With the exams over with, my next few weeks were spent productively, I'd like to think, and it was pretty rare for me to find myself bored throughout the day. Either I was getting used to the duelling stances in the book I still hadn't returned to Madam Pince—though I did renew it for the next couple of weeks—or I was going through the second year's contents for Charms and Transfiguration. During lessons, I mostly wandered around the classroom, helping out a few who were struggling.

What, at first, was a bid for reputation had slowly become something I enjoyed. The gleam in their eyes once they understood and the subsequent—and often uncontrollable—grin that spread across their faces made it all worth it.

Professor McGonagall had us using the Avifors spell on multiple objects for Transfiguration for today's lesson. Sat at the back of the class, I gathered a few buttons and placed them on the table in front of me. Slowly, I passed my wand over them, a familiar image pushing itself to the forefront of my mind.

"Avifors," I muttered, watching the buttons lighten.

They swelled up, distorting slightly as a swirling mess of colours ran across them. First orange, then white, grey, black, and all sorts of colours flashed by. I blinked, and three pigeons cocked their heads, gleaming orange eyes capturing my own.

"Now, stay still," I murmured, raising my wand once more. I breathed out of my nose in a slow, measured sort of way and gathered my focus. "Vera Verto."

Nothing happened at first, but then the pigeons lengthened, their dark plumage lightening for a moment. In an instant, they liquified, turning into a shimmering grey substance. It stretched, lengthening into a cylindrical top. When it solidified, three silver goblets glinted, reflecting the candle on the wall beside me.

"What on earth was that, Mr. Azar?" a familiar Scottish voice spoke up, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Hesitantly, I looked up into the green eyes of my Transfiguration professor. "The Vera Verto spell, Professor."

She picked up one of the goblets and inspected it critically. "Hmm…"

"What is it?" I asked.

The Transfiguration Master didn't reply. Instead, she set down the goblet and turned it into a rat. "Try it one more time, please."

A little apprehensively, I raised my wand and tapped the rat on the top of its head. "Vera Verto."

It shimmered again, and lengthened into a goblet— this time a little duller silver than the last.

McGonagall's smile was small as she turned the goblets back into buttons again. "Fifteen points to Hufflepuff for your studiousness, Mr. Azar. Wait for me at the end of the lesson, if you will. Now, would you mind helping out Mr. Stebbins over there?"

I followed her finger and my mouth dropped open. Stebbins was fighting with a grey goose. Its coal eyes gleamed vindictively as it pecked at his golden hair. With each movement of its head, it tore another golden lock free. It was little more than a blur, now. Another goose circled the table, nipping at his shins with almost as much fury as the first.

"... I think I'll do that now," I agreed.

She nodded and stepped aside so I could pass.

A little hurriedly, I stalked over to the boy, whipping my wand forwards as I did. "Reparifarge."

The goose reared its long neck, its eyes capturing mine before it blurred and compressed. Something clattered against the classroom's wooden floor and the boy looked up, his eyes wet.

"Azar!" he cried with as much gratitude as he could. "Thank you!"

I grimaced at the sight of his head and nodded, turning the other goose back into a coin, my lips pulled into a thin, small smile. "Don't mention it, mate. But what was that?"

He scratched the back of his head nervously. "I transfigured some coins into geese…"

"I know, but why did the geese attack you?" I asked

He tilted his head. "Because that's how they always act…?"

It was then that the reason for the transfigured geese's aggressiveness dawned on me. Transfigured animals were limited by the caster's conception. And it seemed that Stebbins only knew geese as aggressive animals that pecked at his head. Why was this the case? I didn't know, but I could at least help him.

"Stebbins," he turned to me. "I think you should pick a different bird to focus on. Maybe a robin or a raven?"

He hummed, his face indecisive. "I don't know, Azar… last time I picked a duck, but that was too easy. I can do that with four objects now so I'm picking a different bird," his face lit up. "Oh, I know! I can try and tame the geese this time!"

