Chapter 312: Dark Arts
The library was packed with students.
Amber-tinted magical lanterns provided a soft, steady glow as wizards and witches pored over difficult texts, occasionally sneaking a quick snack when they thought no one was looking. Madam Pince usually turned a blind eye to such minor infractions; she wasn't quite as terrifyingly strict as the younger students imagined—provided you didn't damage the books.
But in the Restricted Section, the warmth of the light died away. Only a few dim, flickering lanterns sat upon the heavy blackwood tables, casting long shadows across the pages Sean was turning.
Magick Moste Evile.
Sean had a vague memory of the title from his research. It was a compendium dedicated to the most dangerous and depraved sorcery in the wizarding world. Its core subject was the lore of Horcruxes. However, the author seemed to harbor a profound loathing for the subject; the text explicitly refused to provide the actual instructions for creating one.
Still, it detailed the concept with chilling clarity.
The book's screams subsided the moment Sean laid his hands on it. The acrid black smoke vanished into the air. In the Restricted Section, such reactions often signaled a lingering curse. Sean knew this particular volume wasn't cursed to harm the reader—otherwise, he wouldn't have touched it so boldly—but one could never be too careful.
The ancient wizards were a treacherous lot.
Sean recalled stories of a book that would burn the reader's eyes out; the Sonnets of a Sorcerer, which forced anyone who read it to speak in limericks for the rest of their lives; and a volume by an old warlock named Bathus that was so addictive you could never put it down, forcing you to learn how to live your life with your face buried in its pages.
Shaking off these thoughts, Sean flipped open the black-and-silver cover. He was met with a name: Godelot.
He paused for a heartbeat before reading on.
[A Basilisk is hatched from a toad-incubated egg of a rooster. It is commonly whispered that this was a vile discovery by Herpo the Foul. But any wizard of sound mind will realize this is mere gibberish. Herpo the Foul did not 'discover' the Basilisk. He created it. It is a work of perverted biological sorcery.]
Having found the chapter on Basilisk cultivation, Sean's curiosity remained unsated; if anything, he was now completely enthralled. He looked away from the phrase "Evil Biological Magic" and began to recall the history of this Godelot.
Godelot had written a series of dangerous spells with the aid of a specific wand, significantly advancing the study of the Dark Arts. Sean was familiar with his work—the Pimple Jinx and the Silencing Charm (Langlock) both originated from this dark wizard.
Unfortuantely for Godelot, his wand had been the Elder Wand.
[My most wicked and inscrutable friend, the shaft crafted of Ellhorn (Ancient English for Elder), is familiar with every depravity of magic. When I wield it, I finally understand the true source of a wizard's power.]
A cold draft swept through the Restricted Section. Sean looked up to see that the night outside had turned a deep, bruised purple. He stared at his own wand, lost in thought.
Rowan gossips, Chestnut idles,
Ash is stubborn, Hazel is shy.
Elderberry wand, never thrives...
The nursery rhyme from The Tales of Beedle the Bard echoed unbidden in his mind.
The process for breeding a Basilisk was written clearly in the book. Sean's primary objective was complete. He meticulously transcribed the ritual onto a piece of parchment, word for word, before continuing.
[Cruel and twisted, my old friend used to say. I must warn every wizard: researching such magic demands a price. If you believe you can pay it, then read on.]
[Dark magic allows a wizard to express an extraordinary level of power. Or rather, it allows a wizard to wield magic as it was meant to be wielded. This power is so immense that it touches the very core of life and summons the finality of death. Any wizard of intellect will ponder the intoxicating secrets of such mastery...]
Sean frowned. The book featured illustrations of Basilisks, Acromantula, and Dementors—each an example of a biological miracle achieved through the Dark Arts. It proved that magic could create life. As for summoning death... that was even easier to explain.
[To create a conviction of light is a grueling task, yet to forge a conviction of evil is effortless. Any wizard can drown themselves in slaughter and cruelty. My old friend—the wand—calls to me at every hour. It calls me... for a wizard who embraces the extreme shall possess power beyond measure. This proves that Magic, at its essence, is a form of Belief.]
Sean slowly closed the book.
In a moment of surreal clarity, the ink on the pages seemed to dissolve. He knit his brows, watching the impossible scene. The letters rearranged themselves, forming a new message intended only for him:
*[Dark creatures are birthed from the extreme convictions of a wizard; so too are the Dark Curses. Regarding even darker paths—the Horcrux, that most depraved of inventions—we shall not speak, nor shall we guide.
The only truth I shall grant you is this: every bearer of the Elder Wand throughout the generations has researched the most inscrutable domains. They are born with a more rigid conviction. The pursuit of greater power will eventually corrode their souls. From antiquity to the present, none have been spared.
You have read this far, Apprentice... Apprentice of the Elder Wand... I warn you, and I warn you again: I died in the grip of this obsession. I spent my life chasing the essence of magic... But in my final moments, I remembered the choices I made. I took the shortcut, I embraced the cruel conviction. But the essence of magic... perhaps it is more than that.]*
The script vanished. Sean realized he had been staring at the blank final page for a long time.
Godelot's words provided a new, unsettling direction for his thoughts. He began to ponder the weight of concepts like will, emotion, and "belief"—terms that had always seemed distant and academic.
He thought of Voldemort. The man was cruel and twisted enough to reach depths of Dark Magic that no one else could fathom. He believed that magic was power, and that belief made him strong enough to challenge Dumbledore even in his youth.
Magic, in a way, truly is a wizard's conviction?
A wizard strengthened their belief to unearth stronger magic, and in turn, that chosen belief altered the wizard's very soul.
Is this the true nature of how the Dark Arts corrode a person?
Since his very first lessons in Charms and Potions, Sean had known that a wizard's emotions and intent influenced their power. But this was the first time he had seen the relationship between a wizard and their magic described with such terrifying clarity.
The night was deep. As he stepped out of the Restricted Section, the corridors were silent.
"It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."
In that moment, Sean finally understood the profound depth of Dumbledore's words.
A wizard didn't just choose their path. They chose their conviction.
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