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oOoOo

Any and all constructive criticism is welcome but please, keep it constructive. If you're going to flame me, I'd at least like to get something useful out of it besides the crippling blow to my ego.

Thank you dantheman97 for being a Samaritan!

Thank you Chris and UwUBlackPanther for being Nobles!

Last, but most definitely not the least, thank you Nameless742 for being a Monarch!

Your support means more to me than you could ever know!

oOoOo

The Arcane

OoOoO

September 2, 1990, 6:33 AM, Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory

The duvet clung to my body, restricting my leg. Groaning, I stretched outwards, breaking free from the soft covers.

The beds at Hogwarts really were in a league of their own. Although the orphanage's beds were of high quality, it was like comparing a middle-class home to an upper-class mansion— there was no contest.

I drew back the golden drapes of the four-poster bed, smiling to myself in satisfaction. The night before, I had been pleasantly surprised that although communal, the Gryffindor Common Room was spaciously built.

It was probably the result of an expansion charm; just another thing that I figured I'd have to put it on my list of things to learn.

The room itself was adorned in red and gold, Gryffindor colours of course, and the beds were arranged in a spherical fashion, leaving a circular space the size of a living room in the middle of the room.

Yawning once more, I swung my legs over the mattress and placed them onto the carpeted floor, standing up and looking for the bedside table and grasping my wand.

I enjoyed the wave of pleasure coursing up my arm as my magic thrummed in ecstasy.

I was so tired last night that I didn't have the opportunity to look at the room in detail, opting to merely greet my roommates, displace my luggage and get changed before crashing onto the mattress and retreating comfortably into unconsciousness.

For the first time since coming here, I stood still and took in my surroundings.

Immediately to the right of my bed was a desk, equipped with two drawers and a chair to accompany it. On the right side of the door sat a set of wardrobes, tall and broad, one for each of us Gryffindors.

I massaged my face, giving myself a moment of reprieve before flying into a flurry.

I neatly folded my meagre belongings and placed them into the wardrobe, stacked my books onto the shelf above the table.

I made sure to keep my noise to a minimum the entire time. I didn't want to wake up my roommates.

Once I was done, I slid my trunk beneath my bed, removing from it a sleek, ballpoint pen and my trusty notebook.

Journaling was a habit that I had made sure to carry over from my previous life. It helped me get out any unpleasantries onto paper to help me better cope with negative emotions.

All the more so now that I had magic. For all I knew, one temper tantrum could result in something irrevocable.

Pausing my note taking, I placed both the book and pen safely within my robe's inner pocket.

I stretched against the chair's back post, a satisfied groan rising from within my chest before my arms dropped to my sides.

I craned my neck upwards; it was seven o'clock; I had enough time, then.

Opening the door, I found myself staring at the burly figure of an older student. He wore the school's mandatory grey pullover, his Gryffindor tie hanging loosely around his neck.

I looked up, noticing the flaming red hair immediately and put two and two together.

This was none other than our prefect and Gryffindor's resident seeker extraordinaire: Charlie Weasley.

"You alright there kid?" he asked, placing a huge hand atop my head. I swatted his hand off, eliciting a rumbling chuckle from him. "Anyone else awake in there?"

He pointed towards the dorm, and I shook my head. "Nah, they're all still asleep."

He began to speak and then stopped, leaning down and staring intently at me before letting out a whistle. "That's a wicked pair of eyes you've got."

I smiled, finding it difficult not to feel a flash of pride at his compliment.

"Thanks," I replied. "Now Charlie, can I call you Charlie? What's the occasion for you to turn up at our dorm?"

"Well, you're a confident one! Most first years would be terrified talking to an older student. Charlie's fine: I'm here to take you all to breakfast."

He cracked a grin, shooting me a smirk over his shoulder. "Watch this."

Stalking past me, he muttered something indecipherable under his breath, his wand held against his throat.

Thankfully, I realised what he was about to do, covering my ears just in time. "Hey slouches, wake up!" he yelled, his voice booming throughout the room.

