The first chapter of Gryffindor's Grimoire surprised Chris with its focus not on spells, but on the wizard himself. "The body houses magic as a scabbard houses a sword," Godric's precise script declared. "A weakened vessel limits the power it can channel, just as a flimsy scabbard fails the finest blade. No battle wizard can reach their potential without first forging their physical form through rigorous training." Chris ran his fingers along the weathered parchment, a smile playing at his lips. Even after a millennium, the founder's voice emerged clearly from the pages, practical, direct, and unyielding in its expectations.
Pages of detailed physical exercises followed, running regimens, strength-building techniques, and flexibility drills that would challenge even professional athletes. Diagrams showed wizards performing movements that combined martial stances with wand positions, creating a seamless flow between body and magic. Chris recognized the wisdom immediately.
"Already ahead of you there, Godric," Chris murmured, thinking of his morning runs around the manor grounds and the strength training he'd incorporated into his routine. Still, the founder's insistence gave him pause. Perhaps his current regimen wasn't intensive enough. After all, he was preparing not just for classroom duels but potentially for life-or-death combat.
He made a mental note to double his morning runs and add the specific combat exercises Gryffindor recommended. The physical foundation could wait, though. Right now, the promise of new battle magic called to him like a siren song.
Turning the heavy parchment pages, Chris reached the practical section titled "Defensive Foundations" where Godric had recorded his most essential protection spells. The first entry caught his attention immediately: Praesidium Aureum, The Golden Shield.
"Unlike lesser barriers that merely deflect specific types of magic," the text read, "the Praesidium Aureum creates a complete defensive dome of concentrated magical intent. Its strength lies not in the specialised deflection of particular threats, but in the overwhelming force of protection it manifests. A properly cast Golden Shield will repel nearly any direct magical attack, though at considerable cost to the caster's reserves."
Chris's heart raced as he studied the complex wand movement, a tight spiral followed by a diagonal slash and upward flick, and the precise pronunciation guide for the Latin incantation. The visualization described was particularly interesting, requiring the caster to imagine their magic as liquid gold flowing outward to form a protective shell.
This was exactly what he needed for the acromantula hunt. A shield powerful enough to withstand multiple attackers from all directions could make the difference between life and death when surrounded by venomous spiders.
After memorizing the instructions, Chris closed the Grimoire and restored it to its miniaturized state, returning it to the chain around his neck. The training room waited, its empty space calling for magic to fill it.
He moved to the control panel disguised as an ordinary stone in the wall. Pressing his palm against it, he activated the training system installed by generations of Ambrosias. "Six intermediate training dummies," he commanded. "Random spell selection, moderate power, focused barrage pattern."
The floor opened in six different locations, mechanical platforms rising to reveal human-shaped figures of enchanted wood. Their features were minimal, just enough to suggest a face, but their limbs moved with uncanny fluidity as they raised their wand arms in unison.
Chris took his position in the center of the room, his wand held loosely at his side. "Begin sequence on my mark," he called out. He took a deep breath, centering himself. "Mark!"
The dummies responded instantly. Jets of light, some red, some blue, some yellow, streaked toward him from all directions. In a normal training session, Chris would have dodged, countered, or cast a standard Protego. Today, he attempted something far more ambitious.
He executed the spiral motion with his wand, feeling his magic gathering, then slashed diagonally and flicked upward as he declared: "Praesidium Aureum!"
For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. The spell hadn't failed, exactly, he could feel his magic responding, but something was missing. The incoming spells were seconds from impact.
Instinctively, Chris closed his eyes, focusing on the visualization Godric had described. He imagined his magic not as an abstract force but as something tangible, molten gold flowing from his core, down his arm, through his wand, and outward in a perfect sphere around him.
"Praesidium Aureum!" he called again, his voice ringing with conviction.
This time, the effect was immediate and spectacular. A dome of golden-yellow light erupted around him, not translucent like the silvery Protego, but solid and gleaming as if cast from actual precious metal. The shield expanded outward from his wand in a perfect hemisphere, stopping about three feet from his body in every direction.
