Harry Potter: The Progenitor Of Dark Arts

One month after Draco's birthday party, the wizarding world was set abuzz by a groundbreaking publication. A research paper appeared in The Potioneer's Quarterly, detailing a significant improvement to the Antidote to Veritaserum, one of the most complex and advanced potions in existence. What made the paper extraordinary was not just the improvement itself, but the names attached to it. The credit for the discovery went to Dante Malfoy, a seven-year-old boy, while the testing and validation were conducted by Severus Snape, the renowned Potions Master and Hogwarts professor.

The reaction was swift and divided. Skeptics dismissed the paper outright, accusing Snape of fabricating the results to curry favor with the Malfoy family. "A child improving a potion of this caliber? Absurd!" wrote one critic in The Daily Prophet. Others, however, were more open-minded. "Perhaps the boy inspired Snape," suggested an anonymous commentator in Witch Weekly. "Children often see solutions we adults overlook."

Dante, for his part, remained utterly indifferent to the uproar. He had no interest in fame or recognition. His mind was already occupied with other matters. The Malfoy library, vast and extensive as it was, had been exhausted. Every book, every scroll, every scrap of knowledge had been consumed by his insatiable intellect. Lucius had done his best to procure new materials, but even the Malfoy fortune and connections had their limits.

It was during this time that Dante's thoughts turned to his past life. He had been an alchemist then, delving into the mysteries of life and death. His work had been opposed by none other than Nicolas Flamel, the so-called immortal alchemist. Flamel had condemned Dante's methods as vile, despite the fact that his own Philosopher's Stone had been created through the sacrifice of thousands. The hypocrisy had always amused Dante, though he had never bothered to confront Flamel directly. Back then, his focus had been on his ultimate goal—mastering death itself.

Now, as he sat in the quiet of his study, Dante wondered if Flamel was still alive. The man had been ancient even in Dante's last life, and the thought of him still walking the earth was both amusing and irritating. But Dante had no intention of seeking him out. His current interests lay elsewhere.

His eyes drifted to the stack of potion-making books on his desk. Potions had never been his primary focus, but they were a field ripe for exploration. With a few years to spare before he could attend Hogwarts—a fact that still annoyed him—he decided to dedicate some time to the craft. After all, knowledge was knowledge, and every discipline had its uses.

When he informed Lucius of his decision, the man immediately arranged for a dedicated potion-making space in the manor. To Dante's mild surprise, Severus Snape offered to assist him. "A child should not be handling such volatile substances unsupervised," Snape had said, his tone as dry as ever. "And with Hogwarts on summer break, I have the time."

Dante didn't object. Snape was a capable potioneer, and having an assistant—even one as prickly as Snape—would expedite his experiments. Thus began their collaboration.

At first, Snape was skeptical. Dante's methods were unorthodox, his knowledge seemingly drawn from outdated texts. But as the weeks turned into months, Snape's skepticism gave way to astonishment. Dante's skill evolved at an alarming rate. What began as clumsy, unrefined attempts quickly transformed into masterful precision. Theories that Snape had never considered were proposed, tested, and refined with startling efficiency. By the end of the first year, Snape found himself struggling to keep up.

"How?" Snape had asked one evening, after a particularly complex experiment had succeeded beyond expectations.

Dante had simply shrugged. "Knowledge is cumulative. The old texts provided a foundation. The rest… is adaptation."

Snape didn't press further, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than that. Dante's brilliance was unnatural, even for a prodigy. But Snape, ever the pragmatist, chose to focus on the work. Together, they pushed the boundaries of potion-making, publishing several papers to improve different potions; the rate of publishing papers sent shockwaves through the wizarding world. Each one credited Dante as the primary author, with Snape listed as the validator. The boy's reputation, whether he wanted it or not, continued to grow.

Life continued in this manner for Dante—potion-making, studying, and the occasional social gathering. He also took an active role in preparing Draco for the future, much to Lucius's relief. The younger Malfoy was shaping up to be a capable heir, though he paled in comparison to his older brother.

On Dante's ninth birthday, he posed a question that caught Lucius off guard. "Why hasn't my Hogwarts letter arrived yet?"

Lucius hesitated before answering. "The age of admission was changed from nine to eleven… around three hundred years ago."

Dante sighed, clearly annoyed. "Of course it was."

Not long after his birthday, Dante encountered a problem. A rare ingredient required for his latest experiment proved impossible to procure, even with the Malfoy's vast resources. It was then that Dante made a decision.

"I need to go to Egypt," he told Lucius one evening.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Egypt?"

"I have an old stash there," Dante explained. "It contains materials I may need."

Lucius didn't ask for details. He had long since learned not to question Dante's decisions. Within days, the Malfoy family had scheduled a sudden trip to Egypt, much to Narcissa's surprise and Draco's delight.

