Dumbledore cleared his throat, breaking the heavy, stunned silence that hung over the office. He looked at his Deputy Headmistress, whose eyes were still wide with disbelief as she stared at the calm first-year student.
"There is more, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently, leaning back in his chair. "Alister does not merely wish to donate the design. He has requested that he be the one to construct the Gauntlet. Entirely by himself."
McGonagall found her voice, though it was strained. "Albus, that is... that is extremely ambitious. The magical exhaustion alone... surely we should assign the N.E.W.T. Transfiguration students to assist? Or the staff? To manipulate the landscape on this scale is dangerous."
"No," Dumbledore said, raising a hand. "He wishes to use this project as a crucible for his own improvement. He wants to push the boundaries of his understanding through practical application. I have agreed."
He gestured between Alister and McGonagall. "However, I do not wish for him to work entirely without resources. I need you and Filius to act as his consultants. If he encounters a structural impasse or a Charm that requires a specific nuance he has not yet mastered, I want him to have access to your expertise. You are to guide, but not to cast."
McGonagall looked at Alister, who sat calmly amidst the blueprints, looking less like a student and more like a seasoned architect. "Albus, are you certain? This is unprecedented. If a spell backfires on a project of this magnitude..."
"Minerva," Dumbledore interrupted softly, his voice firm and laced with absolute conviction. "If you are worried about him, then don't be. I trust Alister. I trust his judgment, and I trust his talent. As far as I have seen today, his grasp of magic already rivals that of many who have graduated from this institution. He sees the threads of magic in a way few ever do."
He smiled, a genuine, warm expression. "Let us give him the room to fly."
McGonagall pursed her lips, looked at the mountains of complex calculations that a first-year had produced in three days—calculations that were flawless—and finally sighed. The resistance drained out of her.
"Very well, Albus," she said, straightening her robes. "If you believe he is ready, I will not stand in the way." She turned to Alister, her expression shifting from shock to a stern, professional respect. "Professor Flitwick and I will be at your disposal, Alister. Do not hesitate to find us if the magic proves... recalcitrant."
"Thank you, Professor," Alister said, standing up and bowing slightly. "I will try not to take up too much of your time."
Alister gathered his stack of blueprints and left the Headmaster's office, leaving behind a stunned Deputy Headmistress and a twinkling Dumbledore. The heavy stone gargoyle ground shut behind him, sealing the tower.
He didn't return to the dungeon. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the grounds, but for Alister, the workday was just beginning. He walked straight out of the oak front doors and headed for the Quidditch pitch.
The stadium was empty and silent, the tall goal posts standing like sentinels against the orange sky. Alister walked to the center of the pitch and unrolled the master plan on the grass, weighing the corners down with stones.
He looked up at the empty air above the stadium. This was Zone 1: The Velocity Rings.
According to his design, he needed to create twenty floating rings that would rhythmically expand and contract. They needed to be solid enough to be visible, soft enough to crash into safely, and anchored in mid-air against the wind.
Alister didn't rush to the pitch to start waving his wand. He needed the formula before he attempted the solution.
He turned on his heel and marched to the Library.
He secured a table in the back and immediately began pulling books on Atmospheric Charms, Structural Enchantment, and Kinetic Loops
The hours ticked by. By the time Madam Pince extinguished the lamps and shooed him out, his notes were only half-finished. He had the structure, but the animation—the rhythmic expansion and contraction—was proving elusive in theory.
He returned to the dungeons, but not to sleep. He slipped into his secret base, the abandoned classroom. He spent the midnight hours on his Rune practice, carving intricate Uruz (strength) runes into stone chips to keep his hands busy while his mind chewed on the Charms problem.
The next morning, Alister was up before the sun. He returned to the library the moment the doors opened, finalizing his theoretical framework. He found a reference in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4 regarding "summoning charms applied to elastic materials," but it was incomplete.
He needed an expert.
Gathering his notes, Alister made his way to the Charms Corridor on the third floor. He stopped in front of the office of Professor Filius Flitwick.
He knocked.
"Come in, come in!" the high, squeaky voice called out.
Alister entered. The office was a cheerful chaos of books and floating objects. Professor Flitwick was perched atop a pile of cushions behind his desk, looking over a stack of essays. When he saw Alister, his eyes lit up.
"Ah, Mr. Potter! Headmaster Dumbledore told me about your... ambitious project," Flitwick beamed, practically vibrating with excitement. "The Aerial Gauntlet, was it? Marvelous idea! Combining flight with obstacle navigation—pure genius! How can I help you?"
Alister walked forward and placed his half-finished notes on the desk.
"Professor, I have the theory for the cloud condensation and the cushioning," Alister said, getting straight to the point. "But I am stuck on the Kinetic Animation Loop. I need the rings to expand and contract rhythmically, independent of my concentration. I can't sustain twenty active animation spells simultaneously forever after building the rest of the course."
Flitwick adjusted his glasses, peering at Alister's notes. "Ah, yes. The Auto-Kinetic dilemma. You're looking for a repeating charm, Mr. Potter. Something usually reserved for magical household appliances, like self-stirring cauldrons."
He hopped down from his chair, his wand twitching in his hand. "You're trying to use Locomotor, which requires constant focus. Instead, you should look into the Oscillating Charm. It sets a rhythmic movement pattern that feeds off ambient magic. If you anchor it to the center of your cloud ring..."
Flitwick drew a complex figure-eight pattern in the air with his wand.
