Anduin continued his internal audit of the fundamental mechanics of magical ability, dissecting the abstract concepts into quantifiable, actionable components.
His current understanding dictated that Magic Reserves—the sheer capacity of raw magical energy available to a wizard—were inextricably linked to physiological development. This meant they naturally increased with age, much like physical stature or lung capacity.
However, he had identified two major accelerators: rigorous physical exercise, which strengthened the bodily conduit for magic, and the consumption of ingredients derived from powerful magical creatures. He recalled the palpable surge of magical abundance he had experienced after consuming Hagrid's illicitly cooked dragon liver.
It hadn't just been a temporary rush; it felt like a permanent, albeit small, catalytic boost to his magical baseline. This small but critical data point confirmed a key strategic theory: he could actively engineer his reserves through bio-magical ingestion. Anduin made a mental note to cultivate a relationship with Hagrid.
It would be a calculated, strategic friendship—a means to occasionally secure more such 'ingredients' under the guise of casual visits and companionship. The possibility of regular, small doses of powerful magical components was too valuable to ignore.
The Power of Magic—the intensity and force behind a cast spell—was, as recorded in numerous spellbooks, influenced most strongly by the wizard's willpower and emotional state. The folklore that angry or highly emotional casters often unleashed more potent magic held true, and it was why many dark wizards, consumed by destructive passions, found mastering Dark Arts easier.
However, Anduin saw willpower not as raw rage, but as disciplined, cold focus. Wizards noted for strong willpower often cast spells that were remarkably stable and resilient—resistant to counter-spells or dissipation.
For Anduin, a person whose entire existence was predicated on an unyielding, almost terrifying self-control, this was a massive advantage. His willpower was not emotional; it was the cold, analytical refusal to fail, which translated into exceptionally stable and predictable magical output.
His spells might lack the wild, chaotic destructiveness of an enraged caster, but they possessed a surgical, unshakeable finality.
Finally, he formalized the concept of Magical Sensitivity, an idea he had first gleaned from Professor Flitwick's introductory lectures. This was the most nuanced of the three elements. Thanks to his relentless martial arts training, his meditative practices, and his intense, prolonged focus on the Levitation Charm in his past, Anduin now understood what he was experiencing.
It was not just better aim; it was a fundamental increase in his ability to perceive and finely manipulate the flow of ambient and internal magic. Strengthening his body, through exercise, effectively thickened the magical nervous system, enhancing the connection between the magical core and the physical extremities.
Meditation cleared the mental static, improving his reception of magical currents. The intense, prolonged practice of a single spell kept the magical circuit hot, active, and efficient. All three methods acted synergistically, deepening his ability to sense, control, and ultimately, design magic.
He resolved to maintain this comprehensive training triad. The extensive, vacant subterranean spaces beneath the Slytherin dormitory were sufficient for his private physical and magical exercises. Before commencing Phase 1 of his spell acquisition—learning the common charms from his collected textbooks—he would further solidify his financial strategy.
The end of the second week brought with it an encounter that abruptly shifted his financial timeline. After a particularly inspiring Charms lesson, Anduin approached Professor Flitwick about the specialized publication he had mentioned.
"Ah, the Century of Charms," Flitwick chirped, looking up at Anduin with his customary enthusiasm.
"A fine publication indeed, a monthly journal. We keep a copy in the Hogwarts Library, yes, but there is always a considerable delay—about six months, I'm afraid. This is a common practice to protect the publisher's direct sales. But the content, even from past issues, is quite good. I myself have the honour of handling some editing and technical review for it."
"I understand, Professor, thank you," Anduin responded. "But if I am to remain strategically competitive, a six-month delay is unacceptable. What would be the procedure for a direct subscription to the current run of Century of Charms?"
Flitwick's eyes brightened further, interpreting Anduin's concern as a sign of impressive intellectual ambition.
"An excellent initiative! A subscription is quite feasible. A full year's subscription to Century of Charms runs to twenty-four Galleons. It is not inexpensive, certainly—two Galleons per issue—but the cutting-edge research and newly developed charms are worth the cost for a truly dedicated student. If you wish to subscribe, simply remit the funds to me, and I can arrange the subscription immediately with the publisher."
Anduin's mind performed a rapid calculation. Twenty-four Galleons. He only spent five Sickles for a daily subscription to the Daily Prophet—a paper published every day—while this, a monthly journal, cost two Galleons per issue.
It was equivalent to the cost of a high-quality, hardbound textbook. The expense was substantially higher than he had budgeted for, yet the strategic value of remaining current with the very latest developments in Charms—his primary focus—was non-negotiable.
"Professor," Anduin stated, his hesitation vanishing, replaced by cold resolve. "Please subscribe to a full year for me. And if it's possible, could you also procure the last six months' backlog? I must have a complete set for my studies."
