Morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Chris's bedroom, bathing the space in golden light that seemed to respond to his presence in a way it never had before. He stood before the full-length mirror, studying his reflection with intense curiosity. Physically, he appeared unchanged, the same white hair with electric blue streaks, the same sapphire eyes, but beneath the surface, he could feel the profound difference. Magic hummed within him, not just flowing through his core as it always had, but integrated into his very being, as if every cell in his body had become a conduit for power.
"The Cloak's gift becomes innate," he murmured, recalling The One Above All's words. "True invisibility, not merely physical but magical."
Chris closed his eyes, focusing on the concept of not being seen. He didn't reach for his magic as he normally would when casting a spell; instead, he simply willed the change, imagining light passing through him rather than reflecting off his form. A cool sensation washed over his skin, like stepping through a waterfall of silk. When he opened his eyes, the mirror showed only the bedroom behind him, his reflection had vanished completely.
"Extraordinary," he breathed, though his voice still carried in the room.
He held up his hands, but couldn't see them. Not the faint outline that sometimes appeared with invisibility cloaks, not even a distortion in the air, simply nothing. Yet he could feel his fingers, wiggle them, sense their movement through space. The sensation was disconcerting but exhilarating.
His gaze fell on a leather-bound book resting on his bedside table. Still maintaining his invisibility, he walked over and picked it up. The moment his fingers closed around the spine, the book disappeared as well, apparently extending his invisibility to objects in direct contact with him. This was far beyond the capabilities of the original Cloak, which would have left the book floating mysteriously in midair.
'I wonder what the limits are,' he thought, setting the book down and watching it reappear as it left his grasp. He reached for the concept of visibility again, willing himself back into the visible spectrum. The cool sensation reversed, warming slightly as he materialized in the room once more.
The mirror now showed his reflection again, but Chris found himself unable to stand still. The energy coursing through him demanded movement, exploration, testing. He needed to understand the full scope of his transformation.
"The Wand's power becomes part of your magical core," he recited, remembering the entity's explanation. "This is direct communion with magical energy itself."
His bedroom was too confined for what he wanted to try next. He changed quickly into training clothes, loose fitting pants and a simple linen shirt, and made his way through the manor's corridors toward the expansive training grounds at the rear of the property. The polished floors seemed to whisper beneath his feet, responding to his passing in ways he'd never noticed before. The very stones of Ambrosia Manor appeared more alive to his senses, humming with the magic that had protected the property for centuries.
Outside, the training grounds stretched before him, an open expanse of smooth grass surrounded by stone columns that anchored the property's protective wards. The morning air was crisp and clear, perfect for magical experimentation.
Chris stood in the center of the grounds and held out his right hand, palm upward. In the past, wandless magic had required intense concentration, visualization, and usually verbal incantation, especially for more complex spells. Now, he simply thought of light, pure, radiant illumination, and focused his will.
"Lumos," he whispered, more out of habit than necessity.
The result far exceeded his expectations. A sphere of light erupted from his palm, not the gentle glow of a standard Lumos but a miniature sun, brilliant and perfectly formed. The light was so intense that he had to squint against its radiance, yet it didn't burn his skin or cause discomfort. It hovered an inch above his palm, responsive to his slightest thought, growing brighter or dimmer as he willed it.
With a gesture of his fingers, he sent the sphere floating upward, where it hung in the air like a personal star. The control was effortless, requiring no more concentration than moving his own limbs.
'Let's try something more complex,' he thought, lowering his hand and extending both arms before him.
"Aguamenti," he intoned, this time shaping his hands into a specific gesture, fingers spread, palms facing each other as if holding an invisible sphere.
Water materialized between his hands, not in the modest stream that a wand would produce, but in a rushing torrent that quickly formed a swirling sphere of clear liquid suspended in mid-air. The volume was impressive, easily enough to fill a bathtub, yet it remained perfectly contained by his will alone. He could feel each water molecule, sense its movement, direct its flow with precision that would have been impossible before.
With a fluid motion of his right hand, he transformed the sphere into a spiralling column that rose twenty feet into the air before cascading down in a perfect circular waterfall that never touched the ground, instead flowing back up into the main column in defiance of gravity. The entire structure moved like a living sculpture, responding instantly to his mental direction.
"Remarkable," he said, allowing the water to dissipate into fine mist that evaporated in the morning sunshine. Not a drop had touched the ground.
