

The Spellmaker
Latin; a dead language with no practical applications except perhaps the deciphering of old texts and as a particularly quaint party trick. Thankfully, as Harry finds out when he decided to learn the language, Latin is not as dead as he was first taught. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, of course; he loved Latin, and would have been proud to know it even had it been as useless as it was pretty. But in the world of Wizards, the world of Magic, Harry realizes his rare talent with words is particularly valuable. This talent allows him to use magic that no one's ever heard of, that no one's ever seen. But as time goes on, and he becomes more and more entangled in the webs spun by those around him, he starts to realize just how deep the magical rabbit hole goes and how dangerous power like his can be. All Harry had ever wanted was for the world to make sense. Yet, the ancient power he wields draws him into the most unexpected connection—with Voldemort. When the forbidden tongue awakens dormant, ancient magic, how will Harry's power reshape the balance of the magical world? And how will this unique and dangerous talent intertwine him with the Dark Lord in a fated bond, defying all known rules?Rain lashed against the windows of the Hogwarts library, turning the stained glass into smears of color. Inside, Harry traced a finger over a crumbling manuscript, whispering lines from Ovid’s Metamorphoses under his breath. The moment the last syllable left his lips, the air shimmered. Ink rose from the page like smoke, forming glowing letters that hung in the air—then exploded outward in a silent pulse.
Books flew from shelves. Candles snuffed out. And deep below, in a vault sealed since the time of Salazar Slytherin, something cracked open.
Madam Pince gasped, clutching her chest. ‘That… that wasn’t possible,’ she stammered. ‘No wand. No incantation. That was real Latin.’
Before Harry could respond, a cold wave surged through his scar. Not pain—recognition. Somewhere far away, in a ruined manor shrouded in mist, red eyes snapped open. And in the silence of that distant chamber, a voice spoke—not in English, not in Parseltongue, but in perfect, ancient Latin: ‘Tu venisti tandem.’
You have finally come.




