"Magic is an idealist force. This principle runs through every magical system. Whether the Patronus Charm, the magic of love, or twisted dark magic, all require a corresponding will to drive them. Even the simplest jinxes demand clear thought and intent. This is magic's most basic rule; no matter how ancient the magic, there are no exceptions."
All the textbooks' common definition of magic flashed through Ciel's mind. The fog cleared further. He had found the missing key.
Will.
Yes—Will.
Human will ordinarily has limits. In moments of life and death, when one would die to shield a beloved, will and spirit can transcend their bounds—like Lily protecting Harry with love's magic, or Mrs. Weasley defeating Bellatrix to save her children.
But even then, they could not raise a hand and cast Fire Path to obliterate Voldemort. Nor could they break the laws of life and death, reversing fate with sheer longing for a loved one's return.
Human will has limits.
"But the mythic might of ancient magic: what kind of will could truly unleash it? To stir storms, to paint the sky in thunder, what will drives such a spell? There must be a hidden truth here."
By now, those startled by the lightning had recovered themselves. In Dumbledore's absence, Professor McGonagall steadied the room.
"All right. Whatever is happening outside, Hogwarts remains the safest place in the wizarding world. Headmaster Dumbledore has gone to the Ministry to deal with this, and I am confident it will be resolved soon. You have half an hour to collect yourselves, then off to lessons!"
Under McGonagall's guidance, the students' panic eased somewhat. Finals were close; for many, failing exams was scarier than rumours of a monster. The professors who knew the truth schooled their expressions, trying not to add weight to young minds, and left the hall to prepare the end-of-term lessons.
Professor Flitwick, as always, returned to his office, sipped his tea, and waited for the preparatory bell. An unexpected knock came at his door.
"Ciel?"
Flitwick was surprised; he had expected a student hoping for test tips, not Ciel. Then he brightened; he had always admired Ciel's diligence. The first year's performance had been exceptional.
"Is there something you'd like to ask?"
He smiled. Ciel's question, however, made him blink.
"Professor. I've read that ancient runes contain truths of the cosmos; that the world's mysteries lie within them. But all our books also say a decisive factor in spellcasting is the caster's will. So what kind of will can truly unlock runic mysteries? Isn't that a paradox?"
Flitwick stared, incredulous that such a question had come from a first year. After a long moment, he asked: "You've been teaching yourself runic script?"
Ciel nodded and moved his wand; one of the three runes he had practised unfolded several power nodes before Flitwick's eyes.
Flitwick sighed, eyes full of approval. "To touch magic at this level in your first year, Ciel, you are one of the finest students I've taught."
Then he answered the question. "That is an excellent question. It goes to the heart of the difference between ancient and modern magic."
Ciel's eyes flickered, he hadn't expected Flitwick to name ancient magic so plainly.
"Ancient magic is typically extremely powerful and very old. Much comes from ancient Greece millennia past, and some from other regions. Legend credits these magics with forces that far exceed what modern wizards imagine. But today, few can wield them. You might wonder: if they're so strong, why were they not preserved? Because ancient magic so often involves combinations of runes, you must bring forth the runes' true power to master such spells. And as you asked, if runes hold the world's truths, how can human will harness such vast power? Not even Dumbledore can. There is only one way."
Flitwick paused, teasing the answer.
"Have you heard the most famous legend about runes?"
Ciel caught on at once. "You mean Odin from Norse myth? He hung himself upside down from the World Tree for nine days and nights to gain the secret of runes."
Flitwick nodded. "That is a metaphor. Many fools tried to imitate Odin, hanging themselves upside down as if a rush of blood to the head would grant runic revelation. That's beyond foolish. The true meaning is that Odin bore the weight of the world, and in bearing it, he naturally came to comprehend all thirty‑three runes. Now you see runic script's difficulty, and why ancient magic faded."
Ciel stood very still, thoughts razor focused, teasing out the meaning in Flitwick's words. Moments later, he blurted: "I understand. The will that drives runes and ancient magic isn't human will. It is nature's will, used to move the runes that embody the world's mysteries!"
