"It's nearly finished," Draco was saying, excitement in his voice. "Father had the dueling room enchanted last week. Restorative dummies, soundproofing, wards—it's perfect for practice."
Elias nodded, mildly intrigued. Though the idea of a private dueling room was far from new—his own estate had one, after all—the chance to practice in a different space had its appeal.
After breakfast, the trio excused themselves and followed Draco through the grand halls of the manor. The dueling chamber was in one of the side wings, sealed off from the rest of the estate with powerful locking charms.
Draco waved his wand and the doors swung open, revealing a vast room lined with dark stone. At the far end stood a row of humanoid dummies, made of enchanted material that shimmered with restorative runes. The room's center was marked with a dueling circle—elegant, polished, and reinforced with magical barriers.
"Impressive," Elias admitted, stepping inside.
They wasted no time. Wands were drawn, and spells filled the air like an orchestrated dance. Elias watched as Draco and Daphne paired off first, trading jinxes and counters, laughter and light challenges bouncing between them.
When it was Elias's turn, he cast with precision—sharp, fast, and efficient. His spells struck with focused force, dispersing into the dummy's wards with sizzling bursts. But after a while, it began to feel repetitive. Unlike the heat of real battle, these dummies didn't adapt, didn't learn. There was no unpredictability, no pressure. Just target practice.
As Draco and Daphne continued their duel, Elias stepped back, wiping his forehead with a silk handkerchief. He watched them for a moment—two friends immersed in the thrill of competition—before clearing his throat.
"I think I've had enough for now," he said calmly. "Thank you for the morning."
"Leaving already?" Draco asked, pausing mid-spell.
"Afraid so. Some things back home that need my attention."
Draco nodded, disappointed but understanding. "You're always welcome, you know. Father would like to see more of you."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Elias gave a final nod to the two of them and left the chamber, his cloak billowing behind him as he stepped out into the chilly courtyard. He summoned one of his family's house-elves silently and vanished from the manor without a word of farewell—just the way he preferred it.
Back at the Blackthorn estate, the air was thick with quiet. Snow coated the trees in the distance, and a gentle fire burned in the alchemy room's hearth. Elias stood before his table, gazing down at the gleaming red Philosopher's Stone resting inside a containment sphere.
His thoughts drifted to the mystery of it—how the ancient alchemists had managed to create something so powerful, and yet so carefully veiled in riddles and obscurities. He had spent months pouring through texts, theories, and magical calculations, but the stone still remained elusive in its deeper understanding.
He took a seat and pulled out his notebook, where several neat pages detailed his findings so far. On the surface, the stone could transmute base materials into gold—he'd tested that already—but the real alchemical secrets were likely buried deeper: immortality, soul refinement, magical amplification. Things that couldn't be so easily unlocked.
With practiced hands, Elias placed a silver coin into the transmutation circle on the table. He touched the stone to the glyphs and activated the circle with a pulse of magic.
Gold bloomed from the silver like liquid sunlight.
He watched the process closely—how the structure of the material shifted, how the magic behaved at every stage. And then he did it again. And again. Each time refining the circle, the method, noting every variation.
"Still imperfect," he muttered to himself. "The change is permanent, but the magical residue is unstable. There must be a stabilizer I'm missing."
For the rest of the evening, Elias continued his experiments, switching between theoretical calculations and practical tests. He summoned his notes on energy matrices, tried new catalyst runes, and even incorporated fragments of translated content from the Book of Gods—though only the portions he had successfully deciphered.
By the time the moon had risen high over the Blackthorn estate, Elias had finished his third notebook.
He leaned back in his chair, exhausted but satisfied.
The days following Elias's visit to Malfoy Manor passed in quiet intensity. Snow blanketed the grounds of Blackthorn Estate in soft layers, muting all sound and motion beyond the frost-glazed windows. The air inside, however, was anything but idle.
Elias stood in the grand library beneath a vaulted ceiling, surrounded by shelves that towered like ancient guardians. Tomes on alchemy, the transmutation of matter, and magical metallurgy were stacked high on the oak table before him. Scrolls, books, and folded parchment lay opened in every direction, covered in glyphs, formulae, and translated notes.
