Hogwarts (Year One) - Part 11

Disused Classroom, Fourth Floor, Hogwarts. September 11, 1989.

Dark clouds loomed outside the windows, cloaking the already dusty, timeworn classroom in an added layer of foreboding.

Yet Thalia and I paid it no heed as we continued practicing.

“No, your arm should be closer to your body—look,” Thalia explained, demonstrating the Willow Crown duelling stance.

With slightly bent knees, she slid into position with practiced ease, the motions fluid and precise.

“Like this?” I asked, adjusting my form for the twelfth time. Still, something felt weird.

“Better, I guess,” Thalia sighed. “But hey—at least we’ve finally found something you’re bad at.”

“It’s not that I’m bad at it…” I replied, brows furrowing as I focused on the way my wand felt in my grip. “I just don’t think the Willow Crown suits me.”

“Doesn’t suit you?” Thalia echoed, eyebrows raised. “You do realize the Willow Crown is considered one of the greatest duelling stances in magical history? It dates back to Merlin’s era and has won countless championships.”

I frowned, slipping back into the stance once more.

Like Thalia said, the Willow Crown was allegedly one of the strongest defensive stances in wizarding history.

Yet, no matter how much I practiced it… something always felt off. Awkward, even. And if the tension in my wand was anything to go by, my wand seemed to agree with me.

“Maybe a more aggressive stance would suit me better?” I offered, half to Thalia, half to myself.

“A more aggressive stance?” Thalia echoed, brows furrowing, “the Willow Crown has always been the favoured stance in my family…”

Thalia’s lips thinned before adding.

“I wouldn’t know much about aggressive stances.”

“Maybe I should ask Flitwick…” I muttered, scrutinizing my burnished-chestnut wand.

“Why not?” Thalia said, shaking her head in mild irritation. “You’ve already been invited to one advanced club as a first-year—why not try for the Duelling Club as well?”

I hesitated before answering—pointedly ignoring her snarky tone.

“No, I think I’ll wait before joining any other clubs. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.”

As much as I understood the importance of improving my combat proficiency—probably more so than others given what I knew about Voldemort’s inevitable return—there were only so many hours in a day, and too many things already pulling at my focus.

Joining the Duelling Club would happen eventually, but not now—not yet.

This year, I’d decided I would focus on the fundamentals of wand magic. More than just perfecting wand movements, my goal was to gain better control over my spark energy. Naturally, that meant expanding my knowledge of different spells and disciplines—but it wasn’t simply about learning new incantations. It was about understanding the intricate mechanisms behind them.

Take enchanting for example—without an understanding of how a spell matrix functioned, you’d never be more than a third-rate enchanter.

It was like televisions in the real world: anyone could turn one on. But understanding how they worked—or better yet, how to build one from scratch.

That was something else entirely.

Additionally, strengthening my fundamentals would carry over into everything else. Finer control over my spark energy would benefit Potions, Duelling, and Charms alike.

I also suspected it would positively influence more complex Transfiguration rituals—like the Animagus Transformation.

Still, as advantageous as it was to focus on spellwork, neglecting my combat skills undeniably came with its own share of risks. Which was the reason why I’d asked Thalia if she wouldn’t mind teaching me her Willow Crown stance.

“But maybe I’m better off just winging it,” I sighed.

Improvising had worked against Matilda, after all—the final score had been eighteen to ten, in my favour. Matilda was a gifted witch—aggressive, quick to adapt to changes, and very stubborn—but she wasn’t trained in duelling.

Thalia, on the other hand?

I narrowed my eyes in the direction of the girl who’d somehow become my closest friend at Hogwarts—the Fawley Genius.

“Did she go easy on me last class?”

I hadn’t caught everything—preoccupied as I’d been with my own duel—but I remembered the final score between her and Quentin well enough.

Twelve to four. Thalia’s overwhelming victory.

Of course, as the heir—not merely a scion—of a Sacred family, most had expected her to come out on top. What they hadn’t expected was for her to utterly outclass another scion—someone who’d also been formally trained in duelling.

