Giza sat cross-legged beside the Great Lake, the gentle lap of water against the shore filling the air with a soft, rhythmic sound. The cool breeze brushed against his skin, and the crisp scent of pine and water was calming. It was the perfect place to focus, to try and channel the growing power that he could feel simmering inside of him.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, just as Celeste had taught him during their Occlumency sessions. His thoughts drifted toward the stillness of the lake, the way the water remained calm despite the currents beneath. *Control*—that was the key.

Breathing in, he could feel the magic stir within him, like the ripples that formed on the surface of the water with each small breeze. Giza stretched his fingers out, concentrating, willing the energy to gather in his hands. Slowly, sparks flickered to life at his fingertips—vibrant and crackling, but this time, not wild or chaotic. They obeyed his command, swirling and pulsing with a rhythm that matched his breathing.

The power felt more controlled now, less like a storm threatening to break free. Giza focused harder, imagining the magic as a stream he could channel, a current he could direct with intent rather than emotion. He pictured the lake again—calm on the surface, yet teeming with life and power below.

As the sparks danced around his hands, a sense of peace settled over him. For the first time in a long while, it didn't feel like the magic was controlling him. He was guiding it, harnessing it. The Great Lake, with its infinite depth and tranquility, seemed to mirror the potential he felt inside himself.

Giza opened his eyes, watching as the sparks dimmed and disappeared, fading back into his fingertips. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress. The lake rippled softly in the distance, and for a moment, everything felt right.

"That looked promising," came Celeste's voice from behind him.

Giza turned his head slightly, not surprised that she had appeared quietly, as was her way. She stood with her arms folded, watching him with her usual composed expression, though there was a faint hint of approval in her eyes.

He gave her a small, almost sheepish smile. "Yeah, I think I'm getting the hang of it. Slowly."

Celeste raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to the water's edge. "It's progress," she said, her voice measured. "Better than nearly blowing up the third year, at least."

Giza chuckled softly. "Definitely better than that," he admitted. "I've been trying to treat it like the lake—calm on the surface, even if there's a lot going on underneath."

Celeste nodded thoughtfully, her gaze briefly shifting toward the lake. "That's a good approach. Your magic's strong, but it doesn't need to be explosive all the time. Control makes it more powerful."

Giza studied her for a moment, appreciating the rare, almost quiet encouragement she offered. "Thanks," he said, meaning it.

Celeste turned her gaze back to him, the usual sharpness in her eyes softening slightly. "You're making progress, Giza. Don't forget that."

"Want to meditate?" Giza asked, a small smile tugging at his lips as he gestured to the open space beside him.

Celeste raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the offer. "I suppose I can't say no, since I've been the one pushing it on you all this time." She glanced at the serene waters of the lake before sitting down gracefully next to him.

"Alright," she said, settling herself into position. "But let's see if you can keep your focus this time without Daphne or Blaise interrupting."

Giza chuckled, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Yeah, that would be nice for once."

Together, they sat in silence, the soft sounds of nature blending with the stillness around them. Giza focused on the calming rhythm of the lake, and for once, he found it easier to let go of everything else—his worries, the pressures of Hogwarts, even the complicated feelings about Celeste and their strange, evolving relationship.

Next to him, Celeste remained quiet, her own presence a steadying force. For a moment, everything felt calm, controlled, and Giza let himself fully sink into the moment, his power humming beneath the surface, steady and contained.

It felt like peace.

"Whack!"

Giza felt a sharp pain on the back of his head. His immediate reaction was to turn, eyes narrowed as he caught the shapes of a few sixth-year Gryffindors standing a short distance away, jeering at him. His blood boiled, and he could feel his power thrumming just beneath the surface, begging for release. His fist clenched as sparks began to flicker at his fingertips.

He raised his hand, ready to unleash something he couldn't quite control—but just as he was about to give in, he felt a hand close firmly around his.

"No," Celeste whispered, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. "You worked so hard. Don't let them ruin this for you."

Her words, the warmth of her hand, and the pleading look in her eyes kicked the rage out of his head for a brief moment. Giza's breathing slowed as he lowered his hand, the sparks dimming. He wasn't going to let them take this progress from him. Not again.

