The passage to the core turned out to be right in the ritual chamber. And it was so well hidden, you couldn't detect or scan it by any magical means. Dorothy was just flying around the hall, chasing a dust mote, when she suddenly sensed life behind the wall. Only after breaking through did we realize that an extremely high-quality illusion had concealed the entrance. A hidden passage inside the Chamber of Secrets — now that's a paradox. But after so many years, a tiny crack had formed between the stone door and the wall, and through that, my familiar sensed the mosses growing in the damp.
The passage was a long spiral staircase, carved into a cave reinforced with runes. Naturally, I didn't go down myself — I sent doppelgangers. About fifty meters below the lake level, according to Hal's calculations, they found a gigantic karst cavern, transformed into an enormous hall. The space was divided by color into four distinct sections: red granite, blue marble, green malachite, and yellow amber. Against these backgrounds, the symbols of the four houses were laid out in mosaic: lion, eagle, serpent, and badger.
In the center of the cave, on a marble pedestal, stood a cracked obsidian sphere. Not just any obsidian, but Fae obsidian. When I activated true sight through the doppelganger, my vision rippled from the sheer number of charms, runes, and magical flows converging on and radiating from the center.
My doubles spent until evening reaching the center, checking every step. But there were no traps at all. Which, in a way, made sense — if something exploded in the heart of the artifact, everyone would be blown sky-high. But the fact that there weren't any on the staircase either was concerning. Even more concerning was that the obsidian bore traces of old burns and destruction. Someone had deliberately destroyed or released Hogwarts' guardian. Hence the absence of traps — they'd all been neutralized back then.
When, why, how? I set those questions aside for now. Something else was more important.
"Hal," I called, waiting for Pandora to arrive. I'd just had dinner with Dorothy, who was still glowing from her latest adventure, and we'd devoured Florentine's cooking. House-elves really are culinary geniuses, especially Hogwarts elves — centuries of practice matter. And when the ingredients are first-class, you could swallow your tongue.
"Can you take control of Hogwarts?" I asked Hal.
"I can connect remotely through the Protean Charms. But I have a more interesting idea," he replied.
"Oh? What's that?"
"Make Hogwarts a second anchor and power source for Availon. That way, I'd have direct connection and influence over it."
"But then you could get to Availon through Hogwarts, right?"
"Right. So we'll close the only entrance and hide the cave with Fidelius."
"Strange the founders themselves didn't do this," I mused. "Though maybe they did, and the last keeper died and the charms dissipated."
"Most likely. Or maybe the keeper was the one who destroyed the heart," Hal agreed.
"Alright, here's the plan. We collect the Fae obsidian remains — maybe we can restore it with time magic. If not, we'll break it down for artifacts. Hal, work on the second anchor and tell me what you need for it, and I'll—" At that moment, there was a timid knock at the door. "—deal with Pandora for now."
"You have the more complex task, sir."
"I know, Hal, I know. Taking fire upon myself."
***
"Hi, Pandora, come in," I said, opening the door for her. She wore a lilac dress and matching low-heeled shoes — not the best choice for Hogwarts' treacherous staircases, but she pulled it off. During non-class hours, you could wear whatever you wanted, but few bothered — changing clothes in a castle this size was a pain, and heels were a death sentence on those vanishing steps.
"Is this your apartment, Professor? I thought it would be bigger," she said, peering around.
"Come on, I'll show you something bigger," I said, then winced. Every time I met this girl, I managed to say something ambiguous. "Dorothy, you coming?"
*Already flying,* I heard in my head, and saw my fairy zip out of the office, munching on a cookie from Florentine. I wasn't the only one addicted to her baking.
"But first, a warning. Everything I show and tell you — you can't tell anyone, or you'll lose your magic."
"Even Xeno?"
"Even Xeno."
"And even you?"
"And even me. In fact, especially not me. If you ever feel the urge to tell me, bite your tongue."
"Okay," she nodded, deadly serious. I led her to the wardrobe with the already-activated door, and before she could say anything else, I pulled her inside. "You have a house in a wardrobe?"
"More like another world," I said, not bothering with details. "Florentine."
"Yes, sir?" The elf appeared instantly.
"Take our guest upstairs and find her something more suitable for training and experiments. Protection level no less than third."
"It will be done, sir!" She vanished with Pandora.
"Sebastian."
