Chapter Fourteen – Symbols and Secrets

The Sunday sky was grey but warm, the sort of weather that hinted at spring without committing to it. Jonathan Grace stepped out of his house beside Harry Potter, a small wad of cash in his pocket—courtesy of his mum.

"You boys be back before supper!" Annabeth Grace had called from the door. "And no buying too many sweets!"

"We won't!" Jonathan replied, though he had every intention of grabbing a chocolate frog or two if the opportunity arose.

Today wasn't just about sweets though. There was a purpose—vague, half-formed, and tingling with curiosity. Jonathan had mentioned the peculiar old bookshop a few streets off the main road, nestled between a florist and a dusty antique store. It had no sign, no open hours, just a creaky bell over the door and a smell of parchment and forgotten stories.

They found it easily enough. The crooked letters etched on the window simply read: Tattershaw's Books & Curiosities.

The door creaked ominously as they stepped in, the air instantly cooler, tinged with the scent of candle wax and old wood. Stacks of books leaned at odd angles, almost like they were sleeping or eavesdropping.

"What are we even looking for?" Harry whispered.

Jonathan didn't answer right away. He drifted through the cramped aisles, fingers brushing against cracked spines and faded titles. Then something drew him in—a worn blue leather book tucked between an atlas and a cooking manual titled Preserving Potatoes: A Magical Guide.

There was no title on the spine. No author. Just a faint embossed symbol—a circle around a line that forked at the top. It pulsed subtly beneath his fingertips.

"This one," he murmured.

"Sure?" Harry asked, peeking over his shoulder.

Jonathan nodded. "Completely."

The old man behind the counter didn't even look up as he rang it through. "Two quid," he mumbled, dropping it into a paper bag as if the thing were nothing more than an old library discard.

By the time they returned to Jonathan's house, excitement buzzed in their veins. They darted up the stairs, closed the door, and set the book on the desk like it was a sacred artifact.

"Moment of truth," Jonathan said.

He opened the book.

The first page held only a few elegant words written in faded ink:

To those who seek the true tongue of magic, the ancient words that shaped the world—let your thoughts be your key, your will the ink.

And beneath it, in hastier handwriting:

Touch with purpose.

Jonathan pressed his hand flat to the page. He closed his eyes, focusing on his intent—not just to read but to understand. A shiver danced up his arm. The page glowed faintly, golden lines rippling out like spiderweb cracks in glass. Slowly, more words bloomed into view.

A heading appeared at the top of the next page:

Runes: The Language Beneath the Spells

They leaned closer.

Runes, the book explained, were the coded instructions of magic. Each symbol represented a concept—fire, growth, silence, light, protection—but the meaning wasn't fixed. The intent behind it shaped the outcome.

A rune could mean "fire," yes, but if drawn while thinking about warmth, it might light a candle. If focused on destruction, it might spark an explosion. Like programming variables in code, but the syntax was emotion, thought, and belief.

Jonathan's eyes lit up. "This is just like logic trees. Input plus intent equals output."

"It's like magic has a language," Harry whispered. "And we're learning how to write."

There was even a rune dictionary. Simple shapes like:

Kenaz – illumination, inspiration.

Raidho – travel, movement, direction.

Gebo – gift, exchange, balance.

Each came with examples and warning notes scribbled in by whoever owned the book last.

They flipped to a page titled Spells People Forget:

Reparo – To mend broken things. Visualization of the original form is key.

Scourgify (spelled in the book as Scowerjify) – A cleaning charm. Works best when used with mild disgust.

Lumos and Nox – Light and darkness in balance.

Transfiguration Shortcut – In emergencies, transfigure a rock into an etching tool by focusing on the shape and purpose.

And then, scribbled in the margins:

"Goblins refused this contract because the runes were 'too artistic.' I'm never trusting a goblin lawyer again. If I wanted fine print, I'd have gone into banking."

Jonathan laughed aloud. "This guy hated goblins."

Harry grinned. "Maybe they charged him twice."

They tried one of the spells—Reparo—on a cracked plastic pencil case Jonathan had in his drawer. They both focused, whispered the word with meaning behind it, and watched.

A faint blue spark flickered. A small corner of the crack fused.

Jonathan whooped. "It worked! Sort of!"

"Do it again!" Harry urged.

They spent the next hour experimenting. Scowerjify fizzled at first, but after thinking about their least favorite vegetables, a scrap of wrapper on the desk disappeared in a puff of smoke.

They used a round pebble to practice transfiguration. After nearly twenty minutes of straining and focusing on the image of a stylus, Jonathan finally managed to get a single groove to appear in the stone.

They were nowhere near expert. But they were learning. And that made all the difference.

Eventually, both boys flopped onto the bed, exhausted but exhilarated.

Harry stared at the ceiling, still catching his breath. "What if there are more books like this? Just lying around, waiting to be found."

Jonathan smiled, eyes half-lidded. "Probably are. Hidden on shelves, stuck in old boxes, mistaken for junk."

Harry sat up, a grin stretching across his face. "We should find them."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "You mean everywhere?"

Harry nodded. "Every market, every junk shop, every strange little bookstore."

Jonathan reached over and held out a hand.

"Operation Book Hunt?"

Harry smacked it with a laugh. "Operation Book Hunt."

And just like that, their next mission was born.