Malleability

June 25, 1993, 9:50 AM, Twelve Grimmauld Place

Adam Clarke

I stood in the center of the room, my muscles tense with anticipation, facing Professor McGonagall. She watched me with a mixture of expectation and carefully measured patience.

I immersed myself further into focus, a sensation I’d grown increasingly familiar with since beginning this training with my teacher. My Riposte Charm was never just a simple spell for me— I’d created it with the specific aim to make it an extension of my will, a silvery manifestation of raw magical potential that seemed to dance between the boundaries of what was considered possible for a single spell to accomplish.

“Your chains, Mr. Black.” McGonagall said, her voice stern and crisp. It wasn’t a request, but a gentle command that brooked no argument.

I took a deep breath, focusing on the magic that hummed just beneath my skin.

Slowly, deliberately, I summoned forth my will.

Odgovor!

The energy materialized from nothing, a liquid-like substance of pure silver that caught the light in impossible ways as it began to coalesce into the form I was most familiar with. The chains swirled around me, the soft clinking echoing off of the walls.

“Impressive control of the initial formation.” McGonagall commented, her voice neutral but with a hint of something— though I couldn’t tell what— lurking just beneath the surface. “Now, show me your ability to transform it.”

Challenge accepted.

I focused my will once more on the chain’s end, willing it to change. First, a speartip emerged, sharp and dangerous, cutting through the air with a soft whisper. Then, just as quickly, it transformed into a steel ball, dense and heavy, dropping with a soft thud against the stone floor. The rest of the chain followed each transformation, fluid and responsive to my mental commands.

But I wasn’t finished.

With increased concentration, I began adding more intricate details and functions. Razor-sharp blades sprouted along the chain’s links, making it so that my weapon was dangerous no matter which way it was approached. Each blade caught the light, spinning and shifting with my slightest thought.

McGonagall’s approving nod was subtle, almost unnoticeable.

“Silent spellwork, though you’ve displayed this before; it’s good to see that it is not a fluke.” She said, walking around and examining the spell. “However, I can see that there is some noticeable energy wastage. To be expected from a relative novice, even one with your level of potential.”

I frowned slightly. Energy wastage? I’d been practicing constantly, pushing myself harder than anyone else I knew. But McGonagall’s tone wasn’t critical— it was matter-of-fact, almost encouraging.

“Do you believe my energy control needs improvement, then, Professor?” I asked, hoping for more specific guidance.

She shook her head, a rare soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Not precisely; control will come with time. What you need is variety. Versatility. The ability to truly command your magic, not just control it.”

McGonagall diverted my attention to the nearby table.

With an almost casual ease, she transfigured a table into rope, chain, and various different shapes, growing more complex and adding more items as she went along. I watched her closely, completely impressed by the fluidity of her magic. The energy forms were switching seamlessly, and each transformation seemed effortless, the materials shifting almost liquid under her considerable magical control.

Comparing my own skill level to hers was like comparing an amateur fighter to a master combatant.

I still have so far to go? I thought.

“Adam.” She said, her voice cutting through my amazement as she shifted the item into a heavy, black iron chain. “You need to work on changing the shape of your chains to different things.”

She demonstrated, showing me a perfect snowflake shape formed from what had moments ago been a rigid chain.

I focused, trying to replicate her technique. The chain end slowly shifted, attempting to become a snowflake. But my concentration wavered, and the shape became unstable. I frowned, frustrated by my inability to hold the delicate crystalline form.

McGonagall noticed my struggle.

“You’re having difficulty.” She observed. “And there’s a reason for that.”

I looked up, curiosity replacing my frustration as I dispelled my chains. “What do you mean?”

She explained, choosing her words with care. “You’ve been focusing on one aspect of your spell for so long that it has taken on a life of its own. The spell is now resistant to change.”

Confused, I asked. “Is that even possible? I’ve never read about anything like this in any of my research on spell creation.”

A small smile crossed McGonagall’s typically stern face. “That’s because this isn’t exactly part of the standard curriculum, or even common knowledge for that matter. Spell creation is still a fairly unexplored field of magical study. But we’ve begun to understand that spells seem to assume a rigid structure after a certain point of repeated casting.”

I tried to wrap my mind around the concept. “So my spell is… what? Becoming stubborn?”

“Not stubborn.” She corrected me with a raised eyebrow. “But established. Like a path that’s been walked so many times it becomes a deep groove. The more you cast a spell in a specific way, the more difficult it becomes to alter its fundamental nature.”