Least of all her opponent, Quentin Avery himself, who, for some inexplicable reason, had the audacity to glare daggers at me after his loss.

“That must’ve been what Quentin had thought—that Thalia went easy on the poor Muggle-born.”

I couldn’t quite explain why it got under my skin. But it bothered me, irrationally so. Especially since I’d pulled my punches against her too.

Hypocrisy at its finest.

“Thalia,” I finally gave in, interrupting her training. “Last week, in Crowe’s class, did you perhaps go easy on me?”

“Hm?” Thalia said, raising an eyebrow. “No, why do you ask?”

“It’s just…” I sighed, already noticing how childish I was sounding.  “Against Quentin, you dodged so many of his spells. With me, you—"

“I evaded Avery’s spells because they were slow and sloppy,” Thalia scoffed, looking away from me. “Yours weren’t. Don't overthink it.”

I smiled, appreciating the compliment.

“I see… well, Matilda didn’t really hold a candle to you either,” I offered honestly. “Looks like we’ll continue to be each other’s training partners from now on.”

“Like that was ever in question,” Thalia said with a scoff, though the faint smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

Without relying on the incantation, I flicked my wand and fired off another Red Sparks Charm—the bolt leaving a trail of blood-red sparks in its wake.

Recently, I’d noticed my Red Sparks Charm had changed colours, becoming darker and more saturated with crimson.

I’d decided it wasn’t a bad development—one that most likely stemmed from my increased familiarity with the spell.

Catching the flicker of fire in Thalia’s eyes, I felt a familiar challenge stir in my chest as well.

“Come to think of it, I never did get my rematch against her, did i?”

So, exhaling through my nose, I adjusted the grip on my wand.

“I suppose enchanting practice can wait until after dinner…” I thought, the corners of my lips twitching upward.

“But do you really think you’ve got what it takes to keep up with me, partner?” I asked, slipping into an unnamed stance that simply felt right. It was probably leagues beneath the Willow Crown—but at least it didn’t make my wand hum in discomfort.

Thalia gave my stance a single glance before letting out a smug little snicker—the kind that left no doubt she wasn’t bothering to hide her amusement.

With effortless grace, she flowed into her own stance. Poised and razor-sharp, she met my gaze without flinching.

“Big talk for someone who lost against me last time.”

Unable to help myseelf, I readied my wand—the artefact resonating with the feeling rising in my chest.

The spark that followed bathed the room in ominous crimson light.

…

After a pleasant—albeit noisy—dinner with Thalia, Eveline, and Cedric in the Great Hall, I made my way back to the fourth-floor classroom alone.

Cedric and Eveline had grimaced at the idea of more practice—especially after supper.

Spending all my time with Ravenclaws and Thalia, it was easy to forget that not every eleven-year-old lived to study.

Then again, I didn’t quite agree with Eveline when she claimed that studying magic qualified as being nerdy. But what did I know? Unlike them, I wasn’t born into wizard society.

As for why Thalia didn’t want to come back? Simply put—she was a sore loser.

What what really got to her didn’t seem to be the score—sixteen to fourteen, in my favour—but rather the fact that she’d run out of spark energy before I did.

To be fair, we’d been casting the Red Sparks Charm almost non-stop for hours, so I was honestly impressed her reserves had lasted as long as they had.

Still, Thalia being Thalia, she focused more on the negatives than the positives.

And honestly? I couldn’t blame her for being a little jealous. Even after an entire afternoon of casting, I figured I still had around thirty percent of my spark reserves left to call upon.

In other words, I could keep casting the spell for another hour or two before needing to recover.

The reason? Well, while my reserves had improved marginally over the last couple of weeks, the key factor actually lay in spell proficiency—or rather, practice.

The Red Sparks Charm (Vermilious) – 7 ★

At seven-star proficiency, I could cast the spell nonverbally and wandlessly if I wanted to. With the added benefit of my wand, I could produce the charm using only a fraction of the spark energy the spell had once required.

Needless to say, I had my research to thank for this increase in efficiency. Through trial and error, I’d recorded my progress meticulously—tweaking and refining the spell matrix to improve its stability, efficacy, and cost, all while sharpening the clarity of my intent.

