"I see," Anduin affirmed, nodding slowly as the weight of Professor Burns's assessment settled upon him. "So that was the true purpose of the spheres of light—to gauge the stability of my core magic against an external force, rather than my analytical skills?"
Professor Edgar Burns nodded, retrieving the two rune-covered parchments Anduin had brought. He handled them with a scholar's respect.
"Precisely. The analysis you performed was brilliant, but the control you exhibited is the true anomaly. 'Magical sensitivity'—the term Professor Flitwick used—is only part of it. Sensitivity is the ability to perceive the intricate flow and structure of magic. What you possess is Innately Stabilized Magic—a kind of preternatural control that allows you to not only feel foreign magic but to effortlessly impose your own will on it without relying on the physical crutch of a wand or the vibrational anchor of a spoken spell."
Burns leaned back, his gaze intense. "Have you ever experimented with silent casting or wandless magic? These are techniques reserved for the most experienced masters because they require the wizard's internal magic to handle the entire complex articulation of the spell, bypassing the need for an external conductor or a phonetic resonance."
Anduin's eyes lit up, a small, subtle smirk playing on his lips. Without a word, or even a visible flex of his fingers, he directed his attention toward the heavy, antique silver ink bottle resting on Burns's desk.
Slowly, deliberately, and with the near-absolute silence of a falling feather, the ink bottle lifted six inches into the air. It remained suspended, perfectly level, held aloft not by incantation or gesture, but by a delicate, invisible projection of pure, silent kinetic magic.
Professor Burns, a respected veteran of the Order of the Phoenix and a master spellcaster, nearly choked on the air he was inhaling to continue his sentence. His calm demeanor shattered, replaced by an expression of profound, almost reverent awe.
"By the beard of Merlin," he whispered, pushing himself back from the desk. "A simple, consistent Levitation Charm without a sound or a single movement. Anduin, that is not mere 'good control'; that is the kind of magical precision that allows a wizard to bypass decades of rote training. It is the core requirement for advanced spell-chaining and, crucially, for the development of new, stable runic sequences."
He quickly composed himself, a thrilling excitement overriding his scholarly astonishment. "Right. I think I know more about your situation now than a handful of professors combined. Your academic track needs to be entirely restructured. We are skipping years of foundational work."
Burns strode to a large, fire-proof cabinet and retrieved two massive, bound volumes. He returned and placed them reverently on the desk. "These two books will be fundamental to our work together. They are no longer about learning spells; they are about engineering them."
Anduin accepted them with palpable anticipation. The first was a thick, dark quarto titled: "49 Formulas for Breaking and Combining Talismans."
"This first book is a legendary text," Burns explained. "It doesn't teach you how to cast spells, but how to reverse-engineer every common runic and phonetic spell structure. It's a mechanic's manual for magical deconstruction. It will allow you to dismantle any spell you encounter, identify its flaws, and rebuild it more effectively."
The second book, even thicker and bound in heavy, weathered leather, was simply called "The Literature of Collected Talismans: A Chronicle of Failure."
"And this second volume," Burns continued, his voice grave, "is perhaps more important. It is a compendium of over twelve thousand documented failures—every known instance of a newly developed or experimentally modified rune array that destabilized, exploded, or failed catastrophically. To invent new magic, you must first master the history of magical failure. Ignorance of past errors is the surest path to losing your fingers or worse. They are yours, and I expect them thoroughly annotated when we next meet."
"Thank you, Professor," Anduin murmured, the heavy books feeling like an entire new world of power in his hands. "These are... invaluable."
"At your current level, abstract theoretical explanations are a waste of time. You need practical arsenals," Burns stated. He paused, looking at Anduin with renewed professional curiosity.
"Before we officially dive into your work, I need to know your intended focus. Your study of runes and spells—does it ultimately lean toward the field of Pure Spellcraft or Runic Enchantment and Alchemy? Your matrix design has elements of both."
Anduin tapped his finger on the cover of the 49 Formulas book, considering the immense implications of the choice. "What is the key functional difference, Professor? I've been doing both disassembly and theoretical improvement."
Burns smiled faintly, appreciating the question. "The fields, while overlapping, demand different disciplines. Pure Spellcraft focuses on the intangible—the development, improvement, restoration, and translation of spells. This involves the highly complex academic pursuit of Phonetics of Magic: understanding how the shape, texture, and vibrational frequency of a word (both spoken and silent) dictates the spell's energy signature and directional stability."
He added, "While your silent casting ability allows you to skip the enunciation aspect, if you want your newly developed or optimized spells to be passed down—to anchor them linguistically for future generations—the phonetic translation remains a necessity. My own background, as Lily may have mentioned, lies heavily in disassembly, reconstruction, and the remediation of broken or corrupted spells."
"And the other path?" Anduin asked, intrigued by the mention of Lily's private comments.
"The other is Runic Enchantment and Applied Alchemy," Burns stated, his expression becoming more serious.
"This field is centered on the tangible. It has less to do with phonetic translation and everything to do with optimization, enchanting, engraving techniques, and materials science. An Enchanter must be a master craftsman. The three qualities we value above all else are a steady hand, a highly developed spatial awareness, and a seemingly endless well of patience."
