A few weeks in and a couple of more training sessions later I could more than assuredly say that I can now fight of a squad of dark wizards by myself long enough for reinforcements to arrive, that too without use of any dark spells or curses. I am now confident enough to subdue some wanna be dark wizards with just body binds and bombardas and of course some diffindos if necessary.
During this time aside from my normal studies of curriculum of Hogwarts I was also researching into the various methods of subjugating of Magical beasts to remove the threat of basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. From what I remember Tom riddle would come to Hogwarts just after I graduate from here, I have to do something about him too so that no competent champion is gained by blood purists to further their agendas.
Getting back to the Magical beasts I had come across a particularly informative book named "THE BEASTS AND HOW TO KILL THEM" By Altair Black, heh trust a black to know about how to kill some beasts. I remember the book well, it had been one of the first truly dangerous books he'd ever read, not because it was cursed, but because it pulled no punches about the cost of facing magical monsters. The opening chapters detailed the simpler creatures, like Red Caps and Kappas, whose weaknesses lay in brute force or clever use of water-repelling charms, but the book quickly moved on to darker things. It explained how to kill a Basilisk—not just with a sword like Gryffindor's, but through indirect methods, such as flooding its den with Phoenix song-infused vapour or luring it into a chamber laced with mirrored walls and cursed glass. Dragons, Altair had written, were not impossible to kill, but the key was preparation and precision. He described targeting the soft tissue beneath the wings or the inner mouth during a breath attack, using enchanted spears cooled in a bath of troll blood and powdered basilisk fang. He'd gone on at length about the different breeds too—Hungarian Horntails, Romanian Longhorns, and the unpredictable Hebridean Blacks, each requiring different strategies, spells, and sometimes even bait involving sacrificial decoys laced with sleeping draughts. But the Nundu—Marcus shivered just thinking about it—was the one beast Altair said was truly near-impossible to slay. Its breath alone could level entire villages, and its silent movement made it nearly invisible until it was far too late. The book mentioned that it had only ever been brought down by coordinated efforts of entire magical armies, often using forbidden magic and enchanted chains forged with runes lost to time. There had also been a section on Manticores, whose hides resisted nearly every spell known to wizardkind; on Acromantulas, who could be burned but never outrun; and on the deadly Lethifold, which could only be repelled by pure Patronus and, if one was daring enough, sliced in half by silver-edged moonblades—blades that had to be bathed in the blood of a willing donor. Marcus had absorbed all of it with a fascination that mixed fear and awe. The book didn't glorify the killing—it treated every beast like a force of nature, something to be understood, respected, and only challenged when absolutely necessary. Altair Black had ended the final chapter with a chilling note: "Sometimes, the price of victory is not your life, but your soul. Know which monsters are worth fighting—and which ones you must simply learn to avoid."
Reading it all have been eye opening and informative no doubt, it made me reconsider some of the plans I have made to deal with the Basilisk. I have been restructuring my plans and while doing so one thought has been coming to my mind again and again, House elves, they are the most powerful magical creatures known to wizards not only because of their unique form of magic but there ability to think things out or listen and execute orders with extreme precision depending upon how well they are treated. For now its just an idea but I have given myself a few months precisely till January to think things through about this.
There are many more methods safer too, but thinking them through would take time and specially because I want to have all the ingredients I could take out of its corpse for myself. Their will be time when I would grow out of my current wand no matter how powerful it is for now and there is also a tradition which I have come across. According to this the Wizards from particularly ancient or noble families would go out in the wild and seek out a magical beasts to kill it and collect it's body parts to construct a secondary wand for themselves or if possible to incorporate the attainted core into their existing wand to make it more personal, more in tuned with one's magic. I for one would like to adhere to this tradition especially when I have a strong beast at hand to kill and gain a second wand or third core if possible.
I am leaning towards the later option of gaining a third core for my wand as I have become attached to it and don't want to weaken my bond with it by getting a secondary wand no matter how strategically good that option is. There is also one more topic I have been looking into its about the noble houses of Britain and what is our role in the wizengamot. I remember reading about the wizarding nobility in *A Compendium of British Noble Houses*—the old, gilded volume tucked into a quiet corner of the Hogwarts library, where the dust seemed thicker than the parchment. It was a strange thing, seeing the structure of our world laid out so plainly, a hierarchy that stretched back centuries, before the Ministry, before the Statute of Secrecy, when magic still ruled openly. In those days, the noble houses weren't just respected—they were the law, and even after power shifted to more bureaucratic forms, they remained the backbone of the Wizengamot, holding weight by blood, not just deed. The book described the wizarding aristocracy as divided into ranks, and those ranks weren't ceremonial; they were a reflection of magical lineage, ancestral service, blood purity, and influence. At the highest tier were the High Houses—families so ancient and interwoven with the fabric of magical Britain that their names echoed through time like spells themselves. These included the Blacks, the Rosiers, the Selwyns, the Prewetts, and—my own bloodline—the Starborns. The Starborn House, to my surprise and quiet pride, was described as a house of "eldritch distinction and astral alignment," one of the few to trace its origins to pre-Roman Druidic wizardry. The book claimed our ancestors once interpreted the stars to guide magical governance, and that the Starborns had always refused to dilute their bloodline with those who lacked both vision and power.
Each High House held five votes in the Wizengamot—votes passed down hereditarily and guarded fiercely, for they represented real power in the shaping of magical law. Below them were the Great Houses, such as the Longbottoms, Abbotts, Travers, and Crouches. These houses were old, proud, and formidable in their own right, holding three votes each, and often aligned with High Houses through marriage or allegiance. Then came the Lesser Noble Houses, families like the Diggorys, Spinnets, and Fenwicks, who held a single vote, often acting as swing voices in matters of magical law and tradition. There was no "nobility" below them officially—common pure-bloods existed, of course, and even wealthy families with new influence, but without ancestral magic tied to the land, legacy, or one of the founding bloodlines, they held no seats in the Wizengamot. Their opinions might be heard, but they had no true hand in the shaping of our society.
The book went on to explain how noble families were expected to serve specific functions—High Houses were guardians of law and tradition, bound by oath to defend magical sovereignty and act as keepers of arcane knowledge. Great Houses often served as regional stewards or magical enforcers, their members trained in both diplomacy and dueling. Lesser Noble Houses fulfilled more specialized roles: magical commerce, healing arts, artifact preservation, and the like. Every house had its duty, and to neglect it brought shame not only on the family but on the balance of the whole noble order. The Starborns, as one of the three "Celestial Houses" alongside the Greengrasses and the obscure but fascinating Moonsilver line, were entrusted with arcane research, prophecy, and the preservation of high ritual magic. The book mentioned the Starborn seat on the Wizengamot had never gone unclaimed since the founding of the body, and that in times of war or magical crisis, the Starborn vote was often the fulcrum upon which great decisions turned.
What struck me most was how the book described the noble houses not as static relics but as living pillars of magical society—every oath, every rite, every drop of blood meant something. Power was more than politics—it was legacy woven into the warp and weft of magic itself. The Starborn name wasn't just mine by accident. It came with a history of decisions, alliances, and sacrifices. And though I had no family left to guide me through it, I felt the weight of that history pressing into my shoulders like invisible robes. Whether I wanted it or not, I was part of something far older and deeper than any one wizard.