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"The test on the spell was successful—wonderfully so, I might add," Dumbledore suggested, his eyes twinkling brightly. "Why don't we perhaps try something else next? For a more… comprehensive understanding, of course."
"Something else, Professor?" Aiden was curious, though a sliver of apprehension ran down his spine. Dumbledore's 'something else' usually involved more work. Or more danger. Or both.
"Oh, of course!" Flitwick chirped, practically vibrating with academic excitement. "We only properly tested it against the Unforgivable Curses. There are countless other hexes, insidious poison spells, and deeply unpleasant curses we could examine!" He sounded far too gleeful about the prospect.
"Filius!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, her voice sharp with disapproval. She looked genuinely angry now. "You shouldn't have taught Aiden—exposed him to—these dark things in the first place!"
"Come now, Minerva, be reasonable," Professor Flitwick said, waving a dismissive hand, though he looked a little sheepish under McGonagall's stern gaze. "Even if I didn't explicitly teach Aiden about them, he would inevitably be exposed to the Dark Arts sooner or later. He's a remarkably resourceful young man. Besides," he added, a mischievous glint in his eye, "we've all worked together for so many years, and every single one of us here has studied the Dark Arts to some extent, haven't we? For academic purposes, naturally."
"It shouldn't be so early! He's still just a child!" Professor McGonagall retorted, her voice tight with concern.
"A child who can independently develop a counter-curse to the Unforgivable Curses," Professor Flitwick muttered under his breath, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
"You—!" McGonagall sputtered, clearly lost for words.
"Well now, Minerva, perhaps we should afford young people a little more trust, hmm?" Dumbledore interjected smoothly, his calm voice an effective balm on the rising tension. He was the master of smoothing things over.
Aiden, meanwhile, still didn't dare to utter a single word, feeling very small under the combined, intense gazes of these three magical powerhouses. He just wanted to melt into the floor.
After the 'big three' had finished their rather spirited discussion—or, more accurately, after Dumbledore had diplomatically pacified McGonagall—they began a new series of rather intense experiments on the unfortunate and, by now, thoroughly traumatised white mice. The eyes of all four wizards—Dumbledore, Flitwick, McGonagall, and Aiden—were cold, focused, and unnervingly clinical.
Looking from outside the Headmaster's office, one would only have seen various strange, eldritch lights flashing erratically within—greens, sickly yellows, ominous purples—accompanied by the occasional puff of oddly coloured smoke. It probably looked highly suspicious.
The poor little white mouse, after enduring a barrage of unpleasant magical effects, finally succumbed to the torture. Even a hastily applied healing spell couldn't save it this time. But its sacrifice, Aiden noted with a grim sort of detachment, provided invaluable, accurate data for the assembled wizards. Science, even magical science, could be a cruel mistress.
After carefully recording all the data in precise, meticulous notes, Aiden gently put away the deceased mouse, making a mental note to find a quiet, dignified place to bury it later. It deserved at least that much.
With the spell-testing finally concluded, Aiden and the three professors sat down to drink tea in the office, the atmosphere considerably more relaxed, though still charged with the lingering energy of powerful magic.
"Aiden," Professor McGonagall began, her expression thoughtful as she summed up their findings, "my conclusion is that your Guarding Charm can indeed nullify most of the common poisonous spells and malevolent hexes we know of. And curses that are cast on the spot—those without a lingering enchantment—can also be lifted or deflected by its protective field."
"There are also several rather… special curses, those with deeper, more insidious enchantments, for which direct contact with the victim would be necessary for the Guarding Charm to be fully effective," Dumbledore added, his gaze distant for a moment, as if recalling specific, unpleasant instances.
"This spell—both its area-of-effect Silencing Charm and the targeted Guarding Charm—has been developed very successfully indeed, Aiden. Truly remarkable work for one so young," Professor Flitwick declared, sitting up straighter in his chair, his earlier excitement returning in full force. "Now, the important question is, do you plan to spread this knowledge—to publish your findings and share these spells with the wider wizarding world—or do you intend to keep them as your own unique family magic?"