My roommates woke up with a jump, some more pronounced than others.

One of them—Cormac McLaggen if I remembered correctly—tumbled out of his bed in shock, waking up and looking around the room, dazed and bleary-eyed.

"Common room in ten minutes lads, don't be late." he said before walking past me with a final head pat—much to my annoyance—leaving my roommates completely befuddled.

I'd known Charlie Weasley for around a minute, but he had just succeeded in making his way onto my list of favourite people.

oOOOo

I poured myself some orange juice out of the bronze jug before me. I leisurely sipping the heaven-sent liquid, the back of my tongue tingling at the citric flavour.

"Sleep well?" asked Katie from beside me, suppressing a yawn for what had to be the fourth time this morning.

The hall was filled with the clinking of cutlery and the hum of conversation.

"I did," I replied, taking a bite out of my Pain au Chocolat. "You?"

"The beds here are so much better than my one at home."

She sat next to me and attempted to subtly pilfer my pastries.

Much to her disappointment, she failed, muttering despondently about the apparent injustice of the world and how she would one day get revenge.

I huffed in amusement, pouring her a goblet of orange juice.

"Oh, thanks!" she said, taking a sip before grabbing a slice of toast.

I nodded in acceptance, opening the covers of 'The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection' by Quentin Trimble.

"Sorry to put a stop to your lovely breakfast everyone," said Charlie, placing down a stack of papers onto the table with an audible smack. "But I've got your timetables for the year."

I reached for the stack, skimming through today's lesson. The school seemed to be pulling out all of the stops for our first day.

It started off with double Defence against the Dark Arts with Hufflepuff and then a break before Transfiguration with Ravenclaw— the lessons were halted by a well-deserved lunchtime of course— followed by Potions with Hufflepuff and finishing off the day with Charms.

As exhilarating as learning magic would be, I felt slightly intimidated by the schedule. But maybe it would bring some much-needed structure to my life.

One could hope, after all.

With breakfast coming to an end, the students trailed out of the Great Hall in waves, slowly meandering and trading stories on their way to their first classes of the day.

Of course, there were a few lucky ones who got the pleasure of remaining on account of their first period being free, but they were a minority.

I didn't even have it in me to be jealous; this wasn't regular school.

Walking down the hallowed Hogwarts corridors and up its staircases, I couldn't help but have a skip to my step.

This was a sight I only got to see behind a television screen and imagine from the pages of a book; being here in person was another experience entirely.

"What's got you so excited?" asked Katie, nonplussed, her stroll turning into a brisk walk as she struggled to catch up to me.

"We're learning magic, Katie, magic!" I turned to her, backpedalling, my voice lilted with enthusiasm.

She shook her head, helplessly but it made no difference to me.

Soon enough, we reached the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom. A disorderly line trailed outside of the door, no doubt waiting for our Professor to arrive.

I nodded at the Hufflepuffs in greeting before the clicking of the door lock seized my attention.

Out of the door walked our Professor and to my shock, wearing a hybrid between a suit and dress robes. Unlike dress robes, his suit was a lot more snug, emphasising his well-built figure.

It looked quite a lot like a trench coat.

He was a tall man, a little over six feet tall, sporting somewhat short, side swept brown hair and stone-grey eyes. There was a moment of tentative silence before he opened his mouth and said to us tersely, "You may enter."

His accent was vaguely Italian, but it was so imperceptible that it left me wondering whether I'd misheard. Unfortunately, I had no time to think about it. The line began to move forwards and enter through the door.

The classroom was built as one would imagine it to be. The desks were wide enough to fit two people, spanning the classroom in neat rows and columns.

A dragon's skull hung from the ceiling like a chandelier, its eyes hollow pits and its maw wide enough to swallow an entire row at once.

I stopped at the door, staring up at it in wonder. I wondered how big it would have been in life. Judging by its skull, it must have been monstrous.

I blinked, pulled away from my stupor by a nudge at my back.

"Oi," Katie whispered. "Get a move on."

