The Hogsmeade summer of 1936 flowed around my small cottage, a gentle current of warm breezes and quiet days. My July had been a crucible of theoretical invention, transforming my understanding of Draconic magic from experimental to systematic. As August dawned, bringing with it a subtle shift in the air, a hint of autumn's crispness, the world of Hogwarts began to call me back. The first sign was an unexpected delivery through my open bedroom window on the morning of August 1st: a crisp, parchment-bound envelope clutched in the beak of a sturdy school owl.
It was my sixth-year book list. I took it from the owl, offering it a few owl treats from the jar on my study table before it soared away. Unfurling the parchment, I scanned the list. The titles were more advanced, signaling the true demands of N.E.W.T.-level studies, a deeper dive into the intricacies of magic.
For Transfiguration, the list included The Metamorphic Principles of Organic Matter by Professor Albus Dumbledore himself, a weighty tome that promised to delve into the very essence of form and change, and A Guide to Cross-Species Transformations by Emeric Switch. These would undoubtedly challenge my understanding of creation and alteration, tying directly into my Draconic pursuits.
Potions required Advanced Potion-Making: A Comprehensive Guide to Elixirs and Complex Brews by Libatius Borage, and The Art of Distillation: A Master Alchemist's Manual by Zygmunt Budge. These sounded like they would explore the more volatile and precise aspects of potion-crafting, perhaps even hinting at the deeper manipulation of life forces, a field I was already theoretically exploring with Draconic commands.
For Charms, the prescribed texts were The Grand Unified Theory of Enchantment by Miranda Goshawk and Practical Defensive Charms: Countering Advanced Dark Magic by Filius Flitwick. These would push the boundaries of spell-casting theory, aligning with my need for powerful, versatile magic.
Defense Against the Dark Arts carried particular weight, given the escalating conflict. The new texts included Confronting the Darkest Arts: Counter-Curses and Warding Schemes for the Modern Age by Alastor Moody, a name I recognized as a formidable Auror, and The Shadowed Veil: Understanding and Combating Obscure Dark Practices by an anonymous author. These books promised to equip me with the knowledge to face the very threats Grindelwald represented.
Ancient Runes listed The Primal Language: Interpreting Pre-Aegis Runic Structures by Bathsheda Babbling and Runic Matrix Manipulation: Advanced Scripting and Bindings by Sigurd the Silent. These were directly relevant to my Draconic work, promising to deepen my understanding of ancient magical languages and their ability to command.
Finally, Arithmancy called for The Symphony of Numbers: Advanced Magical Patterns by Bridget Wenlock and Predictive Calculations in Magicka by Uric the Oddball. These would further refine my grasp of the underlying mathematical patterns of magic, providing a logical framework for the complex theoretical spells I was designing.
It was a formidable list, a clear indication of the higher expectations of N.E.W.T. students. But a familiar excitement, a deep scholarly hunger, stirred within me. This was the next step.
My first thought, after devouring the list, was of my friends. The previous year, we had always gone shopping together in Diagon Alley, a chaotic but enjoyable ritual. This year, with the war and various family circumstances, I wondered how many would be able to join me.
I retrieved a stack of fresh parchment and began to write.
To Henry Potter, his usual family owl would find him.
Henry,
My book list for sixth year arrived this morning. Quite the collection of weighty tomes, as you might imagine. I'm preparing to make a trip to Diagon Alley soon for supplies and the new books, probably around the second week of August. Are you, by any chance, free to join me? I know your Aunt Matilda might have other plans, but thought I'd ask. It would be good to catch up properly before term starts.
Let me know. I trust you haven't caused too much magical mayhem in your summer exploits.
Yours,
Marcus
Next, to Edgar Selwyn. His family owl was a rather dignified barn owl.
Edgar,
The sixth-year book list has arrived, confirming our shared academic pursuits in several advanced subjects. I intend to visit Diagon Alley for new books and supplies around the second week of August. Would your studies permit you to accompany me? Your insights into the theoretical aspects of our N.E.W.T. material would be invaluable, and I find a structured shopping excursion far more efficient with a logical mind at hand.
I trust your research into ancient Transfiguration formulae is progressing well.
Sincerely,
Marcus
I then wrote to Eleanor Crombwell, her letter sent via a rather elegant, if slightly snooty, great grey owl.
Dear Eleanor,
I hope this letter finds you well. My sixth-year book list has arrived, and I am preparing for a trip to Diagon Alley around the second week of August to acquire the necessary materials. As you are pursuing several of the same N.E.W.T. subjects, I wondered if you would be available to accompany me? Your organizational skills would undoubtedly make the task far more efficient.
The news from the continent remains concerning, but I hope your summer has provided some measure of tranquility.
Warmly,
Marcus
A quick note to Elara Croft, her owl a sleek, swift tawny.