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall also turned to look at Aiden, their expressions expectant, waiting for his answer. This was clearly a pivotal moment.
"Of course I'm going to spread the core principles of these spells, Professor," Aiden said without hesitation. This magic was too important to hoard. "The ability to counter such magic should be available. However," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "I do want to keep all the detailed experimental data, the specific runic calculations, and the mental techniques involved strictly confidential. That knowledge… I'll keep that private, perhaps pass it on to future generations of my family, or teach it only to my most trusted students, should I ever have any."
"Of course, Aiden. That is a very wise and commendable decision," Dumbledore said, nodding approvingly. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall also seemed pleased, even relieved, by Aiden's thoughtful answer.
"So then," Professor Flitwick chirped, already moving on to practicalities, "which academic journal do you plan to submit your paper to? I would highly recommend Spellcraft Innovations Quarterly. It's a rather more authoritative and well-respected publication in the field of charm development."
"Okay, Professor, that sounds like an excellent choice," Aiden agreed. "Also, Professor… do academic papers in the wizarding world typically need to include references and citations? It seems that there isn't much precedent for that sort of thing, from what I've read."
"Ah, it's quite alright, Aiden," Professor Dumbledore said with a reassuring smile and a twinkle in his eye. "We three will be happy to co-sign your paper as supervising mentors. You can simply write at the end that this paper was developed independently, without direct reference to previously published literature—which, in this case, is entirely true. Your work is groundbreaking, after all."
Love it, love it, love it, Aiden thought with a surge of internal glee. Is this what it feels like to be mentored—and perhaps slightly fast-tracked—by the big bosses? I could definitely get used to this.
"And don't you worry too much about the review process, Aiden," Professor McGonagall added, a rare, small smile playing on her lips as she shot a pointed look at Flitwick. "Filius, as it happens, is one of the senior peer reviewers for that particular journal."
Professor Flitwick just beamed, looking utterly unrepentant.
"Well then, that's all for today, I believe," Professor Flitwick announced, suddenly all business again. "We won't waste any more of your valuable time, Aiden. Off you go now." He practically shooed them out of the office.
Aiden left the Headmaster's office and made his way down the familiar spiral staircase. An entire afternoon of intense magical experimentation had already brought the time around to the early evening.
The soft, golden afterglow of the setting sun was shining on Hogwarts, casting long, dancing shadows. It was like a gentle, masterful painter was delicately outlining every turret, every window, every ancient stone with warm, golden brushstrokes. It was, Aiden had to admit, quite beautiful.
As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Aiden made his way to the Great Hall to enjoy a well-deserved dinner.
He found Ron and Harry waiting for him, looking rather anxious. They practically accosted him as he entered and, despite his token protests, more or less dragged him over to the Gryffindor table.
"So," Aiden began, raising an eyebrow as he surveyed their guilty faces, "are you two planning to use me as live bait for some ill-advised adventure tonight, or what?" (._.?)
"No, Aiden, nothing like that!" Harry said quickly, looking horrified at the suggestion. "We—er—we need your advice on something."
"Yeah," Ron mumbled, looking down at his shoes. "Remember last time I went to Hagrid's to see Norbert, the dragon? And then… and then…" He found it surprisingly difficult to speak, his ears turning a bright shade of red.
"And then," Hermione interjected, appearing suddenly beside them with a sigh that spoke volumes of long suffering, "these two imbeciles got us all caught. We were deducted a hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor, and we've all been sentenced to detention in the Forbidden Forest until further notice." She glared daggers at Harry and Ron, who responded with identical expressions that clearly indicated they were in cahoots and probably deserved everything they got.
"Ah," Aiden said, understanding dawning. "So, what exactly do you want to consult me about? How to survive the Forbidden Forest? Or how to avoid detention in the future?"
