No one knew better than James how hard it was to sit through his remaining classes before he could rush to the library. Transfiguration dragged on interminably despite McGonagall's efficient teaching. History of Magic was its usual torture, with Binns droning on while James pretended to take notes. Even lunch felt like an obstacle, though he forced himself to eat quickly before abandoning the Great Hall.
Finally, his afternoon classes ended.
James made a beeline for the library, his pace just short of an actual run. Several students gave him odd looks as he hurried past them, but he didn't care. The restricted section awaited, and with it, answers he'd been seeking forever, well around five days but who's counting.
Madam Pince looked up from her desk as he entered, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly at his pace and obvious eagerness.
"Good afternoon, Madam Pince," James said, catching his breath. He pulled out the parchment Professor Flitwick had given him and handed it over. "Professor Flitwick has provided me with a restricted section pass."
Madam Pince's eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline. A first-year with a restricted section pass was clearly unprecedented in her experience. She took the parchment and examined it with the kind of scrutiny that would have made a forensic expert proud.
She turned it over, held it up to the light, examined the seal, and traced her fingers over Flitwick's signature. Then, apparently still not satisfied, she drew her wand and cast what looked like an authentication charm. The parchment glowed briefly with golden light before fading.
James was mostly amused by the whole performance, though he maintained a respectful expression throughout.
Finally satisfied that the document was genuine, Madam Pince looked at James with an expression caught between reluctance and resignation.
"Follow me, Mr. Acton."
She led him past the main reading areas, through the stacks, and into the back corner where a velvet rope blocked access to a separate section. The restricted section. Even the lighting seemed dimmer here, the shadows deeper, as if the books themselves preferred darkness.
Madam Pince removed the rope with a wave of her wand and began pulling books from the shelves, checking each title against Flitwick's list. She moved with practiced efficiency, her movements precise as she gathered volume after volume.
When she'd collected all seventeen books, she levitated them to a nearby desk and turned to James with an expression of severe warning.
"I would normally never allow anyone to borrow so many restricted books at once. These books remain in this section for good reason. However, since Professor Flitwick has specifically requested this and you've shown yourself to be responsible and respectful of library materials, I will make an exception."
She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to something close to a hiss. "But understand this, Mr. Acton. If any of these books are damaged, lost, or mistreated in any way, I will permanently ban you from this library. Not just the restricted section. The entire library. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Madam Pince. I'll treat them with utmost care."
She looked deeply reluctant even as she gestured for him to take the books. "They must remain in the library. You may not remove them from this building under any circumstances. I will only let you check out two of them at a time."
"Of course, Madam Pince. Thank you."
James levitated the stack of books carefully, mindful of their age and value, and made his way to what had essentially become his personal desk in the ancient language section. The familiar corner welcomed him, isolated and quiet, perfect for his intensive study sessions.
He set the books down and examined the titles with growing excitement.
Echoes Before Wandlight by Aurelian Vossmere. The First Currents of Power by Selwyn Argrave. On the Nature of Living Magic by Ilyra Quentis. Those three immediately caught his attention as directly related to ancient magic.
The rest dealt with spatial theory, Arithmancy applications, and Runic anchoring. All valuable, and necessary for his expansion charm project. But his current obsession was ancient magic, and he couldn't resist starting there.
James was slightly disappointed that only three books on the list dealt specifically with his primary interest, but it was more than he'd had access to before. He'd take what he could get.
He pulled Echoes Before Wandlight toward him and opened it carefully. The book was old, the pages yellowed and delicate. Some sections had been partially obscured, entire paragraphs blocked out with what looked like permanent darkening charms. Banned content, apparently deemed too dangerous even for the restricted section.
The introduction was written in archaic English that required careful parsing:
"This treatise doth document the epoch before the Wandmaker's art, before the standardization of incantation and gesture, when magick was not cast but wrought, not commanded but shaped through pattern and covenant."
James's pulse quickened. This was it. This was what he'd been searching for.
The first chapter explained that early witches and wizards, before the development of wand-based spellcasting, had used entirely different methods to work magic. Vossmere described three primary techniques:
Ritual Geometry involved creating physical patterns, circles and spirals and star arrays, that focused and directed magical energy. The author included detailed diagrams showing hexagonal power lattices, tri-spiral summoning circles, and more complex geometric configurations. According to Vossmere, these patterns weren't just decorative. They were fundamental to how ancient magic worked, each angle and intersection serving a specific purpose in channeling power.
Blood Anchoring was more disturbing. Ancient mages bound spells to their own life force, using blood as a physical link between caster and magic. This made the spells far more powerful and permanent, but also dangerous. The text was frustratingly vague about the actual methodology, with several pages completely obscured by darkening charms.
Reality Shaping was the most fascinating and least explained technique. Vossmere claimed that ancient magic didn't just affect physical matter like modern Transfiguration. It altered probability itself, bending the fabric of reality to make certain outcomes more or less likely. He wrote:
"The ancient mages did not transfigure lead into gold through alchemical process. They convinced reality that the lead had always been gold, retroactively altering the substance's history."
