Author Notes: Hello everybody, welcome to chapter 10 of Curse Breaker Book 1. Can't believe I got this far. Hopefully things in the story will pick up after this chapter, I can't wait to get into the nitty gritty stuff that I have planned for the year.

Enjoy!

Chapter 10: The Book and the Quill

The few weeks that passed were not particularly extraordinary — at least by Hogwarts standards.

Peeves the poltergeist knocked over entire suits of armor in the east wing (twice), the staircases continued their relentless habit of moving just as someone stepped onto them, and first-years got lost in droves after every class. It was, by all appearances, normal.

For everyone else.

For me? It felt like every day was just another reminder that I wasn't catching up.

Following professor Weasley's advice, I stopped carrying the Grimoire with me to classes, afraid Tiberius would make another move to steal it. Plus, I didn't want to cheat my way through magical studies… or rather, I did want to cheat, but the angel on my shoulder spoke louder. Professor Weasley would know regardless.

The results were… well, disastrous.

Charms was the worst. Professor Flitwick's patience seemed infinite, but even he struggled to hide his concern when my wand barely produced more than a few sputtering sparks.

"Don't worry, Mr. Edward," Flitwick had said after I'd accidentally turned a button into something that vaguely resembled a snail. "Some students take time to adjust. Magic is like a muscle — it strengthens with practice."

I'd smiled and nodded, but inside, that reassurance felt hollow.

I'd been practicing. The mana wand wanted to work — I could feel it sometimes. It hummed softly, its magical core flickering to life whenever I gripped it, like it was ready to perform… but something always held it back. I stayed up late trying different incantations, flicking my wand at feathers, buttons, and anything else that could possibly float or transform. All I got were faint flickers or disappointing pops.

In Transfiguration, I could feel it thrumming just beneath the surface, but when I tried turning a matchstick into a needle, it only glowed faintly before snapping in half. Professor Pendragon gave me that same tight-lipped expression I'd seen on her the first day I arrived, and I couldn't tell if she was more disappointed or concerned.

Potions wasn't much better. I'd stirred my Cure for Boils exactly as professor Slughorn instructed, only for the wand resting at my side to leak faint tendrils of blue light, startling me enough to knock over Connor's entire vial of crushed moonstone.

I wanted to die, right then and there.

"Well… that was unexpected." Connor said as he wiped spilled moonstone off his robes.

"I'm just glad it didn't explode. Yet." Laughed Alvarus.

Even Tiberius couldn't resist.

"Maybe Edward's wand doesn't like him. Can't say I blame it." He remarked in between classes.

It wasn't the worst thing he'd said, but every little jab wore on me. I stopped responding after a while. I knew he couldn't be doing much better with his wand, but he sure managed to keep up the appearance. He cast spells slower, took his time with the incantations, but unlike me, he got results — even if his hand shook while doing it.

The worst part? I was starting to think he was right.

After another failed Wingardium Leviosa during one of Professor Flitwick's practical lessons, I stayed behind as the rest of the class filed out. Connor lingered near the door, watching as I flicked my wand toward the feather on the desk for what felt like the hundredth time.

The feather twitched. Once.

I sighed heavily and dropped into my chair.

"Maybe you're trying too hard." Connor said quietly, leaning on the desk.

I shook my head. "I can't try less. I'll end up being the only first-year who can't even levitate a feather by Christmas."

Connor chuckled softly, giving me a light nudge. "Come on, you're not the only one struggling. Besides, someone's got to make the rest of us look good."

I sighed. Despite his efforts, his playful tone wasn't cutting it for me.

The only class I wasn't outright failing was History of Magic. Though it seemed everyone wanted to fall asleep during the lecture, I was weirdly drawn to it. I couldn't help but be curious about how the history of this entire separate world intertwined with the one I'd grown up knowing.

Plus, it's not everyday one gets to be taught by a ghost, of all entities.

Professor Binns, in his usual monotone, droned on about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612. Most of the class was either scribbling half-hearted notes or fighting to keep their eyes open. Connor, sitting next to me, had resorted to doodling on the edge of his parchment. Alvarus was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed and his eyes glazed over.

"…and thus, the goblin factions in Hogsmeade suffered a significant loss during the final skirmish," Binns continued, his voice like a distant wind. "Their leader, Urg the Unclean, retreated to the mountains, leaving behind what would later become a contentious relic…"

I leaned forward, scribbling down every word. I couldn't help it — the way magical history intersected with Muggle history was captivating. There were so many gaps, so many untold stories that I couldn't stop trying to piece together.

Connor nudged me with his elbow. "You know you don't have to write all that down, right? Binns isn't going to test us on half of it."

I shrugged, not looking up. "I don't mind. It's interesting."

Connor raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to inspect my notes. "Interesting? Carlos, it's a goblin rebellion. That's like… the magical equivalent of a boring tax dispute."

Alvarus perked up slightly. "I don't know, taxes sound more exciting than this."

I shot them both a look, though I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "Maybe you'd find it interesting if you actually listened."

Connor grinned. "I'm listening. Just… selectively."

"Yeah, selectively ignoring everything that isn't doodle-worthy," I muttered, glancing at the tiny caricature of a sleepy Professor Binns Connor was making. It looked slightly rounder and more adorable than its counterpart, with little 'Z's coming from his head.

By the end of the third week, my frustration boiled over during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Weasley had paired us up for a simple shield charm exercise. Naturally, Tiberius was my partner. Thankfully, knowing his troubles with his mana wand, he likely wouldn't —

"Protego!" Tiberius cast effortlessly, his shield sparking to life. I blinked in disbelief as I tried the same.

I stood in front of him flabbergasted. How did he learn that so fast?

As if sensing my confusion, Tiberius smirked. "Father showed me a way to force it." His tone was smug, but I could see the faint tremble in his fingers, as if his grip on the wand strained him more than he let on.

"Protego!" I flicked my wand in anger.

Nothing.

"This is getting embarrassing, you know." Tiberius snarled, crossing his arms. "I thought we'd at least get a decent challenge today."

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to snap at him.

"Try again, Carlos. Relax your grip." Professor Weasley called from the other side of the room.

I nodded, trying to let go of the tension.

"Protego!"

Sparks. No shield.

Tiberius smirked, lowering his wand dramatically. "Maybe you should stick to brewing tea in Potions. You're clearly not cut out for spellwork." He spoke as he leaned closer.

My wand hummed faintly at the insult, as if reacting to the sudden rise in my heart rate — but it fizzled out just as quickly.

