It’s almost as if, spending the summer at home, reminded Alina of the world that she had missed. By the second month she could almost convince herself that it was all a dream. Maybe she had gone to school like normal, seeing her fellow students in secondary school. Markus seemed to act as though she never left. Maybe it was just the bond the two had. But life had changed.

Alina had gotten fed up and antsy with being in the home, she missed the freedom she had gotten used to at Hogwarts. Not that she didn’t love being home. She did miss it. There was something familiar and calming about being home… familiar in a way that Hogwarts wasn’t. It was the life she had spent eleven years growing up with. And she was quite reminiscent of that, being home for the first time, in eight months. From her room she could hear the TV downstairs. It was strange coming home and flicking the light switch on for the first time in eight months.

Her room had been practically left untouched. Her bed had been made, and things had been generally picked up, but the pictures remained on the wall, the posters still tacked crooked into the corkboard. But now she could add to it. She hung a little animated black and yellow badger poster on the wall, and her Hogwarts trunk lay at the foot of her bed. Her parents had taken her wand though. She wasn’t exactly sure where it had been locked up. At first she had been mildly annoyed, but she understood why. She had yet to tell her family about signing up for duelling.

She was worried that they would be horrified, or embarrassed, or any number of things. It was a conversation she wasn’t looking forward to having. It felt like a heavy secret, especially as she spent time studying during the summer in order to better herself and learn more for the matches.

So that was how she found herself walking side by side with Markus, her brother. He had really been the one to suggest getting some air. They walked by a chain link fence that bordered the park near their home. Alina could hear the children whooping and hollering in the park. It had never been her thing.

“You never told me about what you’re doing at school.” He says, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Well,” Alina says. “There’s not much to say.”
“You’re classes? You usually love them. You must have learned some cool things.”

“They were fine.” She shrugs. “We learned some charms and some defensive spells. Like a spark's charm, a couple of them actually. A fire making spell. Stuff like that.” Markus hums as they continue to walk.

“Something is on your mind, yeah?” He asks. She can’t tell why it feels like this insurmountable secret, but it does. What would Markus think if he knew she picked up dueling at school? His eyes don’t waver as he look at her, and Alina squirms under the attention.

“I joined the duelling team at school.” She mumbles it really quickly in an attempt to confuse him and hopefully make him drop the comment.

“Did you say dueling?” He asked. And---mission failed.

“Yeah.” She says, looking anywhere but at her brother. He’s silent for a long time, but then he starts laughing. Alina gives him a hard sideways glance. She wants to smack him. Why is he laughing at her? Couldn’t he see it was hard enough for her to admit that she applied?

“After you left for school I enrolled in Taekwondo at the G&K Martial Arts Academy. It was a bit boring at home. Well, a buddy of mine convinced me to go.”

“You did?” She asks, her jaw dropping. Her brother, who taught her to play

“I mean if you don’t trust me, surely I can show you.” He smirks down at Alina.

“I trust you.” Alina says. Gradually that started the wheels turning in Markus’s head.

“What is a… witch or wizard I suppose… supposed to do if they lose their wand? I mean. Do you do any sort of physical training?”

“I might, with dueling, I don’t know.” Alina shrugs.

“I mean I’m not that good, but I could show you. Or you could come with me some day to the workshop.”

“I only have a month before I have to go back to school.” Alina says.

“Then you’ve got a lot to learn in a month, no?” Markus smirks at her. “Plan B.” He nudges Alina’s shoulder. That was something she always said to him. Always have a plan B.

So the two of them spent time together at the Martial Arts Academy, training when they were both free from lessons. Markus, as the older brother he was, wasn’t going to hurt his little sister, but there was a part of him that worried about her. Worried about her in a world where he couldn’t protect her, and she couldn’t protect herself.

It was always going to happen eventually, and now was the time. Pax was going to become a gym bro. To give them some credit, they'd been championing fitness and working out for some time now, but this summer in particular, they'd really decided to dedicate time into bulking up and gaining muscle. Plus, they'd found that the more muscle they gained, the less strong the gender dysphoria was. So, a win in multiple ways really.

They'd also begun this in their fourth year as well, looking at diet and purchasing dumbbells so they could work out at school more frequently (their owl was not the happiest about this delivery from home), however the exercises became inconsistent so there was little actual progress or visible results seen, which demotivated them and the dumbbells had been gathering dust for a couple of months in their trunk, until Pax rediscovered them at the start of the summer.

