Rowan stood in front of the blank wall on the seventh floor, the corridor empty and quiet around him.

  He'd spent the entire day in classes thinking about the problem. His magical core was limited, wouldn't reach full strength for years. Against opponents like Hecat, trained adults with decades of experience and raw power, he would always be at a disadvantage unless there was a way to change that.

  Most wizards accepted their magical capacity as fixed, something that grew naturally until adulthood and then stabilized. But Rowan had died and been reborn into a world with magic. He'd already experienced one impossible thing.

  He paced three times in front of the wall, concentrating carefully on what he needed.

  I need to grow stronger. More powerful. Find ways to enhance magical capacity beyond normal development.

  The door appeared.

  The Room had configured itself as a ritual workspace. A large cleared floor space dominated the center, marked with faint silver lines where ritual circles could be drawn. Against one wall stood a preparation table. Solid oak, its surface inscribed with protective runes. Shelves beside it held empty glass containers in various sizes, scales for precise measurement, and mortar and pestle sets in different materials. Seven candles floated in a perfect circle around the room's perimeter, their flames burning steady and bright without wax melting.

  On the preparation table sat a single manual.

  Rowan approached it carefully. The leather binding was old but well-maintained, its title embossed in silver: Ritualistic Magic: Foundations and Theory.

  He opened it and began reading.

  Rituals, the manual explained, were structured magical workings fundamentally different from standard spellcasting. Where spells drew solely on a wizard's internal magical core, rituals channeled external power sources. They used carefully selected components, ingredients with inherent magical properties, combined with precise incantations, specific timing, and complex symbolic arrangements.

  Most modern wizards dismissed ritual magic. Too complex, too unpredictable, too dangerous. Wand magic was faster, more reliable, better suited to the needs of contemporary magical society.

  But for certain purposes, permanent magical enhancement, for instance, rituals offered possibilities that standard spellwork couldn't match.

  Rowan sat at the preparation table and read for hours, his journal filling with notes. The manual described dozens of rituals, ranging from simple protective wards to elaborate workings that could fundamentally alter a wizard's capabilities.

  One entry made him pause:

  The Ritual of Lunar Clarity

  Purpose: Permanent enhancement of magical capacity and cognitive processing

  Classification: Advanced (Tier III)

  Requirements: - Moonstone (minimum 2 ounces, high clarity grade) - Powdered silver (1 ounce, alchemical purity) - Spring water collected during full moon - Properly inscribed ritual circle (silver ink) - New moon timing (optimal) or waning crescent (acceptable)

  Procedure: [detailed instructions followed]

  Warning: This ritual permanently restructures the caster's magical pathways. Incomplete execution may result in irreversible damage to magical core, loss of spellcasting ability, or death. Recommended only for practitioners with thorough understanding of magical theory and proven discipline in mental magic.

  Rowan read the instructions three times, copying them into his journal with meticulous precision. Every step, every warning, every timing requirement.

  This could work. The ritual wasn't impossibly complex. Difficult, yes, requiring careful preparation and exact execution, but achievable. And the result was exactly what he needed.

  A permanent increase in magical capacity. An expansion of his fundamental power.

  The components presented challenges, though. Powdered silver at alchemical purity would be expensive but obtainable. Any quality apothecary would stock it. He'd need perhaps three or four Galleons for the required ounce.

  Spring water collected under a full moon meant waiting for the right lunar phase and sneaking out to the lake. Difficult but manageable with proper planning.

  Moonstone was the real obstacle.

  The ritual manual included a section on ingredient sourcing. Rowan flipped to it and read about moonstone.

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  Moonstone (Adularia feldspar with schiller effect): Forms in mountainous regions with high concentrations of lunar magical resonance.

  WARNING: Ritual-grade moonstone is extraordinarily rare. Natural formation requires specific geological conditions, precise lunar alignment, and centuries of magical accumulation. Most deposits are small, heavily guarded by territorial creatures, or inaccessible due to terrain.

  Commercial sources: Rarely available even from specialized dealers. When specimens do reach market (Mulpepper's Apothecary, Diagon Alley; private collectors), cost for ritual-grade clarity: 100+ Galleons per ounce—comparable in rarity and price to basilisk venom or phoenix tears. Most dealers have never stocked ritual-grade moonstone and maintain years-long waiting lists for interested buyers.

  Natural collection: Primary deposits in Scottish highlands. Terrain presents extreme hazards—thornbacks, mountain trolls, and treacherous peaks. Smaller deposits occasionally form in lowland areas but rarely achieve ritual-grade quality.

  Rowan stared at the text, his stomach sinking.

  One hundred Galleons per ounce, minimum. He needed two ounces. That was two hundred Galleons he couldn't spare, and he'd still need to buy the powdered silver, cover his school expenses for the year, fund alchemy experiments, and maintain emergency reserves.