I left class without looking back. The Grimoire might have been locked away, but I couldn't help but feel that I needed it now more than ever.

One evening, however, I gave in and attempted to use it again. I made sure I was alone in the common room before flipping it open, Auric being my only, very sleepy company. The fire crackled softly in the fireplace, filling the space with flickering shadows. I sat cross-legged on the rug, the Grimoire resting heavy in my lap. Its leather cover felt warm beneath my fingertips, as if the book itself was aware of my presence — though tonight, it was colder than usual.

I traced the intricate runes on the front cover, watching them glimmer faintly in the low light.

"Come on," I whispered, trying to open up the last entry I'd seen — the one about the Architect's Tomb. The book, however, stayed stubbornly blank.

I pressed my palm to the page, the way I'd done in my first charms class.

Nothing happened.

I tried again, this time muttering under my breath.

"Show me… something. Anything."

The book's pages ruffled lazily, but no new text appeared. The few diagrams that appeared remained half-finished, the blueprints smudged.

I shut it with a frustrated snap, tossing it onto the floor next to me.

So much for that.

Leaning back, I ran a hand through my hair, staring up at the arched ceiling. Ever since the whole Dig Site sightseeing, the Grimoire hadn't responded to me properly. it felt as if the book whad become as indifferent to me as the rest of my magic.

Before that, it would usually try to answer whichever questions I had for it. That, of course, when it wasn't failing to connect to the…

… Codex?

A light bulb flared up on top of my head. How come I hadn't tried this yet?

"Uh… connect to the Codex!" I ordered.

This time, the Grimoire responded.

Establishing connection to the Codex.

Awaiting response…

I waited expectantly. I swear, if this actually works…

Connection to Codex failed.

"Urgh!" I slammed the book shut.

I slumped against the couch, letting the Grimoire slide off my lap and land with a dull thud on the rug.

Why did I think that would work?

The Grimoire hadn't so much as flickered since I left the Dig Site. Maybe I'd broken something. Maybe it had decided I wasn't worthy anymore. I wouldn't blame it.

A soft creak echoed through the common room as Connor flopped onto the couch beside me. He stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles, and stared at the ceiling like we were both sharing some invisible misery.

"You know, most people use books for reading, not slamming," he said casually.

I didn't bother looking at him. "I was hoping violence would make it work."

"Did it?"

"No."

Connor snorted. "Shame. That usually works for me."

I sat up with a groan, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "It's like nothing's clicking. I feel like I'm missing something obvious."

Connor raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you are."

"Thanks," I muttered. "That's really helpful."

He grinned and nudged the Grimoire with his foot, as Auric began waking up next to the fireplace "Seriously though, I think you're driving yourself crazy. You've been practicing magic every night for the past week. When was the last time you didn't have that thing in your lap?"

"You do know I'm trying to do things on my own, right? Without the grimoire." I corrected him.

"And how is that going for you?" He teased me.

I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came out, only a sigh of defeat.

"Thought so." He concluded.

"Connor, this is serious." I complained, standing up near the fireplace. "If I don't manage to control my magic soon, some… bad things could happen."

"As in you turning into an obscurial?" he casually mentioned. I turned around to meet his gaze.

"How did you know about that?" I inquired, not recalling having ever told him about that prospect.

"I've heard the stories. Even so, your case is not exactly a secret." He admitted, to my bewilderment. "Are the classes with professor Weasley not helping?"

"He manages to get something out of me, but it's… raw. Nothing I'm able to control." I sighed in frustration.

Connor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched me pace. "Maybe you're looking at it the wrong way," he said, tilting his head slightly. "You're treating magic like it's something you have to force out. What if it's not about control?"

I stopped, rubbing the back of my neck. "What else would it be about?"

Connor shrugged, fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. "I don't know… letting go? Enjoying it?"

I stared at him, incredulous. "Enjoying it? Connor, I can't even get a feather to twitch properly. It's not exactly fun to watch everyone else light up the classroom while I sit there waving a stick around like an idiot."

He gave me a half-smile. "Yeah, but maybe that's the problem. You're thinking too much about what isn't happening."

I sighed, dropping back onto the couch beside him. The fire crackled softly, filling the silence.

"It's not that easy," I muttered, staring at the flames.

Connor nudged my shoulder lightly. "It could be."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I can't just… stop. If I don't figure this out soon, I'm going to end up miles behind everyone else. Tiberius is already —"

"— being a prat," Connor cut in. "That's not news."

I sighed. "I just thought… by now, things would start making sense. The Grimoire, the Codex, the spells…"

Connor leaned back against the couch, folding his arms behind his head. "Look, I get it. But maybe stop chasing it so hard. Give it a little room to breathe."

I gave him a sidelong glance. "You sound like Professor Weasley."

Connor grinned. "Yeah, well, maybe he's got a point."

I opened the Grimoire again, even though I knew it wouldn't tell me anything new. The blank pages stared back at me, and after a few moments, I shut it with a sigh.

"Alright," Connor said, standing up and stretching. "Let's call it a night. You're going to burn yourself out."

He didn't give me time to argue, tugging my sleeve until I reluctantly followed him toward the dormitory.

"... I swear I'm trying, but nothing seems to work!" I complained to professor Longbottom the next day. The greenhouse was humid as always, which didn't help my early morning discomfort. "Now not even the Grimoire will respond to me like it used to…"

Professor Longbottom adjusted his gloves, carefully pruning a cluster of Flutterby Bushes as I stood there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. He didn't respond right away, which only made me more restless. I half expected him to tell me to try harder, or that I needed to be patient — like everyone else had been saying. Instead, he just hummed thoughtfully.

Professor Longbottom finally spoke after a moment, his eyes still fixed on the bushes in front of him.

"You know," he said, carefully snipping at a stubborn branch, "plants aren't all that different from magic."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Plants?"

He nodded. "They grow in their own time. Some need more sunlight, some need shade. You can't rush them… but you can learn to understand what they need." He turned to me, brushing dirt off his gloves. "The same goes for magic."

I shifted, glancing at the empty space in my palm where my wand should have been. I'd left it tucked away inside my robes after yesterday's disaster in Defense Against the Dark Arts. "But I've been practicing every day. It's like the more I try, the worse it gets."

Longbottom gave me a small, knowing smile. "And that's the problem. You're treating it like a test you need to pass."

"Well… isn't it?" I frowned. "If I don't learn to control it, I'll fall behind. Everyone else is already ahead — Tiberius already flaunts his spells every chance he gets."

