The young wizard's intellect was doing its best to enlighten his brain.
Meanwhile, the diary of the ancient Dark Lord was thoroughly enjoying the chaos.
A skeleton is absolutely not on Hogwarts' prohibited pet list. Trust me, whoever wrote those rules never imagined a student would try something like this.
Its handwriting radiated certainty.
"But I've already got a cat. Does the school allow two pets?"
Iain felt some possible risks still needed to be managed.
He was clearly trying to use the witch's wisdom to uncover loopholes in school rules.
The diary floated before him, its pages swaying lightly in the air as though thinking. Then ink slowly began to appear.
That depends on what sort of wizard you are.
Iain froze for a moment.
"There's a ranking system for this too?"
He asked with obvious curiosity.
Naturally gifted students receive certain privileges. That is true anywhere.
The diary turned a page, and the new writing that surfaced was looser than before, as though recalling something from a long time ago.
When I was at school, I kept dozens of magical creatures. Some of them were quite dangerous. Yet I was not expelled the way the little brat Dumbledore happened to favor back then was nearly expelled. Rules are written for ordinary people. If you are exceptional enough, rules make way for you.
Iain stared at those lines, thoughtful.
"So it's like outstanding students in the Muggle world. The sort with amazing grades. In theory, they get scholarships, extra consideration, teachers who quietly overlook things?"
He had another revelation.
Exactly. Just like that.
Iain's eyes lit up.
He straightened his back and said in a tone he felt was highly persuasive, "Then my talent definitely isn't bad. I've got a warlock bloodline. There's even a succubus in my dreams. Did you know about those? The kind that slips into your dreams and tests whether your soul is truly steadfast..."
As he said this, the little skeleton beside him moved its head slightly, both dark hollow eye sockets turned toward Iain as though listening with great seriousness.
The ink on the diary page did not pause.
Though I have no idea what sort of nonsense you are muttering, excellent wizards are often odd by nature. So let us conduct a talent test.
The sound of turning pages was especially clear in the quiet room.
If I remember correctly, there should be an old wand in the drawer beside you.
Iain turned his head toward the desk.
The desk stood against the wall. Its surface was bare, coated in a dark green patina from age. When he pulled open the drawer, there really was a wand lying there all alone.
It looked like oak. The surface bore fine scratches and the worn marks of long use.
What stood out most was this:
it had clearly once been broken.
Near the lower middle of the shaft ran a distinct fracture line, as though someone had snapped it in two and later repaired it.
"Can... can this still be used?"
Iain lifted the wand from the drawer and examined it carefully before his eyes. He remembered perfectly well how disastrous Ron's broken wand had been in the second film.
Any spell cast with it either backfired or exploded, and it had very nearly left the famous writer Lockhart with no memory at all.
You should trust Albus's handiwork when it comes to repairs.
The writing in the diary was extremely confident.
Trust Albus, and trust me. Don't you want to learn a little magic in advance, so that once school starts, you can astonish everyone with a few displays?
It had precisely identified the young wizard's dream.
"As expected of a witch. You're far too good at manipulating people."
Iain's fingers rubbed along the wand, feeling the faint ridge where it had been repaired.
We've both been around long enough. Of course I know how your sort thinks.
The witch's handwriting gave a little sigh of experience.
"So we're partners now, right?" Iain turned and glanced at the quiet little skeleton. "Partners have to be loyal to each other, you know."
"You can't tell anyone I'm secretly using this wand. Once I make it big, I'll buy you an entire stack of skeleton-only tattoo stickers so you can decorate yourself properly."
Iain guessed this wand must once have belonged to some member of the Dumbledore family. The fact that it had been left here now clearly meant that person had been dead for a long time.
Click.
The little skeleton nodded its head.
Satisfied, Iain patted the top of its skull.
"Good, good. From today on, you're my ghost friend. In the future, remember to give me more ghostly ideas. I'm too upright a person to be naturally sneaky on my own."
He shared this little reflection with the skeleton, then rose to his feet and gripped the repaired wand tightly.
The wand seemed to resist him.
"Quiet."
Iain muttered.
Something in that word, carrying a note of command, caused the wand to fall still at once.
He turned toward the diary.
"I'm ready. What are we learning?"
To be honest, Iain was somewhat nervous about properly learning mainstream magic. He was, of course, a little worried that he might turn out to be the sort of wizard who excelled only in the Dark Arts.
We start with something simple. The Wand-Lighting Charm.
The witch's reply, fortunately, was reassuring.
The words appeared quickly, as though she had been waiting a long time for Iain to ask that very question.
It is one of the first spells any wizard can learn.
And also one of the most underestimated. Most people can only use it to light up the tip of a wand, like some clumsy little flashlight. But the version I improved is different.
Lines of writing began to appear across the page.
Not English.
Not any alphabet Iain had ever seen.
The symbols curved and twisted, carrying an ancient rhythm that did not belong to this age.
Fortunately, beside each character, the pronunciation had been carefully marked.
In sound-notes Iain could understand, each one written with painstaking precision.
Repeat after me.
Mind your emotions. Not calmness. Not steadiness. Desire. The desire to illuminate everything, until life and all creation seem ready to melt away beneath it.
Iain stared at the pronunciation guide. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
"A lighting spell needs emotions that strong?"
He looked up, puzzled.
"Isn't it just supposed to make a bit of light?"
You don't believe me?
One page of the diary curled slightly, like someone arching an eyebrow.
I am a legendary witch. Any spell I improved is bound to be stronger than what you'd find in a school textbook. When the time comes, you can claim it's your own original work, and the professors' jaws will hit the floor.
What an evil witch.
She had perfectly seized every one of the young wizard's weak points.
Iain was silent for two seconds.
"Damn it! You've got me!"
Since Dumbledore himself had handed the diary over to him, Iain's guard had naturally dropped. After muttering a few complaints under his breath, he obediently did as instructed.
"Let me try. So this is basically like a supercharged sunlight spell, right? Got it."
He raised the wand in front of him and pointed it toward the open space in the middle of the room.
Those phonetic symbols seemed to burn themselves across his retina.
The shape of each syllable.
The pause between each consonant.
The stretch of every vowel.
At this moment,
all of it was being precisely engraved into his so-called 4K Blu-ray visual memory.
His lips moved.
First he rehearsed the words twice in silence.
Then he closed his eyes.
The feeling of wanting to illuminate everything.
To melt all things away.
To make life itself dissolve...
I am the eternal sun.
When the final syllable fell from his tongue, Iain felt something surge up from within him.
The wand trembled once in his hand.
And then,
a violent green radiance flooded the entire room.
It engulfed everything around him.
Desk. Chair. Stool. Bed.
This was no mere light.
It was dissolution more terrible than thermonuclear fire.
The end of matter.
The death and wasting away of every tangible thing.
Excellent. In that case, no professor will dare risk stopping you from keeping your magical skeleton now! I knew it! You innately evil eleven-year-old little monster!
At this moment,
the diary was thrilled.
Witches held grudges.
She quite clearly still remembered Iain calling her an innately evil Dark Magical Object earlier.