And the result spoke for itself.

Meanwhile, by my estimation, Thalia’s proficiency with the Red Sparks Charm hovered around the five-star level—meaning that, as far as the spellbook was concerned, she’d technically mastered the spell already.

Not that it helped her much this time.

Still, it bugged me that, despite the difference in our charm level, I barely managed to chalk out a victory over my eleven-year-old training partner. Even when I adjusted the charm's trajectory on the fly, Thalia often managed to evade them after she got used to it.

Clearly, there were benefits of learning a duelling stance—even when practicing something as easy as dodging drills.

Opening my journal, I plopped down against one of the walls. The castle’s stone felt comfortably cool against my back.

“Now, do I continue practicing the Alarm Charm, or do I go with a different route?” I muttered, poking my ballpoint pen against my chin.

Even I was forced to admit that Professor Flitwick had been right. As it currently stood, my Alarm Charm wasn’t stable enough to handle the additional weight of protective layering, as such, I would first have to develop my proficiency with the spell before learning how to incorporate spell reinforcement into the matrix.

The problem was that learning the Alarm Charm was challenging enough. When adding spell reinforcement into the mix—a fifth year skill—I reckoned it would take weeks, even months, before I would see any noticeable improvements.

And that was with the assistance of Flitwick’s Charms Circle.

No, seeing as the thieving bastard didn’t have any qualms about rummaging through my stuff only two weeks into the semester, I needed a faster solution.

Digging through my heavy satchel, I retrieved and began leafing through Miranda Goshawk’s third-year spellbook—a temporary loan from the library.

On page forty-two, I found the spell I was looking for.

The Fixing Charm, Adhaero—an intermediate charm used to affix one object to another or to anchor an item in place, rendering it immovable by non-magical means.

Though mainly used to affix physical objects, suitably advanced proficiency with the spell made it possible to use it as a pragmatic alternative to more advance spell reinforcement.

In other words, this spell was just what I needed. With the Fixing Charm, I could anchor the unstable components of the Alarm Charm in place—circumventing the need for manual protective layering or advanced proficiency. This would in essence enhance the spell’s resilience to Finite—even if it couldn't render it immune.

Of course, a well-directed counter-spell, fuelled by enough intent, could still undo the enchantment. A professor, for example, could easily dispel my enchantment with or without the anchoring effect in play.

It wasn't just a matter of raw magical power, but a qualitative difference in intent.

Nevertheless, I reasoned that an anchored Alarm Charm would be sufficient to deter all but the most skilled students from poking around in my belongings again.

“Though it won’t bring my photo album back.” I thought, frowning.

While Flitwick had ensured me that they’d look into the matter, odds were I’d never see my album again.

Which was upsetting, for sure, but not overly so.

Truthfully, it wasn’t the theft of the album itself that bothered me the most—it was just pictures, after all—no, it was the fact that someone had dared to do it.

For no apparent reason other than to get under my skin, some idiot had risked expulsion from Hogwarts by nicking a photo album from a first-year.

Admittedly, my blood status and abilities had earned me a bit of animosity from certain students—but I didn’t think I’d done anything so far that was enough to warrant this level of hostility.

“It makes no sense…” I muttered, my eyes tracking the illustrations of the Fixing Charm’s wand movements.

Then again, it was important to remember I was dealing with adolescents and teenagers. Consequential thinking wasn’t exactly their strong suit; it was one of the last cognitive abilities to develop, after all.

Not that that excused the theft. Stupidity was still stupidity—cognitive development or not.

Flicking my wand, I levitated one of my ballpoint pens and pressed it firmly against the wall. Then—before the Levitation Charm could wear off—I followed the instructions in the spellbook.

“Adhaero!”  I enunciated, eyes widening when I felt the faint sensation of spark energy entering my wand.

For a heartbeat, I thought I’d succeeded in casting the spell on my first try—then the levitation wore off, and the ballpoint pen promptly surrendered to gravity.

“Maybe trying to use two spells at once is pushing it…” I thought, abandoning the Levitation Charm and redirecting my focus to the pen now resting on the stone floor.

