The Hogwarts Express carried Edmund into his seventh year under a sky of pale September grey. The compartment was the same as always, his friends settled into their familiar places, but everything felt different. It was their final year. The last time they would ride this train together, the last time they would walk through the castle corridors as students, the last time they would be young.
Edmund sat by the window, watching the countryside slide past. His journal was in his bag, the Register notes tucked away, the idea of the cube still forming in his mind. He had spent the summer thinking, reading, writing. He had not built anything. He had not tried. He had simply let the idea grow, let it take shape, let it become something he could almost see.
But there was something else. Something he had not been paying attention to. The system had been quiet for months, tracking his progress silently, waiting. He had been so focused on the Register, on the failure, on the long road back, that he had not noticed the numbers climbing. He had attended his classes, done his work, answered the questions his professors asked. He had not been trying to be exceptional. He had just been trying to keep up, to be a student, to let himself be ordinary.
And somehow, in the process, he had achieved what he had been working toward since first year.
He summoned the interface now, for the first time in weeks, and stared at the screen.
---
**System Notification: Seventh Year – Initialization**
*N.E.W.T. Level Subjects – Progress Summary*
- Charms: 100%
- Transfiguration: 100%
- Potions: 100%
- Defence Against the Dark Arts: 100%
- Herbology: 100%
- Ancient Runes: 100%
- Care of Magical Creatures: 100%
- Arithmancy: 100%
- Magical Theory: 100%
- History of Magic: 100%
- Alchemy: 100%
- Healing Magic: 100%
- Wardcraft: 100%
- Divination: 100%
- Muggle Studies: 100%
*Note: Theoretical mastery achieved in all fifteen N.E.W.T.-level subjects. Practical proficiency is advanced but requires continued practice. You are ready for the examinations at the end of this year.*
---
Edmund stared at the screen. One hundred percent. In every subject. He had not been paying attention. He had been so consumed by the Register, by the failure, by the long months of hiding, that he had not noticed the system quietly tracking his progress, the numbers climbing, the bars filling.
He had been studying. Of course he had been studying. He had attended his classes, done his work, answered the questions his professors asked. He had not been trying to be exceptional. He had just been trying to keep up, to be a student, to let himself be ordinary.
And somehow, in the process, he had achieved what he had been working toward since first year.
The system pulsed again, a soft chime that he had not heard in months. The interface shifted, new text appearing.
---
**System Notification: Major Milestone Achieved**
*Congratulations, Edmund Prince. You have achieved theoretical mastery in all fifteen N.E.W.T.-level subjects. This is the first major milestone on your path. The foundation you have built over seven years is now complete.*
*Reward: Choice of One Magical Creature Language*
*You have earned the right to understand one of the languages of the magical beings who share this world. This is a rare gift, granted only to those who have demonstrated exceptional dedication to understanding magic in all its forms.*
*Choose:*
*1. Mermish – The language of merpeople and aquatic beings. Useful for those who seek to understand the depths of the lakes and seas where ancient magic flows.*
*2. Gobbledegook – The language of goblins. Essential for those who would negotiate with the keepers of ancient crafts and treasures.*
*3. Troll – The language of trolls. Crude but powerful, spoken by creatures of immense strength who have guarded magical places for millennia.*
*4. Parseltongue – The language of serpents. A rare and ancient tongue, spoken by those who can commune with the oldest creatures of the magical world.*
---
Edmund stared at the four options, his mind racing. A language. The system was offering him a language, a way to speak to creatures that most wizards could never understand. This was not a spell or a potion. This was something deeper, something that would become part of him.
He leaned back in his seat, looking out the window at the green countryside, and let himself consider each option carefully.
**Mermish.** The language of the merpeople. He thought about the Black Lake, about the depths he had never explored, about the creatures that lived beneath the surface. He had heard stories of merpeople guarding ancient secrets, of treasures hidden in underwater caves, of magic that had been preserved in the cold dark for centuries. If he was going to build a school, if he was going to create a sanctuary for magical children, understanding the beings that lived in the waters surrounding Britain would be invaluable. The Blackwood Valley had a loch. Who knew what lived in its depths? The merpeople of the Black Lake had been there since before Hogwarts was built, had witnessed the Founders walk the grounds, had seen the castle rise from the stones. They knew things that no book could teach. But mermish was a language of the deep, of places he might never go, of secrets that might never need to be spoken. It was a language of distance, of separation, of a world that existed apart from his own.
