The weeks following the Potions incident and my unsettling discovery of Yaxley's locket settled into a tense rhythm. The winter chill persisted outside, mirroring the lingering unease within Hogwarts. While the immediate chaos of the explosion had subsided, the deeper current of anxiety about Grindelwald's spreading influence and the internal fractures it caused continued to hum beneath the surface of school life. My unseen hand work, subtly countering the insidious propaganda I detected, became a constant and demanding undercurrent to my academic routine. It was a perilous dance, one where a single misstep could expose my methods and compromise my effectiveness.
My classes, particularly Transfiguration and Potions, became not just academic pursuits but vital extensions of my clandestine war. In Professor Dumbledore's Transfiguration lessons, I pushed myself harder than ever, not just to achieve perfection but to explore the very limits of magical manipulation. His lectures on A'kren (essence) and the philosophy of transformation resonated deeply with my Draconic studies, and I found myself anticipating his questions, offering answers that often went beyond the textbook, hinting at a more profound understanding. Dumbledore, in turn, often paused after my responses, his keen blue eyes sparkling with an unreadable amusement, a quiet challenge in his gaze. He was testing me, and I welcomed it. My interactions with him in class, though formal, felt like a silent, intellectual sparring match, each of us pushing the boundaries of conventional thought.
Similarly, in Professor Slughorn's Potions class, I focused on pushing the boundaries of precision and control. My manipulation of Nahl (flow) allowed for an almost effortless mastery over complex concoctions, achieving results that consistently astonished Slughorn. He'd hover over my cauldron, beaming, exclaiming about my "innate talent" and "the true Starborn touch," often hinting at grand futures within the potions world. He saw me as a prodigy, and I didn't disabuse him of the notion. My success in his class wasn't merely for grades; it was about mastering the fundamental building blocks of magical creation, understanding the A'kren of ingredients and their precise interactions, knowledge that would be invaluable, regardless of the path the war took.
One particularly grey afternoon, a few weeks after the Potions incident, I found myself walking through the bustling corridor after a demanding Double Potions lesson. The thought had been brewing in my mind for some time, a quiet resolution hardening into a concrete plan. My Seventh Year would end soon. N.E.W.T.s loomed. And after that, the war. I needed more. More knowledge, more refined skills, more direct access to the minds that truly understood the greater magical currents at play.
My magical resonance sensing had confirmed what I already suspected: the insidious influence of Grindelwald's rhetoric was far from contained. Despite my subtle countermeasures, the fear and division persisted, simmering beneath the surface of student interactions. The locket from Yaxley, still secured in its charmed pouch, was a constant, heavy reminder of the unseen battle for minds. I knew, with absolute certainty, that my personal fight against Grindelwald required me to go beyond what Hogwarts could teach in a standard curriculum. I needed to learn from the masters, from the very minds closest to the epicenter of resistance.
My first target was Dumbledore. His intellect was unparalleled, his understanding of magic profound, and his insight into the nature of Grindelwald frighteningly astute. If anyone could prepare me for the deeper complexities of the coming conflict, it was him. I found him in his office, perched behind his magnificent desk, surrounded by arcane devices and shimmering artifacts. The room hummed with a quiet, immense power, the very air thick with ancient magic.
"Professor Dumbledore," I began, stepping forward. He looked up, his blue eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles, a faint, knowing smile on his lips, as if he had been expecting me.
"Ah, Marcus. Do come in. I was just contemplating the peculiar properties of dragon's blood in relation to temporal displacements. A fascinating subject, wouldn't you agree?" His voice was light, but his gaze was as sharp as ever.
"Indeed, Professor," I replied, taking the seat he gestured to. "Though my visit today is perhaps of a more… conventional nature, though equally important to my future, I hope." I took a deep breath. "Professor, as you know, I am nearing the completion of my Seventh Year. My N.E.W.T.s are fast approaching, and soon, I will be out of Hogwarts."
He nodded, his smile softening. "A momentous occasion, Marcus. Many paths will open to you. The Ministry, academia, independent research… you possess a mind capable of great things."
