Robert's eyes suddenly lit up.
The heavy cloud that had been weighing on him for several days seemed to lift at once—pierced by a flash of clarity.
At last, he understood the formation condition behind the Ancient Shadow Magic reward tied to the Shadow Thorns.
"Light."
"Without light, there can be no shadow."
"The stronger the light, the deeper and denser the shadow."
The greenhouse's lighting was designed to provide evenly distributed brightness—ideal for nurturing plants, but far from extreme. It was soft light, not intense light. That, Robert realized, was why the Shadow Thorns' reward had remained inconsistent, flickering but never fully stabilizing.
Understanding dawned on him in an instant, and his excitement surged. He rushed away from Hagrid's hut, leaving even the freshly ripened Goldfish Vine unharvested. He was too eager to return to the small greenhouse to verify his hunch.
Once inside, he retrieved the section of Shadow Thorns root. As expected, the information hovering above it remained unchanged:
"Extremely small amount of Ancient Shadow Magic insight (Black Iron-grade)"
Still flickering. Not fully formed.
Robert drew his wand and cast a familiar spell.
"Lumos!"
The wand tip lit up. He directed the beam toward the Shadow Thorns. The reward message still flickered—but something was different. It lingered a little longer.
"It's working... but maybe this Lumos isn't strong enough."
He gritted his teeth and increased the intensity of the Lumos spell.
The beam brightened, more concentrated now—almost like a flashlight. He again focused it on the Shadow Thorns.
This time, the result was immediate. The text lasted longer. Clearer. Less flickering.
But still, it didn't stabilize completely.
"Even a high-intensity Lumos isn't enough?"
Robert's mind flashed back to his earlier experiments. He had once theorized that modifying Lumos at a particle level—adjusting the frequency of magic particles—might generate an even brighter, laser-like beam. Perhaps something akin to a Laser Charm.
Back then, his Magic Perception was still too primitive to attempt it. But now, with his perception upgraded from Silver-grade to Gold-grade, and many of his Charms reaching Platinum-grade, perhaps it was time to revisit that abandoned theory.
"Let's give it another try."
He inhaled deeply.
"Lumos."
A third Lumos shot from his wand. But this time, his attention wasn't on the light's output—but on its internal structure.
He visualized hundreds of microscopic Lumos particles. Each vibrated at a slightly different frequency, creating the ordinary glowing effect.
With utmost concentration, Robert applied what he'd learned from Professor Flitwick's Frequency Light Spell technique.
One by one, he began aligning the frequencies—synchronizing as many particles as he could. With his refined magical perception, it came much more naturally than before.
A portion of the particles aligned—and suddenly the light beam intensified, condensing into a powerful white ray, like a spotlight.
The Shadow Thorns trembled in response. The message above it flickered less—now almost completely solid.
The shadows cast behind the roots were the darkest Robert had ever seen—deep enough to feel almost tangible. For a brief moment, he thought he saw the shadows wriggling as if alive.
A strange brilliance flashed through Robert's eyes.
"Is that... the Ancient Shadow Magic manifesting?"
Still, it wasn't quite perfect.
"It's close... but not enough yet."
Determined, Robert pushed further.
He surpassed his prior limit, syncing nearly half of the particles. The beam narrowed sharply—but its center became blinding. It was so intense it felt as though it could burn an imprint onto his retinas.
Of course, doubling the number of synchronized particles wasn't just twice the effort—it was exponentially more taxing.
In mere seconds, sweat beaded across Robert's forehead. It was like solving a complex magical calculus problem mid-battle.
He was about to mentally overload.
But just before that threshold—
The message above the Shadow Thorns stopped flickering.
Even after the concentrated beam dissipated, the text remained stable. The black-iron sheen grew denser, more vivid.
Robert collapsed onto the ground, gasping, wiping away sweat as a dull ache throbbed through his temples.
But something felt off.
The greenhouse suddenly seemed darker than before.
"Did my eyes just adapt to the brightness?" he wondered.
Then he froze.
His eyes locked onto the shadow cast by the Shadow Thorns.
Even without the high-powered Lumos, the shadow remained unnaturally deep.
And then—under his gaze—it moved.
Like a living thing, the shadow began to wriggle.
A moment later, it spread across the ground toward him, intertwining like a writhing beast baring its teeth in silent roar.
Startled, Robert instinctively gripped his wand.
Meanwhile, near the edge of the Forbidden Forest—
Quirrell stumbled from the shadows, pale and frantic, heading toward the castle.
Inside his mind, Lord Voldemort's cold voice echoed.
"Quirrell."
"Why are you borrowing my power again?"
"You still haven't found the unicorn. This is the third time."
Fear and frustration etched Quirrell's face.
"Master... the forest is dangerous. I nearly died today—Acromantulas everywhere! That wretched oaf Hagrid must have planted them!"
He seethed.
"And Hogwarts Professors? They're too free! Patrolling the forest every night like it's their new hobby!"
"Do you know how little they're paid?"
He practically snarled.
"Dumbledore is an old capitalist! Forcing professors into night shifts and monster patrols! He should be hung on a lamppost for exploitation!"
Voldemort listened silently, not entirely unsympathetic. Quirrell was his only usable pawn right now.
After a pause, he spoke.
"We can't delay any longer. Send an anonymous letter to Lucius Malfoy. Have him stir trouble at Hogwarts—divert Dumbledore and the Professors."
"Use the old method. No tracking. Send it directly."
Quirrell obeyed. Back in his room, he disguised his handwriting, burned the letter in black flame—and it vanished.
Far away in Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened as black flames danced over his desk.
"No..."
He hadn't seen that method of communication in years.
The Dark Mark on his arm itched with phantom pain.
He stared at the contact list for the Ministry and Dumbledore—but then his gaze fell upon his family portrait.
With trembling fingers, he opened the message.
Relief flooded him.
No death orders. No Dark meetings.
Just a request: stir up trouble at Hogwarts. Buy time. Distract the professors.
A school board issue.
Lucius sighed with deep, cautious relief.
"That I can do…"
His thoughts drifted back to the last school board meeting—when he'd opposed granting Robert Sprout rights to the small greenhouse.
Back then, it had been about appearances. Politics.
But now?
"I really do have to cause trouble... or the Malfoy name might not survive what's coming."
He picked up his quill and began writing.
"Dearest—"
"Dearest Father?!"
—
Back in the small greenhouse—
Robert remained alert, wand in hand, as the shadow approached.
But then, it twisted into something unexpected.
It spelled out a word:
"Father."
Robert froze.
The shadow nodded, and formed another word.
"Father."
At the same time, the magical aura from the Shadow Thorns grew livelier, warmer—even... affectionate?
Robert blinked in disbelief.
"Some magical plants have emotion. Some can even speak or think."
"But I've never read about Shadow Thorns having consciousness—or literacy."
"Is this due to the Deathly Hallows' Invisibility Cloak... or the infusion of Ancient Shadow Magic?"
"Did I accidentally cultivate a new magical subspecies?!"
A talking, sentient, emotionally attached Shadow Thorns.
He stared at it for a long time.
Eventually, he accepted the truth.
"Well… this is the British Magical World."
"Guess being unexpectedly called 'Dad' isn't the weirdest thing."
Still, curiosity won over sentimentality.
He turned to the dense shadows spreading from the plant.
"Alright, Shadow—can you attack something?"
He pointed to a nearby stone.
The shadows surged. In a heartbeat, the stone was silently crushed into fragments.
Robert's eyes gleamed.
"That power…"
"That's Ancient Shadow Magic."
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