**Gobbledegook.** The language of the goblins. He had dealt with goblins before, at Gringotts, and he knew they were a proud and ancient race. They controlled the wealth of the wizarding world, and they remembered slights for centuries. Understanding their language would give him an edge in negotiations, access to knowledge that was kept from wizards. The Prince vaults were held by goblins. The restoration of the manor, the funding for his school, the alliances he would need to build—all of it would require dealing with goblins. The goblins were master metalworkers, creators of weapons and armor that had been lost to wizardkind. They knew the secrets of enchanted metal, of blades that never dulled, of armor that could turn aside any curse. If he could speak to them in their own tongue, truly speak, doors might open that had been closed for centuries. But goblinedegook was a language of commerce, of contracts, of debts and repayments. It was practical, useful, but it was not the language of magic itself. It was a tool for getting what he wanted, not for understanding what he needed.
**Troll.** The language of trolls. It was the least tempting option. Trolls were powerful, yes, and they had guarded magical places for millennia. The mountain trolls of the Highlands had been there since before the Romans came, had watched the old magic fade and the new magic rise. They knew the passes and the caves, the hidden valleys where magic still slept. The Blackwood Valley might have troll guardians, creatures that had been there for a thousand years, that knew the stones and the loch and the old ways. But the language was crude, limited, a language of grunts and gestures, of simple concepts and simpler needs. He could imagine situations where understanding troll speech would be useful—the Forbidden Forest, perhaps, or the mountains where trolls still lived in clans—but it was not a language that would open doors to deeper understanding. It was a tool for survival, not for wisdom.
**Parseltongue.** The language of serpents. He had read about Parseltongue in his books, knew it as the language of Salazar Slytherin, of dark wizards, of the one who would come after. It was rare, feared, misunderstood. But it was also the language of the oldest creatures in the magical world. Snakes had been here before wizards, before humans, before any of them. They had seen the magic of the earth, the magic of the stones, the magic that had been waiting for a thousand years. They were creatures of the ground, of the hidden places, of the spaces between stones where the oldest magic still slept.
He thought about the Blackwood Valley. The standing stones, the ancient circle, the magic that had been there since before anyone remembered. What if the snakes that lived among those stones knew something that no wizard had ever learned? What if the language of serpents was not just a tool for commanding, but a way of listening to the oldest voices in the world?
He thought about Hogwarts. The castle had been built on a site of ancient magic, had been raised by the Founders on ground that had been sacred for centuries. What serpents lived beneath these stones? What had they seen? What did they know? Salazar Slytherin had placed a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were other snakes in the castle, smaller snakes that lived in the walls and the foundations, that had been there since before the Founders, that had witnessed the building of the school and the slow accumulation of a thousand years of magic.
And there was something else. Something that had been in the back of his mind since first year, since he had read about the Chamber of Secrets, since he had understood that Hogwarts held secrets that no one had touched for centuries. He had never had a way in. He had never even tried. Parseltongue was the key. The Chamber had been sealed for a thousand years, waiting for an heir of Slytherin to open it. He was not an heir of Slytherin. But he did not need to be. He only needed to speak the language.
The system was not offering him power. It was offering him access. To places no wizard had been for centuries, to knowledge that had been lost, to the oldest voices in the world.
He looked at his friends. Cassius was arguing with Arthur about the Quidditch season ahead. Horace was reading a potions journal, his lips moving silently as he memorized something. Astrid was staring out the window, her rune stones in her hands, her face calm. They did not know. They could not see.
He looked back at the screen. Four options. Four languages. Four doors that would open to him.
He thought about the Register. About the children he was trying to find. About the school he was trying to build. What language would serve that purpose? What language would help him understand the magic that had been waiting for a thousand years?
Mermish would help him understand the depths. Gobbledegook would help him negotiate. Troll would help him survive. But Parseltongue—Parseltongue would help him listen. To the oldest voices, to the hidden places, to the magic that had been sleeping beneath the earth since before anyone remembered. It would open doors that had been closed for a thousand years. It would let him speak to creatures that had seen the Founders build this castle, that had witnessed the creation of the Quill and the Book, that knew the secrets of the stones.
He closed his eyes and made his choice.
---
**System Notification: Language Unlocked**
*Parseltongue – The language of serpents.*
*You may now understand and speak to serpents. This gift is rare, ancient, and carries with it the weight of those who have wielded it before. Use it wisely.*
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