"Thank you, Professor," I said, a faint flush on my cheeks. "And it is precisely those 'great things' that bring me here. I have… a profound interest in Transfiguration, and indeed, in the deeper philosophical underpinnings of magic. And I have spent considerable time studying the esoteric applications of magic, beyond what the curriculum covers." I chose my words carefully, hinting at my Draconic knowledge without outright revealing it. He was intelligent enough to pick up on the nuance.
Dumbledore leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flicker of keen interest in their depths. "Oh? Esoteric applications? That sounds intriguing, Marcus. Do tell."
"Professor, I wish to apprentice under you after I complete my N.E.W.T.s," I stated, my voice firm, cutting to the chase. "I believe your knowledge, particularly in Transfiguration and what I perceive to be your understanding of broader magical principles, is unparalleled. I seek to delve deeper into the nature of magic, its fundamental laws, and its… limits. I also have a nascent interest in Alchemy, and I know your mastery of that field is considerable."
Dumbledore remained silent for a long moment, his gaze unblinking, assessing me with an intensity that seemed to pierce directly into my core. He wasn't just looking at a student; he was looking at something more. He knew of my family, of the Starborn legacy. He knew I wasn't an ordinary student. My magical resonance sensing picked up a subtle flicker of surprise, then a deep, contemplative stillness in his own powerful aura.
"An apprenticeship, Marcus," Dumbledore finally said, his voice soft, almost a murmur. "A rare request, particularly in these times. Apprenticeships are not common practice now, outside of specific crafts. And my own researches are… highly demanding, and often quite dangerous. It would require an immense commitment, both intellectually and personally. You would be privy to matters of great import, not all of them academic." His eyes held a knowing glint, a silent acknowledgement of the larger war.
"I understand, Professor," I replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I am prepared for that commitment. My interest is not merely academic. I believe the knowledge I could gain under your tutelage would be… essential for the times ahead." My words were carefully chosen, conveying the urgency I felt, the subtle connection to the looming conflict.
Dumbledore smiled then, a slow, thoughtful smile that seemed to reach his eyes. "Essential, you say? A bold claim from one so young, Marcus. But then, you are not entirely conventional, are you?" He paused, then leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "Very well, Marcus. I will consider your request. But I have one condition. A very stringent one, I might add."
My heart quickened. "Anything, Professor."
"You aspire to apprentice in Transfiguration, among other things," Dumbledore said, his voice now crisp, clear. "My condition is this: you must achieve a perfect score in your Transfiguration N.E.W.T.s. Not an 'Outstanding' with minor deductions, but a flawless, utterly unimpeachable score. Every question correct, every practical application impeccable. Nothing less. If you achieve this, then yes, Marcus Starborn, I will take you as my apprentice."
The challenge was immense. A perfect N.E.W.T. score was almost unheard of, a mythical achievement. But as he spoke, a wave of confident resolve washed over me. This was a test of my capabilities, not just my knowledge. A test of my control, my precision, my inherent magical understanding. This was a test I knew I could pass. My Untethered Will pulsed with quiet affirmation.
A genuine smile touched my lips, one that felt utterly confident, utterly sincere. "Then it is confirmed, Professor. I will be your apprentice." My voice was steady, resonant with an inner certainty.
Dumbledore's eyes widened fractionally, a flicker of genuine surprise, quickly replaced by that knowing twinkle. He simply nodded, a silent acceptance of my declaration. "Very well, Marcus. The challenge has been laid. I look forward to your N.E.W.T. results." He then gestured towards the door, a clear dismissal. The conversation was over. But the path, a profound, dangerous, and essential path, had been set.
Leaving Dumbledore's office, a heady mix of exhilaration and renewed determination coursed through me. One crucial step taken. But there was another. Potions. While my primary focus for the war was not directly tied to potion-making, the mastery of concoctions, the understanding of rare ingredients, and the discipline of precise execution were invaluable. And Professor Slughorn, for all his foibles, was a master.