Longbottom let out a quiet laugh. "Yes, I've heard about Tiberius Murtlock. But trust me, magic isn't something you win by being the fastest. I know students who took years to really find their footing. And some of them turned out to be the greatest wizards I've ever met."

I sighed, crossing my arms. "That's easy for you to say. You're a war hero."

His smile faltered slightly. "I wasn't always."

I glanced up, catching the flicker of something in his eyes — distant, almost haunted. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

Longbottom leaned against the table, his posture relaxing. "I know what it feels like to watch others excel while you feel like you're standing still. But Carlos, magic isn't just about wands and incantations. It's about belief. In yourself, and in the connection you have with your magic."

I furrowed my brow, the weight of his words sinking in. "But what if I don't feel that connection?"

"That's because you're looking for it in the wrong place." Longbottom gestured toward the Flutterby Bushes. "These plants don't bloom because I force them to. They bloom when they're ready — and when they trust their environment."

I stared at the swaying bushes, watching as the leaves twitched in response to Longbottom's touch.

"So… you're saying I need to stop trying?"

"I'm saying you need to stop forcing it," he corrected gently. "Magic isn't something you wrestle into submission. Sometimes, you need to let it come to you."

I let out a slow breath, rolling his words over in my head. I couldn't imagine not trying. But maybe he was right.

"Let me tell you a story…" He then said, "Hogwarts has a very peculiar admission system, you know? It's comprised of nothing more nor less than a simple book and a quill."

"Okay…?" I said, unsure of where he meant to go with this.

Longbottom set his pruning shears aside, turning to face me fully. His expression softened, like he was peeling back a layer of guarded nostalgia.

"It's called the Book of Admittance," he began. "It sits in a small, locked tower — very few have ever seen it. And beside it rests the Quill of Acceptance."

I raised an eyebrow. "A quill that… what, writes down names?"

Longbottom nodded. "Exactly. The moment a child displays any sign of magic, the quill writes their name in the book, securing them a place at Hogwarts when they're of age."

I frowned, letting the idea roll over in my head. "But what if they don't show any signs of magic? What if… they're like me?"

"Ah, that's the curious part," He smiled faintly. "You see, the book will only open for the quill once it has detected undeniable proof that the child has displayed magic. The quill, however, is constantly trying to jot down names, at anything it deems out of the ordinary."

"Okay, so… what if the book never opens?" I asked.

Longbottom chuckled softly at my question. "Then the name isn't written, and the child won't be invited to Hogwarts."

I shifted uncomfortably, staring at the dirt floor beneath my boots. "So… there must be a lot of kids who never make it here."

Longbottom nodded, leaning back against the workbench. "There are. But here's the thing, Carlos. sometimes… odd things can happen."

"Odd things?" I asked, tilting my head.

Longbottom's smile grew faint, like he was recalling something distant but familiar.

"There was once a student — a quiet boy from a Muggle family — who never showed a hint of magic before his eleventh birthday. His name never appeared in the book."

I straightened slightly. "What happened to him?"

Longbottom glanced at the Flutterby Bushes, as if searching for the right words. "One day, not too long ago, Professor McGonagall went in to check the Book of Admittance, as she has done year after year and… well, something had happened the previous night. The book's cover had been torn."

"Torn?" I repeated.

"Yes, as if the quill had cut right through the cover's leather, attempting to write down a name." He explained. "Never had the system behaved like that before, at least never in Professor McGonagall's years at Hogwarts."

I leaned forward, hanging on every word. "So… what did they do? Did the boy get invited after that?"

Longbottom's eyes flickered with something I couldn't quite place — maybe amusement, maybe something more distant. "Professor McGonagall was puzzled, of course. She wasn't sure whether to ignore it or investigate. But curiosity got the better of her, and she checked the Quill of Acceptance."

"And?" I pressed, heart thudding lightly in my chest.

Longbottom's smile grew. "The quill had written the boy's name on the table beside the book — over and over again. As if it was trying to make a point."

I stared at him. "The quill broke the rules?"

"You could say that," Longbottom said, chuckling softly. "McGonagall took it as a sign. She made arrangements, and that boy got his Hogwarts letter, even though his name wasn't technically in the book."

I shifted on my feet, glancing at Longbottom carefully. His tone seemed light, but something told me this wasn't just a random story.

"So… what happened to the boy?" I asked, though part of me already suspected the answer.

Longbottom gave me a small smile, his eyes warm but guarded. "Well, he arrived at Hogwarts that year. I imagine he felt a bit out of place at first. Thought he didn't belong. But he found his footing — eventually."

I frowned. "But if his name wasn't in the book… how did he even —?"

Longbottom straightened, brushing dirt from his gloves before resting his hands on the workbench. "Let's just say the professors kept a close eye on him. Sometimes, magic doesn't like to follow rules. And sometimes, the people who don't fit perfectly into the mold are the ones who end up surprising everyone."

His words lingered in the air between us. The implication hit me like a slow-moving train.

I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the weight in my chest. "Professor… are you saying that was me?"

Longbottom didn't answer right away. He simply met my gaze, his expression softer than I'd ever seen.

"Professor McGonagall rarely speaks about the Book of Admittance, Carlos. But when you arrived at Hogwarts… let's just say there were a few conversations behind closed doors. Some, of course, were against the idea of inviting you, thinking we'd be tarnishing a millennium old tradition that has never before faltered. Other's, such as myself, saw it as something that required immediate attention. After all, a system as intricate as this would not break its own rules unless something extraordinary had happened… or were to happen."

I stood there in stunned silence, staring at Professor Longbottom as his words sank in. The warmth of the greenhouse suddenly felt suffocating, and the fluttering leaves around us seemed eerily still.

The quill had tried to write my name. My name.

"Wait," I said slowly, trying to process it. "You're saying… Hogwarts almost didn't let me in?"

Longbottom held my gaze, his expression soft but unwavering. "It wasn't a matter of letting you in or not. You were meant to be here, Carlos. The quill knew it, even if the book was hesitant."

"But why? Why would the book reject me?"

Longbottom sighed, leaning back slightly on the workbench. "It's not rejection — at least, not in the way you're thinking. The Book of Admittance is very precise. It is cemented in a way to not allow anything outside of its core functionality. The quill, however, is more lenient in what it does, meaning it tends to… find a way to make itself heard."

I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. "So… I was a glitch in the system?"

Longbottom chuckled softly, folding his arms. "That's one way to put it. But I prefer to think of it as… the system realising it needed to bend, just this once."