“Adhaero!”

With the Fixing Charm cast, I approached the pen and reached for it—only to lift it without resistance, just like normal.

“Well, that’s a failure.” I sighed, turning the pen over in my hand. It weighed the same as always. No resistance, no magical adhesion—nothing.

Then, on a whim, I tried clicking it.

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow and tried clicking it again.

Only to find that I couldn’t. The plastic button had fused with the rest of the pen. As if it had never been a separate piece to begin with.

“Finite.” I said, waving my wand over the fixed object.

This time it worked. The pen had returned to normal.

“Perhaps my intent wasn’t clear enough?” I muttered, scribbling down the result in my journal.

Then, I cast the spell again—and again.

…

The next day unfolded much like last week’s Tuesday. We started with Transfiguration in the morning, where McGonagall commended me on my Match-to-Needle Spell, which had silently reached the two-star level.

Hardly good compared to the rest of my spells, but given how much difficulty the rest of the class was having with Transfiguration, I still managed to stand out.

Truth be told, I could probably have done better, but my mind was elsewhere at the moment.

After Transfiguration came Flying Class with Madam Hooch.

And apparently, I wasn’t built for altitude. Or balance. Or flying in general. In theory, it sounded awesome—flying around in the air, unassisted by anything apart from a broom. In practice, however, the concept of placing my trust in a stick of wood with no visible safety features didn’t speak to me at all.

In fact, it was utterly irrational. From a safety standpoint, I could argue it bordered on lunacy. There was no cushioning, no visible stabilisation, and no reason any sane person should be airborne on what basically amounted to an oversized twig.

I did not reciprocate Roger and the other guys’ love for the subject.

After lunch—most of which I spent defending my views on broom flying to Thalia and her friends—we had Potions with Snape and the first-year Snakes.

Needless to say, it went as well as I thought it would go, with Snape barely bothering to conceal his disdain. Still, despite the atmosphere, I was beginning to appreciate the precision Potions required. Certainly, I liked it more than the sheer madness of Madam Hooch’s Flying class.

Overall, everything followed the usual rhythm, until afternoon arrived.

…

Locking eyes with Sandra, I refused to look away first. There was no way in hell I was budging.

“I said I’m not doing it.”

“Oh, come on, Miki! Don’t be like that!”

“Do it yourself if it’s so important.”

“No, it obviously has to be a guy.” Sandra replied, shaking her head determinedly. “Just gaze longingly at Rowena and say, ‘When I see you, my heart burns brighter than the Floo!’ Honestly, how hard is that?”

Again, I narrowed my eyes at the senior, pointedly refusing to look away.

Sighing, Charlotte adjusted her glasses—cutting in.

“Sandra, if you go any further, it can be construed as bullying…”

“Bah!” Sandra clicked her tongue, folding her arms in mock defeat. “He wanted to know what we were working on as sixth years, didn’t he?”

I gave The Tragedy of Emmeric the Earnest a long, sceptical look.

“There’s no way that book is part of the sixth-year reading.”

“Maybe it is,” Sandra said, patting the book. “Or maybe it isn’t. Either way, Professor Flitwick says emotion is the key to unlocking advanced spellwork. As such, isn’t reenacting scenes from famous dramas the perfect exercise? To get in touch with your emotions?”

“Sandra…” Charlotte sighed. “Maybe we should return to the topic at hand? Thalia said their class is having a hard time with Transfiguration.”

“You’re right—as always,” Sandra said, turning to focus on the girls. “You girls said you were learning the Match-to-Needle Spell, right?”

Matilda and Thalia both nodded, while Rowena stayed still, but paid close attention, nonetheless.

“Funny how McGonagall always starts with that spell,” Sandra said with a smile, plucking a strand of hair from her head. “Somehow it feels like just yesterday we studied the spell, wouldn’t you agree, Charlotte?”

Beside her, Charlotte nodded in affirmation.

“The Match-to-Needle Spell, being an object-to-object transformation, consists of three aspects.”