It became a whole family effort to help Pax bulk up that summer. Their mother began cooking food that would help them put on more muscle, their father signed them up for a gym membership so they were basically forced to go whether they liked it or not, and Jason's weekly swimming lessons meant that they'd be killing time for an hour there regardless, so they might as well get a workout in whilst they could if they went along with him.

Thankfully, to Pax's relief, the plan did seem to be working. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, they would go to the gym for at least an hour, working on weight training and bulking up muscles, especially in their arms and shoulders. On Sundays, they'd work at home, doing a lighter rep with their dumbbells and then working with Nico on a light boxing rep (which was also another hobby they'd wanted to start picking up again), before repeating the cycle over again. The regular routine also lifted their spirits a bit more, and forced them to adopt slightly healthier sleep patterns, so it was considered a win for the whole family, especially when they began to see the results, both physically and mentally. It also allowed Pax a place to channel any untapped rage that had been simmering inside regarding quidditch the last few years - it was a much needed release from the tension they'd been holding for far too long. Finally, when they returned to Hogwarts, there was a noticeable difference in their physique, and they were ready for whatever this season had in store.

WC - 423

Gael's Father was a Potions-master, and so when tutoring Gael on his basic education, he instilled his own love of potions into Gael. His main philosophy that he told Gael was "A Wizard who knows nothing of Potions is a sub-par Wizard who believes overt spellcasting will save him, when it is the subtlety of Potions that can often determine everything before the first spell is even cast."
During the free time his Father had, between tutoring Gael, he would often brew potions. Gael would always watch him at his brewing station, not fully understanding what it was that his Father was doing, but being deeply fascinated by it.
Gaels Father managed to succeed in his attempt to mould Gale into someone who would take Potions seriously when he finally went into Hogwarts. Gael had begun reading his 'Magical Drafts and Potions' book he had bought from Diagon Alleys Flourish and Blotts shop. He read it as he got on the Hogwarts Express and continued reading it as soon as he was properly settled into the Slytherin Common Room.
During the first few nights, it was common for Slytherins in the dorm room to joke about how Gael practically slept with the book, though over time it became clear it was not a joke, Gael very often really did fall asleep whilst reading the book deep into the dead of night.
He always walked around with it, even when he never had Potions class for that day, and would often search in the library for more advanced books on Potions to try to get ahead of the years curriculum, to ensure he was always doing the absolute best he could in Potions, just as his Father had before him. Thinking on his Father would often find Gael feeling homesick, missing the time he spent watching his Father at the Brewing Station. He felt the best way to keep that connection so far from home was to do his best to always be thinking about Potions, even when it sometimes caused him to miss something someone had said in a conversation, or cause him to begin rambling about the potions he read about in the book, even if the person he is talking to had not read nearly as far as he had.
He deeply wishes to make his Father proud, and the only way to do that is to ensure he is absolutely outstanding in the subject of Potions. He would always listen attentively in class, take extensive notes during both the in class lecture and practical potion making.

I’ve always looked forward to my Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. It was finally a chance to put the years of tutoring I had to use — at least in a proper, formal setting. I’ve never met a dark wizard, and frankly, at eleven years old, I’d like to keep it that way. Thanks, but no thanks.

Let me explain.

I was about five years old when I asked my mum the question "What do you do when your not at home?", I could almost see the wheels turn as she figured out how to answer. “I’m an Auror, darling,” she said, as if that meant anything to little brain. Naturally, my response was a very confused, “Huh?” She smiled, that patient, amused kind of smile she had and added, “A magic police officer. I investigate bad things involving bad magic, and I catch bad wizards and witches.” She said, softening the tone of her voice so I wouldn’t be scared.

It was about two years later, I had just turned seven and I had my first instance of magic, and from that moment on my mum's tine shifted. She didn't talk about her job in the same soft tones, or make it sound like she didn't do much work as dark wizards and witches didn't really exist. The sheltering she once did had faded. I soon found myself a few nights a week, sitting with her at some sort of table, could be in the kitchen, living room, her office didn't matter, she'd sit me down and start going through DADA, she would tell me about real spells, real counter-curses, and she would even give me a chopstick and show me basic duelling forms.

