Chapter 14: The Mysterious Avada Kedavra
Recently, daily nap times had been cancelled.
The moment Alexander sensed the spell Avada Kedavra, it jolted his entire being—like a surge of cold electricity straight to the soul.
After some investigation, Alexander discovered that Avada Kedavra is derived from ancient Aramaic. Some scholars even suggest it was the language used by Jesus Christ when preaching. The spell roughly translates to "Let the thing be destroyed"—a command to obliterate.
Curiously, "the thing" didn't originally refer to life itself—but to disease. That made Alexander wonder: could this dark spell have once been intended as a cure? Over time, had it become corrupted?
Its pronunciation was eerily similar to "Abracadabra," a word with Hebrew roots. Originally, Abracadabra meant something akin to "Now is the time to witness a miracle." Could the original creator of the Killing Curse have come from the East—perhaps with the surname Liu Mingqian?
Why was such a spell ever created? Alexander wasn't sure. But he had certainly brushed shoulders with the concept of death itself.
Was the Avada Kedavra spell truly a gift—or a curse—from Death?
Alexander had done some digging into the Peverell family—the three brothers from The Tale of the Three Brothers, immortalized by Beedle the Bard. He found an eerie similarity between them and the nature of Avada Kedavra. Could Peverell have been the surname of Death itself?
Consider this: Voldemort, a direct descendant of the Peverell-Slytherin-Gaunt line, was born through a twisted and magical event that claimed his mother's life. He later slaughtered his own family. Perhaps that's why the Killing Curse came so easily to him—he was surrounded by death from the beginning.
And yet, Voldemort died not once, but twice, from the rebound of Avada Kedavra. Could it be that this curse was created by Death as a trap—to harvest the souls of overly ambitious wizards?
Interestingly, both backlashes occurred when Voldemort tried to kill Harry Potter—suspected descendant of the third Peverell brother. And why didn't Voldemort kill James Potter? Perhaps… he simply didn't deem him worthy.
"Magic truly is fascinating. I need to work harder. I need to be more diligent."
Lately, Alexander had been using his detection and perception spells constantly, trying to sense the invisible threads of magic.
But he found nothing concrete. Still, if spells were just keys, that might explain why even a family like the Smiths lacked any form of early magical education or basic spellbooks. His parents were Hogwarts graduates—surely, the old materials were stored somewhere in their home.
It was likely that most children's magical cores stabilized at the age of eleven. If magic truly was as powerful and volatile as described, then letting children learn it too early—especially those with wild imaginations and unstable emotions—could lead to disaster.
Take Harry Potter, for example. As a child, he had unconsciously apparated to escape bullying, made glass vanish at a zoo, and even witnessed Neville Longbottom bouncing unharmed from a high fall. These were instinctive magical reactions—abilities that seemed to fade after structured learning at Hogwarts began.
Since traveling to this world, Alexander had mostly relied on raw talent. His use of the Iron Armor Charm and Disarming Charm had grown stronger, despite not fully understanding magical theory. Some of his progress felt... different from conventional spellcasting.
Maybe he was taking detours. Maybe he was reinventing the wheel. But he was also gaining new perspectives—ones that questioned the validity of existing magical knowledge.
Most spells were described in poetic terms. Theory relied heavily on perception and instinct. What Alexander truly needed was to trust his intuition, refine it through repetition, and create his own path forward. He could even rename the spells, spread them, or treat basic charms—like Lumos, Aguamenti, or Incendio—as keys to unlock deeper truths through sheer perseverance.
Magic, he believed, was easier to grasp the more wizards practiced it. The collective casting of magic created a sort of "magical magnetic field"—something that could stabilize young wizards, but also interfere with Muggle technology.
This magical network was like a giant archive. Wizards uploaded their magic into it, and others could access it by using the correct passwords—spells, emotions, and gestures. If a foreign spell didn't work in China, it might simply be due to an incorrect password or name.
In truth, magic couldn't really be "downloaded." After the initial cast, it had to be fueled by the wizard's own magical source. Emotions and intent unlocked access to this vast magical field, and the subconscious then internalized it over time.
Hogwarts—brimming with the imprints of thousands of magical learners—was the perfect hotspot for learning and growth. No wonder Ministry employees struggled with even simple spells. Not every wizard had gone to Hogwarts. Some, like the Gaunts, had learned from crude, isolated family traditions—leaving them with limited power and understanding.
The more Alexander explored magic, the more he realized how far he had strayed from the conventional system. Wizards, he thought, were like natural reality-benders. But institutionalized education, while increasing the number of practitioners, had diluted the power once found in ancient grimoires.
Modern wizards feared disaster and destruction, making it harder for them to learn ancient, chaotic magics. That fear was like an invisible curse in itself.
Ancient magic came from a time when the earliest wizards were akin to gods. Now, the only way to replicate their power was through long, complex spells that were difficult to memorize and easy to miscast.
Even with immense magic reserves, execution was difficult. That's why modern spells were short and efficient—ideal for duels, where seconds mattered. Ancient spells were more like nuclear weapons: too dangerous for common use, and likely suppressed by the Ministry of Magic.
Long spells were harder to use. Only a few modern wizards could wield them effectively. The spells were only keys—the real growth came from the caster's own interpretation and mastery.
Short spells weren't necessarily weaker. They were easier to learn, harder to master. But in the hands of a gifted wizard, they could evolve just as powerfully as any ancient incantation.
Still, Alexander wondered: had all the god-like wizards of old truly disappeared? Were the Deathly Hallows really created by Death? The afterlife was real—but where was it? Was the veil in the Department of Mysteries truly the gateway to the underworld?
For the first time, Alexander felt a powerful urge rise in his chest.
"I need to run an experiment. I need data."
(End of Chapter)
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