Hadrian sat cross-legged in the dimly lit chamber, his mind still reeling from his first successful command over the shadows. The magic had felt ancient—alive, even—like it had been waiting for him to grasp it.
Ignotus paced before him, his presence a steady force in the flickering light.
"Magic is more than spells and wands, Hadrian. It is woven into the very fabric of this world. The greatest sorcerers did not simply cast spells—they understood magic itself."
Hadrian frowned. "Then why does Hogwarts teach us like children reciting lines?"
Ignotus chuckled. "Because most witches and wizards are just that—children playing with forces they barely comprehend."
Hadrian absorbed the words, his fingers tracing the cold stone floor. He thought of the professors at Hogwarts, their structured lessons, their fear of anything beyond what was 'acceptable.' Even Dumbledore, for all his power, never spoke of magic like this.
"You are not bound by their limits," Ignotus continued. "You are a Peverell. Our blood carries knowledge lost to time. But there is something else in you—something even older."
Hadrian's eyes flickered with curiosity. "What do you mean?"
Ignotus knelt before him, his gaze piercing. "Your magic—your soul—it does not belong to this time alone. I can feel it."
Hadrian's breath caught. He had always felt different, as if something in him did not quite fit into the world. Now, Ignotus was confirming it.
"You must seek the truth, Hadrian. Not just in books, not just in spells, but in the very essence of magic itself."
Hadrian clenched his fists. He would not be like the rest. He would uncover the secrets of magic, no matter the cost.
And in doing so, he would change the wizarding world forever.
—