Many brilliant magicians and pioneering scholars, throughout history, have met their end not on a battlefield, but in their own secluded workshops, consumed by the unexpected, explosive backlash of their own half-formed spell prototypes. The path of magical innovation was, Anduin understood, littered with the remnants of failed experiments and the ashes of the overly ambitious.
The intricate process of spell development was far more than simply combining ancient runes. Once the Base Rune—the conceptual core—was established, and the Caster Runes were carefully arrayed around it, the matrix then had to be translated into a usable incantation according to the ancient, often forgotten, rune phonetic rules.
Moreover, for any spell of significant power or nuanced effect, the casting required the synchronized addition of precise hand gestures to help channel and shape the raw magical energy, giving it direction and form.
Then came the terrifyingly dangerous experimental casting phase. Developing magic, Anduin thought, was like drawing the blueprint for a complex, weight-bearing bridge on parchment; the real test was attempting to walk across the theoretical structure. Quirrell the Elder was currently mired deep within this tedious, high-risk stage.
The process demanded the tireless, painstaking fine-tuning of every variable: the exact geometric combination of the runes, the perfect rate of incantation delivery, the fluid integration of the wanded movements, and the precise moment of magical release. There was no room for error; a moment of distraction could turn the spell inward, with catastrophic consequences.
Anduin noticed that Quirrell's incantations this week were almost half a dozen syllables longer than his previous attempts, and his wand movements were noticeably more complex and angular.
Professor Flitwick, acting as an active advisor, offered several detailed suggestions for improving the spell's fluidity and stability by suggesting alternative hand positions that minimized kinetic energy loss. While the Strengthening Charm wasn't overly dangerous or complex in its intended effect, the sheer effort required to develop it confirmed Anduin's assessment of the difficulty.
He realized that developing new spells was exponentially harder than simply innovating the casting or application techniques for older, established spells, such as the highly refined Separation Charm that Vanessa, the current Slytherin Prefect, had been developing for her own projects.
Most spells, in their initial developmental phase, required extremely long incantations and elaborate, exhausting gestures that often only the developer could manage. As Quirrell continued, Anduin estimated that the final, perfected version of the Strengthening Charm might still be an entire, cumbersome sentence, far too unwieldy for practical, real-time use.
This necessity for complex verbal and physical scaffolding was why the true masters of the arcane arts eventually specialized in silent, wandless magic. This method bypassed the need for clumsy experimentation.
Instead, the wizard would internally craft the complete rune model within their mind, precisely balance the conflicting Caster Runes, and cast the spell directly, focusing pure, directed will at the target. This was the ultimate goal: bypassing the external, fallible mechanics of wand and voice.
But achieving that level of control required successful, repeatable experimentation first. Tragically, many fledgling spells were forever lost when their creators died—either in an explosion from an unbalanced matrix or through other magical mishaps—before the complex incantation and movement were fully developed and documented. The historical record was full of "lost spells" that existed only as half-finished rune sequences.
Back in the quiet sanctity of his dorm, the scent of earth and the smoky Tepo boar faintly lingering on his cloak, Anduin returned to his study plan, but not before eagerly pouring over Lily's forgotten research materials again. He first meticulously transcribed all of his day's findings on runic balance and spell development into a ciphered journal.
He then delved into Lily's manuscript. Her notes covered a comprehensive study of protective enchantments, including various sophisticated counter-jinxing methods. Most notably, she detailed her theory on applying stress spells to alchemical tools—a method of reinforcing equipment against magical degradation—and her increasingly detailed conjectures concerning the emotional protection spell she was clearly researching.
Within the sheaves of parchment, Anduin found the complex, optimized protective runes Lily had developed. He immediately recognized the sheer elegance of the structure. He surmised that these were the refined runes intended for the 'amulet'—the small, silver charm Lily had placed in his care. Intriguingly, there was no finished incantation recorded, supporting the idea that she might have developed the rune matrix specifically for embedding in an alchemical object, or perhaps as a mental, wandless projection, rather than a spoken spell.
Lily's text was explicit on a point that utterly fascinated Anduin: she asserted that the power of many defensive spells, whether cast directly or enchanted onto an object, could be significantly amplified by the intentional injection of emotions and deeply held feelings.
She stressed that positive emotions were uniquely effective; the strength of the caster's belief and the intensity of the feeling were directly proportional to the enchantment's defensive capability.
This explains everything, Anduin realized, referencing the talisman. There was no doubt that Lily had applied this same technique to the protective charm she had given him—imbuing it with her most profound feelings.
He then opened A Defense of Magical Theory to look up the rune formula describing the Ironclad Talisman, a powerful, general-purpose shield enchantment. Comparing it to Lily's manuscript, he found a profound structural resemblance.
Lily's rune was not a completely new invention but an enhanced version based on the ancient, foundational Iron-Clad Curse. He wondered about the true difference in power, especially when combined with the emotional amplification.
A curious thought struck him as he stared at a particular sequence of flowing runes: Could this enhanced rune project a corporeal, animal-based form when activated? And if so, why was there a faint, almost ethereal sketch of a deer lightly penciled into the margin of one of the pages?
Anduin reluctantly closed the book, setting the precious manuscript aside. "This is far beyond the scope of my current education," he sighed.
"The entire structure requires a fluency in Ancient Runes that I don't possess. I must not get ahead of myself." He reiterated the necessity of mastering the basic Charms curriculum first, recognizing that a solid foundation was essential before tackling the heights of Lily's work.
Over the next few weeks, Anduin adopted a strategy of total academic isolation. He was only seen in public for compulsory classes and scheduled meals.