"Yes, sir?" A tall, slender blond with pointed ears appeared, dressed in a Roman toga with a golden wreath. Former Tinky had changed so much I sometimes forgot he'd ever been a house-elf. It wasn't just the appearance — it was the bearing. In accelerated time, Tinky had spent almost a full day, which was six months in real time, with Hal drilling him. Florentine had less, but her turn would come. Maybe then she'd wear normal clothes too.
"Prepare the training room for three people, with charm practice. Acceleration one to a thousand — I need to personally supervise my student, or she'll kill herself. And I'll bring Dorothy up to speed too."
"You look good," I said when Pandora reappeared in tight leather battle gear.
"It chafes between my legs," she complained.
"You'll get used to it," I said, trying not to laugh. "I don't have time to teach you the classical way — you need to attend classes, do homework, socialize, all that. So we'll spend our time in a room with time acceleration. Clear?"
"Crystal."
"Any questions?"
"Should there be?" She was going to drive me mad. Anyone else would be bombarding me with questions about how this was possible, where we were, but she just took it in stride. Though her next line restored my faith: "You're the teacher — you'll explain everything."
"Let's go, then."
The basement "room" was more like a modular space — an infinitely long corridor with identical doors. At the moment, only five rooms could be opened: mine, Dorothy's, Pandora's, the workshop, and the training ground. Everything here was created by transfiguration, so there was no fear of breaking anything. I explained this to Pandora.
"Wait, what are you doing?" I stopped her as she raised her wand at her bed.
"You said we could break everything," she said, puzzled.
"On the training ground, yes. Not in the room. Come on, I'll show you. And I'll explain the safety rules."
The training ground was a huge field, smooth as a table, with grass soft enough to break a fall, and targets that could move and attack under Hal's control. At the moment, they just stood there. If you wanted, you could change the landscape to anything — even Mars.
"Dorothy, you can take your veela form," I said, and Pandora watched the transformation with wide-eyed curiosity. "Meet my student, Pandora."
"She's adorable!" Pandora squealed, hugging Dorothy, who, to my surprise, enjoyed it. "Can I keep her?"
"She's my familiar — find your own."
"How do I do that?" she asked, genuinely interested.
"You don't find familiars — they find you. That's how it was with Dorothy and me. Right, little one?"
"Uh-huh," Dorothy said, wriggling out of Pandora's arms to hug me.
"Alright, enough with the cuddles — though I won't deny they're nice. Or we'll be here all night. Now, listen up. Mages have five rules:
First rule: always double-check your calculations.
Second rule: always double-check your calculations.
Third rule: if you can cast spells, rituals, or use potions remotely — do it.
Fourth rule: all experiments are conducted in specially prepared rooms or open areas, in protective gear and under magical protection.
Fifth rule: never test on people what you can test on animals or cadavers. And never test on yourself what you can test on other people.
These five rules will let you live long, happily, and with all your limbs — or at least not with extra ones. Remember them! Pandora, what did I just say?"
"That we can smash everything here!" she said, beaming.
"Oh, this is going to be a long, long day."
***
Two weeks later:
"Pandora, what did I tell you about experimental spells? Dorothy, don't copy her!"
A month later:
"Dorothy, why are you making doppelgangers fight each other?"
"It's fun!"
"I want to try!" Pandora chimed in.
"Fine, do what you want. Just don't blow up the room."
Three months later:
"Pandora, I'm not resurrecting you again! And I'm not piecing you back together from all over the training ground. Why didn't you put up protection?"
"I did!"
"Show me these charms."
Six months later:
By now, Dorothy, Pandora, and I had become a real team. These two little troublemakers never let me get bored. Always up to something, always making a mess I had to clean up. But there were benefits. We discovered several new charms — some so powerful they blew up even the training ground's protections. We had to modify them, create a vacuum around the magical cluster. The best part? These charms were completely invisible, and any protection, even the weakest, would trigger them to detonate.
I also practiced creating the second anchor in peace. I just had to make sure Pandora didn't sneak up and mess with the runic chains. No protection would stop her — she'd figure it out and crack it. A genius with charms, and an intuitive one at that.
"Pandora, you've got a long way to go, but I'll help you get there. At least now I'm sure you won't kill yourself — or at least not right away. Here, I'm giving you your own magicomputer with time acceleration. It's only ten times faster, but it'll do."