I ran a hand through my hair, still struggling to wrap my head around it. All this time, I thought I'd been invited like everyone else. That the letter had simply arrived because it was supposed to. But the truth was, I had almost slipped through the cracks.

"Does… does Headmistress McGonagall know I know this now?" I asked cautiously.

Longbottom's smile twitched. "I imagine she suspected I might bring it up eventually." He straightened, adjusting the leaves of a Flutterby Bush beside him. "She's not one to deny the truth when it comes knocking."

I paced in a small circle, the weight of his words settling over me like a heavy cloak. "So, what am I supposed to do with that?"

Longbottom turned to me, his eyes softening. "Nothing."

I stopped pacing. "Nothing?"

He nodded. "You're here, Carlos. That's what matters. You don't need to prove your worth to the book or anyone else. The quill knew. The professors who believed in you knew."

His words were comforting, but they didn't make the gnawing doubt go away entirely. I'd spent weeks watching my classmates excel at spells while I tripped over the basics. Now I couldn't help but wonder…

"What if the book was right?" I asked quietly.

Longbottom sighed, stepping closer. His expression grew more serious, the warmth in his eyes hardening into something firmer — like he needed me to hear this, truly hear it.

"Carlos, that book has recorded the names of thousands of witches and wizards over centuries. But it doesn't decide what kind of wizard you'll become. That's up to you."

I swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. "I just… I thought by now, I'd feel different. More like I belonged here."

Longbottom gave a small nod. "That feeling doesn't come overnight. Sometimes, it sneaks up on you when you least expect it. Trust the quill, Carlos. It knows what it does."

I nodded, not trusting myself to say much else.

"Come on," he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder and guiding me toward the exit. "Breakfast is starting soon. You'll think clearer after some toast."

I managed a small smile at that. "Toast, huh? Is that how you solved all your magical crises?"

"Absolutely," Longbottom replied with a grin. "Toast fixes everything."

As we stepped into the crisp morning air, I couldn't shake the thought of that torn book cover and the quill furiously scribbling my name.

Maybe magic didn't like to follow rules after all.

By the fourth week, I'd stopped staying late to practice. It felt pointless.

One evening, as I sat in the common room staring blankly at my homework, as if my soul had left my body already. I was nearly falling asleep on the chair when I heard a presence come in from behind me.

"Alright, I've had enough of this brooding act." Connor chimed in, patting me on the back. The startle made me realise I was drooling on top of my homework.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not brooding." I spoke in a yawn.

"You're brooding. And I've got just the thing to snap you out of it."

Connor plopped down into the chair next to me, stretching out like he owned the place. Alvarus came along and stood beside him. Their grins told me I probably wouldn't like whatever they were about to suggest.

I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on the parchment in front of me — my half-finished essay on the properties of Moonstone for Potions. There was a smear where I'd been drooling. Perfect.

"I don't need snapping out of anything," I grumbled, wiping at the parchment with my sleeve.

Connor leaned in, resting his chin on his hand. "Carlos, you look like you're one late-night study session away from turning into a ghost. You need a break."

"Although it must be really cool to become a ghost! Imagine being able to go through walls and stuff!" Alvarus enthused on his own.

"Guys, I'm fine," I muttered, though even I didn't quite believe it.

Connor smirked, clearly not buying it. "Fine? You're about to pass out in a puddle of your own drool. That's not what I'd call fine."

I groaned, slumping further into my chair. "I just need to finish this essay. Professor Slughorn's already given me an extension, and if I don't turn it in by tomorrow, he's going to start docking points."

Connor glanced at the parchment. "It's moonstone, Carlos. It's not that complicated. Helps calm people down, used in Draught of Peace… You're overthinking it."

I shot him a flat look. "Glad you find it simple. I'll remember that when I need someone to babysit my cauldron during exams."

Connor laughed, leaning back with his arms behind his head. "You need more than a babysitter. Look, forget the essay for a few hours. There's something happening tonight — something that might actually help."

I frowned, setting the quill down and narrowing my eyes at Connor. "If this is another one of your 'relax and everything will work out' plans, I'm not interested."

Connor shook his head, the mischievous glint in his eye not fading. "Nope. This is different. It's hands-on practice. Kind of like… a study session. But more fun. Less pressure."

Alvarus nodded eagerly. "It's not official or anything, but older students run these late-night gatherings. A bit of spell practice, a bit of showing off. No professors watching over your shoulder. We thought you could use it."

I narrowed my eyes. "And how, exactly, is this supposed to help me finish my Potions essay?"

Connor grinned wider. "It's not. But it might help with that whole magic block you've been whining about for the last three weeks."

"I haven't been whining," I muttered, crossing my arms.

"You have," Connor and Alvarus said at the same time.

I sighed heavily, rubbing my temples. "Look, I appreciate the thought, but if I get caught—"

"We won't," Connor cut in smoothly. "Trust me, we've done this before."

I was speechless for a moment, wondering when in the past month they'd gotten to sneak out after curfew. The thought of that didn't exactly fill me with confidence.

"I don't know…" I glanced down at my parchment. The essay was going nowhere, and I could already hear Slughorn's disappointed sigh in my head. Maybe they were right. Maybe I needed to step away for a bit.

Connor must have sensed my hesitation. He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Come on, Carlos. Worst case, you get a few laughs and botch a spell or two. Best case… maybe something clicks."

Alvarus nodded enthusiastically. "It'll be fun. I swear."

I stared at them for a moment longer, then dropped my quill in defeat. "Fine. But if I lose house points for this, I'm blaming you both."

Connor clapped me on the back, already standing. "Deal. Meet us by the common room entrance at midnight."

"Midnight?" I groaned. "That's breaking like… three rules."

"Technically, it's just one big rule," Connor replied with a wink. "See you then."

As he and Alvarus slipped away, I leaned back in my chair and glanced at the drool-stained essay. I doubted I'd get much more done tonight anyway.

I just hope this doesn't stir any more trouble for me.

I crept down the dormitory stairs, keeping my footsteps light as I approached the barrel entrance to the common room. Connor and Alvarus were already waiting, Connor twirling his wand casually between his fingers.

"You're late," Connor whispered as I joined them.

"I had second thoughts." I adjusted my jacket, pulling it tighter. "Still do."

Connor patted me on the shoulder. "Relax, you'll thank us later."

I highly doubted that.

"This is gonna be so wicked!" Alvarus could barely contain his excitement. I wondered what it felt like to be this happy all of the time.