"A strong sense of place?" Anduin asked, the other two qualities being easy enough to grasp.
"It is indeed a three-dimensional imagination coupled with a rigorous understanding of geometry," Burns explained.
"Many complex runes must be inscribed onto magical materials that are rarely flat—the curve of a breastplate, the facets of a crystal, the subtle deformation of a rare wood. Any subtle bending or distortion of the material will warp the magical field the rune generates, causing it to malfunction. A simple mistake might result in a temporary failure, but many of the failed experiments in that second book ended violently because the enchanter lacked the spatial integrity to map the runic field onto a complex, non-planar surface."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "I once knew an alchemist who tried to engrave a protection matrix onto the concave surface of a dragon-hide shield. He failed to account for the minute volumetric distortion of the curve. When he tried to charge the rune, the field collapsed inward, fusing his wand hand to the shield permanently. It requires perfect 3D visualization."
"I see. That requires exceptional rigor," Anduin mused. "I find both fascinating. I have a deep interest in the practical application of alchemy, but my current theoretical project—the one I mentioned—is focused on a new kind of Spellcraft optimization. I'm developing what I'm provisionally calling a Reverberation Spell."
Burns nodded. "An excellent compromise. Spell combinations and cross-field refinements are the future. Whether it is pure Spellcraft or applied Alchemy, the concepts of Refinement and Optimization are central. Let us begin there."
Burns led Anduin to the powerful runeworker table, gesturing for the student to take the primary position. "You have clearly spent a good deal of time on a similar table. Show me the sound runes you are currently struggling with and then articulate your scientific hypothesis."
Anduin seamlessly integrated himself into the workstation, his fingers moving over the polished surface with the confidence of a seasoned researcher. Burns watched, impressed by the intuitive command.
"The concept is inspired by the navigation system of Muggle bats," Anduin began, projecting a complex arrangement of runes onto the crystalline spheres.
"When bats fly, they emit high-frequency ultrasonic signals—sounds far too high-pitched for humans to hear. If these signals encounter an object, they reflect instantly back to the bat, allowing them to precisely map their environment and locate targets. The idea is to develop a spell that mimics this: a non-harmful, continuous ultrasonic emission that, upon reflection, translates the environmental geometry back to the caster's mind."
Burns's expression was a mixture of profound bewilderment and sudden, dawning respect. "Wait. You are basing a magical spell on the biological function of a Muggle creature's screech? That is a conceptual leap I have never encountered."
Anduin ignored the astonishment, driving straight to the core theoretical blockade. "The base rune I am using, Professor, is the Mannaz rune, the 'Control' rune. I noticed that the foundation for virtually all pure-sound based spells—from the simplest communication charms to the most complex silencing and distortion hexes—always relies on the 'Control' rune. My question is: Why? What specific function does the 'Control' rune provide to sound that the 'Transformation' rune, for example, provides to matter?"
Burns immediately understood the depth of the inquiry. Anduin was not asking for a definition; he was asking for the fundamental magical physics of a rune's application.
"That, Anduin, is the crucial distinction that separates Spellcraft from Transfiguration," Burns explained, placing his hands on the edge of the table.
"You are correct. The base rune for most sound, movement, and defensive barrier spells is the Mannaz rune, which we translate as 'Control,' 'Mastery,' or 'Direction.' Its core function is the directed application of kinetic force. You are directing air pressure with a sound spell; you are directing an object's gravity with a Levitation Charm; you are directing a kinetic wall with a Barrier Spell."
He moved his finger across the projected array. "Other spells, particularly those that change the fundamental nature or form of an object—the 'shrinking spell,' the 'extending charm,' or any true Transfiguration—use the Laguz rune as their base. This means 'Transformation,' 'Change,' and 'Alteration.' Laguz fundamentally changes the subject, while Mannaz merely controls its current state or motion."
"And then you have a third category, which is vital to your Reverberation Spell," Burns continued, lowering his voice again. "The Othala rune, or 'Conservation'. This rune is the basis of all long-term wards, potion stabilizers, and high-capacity enchantments. Its meaning is 'Preservation,' 'Anchoring,' and 'Duration.'"
Burns pointed back to Anduin's theoretical array. "Your concept requires three things: Control (Mannaz) to generate and direct the ultrasonic pulse; a secondary Control to intercept the reflected pulse; and, most importantly, a Conservation (Othala) element to temporarily store the reflected kinetic data and translate it into a visual or sensory input for your mind. You are attempting to fuse kinetic direction with sensory data conservation."
Burns straightened, his face serious. "That fusion, Anduin, is where the instability lies. It is an extremely volatile mix of magical forces. We cannot simply use the 'Control' rune for the whole array. We must build a custom bridge—a rune that simultaneously directs the force and prepares the energy for immediate, lossless storage. If you can achieve that, your Reverberation Spell will be a breakthrough in both defense and sensory magic. But we must proceed with caution; the instability of this combined structure, if it collapses, could overload your magical core with raw, undirected kinetic feedback."
The air in the office suddenly felt heavier, charged with the immense potential and grave danger of the project. This was not schoolwork; this was the development of a powerful, untested magical weapon.