0138 King’s Cross

In the first week of October, nature seemed to have forgotten the gentle transition between seasons. The weather underwent a dramatic and sudden transformation, as if some invisible force had abruptly pulled autumn's curtain across the Scottish Highlands. What had been mild, pleasant days with golden sunlight filtering through the ancient trees surrounding Hogwarts Castle were now replaced by an unpredictable symphony of atmospheric chaos. The temperature plummeted without warning, sending shivers through students who had grown accustomed to wearing lighter robes during their outdoor classes and Quidditch practices. The sky above the castle grounds became a stage of constantly shifting moods. One moment, gray clouds would roll in from the Forbidden Forest releasing heavy downpours that sent students scurrying for cover under stone archways and walkways. The next moment, as if by some impulsive whim of nature, golden sunlight would pierce through the cloud cover, creating rainbow effects across the wet cobblestones of the courtyards. This erratic change between rain and sunshine, between bone-chilling cold and brief moments of warming light, created an atmosphere of constant uncertainty throughout the school grounds. Students found themselves perpetually underdressed or overdressed, never quite able to predict what the weather would bring from one hour to the next. It was perhaps inevitable that such harsh and unpredictable conditions would take their toll on the students of the castle. Within days of this climatic upheaval, an infectious strain of the common cold began marching from student to student, from house to house, until even the most remote corners of the castle echoed with the sounds of coughing, sneezing, and the general misery. It proved that magic couldn't prevent the invasion of cold viruses—this applied to Adrian as well. The cold struck him with typical autumn ruthlessness. Fortunately, the wizarding world had long ago developed remarkably effective remedies for such common ailments. The magical medical chest in his private quarters contained several bottles of Pepperup Potion. After drinking a bottle of Pepperup Potion and having steam come out of his ears for a while, Adrian began his day's work. At King's Cross Station. The mundane world of London's busiest railway station continued its pace around him—commuters hurried past with their wheeled suitcases and coffee cups, tourists consulted maps and guidebooks, and the constant announcements over the public address system created a backdrop of urban white noise. Yet in the space between platforms nine and ten, invisible to every Muggle eye, a different kind of drama was unfolding. Adrian was currently crouched in front of the pillar between platforms nine and ten, with a piece of parchment spread on the ground beside him. Ever since Dumbledore had assigned him this task, he had been studying methods to repair the entrance. Sёarch* The NôᴠeFire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. However, the difficulty was far greater than he had imagined. This entrance incorporated many ancient spells, far more complex than ordinary spatial magic. Adrian frowned as he repeatedly examined the magical structure diagram recorded on the parchment. Finally, he set down the blueprint in his hands. "I'll just do it my way..." Adrian muttered to himself. To any Muggle observer who might have noticed him—which, thanks to powerful Notice-Me-Not charms, none did—the sight would have been deeply concerning. A grown man crouching on a dirty station floor, muttering to himself while staring intently at what appeared to be blank parchment, would typically prompt calls to station security or perhaps emergency mental health services. Adrian's solution came from his experience with spatial magic, particularly his work creating the interconnected suitcase-style portal network that linked various areas of his private plantation. Those portals were all made from a type of wood with "spatial positioning" properties. So, instead of trying to repair the centuries-old magical framework embedded in the original pillar, Adrian made the bold decision to completely replace the physical structure with this type of wood. The new pillar looked identical to its predecessor, thanks to sophisticated glamour charms that replicated the exact texture, coloration, and even the accumulated grime and wear patterns of the original brickwork. To Muggle eyes, nothing had changed. The return journey to Hogwarts took place under increasingly ominous skies. What had begun as a light morning drizzle during his leaving had turned into heavy rain by the time Adrian made his way back to the castle grounds. The Scottish Highlands, known for their dramatic weather patterns, were preparing to unleash one of their notorious autumn storms. When he reached the courtyards, almost instantly, large raindrops pelted his face, and fierce winds began howling and tearing at his robes. "This damned weather..." Adrian muttered, hurrying across Hogwarts' courtyard. In weather like this, few people would stay in the courtyard. However, in the corridor of the courtyard, Adrian still saw a figure waving a wand. At first, he thought it was a student practicing spells. But when he approached, he couldn't help but pause. It was actually Filch. The Hogwarts caretaker was clumsily waving a shabby wand, muttering at a puddle of water in the courtyard. "Aguamenti!" Filch's hoarse voice wasn't prominent in the wind and rain. Of course, nothing happened. Filch knew this, of course. In the rational part of his mind, he understood perfectly well that he was a Squib and couldn't cast magic at all. But at this moment, he still kept trying, over and