Mum still had her old Hogwarts notes from her own DADA classes, thick stacks of parchment with detailed notes and diagrams, all written in her tidy hand writing. On days she couldn't sit down with me I would have the slid across the table and I would get "Go on, read" I didn't understand half of it, but I would make notes of things that confused me and when my mum had the time she would go over those specific areas.

I think it was one of the few things my parents ever argued about. I remember sneaking downstairs once, long after bedtime, and hearing them go at it in the kitchen. Dad was saying things like, “He’s too young,” and “He’ll learn it at that school of yours, why put that pressure on him now?” Mum’s reply came sharp and low: “You don’t understand the things I’ve seen, the things I know. The sooner he learns, the safer he’ll be.”

I didn't much understand all of it back then, but now sitting in my own Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson wand in hand, I did. She wanted me to be prepared, to look after myself in an unforgiving world. The moment I sat down in my first lesson every scrap of knowledge my mum drilled into, every creature, every spell, every consequence of failing to do the right thing at the right time came alive and this lesson just got so much easier.

Lottie had spent the majority of her formative years under the wing of her eldest sister, who had taught her many skills pertaining to theft, deceit, and overall rebellion. However, for the smaller half of her youth, her brother had also found ways to bond with her, particularly through Quidditch.

The summer before Lottie had turned seven, her brother had taken her out to the fields behind their house and taught her how to fly his shiny broomstick he had saved up all his galleons to buy. She had nearly flown it into a tree, but her brother still claimed she was a natural. For the next three years leading up to her admittance to Hogwarts, her brother had taught her everything there was to know about Quidditch and broom-riding. It was rare for him to find passion in things, and even rarer for him to selectively speak to Lottie, so she had listened and attempted to take in as much information as she could to impress him.

When her brother returned to Hogwarts in the fall, he took his broomstick and his Quidditch books with him. Lottie had thought her devotion to the subject would disappear when he left, but she just grew more curious about the strange sport. She had rummaged through the entire library to find books on it, and would spend every free hour flipping endlessly through the thick hunks of paper. She had found that most of her interest was directed towards the position of Keeper.

Perhaps it was her desire to be in control, or her desire to feel as though her attempts to block out the wildness of her life weren't all for nothing, but she had become obsessed with the idea of joining the Hogwarts quidditch team as a first-string keeper. She had said exactly this as soon as her brother had returned for Winter Break, and though he tried his best to convince her that it was the most boring position in the game and her efforts would be better used for a more adventurous position like Seeker or Chaser, Lottie was dead-set on it.

It had become a ritual then that every time Louis came back from school for break, he would take her out to the field behind their house, set up a makeshift Quidditch pitch, and blast practice balls her way. At first, she could hardly block a soccer ball. But eventually, as their sessions grew longer and the years passed by, Lottie had grown somewhat of a knack for protecting the goals. By the time she had been invited to attend Hogwarts, she felt as though she had already been a part of the team for years, though she knew there was still much work to be done.

The late age of Anthonie’s first instance of magic was the greatest misguide.

It was, by no means, an accurate representation of his magical prowess. As soon as Anthonie was accepted into Uagadou and even before, it was evident he was a talented wizard. Perhaps the high-quality education his father insisted on was paying off, perhaps it was something ingrained into his being as an Engelbrecht, or perhaps he was just special. Regardless, something manifested in the form of an especially close connection to the wizarding world and a high magical prowess that made his entire family proud.

Before Uagadou, he had little chance practicing his spells. However, since his first instance of magic, a series of chain reactions seemed to have been set off, as if the instances he lacked in his early childhood was now being repaid in his preteens. At the years of nine and ten he had broken fine china, turned his hair white, and set accidental enchantments on more books than he could count. Although his family were pleased at this sudden development, as he grew older, this became a point to joke about: the legacy young Anthonie Engelbrecht left behind before he learnt to properly control his magic.

