LORDLY DUTIES

The weeks that followed my move into Castle Starborn settled into a rhythm of profound focus and relentless self-improvement. The castle itself proved to be an endless source of fascination and a formidable training ground. My days were a demanding blend of delving into the vast, ancient library, honing my combat skills in the magically responsive dueling chambers, and experimenting with advanced runic schemes and alchemical principles in the meticulously maintained laboratories. The house-elves, with Pip at their helm, managed the castle with quiet efficiency, their presence a constant, comforting background hum of activity that allowed me to dedicate myself fully to my studies.

The deeper I delved into the Starborn library, the more I understood the true breadth of my ancestors' knowledge. Volumes on Ancient Draconic Magic filled entire sections, their texts far more intricate and expansive than anything Slytherin's journal had hinted at. I found detailed treatises on A'kren (essence) manipulation, intricate diagrams for Untethered Will channeling, and comprehensive studies on magical resonance sensing that made my own abilities feel rudimentary in comparison. There were forbidden texts on mind arts – not just Legilimency and Occlumency, but deeply unsettling volumes on subtle cognitive manipulation and memory restructuring, knowledge that both fascinated and repelled me. I recognized the dangerous power of such techniques, tools that could be used for profound good or unimaginable evil. My exploration into these dark arts was always cautious, always analytical, driven by the grim necessity of understanding Grindelwald's methods to better counter them. The locket from Yaxley, still secured in its charmed pouch, was a chilling reminder of how these unseen hand tactics were already being deployed.

My physical training was equally rigorous. The castle's dueling chambers were responsive to my will, generating increasingly complex scenarios. I practiced against simulated opponents that mimicked various magical styles, from highly aggressive dark wizards to elusive, defensive practitioners. I refined my silent casting, my wandless magic, and my precision targeting, pushing my limits, integrating the Draconic principles of Fen (strike) and Nahl (flow) into every movement, every spell. I learned to anticipate, to react instinctively, to become a seamless extension of my magic. The castle's powerful wards contained every stray spell, every accidental burst of uncontrolled energy, allowing me to push myself to the very edge of exhaustion without fear of damaging my ancestral home.

The outside world, however, continued its inexorable descent into chaos. The Daily Prophet, delivered daily by one of the castle's swift, magnificent owls, painted a grim picture. Grindelwald's "consolidation" in Switzerland was brutal, turning the once-neutral nation into a strategic stronghold. Reports spoke of mass arrests, forced re-education camps, and the chilling effectiveness of his "loyalty oaths" backed by powerful, unbreakable curses. The International Confederation of Wizards (ICW) was in open disarray, paralyzed by internal divisions and the sheer speed of Grindelwald's advances. Britain remained an island of precarious calm, but the fear was palpable even here, expressed in hushed conversations and the increasing numbers of magical refugees arriving on its shores. My magical resonance sensing extended beyond the castle, picking up on the general ambient magical aura of the nation: a low thrum of fear, anxiety, and a growing sense of helplessness. The urgency of my self-imposed training weighed heavily on me.

It was one such morning, a few weeks into July, the air warm and still even within my cool, high-ceilinged study. I was engrossed in the voluminous ledgers of Starborn family affairs, fulfilling the preliminary lordly duties that the Gringotts goblins had outlined for me. The weight of financial oversight, property management, and ancient magical contracts was considerable, a stark contrast to my academic pursuits. I was meticulously reviewing ancient investment portfolios, realizing the sheer scale of the Starborn wealth and its entanglement with various magical and even Muggle enterprises across the globe. It was a dizzying array of responsibilities, forcing me to shift gears from magical theory to mundane economics, yet I understood its necessity. A Lord, especially one dedicated to battling a global threat, needed control over his resources.

Suddenly, a series of sharp, insistent raps echoed from the specially charmed owl door embedded in the wall of my study. My head snapped up. It wasn't one of the castle's owls, nor Hedwig. This was a Ministry owl. Its magical signature, though polite, carried the unmistakable formality of official communication. A sense of anticipation, sharp and sudden, pierced through my concentration. This was it.

