The forging of the Philosopher's Stone had reached a pause. Until Saturn rose again, the next stage could not begin.
Sylas allowed himself several days of rest, gathering his strength and clearing his mind. Yet he had no intention of remaining idle during the months of waiting.
One particular idea came to him, the secret of crafting an Invisibility Cloak.
In the wizarding world, ordinary Invisibility Cloaks are nothing more than enchanted fabric, woven with Disillusionment or Invisibility Charms. More precious versions are spun from the silver hair of the Demiguise, whose natural ability renders them unseen. Yet even these cloaks fade with time, their magic unraveling. They can be pierced by revealing spells, counter-charms, or magical detection.
Only one cloak stands above all others: the Invisibility Cloak of the Deathly Hallows. It does not fade, cannot be pierced, and even veils the wearer's presence from Death itself. The Peverell brother who first wielded it was said to vanish from Death's sight entirely, walking through the world unseen until he chose to meet his end in peace.
Though embellished in The Tales of Beedle the Bard, the truth was different: the Peverells were brilliant wizards who forged wonders through mastery of the arcane. The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak were their own creations, yet their power was so great that legend turned them into gifts from Death.
Sylas did not care for myth. What mattered was that the Cloak had endured through the ages, its magic unbroken, shielding even Harry Potter in his war against Voldemort. If he could craft a cloak of similar permanence, it would be invaluable against the gaze of Sauron.
The Dark Lord's fiery Eye forever swept the lands of Mordor, and his palantír, greater than Sylas's own stone, could pierce walls and borders to pry into distant places. Already, Sylas's work with Mercury's starlight had drawn Sauron's attention, and only Galadriel's intervention had shielded him. The need for protection was undeniable.
Unbeknownst to him, Sauron now sought to seize the Stone for himself. Sylas only knew that he must weave a cloak so cunning that even the palantír would falter before it.
Middle-earth itself had cloaks of concealment. The Elven cloaks of Lothlórien, woven by Galadriel's handmaidens, wrapped their wearers in shadow, making them all but invisible in the wilds. Arwen herself had given Sylas such a cloak, a token of friendship and trust. But even those could not rival what he intended.
The greatest cloak of concealment in Arda had once belonged to Ungoliant, the dark spider-goddess. In the First Age, she had spun a shroud of night so dense that it veiled Morgoth himself, hiding him from the eyes of the Valar. With that cloak, the Two Trees were destroyed, and Valinor plunged into darkness.
Sylas did not dream of equaling Ungoliant's terrible weaving. But he could aim to craft something nearer to the Peverell Cloak, a mantle of invisibility that would not weaken or decay.
From his notes, he knew the Peverells themselves had used Demiguise hair as their base, the difference lying in the higher enchantments they wove into it. But Demiguises did not exist in Middle-earth. Another material was needed.
And for that, the answer was clear.
Spider silk.
Not the ordinary threads of small forest spiders, but the dark, glistening cords of Ungoliant's brood, giant spiders of Mirkwood and beyond. If their ancestress had once woven the Cloak of Night, then surely her children's silk bore a fraction of that same power.
Sylas kept a brood of giant spiders within the tower of Amon Sûl, which he had long since bound into Hogwarts Castle's enchanted halls.
Though they were originally intended as reserve fodder for the basilisk, Herpo, the spiders had instead been bent to his will under the Imperius Curse. Trained with care and discipline, they had become the Castle's very own "weavers."
When Sylas entered the chamber where the spiders dwelt, he stepped into what resembled a vast workshop. Each spider sat in its place like a skilled artisan at a loom, their forelegs flicking with mechanical precision. Silken threads shimmered in the dim light, drawn and woven together into bolts of fabric that unfurled with uncanny speed.
The textiles they produced were unlike any cloth made by man. Blades could scarcely cut through them, fire found them stubborn to consume, and time itself seemed hesitant to mar them. In Sylas's estimation, such fabric might endure for centuries unspoiled.
Smaug, however, saw matters differently. Styling himself Sylas's "treasury keeper," the greedy dragon dreamed not of honor or duty, but of lying upon fresh mountains of gold. He abandoned sleep in favor of scheming, looming over the spiders like a tyrant foreman. Through the butler Edward, he rationed the silk to merchants in tiny, carefully measured amounts, spreading rumors that only an inch of cloth could be spun each day. Scarcity, he reasoned, would swell the value.
Soon, to Sylas's dismay, the dragon was tallying heaps of coin with manic delight, muttering calculations to himself as if he were a dwarven accountant rather than a fire-drake.
Yet Sylas, glancing once more at the spiders spinning in ceaseless rhythm, turned away with a shake of his head.
The silk was strong, yes, resistant to blade and flame, and humming faintly with magical potential. But these spiders were but distant descendants of Ungoliant's brood, their blood diluted by uncounted generations. Their silk lacked the depth of power he required.
For a true Invisibility Cloak, worthy of eluding even Sauron's gaze, Sylas knew he must seek greater material, spider silk closer to Ungoliant's line.
If there was one that had ever come close, it had been the Spider-queen of Mirkwood. She bore a bloodline far closer to Ungoliant's than her lesser kin, and her strength had been immense. Even with Thranduil and Radagast at his side, Sylas had struggled mightily to bring her down.
But that creature was long gone, devoured by Herpo, leaving no chance to harvest her silk for an Invisibility Cloak.
In truth, what Sylas longed for most was the silk of Ungoliant herself. It was her web that had been woven into the Dark Cloak, an artifact so hidden in shadow that even Manwë, King of the Valar, could not pierce it.
He recalled how Ungoliant had once turned on Morgoth after the destruction of the Two Trees, binding him in webs so strong that even the Dark Lord could not tear free. Only the whips of Balrogs, crackling with flame, had sundered the strands and freed him. That alone proved the unmatched power of Ungoliant's silk, threads capable of holding even a Vala.
Of course, such thoughts were little more than dreams. Were Sylas ever to face Ungoliant herself, he would have no hope of survival, let alone of escaping with her web.
But the Shelob was another matter. Born in the First Age, Shelob was perhaps the truest heir of her mother's dreadful line. When Beleriand sank in the War of Wrath, she fled east, carving out a lair in the mountains on Mordor's borders. There she brooded, spawning countless kin that spread through Mirkwood in ages past.
The Spider-queen of Mirkwood had been one such descendant, her power owing to the strength Shelob had passed down.
If Sylas could claim even a measure of Shelob's silk, it would be enough to rival legend. With it, he might weave a cloak surpassing even the Hallow of the Peverell brothers.
...
STONES PLEASE
Read chapters ahead @/Keepsmiling818