chp

In the headmaster's office, the air was thick with unspoken tension, though the room maintained its usual air of academic sophistication. The four individuals present sat around a polished oak table: Professor McGonagall, Headmaster Dumbledore, a man disguised as a secretary—known secretly as Grindelwald—and the ever-composed Lysandra Targaryen.

Lysandra, dressed in regal yet understated robes that seemed to shimmer faintly in the flickering candlelight, held her teacup delicately as if the very act of sipping tea were a ceremonial gesture. Her posture was impeccable, her expression one of composed indifference. "I think I shall be taking my leave now," she declared, her voice calm and measured, yet carrying an undeniable edge of authority.

McGonagall, who had been watching Lysandra with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, leaned forward slightly. "That's it? You're leaving already?" she asked, her tone tinged with surprise. "Are you planning to take Hecate with you?"

Lysandra placed her teacup on its saucer with a soft clink, her gaze meeting McGonagall's directly. "Hmm, no," she replied coolly. "Her studies are complete. My visit was merely to ensure her well-being after the... unfortunate incident."

Grindelwald, who had been sitting quietly, his posture deceptively casual, interjected smoothly. "Perhaps we could accompany you? I, for one, would very much like to meet Madame Cercy—if that would not be too presumptuous, of course."

Lysandra's gaze snapped to him, her sharp purple eyes narrowing. "I don't think that would be possible at the moment," she replied curtly, her tone laced with barely concealed disdain. There was no mistaking the frostiness in her demeanor, nor the faint flicker of warning in her eyes.

McGonagall, who had been bristling silently at Grindelwald's presence, glared at him openly now, as if willing him to silence.

Dumbledore, ever the mediator, interjected in a soothing tone. "Is Madame Cercy unwell?"

Lysandra sighed softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup absentmindedly. "It is nothing unusual for her," she admitted, though her tone carried a hint of exasperation. "Whenever she delves too deeply into the far future, it takes a toll on her body. Her longevity shortens, and she falls ill. I have told her countless times to curb her curiosity, but she insists on pushing her limits."

For the briefest moment, Lysandra's icy exterior cracked, revealing a flicker of genuine concern beneath her haughty demeanor. She quickly masked it, continuing in her usual imperious tone. "I highly doubt she foresaw anything pleasant. She has been muttering incoherently ever since, and for now, we have left her to recover. When she is well enough and circumstances permit, I shall extend an invitation for you to meet her."

McGonagall nodded solemnly, her expression softening at the mention of Madame Cercy's condition. Grindelwald, however, looked intrigued, though he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

Lysandra rose gracefully from her seat, smoothing the folds of her robes as she did so. "If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave," she said, her tone final. She glanced briefly at Dumbledore. "Headmaster, ensure that my niece is treated with the respect she deserves. Targaryens do not tolerate indignities."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Of course, Lady Targaryen."

Without another word, Lysandra turned and strode towards the door, her every movement exuding an air of regal authority. As the door closed softly behind her, McGonagall let out a quiet sigh.

"She's... quite the character," McGonagall murmured.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and thoughtfulness. "Indeed she is. And far more formidable than she lets on."

Grindelwald, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, a faint, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Formidable, yes," he said softly. "But everyone has their limits."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the lingering presence of Lysandra Targaryen still heavy in the air.

---‐----

The soft hues of the late afternoon sun bathed the covered bridge in golden light, casting intricate shadows through the wooden beams and onto the cobblestone path. A gentle breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the crisp scent of autumn leaves and the distant hum of life from the Hogwarts grounds.

Hecate stood there, a figure of striking elegance amidst the rustic charm of the bridge. Her dress seemed to glow softly, its fabric catching the sunlight in a way that emphasized its quality—an unmistakable blend of luxury and artistry. It was a gown that demanded attention without ostentation, as if it had been designed to mirror Hecate's own regal poise. The fabric flowed around her figure like liquid silk, its subtle patterns shifting as she moved ever so slightly, evoking an air of mystique.

Her posture was perfect, yet there was a certain softness to her demeanor, as if she was at ease in this solitary moment. She appeared not as a student taking respite from her day but as a figure out of a painting—timeless, ethereal, and entirely self-possessed. The dress, the bridge, the light—they all seemed to exist in harmony around her, highlighting her presence as though she were a queen surveying her kingdom.

Hecate's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, lost in thought, her expression unreadable yet captivating. It was a moment of stillness, a snapshot in time where the world seemed to pause just to admire her.