Through several more experiments, Chris discovered that while he no longer needed a wand, using specific hand gestures helped to shape and direct his magic. The movements created a physical focus for his intent, allowing for more precise control of the raw power now available to him. It was like the difference between a garden hose and a precision irrigation system, both delivered water, but the latter with much greater efficiency and purpose.
He spent the next hour working through basic spells, marvelling at how even the simplest charm now manifested with extraordinary potency. A levitation charm that would normally lift a small object could now raise a boulder with ease. A warming charm that might have heated a cup of tea could now bring a cauldron of water to boiling in seconds.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Chris finally paused, his mind racing. The transformation was far more profound than he had anticipated. These weren't just enhanced versions of his previous abilities, they represented an entirely new relationship with magic itself.
Tomorrow's acromantula hunt would provide the perfect opportunity to test these powers in combat. For now, though, he needed to practice control as much as power. After all, showing up to Hogwarts able to conjure miniature suns with a thought might raise a few too many questions.
Still, as he walked back toward the manor, Chris couldn't help but smile. The Deathly Hallows had given him exactly what he needed, not just power, but potential. The path ahead had just become far more exciting.
The day following his transformation blurred in a regimen of intense magical practice. Chris approached his training with methodical precision, dividing each moment into segments dedicated to different branches of magic. Dawn brought physical conditioning, running the perimeter of Ambrosia Manor's grounds with bursts of enhanced speed that left him barely winded. The morning session focused on fundamental spells, afternoon work tackled advanced magic, and the evening was reserved for the specialized battle techniques from Gryffindor's Grimoire. With the acromantula hunt rapidly approaching, every moment counted.
"Begin with the foundations," Chris reminded himself, standing in the center of his training grounds. "Master the basics before attempting the extraordinary."
He started with first-year spells, perfecting each one without a wand. Simple levitation charms became exercises in fine control, raising not just objects but manipulating them through intricate patterns in the air. He levitated dozens of small stones simultaneously, arranging them in complex geometric formations that shifted and flowed at his command. Where once he might have struggled to maintain the spell on a single heavy object, now he could orchestrate an aerial ballet of items without strain.
Transformation magic followed. Chris turned pinecones into pocket watches, leaves into butterflies, and water into wine with mere gestures. The quality of his transfigurations had improved dramatically; the watches actually kept perfect time, the butterflies flew with natural grace, and the wine, according to Jilly, who insisted on testing it, was of exceptional vintage.
"The intent matters more than the motion," he noted, watching a silver goblet he'd conjured catch the light. The level of detail in his conjurations far exceeded what he'd been capable of before, fine filigree work along the rim, his family crest perfectly rendered on the side.
By the end of the day, Chris had mastered the entire first through third-year curriculum wandlessly. The spells came to him with almost ridiculous ease, requiring barely a thought to execute with precision that would have made his professors speechless.
"Time to push further," he murmured as the second half of the day came.
Intermediate magic presented more complex challenges. Summoning and banishing charms tested his ability to affect objects at a distance. Shield charms required maintaining multiple layers of magical protection simultaneously. Chris practiced deflecting objects thrown at increasing speeds, eventually progressing to blocking spell fire from training dummies programmed to attack from multiple angles.
In the afternoon, he stood surrounded by six enchanted mannequins, each firing a different spell in rapid succession. Rather than casting individual shields, Chris extended his hands and summoned a modified version of the Praesidium Aureum, the golden shield from Gryffindor's teachings. The dome that formed around him was now seamless, perfectly transparent yet impenetrable, not even flickering as dozens of spells splashed against its surface like raindrops on glass.
"Impressive," came Jilly's voice from the edge of the training ground. The house-elf had taken to watching his sessions, her large eyes wide with a mixture of awe and concern.
Chris lowered the shield with a gesture. "It's getting easier to maintain," he told her. "The drain is minimal now."
"Master should still rest," Jilly advised, setting down a tray with cold drinks. "Even enhanced magic requires recovery."
He nodded, acknowledging her wisdom while already planning his next exercise. The transformation had certainly increased his raw power exponentially, but stamina and control required continuous practice.
That evening, Chris spent hours with the Ambrosia family's ancient spell books, practicing forgotten enchantments that had been in his lineage for centuries. Spells for binding enemies without harming them. Wards that could be established in seconds rather than hours. Runic combinations that enhanced physical abilities temporarily.
