By every standard used to judge progress, he was ahead— comfortably so. He never required more than a single attempt at any spell Flitwick assigned. He could sustain a charm far longer than his peers, keeping its output perfectly controlled and static long after the others began to break under the strain.
And he could scale a spell's output with precision. He had learned the balance with both the Brightening Charm and the Fire-Making Spell.
Yet he knew that wasn't true spell modification; it was simply intentionally choking a spell's output, or overpowering it at the direct expense of its internal stability.
It did not solve the actual problem, which was that he couldn't change what a spell did. He could make Incendio bigger or smaller. He could even use his intent to forcefully control its shape, but doing it this way wasn't truly efficient; the point of wand magic is to reduce the strain and focus needed to cast a spell, which in turn vastly improves its power.
At first he assumed that mastery, eventually, meant simply doing more with the tools he already had— casting faster, holding longer. It had only recently occurred to him that the tools themselves might be the actual limit, and no amount of raw effort was going to move a wall built into the structure of the spell itself.
Most spells were built on Latin roots, but the textbooks treated the words as simple triggers— rigid keys meant to turn a specific lock.
That was the flaw.
He dipped his quill into the inkwell and drew a clean line down the margin of his notebook, opening the Latin dictionary to the first page.
To change a spell, he had to master the language it was written in.
(Flashback)
"Professor," Aegeus spoke up calmly. "What should I do when the spell I use doesn't do quite what I need?"
Flitwick blinked up at him, surprised in the way he so often was by Aegeus's questions. "Mr. Granger. What you are describing can be solved with spell modification— altering the incantation and even the intent behind a spell." Pause. "And if we go a step further, spell creation, drafting an incantation entirely from scratch. It's advanced, really advanced— the kind of thing most wizards never attempt in their entire lives. It is also extremely dangerous."
"Why is it dangerous?" asked Aegeus, perplexed.
"It requires a very high level of precision," Flitwick said, his small frame straightening. "Whether it's modifying an existing spell or creating a new one entirely, an incantation is a very delicate system." Flitwick considered him for a moment, head tilted. "May I ask what prompted this question, Mr. Granger?"
"I believe some spells could use a little more flexibility."
Flitwick leaned back against his desk. "Most incantations are created from older languages— like Latin, though with other roots mixed in. The incantation is what traps the intent. Change it properly, and you can change what a spell does."
"But if done wrong... And I think you know the consequences."
"Never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest," Aegeus quoted him, echoing the exact phrasing Flitwick had previously used.
"Precisely." Professor Flitwick offered a small, approving smile. "Most wizards never bother to learn any of the underlying language, so they simply use spells as it is."
Aegeus turned that over. "So should I learn Latin?"
"Yes," Flitwick said, with a mix of caution and delight he seemed to reserve specifically for his students' more ambitious ideas. "I do indeed suggest you start with it before anything more exotic— as most incantations lean on it heavily, even those that aren't pure Latin. But I must warn you that you may not attempt anything until you have a great deal more grounding than a few months of vocabulary, and also under my strict supervision."
(Flashback end)
He pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward himself, dipping his quill into the dark blue ink.
The Latin dictionary lay open on his desk, but his mind kept looping back to Flitwick's caution. Understanding a word is not the same as understanding what happens when you change it.
To rewrite an incantation entirely was a structural shift— and a very high risk. But an incantation was ultimately a series of vocalizations, a rhythm of breath, emphasis, and duration. If altering the fundamental was the ultimate goal, there had to be an intermediate step. A way to tweak the existing spell without breaking the spell's skeleton.
Arithmancy can help him with that.
Spells weren't inherently mathematical, but Arithmancy provided the framework to map them: translating spoken incantations into precise numerical ratios that can measure syllable, length, emphasis, and the exact duration of the pauses between them— revealing precisely what he needed to alter to achieve a specific result.
He had no intention of waiting until his third year to analyze the arithmantic structure behind spells; he was already well beyond the basic material on his own.
Aegeus wrote Incendio across the top of the parchment in neat handwriting. If altering the root word required years of linguistics, then altering the cadence was the middle ground he needed.
He broke Incendio down into its numerical components across the parchment:
I(9) - N(5) - C(3) - E(5) - N(5) - D(4) - I(9) - O(6)
When calculating the core values governing each segment of the spell, he bypassed standard Arithmancy equations entirely— they were far too rudimentary for his purposes. Instead, he turned to Muggle mathematics, which was clearly superior.
The central structural weight lay in CEN (13), the variable dictating how the flame expanded. Applied through Arithmancy, shifting the spoken rhythm altered the final output. Holding the opening I and N (14) doubled their numerical weight and pooled the raw magic. Adding a brief pause compressed that energy, while snapping the final DIO (19) released it in a single, concentrated burst.
He didn't need to alter the word. He only needed to alter the timing.
Aegeus drew his wand, holding it loosely above his parchment. He targeted a tiny scrap of spare parchment resting on the corner of the table.
He took a quiet breath.
"Innn... cen... DIO."
~~~