Hogwarts (Year One) - Part 7

Professor Flitwick’s Classroom, Third Floor, Hogwarts. September 6, 1989.

With practiced ease and deliberate wandwork, I channelled my focus into that beautiful spark of energy pulsing within me—the source of magic lodged somewhere between my chest and my stomach.

And in that moment of intense focus, the stares around me slipped away, no longer of any consequence.

“Vermilious.” I murmured, almost whisperingly.

Immediately, the spark stirred in response, eager to obey my intent. The energy surging through me and into the waiting catalyst.

Someone gasped as a crimson bolt burst forth from my wand, streaking through the classroom and bathing the walls in a blood-red glow.

Finally, just as the bolt was about to hit an opposing window, it dissipated into crystalline particles.

I gave a small nod, content—though mildly vexed that I hadn’t thought to bring my journal with me to class.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t until I lowered my wand that I registered the deafening silence looming over the room.

Coughing lightly, Professor Flitwick offered a very pleased smile. One that made it seem like he’d somehow been responsible for the spell I’d conjured.

“A magnificent display of the Vermilious Charm, Mr. Morgan. Twenty points to Ravenclaw!”

“Woah!”

“Twenty points?!”

“Was that the Red Spark Charm?!”

At once, the classroom—still full of slack-jawed eleven-year-olds—erupted into chaos.

Even I couldn’t help but feel a touch dumbfounded at how many points my little display had earned.

Apart from Cedric and Eveline's slack-jawed expressions, the Hufflepuff first-years stared daggers at me.

Thalia, on the other hand, wore an expression that oddly enough managed to look both proud and envious.

A stark contrast to the frowns etched across Matilda and Quentin’s countenances.

“Now, now! That’s quite enough chatter,” chirped Professor Flitwick, rapping his wand lightly on the blackboard. “Let’s bring those voices down, shall we?”

“Again, a splendid demonstration of the Vermilious Charm—clearly the result of diligent practice.”

I nodded slowly in response.

“Now then, can anyone explain why Mr. Morgan’s Vermilious Charm was so effective?”

…

When Flitwick’s class was about to end, I stealthily began to pack my stationary in advance.

“Meet you in the Great Hall?” I whispered, softly enough that only my deskmate could hear me.

Fortunately, Thalia didn’t seem to need any further explanation—she merely gave a non-committal nod in response.

“That’s enough for me,” I decided.

The moment Flitwick dismissed us, I snatched up my things and bolted, determined not to get cornered by a dozen nosy questions I had no intention of answering.

Strolling up to the fourth floor, I quietly made my way to my favourite disused classroom.

“Twenty points ought to earn me some leeway…” I mumbled to myself. But in truth, I suspected my display would unfortunately have the opposite effect.

Even back in Bath, plenty of peers had taken issue with my academic performance. There’d been a time when I’d been called names and quietly frozen out. Childish? Yes.

But I doubted jealousy was exclusive to Muggles.

Now more than ever, I reckoned I ought to learn how to protect myself—my belongings included.

Withdrawing my wand, I focused on one of my textbooks.

A clockwise spiral was followed by gentle tap.

“A-lahr-mah-re.”

This time around, spark energy stirred in response, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I’d pulled it off.

Yet when, instead of an amber glow, a sickly yellow light flared from my wand, I knew something had gone terribly wrong.

A heartbeat later, I was clutching my ears in pain as a shrill, grating screech tore through the room—and likely the corridor outside as well.

I fumbled through several failed attempts to cancel the manifestation, getting more and more desperate with each try.

Then, mercifully, a voice called, “Finite!”

The screech cut off instantly, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. My wand, however, still hummed with power—seemingly alive with spent magic.

“Well, that was one way to test the acoustics.” An older student casually holstered his wand, his robes proudly displaying his house crest.

Gryffindor.

“Next time you experiment with a charm that can double as a banshee’s mating call, maybe learn the counter-charm first?”

“You’re right... Thank you.” I offered, slightly embarrassed that I had to rely on a stranger for help.

“Don’t sweat it. We’ve all detonated a spell or two in our first year—some of us just did it with less flair.”