  More importantly, even if he spent everything he had, finding a dealer who actually had ritual-grade moonstone in stock would be nearly impossible. The text made clear that true ritual-grade specimens almost never reached the open market. Most dealers maintained waiting lists years long.

  He couldn't wait years. He needed to grow stronger now, not eventually.

  He'd need to find it himself. The mountains, the entry said, meant thornbacks and mountain trolls. Creatures far more dangerous than anything he was ready to face. But maybe there were deposits closer.

  Rowan spent another hour studying the manual's sections on moonstone formation, magical resonance patterns, and optimal collection locations. Then he closed it. The Room would preserve it for his next visit. And made his way back to Ravenclaw Tower.

  The next few days passed in their usual rhythm. Classes, homework, dueling club on Tuesday where Hecat matched him against two opponents simultaneously to provide actual challenge. Rowan managed to win, but it took everything he had.

  Saturday morning arrived clear and cool. Rowan told Lawrence and Hector he needed to work on an essay in the library. Neither questioned it. He often spent Saturdays studying alone.

  Instead, he made his way down to the grounds, his wand secured in its holster, his mind running through everything he'd researched about forest dangers.

  No acromantulas yet. Hagrid wouldn't release Aragog for decades. Werewolves, only dangerous during full moons, and the moon was currently waning crescent. Centaurs, territorial but not inherently hostile if you respected boundaries. Other creatures. Bowtruckles, nifflers, various fairy folk. More annoying than dangerous.

  The forest was risky, but the risks were manageable.

  Rowan crossed the grounds and stepped into the treeline. The temperature dropped immediately, and light dimmed under the heavy canopy. He moved carefully, staying alert, checking for signs of dangerous creatures.

  He searched for clearings first. Places where moonlight could reach the ground directly, where lunar magic might concentrate enough to form moonstone deposits. The manual had mentioned that while mountains were primary formation sites, occasionally lowland clearings with the right conditions could produce smaller deposits.

  The first three clearings yielded nothing. Just grass, fallen logs, normal rocks with no magical resonance.

  Rowan ventured deeper, following a stream upstream. Water sources sometimes concentrated magical energy. The fourth clearing was larger, with a ring of ancient stones that looked almost deliberately placed. He circled it systematically, checking rocks, examining the ground, feeling for magical resonance.

  Still nothing.

  He was about to continue when he noticed something odd. The trees on the far side of the clearing grew in an unnaturally straight line, as though marking a boundary.

  Curious, Rowan pushed through the undergrowth.

  And stopped.

  A structure stood before him. Ancient, half-buried, made from dark stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The entrance was a gaping archway, and beyond it descended stone steps leading down into darkness.

  The air around the structure felt wrong. Cold. Oppressive. Like approaching a tomb.

  Rowan moved closer cautiously, every instinct screaming warnings. The stone was carved with symbols he didn't recognize. Similar to runes but older, more primitive. And the magic here was dark. Very dark. Layers of it, emanating from below like a physical presence.

  This was wizard-made. Built for purposes he didn't want to imagine.

  The archway led down into darkness. Stone steps descending into earth. Complex, disturbing magic radiated from within.

  Rowan backed away slowly. Whatever this place was, he wasn't ready to explore it. Not without far more knowledge, more preparation, possibly backup.

  This was the kind of place where students who ventured alone never came back.

  He returned to the clearing quickly, his heart still pounding.

  For the next two hours, Rowan continued his search, but the encounter with the dark structure had shaken him. He found two more clearings, both empty of moonstone. By late afternoon, he'd explored every accessible area within reasonable distance of the castle.

  No moonstone deposits anywhere. The compendium had been right. Lowland formations were rare.

  He'd have to venture into the mountains, face the thornbacks and trolls, or find another way entirely.

  Rowan was heading back toward the forest edge when he heard hoofbeats.

  He froze, pressing himself against a large oak tree.

  Through the undergrowth, he could see them. Three centaurs moving through the forest with easy grace. They spoke in low voices, some flowing, musical language he didn't recognize.

  One gestured sharply toward the distant mountains. Another shook his head, his body language suggesting disagreement. The third, younger, with a sleek dark coat, made a comment that drew laughter from the others.

  Rowan waited, barely breathing, until they passed. Then he moved carefully in the opposite direction.

  Centaurs. Intelligent beings, territorial about their forest, proud and wary of wizards. Best avoided.

  He was nearly to the forest edge when hoofbeats returned. Closer this time, and faster.

  Rowan turned to find the young centaur standing before him, dark coat gleaming in the dappled light.

  "A wizard," the centaur said, his English heavily accented. "A child wizard, trespassing in our forest."