I found Slughorn in his private office, a far cozier, more cluttered affair than Dumbledore's, smelling faintly of treacle tart and exotic herbs. He was grading essays, humming contentedly.
"Ah, Marcus, my boy!" he boomed, looking up as I entered. "Come in, come in! To what do I owe the pleasure? Not here to inquire about the next Slug Club dinner, are we? Though you're always a most welcome guest!"
"No, Professor, not today," I said, a small smile touching my lips. "Though I always appreciate your generous invitations. I'm here regarding my plans after N.E.W.T.s."
Slughorn leaned back, a curious expression on his face. "Oh? Plotting your grand future already, are we? A bright future indeed, Marcus, a very bright future! Ministry, Gringotts, perhaps even a Master Potioneer, like myself! You have the touch, my boy, the Starborn touch!"
"Indeed, Professor. It's about that last possibility, actually," I said, getting straight to the point. "I wish to apprentice under you in Potions, after I complete my Seventh Year. I seek to delve deeper into the properties of rare ingredients, the nuances of advanced brewing, and perhaps even some of the more… theoretical applications of potion-making." My words were chosen to appeal to his vanity and his genuine love of his subject.
Slughorn's eyes lit up, his round face beaming. "Apprentice under me? Marcus, my dear boy, what an excellent idea! Truly excellent! A Starborn apprentice! Why, I haven't taken a private apprentice in years! Not since… well, not for a good long while! It would be an honor, Marcus, truly an honor!" He paused, his gaze sweeping over me with a mixture of pride and shrewdness. "Of course, it would be immensely demanding. My researches are… particular. And one must demonstrate a truly exceptional aptitude."
"I understand, Professor," I replied. "I'm prepared for the demands."
Slughorn steepled his fingers, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Very well, Marcus. I shall, of course, be delighted to have you. But just like with my dearest Albus, I too must set a condition. A demonstration of your utmost dedication and mastery." He puffed out his chest slightly. "You must achieve a perfect score in your Potions N.E.W.T.s. Every question, every practical brewing component, absolutely flawless. Show me that, Marcus, and my laboratory and my knowledge are yours."
The condition, mirroring Dumbledore's, elicited the same surge of quiet confidence within me. A perfect score in Potions, too? It was an immense challenge, but one that resonated with my desire for absolute mastery, for control over every minute detail. My Untethered Will hummed with a fierce resolve. This was not just about academic achievement; it was about laying the foundation for the precision and control that the hidden war would demand.
"Consider it done, Professor," I said, my voice firm and unwavering. "I will be your apprentice."
Slughorn's smile widened, encompassing his entire face. "Excellent! Truly excellent, Marcus! I knew you had it in you! A Starborn apprentice! This is going to be a truly spectacular year!"
He launched into an enthusiastic monologue about the types of advanced potions we would study, the rare ingredients he had acquired, and the groundbreaking researches he hoped to pursue. I listened, nodding, but my mind was already racing, calculating the implications. Two apprenticeships, under two of the most powerful and knowledgeable wizards in Britain. Dumbledore, the strategic mind, the master of transformation and the leader of the coming resistance. Slughorn, the meticulous alchemist, the master of creation and elemental manipulation. This was not merely about academic progression; it was about positioning myself, gaining access to the knowledge and the trust that would be essential for my unseen war.
Leaving Slughorn's office, the weight on my shoulders felt both heavier and strangely lighter. Heavier with the immense pressure of achieving two perfect N.E.W.T. scores, and the daunting knowledge I would soon acquire. Lighter with the clarity of purpose. My path was now undeniably set. I would delve deeper into magic than any normal student, preparing myself, in secret, for the coming storm. The subtle battles for minds within Hogwarts were just the beginning. The world outside was spiraling into darkness, and I, Marcus Starborn, would soon be ready to fight back, with an unseen hand and a mastery forged in the heart of two great wizards' teachings. The school year, for all its remaining lessons, now felt like a final, intense training ground, a crucible for the challenges that lay ahead.