But then—*whack!*

Another stone was thrown, this time hitting Celeste squarely in the side of the head. Giza watched in horror as her body crumpled against him, unconscious.

The rage that had been stifled only moments ago came back with a vengeance, burning hotter and fiercer than ever before. Giza barely registered the weight of Celeste in his arms as his other hand raised, his power rising like a tidal wave, too strong to stop.

Sparks and arcs of lightning rippled under his skin, and without thinking, he released it all. The magic exploded out of him, striking the ground where the Gryffindors stood, scattering them like rag dolls with the force of the blast.

The air was thick with energy, crackling and humming around him. Giza's mind went blank, driven by pure emotion and instinct. He gently laid Celeste down on the ground, barely aware of anything else, his rage-fueled magic still surging through him.

He stalked toward the group of Gryffindors, his vision tunneling. There was no logic left in his mind, only anger. As he raised his arm again, ready to release another torrent of magic, something snapped.

Before he could let the spell loose, the world went dark.


Dumbledore sat quietly in his office, the familiar warmth of the crackling fire offering little comfort as his thoughts drifted toward the young Giza Patel. His initial fears of the boy's unchecked power and inability to control his rage had, for the most part, subsided. In the past weeks, he had observed Giza from afar, noting the boy's surprising efforts to control his emotions.

He had seen Giza with Celeste Malfoy, both of them meditating in the library—an unusual sight for Slytherins, or for any students, really. Dumbledore had recognized it immediately: the disciplined focus of Occlumency training. It was an elegant solution, one Dumbledore hadn't expected from a first-year, and certainly not from a boy like Giza, whose raw power often outweighed his ability to control it.

Still, the mind magics were notoriously difficult, and Occlumency was no exception. Without the assistance of a skilled Legilimens to guide him, Giza's progress would likely be slow and gradual. Dumbledore knew that the path Giza had chosen was not an easy one, but it was the right one. It showed not only Giza's desire to gain control but also his willingness to rise above his anger.

But beneath that progress, there was still the undercurrent of uncertainty. Magic like Giza's didn't just fade—it grew, developed, sometimes in unexpected ways. And with the boy's mysterious power being so different, so ancient, Dumbledore couldn't help but wonder if Occlumency alone would be enough.

He stood from his chair, moving to the window and gazing out over the grounds of Hogwarts. He had seen Giza's rage firsthand, how it nearly overwhelmed him in the beginning, and he feared what could happen if that anger found a way to slip past his newly built defenses. The danger wasn't in Giza's power—it was in his control, or lack thereof.

Dumbledore sighed, resting his hands on the windowsill. He had hoped that the boy's path might mirror one of peace and understanding, but there was a nagging thought in his mind—a concern that kept drawing comparisons to another student with immense potential, who had once walked a very different path.

He shook his head. No, Giza was not Tom. He had hope in Giza's ability to choose differently. But only time would tell if that choice would hold.


Suddenly, Dumbledore felt a surge—a massive wave of magical pressure, unlike anything he'd sensed in some time. His head snapped toward the source, his sharp blue eyes narrowing in the direction of the Great Lake. In the distance, an arc of lightning illuminated the horizon, crackling with energy.

His expression darkened. Something had gone terribly wrong.

With a grim look, Dumbledore acted swiftly. With a sharp *pop, he Disapparated, reappearing instantly outside the lake's edge. The scene before him was worse than he had feared. Scattered on the ground were the crumpled forms of several Gryffindors, clearly unconscious or worse, their robes singed. Nearer to the lake, the small form of a girl with brunette hair—Celeste Malfoy—lay motionless.

But Dumbledore's attention was drawn immediately to the figure standing over them.

Giza.

Even from a distance, Dumbledore could sense the magic bubbling inside the boy, wild and potent. It was like a storm brewing under his skin, ready to explode once again. Though not visible to the naked eye, a wizard of Dumbledore's caliber could feel the raw, unrefined magic swirling chaotically around Giza, barely restrained.

There was no time to lose. Dumbledore raised his wand, his movements fluid and precise. "Stupefy!" he commanded, his voice calm but firm, a flash of red light erupting from his wand.

The spell hit Giza squarely, and the boy crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he could unleash another wave of destructive magic. The arc of energy that had been surrounding him flickered and dissipated, the dangerous pressure in the air easing with it.