One particularly valuable discovery was a spell called "Vinculum Telae"—the Web Bind. Ironically perfect for the upcoming hunt, it allowed the caster to create magical restraints similar to acromantula silk, but imbued with paralyzing properties.
"Poetic justice," Chris murmured as he practiced the spell, watching the silvery strands shoot from his fingertips to completely immobilize a practice dummy.
The final moments before the hunt were devoted entirely to Gryffindor's battle magic, now enhanced by his transformation. The spells that had once drained him significantly now came with greater ease, though they still demanded respect and precision.
The Secare Intentio, the Blade of Intent, had evolved most dramatically. Where before it had manifested as a crescent of energy that could slice through magical barriers, now it formed a perfect arc of golden-white light that could be maintained continuously, swinging through the air like a physical sword of pure magical intent. Chris practiced for the rest of the evening, learning to control its size, intensity, and duration.
"The combination is key," he realised. Rather than treating each spell as a separate entity, he began weaving them together into seamless sequences, shield to defense, detection to locate, binding to immobilize, blade to eliminate if necessary.
He developed a rhythm to his magical combat style, a dance of power and precision that felt natural to his enhanced abilities. Movement flowed into spellwork, spellwork enhanced movement. The Elder Wand's power, now integrated into his magical core, allowed for instant transitions between different types of magic without the usual mental recalibration most wizards required.
I the final hours on the evening before the hunt, Chris tested his absolute limits. He summoned twelve training dummies, each enchanted to fight at the level of a skilled adult wizard. They surrounded him, attacking simultaneously with a barrage of spells that would have overwhelmed even exceptional duellists.
Chris moved like water, like wind. A shield deflected the first wave of attacks. A gesture sent three dummies flying backward. A sweep of his hand created a ring of golden fire that pushed the others back. As two broke through, he vanished completely from sight, reappearing behind them to bind them with silver webs before they could react.
The exercise ended with eleven dummies disabled and one remaining. Chris faced it directly, raised his hand, and unleashed a wandless Secare Intentio that cleaved the dummy perfectly in half, the cut so clean that the two pieces stood upright for a moment before falling apart.
As night settled in, Chris stood in the center of the grounds, breathing deeply but evenly. The acromantula hunt would be his first true test in combat with these new abilities. While confident in his enhanced power, he maintained a healthy respect for the danger that hundreds of giant, venomous spiders presented.
"Tomorrow," he said to the evening air, "we put theory into practice."
He turned toward the manor, knowing he needed rest before the battle. His preparation had been as thorough as possible in the limited time available. Now all that remained was to prove that his transformation had created not just power, but a warrior worthy of wielding it.
Oil lamps cast a warm glow across the mahogany surface of Chris's desk, illuminating the maps and documents spread before him. The evening before the acromantula hunt had arrived, and his study had transformed into a war room of sorts. A detailed map of the Forbidden Forest occupied the center of the desk, with the massive acromantula colony marked in red ink. Goblin battle formations were indicated in gold, centaur positions in blue, and his own planned movements in green. Every path, every contingency, every potential outcome had been considered and accounted for.
Chris traced his finger along the primary approach route. According to the tactical briefing from Gringotts, the goblins would form the main assault force, with forty-three young warriors eager to prove themselves in their Blooding ritual. The experienced battle-masters would direct them in classic goblin pincer movements, designed to funnel the acromantulas into killing zones where their superior numbers would become a disadvantage in the confined space.
"Efficient," Chris murmured, appreciating the goblin tactical mind. Their strategy favoured close-quarter combat, where their specialized weapons, silver-edged blades enchanted specifically to penetrate acromantula chitin, would be most effective.
He shifted his attention to the centaur positions. Their twenty archers would occupy the high ground surrounding the colony, raining down arrows tipped with a paralytic poison that affected arachnids specifically. The centaur ground fighters would protect the archers and intercept any spiders that attempted to flee into the deeper forest.
His own role was perhaps the most dynamic. Chief Ragnok had designated him as a mobile strike force, free to move between battle groups to address emerging threats or opportunities. It was a position of both honour and responsibility, an acknowledgment of his unique capabilities and a trust that he would use them effectively to support the overall mission.
