[Host has discovered the Room of Requirement — 50 Achievement Points awarded]
"So many?" Tom raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.
Usually, when he snuck into other classrooms at night, it barely earned him two achievement points. The Trophy Room gave a bit more, but even that only amounted to five points. Yet the Room of Requirement had just given him ten times that.
In one swoop, his achievement points had soared past three hundred.
"Looks like special places give far more achievement points than I thought… the professors' offices, secret passageways, maybe even… old Dumbledore's office."
Tom made a mental note of this new revelation before finally shifting his focus back to his original purpose—training.
"Let's start with the basics."
He whipped out his wand and pointed it at a wooden dummy. A sharp flick.
"Confringo!"
A jet of red light blasted from his wand and struck the dummy squarely. With a deafening BOOM, it exploded into a cloud of splinters and dust that rained down like confetti.
Tom's face remained calm and unreadable. He turned smoothly to the next target.
The power of that spell was nothing short of terrifying. Most adult wizards would struggle to produce that kind of force—but Tom had always been an exception. His magical strength far outstripped that of his peers, and under Andros' guidance, he had gained an especially profound understanding of blasting curses. Add to that his prodigious natural talent, and this explosion had actually been him holding back.
But raw power wasn't everything. In a real duel, speed, accuracy, and timing were all just as important. What good was power if you couldn't hit your target?
The room lit up like a miniature war zone. Colorful spells whipped through the air in dazzling arcs.
Stupefy. Petrificus Totalus. Expulso. Ventus.
Every spell struck with force and precision, tearing through the dummies one by one. As he practiced, Tom followed Andros' advice—letting his body learn the motions, storing the muscle memory of each flick, twist, and thrust until spellcasting became instinctual.
Soon, the floor was littered with the shattered remains of dozens of training dummies.
But then, with a subtle shimmer of magic, the dummies began to rebuild themselves.
Piece by piece, wood and iron slotted back into place. In less than thirty seconds, the entire room had reset. Not only that—the dummies began moving.
"Moving targets now?" Tom raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself.
The Room of Requirement had just gone up a notch in his estimation. Not only could it provide targets, it could also offer progression. This training setup alone was already more practical than anything taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
After a short rest, Tom resumed.
The dummies now moved at a pace equal to a running adult. Still, his hit rate remained around 90%. It was often said that magic was about intent—but intent alone couldn't land a spell. It was also about timing, movement, prediction.
Fifteen minutes later, another round of dummies had been obliterated.
When they reassembled this time, they moved twice as fast. Their speed now matched that of top-tier sprinters. And to make things worse, each dummy had a number floating above its head, from 1 to 30.
"They want me to take them down in numerical order?"
This had gone from beginner to nightmare mode. The speed alone was hard to keep up with, and now there were layers of complexity: dodging overlap, managing spell arcs, hitting precise targets in a moving swarm.
Tom struggled.
Even his sharp instincts and formidable focus weren't enough to keep pace.
Time to cheat.
"Andros. Your turn."
Tom activated his privileges—granting Andros control through the "Embodiment" feature for the first time. His body now moved under the control of the ancient archmage's will.
"Ha! It's been ages since I've felt blood and bone like this!" Andros' delighted, slightly off-key laugh spilled from Tom's lips.
"You've only got seven minutes. Save the nostalgia." Tom's tone was dry as he reminded Andros of the time limit. The initial control window was five minutes, extended slightly thanks to a Favorability score of 63—each point granting ten additional seconds.
What Tom felt next was surreal.
His thoughts remained his own, but his body moved on its own accord—yet he still felt every motion. The feedback from each flick and twist, the pull of the wand through air, the thrum of magic through his fingers.
It was easy to see why this was called "Embodiment." Though frankly, "possession by a spell god" felt more accurate.
And as for the performance?
It was like watching a professional player log into a bronze-level account and completely demolish the competition.
"Watch closely," Andros advised. "Feel the rhythm."
Tom's eyes sharpened.
"Stupefy!"
ZING—a dazzling white arc flew in a perfect curve, skipping around three moving dummies to strike dummy #8 squarely in the chest. It didn't just splinter—it disintegrated into a cloud of magical dust.
"Confringo!"
"Diffindo Maxima!"
The incantations came rapid-fire. Though Andros could've cast them silently, he chose to speak for Tom's benefit.
What left Tom stunned wasn't just the speed of the incantations—it was the fact that three different spells launched simultaneously in different directions and still hit targets #9, #10, and #11 in exact order, without any overlap or error.
"And remember this feeling," Andros instructed mid-duel. "Let your wand be an extension of your gaze, not a mere weapon. Only then will magic obey you like instinct."
Combined with the flood of sensory feedback, Tom was gaining far more than just visual instruction—he was experiencing true mastery.
And it still wasn't enough.
Tom activated "Transcendence."
Suddenly, Andros' movements slowed to a crawl in his perception. Every micro-twitch, every shift of weight, every angle of spell trajectory was magnified. The air around him thickened, stretching seconds into eternities.
In just thirty real-time seconds, Andros had reduced twenty-two dummies to dust. Before the room could auto-reset, he flicked his wand—restoring the targets instantly and launching a new round.
And he did it again. And again.
In seven minutes, Andros had completed eleven full rounds of high-speed target elimination.
It wasn't that this was his limit—this was Tom's magical limit. Even with a shared magical talent, Tom was still just a first-year. For wizards, magical growth was governed by two things: innate talent and age.
This was why older wizards were typically stronger. But still—talent always trumped age. A hundred-year-old mediocre wizard would never outmatch a recent graduate born with the gift of a century.
When the timer ran out, Andros returned to the study space. Control reverted to Tom.
A wave of exhaustion hit him like a crashing tide. His limbs felt hollow. His brain fogged. He almost collapsed.
Gritting his teeth, he steadied himself, lifting his wand once more.
Embodiment had ended—but Transcendence was still active.
And he would not waste a second of it.