The echoes of Dormammu's terrible power still resonated in Arthur's mind days later, but not as trauma—as motivation.
Every morning, he woke with renewed purpose. The Ancient One had shown him the scale of what he needed to face. His response was simple: become stronger.
His training at Kamar-Taj transformed overnight. What had once been academic pursuit became desperate forging. Every meditation session pushed deeper into mental fortitude. Every energy manipulation exercise strained for greater output and finer control.
The abstract threats had become concrete. Now he had a benchmark.
Arthur arrived at the training courtyard before dawn, already warmed up and ready when other students stumbled in rubbing sleep from their eyes. His spatial manipulation exercises had intensified—creating multiple portals simultaneously, maintaining them for extended periods, experimenting with complex geometric configurations.
"You're here early," Kaecilius observed one morning, finding Arthur already deep in practice.
"Always something more to learn," Arthur replied without looking up from the intricate mandala he was constructing.
Their old rivalry felt distant now. Kaecilius represented a known quantity, a familiar challenge. Arthur's sights were set much higher.
During sparring sessions, Arthur's newfound intensity was immediately apparent. Where he'd once fought with calculated efficiency, he now pushed himself to the absolute limits of his abilities. His spatial manipulation became more creative, more unpredictable.
"Excellent adaptation," Master Lhakpa commented after Arthur defeated another student using a technique that involved redirecting attacks through multiple mirror dimensions simultaneously. "Your progress has accelerated considerably."
Arthur merely nodded, already moving on to the next exercise. Compliments meant little when he remembered how powerless he'd felt in Dormammu's presence.
"You've changed, Hayes," Kaecilius confronted him one evening after Arthur had declined an invitation to join other students for dinner. "What happened during your absence last week?"
Arthur paused in his energy manipulation practice. "I learned that I'm insignificant compared to the universe."
"And that motivated you how, exactly?"
"It showed me how much further I need to go." Arthur resumed his training.
Kaecilius watched him for another moment. Something like unease flickered in his eyes before he walked away.
Within weeks, Arthur was regularly sparring with the junior masters. He didn't always win—their experience and deeper power reserves were formidable—but he forced them to adapt, to reconsider techniques they'd used for decades.
"Hayes," Master Chen called after one such session. "The Ancient One would like to see you."
Arthur found her in the Orrery, watching the celestial bodies drift in their eternal dance.
"Your instructors speak highly of your recent progress," she began without preamble. "They say you train with unprecedented dedication."
"I have goals to reach," Arthur replied simply.
"Indeed." She turned to study him. "And what drives this sudden urgency?"
Arthur met her gaze directly. "You showed me what's out there. Now I know exactly how much stronger I need to become."
A faint smile touched her lips. "And you believe this level of intensity is sustainable?"
"It has to be."
The Ancient One nodded slowly. "Very well. But remember—true strength comes not just from power, but from understanding."
She moved closer to the swirling celestial display. "Don't lose sight of wisdom in your pursuit of capability."
—
March arrived with winter's last bite still clinging to the Himalayan air. Arthur had almost forgotten about his MIT application, so consumed was he by mystical training.
The application felt like a formality from another lifetime.
Winky appeared in his chamber one morning, holding a thin envelope. "Master Hayes, a letter from the Muggle university."
Arthur took it absently, breaking the seal while reviewing notes from the previous day's training session.
The opening paragraph stopped him cold.
"Dear Mr. Hayes, After careful consideration of your application materials, we regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you admission to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology..."
Arthur blinked, certain he had misread.
He scanned the letter again, his mind processing each word precisely.
Rejection. Unequivocal, definitive rejection.
His test scores were perfect. How was this possible?
He found the explanation further down: "While your academic achievements and test scores are impressive, our holistic admissions process considers many factors beyond academic metrics. Our committee noted significant gaps in your application, including the absence of teacher recommendations, limited evidence of extracurricular engagement, and no documented participation in science competitions, research projects, or community initiatives..."
The letter slipped from his fingers.
Teacher recommendations. Extracurricular activities. Community service.
