The Slytherin table cleared quickly, with its students lining up in an almost rigid formation as they returned to their common room. It did not surprise Harry to see that Riddle was indeed one of the Fifth Year prefects, with the other being Abraxas Malfoy. The name–names, he corrected, were enough to concern Harry.

The son of Alden Malfoy, he considered. Harry had seen the articles published about the man and his dealings in the Daily Prophet. His impression was far from swell - in particular, an article about his involvement in a scandalous feud between the Black and Rosier families left him wary. Not to mention his previous feud with Draco, the little shit. Malfoy was a blood-purist through and through, with an almost rabid fanaticism that made him curious just how insufferable Abraxas would be.

He followed the pack of First Years, led by Riddle and Malfoy into the common room. Other students had already arrived – lounging around on the sofas, finishing summer assignments and whatnot. But Harry found his focus locked onto Slughorn, who stood in the middle of the snake pit, smiling encouragingly at Riddle. For a moment, Harry thought she looked… irritated? But it was gone in a flash.

"Welcome to Slytherin House," she said in a voice Harry was sure most would think of as kind. "I have the honour of being one of your prefects this year – I'm Emily, by the way, and this is my friend Abraxas." With an indulgent smile, she gestured toward the dorms. "That's where you're going to be sleeping. You'll be rooming with three others during your stay here at Hogwarts. Before we go on – are there questions about your living arrangements?"

A shy, shaggy-haired boy named Grant Westhose raised his hand, and Riddle nodded at him.

"What if there are… issues with our roommates?" A few of the first years snickered at the boy, and he seemed to shrink away.

"Those," came the surprisingly stern tone of Slughorn, "will go to me. I can't guarantee a room switch, but we will address any and all conflicts." His eyes swept over some of the more rowdy first years, who quickly quieted down.

"He's your head of house if you couldn't tell," added Riddle helpfully.

"Professor Slughorn," interjected Malfoy for the first time. "Quite a man, is he not?"

At that, some of the First Years laughed more earnestly. The boy, Westhose, smiled in appreciation.

"There is one more thing," said Riddle. "This year, we're piloting an aide program for students not satisfied with their academic performances – which we prefects will lead. When Professor Slughorn hands you your timetables tomorrow, you will find that time has been built into your schedules so if you wish, you may be tutored by Abraxas or me."

"This, of course," cut in Malfoy. "Only applies to those who will be examined for proficiency in the first-year curriculum." His eyes fell on Harry, who merely nodded. Internally, he wanted to scoff – who else would it apply to, Dumbledore?

"Curriculum," Harry heard Mia Selwyn sound out among the group of First Years. He let himself smile when he heard the girl repeating the same definition he'd given on the boat ride – the things you're learning, and the order they're in.

"Alas," clapped Slughorn boisterously. "I believe that covers everything for today – we shall continue business," he cast a Tempus – no way he didn't do that for dramatic effect, he already knows the time – "tomorrow!"

The First Year boys and girls lined up, walking to their respective dorms. The older students who had been lounging around the common room began doing the same, some shaking hands with Slughorn as they headed to bed. When there were no less than five people left in the common room, Riddle began approaching him. Harry tensed when she clasped a firm hand on his shoulders, speaking close to his ear.

"I'd hate it if past mistakes gave way to needless hostilities between us… my door is open to you, should you seek it."

Harry did not like the sound of that one bit.

Riddle gave him no chance to respond, walking off to the Girls' dorm. Harry stood in silence as the rest of the common room cleared - time to find his room, he supposed. He decided in his Second Year that the Slytherin common room was much less hospitable than its Gryffindor counterpart, and that probably wasn't changing anytime soon.

It took him some time to find where he was to be rooming – it turned out his room was at the end of the hall – but nonetheless gave a quick "hello and goodnight" to the only boy beside him who had not yet fallen asleep, Hao Chang. The other two, Albert Rosier from the Welcoming Feast and a boy named Millard Fawley, were fast asleep.

It would be one of the very few nights of true, peaceful rest for Harry.