The three of us slipped quietly out of the common room, ducking beneath the low ceiling of the barrel shaped exit as we crept around the basement corridors, headed towards the castle's upper floors. The glow of the torches lining the walls flickered as we passed, casting long shadows that stretched and danced with each step.

"Where exactly are we going?" I whispered, glancing around nervously. Every creak beneath my feet felt like it echoed through the entire castle.

Connor shot me a quick grin over his shoulder. "Sixth-floor corridor. There's a classroom no one uses anymore. Some of the older students have it set up for… extracurriculars."

"Extracurriculars?" I asked skeptically.

Alvarus nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, like dueling practice, spell challenges — all stuff the professors wouldn't let us do officially. It's great."

I frowned. "And you've been to this before?"

Connor shrugged. "Only once, when my brother tipped me off about it. It's nothing dangerous, just students helping each other out."

"Huh… didn't know you had a brother." I muttered. I wasn't sure if 'students helping each other out' was code for 'breaking every school rule imaginable,' but at this point, I was too far along to back out.

We rounded a strange corner I haven't been to before and began ascending a long, spiraling staircase towards the sixth floor. The castle seemed eerily quiet at night, the usual hum of life replaced by distant winds howling through cracks in the stone.

"I swear," I muttered, clutching my wand tighter. "If we run into Filch or the Bloody Baron, I'm leaving you both behind."

Connor snorted. "Filch never comes up this high, and the Baron sticks to the dungeons. We'll be fine."

That didn't ease my nerves, but I trudged on regardless.

As we reached the sixth floor, Connor slowed, holding out his arm to stop us. He peeked around the corner, checking the corridor ahead.

"All clear," he whispered.

We entered a place that looked like a small gallery with several bookshelves and tall paintings, our footsteps muffled by the red rugs on the teal-ish slate flooring.

I could, however, see no doors to any classrooms.

"Um… is this the right place?" I asked.

Connor side-glanced at me with a smirk. "you'll see."

He approached a large portrait on the far wall—a tall, regal-looking wizard in crimson robes, holding a gilded staff. The painting's frame was chipped at the edges, and the wizard's expression was stern as he glared down at us.

"Erm… Connor?" I whispered, glancing around the corridor. "This doesn't look like a classroom."

Connor winked at me and tapped the edge of the painting with his wand. "Patience, Carlos. Watch and learn."

The wizard in the portrait frowned deeply, his voice booming. "Who dares disturb my eternal vigil?"

"Relax, old man," Connor said with a grin. "We're just here for a bit of extracurricular spell practice."

The painted wizard's frown deepened. "And who are these novices?"

"This is Carlos and Alvarus," Connor introduced us. "First-years, eager to learn."

The wizard's gaze swept over us, his painted eyes narrowing slightly. "Hmph. The headmistress would not approve."

"Good thing she's not here, then," Connor quipped. "Now, are you going to let us through, or do I have to tell everyone you've gone soft?"

The wizard straightened indignantly, his staff glowing faintly. "Soft? I am Sir Torvald the Vigilant, guardian of knowledge! I shall not—"

"Yeah, yeah, guardian of knowledge, blah blah blah. We get it," Connor interrupted, his grin widening. "Now, open up."

Sir Torvald muttered something under his breath before stepping aside in the painting, revealing a hidden door behind him. The stone wall behind the painting released a low grinding sound as the frame slide to the right, revealing a doorway I suspect wasn't there previously.

"There," Torvald grumbled. "Enter quickly, and do not disturb me again."

"Thanks, Torvy!" Connor chirped, stepping through the doorway. Alvarus followed eagerly, and I hesitated for only a moment before slipping in after them.

The hidden classroom was unlike anything I'd ever seen at Hogwarts, lit by floating lanterns that cast a warm, golden glow over everything. The room was vast, with high ceilings and tall, arched windows that let in the moonlight, casting silvery beams across the polished wooden floor. At the far end, a large practice area was marked out with chalk circles, and several students — mostly older — were already casting spells. Rows of mismatched desks and chairs were pushed to the sides, creating a sort of makeshift arena.

"Welcome to the after-hours classroom," Connor said, spreading his arms dramatically. "Pretty neat, huh?"

I stared in awe, taking in the sight of students practicing wand movements, dueling in pairs, and testing out complex spells I hadn't even seen in our textbooks. The atmosphere was charged with energy, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of something other than frustration.

"This is… big," I admitted quietly.

"Told you," Connor said, clapping me on the back.

"Connor Fletcher!" A fifth-year girl with curly auburn hair called out, waving. "You actually showed up again!"

Connor grinned. "Couldn't stay away, Evelyn."

She smirked, crossing her arms. "And you brought recruits this time." Her eyes flicked to me and Alvarus. "First-years?"

"Fresh meat," Connor confirmed.

"Brave of you to bring them," she replied, though her tone wasn't unkind. "The name's Evelyn. I'm one of the organizers here. You lot know the rules?"

I glanced at Connor, then back at Evelyn. "Rules?"

"No dangerous hexes, no snitching, and no crying if you get knocked flat on your back," Evelyn recited, ticking them off on her fingers. "Sounds fair?"

Alvarus nodded eagerly. "Fair!"

I hesitated, but Connor nudged me forward. "You'll be fine, Carlos. Come on, let's find a spot."

We wove through the room, dodging stray sparks and light beams as students cast everything from Disarming Charms to advanced Transfiguration spells. Alvarus practically bounced with excitement, his wide-eyed gaze darting around like a kid in Honeydukes.

"Can we try that?" Alvarus pointed at a pair of students practicing dueling stances, their wands flashing as they exchanged rapid spells.

"Let's start small," Connor said, steering us toward an open space near the edge of the room. He drew his wand and turned to me with a grin. "Alright, Carlos. Let's see what you've got."

I raised a concerned eyebrow. "You want me to duel you?"

"Not duel," Connor corrected. "Practice. No pressure, no Tiberius breathing down your neck — just you and your wand."

I hesitated, glancing at the polished floor beneath me. My wand felt heavier in my pocket, like it was reminding me of every failed attempt from the past three weeks.

"I don't know…" I muttered.

Connor stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Hey. This isn't a test. No one here's going to laugh if you mess up. We're all just… figuring it out. Together."

I glanced at Alvarus, who nodded encouragingly. "Come on, Carlos. It'll be fun."

Slowly, I drew my wand, feeling the familiar hum of its mana core as it warmed in my hand. The room seemed to quiet slightly, the distant chatter and spellcasting fading into the background.

"Alright," I said, squaring my shoulders. "What do I do?"