Elara,
My sixth-year book list is here. Planning a trip to Diagon Alley for new books and supplies, likely mid-August. Would you be free to join? A practical shopping trip would be a nice break from theoretical musings, wouldn't it?
Hope your summer's treating you well.
Best,
Marcus
And finally, to Leo Lionsguard and Elizabeth Blackwood, a joint letter sent via a rather impatient looking brown owl.
Leo, Elizabeth,
My sixth-year book list has landed. Dreadfully thick books, as you might expect for N.E.W.T.s. I'm heading to Diagon Alley around the second week of August for supplies. Any chance either of you are free to join? It'd be a bit less dull than sorting through quills by myself.
Leo, try not to break any brooms before September. Elizabeth, I expect you've already mastered whatever new hexes are trending.
See you soon, I hope.
Marcus
The owls returned over the next few days, bringing a mix of confirmations and regrets.
Henry's enthusiastic reply arrived first. He was absolutely delighted to come, confirming his availability and expressing relief at getting away from Aunt Matilda's "suffocating politeness." His letter was full of eager questions about what new Quidditch gear might be out and if I thought there'd be any "exciting Ministry activity" in Diagon Alley given the war.
Edgar's reply was, as expected, succinct and affirmative. He found the prospect of a focused trip for academic materials "entirely logical and efficient." He even included a small list of specific, obscure editions he hoped to find in Flourish and Blotts, a testament to his scholarly nature.
The replies from the others, however, brought various reasons for their inability to join.
Eleanor sent a very apologetic letter. Her family was spending the entire summer at their country estate in Cornwall, as her father, a junior official in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, felt it was safer given the escalating Grindelwald threat. She wrote that she would have to do her shopping closer to home, through a traveling magical merchant who visited their village. Her concern for the war was palpable, even through the formal tone.
Elara's letter was shorter, expressing regret. Her family had decided to take an extended "educational tour" of ancient magical sites in Europe, starting with the Greek Isles. While she sounded excited, she also admitted it was partly her parents' way of keeping them out of Britain as the situation with Grindelwald worsened. She promised to send postcards.
Leo's response was a messy scrawl, full of apologies. He was spending the entire summer training with his local Quidditch team, aiming to make it onto the professional junior league. He was living and breathing Quidditch, barely had time to write, but wished us luck and promised to "catch up on all the goss" in September.
Elizabeth's reply was characteristic of her sharp wit. She was "confined to the ancestral pile" for the summer, her parents paranoid about the war. She hated it, wished she could join, but was stuck practicing "pointless embroidery and listening to tedious political discussions." She vowed to hex the first person who mentioned Grindelwald at her family dinner table. Her frustration with the war's intrusion on her life was evident.
So it was settled. Henry, Edgar, and I would undertake the Diagon Alley trip. It wasn't the full group, but it was enough. The world was shrinking, I realized, even for my friends, as the shadow of Grindelwald forced families into isolation or flight.
The second week of August arrived, warm and bright, and after a brief, successful trip to Diagon Alley, my small Hogsmeade house became a sanctuary of focused academic pursuit. The new textbooks, fresh with the scent of parchment and ink, were arrayed on my study table, each promising deeper insights into the complex tapestry of N.E.W.T.-level magic.
My approach to these new subjects was systematic, yet fluid. Having spent months exploring Untethered Will and inventing Draconic commands, the conventional magic presented in these books felt less like new information and more like formalized expressions of principles I was already grappling with. I didn't just read the incantations and theories; I sought the underlying intent, the core magical impulse behind each spell, dissecting it with the analytical mind honed by my secret studies.
In Transfiguration, The Metamorphic Principles of Organic Matter offered detailed breakdowns of molecular restructuring and the ethical implications of sentient transformations. I devoured its contents, not simply memorizing the pathways, but conceptualizing the raw act of change through the lens of my Draconic 'Verth' (create/shape) commands. The book's theories on animating inanimate objects felt rudimentary compared to my own experiments in making stone pulse with ephemeral life. I could effortlessly understand concepts that would undoubtedly challenge my peers, because I was already operating on a more fundamental level, seeing the magic as a pliable essence rather than a set of rigid rules. I spent hours meditating on the diagrams of complex transformations, feeling the flow of magic, identifying the precise point where my will could most effectively influence the change.
Potions presented Advanced Potion-Making. The intricate recipes and delicate procedures, the precise control of heat and mixtures, were mere extensions of my Untethered Will training in elemental manipulation. My ability to subtly warm or cool a cauldron with pure intent, to stir with perfect rhythm without a stirring rod if I so chose, made the practical aspects almost trivial. The theoretical discussions on potion potency and stability, meanwhile, connected with my Draconic explorations into affecting life-force and magical resonance. I understood why certain ingredients resonated with specific magical properties not just by rote, but by an intuitive grasp of their inherent 'A'kren' (essence).