At Uagadou, the magic manifested in a more controlled form. It had most notably shown in his kutumia uchawi classes, a practical class where he had to put the spells he learnt in theory to actual use. Although the latter part was more a focus on wisdom and intelligence, the former aspect he excelled in in particular. His spells hit with more gusto, dealt more damage, and left a stronger mark, as if claiming: look at me. I did this. And indeed, his work did catch the attention of teachers and students alike, and was highly present even outside of lessons. In his Quidditch practices he showed an exemplary control of his broom, he seemed to have used magical objects exceptionally well. Not only did this make him a particularly ferocious opponent in a duel, Anthonie seemed to have a strong understanding of the Wizarding World. As he grew and practiced more, picking up more advanced skills like nonverbal magic, naturally, the prowess that was innate was only further honed.

Ultimately, Anthonie strives to be a good person. To be a good person, however, one must first have the power. Anton was blessed enough to have it from the start. He now sees it as his duty to advance himself further.

There is always something more to do under the sun.

There is always another way to advance, and Anthonie Engelbrecht was never a complacent person. Being a Quidditch Seeker, for example, never stopped him from looking into duelling. In particular: nonverbal casting.

The choice had not been an arbitrary one. The Engelbrecht lineage was one that demanded to be progressed with time, yet honoured nevertheless. From the earliest of the family, since their earliest ancestors in the Netherlands, combined with the wandless education of Uagadou, they had practiced nonverbal casting to strengthen their magic. The Engelbrechts valued delicate fortitude, and they knew not every situation required words to exert power.

A much younger Anthonie had began with observation. Between classes, hangouts, and his own Quidditch practices, he had found himself in Uagadou’s duelling hall, sitting on the sidelines. It was odd for him to abstain from participation, yet research was his first and primary goal. He watched his upperclassmen, graceful as ballerinas, dance about the piste, and wandless or not, his focus always tunnel-visioned on the ones who found no need to move their mouth.

Then came the gruelling practice, and here he could no longer justify being a mere observer. Soon, he stepped onto the piste himself, and unsteadily holding his wand, tried first with the simplest of offensive spells: flipendo. It was not pretty, none of the elegance expected out of an Engelbrecht, yet it was a starting point. At first he still pronounced the incantation, and after two or three good lands, progressed onto thinking of it purely in his mind. The first few times it barely knocked the dummy back at all, much less bring it to the ground, yet the more days he poured into practicing, the more strength went into his attacks. When he eventually managed to fling the dummy to the ground, he proceeded to work on other spells, each ending in success.

Although he originally hoped to seek support from his family, practices were going much better than he had expected, and soon he found that it was unnecessary. When Anthonie returned he asked his parents to host duel against his cousins in the spirit of friendly competition. Despite being their junior, the nonverbal magic played in his advantage and he won. The victory came as a pleasant surprise to his parents, and his mastery of the skill even more so one. Moreover, for the ambitious Anthonie who never settled for less, it was merely one example of how he progressed above and beyond.

A slender, poised finger ran over the grooves of the custom wand, disbelief still tinged in grey-blue eyes as they stopped over each intricate detail.

Wand wood (164/50): At first glance, highly odd for the Engelbrecht heir. Anthonie spent his schooldays as the epitome of cocksure confidence, the golden child with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Yet the most confident often hide the deepest insecurities, and the case was no different for Anton. Groomed for higher things, a headmaster at a young age, their lay the constant words of self-doubt: what am I doing wrong? Unbeknownst to himself, or perhaps just unwilling to admit, he has great potential.

“Willow?” Anthonie had responded with a chuckle, voice clear, eyes sparkling, “How had you managed to get your hands on such a handsome wood?” A strong practitioner of non-verbal magic, a skill that had ran for generations, he understood the reason was based on far more than aesthetics, yet he could not help but jest.

The response he had received was simple, the proverb of the old Ollivander family in England, “He who has furthest to travel will go fastest with Willow.”

Wand core (129/50): it would have bordered on an understatement to say Anthonie grew up in privilege. Pureblooded, wealthy, and of great familial finesse. Anton spent his childhood attending charity balls and spending winters in Switzerland. Being a line of academics and philanthropists, the Engelbrechts had never valued brute force. Instead, they prided themselves on the elegance that came hand in hand with their power, and the wand wood of both Christiaan and now Anthonie was only a reflection of such.

“White River Monster Spine,” he mused, inspecting the wood as if he could see through it towards the spine, then smirked boyishly as he laid down the wand again, “Quite the mouthful, isn’t it?”

“And you,” his mother said, smiling kindly, “Were quite a handful raising — I think it is deserved.”