The first spell, a Stinging Hex, struck the dome with a sound like a bell being rung. Instead of the shield flexing or weakening, the hex simply shattered against the golden surface, its magical energy dissipating in a shower of sparks. Five more spells hit in quick succession, each meeting the same fate, breaking apart harmlessly against his protection.
The sensation was unlike any magic Chris had cast before. Where Protego felt like a constant drain on his reserves, requiring active concentration to maintain, the Praesidium Aureum established itself and then settled, drawing a significant initial surge of power but then stabilizing. He could feel the shield as an extension of himself, responding to his magical core like a living thing.
More spells crashed against the golden barrier. Red Stunners, blue Freezing Charms, even a nasty yellow curse that would have caused painful boils, all dissolved against the impenetrable dome. The shield didn't even flicker under the onslaught.
"Incredible," Chris breathed, turning slowly to watch the spells impact from all angles. This wasn't just a stronger version of Protego, it was an entirely different category of defensive magic. Where the standard Shield Charm created a temporary barrier that could be worn down or bypassed, this golden dome was a complete defense, solid and unwavering.
After maintaining the shield through a full minute of continuous assault, easily thirty or forty spells in total, Chris lowered his wand. The golden dome dissipated, not vanishing instantly like Protego would, but rather melting away like sunlight withdrawing at dusk.
He felt the magical drain now, a pleasant tiredness in his core that spoke of significant power expenditure. Still, it wasn't debilitating. His Second Maturation had clearly increased his magical reserves enough to handle this advanced spell, though he suspected he couldn't maintain it for extended periods yet.
"End sequence," he called to the training dummies, which immediately lowered their wands and returned to standby positions.
Walking to the small table where a pitcher of water waited, Chris poured himself a glass and drank deeply, analyzing what he'd just experienced. The shield was at least three times stronger than his best Protego, by his estimation. More importantly, it protected from all directions simultaneously, eliminating the vulnerability to flanking attacks that was Protego's greatest weakness.
Against the acromantulas, this spell alone could make the difference between life and death. If surrounded, he could cast the Golden Shield and buy himself precious seconds to either counter-attack or retreat to a more defensible position.
Setting down his empty glass, Chris returned to the center of the training area. He had at least two more hours before he needed to rest, and he intended to use every minute. There was no such thing as too much practice when preparing for battle.
"Resume sequence," he called, raising his wand once more. The dummies reactivated, their wooden arms lifting in unison.
As spell fire streaked toward him from six directions, Chris smiled, a fierce joy rising in his chest. "Praesidium Aureum!" he called, and once again, the golden dome materialized around him, powerful, protective, and perfect.
After an hour of practice, Chris lowered his wand, satisfaction warming his chest as the golden dome of Praesidium Aureum melted away for perhaps the twentieth time. The shield responded more quickly now, forming almost instantly at his command, though maintaining it still drew heavily on his magical reserves. He'd made enough progress for one spell, he decided, wiping sweat from his brow. It was time to move on to something with a bit more bite.
He retrieved Gryffindor's Grimoire from around his neck, returning it to full size with a practiced flick of his wand. The massive tome settled on the training room floor with a soft thud as Chris knelt beside it, eager fingers turning past the defensive section to the chapter titled "Offensive Fundamentals."
The first entry caught his eye immediately: Secare Intentio, The Blade of Intent. The page featured an illustration of a wizard directing what appeared to be a crescent-shaped wave of energy that cleaved through a stone wall as if it were paper.
"While common cutting charms rely on focused magic to separate matter along a narrow line," the text began, "the Blade of Intent manifests the caster's will to sever as pure magical force. Its power lies not in the spell itself, but in the unyielding determination of the wizard who wields it. Where lesser charms might be stopped by protective enchantments or physically resistant materials, the Blade of Intent cuts through the target's magical resistance by overwhelming it with concentrated purpose."