The owl, a sleek, well-fed barn owl, pushed open the small, magically reinforced door and flew in, landing gracefully on the gilded perch by the window. It extended a leg, bearing a thick, cream-colored envelope. My eyes immediately fell on the twin seals impressed upon the wax: the familiar, elegant Ministry of Magic crest, intertwined with the more austere, venerable Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry emblem.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a strange mix of apprehension and eager anticipation. It could only be one thing: my N.E.W.T. results. And, given the Ministry seal, something more. I untied the envelope, my fingers surprisingly steady. The owl hooted softly, awaiting a treat, which I quickly provided from a hidden compartment in my desk before it took off, disappearing back through the owl door.

I turned the envelope over, feeling the thick, high-quality parchment. I tore open the seal, revealing two distinct documents within. The first was a formal, multi-page parchment, emblazoned with Ministry seals and intricate magical script. The second was a crisper, more concise letter, carrying the distinct magical signature of Hogwarts.

I opened the Ministry parchment first. It was not merely a results sheet; it was a formal declaration, a statement of my position within the magical community. My eyes scanned the flowing script, my mind processing the words with a detached, almost clinical efficiency, even as a surge of pride warmed my chest.

The first section confirmed my continuation of the Starborn Lordship. It was a detailed, legalistic confirmation, stating that, as per ancient Magical Law and the Starborn lineage's hereditary rights, my assumption of the Lordship following my coming of age was recognized and officially sanctioned by the Ministry. It spoke of the "venerable traditions" and the "significant contributions" of the House of Starborn to British magical society. It felt incredibly formal, distant from the personal weight of Professor Beery's revelation, yet undeniably official. This was the Ministry formally acknowledging my new status, binding me to their system, their expectations.

Then came the part I had truly been waiting for: the N.E.W.T. results. I held my breath, though deep down, a quiet confidence hummed within me. I had promised Dumbledore and Slughorn flawless performances, and I had left those examination halls certain of my success.

My eyes quickly found the list of subjects, each followed by a single, bold grade.

Transfiguration: Outstanding

Potions: Outstanding

Charms: Outstanding

Defence Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding

Ancient Runes: Outstanding

Arithmancy: Outstanding

A quiet exhale escaped my lips. Six Outstandings. A perfect sweep. Not a single Exceeds Expectations, not a single Acceptable. Flawless. My promise to Dumbledore and Slughorn, fulfilled. The exhilaration was profound, a deep, silent satisfaction that settled into my core. It wasn't just about the grades; it was about the confirmation of my capabilities, the validation of my relentless self-training, the recognition of my Untethered Will and its mastery. My magical resonance sensing within the parchment confirmed the authentic magical signatures of the examiners, each one imbued with a subtle, almost reverent awe. It wasn't just a perfect score; it was a performance that had clearly left a lasting impression.

The parchment then transitioned to the 'other part' – the explicit duties of a Wizengamot Lord. It was an official invitation to the Wizengamot Budget Session, scheduled for September 1st, 1938. This was my first official foray into the political heart of the British magical world. The date loomed large, a stark reminder that my personal preparation was rapidly converging with my public responsibilities. The Wizengamot, the highest magical court and legislative body in Britain, was now a tangible part of my life. It meant exposure, public scrutiny, and involvement in the very bureaucratic machinery that I often found frustratingly slow and ineffective. But it was also a platform, a means to influence, however subtly, the direction of the Ministry, to perhaps push for more decisive action against Grindelwald. The weight of that invitation settled in my hand, heavy with significance.

After absorbing the Ministry document, I turned to the second, smaller letter from Hogwarts. It was indeed a congratulations letter, penned in a familiar, elegant script that I immediately recognized as Professor Dumbledore's.

