Within the high terraces of the castle, Galadriel and Arwen sat together upon a platform woven around the trunk of a tall Mallorn tree.
A soft breeze rustled through the golden leaves above them, scattering sunlight like drifting embers. The red-gold glow of the setting sun bathed the castle walls in a warm, tranquil radiance, while brilliant bursts of magical fireworks illuminated the skies over the city below.
Watching the light dance across the clouds, Galadriel turned to her granddaughter with a gentle smile.
"Arwen," she said softly, her voice filled with quiet affection, "you seem to be thriving here. That puts my heart at ease. I think your mother, Celebrian, would be very happy for you."
Arwen leaned against her grandmother's shoulder, her smile as pure and radiant as moonlight.
"Don't worry about me, Grandma," she replied warmly. "Sylas treats me wonderfully. I'm truly happy here."
As she spoke, her hand drifted unconsciously to her abdomen, her eyes softening with maternal warmth.
"And now… I'm carrying our children. I'll be a good mother. I'll give them all the love and protection I can."
As the days turned into months, Arwen's once-flat belly slowly began to curve.
Sylas, however, only grew more anxious with each passing week. He hovered around her constantly, careful, protective, almost paranoid, as if she were made of the finest glass.
He barely slept, constantly checking the wards around her chamber, personally preparing her food and potions, and refusing to let her lift so much as a teacup.
Watching her husband in this state, Arwen could only laugh helplessly. She often had to reach out, take his hand, and reassure him gently, trying to calm him down.
Even Galadriel, both amused and exasperated, finally stepped in with her characteristic calm authority.
Placing a firm hand on Sylas's shoulder, she said,
"That's quite enough, my dear. You're driving yourself, and her, mad. Go attend to your duties. Arwen is not alone here."
Under the unshakable will of the Lady of Lórien, Sylas had no choice but to obey. He knew she was right, his nerves were stretched tighter than a bowstring.
With some reluctance, he turned his focus back to matters of governance, though he still made certain to visit his wife several times each day.
Over the past decade, his realm had flourished beyond imagination. The number of wizards within his lands had reached nearly three thousand.
These wizards lived across Bree, Hogsmeade, and Isengard, the three great centers of his dominion, and with their growing population, a Wizarding Market had naturally formed.
The market stood in Hogsmeade, the largest and most prosperous of the three cities, and soon expanded into an entire street lined with magical shops.
Sylas named this street Diagon Alley.
It bustled with life: wand shops, robe boutiques, bookstores, owl emporiums, potion apothecaries, broomstick craftsmen, and Floo Powder distributors, all glittering with signs and runes.
At the easternmost end of the street stood the Gringotts Wizarding Bank, now the financial heart of his territories.
Gringotts had two entrances, one facing Hogsmeade's main street, accessible to ordinary folk who came to exchange or deposit Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, and another, hidden entrance leading directly into Diagon Alley, reserved for wizards only.
At the western end of the street rose the Ministry of Magic Tower, its black stone spire gleaming against the mountain skyline.
Diagon Alley teemed with life. Wizards and witches bustled through the cobbled lanes, their robes fluttering like banners. Dwarves and elves mingled among them, bartering and trading with cheerful voices.
Thanks to the relentless efforts of the Department of Magical Transportation, countless Floo Network fireplaces had been installed not only across Sylas's territories but throughout much of Middle-earth.
Floo Powder, sold for one silver shico a spoonful, had become a household staple. One spoonful was enough to last an average family a month.
Now, even households of elves, dwarves, and humans from distant lands hired Ministry-trained enchanters to connect their fireplaces to the Floo Network, spreading this marvel of convenience far and wide.
The streets of Diagon Alley were alive with sound and motion: vendors shouting about their wares, apprentices haggling, and the flapping of hundreds of owls overhead.
Owls had become the favored pets and messengers of wizards, thanks to Sylas's influence, and now nearly every household owned at least one.
Children, laughing and shrieking, rode small toy broomsticks between the legs of passersby, causing people to duck and scatter while others burst into laughter.