The wand movement was deceptively simple, a short, horizontal slash followed by a precise diagonal cut. The incantation, "Secare Intentio," needed to be spoken with particular emphasis on the second word. But what caught Chris's attention was Gryffindor's final note on the spell: "The movement and words are merely vessels; the true blade is forged from unwavering intent. Without this, you hold no weapon at all."
Chris stood, excitement tingling through his limbs. A cutting charm powerful enough to slice through magical protections would be invaluable against acromantulas, whose natural magical resistance made them difficult to affect with standard spells.
"Reset primary target," he commanded. The training dummies sank back into the floor, replaced by a single, heavily reinforced mannequin covered in layered magical shields. The target was designed to measure the power of offensive spells, with enchanted indicators showing how many protective layers had been penetrated.
Chris took position, his stance balanced and fluid as Gryffindor had instructed in the physical training section. He focused on the mannequin, raised his wand, and performed the movement with precision.
"Secare Intentio," he pronounced clearly, putting particular emphasis on the second word.
Nothing happened. Not even a spark left his wand.
Frowning, Chris tried again, paying even closer attention to the wand movement and pronunciation. "Secare Intentio!"
Again, nothing. No magic, no effect, not even the faintest stirring of power.
He tried a third time, then a fourth, growing increasingly frustrated. Each attempt was technically perfect, the movement crisp, the words correct, but the spell refused to manifest.
Returning to the Grimoire, Chris reread the description more carefully, focusing on the parts he might have overlooked. "The true blade is forged from unwavering intent," he murmured. "Without this, you hold no weapon at all."
Understanding began to dawn. This wasn't like the shield spell, where visualization of magical energy was key. The cutting charm required something deeper, true, focused intent to cut through the target, not just intellectually wanting it to happen, but feeling the desire to sever, to cleave, to separate with absolute certainty.
Chris stepped back into position, but this time he didn't immediately raise his wand. Instead, he closed his eyes, focusing inward. He pictured the spell not as an abstract concept but as an extension of his will, a physical manifestation of his determination to cut through anything in his path.
He thought of the acromantulas waiting in the Forbidden Forest, their clicking mandibles and poisonous fangs threatening not just him but anyone who ventured near their territory. He thought of obstacles standing between him and his goals, barriers that needed to be removed decisively and completely.
When he opened his eyes, they had hardened with resolve. He raised his wand, no longer just performing a movement but expressing his uncompromising intent through the motion.
"SECARE INTENTIO!" he declared, his voice ringing with absolute conviction.
This time, magic responded spectacularly. A crescent of pure energy, not light, but something more substantial, like solidified will, erupted from his wand. The arc was nearly three feet wide, glowing with a fierce white-gold intensity that left afterimages on his vision. It sliced through the air with an audible hum before striking the target.
The result was both immediate and devastating. The magical blade didn't just penetrate the mannequin's protective layers, it cut through them as if they weren't there, cleaving the heavily reinforced target cleanly in half from shoulder to hip. Both pieces toppled to the floor with a heavy thud, the cut edges smoking slightly where the spell had passed through.
Chris stared, momentarily stunned by the spell's power. He had expected something stronger than Diffindo, but this was in another category entirely. The standard cutting charm might slice wood or even stone, Secare Intentio had just cut through multiple layers of magical protection and a mannequin specifically designed to resist destructive spells.
He felt the magical drain immediately, a sharp pull on his reserves that left him momentarily light-headed. This spell required at least ten times the energy of Diffindo, possibly more. It was no wonder Gryffindor had emphasized physical conditioning, casting such magic repeatedly in battle would tax even a fully grown wizard.
"I couldn't have cast that before my Second Maturation," Chris murmured to himself, thinking of his rituals and the blessing from Mother Magic that had accelerated his magical development. Even with his increased core strength, the spell had taken a significant toll. A sixth-year student attempting it would likely collapse from magical exhaustion after a single cast, if they could manage it at all.