__________

The Malfoy family's trip to Egypt was, by all accounts, a great experience. They marveled at the towering pyramids, explored the bustling markets, and indulged in the rich flavors of local cuisine. Even Dante, who typically viewed such excursions with detached indifference, found himself experiencing nostalgia. He couldn't help but compare the present to the distant past. The pyramids, once majestic and pristine, now bore the scars of time—their surfaces weathered and worn, their grandeur diminished but not entirely lost. It was a poignant reminder of the impermanence of even the greatest achievements.

Draco, wide-eyed and enthusiastic, soaked in every moment, while Narcissa enjoyed the rare opportunity to relax as a family. Lucius played the role of guide, though his mind often wandered to the true purpose of their trip. 

When night fell and the others retired to their rooms, Dante approached Lucius. "It's time," he said simply. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out of the hotel, Lucius following close behind.

They apparated to a secluded spot not far from the Great Pyramid. The desert stretched endlessly around them, the moonlight casting an eerie glow over the sands. Lucius watched as Dante closed his eyes, his hand outstretched as if sensing something invisible. After a moment, Dante began to walk, his steps deliberate and measured. Lucius followed, his curiosity growing with each passing minute.

Nearly thirty minutes later, Dante stopped. He raised his hand, and the sand around them began to swirl, forming a small cyclone that vanished into the ground. Beneath the shifting sands, a stone staircase was revealed, leading deep into the earth. Without hesitation, Dante descended, Lucius trailing behind with a mix of awe and trepidation.

"How old is this place?" Lucius asked, his voice echoing in the narrow passage.

"I built it nearly 5,500 years ago," Dante replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "In my third life, I was fascinated by the creation of magical creatures. Many of the parts and creatures I created are stored here."

Lucius nodded dumbly, his mind struggling to process the magnitude of what he was hearing. The creation of magical creatures was no small topic and the fact that Dante seems to have succeeded spoke volumes of his abilities even back then.

As they ventured deeper, Dante placed his hand on the wall, and it lit up with strange, unrecognizable symbols. Lucius' curiosity only grew. "How has no one discovered this place before?"

Dante glanced back at him. "I used the souls of one hundred elves to create an eternal illusion protecting this tomb. Magic born from burning souls of magical beings is far stronger and longer-lasting than ordinary spells."

Lucius felt a chill run down his spine. The casual way Dante spoke of such dark magic was unnerving. He had never heard of such magic but the fact it uses souls as source of power makes it without a doubt one of the darkest arts to ever be created.

Swallowing his unease, Lucius asked another question. "Were you… famous in that era?"

Dante paused, then nodded. "My name still lives to this day. I was called Herpo the Foul."

Lucius froze, his blood turning to ice. Herpo the Foul—the first known Dark Wizard, the creator of the Basilisk, and a figure of legend and terror.

Dante continued, seemingly unfazed by Lucius's reaction. "There's a mistake in the recorded history. I lived as Herpo in Egypt, but I spread my research during my fourth life in ancient Greece. The Greeks were the ones who recorded my name and deeds."

Lucius could only nod, his thoughts a whirlwind of shock and disbelief. He had always known Dante was extraordinary, but this… this was beyond anything he could have imagined. The man—no, the being—before him was not just an ancient dark wizard. He was the true origin of the dark arts.

They soon reached the heart of the tomb, and Lucius's breath caught in his throat. The chamber was vast, its walls lined with shelves and jars containing an array of magical artifacts and creatures. Skeletons of unknown beasts hung from the ceiling, their forms both fascinating and terrifying. In one corner, Lucius spotted a jar containing phoenix feathers and ashes, their red-golden glow undimmed by the passage of time. Elsewhere, creatures he had never seen before floated in preservation jars, their forms twisted and otherworldly.

Lucius couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. This was no mere collection—it was a testament to Dante's unparalleled knowledge and power. The legacy of the oldest dark wizard was something even the most ancient and prestigious houses could not hope to rival.

Dante walked closer to the middle of the room. A set of bones lying on the ground rose into the air, forming the skeleton of a python with six wings. Lucius couldn't tell if it was some kind of winged snake or if bones were missing from the structure.

Dante extended his hand calmly. The skeleton began to glow, and the light left the creature, flowing into Dante's body. He glowed faintly for a moment before returning to normal. The bones fell to the ground as if nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, Dante began moving through the chamber, selecting various ingredients and artifacts. Lucius watched in silence, his mind still reeling from what he had just witnessed. The light he had seen leaving the creature and entering Dante's body was the same as the light from his ring years ago. Lucius recalled Dante saying the ring carried a portion of his soul. Was it the same here? And what purpose did it serve?

Once Dante was done, he turned to look at Lucius.

"This will suffice for now."

Lucius nodded, his usual eloquence failing him. As they ascended the staircase and the sand closed behind them, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had glimpsed something far greater—and far darker—than he had ever imagined.