“First and foremost, it focuses on material transformation.” Without another word, the strand of hair shimmered and turned metallic in her hand.

“That… was a nonverbal spell—no incantation, no wand movements,” I noted, narrowing my eyes at her. “And since her target object wasn’t a wooden match but a strand of hair, the difficulty spikes immensely. Hence, that spell has to be at least eight stars. Likely even higher.”

Her teasing smile was still there—but beneath it, I suddenly realized there was someone who’d long since mastered the kind of magic I was only beginning to grasp. Her skill stood in sharp contrast to the casual and playful image she projected.

“So, this is what Hogwarts’ number one sixth-year is capable of?”

“Then, the spell alters the size and shape of the object.” Like something alive, the silver string of metal suddenly straightened, shortened, and morphed into the form of a gleaming needle.

“Finally—and perhaps most difficult of all—the caster must preserve the structural integrity of the transformed object. If I remember correctly, this is where most novices fail.”

Sandra placed the perfect needle on the table.

“Add all three aspects together—and voilà! You have the Match-to-Needle Spell. Honestly, it’s not that difficult.”

Before I could stop myself, I nodded in agreement.

“Oh?” Sandra’s eyes sparkled with interest. “You’ve got experience with the spell, Miki?”

Before I could respond, Matilda cut in with a sly look in my direction. “He’s the only one in our class who’s managed to cast it so far.”

Matilda smirked before adding, “Some are already calling him McGonagall’s new pet project.”

I furrowed my brows at her in irritation.

“Professor McGonagall isn’t giving me any more attention than anyone else in our—what is it now, Thalia?”

“I mean, you’re kidding, right?” Thalia replied flatly, her expression deadpan. “Tell me, how many times did she call on you last class?”

“I don’t know…” I frowned thoughtfully, trying to recall. “Like twice, or thrice maybe?”

“That’s exactly my point!” Matilda interjected, throwing her hands up. “I don’t even think McGonagall knows I exist.”

I opened my mouth to argue—but hesitated.

“Maybe she’s right…?”

Unlike Professor Flitwick, McGonagall didn’t show warmth that often. She was generally quite professional, distant, and precise in her demeanour—more likely to offer a sharp nod than a word of praise.

“So… you’re good at Transfiguration too?” Sandra said, smiling playfully in my direction. “Aren’t you just full of surprises?”

“Hardly.” I replied, folding my arms.

“Why do I keep winding up in these situations…” I grumbled internally.

Next to me, Thalia scoffed audibly—clearly, she disagreed with me.

“Well, since you already know how to cast the spell,” Sandra said sweetly, “you won’t mind giving your peers a few pointers, right? After all, who better than someone who actually remembers what it’s like to struggle with the basics?”

“But isn’t that your—"

Before I could object any further, she clapped her hands once—loud and decisive.

“Perfect!” She beamed, already turning to Charlotte. “It’s decided. Today’s focus will be the Match-to-Needle Spell, and lucky for us, Miki will be the one offering guidance. Charlotte and I will observe and only offer our opinion if Miki says or does something wrong. Is that fine with you three?”

Thalia nodded with a sigh, Matilda shrugged, and Rowena bobbed her head so minutely I almost missed it.

Then, without looking at me, the sixteen-year-old continued.

“Brilliant!” Sandra clapped again, then nodded at Charlotte, who promptly produced a box of matches from Merlin-knows-where. “Then please, demonstrate your spellwork for the class, if you would.”

Turns out, reincarnation doesn’t prepare you for peer pressure.

Sighing, I readied my wand and focused on one of the matches on the table.

“Like Sandra said, the Match-to-Needle Spell breaks down into three core effects—form, function, and material. If one’s concentration slips, you’ll either wind up with a useless needle or just a silver-colored match.”

Seeing as the sixth-years weren’t interjecting yet, I continued my explanation.

“And like most spells, this Match-to-Needle Spell tests the caster’s focus, visualization, and energy control.”

“Acusfigo.” I vocalized, focusing on my target.

Everyone watched as the wooden match slowly transformed into a somewhat blunt, but undeniably metallic, needle.