The implications were staggering. If true, this explained why ancient magical structures like Hogwarts seemed to defy normal physics. They weren't built using enhanced versions of modern spells. They were created through fundamentally different magical principles.
Vossmere's conclusion was sobering:
"Modern wandlore hath brought safety and standardization, rendering magick accessible to those of lesser power and training. Yet what hath been gained in reliability hath been lost in potency. The wand is a tool of limitation, focusing magick into narrow channels whilst preventing access to the deeper currents our ancestors commanded."
James sat back, his mind racing. Wands made magic weaker but safer. That's why the Founders' work seemed impossible to modern wizards. They weren't using wands. They were accessing magic directly, through methods that had been abandoned centuries ago.
He reached for the second book, The First Currents of Power by Selwyn Argrave.
This text took a completely different approach, treating magic almost like a natural force similar to gravity or electromagnetism. Argrave opened with a radical proposition:
"Magic does not originate within the practitioner. Rather, the witch or wizard serves as a conduit, drawing upon ambient magical currents that flow through the world like invisible rivers."
The author described what he called "ley lines," channels of concentrated magical energy that crisscrossed the globe. Where multiple ley lines intersected, magical reservoirs formed, places of immense power that ancient civilizations had built upon.
Argrave explained why certain locations felt inherently magical. Hogwarts, he suggested, sat at the convergence of multiple major ley lines, which was why it could support such complex and long-lasting enchantments. The castle wasn't just built with powerful magic. It was built on a foundation of natural magical power that fed and sustained its enchantments.
The book included maps showing theoretical ley line networks across Britain, with major convergence points marked. Several corresponded to known magical sites, Stonehenge, Glastonbury Tor, and of course, the general region where Hogwarts was located.
But Argrave also included warnings:
"Should a ley line be severed or corrupted, all structures and enchantments drawing upon it will begin to decay. This, I posit, explains the collapse of numerous ancient magical civilizations whose ruins still dot the landscape."
James made careful notes. This suggested that ancient magic wasn't just different in technique. It was environmentally dependent, requiring access to natural magical currents that modern wizards had either forgotten about or learned to work without.
The third book, On the Nature of Living Magic by Ilyra Quentis, was the strangest of the three.
Quentis proposed something that bordered on heretical by modern magical standards. She claimed that magic itself was semi-sentient, not conscious like a human or even like a house-elf, but aware in some fundamental way. Capable of responding differently to different practitioners, of favoring or resisting based on factors beyond mere technical skill.
Her central argument was provocative:
"We do not command magic. We negotiate with it. Those who succeeded in ancient times understood this. They approached magic with respect, with ritual, with offerings both symbolic and substantial. Modern wizards, armed with wands and codified spells, attempt to force magic into predetermined shapes. Sometimes it complies. Other times it resists, and we blame our technique rather than recognizing that magic itself has rejected our intent."
She explained this as the reason why some spells failed even when performed perfectly according to instruction. Why certain bloodlines produced stronger mages across generations. Why ancient magical sites seemed to "remember" and respond to visitors differently based on unclear criteria.
Quentis wrote extensively about intent and emotion as factors in magical success. Ancient mages, she claimed, didn't just learn the mechanics of spells. They learned to communicate with magic itself, to sense when it was willing or hostile, to negotiate rather than command.
The most controversial section dealt with what she called "conversational magic":
"Sacrificial magic worked not because blood contains inherent power, though it does, but because sacrifice demonstrated commitment. Magic responded to genuine offering, genuine need, genuine respect. Modern wizards wonder why such techniques are both powerful and unstable. The answer is simple: forced sacrifice, coerced offering, breeds resentment. Magic remembers."
James read this section three times, trying to wrap his mind around the implications. If magic was even slightly aware, if it could remember and respond based on how it was treated, then every spell ever cast had potentially altered magic's "relationship" with wizardkind.
He sat back from the three books, his notes spread across the desk in organized chaos.
Together, these texts painted a picture of ancient magic that was radically different from what he'd imagined and also different from each other. Each book putting forward the perspective that was unlike the one before. He now knows why most books just say ancient magic and leave it at that, if even the experts in the field can't agree on a single point what would others know:
Magic used to be wild and vast, flowing through the world in natural currents that ancient civilizations tapped into. They treated it as something alive, something to be negotiated with rather than commanded. They used geometric patterns, blood bonds, and reality-bending techniques that had no modern equivalent.
Then came wands. Then came standardization. Magic became safer, more accessible, more controllable. But in the process, something fundamental was lost. The deep connection, the raw power, the ability to shape reality itself rather than just matter within it.
Modern wizards were like people who'd traded horses for cars. Faster, more reliable, more efficient. But no longer truly bonded to what they were using.
All of these were fascinating points but he now knows the books will not be providing him with the answers he seek, he will have to figure out his own definition of Ancient Magic.