over, his cloudy eyes flickering with longing. Adrian didn't want to disturb this pitiful fellow, so he chose to turn and leave directly. At this moment, Filch seemed to sense something and suddenly stopped waving his wand, turning to look at Adrian. Having been discovered, Adrian had no choice but to acknowledge the situation with some measure of grace. "Good afternoon, Filch," he called out, raising his voice to be heard over the storm while attempting to inject a note of casual normalcy into the greeting. Filch immediately froze, panic-stricken like a child caught doing something wrong, hastily hiding his wand behind his back: "I... Professor Westeros, what are you doing here?" "I... Professor Westeros, what are you doing here?" Filch's voice cracked slightly as he spoke, the words emerging as a mixture of question and desperate deflection. Adrian, recognizing the discomfort of the situation, attempted to offer the man some dignity by saying he hadn't been paying close attention to Filch's activities. "I just returned from outside and happened to pass by. I didn't see anything..." Unfortunately, Filch's years of paranoia and self-consciousness had trained him to see malicious intent where none existed. Instead of accepting the graceful exit Adrian had offered, he erupted with sudden fury that seemed to come from some deep well of accumulated resentment and shame. "Liar!" The word emerged as a harsh bark, filled with years of suppressed anger and wounded feelings. Filch's bloodshot eyes were fixed on Adrian. "You saw! You saw everything!" Looking at such an emotional Filch, Adrian slowly sighed. "Alright, Mr. Filch, I did indeed see you waving your wand, and you got the incantation wrong too. But I think this isn't..." Adrian had intended to complete that thought by saying that Filch's desire to practice magic wasn't shameful. However, Filch's emotional state made rational conversation impossible, and he interrupted before Adrian could offer any reassurance. "Please... Professor Westeros," Filch's voice had completely changed, transforming from angry accusation to desperate pleading in the span of a heartbeat. He seemed to physically deflate, his shoulders were sagging as all the desperation went out of him and his voice trembled. "Don't tell anyone else..." "Very well, Mr. Filch. I don't have the habit of gossiping about others behind their backs," Adrian replied, while inconspicuously observing Filch. Filch's tense face finally relaxed somewhat. "Thank you for your help," Filch said finally, his voice carrying a complex mixture of gratitude, residual embarrassment, and something that might have been dignity attempting to reassert itself. Adrian acknowledged the thanks with a nod and then took his leave, continuing his journey through the storm-lashed corridors toward his private office. However, the encounter with Filch continued to occupy his thoughts long after he had left him behind in his private misery. The walk to his office provided time for reflection, and Adrian kept thinking about Filch's behavior. From a purely practical standpoint, Filch's attempts at magic were utterly futile. No amount of practice, no degree of determination, no intensity of desire could overcome the reality of his condition. At least Adrian had never heard of any Squib successfully using magic through their own efforts. This harsh reality raised questions about Filch's presence at Hogwarts in the first place. The castle was basically a magical institution, where every aspect of daily life was filled with magic. For someone unable to participate in this magical surrounding, working at Hogwarts must be a daily reminder of everything they could never be or do. Adrian was genuinely puzzled by Dumbledore's decision to hire Filch as caretaker. While Dumbledore was known for his compassion and his tendency to offer second chances to those whom society had written off, employing a Squib to work in the most magical place in Britain seemed almost cruel. Every day, Filch was surrounded by wonders he could never fully understand or appreciate, watching students casually perform feats that represented his deepest and most impossible dreams. Yet from another perspective, Adrian could understand the appeal that such a position might hold for someone in Filch's situation. Where else could a Squib live and work while remaining connected to the magical world? The alternative would be to live among Muggles, forever cut off from any contact with magic at all. At least at Hogwarts, Filch could observe magic being performed, could be part of a magical community even if he couldn't fully participate in it, could maintain the illusion of belonging to the world of his birth. The desire to use magic was, Adrian thought, entirely natural and understandable for someone in Filch's position. The magical world was not something one could easily forget or dismiss once they became aware of its existence. If Adrian had been born a Squib, he was honest enough with himself to admit that he would probably try everything conceivable to find some way to access and use magic too. Adrian thought as he finally reached his office door. 