Curious about what other offensive spells the Grimoire contained, Chris returned to the ancient text. As he turned the pages, his excitement gradually gave way to understanding. The spells grew progressively more powerful, but also more demanding. Annotations in Gryffindor's hand made it clear that the later enchantments required magical maturity beyond what Chris currently possessed.
"These arts demand a fully matured magical core," one note read, "what some traditions call the Third Awakening, typically occurring after the fiftieth year, if at all."
Chris closed the book with a mixture of disappointment and acceptance. His Ambrosia ritual at fifteen would likely trigger his Third Maturation, but until then, he would have to work with the spells he could safely cast.
Still, the shield and cutting charm were significant additions to his arsenal, far beyond what any third-year student should be capable of wielding. Mastering these two spells alone would give him a crucial advantage in the acromantula hunt.
He returned the Grimoire to its miniaturized state and replaced it around his neck, already planning how to structure the remaining weeks of summer. Mornings would be dedicated to Gryffindor's physical training regimen, running the manor grounds, strength exercises, and the combat movements detailed in the first chapter. Afternoons would focus on magical practice, alternating between perfecting the golden shield and the cutting charm until both became second nature. Evenings would be reserved for his regular studies, ensuring he maintained his academic edge at Hogwarts.
As Chris left the training room, his muscles aching pleasantly and his magical core thrumming with exertion, he felt a deep satisfaction. The path to the acromantula nest would be dangerous, but with each passing day, he was becoming better equipped to face whatever awaited him in the depths of the Forbidden Forest.
The morning sun had barely crested the horizon when Chris completed his tenth lap around the manor grounds, his breathing controlled despite the punishing pace he'd maintained for the past hour. Three weeks of Gryffindor's training regimen had transformed his already fit frame, adding definition to his muscles and a fluid grace to his movements that hadn't been there before. He slowed to a walk for his cool-down, sweat glistening on his brow as he mentally reviewed the day's schedule: strength exercises after breakfast, then three hours practicing the Blade of Intent spell, followed by shield work until dinner.
His routine had become almost meditative in its consistency. Wake before dawn, train the body until breakfast, train the magic until evening, study academic texts until sleep. Repeat. The discipline suited him, bringing clarity to his mind and steadily increasing power to his spellwork. Both the Praesidium Aureum and Secare Intentio now responded to his call with barely a thought, though maintaining the golden shield for extended periods still taxed his reserves.
As he approached the manor's east entrance, wiping his face with a small towel, he noticed two owls perched on the stone railing that lined the path. One was instantly recognizable as a Gringotts messenger, its sleek black feathers and silver leg band unmistakable. The other was smaller, tawny in colour, with an excited, fidgeting manner that suggested it carried a less formal communication.
"Good morning," Chris greeted them, extending his arm as an invitation. The Gringotts owl maintained its dignified posture but allowed him to remove the sealed parchment from its leg. The smaller owl hopped onto his forearm with an enthusiastic hoot, nearly dropping its letter in its eagerness.
Chris recognized Susan's neat handwriting on the second envelope immediately. He smiled, unexpected warmth spreading through his chest at this reminder of the world beyond his intensive training. Taking both letters, he thanked the owls with small treats from a pouch he kept for such occasions. The Gringotts owl accepted the offering with stately grace before departing, while Susan's owl lingered, apparently instructed to wait for a reply.
Inside, Chris poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher Jilly had thoughtfully left in the entrance hall. He drank deeply, then broke the official blue-silver seal on the Gringotts message first, sensing its importance.
The parchment unfolded to reveal Ragnok's angular script:
Lord Emrys,
Preparations for our joint venture are proceeding on schedule. After consultation with the centaur leader Chiron, we have determined the optimal date for the operation: August 17th, precisely two weeks before students return to Hogwarts grounds.
Our warriors anticipate this Blooding with great enthusiasm. Forty-three young goblins will participate, along with twelve experienced battle-masters to guide them. The centaur contribution will include twenty archers and ten ground fighters specializing in close combat.