Flitwick beamed, instantly calculating the total. "An ambitious order! That would be an additional twelve Galleons for the half-year backlog. Thirty-six Galleons in total, then. A worthy investment, Mr. Wilson."
Anduin handed over the thirty-six Galleons without a flicker of emotion, but as the gold coins left his palm, a sharp, alarming sense of emptiness settled in his gut. The transaction had instantly depleted a significant portion of the precious, hard-won cash he had exchanged from the Muggle world.
Thirty-six Galleons. The total amount was almost a third of his Gringotts exchange limit. This could not continue.
"This accelerating expense is unsustainable," he thought, leaving the Charms classroom. "My capital is finite, and my needs are expanding exponentially. I need to activate my contingency plan immediately. The potions project is no longer a long-term goal; it is an urgent financial imperative."
Instead of heading directly to the Great Hall for the evening meal, Anduin made a decisive detour. He was heading for the upper-year Potions classrooms, not for study, but for unauthorized inventory acquisition.
He had previously and successfully executed similar raids in the Charms and Transfiguration sections, securing valuable old textbooks with minimal fuss. However, doing the same for Potions posed a psychological hurdle: Professor Slughorn was his Head of House.
Violating the sanctity of Slughorn's private domain felt like a direct breach of the patronage the professor had so lavishly extended. The thought caused a brief, unfamiliar twinge of ethical conflict, quickly overridden by strategic necessity. His survival was more important than decorum.
Executing his plan with characteristic efficiency, he arrived in the dungeons and quickly located the sixth-year Potions classroom. He had already systematically cleaned out the old supply cupboards of the second- through fifth-year classrooms in the previous weeks.
During one such foray into the fourth-year stores, he had discovered a deeply valuable prize: a detailed, handwritten recipe for a powerful Truth Potion (Veritaserum), tucked away in a disintegrating, forgotten textbook. That single find underscored the vast, untapped value of these neglected archives.
Now, he was after the sixth-year secrets.
He smoothly cast a low-level, silent lockpicking charm he had developed specifically for mundane security systems, and the heavy cupboard door silently clicked open. The air inside smelled strongly of dust and old parchment.
The textbooks within had barely been touched in decades, their uniformity due to the ancient, unchanging Hogwarts curriculum. He recognized the title immediately: Advanced Potion Making. The author was Libatius Borage.
Anduin began his systematic search, quickly flipping through the contents of several copies. Many were pristine, useless copies. Then, his fingers brushed against a textbook with a noticeably worn cover, its edges softened and its spine cracked. He pulled it out, and his heart gave a slight, analytical jerk of satisfaction.
The pages within were not just marked; they were densely saturated with annotations, marginalia, substitutions, and suggested, complex modifications. The sheer volume of handwriting dwarfed the notes found in Lily's old spellbook, and the quality of the technical critique was immediately evident.
It was a treasure map of advanced alchemical shortcuts and operational improvements, a complete re-engineering of the textbook's content. Every formula was scrutinized, every method optimized. Anduin felt the familiar thrill of finding a cheat sheet for the universe.
Finding such a book was not merely luck; it was a fundamental shift in his learning trajectory, equivalent to receiving a private, master-level apprenticeship.
He quickly turned to the inside front cover to identify the former owner—to assess the source of this unexpected tactical gift. Scribbled across the top in elegant but slightly arrogant handwriting, was the name:
This book belongs to the Half-Blood Prince.
Anduin paused, a faint, almost imperceptible frown crossing his lips. The "Half-Blood Prince." The self-appointed title immediately struck him as overtly pompous, a throwback to the digital arrogance he remembered from his previous life—the era of "Dark Lord X" or "Prince of Solitude Y" usernames on early internet forums like QQ.
Only a wizard with an inflated sense of self-importance would bestow such a title upon himself and write it inside a school textbook.
Yet, arrogance aside, the notes contained within were irrefutable proof of a genius-level understanding of the subject. Whoever this "Prince" was, he was a master alchemist and a ruthless efficiency expert.
Anduin wasted no time on further internal dialogue. He had found his prize. The arrogant, self-proclaimed Prince's annotated textbook was far more valuable than the entire six-month subscription to Century of Charms he had just purchased.
He tucked the heavily annotated Advanced Potion Making under his arm, secured the cupboard with a fresh locking charm to ensure the integrity of the remaining stock, and silently melted back into the shadows of the dungeon corridors, his urgent need for financial and alchemical power now temporarily assuaged by the promise held within the Prince's meticulous, ego-driven script.
With the Prince's book in hand, Anduin now possesses the potential for rapid, high-level skill acquisition in Potions. How will he integrate this new, powerful knowledge into his tactical system, and how soon will he dare to start his illicit potion enterprise?