“Rune development has always unfolded gradually, moving from the earliest symbols toward the spells we recognize today, splitting off into distinct branches along the way, transfiguration among them…”
[You have acquired new knowledge of Runes.
Runes Experience +7]
[You have acquired new knowledge of Runes.
Runes Experience +3]
[You have acquired new knowledge of Runes.
Runes Experience +8]
[You have acquired new knowledge of Runes.
Runes Experience +5]
[Your Runes progress has reached LV2.
Choose a bonus ability.]
[LV2 Bonus: Rune Deconstruction, makes it easier to identify runes embedded within spell and ritual structures.]
Quirrell walked through the structural breakdown of runic transfiguration in painstaking detail, almost as though worried Will might miss something, splitting every concept into smaller, more digestible pieces.
The approach worked.
Will absorbed the material easily, the experience piling up steadily as he went.
He listened closely, firing off question after question.
By this point, he’d stopped dwelling on who exactly was teaching him.
What mattered was that real learning was happening, and it was happening fast.
Quirrell watched him with obvious satisfaction, nodding along at each question.
“Thank you, Professor.”
Forty minutes later, Will stepped out of the office with his Runes progress sitting at Level 2 (12/200).
Whatever else could be said about him, the Dark Lord’s grasp of the subject was genuinely formidable.
In the books, Voldemort had mostly existed as a villain waiting to be defeated, flat and one-note.
Here, even this small glimpse into his actual scholarship had proven worth far more than expected.
Will now understood the transfiguration technique properly, a corner of magical theory so obscure it barely had any systematic literature behind it.
Just a first step, but a meaningful one.
Whatever else Voldemort had become, his research in this area spoke to real, undeniable skill.
Leaving the office, Will felt fully alert, wide awake despite the late hour.
Sleep could wait.
This was too good a stretch of momentum to waste.
He hurried straight to the Room of Requirement, cross-referencing everything in his notebook against several open rune texts, scribbling down theories as fast as they came to him.
[You have acquired new knowledge of Runes.
Runes Experience +3]
Runes.
Transfiguration.
Spell structure.
Ritual structure.
Something tugged at the edge of his thoughts, a connection hovering just out of reach, refusing to resolve into anything concrete.
Time slipped by unnoticed until his stomach finally protested loudly enough to break his concentration.
Outside, night had fully settled in.
He’d missed both Herbology that afternoon and Astronomy that evening entirely.
Lost in thought as he wandered the corridors, he eventually realized he had no idea which floor he’d ended up on.
A door stood slightly ajar nearby.
Almost without deciding to, Will pushed it open and stepped inside.
The room looked like a disused classroom, desks and chairs stacked haphazardly against the walls, casting long, uneven shadows.
Will scanned the space, and the moment his eyes landed on the room’s one notable feature, he knew exactly where he’d wandered into.
A towering mirror stood against the far wall, framed in ornate gold and balanced on two clawed feet, tall enough to brush the ceiling.
Engraved along its top edge ran a familiar inscription: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
The Mirror of Erised.
Will recognized it instantly.
After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped closer.
Having come this far, walking away without looking felt pointless.
Besides, he’d always been curious about this particular piece of magic.
What is it I actually want, deep down?
The mirror’s surface held perfectly still, smooth as polished crystal, reflecting his own face back at him with total clarity.
The reflection showed him older, considerably older, his expression unreadable, his silver-grey eyes somehow colder still.
He wore plain black robes, walking down a dim, shadowed path.
The image kept moving.
His reflection continued forward, the path stretching toward some destination Will couldn’t identify.
As he walked, figures began appearing along either side: an adult Harry Potter, Hermione, Neville, familiar faces from Hogwarts scattered throughout.
Then came fainter shapes, half-transparent, almost ghostlike: Flitwick, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and others he recognized.
Then Sylvia appeared among them.
Finally, the path opened onto a vast field of cracked, weathered tombstones, names carved deep into each one: Tom Riddle.
Albus Dumbledore.
Gellert Grindelwald.
Helbo.
Gryffindor.
Ravenclaw.
Slytherin.
Hufflepuff.
Merlin himself.
Will felt a flicker of genuine confusion.
What exactly was this supposed to mean?
He’d expected something closer to a straightforward power fantasy, himself at the absolute pinnacle, stacked high with abilities, standing shoulder to shoulder with gods.
This felt like something else entirely.
His eyes swept back over the image once more.
His reflection kept walking that same dim path, unmistakably himself, unmistakably his own deepest wish.
He considered it for a long moment before finally exhaling.
“So that’s it.
Going beyond all of it.”
The figure in the mirror walked on, Merlin’s tombstone already fading behind him.
The Hat did say something about a wizard who chases knowledge relentlessly.
Not far off the mark, apparently.
A slow smile spread across Will’s face.
…
“What did you see, child?”
A warm, familiar voice spoke from behind him.
Will turned to find the white-bearded old wizard standing in the doorway.
“Professor Dumbledore.
Good evening.”
“I saw myself become the greatest wizard in the world.” Will didn’t bother hiding much of it.
“You’ve stumbled onto the same fascination hundreds, thousands, of students before you discovered in this mirror, my boy.” Steam curled from a cup of hot cocoa in Dumbledore’s hand.
“And plenty of them dreamed of exactly the same thing, becoming the greatest wizard alive.”
Dumbledore spoke gently, walking closer to study his own reflection in the glass.
The smell of cocoa grew stronger, and Will’s stomach chose that exact moment to growl loudly, much to his embarrassment.
“Sounds like someone’s gone hungry.” Dumbledore had barely finished the sentence before a long table materialized beside them, laden with food, steak, sausages, roasted meat, and a generous pot of steaming cocoa, exactly the kind of spread Will preferred.
“Thank you, Professor.”
“Don’t mention it.
Young minds tend to forget meals entirely once something else catches their attention.” Dumbledore took a seat across from him, watching with quiet approval as Will dug in.
“I let Professor Sprout and Professor Sinistra know you’d need some time away today.
They assumed you were unwell.” Dumbledore set down a plate of syrup-drizzled biscuits as he spoke.
“Sprout very nearly insisted on checking in on you at the hospital wing herself.”
Only then did it register with Will that Dumbledore had personally arranged his absence.
“I’m sorry for the trouble, Professor.”
Dumbledore waved the apology off.
“Quirrell wasn’t wrong, you know.
Talented, driven students do tend to receive a certain amount of latitude.”
“You know about that?”
“I keep track of most things happening within these walls.
It’s rarely optional, given what’s required to keep everyone here safe.” Dumbledore’s tone stayed light.
“Your private affairs excepted, of course.”
Will didn’t imagine Dumbledore capable of anything quite so invasive as monitoring every student’s private life.
This remained, after all, a reasonably dignified magical institution.
“Also, Miss Lestrange spent a fair amount of time knocking on the Room of Requirement earlier, until I intervened and sent her back to rest.”
Will paused mid-bite, an unusual flicker of guilt crossing his face.
Something in Will’s reaction seemed to reassure Dumbledore, who continued, more gently now.
“My boy, I only ask that you take care not to lose yourself entirely in the pursuit of knowledge.
Left unchecked, that hunger can end up owning you rather than the other way around.”
Will caught something unusually grave in Dumbledore’s tone as he said it, and a faint, uneasy feeling settled somewhere in the back of his mind.