do you know how creepy that is?"

Harry decided not to answer.

The three of them made their way to Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid welcomed them with his usual booming voice and a tray of rock cakes.

Hermione joined them inside, but barely spoke to Harry or Ron. Instead, she chatted almost exclusively with Hagrid, asking about magical creatures and the responsibilities of a gamekeeper.

While Ron sulked in the corner and Harry poked suspiciously at a rock cake, he noticed a folded newspaper on Hagrid's table.

The headline immediately caught his eye: Gringotts Robbed! Vault Breached!

His heart jumped. The robbery had taken place on the very same day he and Hagrid visited Gringotts.

Hagrid had insisted that he had official Hogwarts business there, and had retrieved something from a vault Vault 713, to be exact. At the time, he hadn't explained much beyond calling it "school business."

Harry's mind raced.

When they returned to the castle, Harry slapped the newspaper down on a table in the common room and called Ron and Hermione over.

"Look at this," he said. "Someone broke into Gringotts. And not just any vault Vault 713."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "The one Hagrid went to?"

"Exactly. Listen to this line: 'The vault searched by the intruders had in fact been emptied earlier in the day.' That's just like Hagrid said. The only thing in the vault was a dirty little bag. He took it with him. That means whoever broke in was after what Hagrid took."

"Cool!" Ron breathed, giving a low whistle.

Then Harry suddenly paused, as if remembering something important. He looked at his friends with wide eyes.

"Uh... Hagrid told me not to tell anyone about this. You'll both keep it secret, right?"

"Absolutely confidential!" Ron declared, thumping his chest proudly then immediately broke into a coughing fit.

Hermione gave him a side glance and sniffed. "I'm always discreet."

That was exactly what Harry had said to Hagrid at the time.

And yet, the very next day, Peter knew.

"The Philosopher's Stone..."

He murmured the words under his breath while seated in the quiet corner of the library. A thick, worn book was open in front of him, its yellowed pages filled with diagrams and theories of legendary magical items.

He traced a finger along a faded illustration of the red, multifaceted gem and fell into deep thought.

Back when he used to read fan fiction, he remembered how some people downplayed the importance of the stone just another plot device, nothing more.

But now, having studied actual magic, he understood just how extraordinary it was.

The Philosopher's Stone wasn't just a rare artifact. It was a miracle of magical science. It could change the very nature of matter, something even the most advanced Transfiguration could not achieve. Turning ordinary metal into pure gold was not a trick. It was true elemental transmutation.

And the Elixir of Life?

The only known potion to verifiably defy death itself.

With the stone, Nicolas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle, had lived for over six centuries.

Six hundred years.

What could be more incredible in the wizarding world?

Of course, that kind of immortality probably came with side effects.

Peter recalled seeing Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them back in his previous life. Nicolas Flamel had made a brief appearance in that film a frail, skeletal old man who looked as if a strong gust of wind could shatter him.

His bones creaked with every step. It was hard to imagine that he was someone who had lived for over six hundred years.

"It's said that Mr. and Mrs. Flamel live in seclusion somewhere in Devonshire," Peter murmured to himself as he flipped through the pages. "My family lived there too, once... though there's no way to narrow it down further."

"Assuming they're still alive, their home is probably protected by powerful enchantments. The Fidelius Charm comes to mind. No doubt it's hidden beyond ordinary detection."

He sighed.

"Otherwise, I would've loved to meet him. We'd have so much to talk about."

Alchemy was one subject Peter had never explored in depth. It was considered more mystical and abstract than potions. And while there were several books on the topic in the Hogwarts library, most of them made very little sense.

He had browsed a few already. The texts rambled endlessly about "spiritual refinement," "inner balance," and featured lengthy metaphors about symbolic animals and the soul's journey.

It was like reading the diary of a wizard who had been trapped in a dream for too long or possibly drunk.

Peter finally closed the book with a thud, ready to call it a day.

Then, without warning, the familiar glowing panel appeared before his eyes.

[New Mission Activated]

[Side Quest ①: Acquire the Philosopher's Stone]

[Reward: Alchemy Talent]

Peter stared at the panel for several seconds.

"…Seriously?"

