The Morning After — Hogwarts
The Great Hall buzzed with an undercurrent of unease. The whispers from last night had not died — if anything, they had multiplied like a dark plague spreading through the veins of the school.
Students exchanged wary glances, their voices hushed as if speaking louder might summon the shadow lurking in every corner.
"He's here," a Hufflepuff girl said, clutching her breakfast plate like a shield. "Death… walking like a man. And he's not just any man."
A Ravenclaw boy nodded grimly. "They say he's the real deal — not some ghost story. The Reaper himself. And he's teaching us now."
From the Slytherin table, sneers mixed with nervous glances. "Death's favorite playground," muttered a pale boy. "And Voldemort's worst nightmare."
Across the hall, Gryffindors straightened their backs, a mix of fear and something darker — a challenge — settling like cold steel in their veins.
The impact was undeniable. Hogwarts was no longer just a school of magic and whimsy. It was a battleground — a crucible where survival meant mastering the art of death.
Hallways and Classrooms
In corridors lined with ancient stone, students moved faster, eyes darting to shadows that seemed to stretch too long, to corners darker than memory.
Rumors spread: Daniel's presence was changing the very air. His footsteps echoed with finality. His gaze, when caught, was like cold fire burning through flesh and bone.
In the classrooms, the usual lessons felt hollow, overshadowed by what was coming. Whispers of the next class circulated like wildfire.
"The Death Master's lesson," a seventh-year whispered, voice low and trembling. "Imperius, Cruciatus, Avada… but not the kind you've heard."
"He teaches control. Precision. Clean endings."
"But is it even right? To learn to kill like that?"
A first-year shook her head. "He said something… about innocent souls and corruption. About clean death and honor in the darkness."
Next Class — The Chamber of Shadows
Daniel stood at the center, cloak swirling like smoke, eyes piercing every soul in the room. The silence was total — not a single breath disturbed the charged atmosphere.
He began, voice low and commanding:
"You think death is the end. You think killing stains your soul. That's a lie fed to you to keep you weak."
He paced slowly, each word hitting like a blade.
"The truth: the death of innocence corrupts the soul. But a clean death — a swift, deliberate end — frees both the taker and the taken."
The students shifted uncomfortably, some nodding, others biting their lips to hold back fear or doubt.
Harry, calm as ever, watched with steady eyes — the warrior Daniel molded, the child who had already faced more darkness than most.
Daniel's gaze settled on him for a heartbeat longer, then continued.
"You will learn to wield the unforgivable spells. Imperius, Cruciatus, Avada Kedavra — but not as mindless tools of destruction. You will learn control, discipline, the art of a death that is quick and clean."
A Slytherin girl raised her hand, curiosity and apprehension flickering in her eyes.
"How do we protect ourselves from these curses? From death itself?"
Daniel's smile was a blade, cold and precise.
"That's what this class is for. To survive, you must learn to dance with death — and sometimes, to lead."
The weight of his words settled like a shroud.
Outside, the castle seemed to hold its breath.
Hogwarts had changed. Forever.
Daniel's Dark Arts Class — The Chamber of Shadows
Daniel's voice cut through the silence, sharp as a scythe slicing the mist.
"I'm not here to teach you just how to cast spells that end life," he said, pacing slowly, eyes scanning every face. "You will learn to disarm. To vanish. To hide in plain sight when the darkness closes in."
He stopped, folding his arms, and a slow, cold smile curved his lips.
"But remember this — your soul is not stained by every death you cause. The corruption, the rot, the real poison — it comes only when you kill the innocent."
He let that sink in, watching the flicker of reactions.
"The so-called 'innocent'—they're sacred. But the others… the ones you call 'sinners', or if you prefer, 'Death's contractors' — those fools are not mine."
Daniel's smile deepened, the first time anyone had seen his humor surface.
"They belong to the chaos. The mess. And I don't claim what's already lost."
A Ravenclaw student, skeptical but curious, raised a hand.
"Master Daniel, how do we know who is truly innocent? Who decides?"
Daniel's eyes darkened, the weight of aeons settling on his shoulders.
"That's the eternal question, isn't it? Morality is a blade with two edges. But you — you will learn to see through the lies. To understand who walks in the shadows willingly, and who is dragged into the dark."
He paced again, his voice dropping to a whisper, drawing them closer.
"And when you face those 'contractors of death', you will know: they are not your enemy — they are your warning."
The room held its breath.
Daniel's tone shifted — colder, sharper.
"And make no mistake — survival is not about mercy. It's about control."
He turned, sweeping his cloak dramatically, the firelight flickering over his face.
"Next lesson — how to vanish from a curse, how to turn your shadow into your ally."
He raised a hand, and in an instant, the shadows in the room writhed and stretched, creeping up the walls like living things.
"The true art of death is not just to take life, but to keep yours."
The students sat, stunned, caught between fear and fascination.
Harry, eyes steady as ever, whispered to himself, "This is the way."