The Lion continued, glancing around the disused classroom.

“I’m just glad it was a careless firstie and not Peeves playing another prank on me. I swear sometimes that poltergeist has it out for me.”

“You’ve seen Peeves?” I raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. For some reason, I still hadn’t encountered the mischievous manifestation of chaotic magic yet.

The older Lion looked at me funnily.

“You mean to say you haven’t? Count yourself lucky, then. He’s been tormenting the firsties in our house more than usual this term.”

I nodded slowly—truth be told, I wasn’t exactly plugged into the goings-on among the Lions… or the Snakes, for that matter.

If it weren’t for Cedric and Eveline running their mouths all the time, I probably wouldn’t know anything about the Badgers either.

“Anyway,” he went on, giving my wand a pointed glance, “for a firstie, you’ve clearly got some juice. Just be careful not to overreach, yeah?”

“I won’t,” I replied. “Thanks again.”

The Lion shook his head—his mess of ruffled hair giving him the look of a mane—before turning to leave.

Looking down at my still-humming wand—seemingly eager for another go—I sighed in frustration.

“Well… that was embarrassing.”

…

“You went to go practice some more?!” Eveline whisper-shouted across the table, her eyes wide in surprise.

“Only a little.” I replied, stuffing my face with sausages.

“Never mind that,” Thalia interjected, her eyes narrowing at me. “You said a senior helped you?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “A Lion. Probably a fifth or sixth year.”

“Why would a Lion be wandering around the fourth floor during class?” Cedric muttered.

“Maybe he was playing hooky?” I offered with a shrug. “He definitely seemed like the type.”

“What did he look like?” Eveline questioned, her eyes wandering over to where the older Gryffindors were seated. “Is he here right now?”

I followed her gaze and did a half-hearted scan. “I don’t think so. With his hairdo, he would’ve stuck out.”

“Hairdo?” Thalia narrowed her eyes at me.

“Mhm,” I nodded. “He had really thick and ruffled hair, almost like a mane. Looking every bit like real Lion.”

“Guys,” Cedric stared at me with a stupefied look on his face. “I think Michael met with Caleb Armitage.”

“The Spellmane?”

“The what?” I raised a brow, looking at Eveline.

“Caleb Armitage,” Thalia began, tone matter-of-fact, “is the fifth year Gryffindor who won last year’s Junior Wizard’s Duelling Circuit. He’s easily one of the strongest duellists at Hogwarts right now.”

“He’s also like really handsome…” Eveline added under her breath.

“And he’s called the Spellmane?”

“Well, if the shoe fits...”

I shook my head in surrender.

…

After lunch ended, Thalia and I said our goodbyes to Cedric and Eveline before heading off to Professor McGonagall’s class.

On the way, I kept thinking about my failed manifestation.

“The alarm went off, sure… just not the way I’d planned. Somehow, I must’ve botched the trigger conditions—or the way I anchored the spell…”

Honestly, the incident only made me want to practice the spell even more.

But Caleb—or the Spellmane—had been right. Practicing the spell without learning the counter-charm first had been foolish of me.

“You’re doing it again.” Thalia suddenly said, tearing me from my thoughts.

“Doing what?” I asked, glancing at her.

“Pressing your lips together and frowning when you’re thinking about something.” She pointed at her forehead. “It’s going to leave wrinkles.”

I looked at her in exasperation.

“We’re eleven.”

“Still…”

…

“Last class, we covered the four branches of Transfiguration,” Professor McGonagall said, her sharp gaze sweeping across the room of attentive students.

“What were they?”

Several hands shot into the air.

“Yes, Mr. Davies?”

“Switching Spells, Vanishing Spells, Transformative Spells, and Conjuration.”

McGonagall nodded crisply.

“Indeed. And the associated risks?”

Roger eyes widened as he realized she expected him to keep going.

“I uhm… well, the risk with Switching Spells is… uhm…”

“Thank you, Mr. Davies, you may take your seat again.” McGonagall dismissed him, her attention turning to the rest of the class, many of whom were looking at Roger with either pity or mirth.

