Chapter 12 Acromantulas

"Acromantulas!" Hagrid boomed, swinging his crossbow around. "Back, all of yeh!"

They broke through the trees, a living tide of hairy legs and gleaming pincers. Jonathan's heart leapt into his throat. He'd read about Aragog and his children, but reading about giant spiders and facing an army of them were very, very different things.

"Run!" Harry yelled, grabbing Hermione's hand. Ron, white as a sheet, didn't need telling twice.

They pelted through the forest, the spiders in hot pursuit. Hagrid fired his crossbow, slowing them down, but not stopping them. The centaurs reared, hooves flashing, but even they were forced back by the sheer numbers.

And then, disaster. Hermione's foot caught a root, and she went down with a cry. Harry and Ron spun around, but the spiders were almost on her, mandibles clicking in anticipation.

Jonathan skidded to a halt. Time seemed to slow. He saw Hermione's terrified face, Harry and Ron's desperation. And he knew: this was his moment. Not just to use magic, but to truly save someone.

"Impervius Totalus!" he roared, his wand moving in that now-familiar spiral. But this time, he poured everything into it. Every ounce of will, every shred of determination.

The iridescent bubble that formed around Hermione was no mere shimmer. It was a dome of pulsing, prismatic light. The first spider to reach it bounced off as if it had hit a castle wall. The second's pincers shattered against the barrier.

"Whoa," Ron breathed.

But Jonathan wasn't done. Focusing hard, he expanded the charm. The dome grew, enveloping Harry, Ron, even the stunned centaurs. It was like being inside a giant, magical soap bubble.

The spiders scuttled around them, mandibles clicking in frustration. Inside the bubble, they regrouped. Hagrid, his beard quivering with a mix of fear and pride, clapped Jonathan on the back - nearly sending him sprawling.

"Yeh did it, lad!" he boomed. "Never seen a charm like that! Strong as a giant's underpants, it is!"

"Indeed," Magorian said, his voice solemn. "The star-walker's power is great. It bends the very fabric of the forest."

Jonathan, exhausted but exhilarated, managed a weak smile. "Just... a little something I've been working on."

They made their way back to the castle, the spiders kept at bay by Jonathan's flickering but persistent charm. At the forest's edge, Magorian stopped them.

"You have proven yourself this day, star-walker," he said to Jonathan. "The centaurs of the Forest are in your debt. When the stars align and your path crosses ours again, we will remember."

With that cryptic promise, the centaurs melted back into the shadows, leaving a very bemused group of wizards (and one extremely smug cat) behind.

"Well," Ron said after a moment, "that was mental. Brilliant, but mental! 'Star-walker,' eh? Sounds fancy."

"It sounds dangerous," Hermione countered, but she was looking at Jonathan with newfound respect. "That charm, Jonathan. It was... it was beyond NEWT level!"

Jonathan shrugged, suddenly feeling the weight of the day. "Just a modification. Like you said, applications."

"Applications like saving our skins," Harry said firmly. "Thanks, Jonathan. Really."

As they trudged back to the castle, Mr. Whiskers trotting ahead like he owned the place ("Probably thinks he scared off the spiders single-pawed," Ron chuckled), Jonathan's mind was a whirl. Star-walker. Multiversal threats. A troll tomorrow, and who knew what after that.

But as he looked at his friends - Harry's determined stride, Ron's easy grin, Hermione's thoughtful frown - he felt a surge of... something. Not just friendship, but a bond. A fellowship, forged not by a troll's club this time, but by something deeper. By choice, by trust, by a shared willingness to face the darkness together.

That evening, after a dinner where even the treacle tart tasted of triumph, Jonathan made his way to the Room of Requirement. But when he opened the door, expecting the now-familiar circular chamber, he found instead...

"A broom cupboard?" he said aloud, staring at the mops and buckets. "What gives?"

"Ah, the perils of magical real estate," Strange's voice came from behind a particularly large feather duster. "Sometimes you ask for a sanctum, and you get storage space. Luckily, I don't need much room."

Jonathan moved aside a bucket of what he hoped was just murky water. "Is this a lesson? 'The sorcerer's path is paved with household chores'?"

"Close," Strange chuckled. "It's about adaptability. The Room gives you what you need, not always what you want. A good sorcerer makes do. Now, speaking of making do, I hear you've been busy. 'Star-walker,' huh?"

Jonathan groaned. "You heard about that?"

"Kid, the centaurs are practically writing ballads. By next full moon, they'll have a constellation named after you. 'Jonathan the Spider-Squisher' has a nice ring to it."

Despite himself, Jonathan laughed. But then he sobered. "I don't understand, though. Why me? Is it because I'm from another dimension? Or because of the sorcery?"

Strange's form flickered thoughtfully. "Bit of both, I'd wager. You're an anomaly, Jonathan. A wizard with a sorcerer's spark, a dimension-hopper who's read the script. To beings like centaurs who read the universe like a comic book, you're... well, you're one hell of a plot twist."

"Great," Jonathan sighed. "As if I didn't have enough to worry about. Trolls, Stones, now this..."

"Which is why today's lesson is crucial," Strange said. His ghostly hand waved, and the broom cupboard... shifted. The mops became stalactites, the buckets turned to bubbling pools. They were in a cave, lit by an eerie, phosphorescent glow.

"Whoa," Jonathan breathed. "Is this... real?"

"As real as that cat of yours is opinionated," Strange confirmed. "Welcome to the Cave of Kȧ-zar, nexus of a thousand realities. Or, right now, a really impressive magical hologram."

For the next hour, Strange drilled Jonathan on sensing dimensional energies. It was like trying to hear a whisper in a hurricane, but slowly, Jonathan began to feel it. A tug here, a ripple there. By the end, he could even make out faint echoes - a version of Hogwarts where everything was underwater, another where everyone spoke in rhyme.

"Not bad," Strange said as the cave faded back into a broom cupboard. "You're starting to see the threads. Next step: learning to pull them."

...

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