"Thirty seconds left. I'm timing this precisely. Don't yield at this critical peak," Anduin stated, his voice a low, steady drone from behind the open pages of his rune book.
It had been just over thirteen minutes of unrelenting strain, and Charles Selwyn was past the point of pain—he was in the territory of magical deprivation.
The sheer, terrifying effort to sustain the Levitation Charm on the sloshing basin had consumed every reserve he possessed. His eyes were watering from the mental effort, his wand arm was twitching uncontrollably, and the room was beginning to tunnel, threatening to swallow him whole.
Charles rallied one last, desperate effort. Ten seconds... He counted them in his mind, drawing on a raw, visceral will that he hadn't known he possessed. He felt the spell warp and wobble, the cold water threatening to descend, but he refused to drop it. He pushed past the pain, past the dizziness, right to the absolute limit of his conscious awareness.
Finally, at the last count of his inner clock, his body simply failed. Every muscle in his arm locked up, his focus snapped like an over-taut thread, and he sagged. The spell dissolved, the heavy basin began its inevitable, plummeting descent, and Charles's body went completely limp, ready to collapse into the icy torrent.
In that instant, Anduin reacted with seamless, non-verbal magic. He didn't rush. He simply made a subtle, authoritative gesture with his hand. The falling basin of water froze mid-air, its contents held fast by an instantaneous, powerful Stasis Charm. At the same time, a column of gentle, kinetic energy arrested Charles's fall, maneuvering his exhausted form onto the rough wooden chair next to the workspace.
"That's enough," Anduin said, his gaze finally lifting from his book. He flicked his wand—the only time he used it, to cast a simple Siphoning Charm—to wick the water from the floating basin and dispel the heavy metal structure. "Sit. You need to focus on recovery."
He handed Charles a full glass of clear, cool water. Charles drank it down in desperate, thirsty gulps. He felt absolutely hollow. The magical exhaustion was a foreign, profoundly unpleasant sensation—as if his entire circulatory system had been replaced with air. He couldn't even manage the strength to hold his wand, which clattered uselessly onto the floor.
"This is the crucial stage," Anduin instructed, his voice now clinical and calm. "Observe your body's current state. Your physical strength is gone, and your magical core is completely depleted. I'll provide the fuel, but your task is to feel the replenishment process."
He produced a small, warm blueberry pie from a charmed box—a staple from Hagrid's baking lessons, which often served as emergency rations. "When the core runs dry, your body's inherent magical mechanisms kick into overdrive to recover. Eating and resting now will force your system to rapidly regenerate and expand its capacity."
Charles took the pie, eating ravenously. The sweetness and warmth felt like liquid life pouring into his veins. As he ate, he concentrated, sensing the strange, deflated state of his being.
"It is working, I think," Charles said, chewing thoughtfully. "I feel weak, yes, like an emptied balloon. But I can also feel a subtle pressure, like a slow, deep current... moving through me. It's almost as if something is being 'secreted' or rebuilt slowly, starting from my chest and spreading out."
Anduin permitted himself a small, rare smirk. "Excretion. That's an excellent descriptor. That feeling is the flow of your latent magical energy being drawn from your body's reserves into the core—and you are only sensing it now because the pipe, as it were, was completely empty. You are experiencing the process of mana regeneration in real-time. Remember that feeling, Charles. You will encounter it often."
Anduin leaned forward, his eyes alight with intellectual curiosity. "If we can accurately quantify and control this repeatable process of depleting and refilling your core, we may be able to sustainably and controllably increase your magical sensitivity and capacity. Professor Flitwick, I recall, was keen on exploring precisely this—a non-inherent method for magical enhancement. Your training, Charles, may yield the first reliable data for our Magic Club project."
Charles swallowed hard. "You started this kind of training when you were seven, you said? My God. How did you endure this feeling regularly?"
"If you want to be superior, you must be willing to endure the price of that superiority," Anduin stated, his tone flat.
"A talent left unrefined is merely a latent opportunity, easily wasted. It's painful, yes, but pain is the fastest educator. It shows you precisely where your current limits lie, and then forces you to push them back. It is necessary if you intend to become an active, capable player in the conflicts to come."
After an hour of mandatory rest and recovery in the cabin, during which Anduin completed his analysis of the day's rune work, the two boys headed toward the castle. They paused for a short, grounding dinner with Hagrid, who offered Charles a warm, protective hand and praised Anduin's culinary talents.
By late evening, Anduin and a noticeably stiff, sore Charles arrived at Professor Burns's office.
"Ah, Anduin, and young Charles," Burns greeted them warmly, his eyes twinkling as he noticed Charles's slightly shaky gait. "It seems your study regimen is becoming quite rigorous, Mr. Selwyn. Good. Magic rewards discipline."
Burns led them to the large table in the center of the office, which was covered in a dazzling array of materials: pieces of finely worked wood, dark sheets of treated leather, and various metallic samples ranging from brilliant silver to dull bronze.
"We turn our attention today to the foundational components of Alchemical Artifice," Burns announced. "Take a close look. Everything you see here is a medium for holding, channeling, or focusing magical energy."
Anduin's eyes immediately fixed on a piece of bronze-colored metal. It possessed a particular weight and finish that resonated with a distant, familiar memory. He kept returning to it, gently running his fingers over its smooth surface.
Burns smiled at the observation. "If your curiosity is drawn to the metallic, let us begin there. You are examining a piece of Parather Brass."
"An invention, correct?" Anduin asked, recalling his earlier realization that genuinely magical metals were not found in nature.
"Precisely. That is the key insight," Burns confirmed, nodding approvingly. "In the current magical and Muggle world, the geological survey of natural metals is exhaustive. There are no magical elements found naturally with a metallic structure. The materials you see here are all alloys—creations crafted by wizards."
Burns continued, picking up the brass sample. "Parather Brass was synthesized by the legendary alchemist Parasher. It is stable, possesses sufficient energy storage capacity, and, critically, it is neither rare nor difficult to manufacture. It is the workhorse metal of the magical world, the material that every apprentice alchemist begins their practice with. Its formula is widely known, which keeps its value low, but its stability is unparalleled for basic spell retention."
So, Lily's amulet was indeed an act of casual affection, not a profound, secretive gift, Anduin realized. The metal she used was the equivalent of a student's starter kit. The sentiment, however, remained priceless.
Burns then picked up a slender, shimmering piece of metal that resembled highly polished silver. It seemed to capture and hold the room's light in its surface.
"This, by contrast, is Iser Mithril, also commonly known as Fairy Mithril," Burns explained.
"The formula for this silver alloy is a strictly guarded secret, controlled and produced almost exclusively by the Fae courts. Its key properties are phenomenal magical conductivity and extreme purity, making it incredibly stable under continuous energy flow. Witches and wizards often seek it out for high-end amulets, sensors, or fine detailing in rune-work due to its ability to channel energy with almost zero loss."
He paused, rotating the piece to show a faint, etched marking on its reverse. "However, as a pure alloy, its major drawback is its relative softness. It's easily scratched and bent, making it impractical for armor or tools that require physical durability. Thus, alchemists often use it as a component—mixing it with more resilient, mundane metals to create stronger compounds, or crafting it purely into magical ornamentation."
Burns placed the Mithril down and picked up a final piece of metal: a dark, dull, heavily wrought alloy that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. It had a gritty, almost obsidian quality.