“Let this be wake-up call to many of you. When I assign an essay, I do not want to see a string of textbook quotes. I want to see your own grasp of the material. Reflection is key to mastery—especially in a subject where the smallest mistake can have serious consequences.”

“Now, is there anyone in here who can expound on the risks of the Switching Spell?”

I doubt anyone was particularly surprised when Matilda and Thalia were the only ones to raise their hands.

…

When the class ended and students began filing out, I was halted just as I reached the door.

“Mr. Morgan, a word, if you please.”

When the last student had left, Professor McGonagall folded her hands and looked at me.

“Mr. Morgan,” she began, her tone measured, “your essay on the risks of Transfiguration was—quite frankly—exceptional.”

“Thank y—”

“So, I find myself curious: why is it that, in class, you remain silent? I expect my students to participate, Mr. Morgan—not merely to impress me on paper.”

“I…”

Couldn’t really tell her it was because I was afraid to accrue even more animosity now, could I?

Thus, I decided to offer her a different version of the truth.

“I want to give my peers space to demonstrate their understanding,” I said.

It was accurate enough. Thalia, among others, clearly relished the chance to prove she knew her stuff. Many of the Ravens were eager to hog the academic spotlight.

In comparison, I didn’t feel the same need to prove myself. The ability to cast magic was sufficient validation in my book.

“I appreciate your consideration for your peers, Mr. Morgan. It’s a commendable trait—to want to support others.” Professor McGonagall said with a curt nod of approval. “However, in the future, I would prefer you leave it to me to ensure everyone has the chance to be seen and heard. Including yourself.”

“I understand.” I replied, unwilling to make any promises.

“Good.” McGonagall nodded. “Then that’ll be all. Enjoy your free period.”

…

Exiting McGonagall’s classroom, I was surprised to see Thalia waiting for me.

“What did the professor want?” She grilled me.

Seeing as no one else was around, I answered honestly.

“She wants me to speak up more during class.” I shook my head. “Nothing important.”

The expression on Thalia’s face was a look to behold. But ultimately, she replied with a groan.

“Whatever. You’re going to go practice right? I’m coming with you.”

I raised an eyebrow at her.

“What about Selene and Eveline?”

“What about them?” Thalia quipped back at me with a frown.

“Nothing.” I smiled. “But I have a couple of things to pick up before we head up to the fourth floor.”

After borrowing Miranda Goshawk’s Standard Book of Spells (Grade 3) from the library and retrieving my journal from my dorm, Thalia and I headed to the disused classroom for some afternoon practice.

The reason why I borrowed the third year spellbook was simple: I wanted to learn the General Counter-Spell, Finite Incantatem.

In my previous life, I’d always considered the spell to be overpowered. However, now that I was reading through the spell’s arcane theory and nature, I realized it came with several limitations.

The General Counter-Spell was often used in duelling and could terminate many spell effects, yes. But it was basically ineffective against moderate to major dark charms. Also, many jinxes required specific counter-jinxes and couldn’t be dispelled with a General Counter-Spell.

Still, it was a spell worthy of adding to one’s repertoire.

After reading through the spellbook instructions, I wrote down my reflections in my journal.

“The wand movement seems to mimic an interruption—decisively cutting through lingering spell structures with a clean arc. Most likely, the intent must similarly be authoritarian. Override, not negotiate.”

Nodding to myself, I readied my wand.

Only to awkwardly realize I had nothing to practice on. No active spell to counter.

As such, I looked over at Thalia, whose nose was similarly deep in a textbook.

“Thalia…” I began, grabbing my friend’s attention. “You said you wished to learn how to cast the Aurora Lumos variant, right?”

The black-haired girl’s raised brow turned into a frown as she looked between me and the third year spellbook I’d borrowed.

“I did… yes.”

“Perfect.” I smiled. “Then you won’t mind being my test subject.”

…

It took us nearly three hours of steady work, but Thalia could now switch between colours with ease, and I’d finally cracked the General Counter-Spell—which proved to be a lot easier to pick up than the Alarm Charm.

Thalia shot me a withering look when I celebrated—she clearly wasn’t a fan of having her spells countered.