It was a place of magic and joy, echoing the prosperity and peace Sylas had long dreamed of.
Years rolled on.
The first generation of students from Sylas's Accelerated Magic Course had long since grown up, many of them now raising children of their own.
The eldest of these young wizards were now turning ten.
And, following the tradition of the wizarding world Sylas once knew, those who reached eleven would soon receive acceptance letters to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Sylas knew, however, that the magical education of the new generation could not be left to chance.
While their parents were skilled, each wizard excelled in different disciplines; without structure, their children's learning would be fragmented.
So, Sylas made his decision.
He would formally establish Hogwarts as a proper institution, a school worthy of nurturing the next age of wizards.
And when the time came, every young witch and wizard, upon reaching their eleventh birthday, would receive a letter sealed with the crest of Hogwarts Castle.
Unlike the previous accelerated magic programs, this new system would follow a gradual, structured seven-year curriculum.
Students would begin with foundational courses and advance step by step, mastering progressively deeper aspects of magic. It was, at last, the true rebirth of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as it was meant to be.
By the following year, the first generation of young wizards would reach the proper age for admission.
Although the Ministry of Magic's staff could handle the counting and registration of eligible students, Sylas believed it would be far better to create the Pen of Acceptance and the Book of Admission, just as the original Hogwarts had once possessed.
These two enchanted artifacts would automatically identify and record every child born with magical potential, ensuring no one with the gift went unnoticed, and greatly simplifying the later process of sending admission letters.
The Pen of Acceptance was a magical quill that could sense children with latent magical talent across the land.
When a child first exhibited signs of uncontrolled or spontaneous magic, perhaps levitating a toy in anger or summoning light in a dark room, the quill would spring from its silver inkwell and inscribe the child's name, age, and birthplace into the Book of Admission.
The Book of Admission, however, did not simply accept every name written by the Pen. It was, in a sense, sentient, capable of judgment. Only when the evidence of true magical ability was clear and consistent would it approve the name and allow it to remain.
If, for instance, a child who once showed magic later lost their abilities, such as those unfortunate few who became Squibs, the Book would quietly erase their names, ensuring that Hogwarts never mistakenly sent an invitation to someone without magic.
For Sylas, crafting these two artifacts was not particularly difficult with his current magical mastery.
The real challenge lay in determining the detection range.
The cities of Hogsmeade and Bree were relatively close to Hogwarts Castle, but Isengard lay thousands of miles to the south.
To allow the Pen and Book to cover such vast distances, essentially the entire western continent beyond the Misty Mountains, would demand a tremendous amount of power.
Another question weighed on Sylas's mind:
Should Hogwarts admit only the young wizards of his own lands, humans born under his rule, or should it open its gates to elves, dwarves, and other magical races as well?
The elves, in particular, posed a unique problem.
Their growth was profoundly different from that of humans.
Elven children could speak, walk, and even dance within a year of birth, yet their physical development slowed drastically afterward. When human children were already grown, elven children of the same age still appeared to be no older than six or seven.
An elf did not reach their final physical form until around fifty years of age, and full maturity, both mental and spiritual, came only after a century. For some among the high elves, even longer.
Sylas recalled seeing elven "children" in Rivendell and Lothlórien who looked barely eight years old but were, in truth, decades older than he was.
Keeping these differences in mind, Sylas decided that inclusion would depend on mutual consent.
He sent word to Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond, seeking their opinions.
If the elves were willing to let their young attend Hogwarts Castle, he would welcome them with open arms. But if they preferred their traditional, secluded way of life, he would not press them.
In that case, he would simply limit the Pen of Acceptance's detection range to his own territories, Bree, Hogsmeade, and Isengard, and perhaps later craft an additional Pen and Book specifically for the southern region.
That way, the Pen of Acceptance in Isengard could monitor magical children from the southern lands, while the one in Hogwarts would oversee the northern territories.
...
Stones Plzzz
Read upto 20 chapters ahead @keepsmiling 818 P@reon