Reading a book about Transfiguration or curses won't teach you Transfiguration or curses, just as reading a book about Wandlore won't teach you Wandlore. At the same time, this particular field of study is not as readily applied compared to the wanded studies you are likely familiar with. So what to do? Below is the first of five tasks the reader is going to be asked to complete by this book's end. If this book is being employed as a supplement for a full course in Wandlore, the first three tasks should take around a month and a half to complete each. The final two typically take three months, each. The rest of this text balances appropriate discussion of the respective tasks, supplementary practice problems, and exploration of other branches of Wandlore.

TASK 1: CREATE A SPELL ONLY YOUR WAND CAN CAST

When I first sent out drafts of this textbook to my colleagues, I immediately received complaints that, without unique knowledge of Spell Creation & Arithmancy, this task would prove nigh impossible for any student, no matter how gifted or talented to complete. Especially considering that you, dear reader, have only just been informed of Wandlore's most fundamental truths, of which there are few. However, I have found, over my many years, that this task is an excellent gatekeeper. If you truly wish to commit to the subject, completing this task will leave no doubt in either your or your instructor's mind. We advise you to begin immediately and only read past this page if you are well and truly stuck.

Just like that, the author left Harry to his own devices. Magic's Magic was one of the most infuriating and confusing things he had ever read. And he was only past the introduction. It was only early morning, however. The Task would need more attention than a morning's work.

"Good book, Harry?"

The opposite, he wanted to say, facing the curious visage of Professor Slughorn. What's he doing here? Harry wondered. Would he be offered another networking opportunity? "Did you ever get my letter, Professor?" he asked instead, idly.

Slughorn frowned at his casual dismissal. "Of course," he said. "We can discuss it after class one of these days."

Classes. Harry nearly forgot that they began tomorrow – for all his anticipation at his return to Hogwarts, academics wasn't exactly his biggest concern, even if the blasted book had other ideas. Still, the plan was to do well.

And by well, he meant better than Riddle. Which was perhaps more than well.

"Adjusting well?" interrupted the voice of Arcturus. The boy sat down on the couch next to Harry, and Slughorn smiled.

"I slept decent," he said amicably. But not enough. More sleep would have been nice, and the Welcoming Feast dragged on for far too long, in his opinion.

"Alright then," said Slughorn, sighing. "I have some business to attend to with our prefects. Nice seeing you, Harry. You as well, Heir Black," he nodded respectfully in the direction of Arcturus.

Harry froze.

That's why he sounded so familiar… he's the Black Heir. Sirius' grandfather.

Said boy had a scowl on his face as he spoke. "I'll have none of that from you, Harry," said Arcturus in a tone entirely too friendly. "Slughorn can pretend to be a stickler for the traditions all he wants, but we know where his sympathies lie."

"Pretend?" asked Harry. He had to give it to his Head of House – he appeared to have a rapport with many people, yet still found a way to naturally converse with him while on his way to butter up the prefects of his house somewhere. And yet, it all looked so… sincere. Like him walking around the house's common room in the early morning was completely normal.

"Slughorn is an opportunist," Arcturus said plainly. "If he thinks you have potential, he'll get you into his little club. And you, Evans," the Black Heir looked at him with barely concealed interest. "Have captured his attention in less than a day here at Hogwarts…"

Harry felt more conscious about his surroundings at that moment. Some older – and even younger students he had seen were sneering at him, from last night into this morning. Ever since his last name was uttered at the sorting.

They haven't said more because of Slughorn, he deduced. Getting close to Arcturus would be necessary.

"Slughorn got me into Hogwarts," Harry shrugged. "I think I impressed him with my placement test."

"That's curious indeed," said Arcturus, rubbing his chin while looking thoughtful. "If you were officially transferring, I'd imagine the duty of placing you would go to someone more appropriate… like the governor of the Wizarding Examination Authority. Not a…" his eyes flicked to Slughorn's back, who was conversing with Riddle and Malfoy – "random professor."

Oh, he was good. Harry wasn't sure how readily available that information was, but someone had been doing research on him and was trying to fish for information.

"My parents died in a raid in Norway," said Harry, his face the picture of longing. "I had to sail here on my own… it hasn't been easy. I couldn't tell you the first thing about what it's like here in Britain."

"You sailed here?" asked Arcturus, looking confused.