Professor McGonagall stepped closer, her sharp eyes fixed on the sputtering remnants of my failed snowflake. The chain links I had conjured moments before now dangled limply, shimmering faintly in the light. She regarded them thoughtfully before speaking.

“Your spell is stuck in its ways, so to speak.” She said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “To change it, you must challenge its boundaries. Let us begin with something simple but fundamental: shape.”

She waved her wand, and a silvery thread appeared in the air, twisting and coiling until it reshaped itself into a perfect sphere. “Shape is the foundation of many spells. Your chains are a path you’ve carved deeply— with a few small grooves scratched to branch out, to be sure, but it is not enough. And so, we must deliberately create new paths. Today, you will transform your chains into entirely different forms. Begin with a sphere.”

I frowned. A sphere? That seemed laughably easy, yet the simplicity of the task made me suspect otherwise. I nodded, raising my wand to summon a chain once more. It shimmered into existence, its familiar weight and gleam reassuring.

“Good. Now, picture the chain links melting together, one by one.” McGonagall instructed. “Let the edges soften, the links collapse. Imagine the entire structure folding in on itself until it becomes a smooth, perfect whole.”

I focused, gripping my wand tightly as I visualized the process. The edges of the links began to blur, their rigidity giving way to something more fluid. Slowly, the chain coiled in on itself, the gaps narrowing, the surface smoothing.

But halfway through, it faltered. The links sprang back, stubbornly resisting the transformation. I let out a frustrated sigh.

“Patience, Mr. Black.” McGonagall said calmly, folding her hands. “Transformation requires intention, true, but it requires conviction above all. A single lapse in focus will invite the spell to revert to what it knows best. Try again, but this time, breathe. Imagine the shape as a certainty, not a possibility.”

Her words steadied me. I took a deep breath and tried again, this time with greater determination. The links blurred once more, their boundaries melting away as I held the image of a perfect sphere firmly in my mind. Slowly, steadily, the chain transformed, coalescing into a glimmering metallic orb.

I exhaled sharply, staring at the completed shape.

“Well done.” McGonagall said, her voice tinged with approval. “Now, maintain it. Let’s see if you can hold it steady for thirty seconds.”

And so I did as she bid.

I exhaled sharply as the shimmering silver chains I’d conjured eventually dissolved into nothingness. My wand arm dropped to my side, aching from the effort. Across from me, Professor McGonagall stood, her sharp gaze assessing every flicker of magic I’d cast.

“That will do.” She said crisply, with the faintest hint of approval in her tone. “Now, we move on to the next stage: emotional inflection.”

I frowned, intrigued. “You mean… channeling emotions into the spell?”

“Precisely.” She said, folding her arms. “Magic is not a sterile discipline, Mr. Black. Your emotional state colors every spell you cast, whether consciously or not. Today, I want you to deliberately weave emotion into your chains and observe the results. Let’s start with something simple, like joy.”

I hesitated. Joy?

That didn’t seem right for a spell like Odgovor, designed to fight and riposte. But I trusted her guidance, so I nodded, closing my eyes and pulling up a memory— a moment of pure happiness. I thought of the freedom of riding Absol, the rush of wind as we soared through the sky.

I thought of Helena, and raised my wand. “Odgovor.”

The spell erupted, silver chains flashing into existence and immediately spiraling out of control. They whipped and lashed wildly, resisting me with surprising ferocity. I couldn’t hold it together. A split second later, the chains collapsed into sparks and vanished.

My jaw tightened as I lowered my wand, already piecing it together.

“Of course.” I muttered, glancing at McGonagall. “Odgovor is a combative spell. Joy doesn’t align with its purpose. It’s like… trying to force a laugh in the middle of a duel. Best I could do is stall a Dementor with this.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of approval in her expression.

“Precisely. You grasp that faster than most.” She stepped closer, her tone turning thoughtful. “Magic, Mr. Black, is alive in its own way. It reacts to what you bring to it. Some emotions strengthen a spell, while others disrupt its very nature. This is why emotion is both a strength and a risk. It must be used with care.”

I nodded slowly, the lesson settling in. “So I need to find an emotion that matches Odgovor’s nature.”

“Exactly.” She said, her voice firm. “From what I have been able to observe, Your spell is one of response. It is sharp, purposeful, and relentless. Joy has no place here. Instead, try channeling something more aligned— determination, for instance. What drives you, Mr. Black? What fuels your resolve to succeed?”