His self-imposed withdrawal was necessary to allow him to fully immerse himself in his new goals: memorizing his textbooks, decoding Lily's Charms notes, and preparing the groundwork for his financial ventures.
Meanwhile, the simmering feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin had devolved into a full-scale, low-grade skirmish. The conflict was vicious and often ridiculous, taking the form of constant, petty attacks: students were hit with repeated Stinging Hexes in corridors, jinxed with Farting Spells during meal times, or targeted with synchronized volleys of Dung Bombs near the common room entrances.
The student body was polarized, and Professors McGonagall and Slughorn were visibly exhausted from the unending cycle of punishment and point deductions. However, these incidents remained largely confined to the older students—the third years and above—who were already deeply ingrained in the houses' rivalries.
Anduin paid them no mind. In his view, these were not wars; they were games played by children with no sense of actual risk. He was focused on the far more dangerous conflicts happening outside the castle walls, where the stakes were life, death, and political control—the rising threat of Death Eaters and the approaching First Wizarding War.
To be a relevant player in that arena, he needed real power, not proficiency in delivering a decent Bat-Bogey Hex.
When the weekend finally arrived, Anduin returned to Hagrid's hut for his second strategic culinary exchange. This time, he arrived bearing a roast of beef he had cleverly procured from the House Elves and, more importantly, a large, well-fed pot of his own Green Onion seedlings.
This was the official planting of his small plot—the first act of establishing his permanent magical-mundane base of operations. He also planned to use the Christmas holidays to make a necessary trip to London's Chinatown to restock his depleted supply of exotic spices and perhaps procure further seedlings and specialized kitchen tools.
Anduin and Hagrid sat outside, enjoying the cool, sharp autumn breeze, happily devouring the beef and a side of roasted potatoes. Joining them was the newest addition to the small, cozy homestead: the Swallowtail Dog puppy.
The cub was a curious, playful creature, small and fluffy, but already possessing a dense, charcoal-colored coat and, most strikingly, two distinct, elegant tails that moved with the grace of a ribbon dancer.
Hagrid had christened him "Rhen," hoping the name would invoke the majestic power of the mythical lion-dogs of legend. Anduin, however, privately preferred "Swallow," feeling the dog's dual, graceful tails made the name a far more accurate descriptor.
Hagrid had been horrified to learn from a contact in Hogsmeade that, if he were to live in the Muggle world, the Ministry of Magic would require one of Rhen's elegant tails to be surgically removed under their absurd classification laws for controlling Magical Creatures among Muggles.
Hagrid hugged the tiny puppy protectively, assuring Rhen that he would never allow such a barbaric act. Anduin merely smiled; Hagrid's profound innocence regarding the callousness of bureaucracy, magical or mundane, was truly touching.
It was during this satisfying, post-meal relaxation that Anduin received the crucial document he had been waiting for: the carefully transcribed price list of herbs and potions that Hagrid had gathered from various traders and vendors in Hogsmeade.
Anduin's eyes scanned the numbers, immediately engaging his analytical mind. He had finally moved from theory to practical commerce.
The most expensive entry, predictably, was Felix Felicis (Liquid Luck). Anduin quickly dismissed it. The demands on both the ingredients (rare and often guarded) and the immensely long brewing time made it unsuitable for a covert, profitable operation.
He then reviewed the standard Healing Potions: various Wound Remedies, Antidotes, and Blood Replenishing Tonics. Here, he had a moral and pragmatic dilemma. While the prices were good, he questioned the market for such clandestine potions. Aurors and the general, law-abiding wizarding populace could easily and safely acquire these from St. Mungo's or licensed apothecaries.
Who is the real market? Anduin mused. Those who cannot go to the licensed healers: Dark Wizards and, specifically, Death Eaters. They are the only ones who need a consistent, discreet, off-the-books supply of medical-grade potions.
Anduin immediately vetoed this category. Associating with or supplying Dark Wizards, however profitable, would put him on the wrong side of the coming conflict and invite a level of scrutiny and danger he was not ready for. His goal was independence, not recruitment into a terrorist cell.
He focused on the remaining potions—those that offered non-medical utility and were highly sought after across all social strata for their performance or social benefits.
The most promising list included:
Draught of Cheer (Euphoria Potion): Often in perennial high demand. A straightforward brew that induced feelings of lightheartedness and joy. Its clientele ranged from overworked Ministry employees to students needing a boost for exams. Low risk, high volume.
Waking Up Draught (Buffet Awakening Potion): Relatively simple, but more expensive due to its efficacy in warding off magical and natural fatigue. High demand among advanced students and those performing tedious work. Mid-range profit margin.
Veritaserum (Potion of Truth): Extremely difficult and legally controlled, but commanded a staggeringly high price. It was a high-risk, high-reward brew, often sought by private investigators or those seeking leverage. This was a specialty item, only to be pursued once his skills were unmatched.
Draught of Infinite Knowledge (Draught of Infinity): This was a powerful, rare potion (likely a slightly obscured version of an advanced concentration or memory solution). It was extremely demanding but offered the highest profit margins after Felix Felicis. It would be a game-changer if he could produce it.
Anduin circled the Draught of Cheer and the Waking Up Draught as his immediate, low-risk, volume-based targets. They required ingredients that might be procured from the edges of the Forbidden Forest or via Hagrid's services, and they presented a viable path to generating his initial, crucial investment capital. The price list was his ticket out of dependency; it was the blueprint for his financial sovereignty.
With his initial targets identified, Anduin must now acquire the necessary raw ingredients. How will he utilize his new garden plot and Hagrid's connection to navigate the dangers of the Forbidden Forest to source his first batch of potion ingredients?