The dwarves finally departed with the two gifts given by Luke.
Like when they had arrived, the thousand dwarf craftsmen retreated into the spatial boxes once more. Balin carried the boxes, and together with Fili, they traveled via the fireplace to Dale first before returning to the Lonely Mountain.
Of the two gifts, the dwarves favored the silver flask that could conjure fine wine the most.
This magical gift even became a symbol of friendship between the Lonely Mountain and Weathertop. During every feast held in the Lonely Mountain, it became an indispensable item.
With the dwarves gone, Hogwarts Castle instantly grew quiet.
As for Mayor Larch of Bree and the owner of the Prancing Pony Inn, they returned to Bree via the fireplace the day after the feast, only sending their accompanying cart drivers and militiamen back the way they had come.
Within the vast castle, only Luke, the three elven siblings, Legolas, Beorn, Bilbo, the steward Edward, and Village Chief Luke—who came up the mountain every few days to report—remained.
The construction of the castle was complete, but Luke's work had only just begun.
The current Hogwarts Castle was merely a shell, far from comparable to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the magical world.
Not to mention the absence of moving staircases, animated armor, or stone sentinels, the castle itself still needed to be inscribed with alchemical runes to enhance its resistance against spell attacks.
Beyond that, Luke had also promised to teach magic to Arwen and the others.
Figuring that teaching one student was no different from teaching a group, Luke simply gathered all those with wands together for collective instruction.
Inside the tower, Luke designated a room as a classroom.
He stood at the front as the professor of magic.
Seated below him were five students: Arwen, Ellohir, Elrohir, Legolas, and Beorn.
Under their eager gazes, Luke pulled out a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and lightly tapped it with his wand. The book rapidly duplicated into five copies, flying into each of their hands.
"This is The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. It records some basic spells and their principles, serving as your introductory guide. Take a look," Luke said.
Ellohir examined the title on the cover and immediately raised his head curiously. "Luke, this is The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. Does that mean there are intermediate and advanced levels too?"
Luke shook his head. "Wrong, Ellohir. After Grade 1, it's Grade 2, Grade 3, Grade 4, and so on. The difficulty of the spells increases progressively. Also, remember to address me as 'Professor' during class."
"Understood, Professor Luke," Ellohir obediently replied.
Luke nodded in satisfaction.
Who would have thought he'd become a professor one day?
Gazing at his students, whose average age exceeded a thousand years, Luke found the experience quite enjoyable.
The subsequent teaching process was equally pleasant.
The elves seemed born for magic—intelligent, perceptive, and quick to grasp concepts. They understood spells after a single demonstration.
Watching Arwen effortlessly cast the Lumos spell with a holy light effect, even making the light float freely away from her wand; Ellohir and Elrohir using the Levitation Charm to make tables dance midair; and Legolas conjuring roaring flames while precisely controlling their temperature—Luke could only sigh at how his students' brilliance made him feel somewhat redundant.
But then his gaze fell upon Beorn, and his eyes instantly softened with paternal warmth.
Here, at last, was a student who could justify his role as a teacher!
Beorn's magical talent was actually quite good, but compared to the elves—especially those with a minimum age of five hundred—he seemed rather ordinary.
In the days that followed, Luke divided his time between teaching spells to the elves and Beorn and inscribing runes onto the castle walls. These runes, imbued with magical properties like durability, imperishability, waterproofing, and fire resistance, would ensure the castle stood for millennia.
The castle was enormous, and nearly every brick needed runic inscriptions. The sheer scale of the task was no less daunting than the initial construction. Naturally, Luke had no intention of doing it all alone.
He promptly enlisted Ellohir and the others as laborers—even Arwen wasn't spared.
Since the runes on each brick were nearly identical, Luke designed the inscriptions first, then taught them to Ellohir and the rest, delegating the work of etching runes onto every wall of the castle.
This also served as a test of their magical progress.
Luke declared this with an air of righteousness.
Truth be told, he had previously considered having the dwarves inscribe the runes during the castle's construction. However, rune inscription required magical energy—without it, the carvings would be mere engravings, devoid of power. Thus, Luke reluctantly abandoned the idea of recruiting dwarves for the task.
Arwen and the others, however, voiced no complaints.
To them, Luke's teachings of wondrous magic were reward enough.
Moreover, they were also learning an entirely new form of runic magic.
If anything, they felt they were getting the better end of the deal!
Luke, for his part, was generous with his knowledge.
He compiled the contents of The Book of Spells into The Standard Book of Spells, Grades 1 through 7 and placed them in the library—open for study—withholding only the darker spells.
He even taught the elves the Patronus Charm, which they adored.
However, perhaps due to their inherently serene and balanced dispositions, the elves struggled with the Patronus Charm, which required intense happiness. They could only produce faint wisps of silver mist.
