Death and Domain - Chapter 4

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The clarity after the headache disappeared felt like a cold shower. Maybe that's why it took me a moment to comprehend what I was seeing. No, it wasn't really seeing. This went beyond the senses. It was information, seared and branded into my brain so I wouldn't forget it.

Welcome to the Domain System!

Gain bonus powers for every domain under your rule—either directly or indirectly. The quality of the powers obtained through the system depend on the domain's relevance to you and the world. This applies to domains beyond physical locations.

Ex: Becoming the head of your household (Family Domain).

Conquering a state (State Domain).

Being promoted to regional manager of your local paper supply store (Paper Store Domain).

This was… different.

If I weren't already in an alternate version of the Harry Potter world I might have not believed it. Magic seemed an easier concept to wrap my head around than whatever this was. At the same time, if it was true, then whoever or whatever brought me to this world had made the right choice in powers for me.

After all, this didn't change a thing as far as my plans for the future were concerned.

Cassius Warrington and Justin Travers were only appetizers. From the moment I woke up, Flavius Prince became my main priority, the first obstacle on my road to the top. You can't even rule the street if your own house is on fire. The fact I would get an extra reward for something I was already going to do was like getting a blowjob simply for going about your day.

I sat up on the bed, thinking. Going over the prompt-like information again, two things stuck out for me. First, there was the notion that I didn't need direct rule over something to gain its Domain. That could be useful—I'd met plenty of powerful men who liked to shout out from the rooftops that they were in charge and fuck everyone else, only they never realized the rooftop was the easiest place to get a sniper round to the skull.

Then there was the fact that domains went beyond the physical. In a world where mind magic was a thing, I had a hunch that mastering my own mind could net me a good power. The books never went too deep into mind magic beyond what Harry learned himself, so I would be going into unknown territory if I wanted that Domain.

In any event, Occlumency—an art Octavian knew nothing beyond its existence—had just jumped up my list. The Prince family had a considerable library of its own back home, and I doubted a centuries' old family that was supposed to be foremost experts when it comes to the Soul hadn't acquired a few books on the subject of the mind over the years.

One question remained in my head, though. Why me? Why pick a young mob boss when this world clearly needed a hero? I waited for an answer—hell, even a flash of pain in my head as a sort of nod in the right direction, but got nothing in response.

I smiled. The silence was answer enough for me. The world got what it needed. A devil to rule the pack.

xxx

I fumed in my seat at the Slytherin table. With a few hours to kill before the end-of-year feast, I thought a little training session using the Room of Requirements would help shake out the magical kinks in Octavian's body.

Oh, I wish. The rust went deep in this boy. No matter what I tried, the spells all came out with the seemingly bare minimum strength. The Stunning Charm wheezed out a weak red light that barely managed to move the room's training dummy, and my Expelliarmus couldn't quite make the other manequim lose hold of its fake wand.

I like to think I have a pretty good grasp of my emotions, but I raged in that room. I bet it looked like a toddler throwing a tantrum too. Even when I forcefully channeled my destructive feelings in a Bombarda spell, the resulting explosion didn't even shake the dust of the walls.

I had to see about getting a new wand or something. This couldn't be normal. The only reason Octavian even made it to fifth year was because his theory work was up to par and the school itself didn't ask for potency behind his spells. In the real world, I wouldn't survive five minutes against a wet spoon, much less a trained wizard.

"You're going to burst something thinking like that." Isaac's voice broke through my pity party.

Looking up, I saw he was staring at me from across the table, his plate of roast beef laying half-eaten in front of him. After another round of Dumbledore's classic bat-shit announcements, the food had been served and the festivities were in full swing. Cutlery clashed with porcelain in a cacophony of loud tableware, voices low and high and in all stages of puberty echoed in the great hall.

I glanced around quickly. We were sitting at the far end of the table, a few feet removed from everyone else, and even Celeste wouldn't be bold enough to use a listening charm in front of the whole Hogwarts staff.