I thought for a moment, the answer coming to me easily. It wasn’t anger or rage that drove me. It was my will to fight for what mattered to me. It was what pushed me through every challenge so far.

Raising my wand again, I took a deep breath and focused on that unshakable part of myself. “Odgovor.”

The spell burst forth, sharper and faster than before. The silver chains coiled and moved with purpose, crackling with power. It felt alive— responsive to my will— and more intense than I’d anticipated.

McGonagall nodded approvingly. “Excellent. You’ve found the beginnings of harmony between your magic and your intent. That, Mr. Black, is the foundation of mastery. Remember this well as you continue to develop your spell.”

Her praise lit a spark of pride in me, though the intensity of the spell lingered in my mind. I’d been going about it all wrong. I had been so preoccupied with turning my spell into a multitool that I had forgotten that it was almost a living creature with its own needs, sustenance, motivations and the like.

McGonagall had me go back to manipulating the shape, this time alternating quickly between two different shapes. The chain reluctantly shifted— first the sphere, then back to its original form, each transformation becoming slightly easier as I practiced.

Just when I felt we were hitting our stride, she declared an end to the lesson.

“But we’ve barely gotten started, Professor.” I protested.

McGonagall shook her head, pointing to a nearby clock. “We’ve already been practicing for an hour.”

Surprised, I looked at the clock. “You’re right… I lost track.”

Sighing, I let the spell fade away. The silvery chain dissolved, leaving behind a faint shimmer of magical energy.

“I’m sorry if I’ve taken too much of your time.” I said, feeling a mix of embarrassment and curiosity.

“Not at all.” She replied. “I expect you to have the spherical shape down perfectly by the time I see you in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” I said, eyes widening. “I thought you would come here next week.”

“I’m afraid I cannot.” McGonagall said, waving her wand and restoring the table in the training room. She turned back to me with a somewhat apologetic look. “There have been complications concerning the integration of Ilvermorny on the Hogwarts grounds…”

I frowned, and McGonagall shook her head.

“But that’s nothing for you to be concerned with at this time, Mr. Black.” She said, a little too sternly, though her expression was softer than I thought it would be. “Focus on your work for now.”

“Of course, Professor.” I said and began to follow her as she left. “I’ll see you off.”

“There’s no need for that, but the gesture is much appreciated.” McGonagall said. “I plan on having a few words with your father before I leave.”

“Oh.” I said, nodding. “Good… That’s good. Goodbye, Professor.”

“And to you as well— do enjoy your summer break, won’t you?”

And with that, she was gone.

I stopped for a moment and sat down at the table, staring into the depths of the basement as I attempted to process the lessons imparted upon me on this day.

I pulled out my journal, a leather-bound companion that had survived this year’s ordeals. The pages were worn, filled with diagrams, spell notes, and reflections that were slowly transforming from the neat handwriting of a studious student to the desperate scrawls of someone pushing his boundaries.

I began to write while the concept of spell rigidity continued to spin in my thoughts. Magic, for the most part, was a concrete thing— a set of rules, precise movements, specific incantations— but I always knew that it was more complex than that. Obviously, I’d always known that my intent, will and desire affected my spells. I’d even made use of these concepts, applying them in my various battles ever since I’d begun my schooling as a wizard.

McGonagall, however, had revealed a new concept, one which challenged everything I thought I knew about magical practice— spell malleability.

With my quill hovering over the page, I began to sketch. At the top, I wrote “Spell Malleability” and started drawing a rough diagram. Lines branched out like magical roots, showing how a spell might change with repeated use. Each line represented a potential path of magical evolution—some rigid and static, others fluid and adaptive.

The basement’s silence was perfect for deep thinking. If spells could develop their own resistance to change, what does that mean for magical innovation? How many potentially groundbreaking spell variations were lost because wizards and witches got too comfortable with established magical patterns?

I thought back to the way my chain had fought against reshaping. It wasn’t just a passive magical construct— it was almost alive, with its own magical signature. Each casting was like a conversation, not a command. The more I tried to force the change, the more resistant the spell became.

“Keep it fresh.” I muttered, repeating McGonagall’s advice. The spell needed to be challenged, moved, transformed. Like a musician practicing scales, or an athlete maintaining muscle flexibility, a spell required constant variation to remain truly powerful.