I wordlessly walked forwards, students continuing to wander into the room, whispering excitedly.

At the front of the class stood our Professor; his arms were folded whilst he waited patiently for us to take our seats. Once we were all sitting down, he waved his palm, the ensuing feat bringing forth a collective gasp from the class.

A piece of chalk floated smoothly from his desk towards the blackboard and began writing his name on it.

Once it had finished, he began to speak.

"Good morning students," he began. His voice was calm and flowing, like a river. "My name is Aaron Ancile. To you, it's simply Professor Ancile or Professor and I shall be teaching you how to defend against the force that we call the Dark Arts."

His eyes roamed around the classroom, steely yet warm.

"But before we leap into introductions, you will all notice that there are identical quills in front of you all. These are Dicta-Quills and will record every word spoken in this room. You will therefore be able to give your full attention to understanding the concepts that will be covered in this class."

Ancile's nonchalant voice quickly turned stern, his entire demeanour screaming that he would not be challenged.

"Let it be known that I shall not accept subpar work. Your essays—oh yes, I'll be setting essays for homework—must be handwritten because none of my quills will leave this room. You may take your notes, but the quills will stay. If anyone decides that it would be a good idea to run off with one of them, trust me, I will know."

I blinked nervously, slightly intimidated by his presence. Subsequently feeling a flash of irritation ignite from within my chest before it sputtered out.

Once he had made his point, Ancile dropped the stern look on his face. His expression returned to the calm one that he held at the beginning of the class.

"Now," he said, the tension in the room easing. "Let me begin the class with a little story, shall I?"

The first hour of the lesson mainly consisted of Professor Ancile recounting to us what amounted to an abridged version of his life. He grew up in Venice, Italy and attended 'Arcanum', the designated school for Greek and Italian wizards located somewhere in the Apennines.

After graduating, he pursued two masteries in Transfiguration and Charms before joining the Auror force of the 'Ministero de la Magia'—the Italian Ministry of Magic—staying there for a number of years and even reaching the position of Senior Auror before choosing to pick up what he believed to be a more fulfilling job.

And luckily for him, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had welcomed him with open arms.

For a moment, I wondered whether or not it would be worth telling him about the castle's curse before banishing the thought with a scoff.

After a short break, the second segment of the class began. I sat, listening with rapt attention, as Ancile began to speak.

"The Dark Arts," he began, slowly walking around the classroom, arms folded behind his back. The no doubt ancient wooden floor creaked beneath his feet. "Is a branch of magic that is ever growing, fuelled by cruelty and selfishness. But by that definition, everyone's been a Dark Wizard at some point in their lives."

There was a round of nervous laughter around the class at his brazen comment about the Ministry's ineptitude. One that I agreed with wholeheartedly.

Perhaps this year's DADA lessons would be interesting after all.

"The Ministry defines the Dark Arts as 'any type of magic that is mainly used to cause harm, to exert control over, or even kill people and creatures' but life is much more complicated than that, as I'm sure you're all aware."

He paused to wrinkle his nose and I was pretty sure I knew why.

The sub-standard definition given by the Ministry of Magic was not a description of what was known as the 'Dark Arts'. Instead, it was effectively a measure to keep the power of the wider population in check.

After all, Britain had Dumbledore. What need would they have for anyone else who could possibly threaten the status-quo?

It was a fact that both fascinated and disgusted me.

With how often Dark Lords cropped up in the Wizarding World, it would be smart to grow talents for insurance, I thought whilst spinning my pen around my thumb absentmindedly.

Apparently, the Ministry of Magic thought otherwise. They sought to limit the education of magical youth as well as pollute the minds of the wider population with garbage— not that it was difficult to do so.

This would obviously strangle budding talent before it even had the chance to bloom. The strong and ambitious would be branded 'dark' by the masses who would be content with weakness thanks to the Ministry's folly.

"Now, although I am here to teach you how to defend yourself against the Dark Arts," his eyes swept across the classroom. "I thought it necessary to drive home the point that any spell, in the hands of the right person, is enough to kill."