"He's telling the truth, I think," came the high-pitched voice of Mia Selwyn, standing in front of a crowd of First Years, led by Riddle and Malfoy – apparently, it was time for breakfast. "He conjured a whole boat on his way to Hogwarts."

Harry wanted to scowl – he intended for his magical talent to be a surprise, another unknown about him, but it fit in surprisingly well with the story about his origin he had concocted. He noticed a few others had crowded around, eager to eat and explore the castle.

"Come along, Evans," grunted Malfoy. "You're technically supposed to be with us, you know. Breakfast is in ten minutes."

"Harry can take care of himself, Abraxas," Riddle chided gently, her gaze flickering to him momentarily: Arcturus and now Albert Rosier still had wide eyes from what Mia innocently revealed. "Mia here has made that… quite clear." Said girl blushed brilliantly.

"That said," interjected Harry, clapping his hands awkwardly. "I'm still hungry."

At that, Riddle laughed quietly as he followed the group out of the dungeons and into the Great Hall. Already the staff table was occupied with the Headmaster and other professors – Harry noticed Slughorn wink at someone behind him, looking sweaty.

Probably ran from the dungeons all the way here.

"So, Arcturus," said Harry as he took his seat at the Slytherin table. "Anything I should know before class?"

He looked surprised. "I thought Slughorn would've filled you in?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Only the basics. Besides himself and Dumbledore, I don't know any of the professors."

Purposefully, Harry left out Headmaster Dippet. Information on the man was something he was in desperate need of.

"Well," Arcturus said slowly. "First thing is to watch out for the Headmaster – he's a dangerous man to cross, but it'll do you a load of good to get on his pleasant side."

The same thing Slughorn told me. But not what I wanted.

"Dippet doesn't sound like a powerful pureblood name to me," said Harry slowly. "How'd he get so powerful?" Privately, Harry thought he already had the answer. Names are powerful; magic even more so.

Arcturus looked at him levelly. "He's a war hero," he finally said. Arcturus opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted by Rosier, who sat in front of him.

"He fought in the French Revolution, Evans. He led the Directory until the filthy muggle Napoleon," he spat, "overthrew it."

"Careful, Rosier," cut in the smooth voice of a boy sitting left of Harry. "You sound more and more like your dear cousin Vinda by the minute."

"You're one to talk, Dolohov," Rosier snarled. "Or do we need to take you to dear old Dad's cell in Azkaban for a reminder?"

"At least he wasn't a fool. To stand behind a man whose very presence endangers the safety of all Europe…" Dolohov trailed off with an even look.

"Muggles are nothing, and I do not stand behind Grindelwald," said Rosier. "He may be misguided in his methods, but the filth needs to remember their place."

"Oh, you're a subtle one, aren't you, Albert?" Dolohov's laugh sent an uneasy feeling down Harry's spine. "The Dark Lord terrorising all of Europe… just a little misguided, is all he is. Astounding, truly."

Harry noticed that Dolohov didn't once contest Rosier's convictions about the muggle population.

"How Gryffindorish of you, Rosier," cut in the lilt of a beautiful, blonde-haired girl sitting a few chairs away. "And how poetic of you, Dolohov. Your family is far from innocent if you take care to remember."

"A Greengrass?!" cut in the sarcastic, shocked voice of Arcturus. "Fence-sitting? A Greengrass is fence-sitting? Now that's new…."

From the tone of his voice, Harry could tell that it was the furthest thing from new there could be.

The people around Harry continued to bicker, but Arcturus quieted down and whispered to him. "That's Ophelia Greengrass. Dolohov's name is Antonin."

As if on cue, Dolohov made eye contact with Harry, who was listening intently. It looked as though he were about to say something, but was interrupted by a slew of owls that flew into the Great Hall, carrying what Harry knew to be mail for the student body.

To his surprise, no mail arrived for Arcturus, who cleared his throat and looked at Harry. "Right, the professors," he said awkwardly, gesturing to a stern-looking woman with long black hair and worn robes. "That's the Professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Merrythought. A little stern, but if you try, she'll try," he moved his hand to the next. "Professor Beery, of Herbology, the next is Professor Neara, she teaches Ancient Runes – and then there's Professor Dire, he teaches Arithmancy. And you know Dumbledore, of course."