I picked the object up and turned it around in my palm, examining the result.

“Still not perfect…” I concluded. Compared to Flitwick’s and Sandra’s demonstrations, my needle still had a long way to go.

Handing my needle over to Thalia so she could pass it around, I continued my explanation.

“It’s not enough to just have good visualization or focus. Without proper energy control, the transformation will either be incomplete—or collapse entirely. In my experience, the best way to improve energy control is through practice.”

I gestured toward the needle in Matilda’s hand.

“If you look closely, you’ll notice that the tip of the needle is still a bit blunt, and there’s some discoloration along the backside. This is partly due to flaws in my visualization, yes—but more importantly, I didn’t channel enough energy to enforce these changes properly.”

“A brilliant explanation!” Sandra clapped her hands, beaming at me before turning toward the rest. “Now it’s your turn girls, show us what you can do!”

…

The study group ended with everyone—including me—being close to fizzling out. Even temporary transfiguration took a toll on one’s spark reserves, which meant I didn’t have enough energy to continue practicing afterward.

Nevertheless, the study group wasn’t without progress.

The Match-to-Needle Spell (Acusfigo) – 2 ★ > 3 ★

With enough focus—and a carefully sustained visualization—I could now confidently produce a sharp, silver needle with virtually no discoloration or warping. It still wasn’t perfect, but I was getting there.

Progress was progress.

And to the credit of my peers, the others had also managed to cast their first Acusfigo Spell. Their needles still needed some refinement before they could be called elegant, but they’d transformed wooden matches into metallic needle-formed objects—and that was all that mattered.

When it was time for us to part ways, Sandra grinned like a proud cat watching her kittens take their first steps. The smug satisfaction on her face sent a faint shiver down my spine.

“But I suppose we could’ve gotten worse mentors…” I begrudgingly admitted. Sandra made up for all her eccentricities with real talent—and an annoying knack for bringing out the best in people. Somehow, her chaotic teaching style actually worked.

Also, Charlotte’s steady demeanour provided just enough balance to counter Sandra’s chaos.

With my spark reserves too low to keep casting, I headed to the library with Thalia to work on our Astronomy essays due Friday.

…

“Thalia, bestie, can I please read your summary on the Canis Major?” Eveline asked sweetly.

“Eve,” Thalia sighed, turning toward her friend with a look that was equal parts tired and amused. “You do realise we’re not supposed to copy each other’s work, right?”

“Whatever do you mean? Copy?” Eveline replied, looking positively aghast while feigning shock. “No! I just want to… verify my facts. With your facts.”

Sighing, Thalia shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter anyway; I’m still on Andromeda.”

“Wait, still?!” Eveline gasped, eyes wide. “How much are you writing?!”

Across the aisle, an older Slytherin student shot us a sharp glare for being too noisy.

“Eveline…” Cedric whispered, nudging his cousin. “You need to lower your voice. What if Madam Pince hears you?”

I nodded in agreement. Getting on Madam Pince’s bad side was a fast track to being exiled from the library—and I needed the library.

Furthermore, I was pretty sure Madam Pince’s glare could even silence Peeves. Though it was a hypothesis that had yet to be tested.

“Canis Major, meaning “Greater Dog” in Latin,” I began, speaking softly. “Is the most prominent constellation in the southern sky. It’s said to represent the loyal hound of Orion, as such, you can find it by following the line of Orion’s belt.”

I glanced down at my own essay.

“But naturally, it’s best known for containing Sirius, the Dog Star—easily distinguished since it’s the brightest star in the night sky. It’s believed to ward off dark creatures and—"

Looking up from my essay, I noticed Cedric, Eveline, and even Thalia was listening to me with rapt attention.

“What?” I furrowed my brows at them. “It’s all in the book.”

“Still… has anyone ever told you you’d make a fine teacher?” Cedric suddenly asked, Eveline and Thalia bobbing their heads in agreement.

“He was annoyingly good at explaining the Acusfigo Spell as well…” Thalia muttered.

“And the modified Lumos Charm.” Eveline added.

