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HP: Bloodraven Chapter 173 - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Robbed Goods (I)
🕑 Added 2025-05-27 17:02:44 +0000 UTCExpelliarmus!
Boom!
Crash!
Protego!
Boom!
Expelliarmus!
Expelliarmus!
Blinding red streaks sliced through the air, crackling like bolts of lightning as they smashed against rocky barriers and shattered them into dust. The air smelled of scorched stone and energy. Each impact echoed like thunder, sending up bursts of rubble and smoke.
Amid the chaos, a black blur streaked through the smoke — a boy dressed in a sleek, custom-fitted outfit that clung to him like armor.
He zigzagged between obstacles, sometimes rolling, sometimes leaping clean over waist-high boulders, moving like a shadow in motion as spells crashed and rubble flew around him. A glint of excitement danced in his eyes as he ducked under a crimson hex that struck a rock behind him, shattering it into pebbles.
The terrain stretched wide, a large stone field scattered with jagged boulders and upright slabs. The rocks were spaced too evenly to be natural. It was clearly made—by magic and by hand—and designed for controlled chaos, built to test reflexes and raw magic.
Two others crouched behind one of the larger rock formations—a girl with frizzy brown hair and a lanky redheaded boy. Both looked to be around the same age, and they were the ones firing spell after spell at the boy up ahead.
“Ronald!” snapped the girl at the redhead while ducking back as a fist-sized chunk of rock whistled over her head. “If you still can’t fire a proper Disarming Spell, then get creative! Use the Levitation Charm and start chucking rocks at him!”
Weasley groaned but nodded anyway. Who told him to be the dead last in their trio?
He wiped the sweat from his brow and asked, “Where's he?”
“There!” Granger pointed sharply without even glancing. Her wand lit up at the same time, ready to blast another bolt of red at her prey.
The boy doing all the dodging was obviously Harry Potter. And right now, the trio was in the middle of a simulated training exercise under Maverick’s close supervision.
Hovering over the obstacle-filled space, watching their actions closely, he observed the progress the three had made over the past few months. Needless to say, they had improved by leaps and bounds — even the redhead, Weasley, was no exception.
He hadn’t taught them many spells — just the Disarming Charm and the Shield Charm, a solid mix of offense and defense for now. Neither spell was particularly difficult, and even Ron managed to pull them off every now and then.
That wasn’t meant to belittle him — it was a genuine compliment. Maverick had only introduced the core principles just before the Christmas holidays, and it had barely been three weeks since then. They had grasped everything on their own.
As for Hermione, the little witch was truly a monster when it came to learning — her proficiency in those spells had already reached the intermediate level.
The exercise the three of them—Harry, Ron, and Hermione—were doing was basically a game of cat and mouse. Harry was the one dodging and running, while Hermione and Ron tried to catch him.
Was it unfair? No. Harry had started training with Maverick much earlier and was far better than them in skill and reaction. He was not at a disadvantage at all. Even judging by the expression on his face, he was always one step ahead—whether dodging or conjuring a shield.
The objective for him was only to dodge and defend. Since he was clearly better than them in spellfire, he was exercising control, restraint, prediction, and endurance.
Boom!
Booom!
Another tremor shook the field as Ron, following Hermione’s advice, levitated a hefty stone and hurled it at Harry — only for it to miss by a fraction as Harry flipped sideways, rolled, and sprang up behind a tall slab.
The chase continued for another half hour. Spells flew. Rocks shattered. Sweat soaked their clothes. But still, Harry danced out of reach.
At last, Maverick raised a hand, and the air rippled.
“Enough!”
The three froze. Silence fell, broken only by heavy breathing and the distant crackle of settling dust.
Harry straightened, sweat shining on his brow, chest heaving but proud. Ron collapsed backwards on the ground, arms spread. Hermione dropped to a knee, grinning and gasping for breath.
Maverick descended slowly to the rocky ground.
“Good,” he said, surveying them all. “Good job, all three of you.”
His eyes settled on Harry.
“Especially you, Potter. Your movement skills has improved significantly.” Then he looked between Hermione and Ron, and a faint smile tugged his lips. “And excellent teamwork from both of you.”
He clapped once, and the training field began to dissolve—rocks slowly sinking into the ground as if swallowed by the earth. They weren’t outside on any real terrain, but inside the Room of Requirement, which had conjured the entire field according to his wish.
“Get some rest,” Maverick said. “For the next few days until term begins, no more practical training. Read the books I gave you, and let your bodies cool down.”
“Professor, are you staying at school until term starts?” Hermione asked while flicking her wand to cast a cleansing charm over herself.
“No,” Maverick replied. “I only came to check on your practice... and to take care of a personal matter. I’ll only be back once term begins.”
Saying that, he pointed his finger and gave a flick toward Potter and Weasley. A cleansing spell—just like the one Hermione had used on herself—swept over the two as well, wiping away the sweat and grime from their clothes.
“Uh… thank you, Professor.”
“Wicked. Thanks, Professor.”
Both boys gave him wry, grateful smiles.
“Potter, you stay,” Maverick said with a nod. “I’ve got something to discuss with you privately.”
He then glanced at Weasley and Granger. “Make sure to go through the books, and… I’ll see you when term starts.”