"And Binns," added Rosier.

"Binns…." Arcturus trailed off. "He's stuck up, but a brilliant professor who cares about history. He's a ghost, that's why he isn't here, you'll see."

"Binns could be here, if he wished."

Harry's head snapped to look at Riddle, who had been the picture of stoicism the entire time they ate. Both Arcturus and Rosier scowled, but Harry noted that he, Dolohov, and Greengrass all stopped talking as soon as Riddle opened her mouth.

"He wishes to make a unique impression on all of his students," she said. "Professors struggle to establish themselves, and Binns found a way."

"I will never understand your fascination with that ghost," said Dolohov bluntly. "He is useless."

"Nothing is useless," Riddle smiled toothily. "You just have to ask if it's useless or not to you."

The way Riddle's gaze flicked over to Harry, dressing him down for what was probably only a second made him wonder what she really thought of him. No one else noticed, but Harry was more perceptive than most.

She sees me as a tool, no doubt. But to what end?

"A true Slytherin you are, Miss Riddle!" came the boisterous laugh of Slughorn, bringing Harry out of his stupor. He summoned with his wand a stack of parchments. "Your timetables," he said.

"Say, Harry," Riddle looked at him, gracefully taking her timetable from Slughorn – "do you care for some morning reading material?"

It became obvious that she wasn't truly asking him when she slid to him the latest, pristine issue of the Mage Affairs. "Please," she said. "Give me your thoughts."

Harry's eyes widened when he saw the cover.

THE BLACK CASCADE DAWNS ON EUROPE: WILL THE RUSSIANS BOW?

The article was about the vicious siege that Grindelwald set in for at Moscow. But perhaps, as Harry read, he should've attributed Edward Blackburn as the true mastermind of the operation – it appeared that his forces had nearly smashed through what little the Russians had left…

"Fascinating," said Harry, but before he handed it back to the expectant Riddle, he took one last look at the cover. Blackburn stood there again, looking the exact same, but something felt… different. Harry couldn't put his finger on it.

"Look at the wand," said Riddle quietly. The attention had shifted from the both of them to some story that Greengrass had begun to regale the rest of the table with – the air of superiority Riddle shone with was something that Harry didn't take kindly to.

That was when he recognised it. Abnormally long for even a wand, a spherical pattern that he recognised, a strange tint as it emanated what seemed like raw magical power…

That's Dumbledore's wand!

Future-Dumbledore's wand, Harry corrected. But what was it doing in the hands of this Blackburn figure?

He instantly caught his mistake when Riddle noticeably took in the look of recognition on his face, and her eyes widened. "You know it?"

"I've seen it, but I'm afraid I can't recall where," said Harry with pursed lips.

"Shame," said Riddle flippantly, taking back the copy of the paper.

Harry's mind wandered to the first time he had seen Riddle in person – waiting outside in a line for Ollivander… and here she was, asking about a wand. Perhaps the incidents were related? They have to be – but why the interest?

"Ahem," came a loud clearing of Dippet's throat, drawing Harry from his thoughts. Dippet stood, tapping his wand on the goblet he drank for. It took a minute or so for the Great Hall to quiet down as he spoke.

"As I'm sure you all know, Hogwarts provides a world-class education that is uncontested in its quality, efficiency, and resulting experience. But before your term officially begins tomorrow, my friends and I would like to share a moment of silence; in solidarity with our valued colleagues at Durmstrang Institute, who now find themselves under the rule and tyranny of Europe's Dark Lord."

The entire Great Hall was taken with eerie silence as Dippet adopted a solemn look. Dumbledore had clasped his hands together, looking more composed than he usually did. No one dare say a word, bar the smug look Dolohov had shot Rosier, and some whispering from the First Years that quickly died down after a heavy look from Slughorn.

Harry, on the other hand, was stirring inside. Who did Dippet think he was? A moment of supposed solidarity with Durmstrang, and yet, the man couldn't help himself but spew some moronic politician speak about the prestige of Hogwarts.

Arrogant toerag.

He'd read what little he could about the war over the summer; hundreds of innocent students had perished at Grindelwald's hands and the vicious takeover of the Dark Lord's old school. It was overrun in three days, with its Headmaster having vanished. Coward.