But I didn’t mind the glower. I was too fascinated by how the General Counter-Spell worked. The spell wasn’t just brute force like I’d initially presumed—it was careful and methodical. Identifying and unpicking threads with surgical precision.

That said, I was fairly certain brute force could work with the counter-charm. Just not with my current output—I didn’t yet have the raw magical potency to override Thalia’s spells head-on. And if I did have the juice to do so, I hadn’t mastered the General Counter-Spell enough to facilitate a structure that could support that sort of power.

Still, I loved the spell more than I thought I would. Even though I relied heavily on the incantation and wandwork at the moment.

Unfortunately, the practice session had drained my spark more than I would’ve liked. As it stood, I no longer had enough spark energy to practice enchanting.

A glowing ball of changing colours hovered in the air above us—bathing the room in an otherworldly and beautiful hue.

“I can’t believe you did it.” Thalia said, dismissing her Aurora variant Lumos Charm with a flick of her wand. “You learned a third-year charm in less than three hours.”

“I still have a long way to go.” I sighed. “I’m pretty sure I only managed to terminate your Lumos Charm because you’re getting tired.”

“Still,” Thalia said, her voice soft as she looked down at her wand. “I can’t compete with that…”

“Nor should you have to.” I replied, trying my best to sound encouraging. “We all have different strengths and weaknesses. That’s why having friends is so important. So, we can complement each other’s weaknesses.”

When Thalia didn’t answer immediately, I opened my mouth to continue—only to be interrupted.

“You’re right,” she said, that glint I knew all too well flashing in her eyes. “You’re a monster with Charms. No point trying to win on your turf.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Too late. I’m going to find Eveline. Supper later?”

I sighed before nodding.

“Sure. See you for supper.”

…

With two hours left until dinner, and my spark still regenerating, I headed to the library for some light reading.

Needless to say, I tried to find the Room of Requirement on the way. I knew from memory that the entrance to the Room would manifest after one walked past it three times with a specific need in mind.

The problem lay in finding the right location.

To my dismay, the library was positively packed with students—most of whom were my seniors. As such, finding an empty table proved to be impossible.

Which meant I was forced to share a table with a stranger.

Said stranger was a Slytherin girl a year or two my senior with glasses and long black hair.

If she noticed me sitting down by her table, she didn’t show it.

Since I wasn’t in the mood for more homework at the moment, I gave myself permission to procrastinate productively—with a bit of reading on wizard bloodlines.

Cordelia Bletchley’s Ancestral Threads offered a sweeping account of Britain’s most prominent wizarding families, tracing their roots back centuries—millennia even. But it was not the lineage itself that held my interest—no, it was the patterns of magic within them.

The Sacred and Most Ancient House of Black, for instance, had a marked tendency toward defensive magic, Dark Arts theory, and a legacy of competent, if not formidable duellists.

Members of the Lestrange family, another Sacred family, meanwhile, were noted for their prowess in blood and ritual-based magic.

Perhaps most notable of all, the Gaunts—descendants of Salazar Slytherin—frequently inherited the rare ability of Parseltongue.

Bletchley’s work was highly speculative, of course, but it hinted at an underlying truth: that magical talent might not be taught alone but transmitted through blood.

“But then how do outliers like Lily Evans or Hermione Granger fit into the equation?” I mused.

Clearly, blood couldn’t be the whole story—not when brilliance so often emerged from outside the old families.

“Fancy that. A Muggle-born, of all people, actually bothering to make sense of wizarding society. Trying to find where would’ve fit in?”

“Cassius, don’t be mean.” A female voice cooed, syrupy-sweet. “I think it’s adorable. Ambitious even—for an Unblooded at least.”

“Don’t go ‘round calling Muggle-borns ambitious, Lysa, they might start getting ideas.”

I cast a glance at the Slytherin girl seated with me and concluded that the noise didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

Thus, I turned to Cassius and his retinue of Snakes.

Scanning them, I vaguely remembered their faces from the Sorting Ceremony, but I failed to recall any of their names—apart from Cassius anyway.

“It’s interesting. And there is no rule against learning more about the wizarding world, is there?” I asked softly, unwilling to accidentally earn any more of Madam Pince’s ire.