"They don't yet know how much more effective I'll be now," Chris said softly, a slight smile touching his lips.
He turned from the maps to a large trunk that sat open nearby. Inside lay the equipment he would take into battle. Most prominent was the dragon-hide armour Ragnok had commissioned, a masterpiece of goblin craftsmanship. The material came from a Hungarian Horntail, its scales a deep charcoal black that absorbed light rather than reflecting it. Unlike typical wizard robes that merely offered basic protection, this armour had been reinforced with goblin metallurgy and runic enchantments.
Chris lifted the chest piece, appreciating its surprising lightness. The scales had been layered to allow maximum flexibility while maintaining protection against both physical attacks and magical damage. Small runes etched in silver along the seams enhanced its defensive properties further, and a subtle warming charm ensured comfort in the early morning chill of the forest.
He laid the armour carefully on a stand beside his desk, arranging the accompanying gauntlets, greaves, and hood precisely. Though he now possessed enhanced regenerative abilities thanks to the Resurrection Stone, preventing injury in the first place was always preferable.
Next, he turned his attention to his wand. Despite no longer requiring it for casting, appearances needed to be maintained. The truth of his transformation was not something he was ready to reveal to the world at large, or even to allies like Ragnok. For now, the wand would serve as a focus for his magic, not a necessary tool, but a useful way to direct and shape his power while maintaining the illusion of conventional spellcasting.
He polished the white Yggdrasil wood carefully, the subtle blue runes along its length seeming to pulse with anticipation. The Eastern Dragon Emperor heartstring core resonated with his enhanced magical core, creating a harmonic feedback that was almost musical in his heightened perception.
"You and I have changed," he told the wand quietly, "but we still have work to do together."
Chris then reviewed his spell selection for the battle. The standard combat spells, stunning, binding, shields, would form his basic repertoire. For acromantulas specifically, he had researched their vulnerabilities. Fire was effective but risky in a forest setting. Cold was better, slowing their movement and making them sluggish. The Web Bind spell from the Ambrosia library would be particularly useful, allowing him to immobilize multiple spiders at once.
Most importantly, he would have Gryffindor's battle magic at his disposal. The Praesidium Aureum shield would protect him from attacks from all directions, essential when fighting creatures known to drop from above. The Secare Intentio would cut through even the toughest acromantula armour, though he would use it judiciously to conserve energy for sustained combat.
With his equipment checked and his tactical plans reviewed, Chris finally allowed himself a moment of deeper reflection. He moved to the window, gazing out at the moonlit grounds of Ambrosia Manor. The beauty of the night sky contrasted sharply with the violence that tomorrow would bring.
The acromantula colony represented more than just a threat to be eliminated. It was an obstacle to Hufflepuff's Chamber, yes, but also a danger to the students of Hogwarts, to the centaurs who shared the forest, and to the balance of the ecosystem itself. The colony had grown far beyond what the forest could naturally sustain, with Hagrid's well-intentioned but misguided protection allowing it to expand unchecked for decades.
Sometimes, Chris reflected, preservation required culling. Growth without limits became cancerous, eventually destroying everything around it.
His thoughts turned to his allies in tomorrow's battle. The young goblin warriors, facing their first true combat, would be both eager and vulnerable. The centaurs, proud and skilled, but not invulnerable to acromantula venom. He felt the weight of responsibility for their safety, not as a burden but as a purpose.
"I'll protect them," he promised the night. Not with reckless heroics or glory-seeking, but with the disciplined application of his abilities in service to the greater mission.
His new powers would certainly be an advantage, but the true test would not be of raw magical strength. It would be of judgment, of control, of making the right decisions in chaotic conditions. No amount of training could fully prepare one for the unpredictability of battle, where plans rarely survived contact with the enemy.
Chris returned to his desk and carefully rolled up the maps and documents, placing them in a leather satchel. He would review them once more in the morning before departing for the rendezvous point at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Everything was as ready as it could be.
He extinguished the lamps with a gesture, moonlight now the only illumination in the study. In this silver glow, Chris Emrys stood perfectly still for a moment, centring himself. Tomorrow would bring blood and chaos and the clamour of battle, but tonight, he would find calm. The warrior's paradox, preparing thoroughly for violence while maintaining inner peace.
"Let it begin," he whispered to the darkness, and turned toward his chambers to find what rest he could before dawn brought the hunt.