Chapter 235: Making Scrolls the Way Wands Are Made

This idea occurred to Allen after reading Ollivander’s book, “Detailed Explanation of Magical Runic Circuits in Wand Crafting.”

After finishing the book, he had completely abandoned the idea of making his own wand—he understood the function of these runic circuits, and suddenly realized he could apply the same method to create magical scrolls.

Magical scrolls appear frequently in various fantasy and xianxia games and novels.

A magical scroll is a magical item created by specific professions, such as certain wizards, using special skills. Its purpose is typically to instantly release a specific spell, after which the scroll is destroyed and rendered useless.

Yet Harry Potter’s world, despite being the most famous magical setting, has no such thing as magical scrolls; Allen guessed it was because magic in this world imposes no mana limitations, and most spells are relatively easy to learn.

Thus, wizards have little need for spell-casting via scrolls.

Even Allen himself currently has no strong need for magical scrolls, since he can “freeze” transformed beasts inside his Spirit Ball.

But Harry and the others cannot control the beasts he transforms, because the Transfiguration spell that created them was not cast by them, so they lack control.

So Allen revived his idea of magical scrolls.

Could magical scrolls be made in the Harry Potter world?

After mastering the principles of magic casting and wand crafting in this world, Allen concluded: it was highly probable.

Because fundamentally, magic in this world is sending parameters to the World’s Will, which then manifests the corresponding magical effect upon receiving the correct parameters.

Thus, the core of casting lies entirely in sending parameters.

The first problem to solve is the parameters themselves—parameters are essentially the translation of a wizard’s mental image of a spell’s effect into data. The human brain stores this information as memory, and Allen had mastered Memory Magic; he could directly extract the memory associated with the parameters, eliminating the need for translation during spell release.

Then came the issue of transmission: Harry and the others had not mastered wandless casting, so Allen needed to use the runic circuits of wand crafting to turn the magical scroll into a “wand.”

Allen had studied the wand-crafting runic circuits in detail and found that wood was used for the wand core not only to channel the core’s power but also to ensure usability and durability. Wood’s lightness made wands easier to handle, and its inherent strength ensured their lifespan.

But this did not mean the wand body had to be made of wood—it could be made from other materials, such as the hide of magical beasts. Such materials might not fully unleash the core’s power, but for Allen, he didn’t need more than 60% of the core’s output; after all, it was just a disposable item.

He chose magical beast hide because it was ideal for inscribing the four wand-crafting runic circuits, and the hide itself could withstand the power of those circuits.

He could then embed the memory directly onto the hide scroll, “translating” the parameters onto the hide’s runic circuits, so that when activated, the spell would be transmitted immediately.

This was Allen’s entire concept for creating HP-style magical scrolls—though still crude, he felt the direction was correct.

He decided to devote his energy to crafting magical scrolls; though he knew the path ahead would be uneven, he felt it was profoundly necessary.

Nighttime, deep within the Forbidden Forest.

A large black dog sprinted desperately, gasping for breath; the night forest was eerie and terrifying, the trees around it like monstrous claws reaching out. It leapt into a small stream ahead, then turned, watching its back with caution.

The icy stream water washed over its body, yet it did not immediately emerge.

Instead, it swam a long distance downstream before climbing ashore.

This was experience gained from recent escapes: the stream erased its scent, causing pursuers to cross the stream where the scent vanished, thus misleading them.

It collapsed onto the ground, stretching out its body, calming its nearly bursting lungs. It gazed at the full moon overhead—the full moon had just passed; its old friend should be transforming now. He wondered how the friend was doing, what reaction he’d have upon seeing him—would he immediately cast a vicious curse?

He had once considered revealing the truth during his friend’s transformation, confident his friend would let him finish speaking.

But when he went to the Shrieking Shack, he found thick layers of dust, utterly desolate, with no trace of any visitor.

“Perhaps only I remember it now,” the dog thought. He felt a faint return of strength and quickly shook the water from his fur.

He had recently wanted to go to Hogsmeade for food, especially Honeydukes’ sweets, but the Dementors patrolled there day and night—he dared not approach.

He dared not risk it; he knew his chance might come only once. He knew he must endure. He did not know how long he could hold on. His heart suffered constant torment. Once, someone had warned him not to act rashly—but now that person was gone. He was alone.

He had recently lost control and gone to the Quidditch Pitch, just to glimpse the boy once. The boy looked so much like his father—he had nearly rushed out then, driven nearly mad by the feeling.

He knew his old friend had been there. His friend had seen his transformations too many times; just as he could instantly recognize that treacherous rat, his friend would surely recognize him at once.

But after tonight, more people would recognize him—he knew his Animagus identity had been exposed.

His situation had become even more dangerous.

Tonight had been such a perfect opportunity—he had almost caught that vile rat—but he hadn’t expected Harry’s friend to also be an Animagus, and one that was a strange black-and-white bear. After all, the boy named Allen was only thirteen. Even James, so brilliant, hadn’t become an Animagus until fourth year.

Thinking of this, he felt a dull ache all over his body—caused by that strange black-and-white bear’s blows.

Perhaps right now, Aurors at the Ministry each held a photograph of a black dog.

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