Connor grinned, stepping back and raising his wand. "Start simple. Try to disarm me. Expelliarmus."

I nodded, gripping my wand tighter than I probably needed to. The warmth of the mana core buzzed faintly in my hand, like a sleepy cat waking up but not quite ready to move.

"Expelliarmus," I muttered under my breath, preparing for the spell. Connor stood across from me, his wand casually at his side, a grin teasing the edges of his lips.

"Whenever you're ready," he said, making a show of lazily twirling his wand between his fingers.

I raised my wand, clearing my throat. "Expelliarmus!"

A weak spark fizzled from the tip. Connor's grin widened.

"Not bad for a sparkler," he teased. "Try again. Relax your grip a little."

I adjusted my stance, loosening my fingers slightly. The room felt heavy, like the air was pressing down on me, but I took a deep breath and tried again.

"Expelliarmus!"

This time, a streak of red light shot from my wand. It wasn't much, but it hit Connor's wand hard enough to jolt it in his hand. He laughed, holding his wand aloft. "Better! You're getting there."

I frowned, trying to shake off the growing frustration. It still didn't feel right. The magic wasn't flowing — not like it should. Not like the others.

Connor tilted his head, studying me. "You're overthinking again."

"No, I'm not," I snapped, lowering my wand.

"You are." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You're treating magic like it's something you have to wrestle with. It's not. It's a partnership."

"A partnership?" I echoed, raising an eyebrow. "It's a wand, Connor, not a dance partner."

Connor shrugged. "Maybe. But maybe you're treating it more like a chore than something you enjoy." He stepped back, twirling his wand again with a playful grin. "Alright, let's try it a different way. Forget the incantation for a second. Just focus on what you want to happen. Visualize it."

"That's not how spells work," I pointed out. "You can't just… wish them into existence."

"Technically, no," Connor admitted. "But you're getting so caught up in saying the words perfectly that you're ignoring the intent behind them. Magic's about focus, sure, but it's also about letting go. Trusting your wand."

I glanced down at my wand, the faint hum of its mana core pulsing gently against my palm. "Trust it to do what, exactly? Blow up in my face?"

Connor snorted. "Trust it to work with you. You're both trying to do the same thing — cast the spell. So stop fighting it."

I sighed, turning back toward the practice space. The room's energy seemed to hum around me, students laughing and casting spells in the background, their movements fluid and confident. I envied that confidence.

"Fine," I muttered, raising my wand again. "But if this goes wrong, I'm blaming you."

Connor stepped back with a grin. "Deal."

I closed my eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. What did he even mean by enjoying it? How was I supposed to enjoy something that felt so… unnatural. Foreign. It's like I was still back at Liddell Way, struggling to reconcile the existence of magic in the first place, in how it defied the sense of normalcy I had gotten so used to.

Wait a minute… that wasn't me.

That was my father.

I froze, my wand still raised. The thought hit me like a rogue bullet. The hesitation, the frustration, the constant feeling that magic was something otherworldly — something wrong. That wasn't me. That was him. He never said it outright, but I could see it in the way his lips thinned when magic was mentioned, the way his eyes darkened whenever the word "wizard" was used. He hated magic… and I thought he hated me, too.

When I opened my eyes, the room felt different. Brighter. My wand's hum grew stronger, more insistent as I felt what seemed like anger build up inside of me.

"Carlos?" Connor Connor's voice cut through to me, his tone cautious.

"Expelliarmus!"

A burst of red light shot from my wand, strong and steady. Instead of hitting his hand, however, it hit Connor's chest with full force, knocking the air out of him and sending him tumbling backwards into the rows of disorganized desks.

"Connor!" I dropped my wand in a panic, rushing toward him as he groaned, clutching his ribs. Alvarus was already at his side, wide-eyed but grinning like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

"That… was brilliant!" Alvarus exclaimed, pulling Connor up with an excited tug. "I mean, not for you, mate — sorry about the fall — but wow, Carlos! You actually did it!"

Connor coughed, wheezing a little as he waved Alvarus off. "Yeah, yeah… brilliant. Next time, maybe aim lower?"

I froze, guilt twisting in my stomach. "I… I didn't mean to—"

Connor held up a hand, stopping me mid-apology. His grin broke through his grimace, and he clapped me weakly on the shoulder. "Relax, I'm fine. Bit winded, but hey — that's progress."

My hand trembled as I retrieved my wand from the floor. "That didn't feel like progress. It felt… out of control."

"It felt powerful," Connor countered, still catching his breath. "And for the record, you nailed me right in the chest. You're a natural duelist."

"That wasn't dueling," I muttered, my voice quieter now. "That was… something else."

Alvarus tilted his head, his grin fading slightly. "You looked like you were in a trance for a second. What were you thinking about?"

I hesitated, my grip tightening around the wand. What had I been thinking about? My father, his rejection of magic, the resentment I thought I'd buried… It all came rushing back like a tidal wave. But I couldn't explain it to them — not here. Not now.

"I don't know," I lied, forcing a weak smile. "It just… happened."

Connor frowned, but he didn't press further. Instead, he straightened and gave me an encouraging nod. "Well, whatever it was, keep it up. You've got the spark now—you just need to fan it."

"Fan it?" I repeated skeptically, glancing at my wand. The hum of its mana core had quieted, almost as if it were resting after the effort.

"Yeah, like a fire," Connor said, his grin returning. "You've got to let it grow. Feed it. Give it some air."

Alvarus nodded enthusiastically. "Or just keep blasting Connor. That seems to work."

Connor shot him a mock glare. "Very funny."

I tucked my wand back into my robes, feeling a mix of exhilaration and unease. The glow of the lanterns above cast dancing shadows across the walls, and for the first time in weeks, I didn't feel completely useless.

"Now, I want you to concentrate," Professor Weasley said, his voice steady but encouraging as we stood in his office for another private lesson. The room was dimly lit, the enchanted lamps casting a soft glow over the scattered books and artifacts. My wand rested heavily in my hand, its faint hum filling the silence.

I nodded, adjusting my grip. "What spell this time, Professor?"

Weasley leaned against his desk, his arms crossed as he studied me. "Let's try something simpler. Try the Banishing Charm, Depulso."

I shifted on my feet, staring at the small pile of cushions he'd arranged on the far side of the room. They looked innocent enough, but I knew better by now. Nothing about magic ever stayed innocent for long.

"Alright," I muttered, raising my wand. I took a deep breath, focusing on the cushions. "Depulso!"

A weak burst of air sputtered from my wand, barely strong enough to make the nearest cushion wobble. I sighed heavily, lowering my arm. "Of course."