He rubbed his forehead.

This system was getting more and more unreasonable.

The Philosopher's Stone was currently being eyed by both the Dark Lord and the White Lord. Anyone who tried to interfere would be walking straight into a disaster.

Peter wasn't that reckless.

He closed the system panel without another glance. He wasn't going to chase after something so dangerous at least not yet.

Returning the book to the shelf, he realized it was already evening. Time had slipped away. He quickly made his way down through the castle, heading toward Professor Snape's office.

To be honest, Peter thought Snape had terrible taste.

Both the Potions classroom and his office were buried deep within the darkest parts of the castle. The corridor was cold and damp, the air thick with silence. Shadows clung to the walls.

Peter stepped inside and shivered slightly.

With a setup like this, no wonder Snape lost to James Potter. Who would find this romantic?

No girl would go for it.

But when Peter opened the office door and saw the shelves packed with herbs, labeled powders, and rows of glass-stoppered bottles his opinion changed instantly.

It smelled... incredible.

The scent was rich and layered. Most people assumed potions were all sludge and stink, but after processing, many ingredients released complex, earthy fragrances. It wasn't just tolerable it was intoxicating.

And the potions themselves? The vials stored inside the wooden medicine cabinet gleamed under the flickering firelight, their liquid contents glowing in all shades of crystal blue, green, violet, and amber.

Peter stood there, caught in a moment of awe.

In the corner, Snape was watching him silently.

He looked like a statue carved from shadow, his black robes blending into the wall, his face unreadable.

But when Peter's eyes lit up at the sight of the potions, and he stepped closer with genuine fascination, Snape's lips twitched.

Just slightly.

He almost smiled.

It had taken Snape two full days of careful sorting to prepare his new medicine cabinet.

Every vial on display had been chosen with deliberate care rare enough to impress, but not so extravagant as to seem boastful. And each one held some practical or instructional value.

It was a difficult balance to strike.

"Professor, you have a real treasure trove here," Peter said, eyes sparkling as he took in the cabinet.

Snape didn't reply at first. But inwardly, he felt a flicker of satisfaction.

It reminded him of Friday evening, when he had taken Peter's improved scabies potion to Dumbledore. The old headmaster had raised his eyebrows in surprise after a single sniff, his expression openly impressed.

Snape had savored that moment.

Let the world fawn over the so-called savior. His real pride lay in a student like Peter ambitious, brilliant, and unmistakably Slytherin.

"Peter Weasley," Snape said at last, his voice calm but commanding, "you'll have plenty of time to admire the collection later. For now, I want to see what's so remarkable about your method of magical extraction."

Peter caught the key word right away.

"A lot of time, Professor? Does that mean I can visit every weekend from now on?"

He looked at Snape expectantly, already sensing the unspoken approval.

Snape didn't answer. He simply stepped aside, revealing a brewing station tucked behind his desk. A crucible sat on the stand, bubbling softly with a familiar mixture.

It was the scabies potion.

Clearly, tonight's lesson would be practical.

Snape wanted to see everything from beginning to end.

Peter didn't hesitate. He rolled up his sleeves, drew his wand, and got to work.

The dimly lit office fell into a focused silence.

Only the sounds of herbs being chopped, powders being ground, liquids measured and stirred, filled the space between them. Occasionally, there was the soft bubbling of the potion, the clink of glass, and a few clipped exchanges.

Snape, watching closely, broke the silence first.

"Hm... an unusual choice," he murmured. "How do you ensure the magic penetrates the material during extraction?"

Peter didn't pause as he answered.

"Familiarity with the ingredients, Professor. And perhaps a touch of talent for Transfiguration. I think that helps me sense the structure inside. My magic knows where to go."

Snape gave a faint sniff, but said nothing to contradict him.

Peter added thoughtfully, "Of course, if someone doesn't have that instinct, they could still do it. It just takes practice. Repetition helps fine-tune the magical control."

Snape narrowed his eyes, as though turning that over in his mind.

"…Let me try."

Peter stepped back immediately, offering the crucible.

"Alright, Professor."

He watched with interest as Snape raised his wand and began to mimic the extraction technique.