Harry nodded, while Ron and Hermione, after exchanging a glance, did as instructed and left the Room of Requirement—though not without a hint of envy in their eyes.
Maverick noticed, of course, but he didn’t bother to explain.
Once they were alone, Harry asked curiously. “Professor, what is it?”
“Just want to test something,” Maverick said, then flicked his finger toward the side of the room.
Serpensortia!
A serpent-summoning hex shot forward, and a massive python—easily over ten feet long—materialized in the open space where the spell struck the floor. Its thick coils rippled as it raised its head, scanning the room with confusion.
Where am I? Who am I? It had been moments away from pouncing on a juicy-looking boar cub...
It quickly scanned the area with its golden eyes before settling on the two bipeds—one tall, watching calmly, the other small, staring in disbelief.
Hmmm... can I eat the little one?
“Harry,” Maverick said, breaking him out of his frozen stupor.
“Ye-yes… professor.”
“Try talking to it.”
Harry blinked, bewildered by the strange instruction.
“Talk? Professor... you want me to, 'speak,' to it?”
“Yes. Speak.”
Meanwhile, the snake continued eyeing them both, lifting its head higher, curious and contemplating whether to strike.
Then it saw the smaller one take a hesitant step forward and—
?$^@<*^;÷<#$%<#^
Strange... Is this little creature offering itself as food? the snake tilted its head, confused.
“Hello?” Harry spoke again while focusing on the huge serpent in front.
“Potter... remember the basics I taught you. What is magic at its core?”
Harry turned slightly, puzzled. “Uh... intent, and... magical energy?”
“Good. Now apply it. Think of your words as the magical energy... so, what’s missing?”
“My intent?” Harry guessed.
Maverick smiled.
Intent! Harry’s eyes lit up. It’s about believing...
Thinking, he quickly turned back to the snake, and this time, channeling his thoughts with intention into his words, he spoke to the snake again.
The snake: Good. The little one has accepted its fate. I shall remember your willing sacrifice…
“Hello?”
The fuck—
“Hello?”
(Hiss hiss) “A speaker?!” the snake recoiled, outright flabbergasted. (Hiss hiss hiss hiss) “You speak the serpent tongue?”
“You—you… you understand me?” Harry asked back, pointing his finger and looking equally bewildered.
What Harry didn’t realize was that, to Maverick, his words had now transformed into what sounded like a fluent hissing. And coupled with the rythemic, sound of the hisses, Maverick’s magical sense also picked up subtle fluctuations of magical energy from Harry when he muttered the language.
Interesting, he thought, brushing his chin.
His speculations about Parseltongue—whether one could learn the magical language like an innate speaker—now felt more plausible. But it was still just theories and ideas, and he didn’t have the time yet to test whether the notion in his mind could be proven.
“Right then, that’s enough…”
Harry turned at the sound of his voice—just in time to see Maverick raise a hand and point at the serpent.
But instead of casting a spell, he simply—
Snap!
Harry turned quickly, just in time to see his new buddy—the python—mouth half-open, blink once… and then vanish without a trace.
“Uh…” Harry opened his mouth to speak, but gave up and sighed instead, his shoulders sinking like someone had just broken his favorite toy.
“What?” Maverick asked, raising a brow at his expression.
“Nothing, Professor.”
Maverick’s brow twitched. From Harry’s surface thoughts, he caught glimpses of the boy excitedly chatting with the snake—and the serpent, oddly enough, was talking back like a child who had just made his very first friend.
“Alright, I can summon it again for you if you want… but not today.”
Harry’s eyes lit up again, but before he could say anything stupid, Maverick continued, “For now, I need your help with something. First, go to your common room, get some rest, and come meet me in my office after dinner tonight.”
“Right… okay. Then I’ll be back tonight.”
Once Harry left and the door to the Room of Requirement closed behind him, Maverick let out a sigh, conjured a comfy sofa, and slumped down.
“Headmaster, what do you think of the kid’s progress?”
At his words, the space in front of him rippled, light shimmered, and the familiar figure of Dumbledore appeared, descending gracefully to the ground.
“Perhaps you want to explain, Professor Caesar, why you did what you did just now?”
“Oh… you mean the snake?” Maverick asked, not looking at the old man as he rested his head against the sofa, staring upward.
“The serpent. Yes.” Dumbledore conjured a chair for himself, then a small table between them before summoning two cups of tea from thin air.
Maverick straightened and looked at the old man for a moment, then smirked.
“We both know the boy is a Horcrux, Headmaster. I was just testing a hypothesis. Since Tom was an innate speaker of Parseltongue, I thought maybe because his soul latched onto Harry, some of his abilities might have rubbed off. And… turns out I was right.”
Dumbledore watched him intently, but Maverick did not back down—he met the old man’s gaze directly. Of course, Dumbledore did not try anything stupid like reading the thoughts of an archmage like himself, even when facing him eye to eye.
He finally let out a sigh. “Tell me, Professor, what exactly are you up to?”
Maverick’s grin grew wider. “You know, Headmaster, you should do that more often—just ask, plain and simple. You’d be surprised how much more open people become.”
Dumbledore raised a brow, still waiting.
Maverick chuckled and waved his hand. “Right, right. I won’t hide it. I’m going on a hunt tonight.” He leaned back and added, “You’re free to join, of course.”
