"I appreciate the concern, Professor, but there is truly no need," Anduin said, offering a tight, unyielding half-smile. He was taken aback by the sudden, brief display of what felt like genuine, albeit begrudging, kindness from Snape. It felt misplaced, almost like a glitch in the Professor's normally hostile programming. "I can manage my own safety and my own affairs."
"As you wish, Wilson," Snape replied, his voice flat once more, the brief flicker of emotion entirely extinguished. He turned his back, placing the silver letter opener back into its slot on the desk. "You may return to your House. And I will ensure that Wilkes understands the severe consequences of interfering with my new Potions Master's schedule."
He may issue warnings, but those men will find a hundred ways to ignore them without breaking the rules, Anduin thought, cynical about Snape's ability to completely control the deep-seated malice of the pureblood faction. He gave a curt nod of acknowledgment and slipped out of the Head of House's private study.
The moment the door to the office clicked shut, Severus Snape slumped onto the high-backed chair, his face turned toward the shadowed stone wall. In the privacy of the dungeon, two silent, fat tears escaped his eyes, tracing hot, clean paths down his sallow cheeks. He did not move to wipe them away, merely bringing one long, pale hand up to his mouth as he whispered a single, guttural word into the silence: "Lily…"
Anduin, blissfully unaware of the emotional wreckage he had just left behind, returned to the Slytherin common room. His location was now exposed, and his return had clearly cemented his position as the House's most contentious element.
The overt hostility—the blatant insults and aggressive challenges—had been muted by Snape's presence and the general atmosphere of post-war uncertainty. But a new, subtle warfare had begun. He was now surrounded by a thousand small, passive acts of aggression.
Whispers followed him like shadows. Students went silent when he approached. He felt the constant, prickling sensation of being watched—a low-level, collective surveillance by a dozen young wizards who hated his existence but dared not strike him in the sanctuary of the common room.
Returning to the dormitories had been, strategically, a bad move. It centralized him and made his movements predictable. But the order had come from Dumbledore, via Snape, and Anduin knew better than to ignore a direct administrative command, especially when he was trying to understand the new power dynamic at Hogwarts.
Just days after his return to the Common Room, the official funeral for James and Lily Potter was held. This was not the quiet, private affair held for the McKinnons or the Prewitts. This was a state function, a political ceremony masquerading as a rite of passage.
The event was magnificent and utterly absurd.
They were not burying two cherished members of the Order of the Phoenix; they were celebrating the defeat of the Dark Lord. The entire Ministry of Magic was present, from the Minister downwards, dressed in the most immaculate, sorrowful black robes.
The Wizengamot Council, a body riddled with members who had, until a week ago, been quietly funding and supporting the Death Eaters, were all in attendance, their faces contorted into expressions of profound, performative grief.
The atmosphere was less funeral procession and more bizarre, high-stakes networking event. People offered solemn condolences, yet their eyes were bright, their smiles thinly disguised. It was a carnival of hypocrisy.
Anduin watched as high-ranking officials who had spent years persecuting Muggle-borns now waxed lyrical about Lily Potter's "extraordinary courage" and "immense magical talent." Every speech was less about the Potters' sacrifice and more about the collective sigh of relief that the Wizarding community could now breathe freely.
To mark the occasion, the Ministry announced the commissioning of a massive family statue of James, Lily, and the infant Harry in Godric's Hollow, permanently hidden from Muggles by a complex shielding charm—a grand, public gesture that served more to whitewash the Ministry's own years of inaction than to honor the dead.
After Dumbledore concluded his heartfelt, genuine eulogy—a sharp contrast to the surrounding political theater—Anduin couldn't bear the scene any longer. He placed his single, small hyacinth—symbolizing sincerity and constant love—on the massive mound of ostentatious, expensive floral tributes, and quietly signaled to Hagrid that it was time to leave.
Back at Hogwarts, Anduin dealt with the emotional fallout by doing what he did best: burying himself in work. He established a rigorous schedule, shuttling between the cavernous Library, the relative peace of Hagrid's cabin (where he could still feel a connection to his old world), and the chilly hostility of the Slytherin dormitory.
His goal was not just distraction, but synthesis. He wanted to merge his advanced knowledge of Transfiguration, Runes, and Theoretical Magic into the practical art of Alchemy.
Weeks later, after purchasing over two hundred Galleons worth of rare, highly conductive alchemical materials through Professor Burns' discreet trade channels, Anduin completed his newest creation.