Wand length (109/50): it would have been unfair and incorrect to say so crudely that Anthonie lacked personality, but sitting at less than average on length, he inherited his grandfather’s rigidity. He has no fondness for particularly explosive spells, and instead prefers efficient casts. However, there is no escaping his natural charm and the personality that followed. Squarely at ten inches, it strikes the balance between refined casting and an Engelbrecht’s rightful presence.

“Do you think this matches my height?” Anthonie questioned his father, a slight smirk of amusement playing at his lips. Comparing it to the length of his arm, he held it delicately and smiled, while receiving no serious response.

Wand flexibility (142/50): depending on how you define flexibility, Anthonie could either be highly stubborn or highly adaptable. Bullish when confronted interpersonally, he is unwilling to back down from his thoughts. However, having been raised in a family of radicalism, Anthonie is naturally open-minded and displays a strong willingness to change in society. Therefore, with the two aspects balancing out — or rather clashing — it only makes sense for his wand’s flexibility to be squarely in the middle at “supple”.

“It feels just right in my hands,” he concluded finally, that twist of his lips extending to something sincere, heartfelt. Not too stiff, not too pliant; not too hard, not too soft. It was as if it had been carved out especially for him, as if fate had determined that he and his grandfather share not only a name, but an instrument so important to them.

Acquisition: After Christiaan passed away to sudden death, his belongings were left untouched for many months before a will, obviously hastily written, was found. Although its vague wording led to conflicts among the family, one fact was clear: that his wand be left to his youngest grandson middle-named after him, Anthonie Engelbrecht. Coming at a surprise to even himself due to never having known him well, being in a family as large as the Engelbrechts, initial pushback fell away into acceptance and eventually, delight and validation. All his efforts, Anton knew, had finally been seen.

“Thank you,” he said finally, pocketing the wand and turning to his parents. “And thank you more, my Oupa.”

This post includes claims about how magic works. These are not meant to be understood as claims about canon, but rather the way in which Lamik makes sense of the strangeness of magic to himself. As far as I'm concerned, they might be as wrong as a person with no education in quantum physics making stuff up about quantum physics to ease their mind about all the mysteries of the universe.

A wand is a tool. An immensely powerful and multipurpose tool, but a tool nonetheless. The way Lamik made sense of it, the only way he knew how to make sense of it, it worked as follows:

The will, or spirit, of a person possesses that astounding quality of interacting with the world. When someone decides to raise their arm, for example, it is their very will that triggers the chain of biological functions that results in their doing so. In doing so, the spirit acts as a source of causality utterly separate from the laws that govern physical bodies, and thus grants its bearer free will.

Though it is usually the case that the influence of the spirit is limited to those parts of the brain relevant to voluntary action, it is sometimes the case that a person's will has the capacity to reach outside of its usual domain and affect a larger class of objects- the entirety of one's body, the composition of one's surroundings, the very workings of itself and the spirits of others. This usage of this ability of the will is what is commonly known as spellcasting. The action of casting a spell, then, should be understood in very much the same way as the action of raising your arm, or closing your eyes, or speaking. It is the desire for our body to behave in a certain way that causes it to do so, and a desire for our world to behave in a certain way that does the same.

Usage of the will, however, requires exertion. Usually, this exertion is minimal. Assuming no relevant biological damage is present, it will tend not to take much mental effort to decide to flex a finger or puff up your cheeks. If, however, the will has been exhausted in some way, perhaps due to a long day at work, a series of unexpected failures in life, or a devastating loss, even simple actions such as getting out of bed in the morning, walking, or eating may require so much exertion as to be clumsy, or even impossible. Furthermore, the will can often be strengthened, much like a muscle- though it may take a great exertion of the will to go on daily 5 am runs at the start of such a commitment, it is not rare that over time the decision to do so becomes easier, as the will becomes more capable of going through the relevant form of strain.

Spellcasting, to those capable, is one of those skills that, at least at first, requires extreme exertion. A child's first instance of magic is not wild and unpredictable because of some inherent instability present in magic or due to a sudden burst of magical power. Rather, like a drunk veering side to side instead of walking in a straight line, a young child's will is still clumsy. It is not focused enough to reach out into the world in a focused manner, and reaching out in an unfocused manner requires great effort, such that once it is done, it is difficult to stop (think of a child pulling on a rope with all their might- the rope suddenly snaps, and the child, having put all their weight into pulling, is thrown back onto the floor).

