"Do not worry, Professor," Anduin affirmed, a genuine, focused delight in his voice. The successful completion of the Closed Engraving exercise was more than a technical achievement; it was a personal breakthrough in magical discipline.
He understood now that true alchemy was the application of perfect magical control to permanent effect, a discipline that resonated deeply with his methodical nature.
In the days that followed, Anduin immersed himself in the deep end of runic theory. He practically haunted the restricted section of the library, borrowing every available tome on Ancient Runes, Runic Geometry, and Applied Magical Transmutation.
He wasn't just reading spellbooks; he was studying the architecture of magical power—how to channel, distribute, and compress vast amounts of energy into static, permanent symbols. His borrowed blunt engraving knife became a constant extension of his hand, perpetually humming with barely contained magic.
He practiced the precise, non-spiking magical flow required for Closed Engraving on every spare piece of scrap wood, parchment, and soft stone he could acquire, attempting to trace impossibly complex runic sequences into their depths without leaving a mark on the surface.
Meanwhile, Anduin's intensive private training with Charles had rapidly escalated from a gentle suggestion to a brutal, daily regimen. Their sessions began before dawn, forcing them to meet near the castle grounds every morning.
Charles was initially a casualty of the training; the five-kilometer circuit Anduin mandated was a relentless, crushing ordeal that tested the very limits of his respiratory endurance and muscular fortitude. Charles, previously accustomed to the soft comforts of academic life, often finished the run doubled over, his lungs burning and his body screaming in protest.
However, after a week of punishing adaptation, a noticeable change began to manifest. Charles could now not only complete the run but maintain a determined, if agonizing, pace alongside Anduin. The physical exhaustion, while profound, was now counterbalanced by a mental clarity and a sense of power that became increasingly addictive.
In the afternoons, the training shifted to the practical application of magic near the hut in the Forbidden Forest. Anduin had set up an array of wooden targets and charm-resistant dummies. The drills were repetitive and demanding: perfecting the Disarming Spell (Expelliarmus) and the Stunning Spell (Stupefy) for speed, accuracy, and silent casting.
This was immediately followed by the physically disorienting practice of time-skip training. The constant, rapid magical saturation required for both combat readiness and temporal manipulation left Charles utterly drained—as if every ounce of magical energy had been forcibly wrung out of his core.
Yet, the feeling of actual empowerment, of possessing the means to dictate a conflict's terms, was a far more potent drive than any academic pursuit he had ever known. Charles was, against all his natural inclinations, becoming hardened.
It was in the midst of this intense self-improvement schedule that Anduin encountered Vivian. He was on his way back from the library, returning a particularly dense treatise on magical alloys, when he saw her slumped on a stone bench in the Clock Tower Courtyard, her usual vibrant energy completely extinguished, replaced by a look of bitter frustration.
"Vivian, what's happened?" Anduin asked, genuinely concerned. "You were so enthusiastic yesterday about the Quidditch tryouts. I recall you were practically guaranteed a spot, even if only as a reserve Chaser."
Vivian looked up, her expression a mask of profound disappointment and anger. "It wasn't a tryout, Anduin. It was a purge. The arrogance of those pure-blood fanatics isn't content to fester in the Common Room anymore; now they're openly seizing control of the House institutions. Unless you demonstrate explicit loyalty to their outdated ideology, you are simply excluded."
Anduin frowned, leaning against the cold stone railing. "But surely the House leadership—Vanessa and Head of House Slughorn—would intervene? They can't allow a core House activity like the Quidditch team to become an exclusive political club."
"You know Professor Slughorn," Vivian said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "He's a decent, kind man, yes, but he is utterly non-confrontational. Unless there's a literal duel in the dungeons, he won't risk challenging the influential families, especially those who are already wealthy and established. He chooses peaceful coexistence over necessary political upheaval. And as for Vanessa, she's completely focused on her N.E.W.T.s and graduation. Plus, those boys have no respect for her authority; they pay lip service when she's within earshot, but the moment she turns her back, they become ten times worse."
Vivian's anger boiled over. "Do you know what they're saying now? They are openly endorsing the Dark Lord's return! They treat it as a sporting rivalry, a matter of pride. And they made an example of Viren Higgs—our top Seeker, the one who single-handedly snatched the victory from Gryffindor last year! He was kicked off the team simply for arguing that merit should trump lineage." Anduin remembered Viren—a polite, exceptionally gifted flyer, another casualty of the rising political toxicity.