I gave myself another moment of doubt, then shrugged. It wasn't as if he didn't already know. "Do you think a… change in personality could warrant a change in wands?" I asked just loud enough so Isaac could hear me over the noise.

"Having performance issues?" His blank face didn't twitch. He was good at that.

I flipped him off. "I'm serious. I can't get my spells to work properly."

"And that's different how?" Isaac looked at me for a moment, then sighed. He leaned forward on the table. "Look, sorry to burst your revenge-on-the-world bubble, Octavian, but I've never seen you throw out a single decent spell beyond maybe a basic house charm in all the five years I've known you."

"I know, I know," I said impatiently. "But it can't be normal, can it? By all accounts I should manage a normal first year spell, at least. They all just come out like they're anemic or something."

Isaac hummed. "Well… does it feel right?"

He didn't have to elaborate. Every witch and wizard knew the feeling he was referring to, and unfortunately, I was no different. I brushed my hand against the wand in my pocket and sensed it. Thirteen inches of white aspen with a dragon heartstring core, unyielding. The wand felt right, and holding it still gave me a vaguely euphoric feeling like it did all those years ago.

I stifled a curse. It wasn't the wand, I knew. Octavian was the problem, which meant I was. I was a firm adherent of the belief that no plan survives enemy contact, but how could I even begin to make any moves when I couldn't even call myself a proper wizard?

Isaac took my silence as an answer.

Ignoring his pitying look, I tried to forget about my magical inefficacy by looking around the great hall. The changes I would be facing were never more glaring than when all the evidence was splayed out in front of me like this. A few names that my past life could make sense of but did not recognize stood out the most, like Victra Rosier, Slytherin's top dog despite being a sixth year, or Alivia Longbottom, Neville's twin sister.

And there, just a few tables away from me, sat a young girl surrounded by her two friends. With a long cascade of wavy red hair, pale as chalk and stick thin, Rose Potter should not exist. Nor, if Octavian's memories served me right, should her mother be wasting away in the long-term spell damage ward in St. Mungus just like Neville's own parents.

I watched as she laughed at something Ron Weasley said mid-burp, her green eyes shining behind her coke-bottle glasses. On her other side, a mess of brown curls that could only be Hermione Granger smiled after an exasperated shake of her head.

In the grand scheme of things, having a girl-version of Harry Potter didn't change much for me. I could get past that easily enough. But the events of this year—Rose Potter's second year in Hogwarts, were in fact too pertinent to be ignored. Or rather, the lack of happenings this year. Octavian might be disconnected from his peers, but even he would have heard of several different petrifications happening in the castle. And though I had witnessed plenty of dinner-time confrontations between Malfoy and Potter throughout this school year, the girl had never been outed as a Parselmouth or anything similar.

Potter's schoolyard misadventures might not be my concern, but the Chamber of Secrets was an important landmark in the Harry Potter timeline. It marked Harry's first encounter with a piece of Voldemort's soul. A horcrux that was now unaccounted for. Lost somewhere out there in the world, or still languishing within Lucius Malfoy's possession.

My skin itched. The noise of the great hall around me seemed to fall away. I hated this feeling of inertia, of letting events unfold without my own hand influencing them. The thought made me pause, and before I could stop myself a small huff escaped my lips. Even Isaac looked at me curiously.

No, that was a lie. I might hate being seated here, limp and useless with a bunch of children surrounding me. But this uncertainty, this promise of a challenge—it was like a drug to me. I wanted to begin, to put into action everything my mind conjured since I woke up in this world.

And that would start with the missing piece of the great hall puzzle. Turning in my seat, I allowed my eyes to roam across the high table where all the teachers sat facing the students like a live recreation of the last supper. Albus Dumbledore, ever majestic and whimsical in his throne. McGonagall, Flitwick, Pomfrey, Hooch and Kettleburn and Babbling, Septima and Aurora. All of them. All but one.

Severus Snape. The man who, for the past five years, I had never seen outside his dungeon, not even at the great hall for a single meal. The man that was my blood uncle.