This is where the wand comes in. In essence, a wand's role in spellcasting is twofold. First, it acts as an easy point through which the will can reach out into the world. The core attracts the will like iron to a magnet, reducing the exertion required by the spirit and channeling it into the wand wood. The wood accomplishes the second role- shaped as it is, it acts as a guide for the will. When a wizard points their wand, they are limiting the direction towards which the will can reach out. With less energy being required to direct the will, a wizard can put more focus into the effect that their will has on the world. It is only a matter of training until spells become both more predictable and potent.

If you want to master a tool, there are, perhaps, two approaches that you can take. The first is to forget that you're trying to master a tool. Through habitual use and a particularly trusting (and artistic?) attitude, a person may develop what is at first a kinship of sorts with the tools of their trade, and, following years of further use, an identification with them. The will grows capable of triggering the right causal chains to make the tool do what it wants with an ease comparable to that with which it controls the limbs, and the wand a wizard uses to influence the world becomes, in a certain sense, an extension of their very body.

This would not do in Lamik's case, however, whose motivation to master the wand sprouted from a cynicism rare in one of his temperament, and who could not bring himself to trust enough to allow his casting to be anything but calculated and intentional. In their channeling devices, wands were immensely powerful. But they remained imperfect tools, desirable only to the reckless and brave (neither of which Lamik fancied himself), due to the peculiar feature of semi-sentience. When he had first bought his wand, he had found it nothing more than a charming aphorism to claim that "the wand chooses the wizard". One should purchase only those shoes that fit them well, only those glasses with which they could see, and only those wands with which they could cast. But as the years passed, and he learned more about magic and experienced what channeling the will through a thin piece of wood actually entailed, he grew disconcerted. All this talk of wand loyalty and temperament, of spells being cast on their own, all this experience of inconsistency, what could it mean? Was there really a sentience to this thing he kept by his side during every waking moment of every day? And if there was, what was the relationship between them? Partners? How could he be partners, much less trust something with which he had no way to communicate?

A second method of mastery would have to do in this case. One of cold exactness. One of discipline, and control, and awareness. The wand must be held in a grip of steel. The motions must be practiced, repeated, perfected, following the exact same path through the air now as they were yesterday as they will be tomorrow. Quirks must be worked around, not with, and the dynamic between caster and implement must always be at the forefront of the mind. Only then can predictibility be achieved. Only then can accidents be avoided. Only then can the dangers of the world be overcome.

Áine spent a lot of time before Hogwarts following her father around and watching him do spells. He would often spar with the other Wizards and Witches in the valley to ensure their skills stayed sharp. As these controlled duels happened one of the combatants would act as the "dark wizard" often using dark magic spells (not lethal of course) to attack their opponent, who had to use their defense against dark arts knowledge to defend themselves. Its quite the popular spectacle and the winner gets a prize. However Áine spent her time watching the fight yes, but she was invested in how their wands moved,what motions they made and the words they spoke. Sometimes after a match her father was in she'd play with the other children pretending to do spells of their own even if they hadn't got magic yet. Another thing was her father often sparred with her mom just to keep her sharp even if her mom was more of a "i'll put magic in my food to keep it warm" than a "I gotta keep my fighting skills sharp. Sometimes if her father did a complicated spell in the duel she would later asking him to explain how he did it. As the years went by she'd sneak into her father's library at night and just read on Dark wizards such as but not limited to Grindelwald,Ekrizdis and Herpo the foul. She would read about the dark spells they used and cross reference with her father's DADA spells he made and normal DADA spells. She's familiar with the basics of DADA studies. After she was done with learning the basics she went on to read about anything and everything she could on it. She is familiar with the 3 unforgivable curses though she doesn't know the wand movements for how to do them (she just knows their names and what they can do). She is familiar with the patronus spell and even got to see her father's corporal fox patronus which he summoned to demonstrate the skill to her. When she's older she hopes she'll be able a dragon patronus (associated with danger) because she believes her happiest memory was her father showing her DADA defense to use when she's older in case she needed to protect her family. After that she not having controlled magic yet failed to cast it but also she just try to get the movements right. Áine was raised in an environment of seeing dark magic and its defense therefore she has a good grasp on the understanding of it.