Although Phineas's frenzy for earning house points didn't end his isolation, most professors began to express a friendly recognition toward this student who took his studies seriously, avoided trouble, and actively corrected his mistakes.
Even some of the older Slytherin students no longer went out of their way to target him.
This shift surprised Phineas.
Of course, some professors remained unchanged in their attitudes—especially his own Head of House, Professor Snape. As the Head of Slytherin, Snape should have been the least likely to target him.
Yet the truth was the opposite. Snape was particularly harsh with Phineas. Even when Phineas made no mistakes, Snape found reasons to scold him. Still, Snape never deducted house points from him—after all, they were in the same house.
Phineas wasn't surprised by Snape's behavior.
After all, he and Sirius were born of the same family, and naturally bore a striking resemblance.
Sirius not only tormented Snape during their school years—nearly killing him once—but also, in Snape's eyes, was responsible for the death of Lily Potter, the woman he loved most. Phineas knew Sirius hadn't truly done it, but Snape didn't. The fact that Snape never attacked Phineas outright was likely the limit of his restraint as a professor.
"Chocolate, what do you think I should do?"
Phineas sat in the single-seated armchair near the dormitory window, talking to his cat, Chocolate.
In his isolation, Chocolate was his closest companion. Even reading had become difficult—he had to borrow books through Madam Pince in the library because when he entered in person, students whispered cruel things about him. Though Madam Pince often intervened, the murmurs persisted. In the end, Madam Pince reluctantly banned Phineas from entering altogether, offering an exception: he could still borrow as many books as needed.
It was meant to protect the peace of the library, but in some ways, it was also a quiet act of kindness toward Phineas. Still, the result left him feeling more alone.
"Oh, look who it is—our noble Mr. Black. Kicked out of the library, were you? Maybe you should go cry to the Ministry of Magic, say Madam Pince bullied you!"
The sneering, guttural voice came from behind. It was Marcus Flint, a second-year Slytherin. Taller and rougher than most boys his age, he gave off a sense of malice.
Phineas often wondered if he had troll blood in him—how else could someone so naturally provoke irritation?
Phineas had already been in a sour mood after the library incident, despite understanding Madam Pince's reasoning. Now Marcus's taunts were a perfect storm for his brewing frustration.
His right arm shot forward; fingers flicked open. From a hidden slot inside his sleeve, his wand leapt into his hand.
This was the latest item from Madam Malkin's robe shop—a magical mechanism sewn into the wizarding robe to quickly draw one's wand in battle.
Phineas had ordered numerous customized robes from her, so he'd received this device as soon as it was released.
After some testing, Phineas found it worked well, and began carrying it always.
Now, it was finally useful.
He moved so swiftly that Marcus and his cronies didn't even notice the wand until it was already in his grip.
A sharp flick—and the two tapestries beside the library entrance twisted into ropes, lashing out and wrapping Marcus tightly.
"What are you doing?!"
Marcus and the others panicked. They had mocked Phineas before, counting on the school rule against spellcasting in hallways to protect them. After all, this was the boy who had easily defeated several students during the Sorting Ceremony. Without rules, they wouldn't dare cross him.
But now, with Phineas clearly breaking the rule and retaliating, fear overtook them. They were, after all, only twelve years old. Some of them even began to cry.
"Pathetic," Phineas muttered, curling his lip in contempt.
To think these were Slytherins—the house of ambition and cunning. Instead, they were muscle-headed cowards.
With a flick of his wand, he levitated Marcus and his crew to the side of the hallway, ignoring their blubbering. Behind him, the books he'd borrowed floated serenely as he made his way toward the Slytherin common room.
Word of the incident spread through Hogwarts like wildfire. The students quickly realized: the Black they had been mocking and excluding was actually a powerful wizard. And, more importantly, he had been holding back.
A wave of relief swept through the student body. They were lucky. Lucky they hadn't pushed him further.
Though Phineas's isolation remained, no one dared trip him, mock him, or whisper insults anymore.
This change left Phineas a bit bewildered.
His hard work earning points had won over most of the professors—but it hadn't changed the students' attitudes.
Yet one moment of spellcasting in anger had shifted everything.
Even Dumbledore was shaken by the event. He had expected Phineas might act out eventually, but he had hoped for a different resolution.
Dumbledore's original plan was for Phineas to endure isolation, fall into despair, and then be lifted by a kind hand—perhaps a professor's guidance or a carefully placed gesture of support. Then, Phineas would discover love and connection.
After all, he was an orphan. And Dumbledore couldn't help but think of another brilliant, lonely orphan—Tom Riddle.
But this incident shattered that hope.
Instead of reaching for love, Phineas had found power.
Instead of seeking kindness, he had struck with force.
And now Dumbledore feared that in learning how easily he could silence opposition, Phineas might begin to act recklessly—just as another young wizard once had.
The second coming of Grindelwald, perhaps.