"Dorothy, you're my familiar, and I love you."
"I love you too!" she squealed, hugging me.
But besides teaching, I was catching up on things I'd neglected. Mental magic with Hal, for example. As a mind spirit, he'd become much more skilled than me. According to him, the world of mind spirits is a constant mental battle, the strong devouring the weak. After thousands of years of this, you become a master. So I had plenty of practice — just had to keep healing myself to avoid a stroke.
I also worked on fire control and finally started studying levitation. With wings, I didn't really need it, but it made flying much faster. Not to mention developing my own style, yoga, and martial arts.
But my main achievement — I succeeded in creating adamantium. Even with "eternal" transfiguration, it wasn't easy. The astral body of any metal, from bronze to tungsten, just didn't have time to change so much. I had to run them through accelerated time for decades, constantly renewing charms, and only then would the astral body solidify. The older an object, the stronger its astral body.
Even with Hal's help, I didn't succeed on the first, second, or even tenth try at making my first adamantium dagger. We had to extract the form from the matrix, leaving only the metal's structure, since working with finished adamantium was torture. Unlike adamant, you didn't need an archmage to pour heart's blood on it and beat it with mana-filled fists, but it was still unpleasant.
But we solved it after many experiments. That's why it took so long, and I taught the girls as a side project — Dorothy could explain the basics, and Hal could handle the complex stuff. I just had to make sure they didn't kill themselves beyond resurrection — mostly Pandora.
And of course, I couldn't resist making myself weapons. I'd always liked sabers with a slight curve — fast, light, able to cut and thrust. But I'm no blacksmith, so I had to go beyond Hogwarts' anti-apparition barrier and head to my old museum.
Nostalgia hit me hard. How long had it been since I'd breathed the scent of ancient texts waiting for restoration? I had ancient texts now, but that bittersweet feeling of nostalgia — knowing those days would never return — was still there.
Under concealment charms, I couldn't resist checking on old Johnson, the museum director, who'd aged a lot in thirteen years.
"Who's there?" he called, looking up from his reports. Even Muggles can sense when they're being watched.
"Just a ghost of the past, my friend. Just a ghost of the past," I whispered, gently putting him to sleep with Somnium and casting a few minor healings. That would rejuvenate him a bit, restore his health. A small repayment for taking in an unknown student and giving him a chance.
I found the saber storage by memory. Real, battle sabers, not decorative ones. I'd always liked one in particular — not gold-plated, not jeweled, just a worn, bloodstained handle, a bent guard, and a blade with many nicks. It was considered junk, never displayed.
With true sight, I gasped — no wonder I liked it. The blade had almost birthed its own soul. That happens when a warrior gives everything to his weapon. I'd only planned to take the matrix, but now I decided to give it new life. Leaving a perfect copy in its place, I poured thirty times more energy into the fake — that's what makes "eternal" transfiguration.
***
First, I used time charms to restore the saber to its original state. Scratches and nicks vanished, the leather wrapping returned, and the saber looked brand new. I removed the wrapping — I'd use processed basilisk leather later — and checked that time charms didn't affect the soul. Then I moved to the first stage.
I engraved a complex of runes with my blood and etching potions, and applied sharpness charms that would make the blade's edge invisible under a microscope.
Next, I placed the sword in a magic circle with an adamantium matrix, channeling ether from Availon through myself, converting it to mana, and activated the circle. The first transfiguration took a lot of energy. Renewal needed less. With the saber, it was even harder, since the almost-born soul resisted. In that sense, materialized objects are easier — they have no astral body, which is why conjured food tastes bland to mages.
But I never take the easy path. Finally, the circle flashed red, releasing excess mana, and the saber didn't change much — except the handle and guard, now silvery-gray like the blade.
I placed the saber in a time-acceleration circle, set it to a year, and waited a few minutes.
"Florentine, dear, bring me coffee the way I like it."
"It will be done, sir." When the mug appeared, the protective field switched off. Sipping hot coffee made from magical beans with unicorn milk and cane sugar, I reapplied the charms, this time for two years. Each time, the charms lasted longer as the astral body yielded.
Back and forth I went until I was satisfied. Then came rune activation and charm application — self-sharpening, indestructibility, blood binding, return to hand, portkey, and fire enchantment. To make the sword resist fire and conduct my mana, I tempered it in hellfire for twelve hours. I couldn't do more — I cut the charms and passed out. When I woke, the saber was still glowing hot.