Smiling, I couldn’t help but to think back on my past life. Even then, my old friends had urged me to become a teacher—saying it was a fit unlike any other.

Funny how some things stay the same, no matter the timeline or universe.

“Next you’ll be saying I should take over Flitwick’s job.” I joked.

“Well… seeing as you’ve already been invited to join the Charms Circle,” Thalia replied, smiling back at me. “At this rate, they’ll be giving you your own office by next term.”

I scoffed in response, but Eveline cut in before I could retort.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eveline said, raising a hand. “Michael’s been invited to the Charms Circle? When exactly did this happen?”

“After Charms class yesterday,” Thalia replied on my behalf. “You’d already left for Defence Against the Dark Arts with Cedric when he got the invitation.”

“And you didn’t say anything?!” Eveline exclaimed, whipping around to glare at me.

Again, before I could even open my mouth, someone else cut in.

“Miss Thorne.”

The voice was shrill and cold, each syllable laced with a promise of detention.

Or worse.

The owner of the voice, Madam Pince, emerged like a spectre from the bookshelves, looming like a vulture in a cardigan, her eyes narrowed to slits behind her spectacles.

“If you insist on disturbing the sanctity of this library, I will see to it that your essays are written in the broom cupboard henceforth. Is that understood?”

“Y-Yes, Madam Pince, I’m sorry.” Eveline replied, lowering her head.

The head librarian clicked her tongue once, her sharp gaze sweeping over the rest of us like a warning. Then, without uttering another word, she turned and disappeared between the shelves. Her footsteps swallowed by the carpet.

Yet, the silence didn’t last long before Eveline turned back toward me.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us…” Eveline whispered, glaring at me accusingly.

“Everyone was… preoccupied.” I said, shrugging. “Besides, I didn’t think it was something worth mentioning.”

“Michael…” Cedric sighed, lowering his voice slightly. “First-years like us don’t get invited to any of the clubs. This kind of thing… people are going to notice.”

I stayed quiet, my eyes landing on my essay.

“It can’t be that unusual, can it?” I asked, recalling how Harry Potter became his house’s Seeker in his first year.

“It’s not unheard of, no.” Thalia admitted. “Among scions and heirs, there are a few who’ve enjoyed the privilege, even in their first year. But…”

She glanced at me, suddenly looking a bit hesitant.

“But I’m not an heir or a scion, I'm a Muggle-born.” I said, finishing her sentence.

Eveline and Thalia looked away when I met their eyes, while Cedric let out another sigh, scratching the back of his head in frustration.

If I was reading the situation correctly, then my invitation to the Charms Circle wasn’t just surprising—it was like handing kindling to those already looking for reasons to spark outrage.

“This is getting ridiculous.” I thought, wondering how Hermione managed to stay afloat—let alone thrive—as a gifted Muggle-born in an environment this hostile. “No wonder she walked around like she had something to prove constantly.”

“Have you at least heard anything from Flitwick about the theft? Any word on who did it?”

“Not yet,” I replied quietly. “And honesty… I doubt they’ll find him.”

If they were going to catch the thief, I reckoned it would’ve happened by now. Odds were that the thief had either destroyed or hidden the album in a manner untraceable by magical means.

“Maybe it's time fo me to start learning the Summoning Charm—just in case.”

At this point, my to-do list was starting to resemble a small novella. If it wasn't filled with actual magic, it likely would've overwhelmed me.

“It’s tomorrow afternoon, right?” Thalia broke the silence, turning toward me. “Your Charms Circle meeting that is. You’re going, aren’t you?”

I nodded slowly.

Even if it earned me more resentment, I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to study advanced Charms. Not when I knew what the future held in store for us.

Popularity wasn’t going to protect me and my friends from Voldemort. But knowledge might.

“And you do realise our mentor, Sandra Marwick, is a member?” Thalia added, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Of course, Thalia knew I didn’t exactly see eye to eye with our platinum-blonde senior. Sandra had a way of getting under my skin—and she seemed to enjoy doing so.

I sighed and nodded.

“Yeah… I presumed as much.”

As the top-ranked student in her year, it was only natural for Sandra to have a presence in several extracurricular circles—Charms being one of them.