"Try again," Weasley said calmly. "But this time, stop thinking about the result."

I glanced at him, confused. "Isn't that the point? To make the cushions move?"

He smiled faintly. "Yes, but you're focusing too much on what should happen, not on the magic itself. Forget the cushions for a moment. Focus on the spell, on the connection between you and your wand."

I hesitated, but nodded. Closing my eyes, I let the weight of my wand settle into my palm. The hum of its mana core pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat. I tried to tune out everything else — the cushions, the room, even Weasley's watchful gaze.

"Good," he said softly. "Now, when you cast, think about the motion of the spell. The energy. Let the wand guide you."

I opened my eyes, raising my wand again. This time, I didn't think about the cushions. I thought about the hum in my hand, the way it seemed to resonate with something just beneath the surface. I flicked my wand, letting the incantation flow with a loose gesture.

"Depulso!"

The burst of air was stronger this time, enough to send the nearest cushion tumbling into the others. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress.

Weasley nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Better. Did you feel the difference?"

"More or less. Still didn't feel right." I muttered.

"Maybe you're expecting too much out of magic. Why not just let it be?" Provoked the professor.

"Let it be," I repeated under my breath, staring at the wand in my hand. The idea seemed so counterintuitive — I'd spent weeks trying to force my magic to obey, to make something happen. Now Professor Weasley was telling me to do the opposite.

"I'm not sure I know how to do that," I admitted, lowering my wand slightly.

"That's why we practice," Weasley said, stepping closer. "Magic isn't about control, Carlos. It's about trust. Trust in yourself, in your instincts, and in the connection you have with your wand."

I glanced at the pile of cushions again, their harmless appearance now a little less daunting. Taking another deep breath, I raised my wand.

"Alright," I muttered. "One more try."

Weasley stepped back, folding his arms as he observed. "Whenever you're ready."

All I had to do was aim at the cushions and remember what I'd felt the night before.

I am not my father.

"Depulso!"

The next day rolled around and so did the next batch of classes. Most of them were theoretical stuff, so thankfully I didn't have much room to mess up. I was, though, anxious about Defense Against the Dark Arts, for I knew there'd be a good chance for mishaps.

"All right everyone!" Professor Weasley called as we gathered up for another round of spell practice. "I want you to split into pairs for this next part of the lesson. We're going to review best practices in defensive magic."

I stood near the back of the classroom, hoping I could pair up with Connor or Alvarus before someone else claimed them. My wand was tucked into my robes, and though I'd technically managed to get something going, I wasn't eager to show off just yet — or risk another accident.

"Carlos!" Connor waved me over, but before I could move, Tiberius Murtlock appeared out of nowhere, cutting between us.

"I'll take Edward," Tiberius announced smugly, his wand already in hand.

Connor opened his mouth to protest, but Professor Weasley clapped his hands. "Good! Partners sorted? Excellent. Let's begin!"

I shot Connor a look that screamed help me, but he just shrugged apologetically as Alvarus tugged him away to practice.

Tiberius smirked, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Ready to embarrass yourself again, Edward?"

I stood quiet, looking at my wand. it was mana-wand versus mana-wand. Sounded like a fair challenge.

I just had to remember the realisation from the night before, as well as the feeling it brought. The resentment, the anger…

Professor Weasley paced through the rows of pairs, offering instructions. "Start with the basics — Knockback Jinx, Shield Charm, and Disarming Charm. Remember, precision is key, not power."

Tiberius raised an eyebrow at me. "Precision. Not power. Think you can handle that?"

"Can you?" I retorted, stepping into the dueling stance Professor Weasley had taught us on our first day.

Tiberius snickered but mirrored my stance. "This'll be fun."

We squared off, wands raised, waiting for Professor Weasley's signal.

"Begin!"

"Flipendo!" he bellowed, his wand sending a streak of blue light directly at me. I barely managed to raise my wand in time, the spell grazing the edge of my robes as I sidestepped.

"Close one, Edward," Tiberius taunted, his smirk widening. "You'll have to do better than that."

I gritted my teeth, focusing on the weight of my wand in my hand, the subtle hum of its mana core. I thought back to the hidden classroom, to Connor's words. Let it flow. Trust it.

I flicked my wand upward. "Expelliarmus!"

A burst of red energy shot from my wand, streaking toward Tiberius. He stumbled, caught off guard, but managed to block it with a quick Protego. His shield shimmered briefly before dissipating.

"Not bad," he admitted, though his tone was condescending. "But you're still a long way from beating—."

"Flipendo!" I cast immediately after, causing a sharp blue lightning to erupt from my wand and hit him square in the chest. He tumbled backwards, barely able to maintain his footing.

He retaliated with another spell, this time more aggressive. "Stupefy!"

I ducked, the spell whizzing past me and striking the wall behind. A faint scorch mark appeared on the stone, drawing a sharp glance from Professor Weasley.

"Hey, that one isn't allowed!" Connor announced, understandably shocked at Tiberius's magic display.

That was not first year magic. Where did he even learn that?

"Control yourself, Murtlock!" he called out, rightfully angered. "That stunning hex is gonna cost you ten points."

I looked at Tiberius, whose face had turned an unhealthy shade of red. He clenched his jaw, clearly fuming at being reprimanded. I took the opportunity to steady my breathing, my wand still humming quietly in my hand, feeling more responsive than it had in weeks.

"Better keep your temper in check," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than him. But I knew he could hear me.

Tiberius glared, but instead of retorting, he went back to his stance, wand raised with renewed aggression.

"Come on, Edward. Let's see what you've got."

I took a deep breath, steadying my grip on the wand. This wasn't just about proving Tiberius wrong — though that was definitely part of it. This was about finding that connection again, the one I'd felt last night when everything finally seemed to align.

"Alright," I said, raising my wand, my voice steadier than I felt. "Let's do this."
He struck first. "Rictusempra!"

The spell shot toward me, its silver arc bright in the dim classroom. I stepped to the side, raising my wand. "Protego!"

For the first time, my shield charm materialized properly. It wasn't as strong or as bright as Tiberius's had been earlier, but it was there. The spell ricocheted harmlessly away, fizzling into the air.

Tiberius raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Well, well. Looks like someone's been practicing."

"More than you'd think," I replied, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at my lips.

I didn't wait for him to strike again. This time, I pushed forward. "Expelliarmus!"

The spell shot from my wand with more force than before, its red streak sharp and focused. Tiberius blocked it, but his footing faltered, and he stumbled back a step.