"Sebastian, bring me basilisk venom," I said after resting. Basilisk venom is fascinating — it dissolves any magic except the most energy-saturated, and absorbs it, becoming stronger. That's how the basilisk doesn't dissolve itself.
But there's a catch. With no mana, it can be stored in anything, so I wasn't surprised to see it in an ordinary flask.
What did I want? Alchemy. A potioneer mixes substances, extracts properties, suppresses unwanted ones. He can't make an elixir of life from water. But an alchemist can — he transfers the astral body from one object to another.
I'd worked with venom before, so I knew what to expect. But the third shell of basilisk venom corroded anything it touched, so it could only be used on adamantium or similar materials. I'd heard Godric's sword could absorb astral bodies of things or creatures it cut — maybe that's why.
At the alchemy table, I carefully extracted the venom's "essence" and embedded it in the saber with the handle removed. Again, rejection — I sweated, forcing the merge.
Most interestingly, I didn't extract everything from the venom, so over time it would restore itself. I poured the rest into an adamantium box, closed the lid, and saturated it with mana, accelerating time for a hundred years. But I had to remove the blade with tongs — telekinesis just dissipated.
But that wasn't all — I wanted to combine the soul of a well-fed salamander (I had four left) with the saber. Alas, it didn't work — the blade dissipated even the soul, or rather, the third shell did. So I stuffed the soul into my wand — no point wasting it. I'd already reinforced the wand with adamantium, covering it with a thin layer.
Good thing I'd removed the handle, or it would have been dangerous to grab. The blade was sharp only on one side, so you could only cut yourself by being stupid. From basilisk leather soaked in potions, I made new wrapping for the handle and a sheath. On Medici's advice, the leather had to be tanned in its own venom — nothing else worked.
The leather also worked as an insulator, so I could put the saber in my spatial pocket — otherwise I'd have to carry it everywhere.
At that moment, I was finally ready for the metamorph binding ritual. To be honest, I'd been putting it off. There was always something else to do — take control of the castle, deal with the basilisk egg, Ravenclaw's diadem, the Blacks, Malfoy, find dragons for Availon. But you could postpone forever.
So I went down to the Chamber of Secrets, applied every protective and concealing charm I knew, made plenty of doppelgangers, and got to work. The ritual was complex, meticulous, and brooked no errors, so I drew it with my blood until morning and double-checked everything. I laid out a couple of cow carcasses for transformation. Then came the turn of concentrated black acromantula blood, bright red with silver from Hayato, green from Dorothy, and the familiar red of werewolf, dragon, and basilisk.
Before activation and connection to Hogwarts' source, I had to activate the ritual, which took half my reserve. Then I sang a quatrain in Latin, and a translucent figure appeared before me... of me. Only inside, two hearts and a different organ structure were visible. The figure flew into me, changing me from within, and I didn't resist.
The sensations were like changing form through metamorphism, only forced. Then energy began pouring in, highlighting all changes, and drops of blood, rising into the air, pierced my body like thin needles. I screamed — the concentrated blood of powerful creatures burned me from within. Only Dorothy's blood caused no pain.
Mental attacks joined in, like when absorbing souls — but what nonsense? I wasn't absorbing souls! First the werewolf attacked, but it was weak against a mental mage. Then the acromantula, strong in instincts but stupid. Then the dragon, who wanted to devour me, suppressing with its will, but then seemed to recognize me and weakened so I could defeat it. Then came Dorothy and Hayato — they just smiled and entered my body. Last was the basilisk, who immediately attacked, trying to devour me. But it was pale and transparent, so though not without difficulty, I defeated it too.
I exhaled with relief. Only the ritual didn't stop — the circle glowed brighter, the cows were already completely absorbed, when suddenly, against my will, my second hypostasis merged with me — the veela form, modified for battle. This is what Hal had warned about — an unforeseen effect. The veela form was closer to lycanthropy than metamorph form, and was connected to blood, into which so much energy was now pouring that it seemed enough for all of Hogwarts for a year. Even the mana in the air began to glow.
"At least the other forms weren't pulled in," I thought, losing consciousness and remaining suspended in air by the ritual. I wouldn't want to be a rooster.