"Case in point, a spell as simple as the Wand Lighting Charm." his wand floated into his open palm, a luminescent orb glowing at its tip. "If one were to power it sufficiently, the Wand Lighting Charm would be enough to cause permanent blindness."

He slowly turned up the brightness until someone hiccuped fearfully, causing him to extinguish the spell.

"Another would be the Severing Charm; I trust that I need not explain that one. Even something as simple as the Banishing Charm or an overpowered Stunning Charm is enough to kill. Therefore, this definition is not ideal, to say the least."

I swallowed slightly at his explanation. I had never thought of it like that before but everything he had said was completely true. If one possessed the right mindset, any spell could be a lethal weapon.

It was a chilling thought.

"Now, I am a strong advocate for a more hands-on approach when it comes to teaching, meaning most of your homework will be to write essays on the content we cover in class. That way, your in-class hours are freed up to take part in more practical activities, is that understood?"

There was a collective 'Yes, Professor' around the room.

"Good. Now, can somebody tell me the name of a Dark Spell?" he asked the class.

"Name and House." he said, pointing at a Hufflepuff girl who had her hand up.

"Evelyn Knight, I'm from the Hufflepuff House, Professor." said a girl with beige blonde hair and warm hazel eyes. "The Three Unforgivables."

"Ah, yes." said the Professor, resuming his walk around the class. "The Three Unforgivable Curses, three horrid spells indeed. The use of any of the three is enough to earn you a lifetime stay in Azkaban without the possibility of parole. One point to Hufflepuff, Miss Knight. Can anyone name any of them?"

A shaky hand went up from the front of the class.

"O-Oliver Forman, Hufflepuff." said the boy, his voice trembling as he pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. "The Killing Curse."

"Correct, one point to Hufflepuff," said Ancile. "The Killing Curse is one of the three Unforgivables and was a favourite of the Dark Lord known as Lord Voldemort during his reign of terror across the British Isles."

There was a collective flinch from the class, causing him to chuckle before he continued.

"The Killing Curse is a spell that rips one's soul from their body, effectively killing them, hence the name. Anyone else?"

I looked around. Nobody seemed to want to put their hand up.

"No one?" asked the Professor, sounding not the least bit put off. "Alright how about you?"

He pointed at me, causing me to blink in surprise.

"Asim Dovahkiin, Professor, Gryffindor." I said as he nodded in response. "The Cruciatus Curse."

He hissed, gingerly rubbing his arm as a thousand-yard stare passed across his face before it vanished. "The Cruciatus Curse, huh...? That's one nasty curse, that one. I was hit with it during a raid as an Auror. That had to be some of the worst pain I've ever felt in the entirety of my life— one point to Gryffindor. Now, do we have any more takers?"

From beside me, Katie put her hand up, gaining the Professor's attention almost immediately.

"Yes, Miss…?"

"Bell," she said, clearing her throat with a cough. "Katie Bell, Gryffindor. The Imperius Curse."

"Correct. another point to Gryffindor," said Ancile, nodding at Katie, who grinned at him, before continuing to perambulate around the classroom. "The Imperius Curse is arguably the worst out of the three due to the fact that it gives the caster total control over the victim."

"The caster could make the victim do anything and when I say anything, I mean anything. There are even cases where victims of the Imperius Curse are aware of the acts that they commit whilst under, some of which are unspeakable, yet they say they had no power to fight against them."

He paused momentarily in order to let his words sink in.

"Contrary to the Cruciatus Curse, the Imperius Curse is said to feel quite pleasurable. But make no mistake, the Imperius Curse can be resisted provided one has a strong will. Once the spell is performed, the caster will attempt to subdue you with wiles and trickery. Some victims of the curse have often described it to feel like 'succumbing to a warm, gentle and loving embrace after many sleepless nights.'"

He looked around the class as I waited with bated breath for the next segment of the lecture.

This was the most engaged I had ever been in any lecture, I thought, setting my pen down atop the table.