“Mudbloods like yo—”

“Mr. Gresham!” A shrill voice snapped, causing Carrius and the rest to flinch a little. “One more word out of your mouth and you’ll answer to Professor Snape—personally. Rest assured I will inform him of your conduct myself.”

“Madam Pince, we were just having a conversation between peers. No reason for you to concern yourself.” Another Snake—Lysa—cooed from Cassius’ side.

“Ms. Fayne,” Madam Pince’s eyes narrowed in slits. “This is a library, not a common room. You are not here to socialise, and I most certainly will concern myself with anything that disturbs the sanctity of these shelves.”

“Another interruption, from any of you, and I shall see to it that you never set foot in the Restricted Section—is that clear?”

Very evidently, the Head Librarian's threat silenced them.

Content with the look of horror on their faces, Madam Pince retreated—though I had no doubt she still lingered somewhere close, ears sharpened.

Cassius and his little cohort of miscreants—wisely avoiding further provocation—settled for a round of theatrical scoffs before skulking away. Most likely off to torture some other poor bugger.

Shaking my head, I returned to my book.

“You really find bloodline history interesting?” A voice suddenly asked, coming from my side.

“I fail to see a world where it isn’t interesting.” I replied, not surprised the Slytherin senior had listened in to our conversation.

If what had just transpired could even be called that.

“Why?” She pressed.

Looking up from my book, I registered a pair of pale-green eyes staring back at me—hidden behind glasses.

After a brief hesitation, I replied quietly.

“I find anything magic-related fascinating. Wizarding bloodlines have endured for millennia, and if my speculations are correct… blood and magic are intricately connected.”

The older Slytherin blinked, clearly caught off guard—her brows lifting in surprise.

“But… you’re a Muggle-born?”

“So? You need a pedigree to be curious now?”

“N-No, of course you don’t,” the older Slytherin took a deep breath. “I’m just surprised a Muggle-born would hold such... traditional values.”

“Don’t misunderstand me," I sighed. “I still find this whole pure-blood elitism to be quite a farce, to be honest. And I also believe there’s something even more important than blood when it comes to magic prowess.”

“Really? And what’s that?” The older Slytherin asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

I leaned in, smiling faintly as I replied.

“Studying.”

In that moment, I knew exactly how insufferably Ravenclaw I sounded.

The older Slytherin groaned and returned to her book.

Shaking my head, I followed her lead.

Confident that I wasn’t wrong.

…

Dinner was surprisingly bland by Hogwarts standards—but after years of orphanage fare, I wasn’t about to complain about the lack of meat.

For once, the conversation wasn’t centred on me. Instead, all attention was on Cedric and the Hufflepuff senior who’d clearly taken a liking to him. Like proper friends, we took turns teasing him about it.

Even at eleven, it was obvious Cedric would grow into a striking young man. Though still a child, I now realized why so many characters swooned over him in the books.

He’d been robbed of that future once. I wouldn’t let it happen again.

After dinner I spent an hour wiping the floor with my friends at wizard chess. Cedric was easy to read—he favoured aggressive tactics and committed early. Eveline was harder to predict, but only because she clearly had no idea she was doing.

She also put way too much importance in protecting her queen.

Only Thalia made me stop and think.

After a while, Ophelia and Selene wandered over to watch, and not long after the girls showed up, Roger, Rufus, and William joined us as well.

Completely coincidental, I’m sure.

Without noticing, Thalia and my match had drawn a small crowd.

All in all, it had been such an enjoyable evening, I didn’t even realize my spark had quietly recovered in the background. Distracted as I was, hanging out with my friends.

After my usual bedtime rituals, I slipped under the covers to practice some free form magic. I focused on wandless shape transfiguration. Trying the Alarm Charm in the dorm would’ve been a literal spell for disaster.

…

Roger, Rufus, and William were still fast asleep when I stirred the next morning. And since sleep refused to return, I slipped into my clothes and decided to chase legends—namely, the Room of Requirement.

I wandered the halls by myself, carefully logging every twist and corridor—equal parts restless and resigned that I wouldn’t locate the Room anytime soon.