"Wait!" I extended my hand.

Before I could stop him, he'd raised his wand, pointing it at the knuts on the floor. "Avifors!"

I watched, in muted fascination and a healthy dose of horror, as the knut sprung up and began to spin wildly. In no time at all, two angry-eyed geese were staring at the grinning Ravenclaw blond.

"Now, listen here you—" anything else he was about to say was drowned out in a flurry of flapping. "Hey! What are you doing…"

He leaned back, teetering on the edge of the bench. One goose hopped onto the table and surveyed the boy, its eyes glimmering with malicious intent. I saw it ready itself to leap one final time, its webbed feet bending.

I was a tad faster.

"I don't think so," I bit out, lashing my wand. "Reparifarge."

It didn't matter in the end. Stebbins flinched and thudded to the floor.

"What did I just tell you, mate," I grumbled, hoisting him up. "You see geese as little more than angry birds. So don't transfigure them— can you do that for me?"

He nodded sadly.

"Good," I sighed. "Now, try that for me one more time. This time, another bird please?"

He raised his wand, his voice glum. "Avifors."

My wand cut through the air. "Not quite. Again."

"Avifors."

"Hmm…" I tapped my forearm. "Good, but you can still do better," I concluded, returning the failed birds into knuts. "Again."

Stebbins' forehead creased and he raised his wand again. For the next twenty minutes, that's all he did. And all he would do until he got the spell down. Meanwhile, I stood behind him, carefully taking in each detail of his transfigured birds until I could see no fault.

Once the lesson had ended, the class cleared out, leaving me alone with the Transfiguration Mistress. Light spilled in from the windows behind her desk, bathing it in an orange glow. Shadows danced against the wood but despite the warmth from the sunlight, the room was still a little chilly. McGonagall quickly lit the fireplace to the right of the room and settled back into her chair.

"What can I do for you, professor?" I shuffled my feet a little nervously as the woman looked at me from her desk.

Her green eyes gave away nothing, merely scanning me with calm fascination. I squirmed for a few moments longer before taking a deep breath. I hadn't done anything wrong, and there wasn't any real need for me to feel nervous. Regardless, though, the situation was a little nerve wracking.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Mr. Azar, do you know that the Vera Verto spell is a spell taught in the second year?" she asked, pushing her glasses to the bridge of her nose.

I nodded. "I do, ma'am."

McGonagall shook her head. "I don't believe you do. That is, unless, you are saying you are currently on the second year syllabus?"

"That is what I'm saying, yes," I croaked.

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

I nodded.

McGonagall pursed her lips and conjured a porcupine, gently placing it on the table. "Humour me then, Mr. Azar. Turn this into a pincushion, please."

"Okay," I said, raising my wand. My mind calmed as I felt its familiar warmth in my slightly calloused hands. "Hystrifors."

The porcupine flashed crimson and began to grow. The ends of its needles lengthened and rounded into circular heads, and whilst the pincushion retained its rodent-like shape, it was very much still a pincushion.

I turned back to the professor, and captured her eyes, trying not to laugh in elation. I hadn't managed that so I gave her a full-blown grin instead.

McGonagall gave me a small smile and crossed her arms. "Very well done, Mr. Azar. Not even the current second-years can cast that with such efficiency. I'm assuming that this is the case for all of your subjects?"

"Oh no," I was quick to interject. "Only Charms and Transfiguration. I've finished the year's theoretical content for all my other subjects but I've been focusing on Charms and Transfiguration for the most part."

"Regardless, that is an impressive feat," she nodded emphatically. "I will be talking to Professors Flitwick and Sprout about the possibility of having one of the older students tutor you." I began to grin again. "If this goes ahead, then it will most likely be a sixth-year. However, I advise that you do not get your hopes up. Headmaster Dumbledore has the final say, though I do not see any reason as to why he would refuse to nurture your talents."