"But I digress," he said, sounding somewhat regretful. "The point of this lecture was to emphasise to you the nature of the Dark Arts. It's a wide variety of spells that have been twisted and turned to suit the nefarious purposes of those who wield them."

A description that I was very much in agreement with.

Voldemort was right about one thing, there is no good and evil, only power; but what one does with that power is the most important of all.

I blinked owlishly. Voldemort being right, albeit partly, felt... foreign to me. I had always seen him as a comic book-like villain and who could blame me? He was cartoonish in his mannerisms, and was prone to fly off the handle at a moment's notice.

Then again, could I really have expected sanity from a man who had willingly shredded his soul six times?

I shook the thought away, tuning back into the lecture.

"And on that very cheerful note, the homework for next week is a roll of parchment on the Dark Arts, its history and what constitutes a spell as 'dark'. Do not fret, I shall cover these topics throughout the week so that you'll know enough to write satisfactory essays."

Upon finishing his sentence, Ancile waved his hand once more, causing the door to swing inwards and slam against the wall.

There was an audible scraping of chairs and general clutter about the room as we gathered our belongings.

Once I had packed my bag, I looked at Ancile, who surveyed our leaving figures with a smile, before leaving the room with the rest of the students.

I guess I'd have a competent DADA Professor, at least for this year.

oOOOo

"Dovahkiin, Asim,"

"Present." I replied, watching McGonagall cycle through the names on the roll call before commencing the class.

"Transfiguration," she said. "A complex subject that allows one to bend reality itself, provided they have the power and skill to do so. The slightest mishap can and will result in disastrous consequences not just for you, but everybody around you."

She paused for a moment, allowing the weight of her words to set in before her already stern gaze turned fierce.

"I will not stand for any foolishness in my classroom and anyone with plans to do so can leave, the door is open for you." she said, accentuating her point with a mere wave of her hand, the door swinging inwards. She closed the door once nobody left, standing up and continuing the lecture.

"There are four main branches of Transfiguration: Transformation, Untransformation, Conjuration and Vanishment. Transfiguration will be a compulsory subject for the next five years of your lives and throughout this period of time, you will learn about these different branches and their many subcategories."

She began to walk around the class, her robes sweeping around her feet. Her figure was followed by numerous pairs of curious eyes.

"You will find that as you go through the Transfiguration syllabus during your time here, certain things will require more skill and finesse than others."

She paused, her gaze sweeping across the room before she turned around, fixing it on the table in front of the blackboard.

"And that brings me onto today's lesson," she said, drawing her wand out from the sleeve of her robe. She waved it, much like a conductor directs an orchestra, the table at the front of the class twisting and turning before completely morphing into a large pig. "Transformation from one thing to another. Before you, you shall all find a single matchstick on your desks, correct?"

"The aim of today's lesson is to turn that very matchstick into a needle with its eye and all. For this, you must imagine everything that you can that makes up both a needle and a matchstick. From the needle's slightly coppery scent and pointed tip to the matchstick's wooden texture and match head. After you have the image planted firmly in your mind, you will say the incantation, 'Transformare', after which your match will be a transmuted needle."

I felt somewhat sceptical of her explanation, but her next few words immediately cleared up my doubts.

"Or at least that's how it works in theory," she said. "I doubt that any of you will have the transformation down by the end of the lesson, and those of you who can bring some change to your matchsticks should be proud. Regardless, that is all you must know for today's lesson. If anyone has any questions at all, you may raise your hand. I will be walking around the room to make sure that nobody is stuck."

Moments later, the class was filled with the countless mutterings and hushed frustrations of a little over two dozen children.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised that this lesson was really just a contrived plot to ascertain our class's aggregate skill level and whether she'd have to change how she taught us.

It did make sense.

I stared at the table for a moment, trying to banish the thought and focus on the task at hand.

I stared at the matchstick, trying to visualise it next to a needle. I closed my eyes, imagining the matchstick slowly taking on the needle's characteristics, the needle's silver lustre and a metallic sheen.