"So, your Quidditch opportunity is completely closed off now?" Anduin asked, the question laced with the realization of the escalating threat, not just the loss of a sport.
"It is finished," Vivian stated with finality. "Right now, that swaggering idiot, Raleigh Yaxley, is probably giving his new, hand-picked team a pep talk. With a Prefect like him leading the charge, Slytherin won't just lose Quidditch matches; we'll lose our identity. I feel like I might not even get to try out once in my seven years here, not with the way they're cementing their power base."
Anduin observed the genuine pain in her eyes. He knew simple consolation was useless. "Don't assume their position is permanent, Vivian. Your ability and your confidence are not temporary conditions. Their arrogance is built on unstable foundations, and such dominance can be challenged."
Vivian stared at him, tilting her head slightly. "Challenged? What are you suggesting, Anduin? What can we do against a system that the Head of House is too timid to confront?" She sensed a deeper meaning beneath his carefully measured words.
Anduin met her gaze, his eyes reflecting the cold, calculating determination he usually reserved for his magical studies. "You should continue to hold your ambition. I will support your conviction, and I hope you will support mine. Remember: the strongest shield against tyranny is competence."
He offered no further explanation, simply offering a slight nod before continuing his route back to the library's drop box. Vivian was left to puzzle over his cryptic commitment. He wasn't promising a Quidditch victory; he was promising a structural opposition.
Anduin quickly returned to his immediate focus: increasing his personal strength and completing the Echo Place Charm. The political posturing of the pure-blood faction was a distraction he could not afford to indulge in yet, but it provided a sharp, external motivation for his rapid development.
His sessions with Professor Burns had progressed rapidly, thanks to Anduin's increasing mastery of silent, non-verbal magic, which significantly amplified his casting efficiency. The Echolocation Charm, an unprecedented piece of synthetic magic combining multiple rune structures, had finally overcome the initial challenge of emission.
"The continuous, silent casting allows for a sufficiently high frequency. We have successfully stabilized the ultrasonic wave emission," Professor Burns noted as he prepared their testing apparatus. "The problem now, Anduin, is the interpretation of the reflected waves—the reception. We need a combination of runes that can consistently deconstruct the signal into coherent imagery."
The apparatus for testing was an antique Crystal Ball that Professor Burns had modified. It was now a magical visualization tool—a kind of magical oscilloscope—designed not to scry the future, but to convert complex runic data into a visible, temporary image within the crystal's smoky depths.
They were systematically testing six entirely different rune-sets designed to act as receivers. Anduin would repeatedly cast the ultrasonic wave, and Professor Burns would simultaneously activate the receiver rune-set within the crystal ball to measure the quality of the image conversion.
"The fourth set of runes… this is the first one that shows genuine promise," Professor Burns said, holding the smoking crystal ball carefully. The image within was frustratingly crude: a faint, flickering gray silhouette of the table and the surrounding area.
"The sound waves are being converted into visual data, but the accuracy is severely lacking, and the image is far from stable. It's like viewing a silhouette through a thick, undulating heat haze. However, it's a monumental breakthrough in magical signal processing."
Anduin, already prepared with quill and parchment, immediately logged the precise details of the energy consumption and the duration of the image stability for the fourth set.
The first three sets had been complete failures—the sound waves were either scattered upon impact, or the receiving runes failed to adequately deconstruct the complex reflection patterns, resulting only in static or bursts of bright light within the crystal.
"The next two sets, five and six, are based on more obscure Gnomish geometry," Professor Burns continued, placing the fourth crystal aside. "If their performance is similar, or worse, we will take the fourth set as our optimal prototype and spend the necessary time fine-tuning its parameters."
"Understood, Professor. Let's proceed to the fifth set," Anduin responded, his mind already calculating the required frequency adjustments. He lifted his wand—no verbal command, no excessive movement—and the continuous, high-pitched magical emission began, perfectly silent to the human ear, relentlessly saturating the room with focused sound waves.
His years of rigorous self-control had paid off, granting him the stamina and surgical precision needed for this highly demanding, cutting-edge magical experimentation. The development of the Echo Place Charm was no longer a dream; it was a matter of meticulous refinement.
"Ready, Anduin. Initiate the fifth trial," Burns instructed, his eyes fixed on the new crystal ball, ready to witness either failure or the next step toward a truly revolutionary piece of alchemical technology.
The work was demanding, but with every successful test, the possibility of a world-changing invention drew closer.