"Well, hey," Ron began, his earlier embarrassment fading as he leaned in conspiratorially, a rather obscene, hopeful grin spreading across his face. "We heard from Hagrid a while back that you took a whole bunch of magical materials from him for your alchemy projects…".
"And," he continued, his grin widening, "I heard from my mother that you've been writing to my father quite frequently, asking for his advice on some advanced alchemical processes. It's for some kind of defensive alchemy product, right? Something to protect people?"
Aiden just rolled his eyes at Ron's unsubtle wheedling. "So, what's the price for this information, my dear Ronnie? Or for the product itself?"
"We can pay for it!" Harry interjected decisively, pulling out a small handful of Sickles. Mr. Potter, ever the pragmatist when it came to his own skin.
"Alright, alright. Protective bracelets," Aiden announced, relenting. "One Sickle each. The raw materials were mostly free from Hagrid anyway, so I'll only charge you for my labour and expertise." He made the offer sound like a massive bargain.
"Hi, Aiden, I'm your brother," Ron immediately said, trying for a charming, familial smile. It didn't quite work.
Aiden didn't even look up from his plate. "In that case, since you're invoking the 'brother' card, we'll have to use George's special 'family discount' teachings. That'll be two Sickles for you, Ron." He raised the price without a flicker of hesitation. He knew perfectly well that although Ron's belongings were often the most shabby, he usually managed to scrounge up the most pocket money among the Weasley children through various schemes.
"Well… but…" Ron was about to protest, but Harry decisively clamped a hand over his mouth before he could dig himself into a deeper financial hole.
Hermione just looked at her two utterly useless male companions and sighed again, the sigh of a long-suffering mother dealing with particularly trying toddlers.
After Aiden had pocketed the Sickles (two from Ron, one each from Harry and Hermione), he reached into his own pocket and casually took out three intricately woven, dark leather bracelets, each with a small, almost invisible rune carved into a tiny silver clasp. He distributed them to the three Gryffindors.
"Alright, listen up," Aiden instructed, suddenly all business. "Each bracelet has been solidified with a permanent Shield Charm. The central rune is a variation of Algiz, linked to a trigger mechanism. It's valid for three months from today and can be activated automatically up to three times. It's designed to sense overtly malicious magical intent directed at the wearer and will automatically trigger a powerful Shield Charm. If it runs out of charges within the three months, you can ask me to recharge it—for a small fee, of course. If it's been longer than three months, you'll have to buy a new one. Got it?"
After Aiden finished giving the instructions, he calmly picked up a piece of steak from the Gryffindor table—which technically wasn't his, but no one seemed to mind—and started eating it with relish. The other young wizards and witches at the nearby tables were already quite accustomed to Aiden Prewett's occasional, rather eccentric, appearances and pronouncements.
That night, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were grimly led by a gleeful Argus Filch to the gloomy edge of the Forbidden Forest to begin their detention.
Aiden, meanwhile, had just come out of the library after a productive evening of research and was about to head back to the Ravenclaw dormitory to sleep. Just as he was passing through a deserted, moonlit corridor on the third floor, a shadowy figure in a rather flamboyant, dark purple robe suddenly, and quite silently, abducted him.
"Wow, Aiden, my boy! What a splendidly nice night it is! Are you perhaps interested in taking a little constitutional stroll with an old man… say, in the Forbidden Forest?" Dumbledore's voice chirped merrily. He was, Aiden had to admit, really rather eye-catching, if slightly alarming, in his brightly coloured, star-spangled purple robe.
"…" Aiden was speechless for a moment.
"Are you seriously planning to go into the Forbidden Forest… dressed like that, Professor?" Aiden's tone was a mixture of disbelief and horrified fascination. He looked like a giant, glittery aubergine.
"Of course! Why, is there something amiss with my attire?" Dumbledore asked, looking genuinely puzzled as he peered down at his sparkling robes.
"No, Professor. Not at all. As long as you're happy," Aiden sighed. "Shall we go then?" There was no arguing with Dumbledore when he was in one of these moods.