Waving my wand over the table I muttered, "Transformare." and watched the matchstick fade in colour before turning slightly shiny.

It was much more than I had expected to achieve, I thought with a smile.

Professor McGonagall, who was making rounds of the class, approached my table and hummed appreciatively, her usually frosty sage eyes softening by a fraction that was almost indiscernible.

"A valiant effort, Mr Dovahkiin," she said. "Two points to Gryffindor. Try again, but this time, make sure you visualise every part of the needle before saying the incantation and keep that image planted firmly in your mind throughout."

I nodded mutely as she walked past me, giving tips and stern talking-tos to those who needed them.

"How'd you do it?" whispered Katie, keeping an eye on our wandering Professor.

"Imagine the needle in your head as a reference and then cast the spell." I replied, holding up my botched attempt to transfigure the needle. "But you have to make sure that your concentration sticks throughout or else you'll come out with this."

She stared at my needle-stick, narrowing her eyes as if it had offended her. A few frustrated casts later, she sighed frustratedly. "I just don't get it!"

"Oh!" I exclaimed, opening the drawer attached to the table and pulling out a needle. "Here, look at this and try to turn the matchstick into it."

She frowned disbelievingly before grunting, grabbing her wand off the table.

I turned to my matchstick with a sigh, staring at it before deciding to proceed without the visual aid.

By the end of the lesson, I had managed to make the end of the matchstick pointy. By all means it was still a matchstick, I could probably still light it, but now it looked like a badly photoshopped one.

Not quite what I had hoped for, but I'd take it in stride.

After noting down the next week's homework, I readied myself to leave the classroom and head off to lunch with the rest of my class in tow, my stomach growling in protest at what would probably be a long and arduous journey.

oOOOo

In the dingiest, darkest corner of the Potions Classroom, I was carefully making sure to follow the instructions on the blackboard to a T. I didn't want to draw Snape's ire and the cauldron before me required my utmost focus.

Wiping the sheen of sweat that had accumulated itself across my forehead, I looked at the fruits of my labour with pride— the kind of pride that was limited to gazing at the end product of something that you and you alone had worked on.

I turned around and slid on a pair of dragonhide gloves before picking up a ladle and carefully pouring the concoction into a phial, sealing it with a stopper and just in time, too.

"Put your potions into a phial and bring them to me." said Snape from the front of the class. His voice, although quiet, drifted across the classroom like a mist, bringing what would be silence to the laboratory if not for the soft bubbling of various cauldrons scattered around the room.

Complying with Snape's instruction, I undid my apron and brought my potion to the front of the class, waiting in line for the people ahead of me to hand their potions over. Soon enough, it was my turn.

I presented my potion to Professor Snape, who took it out of my hands, sloshing around the purple liquid within the phial before softly speaking out, "Acceptable. You are dismissed."

On my way back, I caught Katie's eye as she mouthed for me to wait for her, to which I simply nodded before returning to my workstation.

I undid my apron, removed my goggles, and washed my hands. I stood outside of the class, accompanied by the trickle of water through the pipes and the bubbling of the simmering cauldrons from within the laboratory.

oOOOo

"Hello everybody!" cheered Flitwick, standing atop a stack of books, wearing a flowing purple robe adorned with gold trimmings. "Welcome to your first Charms class! We start our discussion today with a simple question: what is a Charm?"

A dozen hands shot up into the air simultaneously.

"Blimey…" muttered Katie, causing me to snort.

"Yes Mr Gallagher?" said Flitwick, pointing to a sandy haired Ravenclaw.

"A Charm is a spell that alters an object without changing its essential nature."

"Correct!" chirped Flitwick. "Charms, although similar to Transfiguration, do not change the object in question."

I flexed my wrist with a wince, shaking out my right hand— the pain served to remind me just how useful Dicta-Quills were.

"You brought a pen to school?!" Katie whispered; her gaze fixed on my hand as she spoke over Flitwick.