“Though, judging by how she acted during our study group, it didn’t seem like she knew about my invitation yet…” I thought to myself.

Small mercies, really.

“I wish I was invited to the Charms Circle…” Eveline muttered softly.

“I’m holding out for the Quidditch team myself,” Cedric added. “Speaking of which—do you guys want to watch the Hufflepuff try-outs with me on Saturday? I want to scope out the competition.”

Eveline scoffed, but I spoke up before she could voice her opinion.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, smiling at the soon-to-be Seeker of the Hufflepuff team—even if he didn’t quite know it himself yet.

And so, we kept chatting in hushed voices, gradually forgetting why we’d come to the library in the first place.

For a little while—surrounded by towering bookshelves and buried under casual gossip and Cedric’s Quidditch dreams—it really did feel like I was just a kid again, laughing and forgetting the weight of things.

…

That night, lying in bed listening to the soft snoring of Roger, William, and Rufus, I found myself staring out the window, up at the star-strewn night sky.

Framed by drifting clouds, a faint constellation caught my eye—its shape like the outstretched wings of a bird.

A swan.

“Cygnus.” My eyes widened, recognizing the shape.

Though not one of the twelve main constellations, I’d come across information about this constellation by chance while researching for my homework. Reading about it, I couldn’t help but to find it fascinating.

According to the textbook, Cygnus was said to guide the spirits of the lost across the sky. It was a symbol of magical transition—the shift between life and death, memory and forgetting.

“I wonder if you’re the one who put me here.” I thought wryly, tracing the constellation with my finger.

I’d never studied Astronomy before, but as a former history teacher, I’d naturally heard the myth of Orpheus, the person who according to legend transformed into a constellation—in the form of a swan.

Intriguingly, in the wizarding world, Orpheus was no mere musician, but a gifted Seer and wandless sorcerer whose music held the power to bend reality. So powerful a wizard was he that he could calm storms, charm dragons, and even open the Veil between life and death.

Using his immense power, it was said that Orpheus struck a deal with Death—a vow sealed with spell and song—in an effort to retrieve his beloved Eurydice from the afterlife.

However, when Orpheus inevitably broke the trust of the Veil, his soul was fractured—and the deal with Death was broken.

Yet, before Death could claim his soul, the ancient stars—the twelve constellations—took pity on Orpheus and, using their celestial powers, transformed the remnants of his spirit into Cygnus, the Guide of the Lost.

Or so the legend goes.

I watched as Cygnus vanished behind a curtain of clouds, and darkness settled over the castle. Yawning, I let my eyes close too—if only for a little while.

That night, when sleep pulled me under, I inexplicably dreamed of the life I thought I’d left behind: the family I'd once cherished, their laughter, and the warmth.

And none of the sadness.

…

Tired from a night filled with dreams and memories, I slept in until nine—missing breakfast in the Great Hall for the first time since my arrival.

Nevertheless, since my first period was History of Magic with Professor Binns, I didn’t stress over it. Instead, after finishing my morning rituals, I propped myself up in my bed and read about the implementation of the International Statue of Secrecy in the late 17th century—determined to keep up with the subject.

Naturally, the momentful decree marked an important turning point in magical history—it was when the wizarding world formally went underground to conceal itself from Muggles.

What caught my attention, though, was the timing. The statue had been finalized just as the Witch Trials were calming down.

“Definitely not a coincidence…” I mused.

Interestingly, the early drafts of the statue had very little—if any—input from other magical beings—goblins, centaurs, merfolk, even vampires—despite the fact that they too were forced into hiding as a result of the decree.

Like the Muggle world, it seemed the wizarding world wasn’t without its own share of racial discrimination and systemic exclusion—just cloaked in different traditions but rooted in the same old prejudice.

Strange, really—how prejudice managed to survive across worlds and lifetimes, like some kind of universal constant.

In a way, it was almost comforting—to know that something remained the same.

But not really.

At 10:30 a.m., I packed up my things and headed my way toward the second period of the day.

Charms with Professor Flitwick.

…