Dumbledore stood there for a moment, his heart heavy as he surveyed the scene. The boy had lost control—completely. And now, there would be consequences. With a deep sigh, he moved toward Giza, lowering his wand but keeping his guard up, unsure of what the aftermath would bring.

The calm look on Giza's face, now unconscious, was a stark contrast to the storm of rage that had consumed him moments earlier. Dumbledore's gaze lingered on the boy for a moment, his thoughts heavy. It had been a close call—too close.

With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore waved his wand, and one by one, the students' bodies began to rise gently from the ground. He levitated them carefully, each one floating slightly above the grass, heading toward the castle.

As his eyes passed over Celeste's limp form, a pang of concern gripped him. He assumed that it had been Giza's magic that harmed her. The thought weighed heavily on his mind. Giza had lost control, and it had come at a great cost. The young girl looked so fragile now, crumpled at the boy's side.

Dumbledore moved steadily toward the castle, his robes billowing softly in the wind. He felt the weight of the situation in his chest—this was no ordinary outburst of magic. Giza's power had lashed out without restraint, and while Dumbledore had stopped him in time, the damage had been done.

As they floated in front of him, he thought carefully about what would come next. Giza had proven he was not ready, not yet in control of the power he harbored. Dumbledore knew now that this was more dangerous than even he had anticipated. Something had to change before it was too late.


Giza awoke slowly, his head pounding. His vision was blurry at first, the bright lights of the hospital wing making him squint as he tried to get his bearings. The stiffness in his limbs reminded him that something had happened—*something big*—but the details were still foggy.

As his eyes finally focused, he saw two familiar figures standing at the foot of his bed.

Dumbledore's expression was calm, his usual genial smile in place, but his eyes carried a weight that unsettled Giza. Beside him, however, stood Snape, his dark eyes practically burning with fury. The stark contrast between Dumbledore's calm and Snape's barely contained anger sent a chill through Giza.

For a moment, the room was deathly silent, the only sound being the soft rustling of curtains as the wind outside blew through the cracks in the window.

Giza opened his mouth to speak, but his voice felt caught in his throat. Memories of the lake came rushing back: the Gryffindors, the stones, Celeste collapsing beside him... the surge of uncontrollable power that had overwhelmed him. His stomach twisted with dread.

"Mr. Patel," Dumbledore said softly, breaking the silence, "I trust you're feeling a bit more yourself now?"

Giza nodded weakly, his throat dry. He wanted to speak, to ask what had happened after everything went dark, but the words wouldn't come.

Snape, on the other hand, had no such hesitation. His voice was sharp as a blade, his eyes never leaving Giza. "You nearly killed several students today. Do you have any idea what you've done?" He took a step forward, his robes billowing behind him like a shadow, his face tight with anger.

Giza swallowed hard, the reality of Snape's words hitting him like a cold wave. *Killed?* He looked at Dumbledore, searching for some reassurance, but the headmaster's expression remained solemn, and Giza's stomach sank further.

"Is Celeste alright?" Giza asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Snape's eyes flashed, and his lip curled in disdain. "No, you made sure of that, didn't you?" he spat, his tone dripping with venom.

Giza flinched at the accusation, his heart sinking. He hadn't meant to—he would never—

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice, though calm, carried a firm edge. His blue eyes locked onto Snape with a pointed look. "Could you give us a moment?"

Snape's face hardened, his frustration palpable. For a moment, he seemed to consider pressing the issue further, but with a sharp swish of his robes, he turned and stalked out of the hospital wing without another word, the tension following him like a storm cloud.

As the door closed behind him, Dumbledore turned his gaze back to Giza, his expression softer but still filled with concern. He moved closer, sitting in the chair beside Giza's bed.

"Celeste is resting, Giza," Dumbledore said gently, his voice soothing. "She's been taken care of and is expected to recover." He paused, watching Giza's reaction carefully. "But you must understand... what happened today could have been far worse."

Giza let out a shaky breath, the weight of everything crashing down on him. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone," he murmured, his voice trembling. "I... I couldn't control it."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. "I know, Giza. That is why we must find a way for you to better harness your power before it controls you."