Charms introduced The Grand Unified Theory of Enchantment. This tome explored the philosophical underpinnings of charm-work, delving into the very nature of suggestion and magical causality. For me, who dealt with direct commands in Draconic, it was fascinating to see how complex human languages attempted to 'coax' magic into being. I practiced advanced shielding charms and counter-curses from Practical Defensive Charms, finding that my Untethered Will allowed me to effortlessly layer protections, making my shields far more resilient and my counter-spells remarkably precise, almost instinctive. My silent casting, which had become second nature, allowed me to weave multiple effects with seamless fluidity, making my charm-work appear truly effortless.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was perhaps the most compelling. Moody's Confronting the Darkest Arts was stark, pragmatic, and utterly without illusion regarding the dangers of Grindelwald's rise. It detailed defensive strategies against curses of unimaginable power, requiring not just magical skill but profound mental fortitude. My Untethered Will training, with its focus on emotional mastery and clear intent, gave me an edge. I practiced the wand movements and incantations, but more importantly, I cultivated the mental resilience to face such threats. The anonymous The Shadowed Veil delved into obscure dark practices, curses that targeted the mind and soul. My Draconic theoretical work on 'Zii' (spirit/mind) and 'Faas' (fear/awe) gave me a chilling understanding of how such magic could operate, and more importantly, how to mentally shield against it. I knew the dangers not just academically, but instinctively.
Ancient Runes, with The Primal Language, delved into pre-Aegis runic structures, the very roots of magical scripting. This was a direct parallel to my Draconic studies. I could see how the ancient wizards, through runes, attempted to capture the raw commands that dragons spoke. The book's discussion of runic matrices and bindings resonated deeply with my Draconic 'Dov' (bind/hold) commands. I spent hours translating complex runic sequences, deciphering their intended effects, and even theorizing how they might be enhanced or altered with a Draconic overlay. The language of command, whether runic or Draconic, spoke to the same fundamental truth of magic, making my comprehension effortless.
Finally, Arithmancy, with The Symphony of Numbers, explored the profound mathematical patterns that underpinned all magic. This was Edgar's passion, and mine had grown to match it. My Draconic work had shown me that magic, at its core, was deeply logical, following precise energetic pathways and quantifiable patterns. This textbook illuminated those patterns, explaining how every spell, every magical phenomenon, could be broken down into numerical sequences and ratios. My mind, already accustomed to conceptualizing the intricate logical structures of Draconic commands, found the advanced Arithmancy concepts intuitive. I could see how a spell's power, its range, its duration, could be calculated and, theoretically, manipulated through precise numerical adjustments linked to conscious intent.
My days unfolded in a serene, yet intensely productive, rhythm. Mornings were for theoretical study of the new N.E.W.T. material, consolidating my existing knowledge with the advanced curriculum. Afternoons were dedicated to Draconic invention, meticulously crafting new commands in my journals, exploring the far reaches of magical potential. The quiet house, the peaceful garden, the towering bookshelf – they were my companions in this solitary pursuit. The news from the Daily Prophet, delivered by tired owls, continued to cast its grim shadow over the outside world: Ministry Tightens Borders, Grindelwald's Shadow Looms Over Bohemia. Each headline was a cold reminder of the urgency of my studies, the reason for this relentless pursuit of power.
My nights were spent either in deep contemplation, mapping the next theoretical breakthrough, or in a profound, dreamless sleep, the result of days spent stretching the limits of my mind and magical understanding. I had no difficulty with the N.E.W.T. material because my fundamental understanding of magic had surpassed it. Silent casting, a skill many N.E.W.T. students struggled with, was now second nature, an extension of my perfected Untethered Will.
As the last day of August approached, the subtle chill in the air deepened, a clear sign that summer was fading, and with it, my solitary freedom. My journals were filled with pages of newly conceived Draconic commands, each a theoretical masterpiece of power and precision. My mind felt sharper, my grasp of magic deeper, more intuitive than ever before. The Hogsmeade house, my quiet forge, had served its purpose.
On the evening of August 31st, I meticulously packed my notes and journals, tucking them deep within my trunk, secured by a complex array of my own subtle Draconic bindings, known only to me. The new textbooks, now dog-eared and annotated, were placed carefully on top. I looked around the silent bedroom, the lamplight casting long shadows across the familiar bookshelf, the comfortable bed, the worn study table. This was my sanctuary, my secret.
I walked through the small living hall, the kitchen, the dining area, taking in the quiet solitude of it all one last time. Soon, the castle would be bustling, friends would be reunited, and the academic year would begin. But the true work, the dangerous, exhilarating journey of commanding raw magic, would continue in the shadows, fueled by the knowledge forged in this quiet house, and the looming threat that made every new spell, every new command, a necessary step towards a future uncertain and fraught with peril.
I extinguished the lamp, plunging the room into darkness save for the faint moonlight filtering through the garden window. Then, I returned to the realm of Morpheus, retiring for the night, ready for the next chapter.