'Being unable to cast spells must be incredibly difficult to accept,' Adrian continued his internal monologue as he settled into his chair and began the process of drying his rain-soaked robes with a simple warming charm. But as soon as the thought formed in his mind, Adrian felt a sudden jolt of recognition, as if he had just stumbled upon something significant without realizing it. "Wait!" The exclamation was sharp enough that he actually spoke it aloud to his empty office, startling himself with his own intensity. Come to think of it, ever since the Devil's Snare could cast magic, Adrian had naturally accepted this ability without paying much attention to the source of this special power. Now, however, triggered by his encounter with Filch, Adrian found himself reconsidering the entire phenomenon from a more theoretical perspective. Before his experiments with the Devil's Snare, he had never encountered any situation where plants could cast magic. After returning to his private plantation, Adrian found himself unable to focus on his usual evening routine. He kept thinking about the Devil's Snare's spellcasting ability. He spent hours pacing through the greenhouse, observing the various magical plants in his collection, but none of them provided any obvious insights into the phenomenon he was trying to understand. His library of botanical and magical theory texts were similarly unhelpful, offering plenty of information about magical plants but nothing that addressed the specific question of how plant life could develop active magical abilities. Finally, admitting that the problem was beyond his current understanding, Adrian decided to seek external help—that is, to borrow Ravenclaw's wisdom. The answer he received, while not entirely satisfactory, did provide a crucial insight that started him thinking along new lines. According to the various theoretical frameworks he consulted, the fundamental requirement for magical ability was indeed the possession of magical power. This seemed like a somewhat circular and obvious explanation at first glance, but as Adrian thought about it more deeply, he began to see its implications. The theory suggested that magical ability wasn't inherently tied to intelligence, sentience, or any particular biological form. Instead, it was simply a matter of having access to magical energy and some means of directing that energy toward specific purposes. When viewed from this perspective, the magical world suddenly made more sense. Centaurs, despite their different physiology and culture, could perform magic because they possessed innate magical cores. House-elves, despite their small size and generally subservient nature, displayed remarkable magical abilities because they too had access to significant magical power. Even various magical creatures—from dragons to phoenixes to unicorns—could perform what amounted to magical feats because they all shared this common characteristic of possessing magical energy within their bodies. The insight that really caught Adrian's attention was the realization that the Devil's Snare's magical abilities weren't independent at all. The plant didn't possess its own magical core in the way that a wizard or magical creature would. Instead, its source of magical power was external—it drew its energy directly from its host, Adrian himself or due to his Mutation Cheat Ability. This realization led Adrian to a startling conclusion about the nature of Squibs and their condition. The traditional understanding was that Squibs like Filch were born without magical cores, or with cores so weak as to be essentially non-functional. This was treated as an unchangeable condition. But if the Devil's Snare could perform magic by drawing on an external source of magical power, then perhaps the same principle could be applied to Squibs. Rather than trying to somehow create or enhance a non-existent magical core, it might be possible to establish a connection between a Squib and an external source of magical energy. From this theoretical perspective, as long as the problem of magical power supply could be resolved, there was no ultimate reason why Squibs couldn't gain the ability to cast magic. The limitation wasn't in their capacity to understand magic, their ability to learn spells, or their will to participate in the magical world. The limitation was simply in their lack of access to the energy required to power magical spells. Of course, Adrian recognized that this was still largely theoretical speculation. The leap from successfully creating a magical link with a plant to establishing a similar connection with a human being was enormous, involving considerations of safety, perpetuity, and compatibility that he hadn't even begun to explore. Moreover, the ethical implications of such experimentation were significant and would require careful thought. As he continued to pace through his greenhouse, Adrian thought more on this theory. Surely other wizards throughout history should have conducted similar research into the nature of magical ability and the condition of Squibs. The magical world was filled with brilliant minds, theoretical researchers, and experimental magic users who would have had both the knowledge and the motivation to explore such possibilities. Yet no successful method for enabling Squibs to use magic had ever been developed, at least not to his knowledge. This suggested either that his theory was fundamentally flawed, or that the practical challenges involved in implementing such a solution were far greater than he currently understood. There was also the uncomfortable reality that very few wizards would be motivated to invest significant time and energy in solving the problems of Squibs. The magical world, like any society, had its priorities and biases. Research time and resources were typically directed toward projects that benefited the magical community as a whole, or at least its more influential members. Squibs, as a small minority group with little political or economic power, would naturally rank low on the list of research priorities. After all, who would especially care about such Squibs? With that time, it would be considered better to research other important topics or practice one's own magic and spells more. ________________ You can read more chapters on: