"Study my pages, and you will wield unparalleled power!"
"Unlock the deepest secrets of the human body!"
"Curse your enemies! Inflict tornt beyond imagination! Choose , and I shall teach you suffering!"
Their attempts at temptation do nothing for Ian. Most of the magic they contain pales in comparison to the knowledge hidden within 'Secrets of Dark Magic'— a to he already possesses.
Indeed, when it cos to cruelty, potency, and the depth of magical theory, that particular book surpasses any of the volus before him. These others rely on grotesque imagery to unsettle their readers.
One especially unsightly book features a bloodied, distorted face on its cover, its mouth and nose leaking crimson, its disfigured features resembling those of a pig.
"Do I really need you to tell about the human body?" Ian scoffs, unimpressed. Thanks to his unique understanding of magical anatomy— an innate ability akin to a butcher's instinct—he already comprehends far more than these pages could ever teach.
So of the books even try to intimidate him. Wisps of black mist rise from between their covers, forming eerie, wailing faces. The spectral cries shriek through the air, their high-pitched howls sending shivers down the spine.
Ian, however, is unfazed.
"A few old books think they can rattle ?" He glances over his shoulder to ensure Madam Pince is distracted before allowing a flicker of Fiendfyre to dance at the tip of his wand.
Instantly, the haunting wails cease. The mist recoils in terror, retreating deep into the pages from whence it ca. The Restricted Section falls into a much-needed silence.
"Pathetic," Ian murmurs, shaking his head as he extinguishes the cursed fla. He selects several books dedicated to the study of the soul.
Given his unusual ability to glimpse into the Twilight Realm—and with the events of the coming years at Hogwarts in mind—Ian has developed a keen interest in the mysteries of the soul.
'The Secrets of the Deceased'
'The Laws of Life and Death'
'The Book of the Dead'
Even so, he quickly realizes that books on this subject are frustratingly scarce at Hogwarts.
After all, the study of the soul is one of the deepest and most enigmatic branches of magic. Very few wizards have ever ventured into such research, and even fewer have successfully published their findings. Even in a thousand-year-old institution like Hogwarts, these books remain rare gems.
But just as Ian turns to leave, another to catches his eye.
Its cover is unlike any other, crafted from a material as unyielding as stone. Its surface is adorned with intricate reliefs of magical creatures, their forms expertly carved in exquisite detail.
The sheer craftsmanship alone piques Ian's interest, but it is the title that compels him to pull it from the shelf. It is heavier than the other three books combined, its weight reassuringly solid in his hands.
'The Origins of Bloodlines'
Flipping through its thick, ancient pages, Ian discovers that it chronicles a ti long before the wizarding wars— before witches and wizards claid dominion over the magical world.
Whether it be naturally powerful magical creatures or other beings like dwarves, giants, goblins, and hags, all possess strength far beyond that of wizards.
At one point in history, human wizards stood at the bottom of the magical hierarchy. In such a precarious existence, a group of scholars erged among them, determined to bridge the gap.
So sought ancient tos filled with forgotten enchantnts. Others attempted to interweave wizarding blood with that of other magical beings in hopes of passing on enhanced abilities to future generations. So even experinted with self-transfiguration, trying to take on the traits of magical creatures themselves.
Success was rare. Most attempts ended in failure— often catastrophic failure. Yet there were those who pursued an even darker path.
Bloodline fusion.
This was the reckless course so wizards dared to take.
Unlike transfiguration, which could be reversed, bloodline fusion was permanent. And unlike re magical transformation, the power gained could be passed down through generations. It was an extraordinarily dangerous practice— few survived the process, and even fewer retained their sanity.
However.
There were exceptions.
So wizards not only endured but thrived, erging with powers unheard of in human bloodlines. Unlike botched transfiguration, which often warped the mind, bloodline fusion preserved the wizard's intellect while imbuing them with inhuman abilities.
The book Ian was reading, 'The Origins of Bloodlines', ntioned that many creatures now classified as semi-human had origins in these ancient experints. Even the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest were cited as possible examples of such magical tampering.
There were others.
So were deed failures, their unnatural forms and instincts betraying the instability of their lineage. But the most successful cases remained fully human in appearance, their extraordinary traits hidden beneath a mortal guise.
"For instance, Dumbledore's family might be one of them." Ian mused, running his fingers absently over the mysterious mark on his hand.
Fawkes had reacted to him earlier in the headmaster's office. The phoenix's sudden closeness had triggered a faint glow from the mark, visible only to Ian himself. A curious phenonon indeed.
"It's said that whenever a mber of Dumbledore's bloodline is in dire need, a phoenix will co to their aid…"
A well-known belief among wizards, but Ian suspected there was more to it. He recalled other examples— like the Parseltongue ability passed down from Salazar Slytherin.
Voldemort's transformation was an obvious case of magical alteration, his snake-like visage the result of years of self-inflicted experints. Yet… could it all be attributed to transfiguration alone? Was there not also an elent of bloodline regression at play?
After all, he was hardly the first wizard to tamper with his body. And yet, Voldemort had unlocked power that others could only dream of.
Was it purely his genius?
That explanation felt too convenient.
"The origins of magical transformation might actually stem from early bloodline fusion research," Ian pondered, flipping through the fragile pages. "And the loss of the Golden Apple has only driven wizards to explore this field further."
Compared to the near-impossible success rate of bloodline fusion, the transfiguration was significantly safer… but would it ever yield the sa results?
Ian wasn't particularly eager to disfigure himself in pursuit of power. But he couldn't ignore Ariana Dumbledore's final gift to him. If he could unlock its secrets, perhaps he, too, could call a phoenix his own.
"I'm borrowing this book as well." Ian decided. If there was knowledge here that could help him understand the mark on his hand— and perhaps even summon a phoenix— then he had no choice but to study it.
Most people would feel the sa, he figured. Phoenixes might not be the most formidable magical creatures, but there was an undeniable prestige in owning one. And their tears, capable of curing nearly any poison or injury, were a priceless boon.
As Ian prepared to check out his chosen books, he noticed Madam Pince sorting through a stack of newly arrived restricted texts. Large crates sat nearby, their lids pried open to reveal a fresh collection of forbidden knowledge.
'The Chronicles of Forbidden Spells: The Forgotten Dark Powers'
'The Ti Vortex: Spells Against the Current'
'The Fountain of Immortality'
None of them particularly interested Ian.
His gaze drifted past them… and landed on sothing entirely different.
It was an unassuming book, lacking the gaudy embellishnts of most dark tos. No sinister runes, no ominous warnings carved into its cover. Just a battered old volu, its title almost illegible from age.
And yet, the mont Ian's eyes locked onto it, his pulse quickened.
"Madam Pince, I'd like to borrow this one too!" He announced, snatching up the book before she could tuck it away.
His fingers trembled slightly as he took in the cover. The faded title read:
'Mind's Dominion: From Legilincy to Soul Enchantnt'
Beneath the cracked lettering, the cover bore the image of a woman.
A strikingly beautiful witch, her eyes cold as winter frost.
There was sothing deeply unsettling about her gaze. It felt as though she could see straight through him— as if she had already peeled back his every thought, and laid his mind bare before her scrutiny. Even though it was just a picture, Ian found himself instinctively averting his eyes.
And then recognition slamd into him like a Bludger to the chest.
That face.
That terrifying, unreadable expression.
"Professor Mara! You said you weren't reading minds! Bloody hell!"
(End of Chapter)
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