Different incantations for the same spell?
Tom had never thought about magic from that angle before.
Of course incantations weren't universal. After all, Britain hadn't conquered the world. English might be spoken by many, but countless other languages still thrived.
So the exact same spell could be spoken differently in each country—even within the same country, variations existed.
The incantations Andros had taught him were mostly in Ancient Mycenaean, a language Tom had to spend a long time studying just to grasp.
Grindelwald, on the other hand, because of the more connected modern world, used incantations that translated neatly into Tom's English, so Tom had never faced any barriers learning from him.
"Can you explain in more detail?" Tom asked humbly, seeking guidance.
"Have you ever read Plato's Republic? There's a parable in it—the Allegory of the Cave," Grindelwald countered with a question of his own.
Tom nodded.
"A group of prisoners live chained inside a cave, unable to move or turn their heads. Before them lies only a wall, and behind them burns a fire, casting shadows onto that wall. To them, the shadows are the entirety of the world—until one prisoner escapes the cave and sees the true world outside. But then he begins to wonder—'How do I know this is reality?'"
Grindelwald smiled with satisfaction. "Excellent. Unlike most of the fools in the magical world, you don't need me to waste my breath on the basics."
"In truth, wizards are nothing more than prisoners chasing after glimpses of the real world. Spells are but shadows—reflections of a true existence, yet not the existence itself. Each person sees the shadows differently, and yet all these differences point toward the same essence."
"The true object behind the shadow?" Tom interjected, already following his train of thought.
"Yes," Grindelwald said softly. "Because of geographical and cultural differences, wizards have found countless ways of channeling magical power. But in the end, all paths lead to the same truth."
"Only by understanding more—by examining a single magic from different perspectives—can you refine your comprehension and one day step out of the cave."
"And that is the path every King of the Century must walk."
Tom nodded thoughtfully. His mind flashed to Voldemort.
After being rejected for employment at Hogwarts, Voldemort had wandered across foreign lands. No one knew what he encountered, but when he returned, he was already a King of the Century, his power rivaling Dumbledore's.
Grindelwald too had roamed the globe in his youth, committing crimes everywhere and topping countless nations' wanted lists.
Only Dumbledore had been a little more… conventional. His biography recorded that, in his early years, he visited most of the world's great magical schools, humbly seeking wisdom. That became the foundation of his vast network of friends and allies.
But then Tom's eyes shifted toward Andros, filled with curiosity.
"Me?" Andros pointed at himself.
"Of course. Back then, the farthest you went was Egypt and Persia. How did you break through to become a King of the Century?"
Andros grinned broadly. "How do you think I earned the title Unconquered? Why do you think I fought so many battles in my lifetime?"
"The victor seizes everything from the defeated. In those days, magic hadn't yet formed a rigid system, so every accomplished wizard possessed unique insights and personal techniques. Absorbing their knowledge and their exclusive skills—that alone was enough to crown me as a King of the Century."
Grindelwald's expression grew dreamy. "What a glorious age that must have been… a world of freedom."
For a supreme wizard like him, naked survival of the fittest wasn't terrifying at all—it was liberating.
"So what about me?" Tom asked. "Should I now go study incantations from France, Germany, maybe even across the Atlantic in the States?"
"Not merely study," Grindelwald shook his head. "You must treat yourself as a beginner again. Use clumsy methods. Start from scratch. Do not lean on your current comprehension of magic. If you do, what you gain will be shallow and meaningless."
"These lessons, Andros cannot teach you. For now, let me be your instructor."
Tom didn't argue. Grindelwald's recognition of him had already climbed to eighty-five percent. Whenever he taught, he did so wholeheartedly.
Grindelwald drew his wand. "We'll start with simple spells. Remember—you must follow my method exactly. No shortcuts."
"My strongest spell is the Levitation Charm. Shall we begin with that?" Tom asked.
"No," Grindelwald shook his head firmly. "Your Levitation Charm has already become instinct—almost part of the essence of your magic. There's no way, and no need, to relearn it in another system."
"We'll start with the Stunning Spell."
Grindelwald made the decision for him and began the day's lesson.
Tom felt as if he had traveled back in time—not just to his first year at Hogwarts, but all the way to that very first day he followed Andros in learning magic. From the angle of his wand grip, the clarity of his pronunciation, even down to the rhythm of his pauses—Tom had to obey Grindelwald's instructions to the letter.
It felt unbearably restrictive.
Now, his spellcasting relied mostly on willpower and emotion to drive his magic. To return to these rigid, methodical drills felt stifling.
And for the first time in a long while, Tom experienced the sting of spell failure.
But Grindelwald was pleased. For it meant Tom was truly listening—forcefully stripping away his foundations and treating himself as a novice again.
Two hours passed swiftly before Tom withdrew from the learning space.
Even without leaning on his deep well of experience, Tom's innate talent had grown tremendously. His progress remained astonishingly quick. He had already mastered the Durmstrang version of the Stunning Spell—and in the process, uncovered its distinctions from Hogwarts' version.
The Durmstrang Stunning Spell emphasized impact. The speed of the spell was unmatched, but it burned too fiercely. Controlling its flight path, or casting it nonverbally, became far more difficult.
And as Tom pushed the spell further, he discovered something alarming: the Durmstrang version inflicted irreversible damage to the brain.
Its very nature had crossed into Dark Magic.
Wait… had Grindelwald just taught him a Dark Stunning Spell?
Tom chuckled inwardly. Whatever. If it was useful, he would learn it. Labels didn't matter. In the end, he was the one who would master magic—not the other way around.