Professor McGonagall's crisp voice echoed through the corridor. "Albus, if Professor Quirrell is unable to continue teaching, we'll need to start searching for next year's Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor."
Dumbledore's gentle reply followed: "Of course! I'll see to it over the summer holidays."
He stepped into his open office and spotted Fawkes gliding in slow circles overhead. "Did someone come by just now?"
Fawkes nodded, delicately plucked a feather, and placed it in Dumbledore's palm.
"So, Wyzett was here?" Dumbledore murmured, brow furrowing thoughtfully. "Where is he now? Did he go back to celebrate? That hardly seems like him…"
Fawkes swooped over to the Mirror of Erised, circling it again and again, wings stirring the air with anxious energy.
Consciousness returned to Wyzett. He found himself standing in a vast, shadowy hall.
Instinctively, he raised his hand—the lingering warmth in his palm faded fast, leaving only the faintest thread of connection.
As he took in his surroundings, the gloom began to recede. Light bloomed, revealing the hall's true form.
Towering walls, built from massive stone blocks, rose around him. Every seam was sealed with gleaming gold, making the structure appear seamless and impossibly sturdy.
Both the stones and the gilded metal were etched with countless words and symbols, each one pulsing softly with silver-blue light.
That light flickered and danced, and the carvings seemed almost alive—rippling, shifting, writhing across the stone like living serpents.
"Silver-blue light?" Wyzett edged toward a corner, using his body to block the glow and cast a patch of shadow.
His fingers morphed into Devil's Snare, gently tracing the glowing symbols. A strange, almost intimate sensation welled up within him.
Despite the grandeur and emptiness of the hall, he felt no fear or oppression.
If anything, he felt perfectly at home—almost as if this place existed for him and him alone.
"Could these symbols all be imbued with Ancient Magic? And is that why my connection to Fawkes feels so faint?" he murmured, tightening his grip on his wand and activating his Oculus Magicae.
The magical sight revealed even more—silver-blue auras shimmered across the walls, confirming his suspicion. The symbols themselves were saturated with the power of Ancient Magic, distilled and matured over ages.
Wyzett could sense that this magic was ripe for the taking—he could absorb it directly, no need for further searching.
Still, everything since encountering the mirror had been so abrupt and uncanny that he kept his guard up, wand at the ready, as he swiftly drew in the Ancient Magic.
The Wizard's Practical Combat Guide materialized at his side, its pages fluttering as it hungrily stored away every drop of power.
Once the hall's reserves of Ancient Magic were drained, the center of the room began to shimmer—silver-blue light bubbling up like a newly tapped spring, overflowing with ever-brighter magic.
Wyzett gripped his wand and crept closer, feeling the light's pull—a strange sensation, as if the magic was calling to him through his wand.
He had the sense that if he simply raised his wand high, the light would swell and reveal whatever secrets it concealed.
But memories from his past life tugged at him. He knew that responding to such a call could mean a swift return to Hogwarts—or the triggering of some magical trap.
He hesitated, then prudently stepped back, frowning in thought.
"There's so much Ancient Magic here… If I draw out the light, maybe a trial will appear?"
After all, he'd been transported here so suddenly and gifted with so much power—it seemed only logical that this was a prelude to some kind of test.
Perhaps only by passing the trial of the silver-blue light could he find a way back to Hogwarts.
Erring on the side of caution, Wyzett decided not to hoard the Ancient Magic he'd absorbed. Instead, he began to consider how best to use it in preparation for whatever might come next.
Devil's Snare Form had served him well—just two days ago, he'd used it to tear a mountain troll to shreds.
But it had its weaknesses, too: like the real plant, it recoiled from warmth and light.
"If I could use refinement magic to improve the Devil's Snare Form… maybe I could shed those weaknesses," he mused, channeling Ancient Magic into the transformation. Nothing happened.
"What if I simply infuse it with Ancient Magic, to strengthen it directly…" Again, no response.
After two failed attempts, Wyzett began to understand. It was only after that Herbology lesson—when he'd truly studied the magical circuits of Devil's Snare—that The Wizard's Practical Combat Guide had responded, allowing him to learn Ancient Magic: Self-Molding (Devil's Snare Form).
As Professor McGonagall had said, Transfiguration was the most complex and dangerous branch of magic. Even the powerful Guide would only offer help based on his own knowledge, lest he lose himself in the process.
"If I want to overcome the weaknesses of the Devil's Snare Form, I'll have to cultivate my own plant and master some unique insights…"
He fell silent, pondering which spell might be best suited for refinement.
At last, he settled on the Extinguishing Charm.
Normally, it was a simple household spell—perfect for snuffing out candles and other small sources of light. But he was skilled with it, and it was easy to adapt.
With his mind made up, Wyzett began merging the charm with refinement magic. The Wizard's Practical Combat Guide responded, a new entry appearing on its pages:
Ancient Magic: Enhanced Extinguishing Charm (Basic): Channel Ancient Magic to cast the Extinguishing Charm… Amplify magical force… Create a field of magical darkness… Within this field, slightly increase the caster's perception and speed…
Wyzett flicked his wand. "Nox!"
Silver-blue light swirled around the wand tip, and a shadowy bubble appeared, bobbing gently in the air.
He glanced at the distant fountain of silver-blue light, then gave his wand a subtle wave.
With a soft pop, the bubble vanished—only to reappear at the heart of the glowing spring, swelling rapidly into a pitch-dark sphere nearly ten meters wide. In an instant, it swallowed the surging magic whole.
The Extinguishing Charm, now enhanced by Ancient Magic, persisted even without his concentration—maintaining a subtle connection to him at all times.
Wyzett stepped into the great black bubble. Inside, the darkness was absolute, every trace of light consumed.
Even the once-blazing silver-blue spring was reduced to a handful of faint, flickering motes…
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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