Were it not for the sheer beauty of the place—and the fact that I was treading through Hogwarts, of all places—it would’ve been an exercise in futility.

In the West Tower, however, I stumbled upon something that gave me pause.

A chamber lined with photography, sculptures, and paintings—the Muggle kind. There was even a corner showcasing some historical artifacts, including a few early computing gadgets.

“What is this place?” I murmured, eyeing an old toaster encased in glass.

“A-hem.”

The soft caugh startled me.

Turning around, I found Professor Quirrell standing there, his pale-blue eyes lingering on a piece of war memorabilia.

“This is the Muggle Art and Artefact Room,” he offered. “We use it occasionally in Muggle Studies—if you happen to take the subject as an elective, come third year.”

“Oh, I see.” I replied, still a bit surprised. “Muggle Studies, that’s your elective, isn’t it Professor Quirrell?”

“Indeed. An intriguing subject, and one I believe many wizards could benefit from studying.” Quirrell said, turning to glance at me. “Though in your case, Mr. Morgan, I imagine it would be rather redundant. A safe choice, perhaps—if you’re after an easy grade.”

“You know who I am?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I make it a point to learn the names of all Muggle-borns who enter Hogwarts,” Professor Quirrell replied smoothly.

There was a smile on his face—polite, mild—but somehow it didn’t sit right. It made it hard to reconcile this man with the one who’d one day help Voldemort breach the castle’s walls.

“Then again, maybe that was the point?” I sighed inwardly.

“I’m not in any trouble, am I?” I asked calmly, looking around the room. It didn’t feel like it was a place often frequented by students.

“No, not at all,” Quirrell replied with a chuckle. “This exhibition is open to anyone curious enough to find it. I simply saw you slip in on my way to the office, that’s all.”

“I see.” I looked down at my notes. “Then you don’t happen to know the fastest way to get to the Great Hall from here?”

Again, the young professor chuckled before providing me with directions.

After saying goodbye to the helpful Muggle Studies professor, I couldn’t help but to think about the future I had in store for me—the one I’d read about in my previous life.

“Maybe it’s wrong?” After all, so far, my experience of Hogwarts hadn’t exactly matched the stories. No secret chambers. No troll in the dungeon. Just essays, practicing wand movements, and learning how to navigate the enchanted stairs.

Still, the unease lingered.

“Better to be prepared…” I decided. Even someone like me—quiet, observant, and far from the centre of gossip—had heard the whispers during mealtime or in the common room.

You-Know-Who and The Boy-Who-Lived.

Like it or not, Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts.

And with him, the tide would turn again.

…

Since I didn’t have enough time to practice my spellwork before class began, I grabbed a quick breakfast in the Great Hall.

Thalia sat surrounded by a flock of twittering girls, so I plopped down next to Roger and the rest of my dormmates.

Clearly, there were mixed feelings about our next class: Astronomy with Professor Sinistra. Some students seemed genuinely excited for it, while others had already dismissed it as a waste of time.

Regardless, it was a mandatory subject for first-years.

Today’s lesson was Astronomy Theory, held on the bottom floor of the Astronomy Tower—the tallest in all of Hogwarts. Tomorrow evening, we’d be returning for our first official stargazing session.

Personally, I found the subject intriguing. I hadn’t yet drawn any connections between celestial constellations and magic. But then again, I hadn’t really tried looking for them either.

Moreover, I surmised that Astronomy held greater significance in disciplines like alchemy, ritual magic, and divination, rather than in the more practical field of Charms.

On our way to the Astronomy Tower, I listened to Roger, Rufus, and William snicker about which girl they thought was the cutest.

When Rufus said he liked shorter girls like Thalia and Hannah, Roger and William couldn’t help but to glance my way.

I just shrugged in response.

Roger, on the other hand, seemed torn between Selene, Matilda, and Thalia. While William didn’t hesitate to say Ophelia.

For some reason, none of the boys asked me who I thought was the cutest. A small mercy, really—I wasn’t in the business of ranking eleven-year-olds by appearance.

If asked, I would probably have said I found Professor Hooch the hottest.

But I digress.