"...you can create a heartbeat," Flitwick finished, tapping the desk. "It will expand and contract until you issue a counter-charm."
Alister's eyes widened slightly. The Oscillating Charm. It wasn't in the first-year curriculum, nor the second. It was a utilitarian spell often overlooked in combat theory, but essential for engineering.
"Show me the wand movement again, Professor," Alister requested, his focus narrowing to absolute clarity. "Slowly."
Professor Flitwick beamed, delighted by a student taking such a keen interest in the mechanics of magic.
"Watch closely," Flitwick squeaked. He raised his wand. "It is a fluid figure-eight motion, followed by a sharp jab to the center of the object. The incantation is Oscillo."
He performed the movement with practiced grace. "Oscillo!"
A quill lying on his desk shuddered. Slowly, rhythmically, it began to stretch an inch, then shrink back, pulsing like a living thing.
Alister's eyes tracked the wand tip. The Ascension System analyzed the vector, the timing, and the magical output. It wasn't just a movement; it was a command to the object's molecular structure to enter a state of flux.
Alister raised his own wand. He didn't need to practice the motion; his muscles simply replicated what his mind had processed.
"Oscillo," Alister stated calmly, executing the figure-eight and jab perfectly.
The inkwell next to the quill immediately began to expand and contract in perfect time with the quill.
Flitwick clapped his hands, nearly falling off his cushion stack. "First try! Astonishing! You have a natural affinity for charms work, Mr. Potter. The rhythm is perfect."
"Thank you, Professor," Alister said, lowering his wand. The spell was the final piece of the puzzle. "This was exactly what I needed."
He gathered his notes, gave a respectful bow to the Charms Master, and turned to leave. He had the theory. He had the spell. Now, it was time to build.
Alister walked out onto the Quidditch pitch. The sun was high now, the sky a brilliant, clear blue—a perfect canvas.
He stood in the center of the grass and unrolled his blueprint for Zone 1. He needed twenty rings. They had to be massive, visible, and safe.
He pointed his wand at the sky. He closed his eyes, visualizing the complex layering of spells he had researched in the library and refined with Flitwick. It wasn't just casting one spell after another; it was weaving them together into a single, cohesive structure.
Step 1: The Form. "Nebulus," he whispered. A stream of white mist erupted from his wand, swirling upwards and condensing into a thick, ten-foot ring in the air.
Step 2: The Structure. "Duro... Spongify." He cast the spells almost simultaneously, binding the mist into a semi-solid state while weaving the softening charm into the lattice. The cloud ring solidified, looking like white stone but holding the density of a thick pillow.
Step 3: The Life. "Oscillo." He finished with Flitwick's charm, locking the rhythm into the cloud's core.
The ring shuddered. It shrank to five feet, then expanded back to ten. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. A heartbeat in the sky.
It worked.
Alister didn't stop. He turned his wand to the next coordinate. He worked methodically, his Tier 3 magical core pouring energy into the sky. One by one, the rings appeared—a spiraling, shifting tunnel of white clouds that swooped through the goalposts and climbed toward the clouds.
By the time he finished the twentieth ring, sweat was trickling down his back, but the sky above the pitch was transformed. A rhythmic, pulsating course hung in the air, waiting for a rider.
The sudden appearance of twenty pulsating cloud rings above the Quidditch pitch was impossible to hide. By breakfast the next morning, the rumor mill was grinding at full capacity.
"I heard he's building a summoning circle for You-Know-Who."
"Don't be stupid, it's clearly a weather experiment. My dad says the Potters were weather wizards."
"I bet it's a giant game of hoop-and-stick."
The speculation reached a fever pitch until Professor McGonagall intervened. She didn't offer explanations; she simply stood at the podium in the Great Hall, her expression sharp enough to cut glass.
"Mr. Potter is conducting an authorized independent study project under my direct supervision," she announced, her voice ringing with finality. "Any student found interfering with the construction sites, or harassing Mr. Potter regarding his work, will find themselves serving detention until they graduate. Is that clear?"
The Hall fell silent. The threat was absolute. The rumors died down to hushed whispers, and most students gave Alister a wide berth, treating him like a ticking bomb that belonged to the Deputy Headmistress.
Most students, except for two.
Fred and George Weasley viewed McGonagall's threat not as a deterrent, but as a challenge to be navigated. They ambushed Alister in the library, in the corridors, and once, impressively, inside a moving suit of armor.
"Just a hint," Fred wheedled, popping out from behind a tapestry. "Is it a dragon trap?"
"Is it a giant Quidditch goal for giants?" George asked, sliding down a banister to intercept him.
Alister stopped, sighing internally. He respected their tenacity, but he needed focus.
"It is a secret," Alister said calmly.
He pulled out a scrap of parchment. On it, he had scribbled a modification of the Oscillating Charm he had learned from Flitwick, combined with a basic Proximity Trigger rune he had practiced.
"This," Alister said, handing it to Fred, "is a spell chain. If applied to a Dungbomb, it won't detonate on impact. It will detonate only when it detects a specific vocal frequency—like, say, the word 'detention' or 'Filch'."
The twins stared at the parchment, their eyes widening as they mentally simulated the chaos. It was a delayed-blast mine triggered by authority figures.
"Genius," George breathed.
"We never saw you," Fred promised, tucking the parchment away reverently. "We know nothing. Good luck with your hoops, Potter."
They vanished, leaving Alister in peace to continue his work.
With the distractions managed, Alister threw himself into the grind.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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