Harry said nothing for the rest of breakfast and most of the day.

The first conclusion that Harry came to about Dumbledore was that the man saw him resourceful enough to figure out where his office was, given that his note had given zero indication of where to meet him. So here he was; standing outside of Dumbledore's office on the first floor while curfew was a mere half hour away. The halls had already cleared out, and prefects were probably about to begin their patrols.

Tapping his foot nervously, Harry took a deep breath when he heard Dumbledore call, "Come in," as the sound of papers shuffling came to a halt, and he took a few careful steps into the Transfiguration Master's office.

For all of Harry's complaining about the inferior fashion senses of 1940s Magical Britain, he had nothing to say when taking in that Dumbledore's current office looked almost like a replica of his future one as Headmaster. Sure, there weren't any portraits, and sure, there weren't as many trinkets – but it felt the same, with the gold hue and eccentric feel.

"Care for a chocolate bar, Mr Evans?" Dumbledore asked him, opening his drawer and pulling out a block of Muggle candy. Interestingly, Harry noticed the lack of branding on the bar.

Dumbledore looked at him carefully as Harry tenderly took his offer. "Rations are crude, but necessary measures in times of war. It's still a shame these have become such a rare commodity, no?"

"I agree, Professor," said Harry respectfully.

"Regardless," he said, closing the drawer, "trust that this old man can care for his sweet tooth." As if to prove his point, Dumbledore grabbed a lemon candy from a bowl nearby and popped it into his mouth, much to Harry's amusement.

"We are here to discuss, Mr Evans," began Dumbledore more firmly, "to see if you trust yourself to care for your safety."

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Professor."

"I am aware that Professor Slughorn saw to your admission," said Dumbledore. Harry wasn't surprised – the man had warned him, after all. "And I must confess that it was most unusual, even for a transfer like yourself."

"I wouldn't know, Professor," said Harry, clipped. He did not like where this was going.

"Indeed you wouldn't," Dumbledore walked over to one of his shelves. Books lined the top and bottom, with trinkets in the middle – he began toying with a diadem in the middle. Nothing was said for minutes.

"Sandnes was razed to the ground by Grindelwald himself," said Dumbledore, adjusting his glasses. "I cannot even begin to imagine the losses – the suffering you've felt at the brutality of this crusade the Dark Lord wages. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for your losses, Harry." There was a lost, sad glint in Dumbledore's eyes that made Harry feel a splint of guilt for lying in this way.

At that moment, realisation dawned on him, but Harry did his best not to make the same mistake he had with Riddle earlier and stopped it from showing on his face. He's fishing for my reactions to the war.

… Dumbledore thinks I'm an agent.

If it weren't for years of being around the man and speaking to him on the regular, Harry would've had no clue what he was up to. Right then, Harry thought that no one else but him would've been able to pick up on Dumbledore's charade but himself.

"Why does he do it?" asked Harry in a broken whisper. Dumbledore stopped handling the diadem.

"Some men dwell on dreams," he said slowly, dusting a book off the top shelf. "Dreams turn into ambitions, and the longing for greatness is a treachery that turns fools into monsters."

It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.

In that moment, it became too much. Dumbledore stopped dusting the book in his hands, turning to look Harry in the eyes for the first time. Harry gasped audibly - the memories of long hours spent in Dumbledore's office, working tirelessly at different branches of magic or puzzling out Tom Riddle's past hit him like an emotional freight train.

Make it stop, please. I don't want to remember, not now.

Harry came to his senses when his mind replayed the encounter in the Department of Mysteries – the incident that had sent him back here in the first place… his mind chose the worst times to play tricks on him.

A creeksounded in front of Harry. Dumbledore had sat back in his chair. The man looked… wary, though his shoulders had sagged.

"I think it is time for bed, Mr Evans," he said softly.

Harry's shoulders shook. "Yes," he murmured. He got up carefully, Dumbledore's trained on him still.

"Professor?" he said, peaking his head back through the corridor he was leaving through. Dumbledore nodded at him curiously.

"You're right… it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

Harry didn't allow him to respond, instead walking out. He made sure to be more than a few meters away from Dumbledore's office when he drew his wand, gripping it forcefully - the conversation and the possible fiasco with the Deputy Headmaster had only strengthened his resolve. It was time to set in motion the first part of his plan.