"Yeah," I laid my hand back onto the table and turned to her. "There's no way I'm using an inkwell and quill, that's so backwards. I've got three packs of pens, you want one?"

"Course I do!"

I handed her the pen, merely nodding as she whispered her thanks.

"Now, all of this is well and good but I'm sure you'd all like a visual demonstration of what Charms can do, no?"

His question prompted a few muttered affirmations, and that seemed to be enough for him.

"Very well," he said, his wand ready, firmly grasped in his hand as he whipped it outwards. "Avis!"

From the tip of his wand sprouted a flock of orange birds that chirped and hovered around him.

The class applauded in amazement, myself included. How could I not be amazed? Any display of magic would be enough to garner my interest at the very least.

He sent the birds in an organised flight around the classroom before dissolving them with a flourish of his wand. They disappeared in an explosion of feathers that faded away before they even hit the ground.

"Now that," he cleared his throat and slipped his wand up the sleeve of his robe. "Is a NEWT level spell. But don't worry! I'll be starting you off with something just as fun and a tad easier."

"What would that be, sir?" asked a bespectacled Ravenclaw.

"I'm glad you asked, Miss Merryweather!" he beamed before pulling his wand out of his sleeve. "Lumos!"

A bright light gushed forth, momentarily blinding us all. There was a chorus of shocked yelps around the class. Flitwick chucked apologetically before he dimmed the light down and told us it was safe to open our eyes.

I blinked away a series of inky blotches obscuring my vision, muttering a few not-so-kind words under my breath.

"The Wand Lighting Charm!"

After his demonstration, Flitwick set us off and began to wander around the classroom and offer his counsel to those in need. It was quite hilarious to be honest. Both his encouraging whispers and softened corrections filtered into our ears whether he did so intentionally or not.

I honestly didn't understand teachers' fascination with whispering in an already quiet class, it was basically a given that they'd be heard anyways.

The rest of the lesson went on as I expected it to. Some saw the light of success and others, not so much.

"Why can't I get this down?" huffed Katie, a muffled groan rising from her as she slid lower down the chair.

I remained silent, sensing her quickly plummeting mood before I thought of a solution.

"You ever seen a Muggle light switch?" I asked, lifting her out of her stupor.

"Yeah, why?"

"Imagine 'Lumos' as the on-switch and 'Nox' as the off switch."

She pondered for a moment, nothing but her eyes peeking above the table. She righted herself, adjusting her position on the chair before she waved her wand and muttered the incantation. "Lumos."

A weak fluorescent light sputtered out from the tip of her wand, disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared. It was a stark improvement from nothing though. She leapt up from her chair, ecstatic. "I did it!"

"Wonderful Miss Bell, two points to Gryffindor!" said Flitwick from the front of the class, his eyes joyful. "Keep up this pace and you may have the Wand Lighting Charm down by the end of the week."

Placing her wand on the table, she shot me a grateful smile, giving me a high-five. "Thanks!"

oOOOo

Books.

They were vast sources of knowledge that if kept in proper condition, could stand the test of time. Case in point, 'Magick Moste Evile', a Mediaeval Dark Arts reference book written by one Godelot.

I had roamed the many shelves of the library in search of spells. No shelf was left unturned, no spine or foreword left unread in my conquest. And after a fruitful search, I returned back to the table at the centre of the library with my prized books in hand, triumphant.

"Remind me why we're here again?" complained Katie. Over the course of the last hour, she had made her boredom clear.

"Well, we're here to get next week's homework out of the way," I said, smirking at her indignant huff. "And I'm also here to find some useful Charms."

"Like what?"

"A Warming Charm amongst other things. It's almost winter."

She hummed before turning her attention onto her essays. Sitting opposite her, I began to sift through the stack of books in front of me.

Atop it sat a tome on the Disillusionment Charm. I had to settle on using the Disillusionment Charm since I hadn't found any spells on invisibility. In any case, being a chameleon was better than being visible.