"I've been trying, sir," Giza said, his voice tense. "But progress is slow, and besides... they started it."

Dumbledore's expression remained calm, but his eyes held a weight that made Giza uncomfortable. "Now, now, Mr. Patel. Those students were top of their class, and one was a prefect. Are you quite sure they started it?" he asked, his voice pointed but gentle.

Giza felt the anger bubbling up inside him again, just as it had at the lake. "No, they *did*!" His voice grew sharper, and with it, a faint tremor echoed through the room. The metal bed frame beneath him groaned, bending and buckling under the pressure of his growing rage.

Dumbledore, ever cautious, raised his wand, ready to intervene.

But at the sight of the wand, the situation hit Giza like a tidal wave. The events of the day—the explosion of power, Celeste crumpling to the ground, Snape's fury—all came rushing back, drowning his anger in a tide of fear and sorrow. His body went cold as the rage dissipated, leaving only guilt in its place.

Dumbledore noticed the change immediately, the look on Giza's face telling him everything. With a heavy sigh, the headmaster slowly lowered his wand and stowed it away. He then took a seat next to Giza's bed, his presence calm and steady.

"I know you're scared, Giza," Dumbledore said softly. "And I know it feels as though your magic is controlling you, rather than the other way around. But you must understand—your power is unique, and with that comes great responsibility. Losing control, no matter the reason, can lead to devastating consequences."

Giza looked down at his hands, his heart heavy with guilt. "I didn't want to hurt anyone..." he whispered, his voice small.

Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on Giza's shoulder, his gaze kind but serious. "I believe you, Giza. But intention does not always prevent harm. That is why it is so important that we continue your training—because I know you are capable of much more than this."

Giza nodded, his throat tight with emotion. He could feel the weight of Dumbledore's words, knowing deep down that the headmaster was right.

"Your studies in Occlumency have been fruitful, I assume?" Dumbledore asked, his voice thoughtful as he studied Giza carefully. "Perhaps it's time you had a proper teacher."

Giza's heart quickened. "You mean... you'll teach me?" he asked, the excitement creeping into his voice. Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard he knew—if anyone could help him master his power, it was him.

But Dumbledore shook his head gently, his smile apologetic. "I'm sorry, my boy, but I am far too busy at the moment. However, I do have another master of the mind arts in mind." He paused, watching Giza's face closely before continuing. "Professor Snape. He has kindly offered to take over your training from the lovely Miss Celeste."

Giza could only stare at Dumbledore in horror, his excitement draining in an instant. *Snape?* Of all the people, it had to be *Snape*?

The image of the furious Potions Master from earlier, his sharp words and barely contained disdain, flashed in Giza's mind. The idea of sitting across from Snape, of trying to focus on controlling his emotions while Snape glared daggers at him, was terrifying.

Dumbledore chuckled softly at Giza's wide-eyed expression. "I understand your hesitation," he said kindly. "But Severus is an excellent Occlumens and a skilled teacher. He will help you... if you are willing to trust him."

Giza swallowed hard, unsure if trust was even possible.

"Sir, I'm not sure this is going to work," Giza said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dumbledore turned to him, his expression serious yet gentle. "Giza, what happened today cannot simply be ignored. Miss Malfoy's parents have been informed of the incident, and her father, as you well know, is a member of the school council. He has the power to have you expelled from Hogwarts."

Giza felt the weight of Dumbledore's words sink in like a lead weight in his chest. Expelled? The thought of being sent away from Hogwarts, the one place where he felt he might belong, was terrifying. His mind raced, grasping for a way out of this.

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his voice softening. "These lessons with Professor Snape, my boy, are the only way you can stay. It is not ideal, I understand that, but it is necessary. You must show that you are making efforts to control your power. Otherwise, I fear there may be no choice but for you to leave Hogwarts."

Giza looked down at his hands, the reality of the situation hitting him harder than he expected. He had been reckless, lost in his anger, and now he was on the brink of losing everything. And the only thing standing between him and expulsion was Professor Snape, the one person who seemed to hate him the most.

He nodded slowly, the words catching in his throat. "I'll... I'll do it."

Dumbledore's face softened into a gentle smile. "I know this isn't easy, Giza, but you are stronger than you realize. Trust the process, and with time, you'll find the control you seek."