"Coreno Celare," he whispered. The disillusionment set in quickly. Harry had every intention of going to bed, but not before he took care of this.

Sneaking past the prefects was easy enough, and once free, Harry felt the familiar magic of Hogwarts rush over him – the familiarity of where he was something he didn't think could be traded for anything else in the world. The memories that had flooded him just now made sure of that.

Now was not the time to reminisce, however.

It was as though he was gliding through the halls of Hogwarts, navigating his way like he'd never left. It didn't matter if the staff were different, or if Dumbledore was different – this was his home. And he could not have it endangered.

"The second floor," he murmured. "Out of order girl's bathroom."

Except right now, it wasn't out of order and appeared to function just like any other. But Harry knew better.

"Homenum Revelio," he cast. No one else was near. Good.

What utterly fascinated Harry was how it looked like a replica of the same bathroom decades later, barring the presence of a ghost. Not this time, Myrtle. You don't have to die this time.

Just as expected, the familiar faucet did not work, while the rest of the sink appeared to be in working order. He didn't like using this ability, but it was necessary.

"Open."

When the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets revealed itself, Harry could only sigh in relief. His twelve-year-old self would've thought him mad for that, no doubt.

He went down the familiar corridor, but Harry wasn't insane enough to think he was ready to face the Chamber head-on just yet. Instead, he pulled out his wand and began tracing a pattern on the wall to the left of the corridor. Words slowly came into view as dust came tumbling off the wall – he stopped momentarily to cough his lungs out.

When Harry was done, he cast a mild cutting curse on his finger that began letting a fair bit of blood out. He winced and hissed from the pain, but it had to be done. A simple colouring charm wouldn't do – he had to show that he was serious.

He flicked his wand, splattering the blood all over the words he had carved. He hissed again, in pain.

"Episkey," he pointed at his poor finger. The pain remained, albeit slightly more tolerable. Harry looked on with a smile nonetheless – how history was going to be flipped on its head…

He summoned idle rocks and other rusted materials from the corridor, bringing them together in a boulder that he levitated onto the entrance to the Chamber. "Sequor," he whispered on the boulder, guaranteeing him notice if it were moved.

Over the next hour, Harry began to slowly conjure steel chains that wrapped around the boulder, locking it in place. He wasn't foolish enough to believe Riddle couldn't get past these – but dispelling the alert charms he placed all around the area was a different matter altogether. He looked back in satisfaction at the message he had left on the wall, one only Riddle would be able to see.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN CLOSED. BEWARE, HEIR.

A/N: I'm on a Discord server with two other authors - if you wish, you can contact me there. Link is discord dot gg / dgj93pNeAD. Thanks for reading, everyone! I'm also looking for one or two beta readers for this fic - feel free to contact me on Discord/PM if you are interested.

On Pacing: I've gotten a few comments/concerns about the pacing of this story, so I'll clear them up here. At the risk of spoiling too much, I plan for this fic to eventually live up to its title. That requires a lot of groundwork, which involves slowly and naturally expanding its scope and spectacle. I also know that fanfic authors in particular like to bloat fics with word vomit that typically fails to move the story along in favour of long lore tangents and whatnot, but that won't be the case here. Every scene has a distinct purpose. In other words, it's a balancing act, especially given the relatively fast pace of the first seven chapters (eight, counting the prologue).

On the Hallows: Too many fics let their otherwise excellent plots and story arcs get derailed and thrown out the window as soon as the Hallows are introduced. While they have their place here, they are not nearly as important as they typically are.

Ah, now this has… pretty much it though.

Thank you for your continued interest! Magic feeding off the sentience of its practitioner is an idea that will be expanded on and become of greater & greater importance as the story goes on. I think Arcturus' explanation in the beginning should explain why Slughorn didn't mind Harry ignoring his summons on the train.

Great chapter… next one!

Thank you so much for reading!

So happy… in action.

I'm very happy to be writing more of it again, thank you!

This story… thanks for writing!

I love writing this story, thanks! I really like that the mystery being built around some of these characters is setting in, again, thanks for reading.