I have taken the liberty of preparing specialized equipment for your use in this engagement, including dragon-hide armor modified to your measurements. You may collect these items one week prior to the operation date.
A tactical briefing will be held at Gringotts on August 10th at nine o'clock. Your presence is requested.
May your enemies fall before you,
Ragnok
Chief of the Goblin Nation
Chris read the letter twice, his expression growing more focused with each word. The abstract idea of the acromantula hunt was becoming concrete reality. In less than a month, he would be fighting alongside goblin warriors and centaur archers, facing hundreds of giant spiders in their own territory.
The date made perfect sense. Mid-August would allow enough time for any evidence of the battle to be erased before students returned to Hogwarts. The forest would have time to settle, and Hagrid would likely attribute the disappearance of his "friends" to natural migration or some other explanation that didn't involve a coordinated extermination.
Dragon-hide armour was an unexpected bonus. Such protection was expensive and difficult to obtain, demonstrating Ragnok's commitment to ensuring his survival. The gesture went beyond mere alliance, suggesting that the goblin chief genuinely valued him as Lord Emrys, not just as a useful wizard ally.
Chris carefully folded the letter and set it aside, turning his attention to Susan's message. Breaking the simple wax seal, he unfolded the parchment to find her familiar handwriting, neat but with occasional enthusiastic flourishes:
Dear Chris,
How has your summer been? Mine has been brilliant so far! France was amazing, the magical quarter in Paris makes Diagon Alley look positively provincial. I have so much to tell you!
Aunt Amelia is hosting a small dinner party the day after tomorrow (Thursday) at 7 o'clock, and I've convinced her to let me invite you and Hannah. She's curious to meet you properly, apparently your name has come up in some Ministry discussions (good things, she assures me, though she's being annoyingly mysterious about the details).
Please say you'll come! Hannah's already confirmed, and it would be lovely to see you before term starts. Aunt Amelia is also making her famous treacle tart, which is worth the visit alone, trust me.
Send your reply back with Archimedes (the owl giving you the impatient stare right now).
Hope to see you soon!
Susan
P.S. Don't worry about formal robes or anything stuffy like that. Aunt Amelia hates "unnecessary pomp" as she calls it.
Chris found himself smiling as he finished reading. The letter was so perfectly Susan, practical information mixed with personal warmth and just a hint of the proper pureblood upbringing she tried to downplay. Her mention of Ministry discussions piqued his curiosity, though he suspected it related to either his tip on Lockhart or his academic performance.
The timing of the invitation was fortuitous. He had been pushing himself relentlessly with his training, and an evening with friends would provide a welcome respite. More importantly, maintaining these normal connections, friendships unburdened by his deeper purposes and plans, kept him grounded in ways he hadn't fully appreciated in his first life.
He took a sheet of his personal stationery from a nearby desk and composed a quick reply:
Dear Susan,
Thank you for the invitation. I'd be delighted to join you, Hannah, and your aunt for dinner on Thursday. Is there anything I can bring?
My summer has been quiet but productive, mostly studying and some physical training. Nothing as exciting as exploring magical Paris! I look forward to hearing all about it.
Please thank Madam Bones for including me in your dinner plans. I look forward to meeting her properly.
See you Thursday,
Chris
He sealed the letter and attached it to the waiting owl's leg. "Safe journey, Archimedes," he said, stroking the bird's feathers once before it took flight.
As he watched the owl disappear into the morning sky, Chris felt the strange duality of his life with particular clarity. In less than a month, he would be fighting for his life against magical creatures that could kill with a single bite. Yet in two days, he would be having dinner with friends, listening to Susan's travel stories, and enjoying treacle tart made by the head of magical law enforcement.
Both were equally real parts of who he was becoming. The warrior training in ancient battle magic, and the teenager maintaining friendships that had nothing to do with power or cunning.
He tucked Ragnok's letter into his pocket and headed upstairs to shower. The day's training still awaited, now with renewed purpose. August 17th would arrive all too soon, and when it did, he intended to be ready.