-----

As I stood on the covered bridge, my gaze lost in the serene beauty of the Hogwarts landscape, I whispered the familiar command, "Status system." Instantly, the familiar display materialized before me, an intricate tapestry of information about my growth, abilities, and potential. My fingers tightened slightly on the wooden railing as I studied the changes with a calculating eye.

[Constellation Nurturing System]

The heading alone still intrigued me. Constellations. The term carried weight, implying celestial influence and ascension. Yet, my constellation remained locked, its progress tied to the acquisition of five myth-grade stories. "Ascension," I murmured under my breath, the word tasting both thrilling and daunting. I knew that my journey toward unlocking this celestial power would require careful planning and formidable achievements.

Host Information

Seeing my name, Hecate Targaryen, always evoked a sense of pride. The titles beneath it were a testament to the blending of my unique heritage—Ancient Witch, Ymbryne, and now, Dragonic Witch. Each represented a facet of who I was becoming, a layered identity born of secrets and power.

The vampirisation progress at 5% caught my eye. I wasn't entirely sure how this development had come to be, but the dormant potential in such a transformation intrigued me. It was another piece of the puzzle that was my existence, and I needed to uncover its meaning before it progressed further.

Titles

The titles were as illuminating as ever. Professional Liar / Princess of Lies and Deception. A smirk tugged at my lips. It wasn't entirely inaccurate—I had used my cunning to navigate the tangled web of the wizarding world.

Dragon Lord was a title I felt deeply connected to. The bond I had forged with dragons was unparalleled. Their loyalty wasn't given lightly, yet they followed me willingly.

The title of Witch / Hogwarts Student felt almost quaint compared to the others, though I knew it represented my foundation and current cover within this magical society.

My eyes lingered on the list of abilities. Each one was a tool in my arsenal, a step toward the grander plans I harbored.

Time Loops had advanced significantly. The once rigid constraints of stationary loops had loosened, allowing me to apply the ability directly to my body. The concept of halting my aging indefinitely by looping my physical state every 24 hours was tempting—who wouldn't want to remain forever youthful? Yet, I knew better. Such a choice would stunt my growth, both in power and potential. It was a tool to be reserved for later, perhaps upon ascension. I also noted the need for automation—a way to reset the loop without constant intervention. But that, too, could wait.

Death Song and Sky Dancer complemented my natural affinity for commanding attention and dominating the skies. The thought of using my voice to ensnare minds or enhance my magic filled me with satisfaction—it was as though my very essence had been woven into these abilities.

Fourth Wall Perception remained enigmatic yet invaluable. Understanding the hidden connections and meta-structures of the world gave me an edge, one that I was only beginning to explore.

Sinking Shadow and Green Green were practical in their versatility, allowing me to manipulate my surroundings effortlessly. They embodied control—over the environment, over enemies, over myself.

The newer addition, Blood Rage, intrigued me. Its passive nature, tied to my Targaryen lineage, seemed to embody dominance and superiority. The oppressive aura it emitted was both a challenge and a boon, demanding recognition from those around me.

The sharp increase in my intelligence was undeniable, and I felt it every day in the clarity of my thoughts and the speed of my deductions. My magical reserves had grown immense, but the modest Divine Power stat was what intrigued me the most. It was embryonic, tied to my eventual ascension.

The Main Stories section showed only one completed tale, Goddess of War / Valkyrie / Mother of Dragons / Owner of Valkyrheim. Its mythical grade was a source of pride, but it was only the beginning. I needed more stories, ones that could shape my narrative and propel me toward unlocking the constellation.

As I stood in quiet contemplation on the covered bridge, I decided to activate my Fourth Wall Skill to conduct an internal assessment. The familiar yet surreal sensation of seeing beyond the ordinary washed over me as I focused inward.

What I saw was... extraordinary.

My body had undergone profound changes. I could see the new pathways etched into my being—intricate channels where magic flowed naturally, as if my body itself had become a living wand. I flexed my fingers experimentally, feeling the pulse of power beneath my skin.

It was undeniable. The reliance on my wand was dwindling, as though my very form had been engineered to handle magic with precision and ease. It wasn't just raw power; it was control, a delicate balance that allowed me to manipulate even the most volatile spells without fear of backfire.

And then there was the Fourth Wall Skill, a failsafe that stood vigilant, ready to subdue any unruly magic. It was reassuring, knowing that my skill could step in if I ever pushed too far.

"I'm not just a witch anymore," I murmured. The truth of it sank in. I was evolving. The system had called me an Ancient Dragonic Witch, and I could feel the truth of that title in every fiber of my being.