Beorn, on the other hand, surpassed the elves this time. After a month of practice, he successfully conjured a massive bear-shaped Patronus. The elves, unfazed, remained tranquil, adopting an attitude of "what will be, will be."
Indeed, extreme emotions were ill-suited for elves.
Profound sorrow was fatal to them, capable of weakening them to death, which was why elves cultivated restraint and equanimity.
A year passed in the blink of an eye.
Every brick of the castle was now inscribed with runes, the dense network of symbols forming an invisible magical array that seemed to breathe life into the fortress.
To the elves' keen senses, every stone in the castle pulsed as if alive, no longer the cold, lifeless rock of before.
Meanwhile, the castle corridors were now patrolled by suits of armor that moved and stood guard autonomously. To the uninitiated, they appeared to be mere decorative displays.
But should enemies intrude, these suits would transform into tireless war machines, slashing and striking without end.
These were Luke's alchemical armor sentinels—108 in total, stationed throughout the castle as its guardians.
Additionally, the castle housed numerous towering statues, including a thousand dwarf sculptures crafted by the dwarf artisans themselves.
To express his gratitude for their labor, Luke had invited each dwarf craftsman to carve a statue of themselves, leaving their likenesses in the castle for posterity.
The dwarves had thrown themselves into the task, striving to depict themselves as mighty and imposing.
Luke then enchanted these statues with runes, ensuring they would remain inert under normal circumstances but awaken in emergencies to defend the castle.
The staircases in the towers and corridors were also enchanted through alchemy.
Not only could they shift left and right autonomously, but the steps could also ascend vertically. Stepping onto them would transport a person upward—a "magical" version of an escalator.
Thus, the magical castle began to take shape.
A year was but a fleeting moment for the immortal elves.
To them, it was merely the fall of a single leaf, barely noticeable in the passage of time.
But for Luke, it was the longest project he had ever undertaken.
For an entire year, he had labored over the castle.
Beneath the towering Gold and Silver Trees, a layer of golden and silver leaves had accumulated.
Under the trees' influence, the surroundings flourished with vitality. The garden bloomed with flowers transplanted from the tower's herbology plots—eternal golden bell-shaped Alfirin, giant white-petaled Snow-thorns, golden star-shaped "Sun-stars," and eight-hued "Ent-wives' Blossoms."
A graceful elven maiden glided beneath the Mallorn tree and called upward, "Sulond, come down for your meal!"
Her voice was ethereal and melodious, like a morning breeze, a delight to the ears.
High in the great Mallorn tree, an elegant treehouse and several platforms had appeared, reminiscent of the dwellings of the Lothlórien elves. A winding white spiral staircase coiled around the massive trunk, connecting the treehouse and platforms.
At the very top platform rested an enormous bird's nest.
Hearing the call, Súlond poked his head out.
Spotting the figure below, he let out a joyful cry and leaped from the hundred-meter-high nest, flapping his fledgling wings as he plummeted.
The eaglet's wings were still underdeveloped, and his flight was clumsy—more of a controlled glide downward.
But losing his balance midway, he suddenly tumbled headfirst.
Just before he could crash into the ground, the elf waved her wand, halting his fall and gently lowering him.
"Kee-kee..." The eaglet seemed embarrassed, tucking his head beneath his wing.
The elf maiden smiled softly, stroking his feathers. "You did wonderfully, Súlond! With more practice, once your wings grow stronger, you'll soar through the skies!"
"Kee...?" The eaglet lifted his head, eyes doubtful and unsure.
"Of course! You're still young. When you're older, the entire sky will be yours!" she reassured him warmly.
Then she produced a palm-sized package wrapped in Mallorn leaves. "Look what I brought you—some lembas I made. It'll help you grow faster. Do you like it?"
The eaglet chirped excitedly, nuzzling her affectionately.
The elf maiden's smile brightened. She unfolded the leaves, revealing a thin wafer of lembas, and broke off half to feed him.
The eaglet gulped it down without tasting, then looked up mournfully, eyeing the remaining half.
Shaking her head with a laugh, she said, "No, Súlond. You can't have more. What you ate will sustain you for days. Any more and you'll overeat."
"Kee-kee..." The eaglet nuzzled and pleaded until she relented.
Breaking off another tiny piece, she warned, "Just this bit. No more."
The eaglet nodded eagerly, then delicately nibbled the lembas this time, savoring the flavor.
"Arwen, you spoil Súlond too much," Luke remarked as he entered the garden, his eyes amused but his tone disapproving.
"Lembas is time-consuming to make. Feeding it to him is like casting pearls before swine."
"Kee-kee—!" Súlond protested indignantly.
How dare he compare him to swine! Pigs couldn't possibly measure up to him!
They can't even fly!