When we stepped into Professor Sinistra’s classroom, most of us guys stopped in our tracks. And like many others, I immediately changed my mind on whom I thought was the hottest girl at the school.

Professor Sinistra looked like a fairy taken straight out of a fairytale. A tall, composed and graceful woman with observant eyes that carried a quiet intensity. Her skin was like polished mahogany while her robes were so dark they seemed to absorb the surrounding candlelight.

A few of our female peers groaned at us for stopping in the middle of the entrance, so we quickly scuttled to our seats.

“Bloody hell…” Rufus whispered under his breath.

I couldn’t help but to nod in agreement.

“Welcome to your first Astronomy class,” Professor Sinistra said, the gates behind us shutting with a flick of her wrist. “As you will learn in thiss class, wizards do not study the stars for poetry. We study them for power, timing, and above all else: understanding.”

The pretty professor moved on to explain that celestial movements had proven to have a direct influence on magical potency, especially in ritual magic, enchantments, divination, and alchemy.

This influence was known as the concept of celestial resonance, where certain spells are more effective when cast under specific lunar or planetary alignments.

A fascinating finding that underscored how little I actually knew about magic.

Next, she showed us an overview of the Celestial Sphere, which we would apparently work closely with in the forthcoming year. On it, the night sky was mapped using celestial coordinates, constellations, and the ecliptic.

The most important constellations were the twelve main ones along the ecliptic—the zodiacs and their magical associations.

“Tomorrow, we will reconvene at 3 p.m. atop the Astronomy Tower for our first practical session. Again, I advise you to dress warmly, and I stress: do not lean over the railing. The drop is as unforgiving as it is long. That concludes today’s lesson. See you tomorrow.”

And with that, our first Astronomy class was over.

Filing out of the classroom with the other students, I couldn’t help but to grin a little.

Among everything else covered in today’s introductory lesson, Professor Sinistra had strongly implied that rituals—such as the Animagus transformation—depended heavily on precise timing, the kind that could only be mastered through a solid understanding of Astronomy.

In other words, if I ever hoped to become an Animagus on my own, I would almost certainly have to brush up on my star charts.

Though the intricacies of the Animagus transformation still eluded me, it felt nice to have uncovered one piece of the puzzle.

…

Next class was Herbology with the Lions. And since the Herbology Greenhouses were situated on the grounds outside the castle, near the southern walls, it meant we had to spend the entire recess walking to our next class.

On the way, I walked with Thalia, Selene, Ophelia, and my dormmates.

By now, the first year Ravens had clearly split up into three distinct cohorts: Thalia’s, Matilda’s, and what I mentally referred to as the “outsiders”.

Thalia’s group included me, Selene, Ophelia, Rufus, William, and Roger.

Matilda’s group consisted of four girls whose name I hadn’t bothered to learn, along with Quentin, Lucien, and Thomas.

The “outsiders” were, in truth, three  students—two girls and a boy—who spent their days alone, either too shy or too arrogant to interact with the rest.

Of course, the groupings weren’t set in stone, and the boys, in particular, tended to interact regardless of which “group” they belonged to.

The fact that the two major cliques were led by girls with political clout didn’t escape my notice either. As far as I could tell, the relationships at Hogwarts were steeped in political undercurrents.

Even me being part of Thalia’s group had certain political undertones since it meant Thalia—and in extension, the Fawley Family—publicly took a progressive stance. But then again, so did Thomas’ inclusion in Matilda’s gang.

Which, honestly, wasn’t all that surprising—many of these students would one day become the future leaders of the wizarding world. The scions of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, in particular, were destined for greatness since their pedigree granted them automatic voting rights in the Wizengamot.

As such, I wouldn’t be surprised if similar cliques were being formed in the other houses—it was bound to happen, especially in the Snake Pit.

…

Professor Sprout was as bubbly as ever as she walked around, helping pairs of Lions and Ravens plant their Dittany seeds.

I’d been paired with a first-year Lion called Lee Jordan—a chatty fellow with a distinct Caribbean accent.

It didn’t take long, listening to him drone on about Fred and George’s latest mischiefs, for me to remember who he was: Hogwart’s future Quidditch match commentator.

