3rd September 1989 – Hogwarts castle.

I entered the charms classroom somewhat groggily. I hadn’t had a cup of tea, or any caffeine, in days and I was beginning to feel it. I’d made the mistake of losing track of time and missing dinner the previous evening, so caught up I had been in my practising.

However, there were now only a couple of spells from the first-year curriculum I couldn’t confidently state to have mastered, which was a good feeling. Somewhere between all the spell work I managed to finish the potions and history homework as well, barely getting back to Ravenclaw tower before lights out.

I hadn’t seen Rebecca at breakfast, possibly because I was too busy stuffing my face I had been so famished, nor could I see her in the classroom. That didn’t say much though, as I was unintentionally the first one there besides Professor Flitwick.

“Professor.” I greeted the small part-goblin man with a friendly nod, causing him to look up from a bundle of papers at his desk. He had bushy white mutton chops that made him appear rather unkempt, albeit approachable, and his head was covered by a dropping wizard hat.

It was almost hard to believe he had once been a duelling champion much the same as my father just from looking at him, but then one wouldn’t become the professor of charms at Hogwarts without being incredibly skilled.

“Ah! You’re early, Mr…” he looked at me with a furrow on his brow.

“Thorneheart. Victor Thorneheart, professor.” I answered.

“Of course, of course, Thorneheart. You’re one of mine, aren’t you?” he asked. As the head of Ravenclaw house, it was Flitwick who would be deciding any of my punishments if I got into any trouble, so I decided it would be a good idea to get him on-side, so to speak.

“Yes sir. I was wondering if I might ask you a question. I was looking in the library earlier for more books about magical theory but was having trouble locating any. Is there any you would recommend?” I asked with what I hoped was an innocent look on my face.

“There's no need to worry about more advanced theory yet beyond your first-year textbook Mr Thorneheart, it should suffice for all the charms we will be learning this year. Besides, unless I’m mistaken, you’ve yet to have your first theory lesson. Perhaps the answers you seek you will learn there.” He told me with a raised eyebrow.

I nodded along to his words but was not dissuaded, although I was a little annoyed at having to reveal more than I intended. “That’s just the thing Sir, I’ve been reading ahead and I’ve not had any problems with the first-year charms, but I struggled when I tried a second-year one and wanted to learn more about why.”

His bushy white eyebrows touched his hat. “An impressive accomplishment, if true, Mr Thorneheart.” His eyes flicked behind me at the stream of students that had begun to filter in.

“Do you have a free period after this?” he asked, and I nodded in answer. “Then stay behind after class Mr Thorneheart, I’d like to see what you can do. Now if you would take a seat…”

I did as he asked, finding Rebecca once more waving me over. Walking over, I contemplated just how much to show Flitwick. It would be undoubtedly beneficial for the professor to take a special interest in my studies, but drawing too much attention to myself would be detrimental to my efforts to stay below anyone of imports radar. I would have to toe the line between just impressing him and making myself out to be some sort of genius. Although I was under no illusion that I was one, it could easily be perceived as such by someone who didn’t know I had a mental age of a person more than thrice my age.

“Where were you?” asked my inquisitive friend as I took a seat next to her. “I looked in the library for you last night and you weren’t there.” She paused for a moment. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

It wouldn’t be entirely wrong to say that I had been. I was once more put into a position where I couldn’t tell her the truth, but nor did I wish to lie to her. “I just found somewhere private to study is all. I wasn’t avoiding you; I just like being alone sometimes.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced, but I was saved by Professor Flitwick beginning the lesson. Much to Rebecca’s dismay, we didn’t actually cast the levitation charm during that lesson, but we’d spent the time practising the movements and Flitwick left the class with the promise that they’d do it next time.

Throughout the lesson, I’d noticed Rebecca was remarkably more attentive than yesterday, then again so did most of the other students as for the majority it was the first time they’d received proper instruction on how spellcasting was done.

As everyone was standing up to leave she looked at me expectantly as I waited behind. “You coming? I’m going to the library,” she asked.

