Hogwarts' Golden Glory

"Hold on!" Xing Tong shouted, cracks appearing in the crystal on her forehead. "Ten seconds left!"

Kane felt a barrier within his body shatter.

It's not cracking, it's dissolving.

The original magical container disappeared, replaced by... a direct connection to the entire magical world.

He no longer draws magic from himself, but becomes a node in the flow of magic.

The pillar of moonlight suddenly disappeared.

Kane stumbled and almost fell, but was caught by Ferdinand in time.

"It's done," Xing Tong said weakly, the crystal on her forehead shattering completely, the fragments turning into stardust and scattering. "Feel it."

Kane raised his hand, not even needing a wand, with a mere thought—

A tiny sphere made entirely of starlight condenses in the palm of your hand, with a galaxy rotating inside.

"This is..."

"Starlight magic." Bane's tone was complex, a mixture of envy and awe. "It's a power closest to the origin of magic, usable only by those who have been infused with it. But remember—it doesn't consume your magic power, but your connection with the stars. Overuse will weaken or even break that connection."

Kane clenched his fist, and the starlight dissipated.

He looked at his hands, his grey-blue eyes reflecting the lingering starlight.

"Thank you," he said to all the centaurs.

This gift was more precious than he had expected.

......

In the werewolf camp, the black mist that barely maintained its human form suddenly trembled violently.

Voldemort's remnant soul is gradually stabilizing!

"What is this...?"

The black mist condensed into a semi-transparent hand, reaching towards Hogwarts.

His fingers trembled in the air, as if touching a scalding hot iron.

Pure.

It's so pure.

The texture of that magic was like the first starlight, untouched by any pollution, even... carrying a kind of sacredness that the dark instinct abhorred.

"Dumbledore..." Voldemort's hoarse voice echoed in the lair, "You've cultivated another new weapon..."

Memories flooded back—not his own, but fragments plundered from the small animals he controlled and the wizards he passed by: a Hogwarts student who solved the Chamber of Secrets crisis, Slytherin's, the Malfoys'...

"Lucius's son?" The black mist surged, revealing crimson eyes. "It must be Kane! The Malfoy family actually has this...light talent."

The direction is definitely right.

Hogwarts.

Student's age.

A powerful source of new life magic.

Voldemort's mind raced.

If he really is a Malfoy, this could actually be an opportunity. A pure-blood Slytherin, and the family has leverage over him...

But the nature of that magic was too strange.

It's almost like a weapon specifically designed to counter darkness.

"I need...confirmation." He gasped, summoning his remaining strength.

Outside the camp, a controlled owl spread its wings and flew northwest.

It wore a tiny bone plate around its neck—etched with detection magic that could sense specific types of magical fluctuations within a kilometer radius.

Meanwhile, Voldemort began to adjust his shattered plans.

The original plan to sneak into Hogwarts through Quirrell's back of the head was too risky—Dumbledore would definitely be on high alert. Perhaps... we should try a different approach.

If that "starlight magic source" truly belongs to a Malfoy child, perhaps it's possible to try to contact, corrupt, and control it...

"But first," the black mist contracted, its voice turning icy, "we must let him know... who the true master is."

The owl disappeared into the night sky.

Voldemort's remnant soul fell into hibernation once more.

A week later.

Kane stood by the Black Lake, holding a small silver knife he had "borrowed" from the kitchen.

It wasn't casting a spell; it was simply infusing magic into the blade.

The blade gleamed with a silvery-blue light—not the cold white of the Illumination Charm, nor the golden-red of Fiendfire, but a softer, almost living aura. At the edge of the aura, tiny specks of stardust swirled slowly.

"The materialization characteristics of Starlight Magic," he muttered as he wrote, "It consumes about 70% of the mana of a standard spell, but its duration..."

Before the words were finished, a gentle voice sounded from behind:

"Very beautiful magic control, Kane."

Kane didn't turn around, nor did he put away the knife. He knew who it was—that unique scent, a mixture of lemon sorbet and ancient parchment, only one person in the entire Hogwarts possessed it.

"Principal," he said calmly, continuing to observe the changes in the aura on the blade, "I'm testing some theories."

Dumbledore walked to his side, the hem of his silver robes fluttering gently in the lake breeze. The old headmaster didn't look at the knife, but at Kane's eyes—or rather, at the starlight reflected in Kane's eyes.

"May I see it?" Dumbledore held out his hand.

Kane hesitated for a moment before handing over the knife.

The moment Dumbledore's fingers touched the hilt of the sword, his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles widened slightly. It wasn't surprise, but a deep, complex expression, a mixture of confirmation and worry.

"Interesting," the old headmaster said softly. "It's not an amplification, not a mutation, it's... a transformation. The nature of your magic has undergone a fundamental change."

He didn't use a wand; he simply touched the blade with his finger. The silvery-blue aura automatically avoided his finger, curling up to the side of the blade as if it were alive.

"There's a rejection reaction," Kane pointed out. "There's an instinctive aversion to magic outside the Starfall system. This could be a weakness in actual combat—if the opponent's magic is powerful enough, they might 'push away' my spells."

"That could be an advantage," Dumbledore said, handing the dagger back to him. "Some curses that rely on magical contact might not be able to attach to you at all."

A brief silence fell between the two. Ripples spread across the lake's surface, and one of the giant squid's tentacles lazily peeked out of the water before retracting back in.

"Kane," Dumbledore finally spoke, his voice soft, "last Thursday at midnight, a massive burst of astral magic occurred deep within the Forbidden Forest. Ferrenze told me it was a 'Centaurus seasonal ritual,' but at the same time, Madam Pomfrey reported that all the petrified victims in the Medical Wing experienced a brief increase in vital signs."

He looked at Kane:

"Could you explain that?"

Kane sheathed his dagger, his grey-blue eyes calm and unwavering: "The centaurs were indeed performing a ritual. As for the situation at the medical wing... perhaps it's just a coincidence. Astrological magic can sometimes create a widespread resonance of life."

"A perfectly reasonable explanation," Dumbledore smiled. "If I hadn't seen you emerge from the Forbidden Forest that afternoon, and if the magical energy emanating from you wasn't three times stronger than it was in the morning."

The air freezes.

Kane's fingers unconsciously rubbed the handle of his wand—a subtle movement that did not escape Dumbledore's notice.

"How about we do a test?" the old headmaster suddenly suggested, his tone as relaxed as if he were suggesting a cup of tea. "A pure contest of magic, without any spell techniques. I want to see... just how deep your current vessel truly is."