He'd never really known these things mattered. In his past life, MIT hadn't even been within his reach. In this life, he was so detached from the Muggle world that he didn't know anyone who could guide him through the admission process.
He had assumed that perfect scores would be enough.
It had been catastrophically wrong.
More troubling was the realization that he had no backup plan. Convinced of his inevitable acceptance, he'd applied nowhere else.
Application deadlines for comparable institutions had passed months ago.
For the first time since a very long time, Arthur felt truly lost.
That afternoon's training session reflected his distraction. Techniques that had become second nature suddenly failed. A portal exercise collapsed mid-formation. Basic energy shields flickered and died.
"Enough," Master Hamir declared after Arthur's third consecutive failure. "Your mind is elsewhere, Hayes. Training in such a state is dangerous."
"I apologize, Master," Arthur replied stiffly. "It won't happen again."
As other students filed out, Arthur remained behind. Attempting to center himself through meditation.
The rejection letter had shaken him more than any cosmic horror. Dormammu might threaten Earth's existence, but this very human setback had derailed his carefully constructed plans.
"Your energy is fragmented today."
Arthur opened his eyes to find the Ancient One observing him from the doorway.
"A temporary distraction," he assured her. "I'll regain focus by tomorrow."
"Will you?" She entered the chamber, settling gracefully onto a cushion across from him. "Or will you continue dwelling on what cannot be immediately changed?"
Arthur tensed. "You know about the letter?"
"That your academic ambitions have encountered an obstacle? Yes." Her expression remained serene. "Such disappointments often feel insurmountable."
"It's not just disappointment," Arthur protested. "This disrupts years of planning. Without MIT, my technological development will be significantly delayed."
"Perhaps." The Ancient One tilted her head slightly. "Or perhaps this is an opportunity to examine whether this particular path was truly necessary."
Arthur frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Consider why you believed this specific institution was essential," she continued. "Then consider what you actually seek to accomplish."
She paused, letting the words sink in. "The answers might surprise you."
The Ancient One rose smoothly. "When you're ready to explore these questions, come to my study. I have a suggestion that might provide perspective."
After she departed, Arthur returned to meditation. But his mind refused to settle. The emotional turbulence beneath his usual analytical clarity kept breaking through like cracks in a dam.
The Ancient One's words echoed in his thoughts.
Consider what you actually seek to accomplish.
Why had he fixated on MIT so completely? Arthur closed his eyes, forcing himself to examine the question honestly.
Was it genuine necessity, or something more superficial?
Had he been drawn to be like Tony Stark? Building a tech empire, creating his own version of JARVIS, constructing advanced weapons that could stand against cosmic threats?
The image was appealing, he admitted. But was that wisdom or just childhood fantasy dressed up as pragmatism?
Another question surfaced, one that made him uncomfortable. Did technology really offer the best path forward, or was he trying to hedge his bets? Magic was powerful—he'd seen that firsthand. But technology felt safer somehow. More predictable. More controllable.
Arthur shifted on his meditation cushion. Even if technology was crucial to his future plans, did he actually need a formal degree?
He could buy books, equipment, laboratories. Learn at his own pace without the constraints of curricula or professors who knew nothing of real power.
Some of history's greatest inventors had been self-taught.
But then another possibility crept into his thoughts, one he didn't want to acknowledge.
Had MIT represented something else entirely? A chance at the normal school life he'd never had at Hogwarts? Four years of being just another brilliant student instead of "Hayes the Hexer," the isolated Muggle-born in Slytherin?
The thought stung because it might be true.
Arthur opened his eyes and stared at the meditation chamber's ancient walls. The rejection hurt more than it should have if this was purely about education. That told him something important about his real motivations.
Perhaps the Ancient One was right. Perhaps this setback was forcing him to examine assumptions he'd built his entire future around.
He closed his eyes, trying to find the center that had driven him so effectively in recent weeks. Tomorrow, he would visit the Ancient One and hear her suggestion.
The meditation chamber fell silent around him, but Arthur's mind churned with new possibilities he'd never allowed himself to consider.
Maybe losing MIT wasn't a setback.
Maybe it was liberation.