I bowed my head in understanding. "That's fine, professor. Is there anything else you'd like from me?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh, yes, your homework. It slipped my mind for a moment."

After handing her the roll of parchment, I slipped out of the room and headed off to the library where I had no doubt where my friends were waiting.

OOOO Albus Dumbledore

Despite his achievements and abundant accolades in many fields, Albus could not deny that none of them brought him as much satisfaction as teaching did— despite having not taught regularly for quite some time now. He still taught a few lessons every now and then when the itch surfaced, but now, he was content to watch on as the children grew and flourished.

"With age comes wisdom, but sometimes, age comes alone." a quote that he couldn't agree with more. But Albus liked to think that his many follies had made him at least a little wiser. And so he would endeavour to pass on as much of the wisdom as he could whilst steering the children away from repeating the mistakes of the past.

That was his sole purpose now.

Looking up from his hearty meal, he swept his eyes across the hall at the faces of hundreds of students sitting in the hall. Some were happy, others sad, angry, tired, or simply content, and would soon go on to become the people who would set foot and take their place in the world of tomorrow.

"Irena," he began, his voice light. "It has just occurred to me—certainly not for the first time—that we have a hand in shaping these children into the people and leaders of tomorrow. Some may end up as enchanters, inventors, professors at this very school, or perhaps…" he smiled. "...the Headmaster. Isn't that simply astounding?"

He turned to the red-haired woman. Her face was pensieve, and her eyes seemed to search for something as she raked them across the hall.

"It's… something," she acknowledged. "In fact, Headmaster, I'd like to talk about one such student."

Albus tilted his head, curious. "Please. And feel free to call me Albus, Irena."

The woman's face was a little uncomfortable. "Alright… Albus. There's this boy in one of my first-year classes: Cyrus Azar. He seems to take to my class like a kelpie in water. Everything I teach him is absorbed and he comes back afterwards for even more. Why just the other day, he cast the Disarming Charm— almost perfectly, might I add."

He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and turned his body to face her. "Do elaborate."

"Albus," the woman paused. "I don't think I've seen such talent in my life. Granted, I've never taught anything before, but he is always a joy to teach."

Albus mulled over her words. Eventually, his lips rose upwards into a smile. "How… delightful."

"Oh?"

"Quite," Albus nodded, his eyes glinting. "Such talent in one so young. And with a desire to learn more that has not been snuffed out under the weight of exams and monotony, at that. I look forward to his progress, Irena."

"So do I, Albus," the woman had a rare smile on her face as she flicked her eyes to the Hufflepuff table.

Dumbledore followed her gaze and his eyes settled on a grinning first-year boy, his curly hair half obscuring his eyes. Around him, the other children seemed to glow as their lilting laughter rose above the din of the hall.

The sight alone warmed his heart. Remembering that his food would soon grow cold, Albus picked up his cutlery and began to tuck in, careful to not get any food stuck within his beard.

One by one, the students began to leave, all heading off in different directions, leaving him alone in the hall. And soon, he too got up and left, returning to his office where he would most likely spend the rest of his day.

OOOO

The sun was just beginning to set when Albus had finished his work for the day and he leaned back against his chair with a grateful sigh.

"Old age finally set in, has it, Headmaster?" the ragged but lively Sorting Hat chortled.

"That seems to be the case, old friend," he chuckled. "But I shall not let you fool me. I believe that it is you who is the oldest thing in this castle."

Fawkes trilled in protest from his perch near the window. Warmth washed over him at the sound of his companion's voice and he smiled apologetically at the bird. "Ah, not forgetting Fawkes. To correct myself: you are indeed the oldest thing in this castle, my friend."

The brilliant vermillion bird hopped onto his desk, incessantly nudging Albus with his head, hooting in irritation with every head-butt.

"Yes, yes," he placated, running a finger down the length of the phoenix's plumage. "You are not a day over three-years-old," Fawkes stilled and his burning orange eyes glimmered humorously, pulling out a laugh from Albus. "But I know you do not believe that— not seriously."

