Professor McGonagall's voice echoed through the corridor outside the Headmaster's office.
"Albus, if Professor Quirrell cannot continue in the post, we'll have to find a new Defence teacher for next year."
Dumbledore's voice was calm, with a faint touch of amusement. "Of course. I'll see to it during the summer holiday."
He stepped into the now-empty office and paused.
Fawkes hovered silently in the air, wings outstretched, his scarlet-gold feathers softly brushing against the stillness.
"Did someone come in just now?" Dumbledore asked, scanning the room with narrowed eyes.
Fawkes gave a small nod, then plucked a feather from his plumage and dropped it gently into Dumbledore's open palm.
"Vizet?" Dumbledore murmured, puzzled. "He came here? But… he hasn't returned? I can't imagine he'd simply go back to celebrate — not without saying something first."
The phoenix flew to the Mirror of Erised and began circling it slowly, again and again...
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When Vizet opened his eyes, he found himself in a vast stone hall swallowed in darkness.
He lifted a hand instinctively. The comforting warmth that usually lingered in his palm faded rapidly — leaving behind only a weak, flickering trace of connection.
But with his presence, something shifted.
The gloom around him began to lift, revealing more of the space he had stumbled into.
Towering blocks of stone formed the walls of the hall, immense and ancient. Liquid gold had been poured into the gaps between them, binding the stone with glowing seams that shimmered faintly like molten threads.
All across the surface — stone and metal alike — countless runes and sigils had been carved. They pulsed faintly with a soft silver-blue light, illuminating the space with a quiet, eerie luminescence.
Ever so slightly, the symbols moved, slithering like living things across the stone, as though the walls themselves breathed with some dormant intelligence.
Vizet stepped toward a nearby corner, placing himself between most of the glowing runes and few runic symbols on the corner. This created a dim shadow in the corner.
Then, extending a hand and gently touched the runes.
The moment his fingers brushed the silver-blue carvings, a strange sensation surged through him.
Not fear. Not dread.
Instead, a deep, unfamiliar calm.
It was as though the very stones recognised him — as though this place, as mysterious as it was, welcomed his presence.
"Could these runes be laced with ancient magical power?" Vizet murmured under his breath. "And did they… weaken my bond with Fawkes?"
He gripped his wand and summoned the Eye of Insight once more.
As the magical eye awoke, the silver-blue glow flared brighter — transforming the once dim hall into a world enveloped with light.
Now, he could see clearly: the runes were saturated with ancient magic, layered and brewed through centuries. They radiated with power that had not been placed here recently — but grown, slowly, over time.
He could feel it.
These energies didn't resist him. They welcomed him — offering themselves, not needing to be unlocked or deciphered.
Still, nothing about this mirror-born world felt ordinary.
Cautious, Vizet kept his stance ready — wand angled to cast at a moment's notice — while drawing the magic inward.
And then, A Wizard's Practical Guide appeared.
Its cover shimmered in the silver-blue light, and the pages turned themselves eagerly, absorbing the magic around them.
The ancient energies flowed into the book like water into thirsty soil.
The last of the ancient magical power within the hall faded into A Wizard's Practical Guide, and for a moment, silence returned.
Then, something new stirred at the heart of the chamber.
A swirl of silver-blue light emerged — faint at first, then quickly intensifying, like a spring bubbling to the surface of still water. The light danced and shimmered, rising and falling in gentle pulses as if something unseen stirred beneath it.
Vizet narrowed his eyes and raised his wand. As he stepped cautiously closer, a strange sensation came over him — the silver-blue light responded to the wand's presence, passing through it with a peculiar warmth.
It was calling to him.
He could feel it clearly now. If he were to raise his wand higher, the light would surge even more fervently — perhaps revealing a hidden truth, or triggering something long buried.
But Vizet hesitated.
He had read enough stories to recognize such signs. The light could be a key — perhaps a passage back to Hogwarts. But it might also be a trap.
He stepped back, wand still in hand, brow furrowed in thought.
There's too much ancient magic lingering here. Too much power, given too easily. This must be preparation… for something. A trial, maybe.
And if it was a trial, he'd need more than raw power to face it.
The sudden influx of energy had been a gift — but hoarding it would do no good now. He needed to transform it into usable magic. He began to reflect on his most versatile techniques.
The Devil Snare transfiguration using Self-Shaping Spell had proven remarkably effective in the past.
But the spell's limitations were also clear. Like the plant it mimicked, it was vulnerable to warmth and light.
If I can use Augmentation magic to strengthen the Self-Shaping Spell... perhaps I can overcome those weaknesses?
He gave it a try, channeling augmentative energy into the spell — but the attempt failed. The spell gave no reaction.
Then he tried augmenting his hand while it was transformed by the Self-Shaping Spell. Still nothing.
But these failures sparked insight.
Back in Herbology, he had studied Devil's Snare closely — its anatomy, its magical circuits, its temperament. That deeper understanding had unlocked the page in A Wizard's Practical Guide.
As Professor McGonagall had once warned, Transfiguration — especially at this level — was the most intricate and dangerous of all magical disciplines.
Even a powerful artifact like the Guide could only assist based on Vizet's existing knowledge. It would not provide magical knowledge he wasn't ready to wield, otherwise it would have to change Vizet's essence itself to force the knowledge onto him.
If I want to rid Devil's Snare of its weaknesses, Vizet realized, I'll have to cultivate one myself — raise it, study it, guide it into something new.
That would take time.
For now, he needed something simpler to test augmentation with.
His eyes lit upon the Nox spell.
Ordinarily used to extinguish small light sources like candles or the Lumos spell, it was a harmless, low-power utility spell. Easy to cast. Stable. A perfect candidate.
Vizet focused, carefully guiding the Augmentation magic into the Nox incantation. At once, the Guide responded.
New lines appeared in its pages:
Primordial Magic: Blackout (Elementary)
Guides primordial magic to create a dark energy field… plunges the area into deep shadow… within the field, enhances the caster's sensory perception slightly…
Vizet raised his wand.
Silver-blue light spiraled around the tip as a small, inky bubble formed — quivering gently like a droplet of darkness suspended in air.
He glanced at the glowing spring of light at the center of the room, then flicked his wand toward it.
The black bubble vanished with a soft pop — only to reappear next to the silver-blue light.
It expanded rapidly, stretching outward into a ten-meter-wide sphere of blackness that devoured the shimmering spring like ink poured into clear water.
A moment later, Vizet stepped inside.
The bubble didn't fade or collapse — it held, maintained by some persistent link with him. The Blackout spell didn't need constant casting; it simply existed, tethered to him like a second shadow.
Inside, the light was utterly gone.
Even the vibrant, spring-like pulse of the silver-blue source had been reduced to a few flickering specks — faint embers dancing in the dark.
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