Chapter Text
Harry was six when I decided it was time.
Not to practice spells.
But to understand power, and the impact a spell can have on the life of the one who casts it. I am well aware that Hogwarts exists to teach magic, but those who believe the school teaches moral discernment are mistaken. In my view, this is its greatest failure, and the one that leads most often to future disasters.
Most wizards err at this very point. They teach words before purpose. Gestures before consequence. The result is witches and wizards who repeat formulas without ever understanding what they are invoking. That weakens magic. It always has.
I took him to the library that morning.
Not the visible section, arranged for occasional visitors, but the deepest level, where the air is colder and books do not permit themselves to be touched without consent. The shelves rose to the ceiling, heavy with ancient volumes, some bound in human leather, others sealed with enchantments that reacted to the intention of anyone who approached.
Harry walked beside me in absolute silence.
“Here,” I began, “one does not learn how to cast magic. One learns how to respect it.”
Kreacher was already waiting for us.
The house-elf had prepared a low table at the center of the room, with three chairs. Upon the dark wood rested open books, ancient scrolls, and two simple objects: a white candle and a black candle, both still unlit.
“The young master needs to listen,” Kreacher said, nervously adjusting the cloth he wore. “To listen properly. As Master Regulus listened.”
I nodded.
“Magic,” I began, taking my seat, “is not divided as neatly as people like to teach. ‘White’ and ‘black’ are labels created for moral comfort. People need to believe the world is orderly. It is not.”
Harry frowned slightly, attentive.
“So… there’s no good magic and bad magic?” he asked.
“There is conscious magic, and irresponsible magic,” I replied. “Everything else is social convention.”
I pointed to the white candle.
“What is called white magic is usually associated with healing, protection, domestic charms, blessings. It feeds on stable intention and rarely demands an immediate price.”
Then I indicated the black candle.
“Dark magic, on the other hand, always demands more. It responds to raw will, to unfiltered desire. It is not evil by nature. It is simply too honest to pretend gentleness.”
Kreacher inclined himself further.
“Dark magic listens to everything,” the elf added. “Even what the wizard tries to hide from himself.”
“Exactly,” I confirmed.
Harry stared at the candles as though they were living creatures.
“Then why are people afraid?” he asked.
“Because dark magic does not forgive ignorance,” I answered. “If you lie to yourself, it exacts payment. If you hesitate, it reacts. If you try to use it to appear powerful, it exposes you.”
I took one of the books and opened it before him. Ancient diagrams showed magical circles, energy flows, notes on physical and mental strain.
“Look,” I said. “Here lies the real difference.”
I pointed to two passages.
“White magic tends to preserve the caster. Dark magic transforms the caster. Not everyone is willing to pay that price.”
Harry swallowed.
“And me?” he asked. “Will I use it?”
I did not answer immediately.
“You will understand it,” I said at last. “That comes before any choice.”
I stood and lit the white candle with a simple gesture. The flame appeared steady, calm.
“This responds to harmony,” I explained.
Then I lit the black candle. The flame wavered, stronger, almost alive.
“This responds to truth,” I continued. “Even when that truth is uncomfortable.”
Harry watched without fear.
“The scar…” he began.
“It is the result of dark magic,” I interrupted, without softening the words. “One of the most violent spells ever created. It did not fail because it was weak, but because it encountered something older than itself.”
He fell silent.
“That is why you must not fear it,” I went on. “What marked you also revealed your capacity to survive. Dark magic does not destroy those who understand it. It destroys those who pretend it does not exist. More than that, dark magic is characterized by operating at deeper and more aggressive levels of magical structure, capable of breaching defenses, corrupting enchantments, and imposing direct effects upon the body, mind, or magical essence of its target. For this reason, conventional spells, even when ethically well intentioned, often prove insufficient to neutralize attacks of this nature. Within this logic, the need to confront dark magic with magic of equal depth is not a moral contradiction, but a technical and strategic response. Just as certain poisons require specific antidotes, enchantments born from dense layers of magic demand forces of comparable complexity to be undone or contained. Direct confrontation does not seek to replicate the aggressor’s destructive intent, but to reach the same magical plane in which the hostile spell was created, allowing for its containment, reversal, or nullification.”
Kreacher took a small step forward.
“The young master has blood that can endure,” he said proudly. “Blood that listens and answers.”
I placed my hand on the table, between the candles.
“Today’s lesson is not about casting spells,” I told Harry. “It is about distinguishing intention from impulse. Desire from control. Action from consequence.”
I leaned down until I was at his level.
“One day, when you touch magic, it will recognize you. And when it does, it will ask who you are.”
“And what do I answer?” he asked.
“The truth,” I replied. “Always.”
Harry nodded slowly.
In that moment, I realized something that did not surprise me, but confirmed everything I had been shaping.
He did not want power.
He wanted understanding.
And that, more than any spell, is what separates an ordinary wizard from one who shapes his own destiny. Those who carry knowledge are always prepared for what life may cast at them.
I extinguished the candles with a sharp gesture.
“Lesson concluded,” I said.
But the three of us knew it had only been the first of many.