Flitwick burst out laughing, beaming. "Clever, very clever! Yes: Odin hung upon the World Tree, took on the world's weight, so the world's will poured into him. With all thirty‑three runes holding the world's mysteries within him, of course he could wield their wonders. Likewise, to bring out a rune's true power, the corresponding piece of the world's will must enter you. The simplest illustration: if you seek the rune mysteries of lightning, then endure the lightning; when it spears through your body, the will that drives it leaves faint remnants in you. Similarly, for fire's runes, to be truly scorched by flame is a way. But all of this depends on surviving the infusion of nature's will. And the closer you try to get to a rune's source, the more dangerous it becomes. This is why true masters of runes are so rare, and ancient magic disappeared. To master them is too dangerous."
Flitwick suddenly seemed to remember something, eyeing Ciel anxiously. "My boy. You came to satisfy curiosity, yes? You're not actually going to do something so reckless, are you?"
Ciel put on earnest solemnity, shaking his head hard. "How could I? That would be far too dangerous, Professor. I'm still a Hufflepuff; we don't do things like that."
The preparatory bell rang. Ciel took his leave. Flitwick watched him go, uneasy. "He wouldn't do something so foolish… would he?"
A moment later, he shook his head. "Surely not. Even the rashest little lion wouldn't do that."
He exhaled and set the thought aside, heading for class.
Meanwhile, Ciel's eyes shone. The conversation had blown away every doubt about how to enter Ancient Weather Magic. Having the magical perception to complete seven nodes and build the basic runic frame was critical. But more critical, what truly awakens the magic, was obtaining "nature's will".
No wonder that even after he had reached five nodes, he was still far from entry, far from the Iron tier on his panel. This was the key.
The troll priest Cyrus possessed the needed will through his Titan bloodline. That explained why he sensed Ciel's spell "lacked something," but couldn't say what.
He drew a long breath. Doubts gone, a single question remained: did he really need to risk it?
He looked upward. In the clouds, lightning rolled with awe‑inspiring power. After a pause, he chose: "Letting real lightning strike me, now that's stupid. What if even my once‑ascended Legendary Life can't take it and I get fried? What an ignominious death. I need to test my tolerance first."
But Hogwarts had no modern tech; anything brought in would fail under the castle's protective magic, a necessity for secrecy from Muggles. Otherwise one stray missile and Hogwarts would be dust. High‑power generators? Out of the question.
After a moment's thought, he found a magical solution. He strode to the sixth floor, to the famous tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls ballet. Occlumency spinning, he emptied his mind, leaving a single, pure intent:
"I need a place that can electrocute me. As close as possible to real lightning, but calibrated below lethal power."
As he passed the tapestry three times, a door bloomed in the wall. He grinned and stepped through.
What he saw stopped him cold.
Beyond wasn't a room, it was a roiling bank of stormclouds. Serpents of lightning thrashed within, flashing stark white‑blue. He was astonished.
Could the Room of Requirement truly do this?
Voldemort had believed it Hogwarts' greatest secret, one only he grasped. Ciel had thought it a shelter for night‑wanderers, a storage chamber, and a training ground for Neville's D.A. before the last stand. But it seemed the room could do far more.
He didn't know how it worked, but he shoved stray thoughts aside. Staring at the clouds and flickering bolts, he took a deep breath and stepped toward the smallest of the lightning serpents.
A current of tingling and stabbing pain drove through him. His hair stood on end; the air smelt of char. Thankfully this bolt was weak, nothing like nature's fury. It hurt, but he could bear it.
He locked his gaze on the panel.
[Ancient Weather Magic (Iron, nature's will absorbed)]
As the current poured in, he didn't distinctly "feel" the nature's will Flitwick described, but the iron black sheen on Ancient Weather Magic deepened a shade. A step closer to Iron tier.
His eyes lit up.
The room's lightning couldn't match the real thing, but it had two advantages: safety and convenience. If one bolt wasn't enough, then more would be!
He set his feet and strode into the storm of writhing lightning serpents.