Wearing a polite smile, I prepared the medium-sized clay pot with enriched magical dung compost, leaving an inch of space at the top like instructed.

Nodding absently through his monologue, I added half a pinch of moonstone dust to help stimulate the plant’s magical growth.

Suppressing a flicker of irritation, I planted the seeds by poking a small hole in the centre of the soil with my index finger. The depth of which was carefully measured to be half an inch deep.

Deliberately ignoring him now, I sprinkled exactly five drops of dew-collected water—allegedly gathered at dawn—over the seed.

The only thing Lee Jordan actually contributed—apart from his commentary—was a handful of whispered praises to the soil.

It seemed ridiculous, but according to Professor Sprout, Dittany responded remarkably well to verbal encouragement. The professor even praised Lee for his flattering words.

Another quiet reminder: my grasp of magic was still embarrassingly limited.

When the class finally ended, I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to soothe the dull throb behind my eyes.

Herbology was enjoyable enough—reminiscent of alchemy in some ways. Still, the Lions had a remarkable talent for shattering even the calm composure of my more stoic classmates with their boundless energy. And since Professor Sprout didn’t seem inclined to enforce a quiet atmosphere, the greenhouse remained a constant hub of chatter and chaos.

Needless to say, I wasn’t particularly fond of it.

Thankfully, as soon as he was allowed to, Lee Jordan ran back to his group of friends—including Fred and George—leaving me blissfully alone.

“Ready to go?” Thalia asked, appearing out of nowhere with Selene and Ophelia trailing close behind.

I considered it for a moment, then shook my head gently.

“I’m skipping lunch today,” I said, nodding toward the noisy throng of students streaming out of the classroomn. “Thought I’d tend to my headache a bit before Professor Binns’ class.”

Thalia’s eyes narrowed at me, clearly suspiciously.

“This isn’t just an excuse to go practice magic, is it?”

“No,” I said, frowning thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”

She sighed, then glanced over her shoulder at her waiting friends.

“Alright… I’ll see you in History?”

“Mhm.” I offered her a genuine smile. “See you later.”

…

Left to my own devices, I let out a quiet breath of relief. I liked to think of myself as socially adept. But left to choose? I’d pick solitude over a crowd of people every time.

Unwilling to trudge all the way to the fourth floor just to practice some magic, I searched for a private location on the grounds outside the castle.

“This will do.” I muttered beneath my breath as I looked at the clearing veiled behind one of the greenhouses.

Unpacking my journal and ballpoint pen, I drew my wand.

Immediately, the worst of my headache began to fade—my wand’s warmth soothing in my grip, familiar.

“I missed you too buddy,” I murmured with a smile.

Tracing a meticulous clockwise spiral through the air, I tapped my spellbook gently.

“Alarmare.”

Nothing outward reaction. But when I examined my spark closer, I felt a strange tug manifest.

“One more time.”

Taking a deep breath, I sharpened my intent.

“Alarmare!”

And lo and behold, a faint amber light shimmered from the tip of my wand.

Holding my breath in anticipation, I slowly extended my hand. And as soon as my finger touched the spellbook…

Weee! Weee! Weee! Weee!

I winced at the blaring sound and promptly slashed the spell structure apart.

“Finite Incantatem!”

Thankfully, the sound cut off instantly.

“It was a lot louder than I intended…” I noted inwardly, the corners of my lips twitching upward in what was probably an insufferably smug grin. “But it worked.”

I opened my journal and began scribbling furiously, determined to capture every last detail—no matter how small or self-congratulatory.

Altogether, it had taken me just over ten hours of rigorous study—longer still, if I included the hours of mental groundwork. But I’d done it. I hadn’t merely cast a fourth-year charm—I’d successfully enchanted something.

“Though it remains to be seen whether it was a fluke or not.” I thought—though I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.

Now that I knew how it felt to cast the Alarm Charm, I was fairly confident I could do it again.

And so, I continued practicing.

…

Author note: I haven't proofread the chapter yet. So if you find any typos, feel free to point 'em out. Attached you will find a picture of a fully grown Dittany.