The morning dawned over the Slytherin dungeon, not with bright sunshine, but with the cool, aquatic light filtered through the thick glass of the lake. It was Saturday, a day blessedly free of classes.
Alister woke before Enzo, silently packing his rune books and the charred remnants of his failed experiments into his expanded pocket.
Alister was halfway through his toast when a sudden commotion erupted from the Gryffindor table. It wasn't the usual boisterous laughter; this was a loud, panicked clamor.
He looked up to see two identical, lanky, red-haired figures—the notorious Weasley twins, Fred and George—standing innocently near the end of their table. The source of the mayhem was a bowl of what appeared to be perfectly normal, fluffy muffins.
However, a group of unsuspecting third-years who had just taken bites were now experiencing a highly localized, highly visible magical effect: their faces had momentarily inflated to the size and texture of giant boulders, grey and rocky.
One unfortunate older student tried to speak, but his voice came out as a series of muffled, gravelly squeaks. He looked absolutely petrified, his eyes huge against his hard, grey face. The twins quickly—and with remarkable smoothness—tried to blend back into the crowd, their expressions saintly.
The hall exploded in reaction. Half the students shrieked with laughter while the Gryffindors yelled at the twins.
Professor McGonagall, who had been sipping her pumpkin juice, shot up from the head table, her face thunderous.
"Fred and George Weasley!" McGonagall's voice sliced through the noise. "An unauthorized, highly unstable magical confectionery is not only dangerous, but an absolute breach of school rules! Detention for both of you this Sunday, and twenty points from Gryffindor!"
Alister watched the two redheads being marched out of the hall by a disgruntled prefect. They were still managing to smirk, a defiance that was utterly alien to the fear most students displayed.
"Worth it," Fred muttered just loud enough for Alister to hear.
That single phrase resonated with something deep within Alister. In his past life, he had valued competence and strength, but above all, he respected purposeful action. Not reckless foolishness, but calculated risk. These twins, facing immediate and certain punishment, had found their objective—the laughter, the chaos, the experience—worth the cost. It was a philosophy Alister understood deeply: actions must have a purpose, and if the goal is achieved, the price is merely a transaction.
They were the kind of people who would dare to push boundaries, to challenge established order—a trait Alister would need for the grand changes he planned for the wizarding world.
He finished his meal, deciding that his schedule for today had just been updated. After his visit to Hagrid, he would need to find a way to get acquainted with the Weasley twins.
Alister headed out across the grounds. The air was cool and damp, carrying the earthy scent of the Forbidden Forest. He walked with purpose toward the small, rustic silhouette of Hagrid's hut.
He reached the front door and executed a firm, single knock. The resulting chaos inside the hut was instant and total.
A ferocious BARK! that sounded like a small cannon firing erupted from within, followed by the scrambling of heavy paws and a loud CRASH!—the sound of furniture meeting the floor.
"Stop it, Fang! Down, boy, down! Oh, for the love of—" Hagrid's booming voice, thick with exasperation, followed the ruckus.
The heavy plank door was yanked inward, revealing the giant, slightly flustered figure of the groundskeeper. His long black beard was sprinkled with what looked like rock-cake crumbs, and his face was red from exertion.
He was firmly braced against the doorframe, wrestling a massive, slobbery boarhound named Fang. The dog's tail was wagging with destructive enthusiasm, its jowls pulled back in a silent, happy grin, entirely contradicting the terrifying noise it had just made.
"Alister! Sorry 'bout the mess," Hagrid rumbled, straining to hold Fang back. The dog was putting serious effort into leaping past Hagrid's legs and launching himself onto the visitor. "Fang's not used to visitors on a Saturday mornin'. He just wants to lick ye to death."
Alister stepped quickly aside, avoiding Fang's eager lunge. The hut was warm and smelled strongly of woodsmoke, damp dog hair, and burnt sugar.
"He's very... energetic," Alister observed calmly, his eyes scanning the hut.
His expression, usually steady and controlled, twitched slightly. To the untrained eye, the hut was just a mess of clutter, but Alister's knowledge of Runes and Potions made the room glow with hidden value.
A thick, off-white bundle of unicorn hair was tangled on a chair leg. A chunk of dark, gleaming wood—clearly cut from a magically potent tree like ancient oak or yew—far superior to Alister's store-bought lumber, was being used as a simple doorstop. And hanging casually over the mantelpiece was a thick, reptilian hide that Alister instantly recognized from his research as dragon hide, likely from a young, smaller breed.
Alister had memorized the Gringotts price lists. Even a small amount of unicorn hair or dragon hide sold for astonishing prices on the magical market. To see these components, which would cost a small fortune and were crucial for advanced enchanting, scattered around as mere household items was stunning.