The implications were hefty. Magic’s ratio of rigid control to communication had shifted in favor of more communication. I also realized that the snowflake transformation wasn’t just a technical exercise— it was a metaphor for magical thinking itself.

I closed my eyes, mentally visualizing the chain. Not forcing it to change, but suggesting transformation. A slow dance, not a hectic battle. Gentle, persistent, adaptive.

Once again, I’m back to dancing… Is the multiverse trying to play a prank on me, or something?

I shook my head, cleared my mind once more and took a deep breath. After getting everything together, I adjusted my clothes, took a deep breath, and made my way toward the kitchen.

The smell of roasted chicken and freshly baked bread greeted me as I entered. Kreacher had outdone himself again. Sirius was already seated at the table, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, a half-eaten plate of food in front of him. His long hair was tied back, though a few stray strands fell into his face, and a cup of water by his elbow. He looked up as I walked in, giving me a lopsided smile.

“Ah, there’s our future master wizard.” He teased, setting his cup down. “How was your lesson?”

“I’ll have you know I’m a grand wizard, thank you!”

With a chuckle, Sirius gestured for me to sit as I grabbed a plate and helped myself to the food. The warmth of the roasted chicken and buttery bread was a welcome comfort after the morning’s intensity. I slid into the seat across from him and shrugged, trying to play it cool.

“It went well.” I said between bites. “Actually, better than well. I think I’m finally getting somewhere with the chains.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Getting somewhere, huh? Let me guess— McGonagall tore into you about wastage, control and versatility?”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t hide my smirk. “Something like that. She wasn’t wrong, though. I’ve been… stuck, I guess. Like I’ve hit a wall. But today, it felt like things finally started to click.”

His eyes softened, and he rested his chin on one hand, studying me. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Relieved.” I admitted. “Motivated. I don’t know, Sirius. I just… I really believe mine can be something special if I can refine it. My chains are versatile— even more than I thought. McGonagall helped me see that.”

Sirius gave me a knowing look, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, amused grin. “And let me guess: you’re already planning to pour everything into them, aren’t you?”

I sighed and set my fork down.

“I know, I know. Don’t put all my eggs in one basket. Broaden my skill set. Don’t get hyper-focused.” I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “But this isn’t just some random spell, Sirius. Odgovor has potential— real potential. I just need the time to master them.”

Sirius didn’t argue right away, which I took as a good sign. He leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that.” He finally said. “But you’re not wrong. Like I told you before, your chains are impressive, Adam, and you’ve already proven you’re not a one-trick pony. Hell, the League matches proof of that.”

Hearing him say that felt good. I couldn’t help but nod, a small wave of pride washing over me. “Exactly. I’m not ignoring my other spells— I’m just focusing on what I know could be a real game-changer.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that said he’d let me have this one. “Fair enough. Just promise me you won’t get so caught up that you forget the basics. Even the best duelists stick to the fundamentals.”

“Promise.” I said, though I suspected he’d keep reminding me anyway.

Sirius stretched and yawned, pushing his plate aside. “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to grab a quick nap. Kreacher’s cooking is great, but it makes me feel like I’m ready to hibernate.”

I chuckled as he stood and ruffled my hair on his way out. “Keep up the good work, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Sirius.” I called after him, brushing my hair back into place.

Once he was gone, I sat there for a moment, finishing my meal in the quiet of the kitchen. The food tasted even better now that I felt like I was finally moving forward.

After finishing my lunch, I made my way up the staircase to my room. I pushed open the door to my room and stepped inside, shutting it softly behind me. I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind buzzed with thoughts of everything and nothing, but I pushed them all down in order to try and rest.

Once I realized that it wasn’t helping, I got up.

“Alright.” I muttered to myself, sitting up and reaching for my wand on the bedside table. “I’m too amped up to lie down.”

After wandering aimlessly for a while, I ended up back in the entrance hall. My thoughts were elsewhere when my shoulder brushed against the heavy curtain covering Walburga Black’s portrait. Before I could stop it, the fabric slipped aside, and an ear-piercing shriek cut through the silence.

“Defilers! Traitors to the bloodline! How dare you pollute my house?”

I winced, bracing for more of her tirade. But when her gaze landed on me, she froze mid-breath. Her expression softened, though her tone remained sharp.

“Ah, Adam.” Her voice held something I still wasn’t used to— curiosity, almost warmth. “Good afternoon.”

I straightened instinctively, brushing off the irritation building in my chest.