Resting on his desk in the otherwise spartan Slytherin dormitory was a silver-white metal object. It was a compact, sturdy hammer, about 30 centimeters in length, with a ten-centimeter octagonal head.
The entire tool was forged from a complex alloy of Agribal Silver and Ysher Mithril—a mixture renowned in obscure texts for its exceptional conductivity and unparalleled resilience to counter-magical forces.
The surface was impossibly sleek, radiating a cool, faint silvery sheen. The handle was wrapped tightly in brown, textured Dragonhide leather, providing a perfect grip for delicate, controlled strikes.
This hammer was not intended for combat; it was a pure research and stabilization tool.
On the primary octagonal face of the hammerhead, Anduin had painstakingly carved a pair of interwoven compound runes: Analyze and Reveal. With a gentle tap, this side was designed to temporarily destabilize an artifact's inherent concealment charms or runic bindings, visually exposing all the underlying inscriptions and identifying the core magical matrix.
This would allow him to quickly diagnose flaws in complex devices or decipher the inner workings of unfamiliar magical objects.
On the opposite face, a different pair of compound runes was inscribed: Solidify and Enhance. When struck with this face, the magical energy from the wielder would be channeled to force a quicker, more cohesive fusion between alchemical components and their engraved runes.
Repeated, controlled strikes would strengthen the object's molecular integrity, fortifying it far beyond conventional enchantments.
As a final safety measure, Anduin had carved the Neutralize rune along the edge of the hammerhead. This crucial inscription ensured that the hammer, despite its incredible density and mass, was completely non-lethal, incapable of causing destructive damage even if wielded with maximum force against something as fragile as fine glass or porcelain.
"As a tool to aid my research, to stabilize and understand the complex magic of this world, I shall name you the Invincible Hammer," Anduin declared, giving his creation a name that was perhaps a touch theatrical but highly reflective of its intended function.
"Time for the field test."
His first subject was his own monocle. He carefully removed the lenses and placed them on the desk. He lifted the Invincible Hammer and pointed the Solidify side at the lens. He then focused a minimal amount of ambient magic through the dragonhide handle.
Clang.
The sound was sharp and clean, but the lens remained perfectly intact. Anduin felt a clear, cool wisp of magic flow from his hand, through the hammer's mithril core, and into the lens. The Parather Brass frame of the monocle—already covered in its protective and diagnostic runes—absorbed the energy instantly.
Encouraged, Anduin began striking the lens with increasing speed and force, focusing on consistency rather than power. After several minutes of rhythmic hammering, the lenses began to glow with a faint, steady, dazzling light—a clear sign that the runic structures were reaching their optimal fusion point.
He picked up the lenses, running his thumb over the surface. The Parather Brass and the runes were no longer distinct; they felt almost completely merged into a single, cohesive structure.
After remounting the lens and casting his signature Echo Spell to test its performance, he noted an immediate improvement: the transmitted image was sharper, more three-dimensional, and the runic diagnostics were cycling with smoother, faster processing speed. The Enhance function was a resounding success.
Next, he turned his attention to the more sensitive object: Lily's amulet.
He flipped the hammer and pointed the Analyze side at the silver disc. He began tapping lightly. Tap. Tap. Tap.
With each strike, the complex magical energies of the amulet were momentarily forced to the surface. A series of overlapping, nested compound runes—far more intricate and subtle than any he had personally carved—began to glow into visible existence on the silver surface.
They were layers of protection, wards, and perhaps even a subtle tracking charm, all woven into a dense, elegant web of magic.
Anduin immediately pulled out a piece of parchment and began to rapidly sketch the complex runic structures, intent on studying them later. He had avoided this before because deciphering such complex enchantments required a level of focus and pure magical power he hadn't possessed. The amulet was clearly a powerful piece of non-Ministry defense magic.
He hadn't attempted to copy or repair the amulet previously because replicating such high-level, compound runes would require sustained output of extremely high-energy Transcendent Magic—specifically, the kind he used for his most advanced self-defense spell, the Iron-Clad Magic technique.
Now, however, after months of rigorous, secret training, Anduin felt a tangible change in his capabilities. His magical channels felt wider, more resilient, and his physical body—reinforced by constant magical conditioning—was nearing the point where it could sustain the massive power drain required for true mastery of that destructive, but incredibly powerful, form of magic.
The analysis provided by the Invincible Hammer was the first step toward finally replicating and perhaps even understanding the depths of Lily Potter's mysterious charm. His research had a new, deeply personal, and highly complex goal.