My gaze fell to the Divine Power (Div) attribute in the status window. 15 points. It was a small number, yet it felt monumental. This wasn't ordinary magic. It wasn't even something like the psychic energy represented by my intelligence or the vast reserves of mana at my disposal. This was something... beyond.

Naturally, I turned to the system for answers.

"What is Divine Power?" I asked.

The system's response was prompt, but it only deepened my curiosity:

> [It is the common energy used by Myth and Divine-grade constellations. Constellations have hierarchies/grades just like Stories: Unique → Mythical → Divine → Cosmic → ■■■ → #$%. Divine Power (Div) is the foundational energy that all constellations possess, though its quantity and quality vary. Upon leveling up, a constellation may unlock a more dominant energy.]

The explanation left me thoughtful. Divine Power wasn't just a new resource; it was the essence of ascension. It was an energy that transcended mortal limitations, tied to the very cosmos.

"How can I use it?"

The answer wasn't as encouraging:

> [You cannot summon Divine Power outside of your mortal body. At most, with extreme effort, you could manifest a molecule-sized speck.]

Undeterred, I focused inward, concentrating on finding this elusive energy. Using the Fourth Wall Skill, I located it—not in my physical body but within my soul.

Summoning the smallest trace of Divine Power was no easy feat. My entire body tensed as I drew upon it, a faint, almost imperceptible speck of energy flickering into existence. Activating my Wandering Eyes Skill, I observed the energy with fascination.

What I saw was... peculiar. The Divine Power seemed to emit an invisible field. Particles around it reacted in various ways—some were drawn toward it, as if irresistibly attracted, while others were repelled. Still others remained completely neutral, as though unaffected by its presence.

The implications were staggering. This wasn't just energy—it was a force with properties, a unique interaction with the world around it.

My mind raced with possibilities. If different particles reacted differently to Divine Power, it stood to reason that there were types of magic, not just one overarching force. What if the magic I knew—mana, psychic energy, and now Divine Power—were merely facets of a much larger, more complex system?

I could almost see the threads unraveling in my mind, connecting dots I hadn't even realized existed. What if every type of energy had its own "signature," its own rules for interaction? If I could study these interactions, break them down and understand them, I might unlock a whole new branch of magical theory.

This would require careful experimentation. I would need to isolate these particles, study their reactions to different forms of magic, and determine the rules governing their behavior. The Divine Power itself was a key—perhaps even the key—to understanding the deeper truths of magic and existence.

But for now, I was content to let the spark of discovery simmer in my mind. I had a direction, a purpose. This wasn't just about power or dominance anymore.

This was about knowledge. About reshaping the very foundations of magic itself.

"Fascinating," I whispered, a smile tugging at my lips. The world had no idea what was coming.

----

Hecate had been lost in her thoughts, the excitement of her recent discoveries swirling in her mind, when a familiar voice broke through her reverie.

"Well, if it isn't the genius of the century, Hecate of House Targaryen," James Potter said mockingly, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Turning her head, she saw James approaching, flanked by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. All three looked as though they were thoroughly enjoying themselves, though Sirius's grin carried an extra edge of mischief.

"Back from your royal duties, are you?" James continued, smirking.

Hecate raised an eyebrow, already anticipating the teasing. "Ah, the Marauders. I see you've survived the holidays without me."

Sirius stepped forward, his expression one of exaggerated shock. "What the bloody hell happened to you over the break?" he exclaimed, gesturing wildly at her. "You were already tall, but now you're practically a giraffe! And your hair—what is it now? Silver? White? Honestly, you look like that creepy old lady portrait in my family's house."

Hecate smirked at his dramatics. "And here I thought you'd say I looked ethereal, like a goddess," she said, flipping her hair with mock elegance. Then, with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, she added, "Look at this—I can pat your head now."

Before Sirius could react, she reached out and gently patted the top of his head, grinning as she did so.

Sirius swatted her hand away, scowling. "Oi! Hands off!" he growled, though there was no real heat in his voice.

James, meanwhile, tilted his head, his teasing grin softening into something more curious. "Seriously, though. What happened? Did you have some sort of growth spurt over the holidays?"

Hecate shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, just the consequences of a failed potion," she said with a teasing lilt, offering no further explanation.

Remus, ever the observant one, narrowed his eyes slightly. His lips curved into a polite smile, but his eyes betrayed his skepticism. "A failed potion, huh? And you're sure you're all right now?"

Hecate's tone turned breezy. "Absolutely. Couldn't be better."

James folded his arms, his expression shifting to something more serious. "You're fine, but you're seriously going to skip three years? Are you that desperate to leave Hogwarts?"