“Lady Black.” I greeted, keeping my tone polite.

Her painted eyes narrowed as she examined me closely.

“Yes.” She murmured. “You have taken my previous words to heart. You carry yourself well now, like a true son of this house. Not like that wretched Sirius or his mudblood-loving cohorts.”

I held back a sigh, knowing it was best not to challenge her opinions. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. It wasn’t my intention.”

She waved off the apology. “Nonsense. If anything, I welcome the company— provided it is of quality. Tell me, boy, what brings you to linger here? Surely, you have better things to do than wander aimlessly?”

“I’ve been working on my spells.” I admitted, keeping my tone neutral. “But I needed a break.”

Her expression sharpened. “Your magic? Good. The magic of a Black must never stagnate. We are destined for greatness, you know.” 

I nodded. “I’ve been doing well enough, but… there are things I’m struggling with.”

“Struggles?” Her gaze softened again, and she almost seemed… understanding. “Magic is no easy path, especially for those meant to wield it with true power. The bloodline demands perfection, but it also rewards perseverance. Tell me, what has you so troubled?”

I hesitated, debating how much to share.

“It’s just… refining a certain spell in my repertoire— one I created.” I revealed, and her eyebrow rose. “I’m making progress, but it feels slower than it should be.”

“Indeed? A spell you’ve crafted yourself is no small achievement, young man.” She studied me thoughtfully before speaking again. “Perhaps the house can assist you. Have you sought out the meditation room?”

I blinked. “The meditation room? I wasn’t aware there was such a place here.”

“Of course not.” She said with a faint smile, her tone conspiratorial. “It is not a place just anyone can access. The room reveals itself only to those worthy of the Black name— those who carry our legacy in their very soul.”

Her words intrigued me, though I couldn’t entirely suppress my skepticism. “Do you know where it is?”

Her expression faltered, a rare vulnerability showing.

“No.” She admitted, almost grudgingly. “I never found it myself. But that was not for lack of worth! This house has suffered under traitors and fools for far too long. The room likely hides itself until it senses someone capable of restoring our name to its rightful glory.”

I inclined my head, masking my unease. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll look into it.”

Her gaze brightened, as though my words pleased her. “Good. Do not disappoint me, boy. This house has waited far too long for someone like you.”

I offered a polite nod, carefully sliding the curtain back over her portrait as I excused myself. Despite myself, I found my curiosity piqued. A hidden meditation room? If it was real, it might be worth finding. At the very least, it was something to occupy my restless mind.

But, for now, a bathroom break. I thought as I went back upstairs.

I stepped into the bathroom, splashed some cold water on my face, and stared at my reflection. My mismatched eyes stared back, the bright one faintly glowing even in the dim light. I ran my fingers through my hair, sighing as the tension in my shoulders eased up somewhat. Yes, some rest was certainly in order.

Freshened up, I returned to my room, eager for that moment of solitude. When I opened the door, however, I was greeted by chaos.

Kreacher was locked in a surprisingly fierce wrestling match with another elf— a much younger and spryer one. The two were rolling on the floor, hurling grunts and muttered expletives at one another, and to my astonishment, Kreacher was losing.

I froze in the doorway, blinking.

“What in God’s name…” I muttered, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. The soft click seemed to echo louder than usual, cutting through the commotion and halting their scuffle.

Both elves turned to look at me, wide-eyed and frantic.

“Master Adam!” Kreacher wheezed, his wrinkled face flushed with exertion. He scrambled to his feet, dusting off his tattered tea towel as he bowed low. The younger elf, meanwhile, stood nervously wringing her hands, her large ears twitching.

“Explain.” I said sharply, folding my arms. “Now.”

Kreacher opened his mouth, but the younger elf beat him to it.

“Nibby is sorry! Nibby means no disrespect!” She squeaked, bowing so deeply her nose nearly touched the floor. “Nibby had to deliver a message— Nibby was told not to leave until Master Adam had received it!”

“A message?” I frowned. “From whom?”

Nibby hesitated, her large green eyes darting nervously to the floor. “Nibby cannot say. Nibby is bound not to speak the sender’s name.”

I raised an eyebrow, the tension in my shoulders returning. “Bound? By magic, or by choice?”

“By magic, Master.” She said with a wince, her ears drooping. “But Nibby has done what she was told! The message is on Master Adam’s desk!”

Without waiting for another word, the elf snapped her fingers and vanished with a loud crack.

