Forbidden Knowledge

My fifth year at Hogwarts marked a turning point.

While most students were still content with following the curriculum, I was driven by something deeper — a hunger for power, knowledge, and mastery. Not for glory, but because I knew what the world outside truly was. I had lived another life once, and those memories, though sometimes hazy, constantly whispered warnings and possibilities.

I spent endless hours in the library, particularly in the Restricted Section. Madam Pince had grown to tolerate me, perhaps even respect me, for I never damaged a single page and always returned every book exactly as I had found it — if not better preserved. I was careful. Discreet.

It started with Ancient Runes. I wasn't satisfied just translating. I wanted to craft spells from them. Symbols of power, etched in metal, blood, or stone — capable of enhancing magic in ways wands could never dream of. I even began designing my own sigils. Small ones at first, then more complex diagrams meant to store energy or trap certain magical effects.

Soon, I moved on to Artifact Creation. With the right materials, and the right enchantments, even the most ordinary item could become a vessel of immense power. I crafted a ring that warmed at the presence of dark magic. A pendant that glowed faintly when someone was lying. My professors never suspected how far I was going with it. To them, I was just another clever student.

But it wasn't enough.

One night, I was approached by a Slytherin seventh-year named Roderick Vale. He'd heard rumors about my "research." Instead of reporting me, he offered something far more dangerous — books. Real books. Banned, ancient, powerful. Some were in Latin, others in twisted dialects of runes lost to time. They spoke of Dark Magic. Not just the theory, but practical applications. Rituals. Curses. Mind-bending enchantments.

That's when I learned the Unforgivable Curses.

Imperius. The first time I cast it, I felt a rush of control unlike anything else. It was on a rat in the Forbidden Forest, but even that tiny creature obeying my will completely gave me a shiver down my spine.

Cruciatus. This one... changed me. Not because of the pain it caused the target, but because of what it asked of me. You couldn't just cast it. You had to mean it. You had to want to hurt. I realized how terrifying it was — not because it was forbidden, but because deep down, I could mean it, if I let myself.

Avada Kedavra. I only practiced the incantation, never fully casting it. There were limits I wasn't ready to cross… yet.

Despite this, I wasn't consumed by the darkness. I studied it the same way a healer might study diseases — to understand, to be prepared. If there were wizards who would use these curses against me or those I cared for, then I would not face them unarmed.

My interest also grew in Magical Creatures. I took extra lessons with Professor Kettleburn, sometimes staying behind to ask questions most students wouldn't even consider. I wanted to know how to communicate with them, how to tame them, how to bond. Some beasts weren't just animals — they were living magic.

And then there were Potions. Slughorn took a liking to me, especially after I brewed a near-perfect Draught of Living Death on my first try. But I quickly outgrew the classroom recipes. I started modifying them, experimenting with combinations from old texts. Some mixtures produced unexpected results — one even turned my fingertips silver for a week. Another gave me night vision for a full day.

By the end of my fifth year, I had built a secret library of my own, hidden behind enchantments in an abandoned room beneath the castle. Only I could enter. It was my sanctuary. My lab. My temple.

To others, I was still Elliot Grey — a promising, curious student. But in truth… I was becoming something far more.

---