Hagrid, the simple, kind-hearted groundskeeper, was sitting on a treasure trove of rare materials whose value he either didn't fully realize or simply didn't care about. Alister quickly locked down his involuntary reaction, ensuring his expression returned to neutral earnestness.
"Energetic is one word for it," Hagrid muttered, managing to secure Fang's collar to a hook near the door.
"Come in, come in! Don't just stand there in the doorway!" Hagrid gestured broadly with an arm the size of a fence post. "I've got some rock cakes fresh out of the oven. Sit yerself down."
Alister stepped into the hut. He chose a spot on a massive, sagging sofa made of what looked like patched leather—likely dragon hide—and sat carefully.
Hagrid lumbered over to a small, rickety table laden with a plate of dark, suspiciously lumpy baked goods. "Here ye go," he said, pushing the plate toward Alister. "Fresh batch!"
Alister reached out and picked up one of the "cakes." His fingers immediately registered the texture: it was less like baked goods and more like a piece of dry granite. The weight was astonishing, and it was cold to the touch—unnervingly dense.
The Ascension System immediately chimed in with a silent assessment.
[Consumption is ill-advised; high risk of dental fracture.]
Alister's expression twitched involuntarily. The corner of his mouth pulled down in a micro-expression of sheer disbelief that he quickly masked by turning the object over in his hand. He understood now why Hagrid was so physically imposing; only someone with giant blood could chew through these without requiring a magical dentist.
"They look... substantial," Alister managed, his voice even. He carefully set the rock cake down on a napkin.
Hagrid beamed, completely oblivious. "They're a bit crunchy, that's all. Good for the constitution!" He then took a massive bite of his own cake, chewing with the slow, deliberate action of a stone grinder.
Hagrid focused his attention back on Alister. "Right. Now, what brings ye all the way out here, Alister?"
Alister knew this was the moment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ruined piece of wood—the one that had charred and split under the stress of his triple-rune synthesis. He placed it on the table next to the highly dangerous edible substance.
He pushed the charred wood forward. "I was practicing with runes," he explained. "But every time the array reaches full resonance, this happens. The wood simply can't hold the spell's complexity. It lacks the magical density needed for stability."
Alister continued, allowing a note of genuine frustration to enter his voice. "I realized that I need materials that can naturally channel and stabilize complex magic—things like wood from ancient magical trees or components from magical creatures. The school doesn't provide these, and I can't find them in Diagon Alley's general stores."
Hagrid nodded slowly, his eyes already drifting around his own hut, treating the rare magical components scattered everywhere like common tools.
He let out a casual, dismissive huff, as if this was the most common problem in the world. "Ah, I've got bits of things layin' around. Dragon scales that shed, broken chunks of old wand cores, feathers that fall off a good Hippogriff now and then." He looked at the massive shed dragon hide used as a rug near the fire and seemed to decide it was too large for a first-year.
"Tell me what ye need, Alister," Hagrid said, his eyes twinkling with generosity. "Proper magic shouldn't be held back by simple wood."
He lumbered over to a dusty corner of the hut and began to rummage through a towering pile of sacks and barrels. After a moment of clattering and rustling, he emerged with a small leather pouch that looked like it had once held marbles.
"Here," Hagrid said, handing the pouch to Alister. "This is just a few bits of stuff I picked up. There's a couple of Thunderbird feathers I found after a storm, a few pieces of Ashwood from a tree near the Forest that's proper old, and a few phoenix feather sheddings. They ain't much, but they should be strong enough to hold yer experiments."
Alister took the pouch, feeling its significant weight and the subtle thrum of pure magical energy. The estimated market value made the gold in his Gringotts vault look paltry by comparison.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Alister said with profound and heartfelt gratitude.
"Don't ye worry about it," Hagrid waved his large hand dismissively. "And listen, I've got to head into the Forbidden Forest tomorrow to check on a few creatures—got a few other things I need to collect while I'm out there, too. If ye run out of these bits, just come by next Saturday. I'll have a few more things laid aside for yer studying."
"I will," Alister promised, giving a respectful nod. "Thank you for your help."
He carefully placed the pouch of magical components into his expanded pocket. The next phase of his rune mastery could officially begin.
Alister rose from the sagging sofa, exchanged a final wave, and stepped out of the warm, cluttered hut into the cool morning air.
Alister started back toward the castle, the precious pouch secure in his pocket. He reached the heavy oak doors and stepped inside. He did not turn toward the library. Instead, he made his way through the bustling main corridor, his gaze scanning the crowds for two identical shocks of bright red hair.
He had materials now. But he also needed allies—people who shared his willingness to break rules for a greater purpose.
The Weasley twins fit that description perfectly.
Time to make their acquaintance.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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