The gleaming red Philosopher's Stone sat dormant in its enchanted crystal casing at the edge of the desk, untouched.
For now.
Elias had realized during his last stretch of research that simply experimenting on the stone without a deeper grasp of alchemy would be inefficient—perhaps even dangerous. Though he had managed basic transmutations, the true essence of the stone eluded him. The mysteries it held were tangled in principles far beyond what surface-level knowledge could offer.
And so, he began again.
Not from scratch, but from a stronger foundation. With a scholar's discipline and a tactician's focus, Elias spent each day immersed in study. He called upon the estate's enchanted volumes and the private alchemical collection of his ancestors, many of which were older than even the Blackthorn lineage itself.
He revisited the origins of alchemy—the theories of transformation, purification of the soul, the balance of elements, the philosophical ideals behind gold-making. Elias understood that to grasp the stone's true power, he must go beyond viewing it as just a tool for wealth or immortality. It was, in its purest form, the embodiment of magical harmony.
Simultaneously, he resumed his work on the Book of Gods. Its archaic script—part divine, part symbolic—was like an intricate maze that teased revelation just beyond comprehension. But day by day, with sharpened knowledge and patient effort, Elias translated more.
Fifty-two percent. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Some of the passages revealed cryptic philosophy, while others hinted at ancient rituals lost to modern magic. It spoke of the "Divine Flame," of "Sacred Geometry," and of something referred to only as the "Crown of Realms." Elias recorded everything meticulously, deciphering not just the words but the intent behind them.
The days bled into nights, and soon, the air inside the estate was tinged with the warm fragrance of spices and fir.
Christmas had come.
The dining hall was lit with floating candles and garlands of evergreen. A massive enchanted tree stood in the corner, its silver and green ornaments shimmering with soft pulses of magic. Snow fell gently outside, adding to the charm of the holiday. The Blackthorn elves bustled around preparing food that spanned across continents—from roasted pheasant with rosemary glaze to French-inspired pastries with infused berry compotes.
Elias sat at the table with his parents, dressed in a deep emerald robe trimmed in silver. His mother, elegant and graceful, smiled across the table while serving him slices of roasted meat. His father, ever composed, engaged in a quiet conversation about the Ministry's latest policies abroad.
Halfway through dinner, Elias's mother gave him a curious look.
"You've been buried in books again," she said lightly. "All day. Even during break."
Elias gave a brief nod, wiping his fingers with a linen napkin. "There's progress to be made. And it won't happen on its own."
Lucian chuckled. "Spoken like a true Blackthorn."
After dinner, Elias moved to the drawing room where a large pile of neatly wrapped gifts had been arranged beside the fire. The elves had already organized them according to the sender.
He unwrapped them one by one.
From Draco: a beautifully crafted, silver-trimmed wand holster enchanted for quick-draw casting.
From Daphne: an alchemy-bound notebook made of dragonhide parchment, with protective runes etched subtly along the corners. The front cover had a simple emblem of their House crests interlocked.
From a few of his Slytherin classmates: various things—spellbooks, chocolate frogs, one rare enchanted quill.
Even a few Hogwarts professors had sent gifts. Professor Snape had sent a bottle of rare crystalized potion essence—said to increase focus during spellcasting. Professor McGonagall had sent an intricate runestone puzzle, challenging enough to even make Elias raise an eyebrow. Professor Filius Flitwick send a book about some duel and modifies spells by him . Elias was pleased with this book as it can help mc , Unexpectedly Professor Dumbledore also has sent a gift which is a phoenix tear, which is very rare in world. Although Elias family have but it is still in collection.
Elias was pleased with gifts .
He smiled faintly. As expected, everyone he had sent gifts to had remembered to return the gesture. Courtesy and image, after all, meant everything in their world.
When the last of the wrapping was cleared away, Elias rose and stood by the tall window. The sky outside was dusted with stars, and the moonlight reflected off the snow like white fire.
This moment—quiet, magical, and entirely his—was a rare one.
Tomorrow, the holiday would begin to wind down. And soon after, the train back to Hogwarts would await.
But for now, Elias allowed himself the luxury of warmth, good food, and the knowledge that he had taken yet another step closer to mastering the power he sought.