"Lucky again," he muttered, his tone tight with frustration.

The hum of my wand grew stronger, almost like encouragement. I felt it, the connection I'd been struggling to find, just beneath the surface.

Tiberius raised his wand, his eyes narrowing. "Incarcerous!"

Thick ropes shot from the tip of his wand, spiraling toward me. I instinctively raised mine.

"MURTLOCK!" Professor Weasley shouted.

"Relashio!"

The ropes snapped apart mid-air, falling to the floor in limp, useless strands. My heart raced, adrenaline pumping through me. I didn't even know I could do that.

"Blimey, mate!" Connor voiced. "Since when can you do that one?"

Tiberius looked genuinely taken aback, his smirk slipping for the first time. "How did you —?"

Before he could respond, Professor Weasley's voice cut through the room. "That's enough, both of you!"

I froze, my wand still raised. Tiberius scowled, lowering his reluctantly.

Professor Weasley stepped between us, his gaze sharp as he glanced from me to Tiberius. "This is practice, not a duel to the death. Both of you need to learn restraint."

Tiberius opened his mouth to argue, but Weasley silenced him with a look. "And for the record, Murtlock, that stunning spell earlier was completely out of line. Another stunt like that, and it's more than just points you'll lose."

Tiberius clenched his jaw, his knuckles white as he gripped his wand. He shot me a glare before muttering, "Yes, Professor." It was clear he didn't mean it.

Professor Weasley turned to me next, his expression softening but still firm. "And you, Carlos. While I applaud your progress, I expect you to exercise caution. Magic is as much about control as it is about power. Understand?"

I nodded, feeling both relieved and slightly chastened. "Yes, sir."

Weasley's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he stepped back, addressing the rest of the class. "Alright, everyone! That's enough for today. Pack up your things and head back to your common rooms."

The room buzzed with whispers as students began collecting their belongings. I caught snippets of conversations — some about Tiberius's recklessness, others about my unexpected display of skill.

Connor and Alvarus rushed over as soon as Professor Weasley turned his attention elsewhere.

"Mate, that was amazing!" Connor said, his grin as wide as ever. "I mean, I thought you were going to get flattened, but you actually held your ground!"

"More than held your ground," Alvarus added, his eyes wide with excitement. "That Relashio was brilliant! Where'd you learn that?"

I shrugged, slipping my wand back into my robes. "I didn't. It just… happened."

Connor raised an eyebrow. "Happened? Like, what, you just guessed and it worked?"

I hesitated, unsure how to explain it. "I don't know. It was like… I knew what I wanted to happen, and my wand just followed."

Alvarus whistled. "Well, whatever it was, you've got Tiberius properly rattled. Did you see his face?"

I glanced toward the far end of the room, where Tiberius was stuffing his wand into his bag with far more force than necessary. His shoulders were tense, his usual smug expression replaced with something darker. Frustration? Embarrassment? Maybe both.

Connor's grin widened as he nudged me playfully. "I think you might've made an enemy for life, mate."

I let out a shaky laugh, still trying to process everything. My heart was still pounding, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. "Great. Just what I needed."

After Professor Weasley dismissed the class, I lagged behind, letting the other students shuffle out ahead of me. Connor and Alvarus stuck close, chatting animatedly about the lesson, but my mind was elsewhere. My wand felt different in my pocket — lighter, warmer, as though it had been charged with something new during the duel.

Was all that… actually me?

"That was mental," Connor said for what felt like the hundredth time as we stepped into the basement corridor. "You knocked Tiberius off his feet twice! Twice!"

"I still can't believe you managed Relashio," Alvarus added, his face lit with excitement. "I've only ever seen professors do that spell, and it looked loads harder when they cast it."

I didn't respond right away, my thoughts tangled as I replayed the duel in my head. The magic had flowed differently this time, more naturally. But it wasn't just the spells — it was the emotion behind them. The frustration, the determination… even the anger. It had felt raw, like opening a floodgate.

"Carlos?" Connor nudged my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. "You alright? You're looking a bit… spaced."

"I'm fine," I said quickly, forcing a small smile. "Just tired."

"Fair," Connor said, though his tone was skeptical. "You've had a big day."

"Understatement," I muttered. My legs felt like jelly, and my head was starting to ache from overthinking everything.

We reached the Hufflepuff common room, the warmth of the flickering fireplace welcoming after the tense atmosphere of the classroom. A group of first-years sat near the hearth, laughing over a game of Gobstones, while a few older students read quietly in armchairs. The familiar hum of activity should have been comforting, but I still felt like I was carrying the weight of the duel with me.

Connor plopped onto the couch, stretching out with a contented sigh. "I could sleep for a week."

Alvarus joined him, pulling out a chocolate frog from his pocket. "You reckon Tiberius is still fuming?"

"No doubt," Connor said, grinning. "You saw the way he stormed out. I bet he's halfway to writing a complaint to his dad."

I sat down in an armchair across from them, leaning back with a groan. My wand still pulsed faintly in my pocket, like a reminder of what had just happened. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"So," Connor said, leaning forward, his grin fading slightly. "What's next, Carlos? You've clearly got the knack for magic now."

"I wouldn't say that," I replied, my voice quieter than I intended. "That duel was… different."

"Different how?" Alvarus asked, unwrapping his chocolate frog.

I hesitated, trying to find the right words. "It didn't feel like I was in control. The spells just… came out. Like my wand was doing the work, not me."

Connor tilted his head, considering this. "Maybe that's the point. You're always trying to force it, but today you just… let it happen."

I frowned, staring into the fire. "But what if that's not enough? What if I can't learn to control it properly?"

Connor leaned back, crossing his arms. "You're overthinking again."

"He's right," Alvarus added, taking a bite of his chocolate. "You've got talent, Carlos. You just need to trust yourself more."

Their words were encouraging, but they didn't quite quell the doubts bubbling in the back of my mind. I forced a smile anyway. "Thanks, guys."

Connor gave me a skeptical look but didn't push further. "Alright, well, don't let it keep you up all night. We've got Herbology first thing tomorrow, and I don't fancy dragging you out of bed."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, waving him off.

As the night wore on and the common room emptied, I stayed by the fire, my thoughts circling back to the duel. For the first time in weeks, I'd felt like I did something right — like I could actually do this. But the question still lingered: was it really me, or just the wand?

Author Notes: As usual, if you liked this chapter, please voice your opinions on the reviews. I take them very seriously and into consideration when crafting the story.

Stay tuned for chapter 11!