It read:

My Dear Marcus,

It is with immense pleasure, though perhaps little surprise, that I extend my sincerest congratulations on your truly extraordinary N.E.W.T. results. Your performance across all subjects, particularly in Transfiguration, was nothing short of impeccable. Such a sweep of 'Outstandings' is a testament not only to your prodigious talent but also to a dedication and understanding of magic that far transcends the ordinary.

I believe you recall our earlier discussion regarding a certain apprenticeship. Consider the terms met, Marcus. I look forward to beginning our work together once the new academic year commences. Be prepared for challenges that will stretch your understanding of magic, the world, and indeed, yourself, in ways you cannot yet imagine. I have no doubt you will rise to them.

Professor Slughorn, I understand, shares my enthusiasm and has likewise expressed his utmost delight at your prospective apprenticeship with him. It would appear you have indeed cornered the market on master tutors.

On a separate, though not unrelated, note, I trust you are settling well into Castle Starborn. It is a place of immense power and profound secrets, a fitting legacy for one of your unique capabilities. I daresay it will prove an invaluable resource in the times to come. I sense the awakening of something ancient there, a new vibrancy.

The world outside continues its tumultuous dance, Marcus. The challenges ahead are formidable, and the need for clarity of purpose and unwavering resolve grows ever more pressing. I believe your place in the unfolding tapestry will be a significant one.

I wish you a productive and insightful summer. Until we meet again, in the pursuit of knowledge and the defense of what is right.

Yours most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Deputy Headmaster, Head of Gryffindor

I re-read Dumbledore's letter twice, a rare smile gracing my lips. His words were warm, yet held that familiar, subtle layer of deeper meaning. He knew. Not everything, perhaps, but enough. He acknowledged my "unique capabilities" and the "awakening" of Castle Starborn. He understood the confluence of academic pursuit and the grim realities of the war. He saw me not just as a student, but as a key player in the "unfolding tapestry." It was a silent validation of my unseen efforts, a quiet confirmation that I was indeed on the right path. His acceptance of my apprenticeship was absolute, paving the way for the profound learning I craved. And Professor Slughorn, bless his effusive heart, was equally pleased.

The weight of the parchment settled in my hand, no longer a burden, but a tangible symbol of achievement and impending responsibility. My N.E.W.T.s were complete, stellar, a perfect record. My apprenticeships were secured. My Lordship was officially recognized. And the Wizengamot awaited.

The summer ahead would not be one of idle relaxation. It would be a relentless period of preparation. I would continue to delve into the Starborn library's vast knowledge, particularly focusing on mind arts and counter-propaganda charms, perfecting my unseen hand techniques. I would push my physical and magical combat skills to their absolute limits within the castle's training grounds. I would study the labyrinthine workings of Ministry law and Wizengamot protocols, understanding the bureaucratic battleground that lay ahead. And all the while, I would observe the spreading darkness, listening to the subtle shifts in the magical fabric of the world, preparing for the day when my training, my resources, and my unique abilities would be truly unleashed.

I set the letters carefully on my desk, my gaze drifting to the panoramic view outside my study window. The English Channel stretched out, vast and blue, a temporary barrier against the storm raging on the continent. But I knew that barrier was porous, and the storm was approaching. The results in my hand were not just an end to one phase of my life; they were the beginning of the next, a launchpad into a world demanding unwavering strength and silent, strategic action. The satisfaction of my perfect scores was profound, but it was overshadowed by the immense, complex challenge that lay ahead. I would be ready. I had to be.

The quiet hum of Castle Starborn, ever-present, felt like a silent ally, a formidable bastion of power ready to stand against the encroaching darkness. I spent the remainder of the day in my study, no longer burdened by ledgers, but meticulously planning my next phase of training, preparing for the Wizengamot session, and refining my understanding of the insidious enemy. When night finally fell, and the castle settled into its ancient rhythms, I retired to my chambers, my mind buzzing with plans, my body weary but invigorated. Sleep, when it came, was the deep, purposeful rest of a warrior preparing for the unseen battles to come.