Chapter 5: The Sorcerer’s Hat

The train rattled along the tracks, the rhythmic clatter echoing through the nearly full compartment. Magnus leaned against the window, staring at his reflection in the glass, lost in thought. The countryside beyond blurred into a patchwork of green and gold, but his mind was far from the landscape.

A sudden fist crashed into his face.

Pain exploded in his nose, and his head snapped to the side, smacking against the wooden frame of the seat. A sharp tang of blood filled his mouth. Blinking stars from his vision, Magnus slowly turned back to see Peter standing over him, fists trembling, rage contorting his face.

"You should have let me go back to Mum!" Peter roared, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Magnus didn't move, didn't flinch. He only smiled, a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that only served to infuriate Peter further. A second punch landed, then a third, each one fueling Peter's grief-driven fury.

The pain was real, searing, but Magnus barely registered it. He let Peter vent his anger, absorbing every strike without a single attempt to defend himself. This wasn't just rage—it was helplessness, loss, guilt, all bubbling over in the form of clenched fists. Peter needed this more than Magnus did.

Blood dripped from Magnus's split lip, but his smirk never wavered. He even let out a low chuckle, infuriating Peter even more.

"What's wrong, Peter? Feeling powerless?" Magnus taunted, licking the blood off his lip.

Peter lunged again, but this time, hands pulled him back. Edmund, along with a few other boys their age, dragged him away, struggling to keep him restrained.

"That's enough, Peter!" Susan snapped, stepping between them. "Fighting won't change anything!"

Peter struggled against their grip, chest heaving, tears burning in his eyes. Magnus merely wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing crimson across his cheek, and leaned back against the seat as if nothing had happened.

[You have changed an aspect of the plot. Reward granted: The Sorcerer's Hat, used by Mickey Mouse in "The Sorcerer's Apprentice." The hat will adapt to the user upon wearing.]

Magnus exhaled, the system's voice in his mind oddly soothing against the chaos. His smirk deepened. Changing the plot had been easier than he thought.

Hours passed, and the tension in the carriage remained thick. The rhythmic clatter of the train was the only sound filling the space between them. Peter sat across from Magnus, his knuckles bruised, his eyes hollow, staring out the window with a clenched jaw. No more words were exchanged. No apologies. Just silence.

Finally, the train screeched to a halt at the station. The countryside air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant pine. A tall man with sharp, intelligent eyes stood waiting for them.

"Welcome," he greeted, his voice deep yet gentle. "I am Arthur Spiderwick. I will be taking care of you during your stay."

His words held weight, though Magnus couldn't quite place why. There was something about him—something keen and perceptive in his gaze, as if he saw more than just a group of war-displaced children.

The Spiderwick Estate loomed ahead, dark and gothic against the twilight sky. The mansion exuded an eerie charm, with its ivy-covered walls and gnarled trees standing like silent sentinels.

As they stepped inside, the warmth of the house wrapped around them, though an unshakable sense of something unseen lurked in the air.

That night, the house was quiet. Too quiet.

Magnus lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The events of the day played over in his mind—the sirens, the evacuation, Peter's outburst, the revelation from the system. He exhaled sharply.

With a thought, he pulled up his inventory. There it was.

The Sorcerer's Hat.

Slowly, he reached for it, his fingers brushing the enchanted fabric. The moment he placed it atop his head, something shifted. The hat, once pristine and magical in its original form, warped and changed, its edges fraying, patches appearing where the years had worn it down. It was no longer a relic of a fairy tale but something old, ancient, filled with history and mystery.

Power hummed through him, subtle but undeniable.

As he adjusted the hat on his head, a faint whisper curled in his mind, a voice from something beyond, something tied to the magic now pulsing in his veins.

Magnus smirked in the dark.

This was only the beginning.