The phoenix let out what sounded like a huff before he flew right out of the window, no doubt to stretch his wings. He grew awfully annoyed if he didn't get at least half an hour's worth of flight everyday, Albus mused. Thankfully his office was easy to access for the bird whenever he returned. Albus was certain that he was always the last to switch off the light to his office, meaning no matter how long his familiar would be out, he would always know when to return by.

Suddenly, the door to his office clicked open, revealing three of his staff.

"Pomona, Filius, and Minerva," he smiled at the trio, conjuring an extra chair, one as plump as the other two. "What can I help you with— especially at this hour?"

Filius' eyes darted around the room, taking in the contraptions across the grand desk. Their whirring and humming was a constant thing that helped Albus focus when he had to work, but he always turned them off when he had company. The noise faded as he slowly traced his wand through the air.

"Well, Albus," the diminutive man grinned as he took a seat. "I would like to propose something."

The man's enthusiasm amused him greatly, but his face was serene as he simply raised an eyebrow, "Which is…?"

Filius forged onward. "I would like to find a tutor for a particularly talented first-year boy."

The two women beside the man cleared their throats and Filius looked back at them, a little embarrassedly.

He cleared his throat, his cheeks dusted pink. "We. We would like to find a tutor for him."

Dumbledore chuckled lightly into his hand. "And would I be right in assuming that this talented student goes by the name of Cyrus Azar?"

"You know of him?" Minerva asked.

"As of this morning? Yes," he said. "Irena brought his feats to my attention at breakfast. Remarkably, it seems, he cast the Disarming Charm in her class," at Sprout's gasp, he hurried to clarify. "At Irena's insistence, of course."

"The Disarming Charm?!" Filius squeaked, his voice excited.

Sprout frowned at his excitement and placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him, though her brown eyes warmed with pride. Minerva, meanwhile, was far more discreet. Though Dumbledore had known her for long enough to notice the twitching of her lips at the mention of the boy.

"Albus," Minerva's face settled. "Just a few days ago, he professed to me that he had finished the year's content?"

"Truly?" Pomona rounded on her.

Minerva nodded. "In fact, he's even further ahead in Transfiguration and Charms. So much so that if we were to put him into a second year class, I believe he would do perfectly fine."

Filius stilled, his excitement more controlled now. His eyes were evaluative as he drank in Minerva's words.

Albus stroked his beard, stewing over the new information and what it meant. "I will not push him into the second year classes for just two subjects," he decided. "It would unbalance his schedule and he gets along well with the children in his cohort. I believe that they are all the better for it and the house points to both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are a testament to that."

The three professors nodded, accepting his logic— though he could tell that Filius was a tad disappointed despite his smile.

"But I believe a sixth-year tutor that he can go to twice a week would be fine, yes?" Albus asked after letting the weight of his decision settle in.

Filius reared his head, his smile widening. "I believe it would be perfect, Albus!"

Pomona giggled at that and her eyes glimmered. "In that case I have the perfect student in mind."

Albus smiled and raised his hands. "I shall leave you to it, then, Pomona. Will that be all?"

Minerva nodded, and was the first to stand. She was soon followed by Filius and Pomona, who spoke to each other in hushed tones, even as they descended down the stairs.

Once again, Albus was left alone in his office with the Sorting Hat for company, as usual. He furled a finger and steam began to curl out of the teapot's spout. "I believe this is the perfect time for a cup of tea, don't you?" he asked the hat.

"Well," the Sorting Hat's voice was dry. "I wouldn't know that, would I?"

He chuckled at its tone of voice. "I suppose you wouldn't now, would you?"

Albus moved over to the window, holding the saucer beneath his cup as he took small sips from it. His eyes scanned over the mountain in the distance as he basked in the final flares of sunlight as the sun fell over the horizon.

Though as it always did, the sun would rise tomorrow and with it, another school day, full of learning and adventure.