For a moment, I stood there, stunned. Then I turned to Kreacher, who was glaring at the spot where Nibby had disappeared. “Who was she, and why were you fighting her?”

“Kreacher was defending Master Adam’s sanctity!” Kreacher spat, his lip curling. “That young elf intruded in Master’s room without permission! Insolent! Kreacher was trying to force her out, but she—”

He trailed off, muttering something about “younger knees” and “disrespectful Hogwarts elves.”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Alright, Kreacher, enough. Did she leave anything dangerous?”

Kreacher shook his head fervently. “Kreacher does not think so, but Kreacher will check. Allow Kreacher to—”

“No.” I interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’ll handle this.”

I crossed the room to my desk, where a single sheet of parchment sat, its edges slightly curled. There was no seal, no writing on the outside, nothing to indicate who it was from. My instincts screamed at me to be cautious.

“Kreacher.” I said quietly. “Stand back.”

“Master Adam is wise beyond his years.” Kreacher muttered, retreating to the far corner of the room. “Always careful, always cautious…”

I ignored his muttering, focusing instead on the parchment. My white eye flared faintly as I gave the object a closer look. The paper appeared ordinary— no auras, no distortions or threads of magic or soul— but I knew better than to trust appearances. My eye had been wrong before.

It was too inconsistent to trust blindly— pun unintended.

Drawing my wand, I muttered. “Inspicere Empiricus.”

A soft glow surrounded the letter for a moment before fading. The spell detected no Curses, no wards, nothing unusual. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances.

I levitated a quill from my desk and hovered it over the letter. With a flick of my wand, I dropped the quill onto the parchment. It landed with a soft thud, then rolled off onto the floor. Nothing happened.

I exhaled slowly. “Alright, looks safe enough.”

I picked up the letter, turning it over in my hands. The parchment was rough, slightly yellowed, and carried a faint smell of old books. I unfolded it carefully, scanning the first few lines. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the writing style— sharp, precise, and vaguely menacing.

The letter spoke in riddles: “A stone to see, a ring to wield, a shadow to meet. There is much to discuss.”

I frowned, reading it again. A stone and a ring. My mind immediately jumped to the Resurrection Stone and the Gaunt Ring, two powerful magical artifacts I had encountered not long ago. The reference to a shadow was more cryptic, but the first clues were enough, I reckoned.

“This is from Snape.” I murmured aloud.

Kreacher perked up, his eyes narrowing. “The greasy Potions Master? Why would he write to Young Master?”

Ignoring the insult, I continued to read, piecing the riddle together. The letter wasn’t just cryptic; it was also a summons. Snape wanted to meet, likely to discuss the artifacts we had retrieved together at the Gaunt Shack. The memory of that mission was still fresh— curses, Inferi, and a shared sense of unease.

I set the letter down, leaning back in my chair with a sigh. “Looks like I’ll need to meet him.”

“Master Adam should not!” Kreacher hissed. “The snake is not to be trusted! Kreacher will go in Master’s place—”

“No, Kreacher.” I said firmly. “This is something I have to handle myself. But first…” I glanced out the window, where the darkening sky stretched endlessly. “I need to learn how to Apparate.”

The realization settled heavily on my shoulders even as I said those words. Apparition wasn’t just a convenience— it was a necessity. If I was going to keep up with the escalating conflict and navigate the dangers of this unstable world, I needed to master every tool at my disposal.

I turned back to Kreacher, who was still muttering about untrustworthy Potions Masters.

“Kreacher.” I said, my voice calm but firm. “Find me a book on Apparition.”

The elf blinked, his ears twitching. “Apparition? But Master is young—”

“I don’t have time to wait until I’m older.” I interrupted. “I’ll find someone to teach me if I have to, but for now, I need to understand the theory. Can you help me or not?”

Kreacher puffed out his chest, a reluctant glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Of course, Kreacher will assist. Master Adam is wise and determined— Kreacher will find the best book!”

As the elf disappeared to fetch the requested material, I turned back to the letter, rereading its cryptic lines. Snape’s message was laced with urgency, but it was also a gamble. He wasn’t someone I trusted easily, yet we shared a common goal— gaining access to the Resurrection Stone.

I traced a finger over the parchment, my thoughts racing. The ring, the stone, the shadow. Whatever Snape wanted to discuss, it was bound to be dangerous. But then again, so was everything else in my life.