Hecate leaned against the bridge's railing, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Desperate? Not quite. But there's a lot I need to do outside these walls. Besides," she added with a touch of humor, "I thought it'd be fun."

James groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "Fun? Studying with older students and taking all those exams? You're mental."

"When do you start, then?" Sirius asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Not immediately," Hecate replied. "I'll attend Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons for now, and then I'll take an exam to officially join the fifth years for the second semester."

"Lucky," James muttered, clearly annoyed but unable to hide the begrudging admiration in his tone.

Hecate grinned, looking between the three boys. "Don't worry, Potter. You'll still have plenty of time to bask in my brilliance before I leave you all in the dust."

"Modest as ever," Sirius quipped, smirking.

"Would you expect anything less?" Hecate shot back, the banter between them lighting up the cold winter afternoon.

-------

Lysandra walked through the grand halls of Hogwarts, her presence commanding attention wherever she went. Her appearance, modeled after Gwendoline Christie's striking features, was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Towering above most students and even some professors, her elegant, almost statuesque form made her impossible to ignore. Her flowing robes, a deep indigo with accents of gold embroidery, seemed to shimmer with an ethereal light as she moved. Whispers and curious glances followed her every step, students nudging one another and professors pausing mid-conversation to take in the sight of this enigmatic visitor.

Her destination was the covered bridge, where she soon spotted Hecate engaged in lighthearted banter with James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. A faint smile graced her lips as she approached, her steps as measured and deliberate as ever.

"My dove," she called out, her voice smooth and melodic, yet carrying an unmistakable tone of authority.

Hecate turned to her instantly, her sharp mind already anticipating the encounter. "Ah, Grandma," she greeted warmly, playing along with their preplanned ruse. "Are you done speaking with the professors?"

Lysandra nodded gracefully. "Yes, child. Are these your friends?" Her gaze swept over the trio of boys, her expression polite but distant. "Well, hello, little ones."

The three boys stiffened slightly under her piercing gaze, each reacting in their own way.

"Good evening, ma'am," Remus said respectfully, his posture straightening.

"Hello," Sirius added, trying to muster his usual charm but clearly feeling overshadowed.

"Hi," James managed, though his eyes flicked nervously between Lysandra and Hecate, as if searching for cues on how to behave.

Lysandra arched an elegant brow, her expression softening ever so slightly. "You have chosen your companions well, my dove. They seem… spirited," she said, her tone holding the faintest hint of amusement.

Hecate smirked. "Spirited is one way to put it. They're a handful most of the time, but I manage."

James, emboldened by Hecate's teasing, cleared his throat. "So, uh, ma'am, where are you from? You don't look like the usual type to visit Hogwarts."

Lysandra regarded him coolly, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Let's just say my home is far from here, young man. A place that few would dare to tread, and fewer still would understand."

Sirius, never one to back down from a challenge, grinned. "Sounds mysterious. Maybe we'll visit someday."

"Perhaps," Lysandra said simply, her tone making it clear that she thought such an idea highly unlikely.

After a moment, she turned her attention back to Hecate. "Well, I must take my leave now. I only wished to see you before I departed."

Hecate nodded, her expression softening. "Okay, Grandma. Safe travels. I'll see you later."

Lysandra gave her a brief nod before walking to the edge of the bridge. Without hesitation, she extended a hand, and a shimmering silver gate appeared beneath her feet, hanging impossibly in the air. The gate opened soundlessly, revealing a swirling void of light. She stepped through without a second glance and disappeared.

"OH MY GOD!" James shouted, his eyes wide with panic. "Hecate, your grandma just threw herself off the bridge!"

Sirius and Remus leaned over the edge of the bridge, frantically searching for any sign of her. "I don't see her! What just happened?!" Sirius exclaimed, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

Hecate, unfazed, waved them off. "Relax. Go ahead, look down again."

The boys peered over the edge once more, scanning the space below. To their astonishment, there was no sign of Lysandra—no body, no flash of magic, not even a ripple in the air. It was as if she had vanished entirely.

"How is that possible?" Remus murmured, his brow furrowed.

Hecate smirked, leaning casually against the bridge's railing. "Let's just say my family has their own… unique ways of getting around. Don't worry, she's perfectly fine."

James turned back to her, his expression incredulous. "You could have warned us, you know!"

"Where's the fun in that?" Hecate replied with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

The boys exchanged bewildered glances, clearly unsure whether they were more impressed or unnerved by what they had just witnessed. Hecate, meanwhile, seemed entirely at ease, as though this sort of thing happened every day.