I knew that I was no magical prodigy, not by any definition, but the fact that there were no invisibility spells outside of the Disillusionment Charm was baffling.

Despite this, my mind constantly returned to a room that would fulfil all my needs.

But doing so without any concealment would be the height of stupidity, hence my little excursion. I had found a spell that would eliminate one's body odour and another that was a creative application of the Silencing Charm that eliminated the noises of one's body.

All that was left now was to learn, to practise and then finally, to commit.

A little while later, I entered my room and fell onto the soft mattress below me, exhaling upon contact.

Today, although informative, was also exhausting.

But I wasn't done yet.

I extracted myself from my bed with mighty effort and trudged over to the desk, removing my trusty notebook and pen from the safety of my robes.

My aim was to write down every shout that I could remember accurately, in the Dragon Tongue of course.

I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to focus before writing as much as I could remember. And as logic dictates, the shouts that I remembered the most were the ones that I had used most often.

From top to bottom, the shouts were: Unrelenting Force, 'Fus-Ro-Dah'; Whirlwind Sprint, 'Wuld-Nah-Kest'; Aura Whisper, 'Laas-Yah-Nir'; Slow Time, 'Tiid-Klo-Ul'; and finally, the iconic Fire Breath shout, 'Yol-Toor-Shul'.

Unfortunately, problems began to arise when shouting the words in Dragon Tongue did nothing.

There was no sense of something clicking within my being, and certainly no satanic chanting.

I sat down at my desk completely bemused as to why it didn't work, a while of staring at the wall in front of me leading me to a much-needed epiphany.

The thing was, I had felt that feeling before. A word of power had branded itself into my very being upon my arrival to the world, one that I was certain I'd recognise if I looked hard enough.

I frantically searched through my notebook, trying to pinpoint the word. I yearned to feel that same familiarity— that dizzying rush of power once more.

'Found it!'

I felt a wide grin spreading across my face.

I rushed out of the dorm at once, darting through the castle's halls and out onto its fields, the sunset arcing across the sky in one, final farewell.

I sprinted past the greenhouse, left Hagrid's hut far behind me and flew up a well-trod dirt track, the markings of a wheelbarrow etched into the very earth.

And then finally, I came to a stop.

Behind me stood the Forbidden Forest, the many trunks of the trees tall and foreboding. The branches hung down like grim, skeletal fingers, giving the forest a deathly atmosphere.

Yet despite this, I felt no fear. Only a sense of exhilaration at what I was about to do.

Excitement and adrenaline coursed through my veins, my body quivering in anticipation.

I took a deep breath, the air imbuing me with strength I didn't even know I possessed, before letting it out in one fierce and mighty yell. The likes of which I had never heard in the entirety of my existence. The power welled up from within me, leaving my mouth in the form of a single word. "FUS!"

Then, there was chaos; the very air rippling as a gust of wind tore the very ground apart, ripping bushes from their very roots and cutting scratches into the bark of the tree in front of me.

I stood on the dirt track, completely stunned, nothing but the chirping of crickets and the rustle of the bushes to fill the silence of the twilight.

And that was when I began to laugh; the kind of joyful laugh that happened when one aced a test or beat an extremely difficult game boss.

The kind of laugh when one realised the magnitude of the power that they wielded and at that moment, I sure did.

It was intoxicating.

Unfortunately, as life dictates, all good things must at some point come to an end. For me, that end was in the form of fatigue.

It hit me at the very height of my celebration, the rush leaving me as if a passing torrent had ripped it out of my very being.

I gasped, my eyes wide open and my lips drawn apart. It took all I had not to lie down. My breathing was haggard and sweat began to pool at my back.

That experience had pushed my need for exercise to the top of my to-do list.

I turned around, putting one foot in front of the other.

Slowly but surely, I began to make my way back to the castle with nothing but nature as company.

My goal, for now, was the Room of Requirement and it was all I would concern myself with for the foreseeable future.

All my other wants and needs would branch out from there and everything else would have to wait.

Hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

Until next week, stay on your toes!