Dumbledore stepped forward with surprising agility and grabbed Aiden's arm. With a faint pop, the two of them Disapparated from the castle corridor.
Deep within the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid was leading his group of four reluctant detainees—Harry, Ron, Hermione, and now a very grumpy Draco Malfoy, who had also been caught out of bed—on their patrol. They soon found silvery unicorn blood shimmering ominously on the dark, gnarled roots of an ancient tree.
The group split into two for… safety reasons? Harry and Draco, much to their mutual disgust, were paired together. They took Fang, Hagrid's boarhound, and ventured deeper into the whispering, shadow-filled forest. It wasn't long before they stumbled upon a truly horrific scene: a cloaked, hunched man in black robes was kneeling over a slain unicorn, drinking its silvery blood.
Aiden and Dumbledore, meanwhile, watched silently from a concealed position nearby, hidden by powerful disillusionment charms.
"Oh, dear. I didn't expect he would resort to such a desperate, terrible method," Dumbledore's voice was uncharacteristically sombre, tinged with a deep sadness. "It seems we are too late to prevent this particular tragedy. Unicorns… such pure, innocent lives."
"So, Professor," Aiden asked quietly, his own expression unreadable, "you won't try to stop him then?"
"It's far too late for that now, Aiden," Dumbledore sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "He has drunk the blood of a unicorn. He will now bear the most vicious, soul-corrupting curse for the rest of his unnaturally prolonged, miserable life. A half-life, a cursed life."
While the two of them were talking, Harry and Draco, stumbling through the undergrowth, blundered right into the clearing where the black-robed man was still crouched over the fallen unicorn. Draco, true to form, let out a terrified shriek, spun on his heel, and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him, abandoning Harry without a second thought. The man in black robes whirled around and, seeing Harry, fired a terrifying jet of dark fire at him.
Dumbledore instinctively raised his wand, ready to intervene and save Harry, but Aiden, with surprising swiftness, reached out and placed a restraining hand on the Headmaster's arm. "Wait, Professor."
The protective bracelet on Harry's wrist suddenly flashed with a brilliant, silvery light. The embedded Shield Charm sprang into existence, not only deflecting the dark flame spell but actually rebounding it with considerable force. The rebounded flames struck the black-robed man's own robes, causing them to ignite instantly.
At that precise moment, the centaur Firenze also burst out from the nearby bushes, his bow drawn, an arrow nocked. He galloped towards the now-burning, shrieking figure, driving him away. Seeing that he was outnumbered and literally on fire, the man in black robes let out a guttural snarl and fled deeper into the forest, disappearing into the shadows.
Then Hagrid arrived, crashing through the undergrowth, and quickly took a shaken, but thankfully unharmed, Harry away.
The centaur Firenze, his proud head held high, walked slowly towards the spot where Dumbledore and Aiden were concealed.
"Good evening, Headmaster Dumbledore," Firenze greeted them, his voice deep and resonant. He then turned his gaze to Aiden, his strangely luminous eyes filled with an ancient, knowing light. "Mars is very bright tonight, signifying conflict and revelation. And it is indeed an honour to meet you at last… Dragon of the Mind."
Dumbledore, seemingly unconcerned by Firenze's rather cryptic and personal title for Aiden, simply greeted the centaur politely, "Good evening to you too, Firenze."
"Hmph. What a typically disgusting and overly dramatic prophecy," Aiden muttered, feeling a surge of annoyance for no apparent reason. He hated prophecies. And being called strange names by horses. "You're all just a bunch of cowards, hiding away in your collective consciousness, spouting vague nonsense."
"But the prophecy and you, young one… you and the prophecy… you have always had a deep, undeniable, and very close connection, haven't you?" Firenze said softly, his gaze unwavering.
"Hmph." Aiden just snorted coldly, not deigning to reply further. He turned sharply on his heel and began to stride back towards the castle, leaving the centaur and the Headmaster to their celestial ponderings. He'd had enough of forests and prophecies for one night.
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