I shook my head. “The professor asked me to stay behind, I’ll find you when I’m done.” I wasn’t sure why I added that last part, but it seemed to mollify her and she gave me a small wave as she left that I returned.

“So, Mr Thorneheart.” Started Flitwick, clapping his hands together as the last of the other students left. “Why don’t you show me one of the first-year charms.”

“Wingardium leviosa.” I said with a practised flick of my wand, and the textbook in front of me floated into the air. It was a heavier object than most things I had tried to lift with the spell, but a little concentrated anger funnelled all the power the wand needed to perform it without issue, despite the resistance I still felt from it.

“Excellent pronunciation, decent wand movement but that will come with practice. I can tell you’ve been reading ahead on your theory at least, I still have a few second years that can’t lift much more than a feather with that spell. Very impressive Mr Thorneheart. Why don’t you show me this second-year charm you tried?” He commented, a curious look coming onto his face.

I spent a moment thinking, then stood up and pointed my wand at my desk, specifically the drawer contained within that held some writing supplies.

“Colloportus.” I cast the locking charm on it.

Reaching over I tested the spell had worked and, sure enough, it didn’t budge. Flitwick raised an eyebrow but waited to comment as I clearly wasn’t finished. Standing back once more, I prepared my mind. I could have used the unlocking charm to reverse what I had just done, which would have been far easier, but this was a demonstration, not a practical application.

Holding the image in my mind of the magic on the drawer dissipating, I moved my wand as I had practised and spoke “Finite incantatem.”

It wasn’t so much a matter of power as imagination. I still lacked a clear idea of how magic worked so picturing a charm dissolving was a somewhat arbitrary thing and unlikely to be what was actually happening. Nevertheless, my wand seemed to get the idea, and along with the boost from me controlling my own magic with yet another infuriating memory, I felt as the spell succeeded.

Reaching over once more, I withdrew the drawer with no resistance and turned back to Flitwick. “I must apologise for doubting you Mr Thorneheart, it is not often a first year is so talented. Have you received tutoring before coming to Hogwarts?”

“I have,” I answered. Truthfully in the sense that I had indeed been tutored, a little dishonest in the sense that my mother had not taught me anything about spell casting.

“I see.” Flitwick nodded his head as though it was the answer he had expected. “Give me a moment.”

He walked back over to his desk and scribbled on a scrap piece of paper he found, before returning and handing it over to me. “A list of books I would recommend you read. Not all are on magical theory and some are more advanced than others, but I think you’ll find them useful nonetheless. Let me know when you’ve finished them and I can recommend some more, I’m looking forward to seeing what you can accomplish Mr Thorneheart.” He told me with a smile.

There were half a dozen book titles written on the paper, only the first being one I had heard of before.

- The Standard book of spells: Grade 2.

- Wizards and wands: A practical guide to spellcasting.

- Visualisation and incantation: How words hold power.

- Haste and waste: An analysis of standard spellcasting techniques.

- Mind over magic: Methods for efficient spellcasting.

- Me, my wand and I: How to listen to your wand and improve cooperation.

It was precisely what I had wanted out of this interaction, though I wondered whether having the head of Ravenclaw house remembering my name would be a good or a bad thing in the long term.

“Thank you, Professor. You have been incredibly helpful. If you’ll excuse me I’d like to go to the library right away…” I told him truthfully.

“Of course, of course, my boy. Good luck.” He waved me off, and I was almost running out of the door.

It was with what I would consider uncharacteristic haste that I made my way to the library.

After searching for several minutes, I managed to find Rebecca, hidden at a desk between the shelves.

“Hey,” I whispered in greeting as I sat next to her. Peering over I saw she was reading ‘The Dark Forces: A guide to self-protection’, our first-year defence against the dark arts textbook, open on the page about hags.

“They eat children!” she exclaimed to me wide-eyed, “it would make sense if it was people in general, but why just children?”

I raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Magic, through some shape or form. If ever there is a question that defies common sense, the answer is probably magic. Like most dark creatures their nature tends towards malice, which is why they’re in the textbook.” I told her.

She visibly shuddered. “What did Professor Flitwick want with you?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I asked him to recommend me some reading material and he did,” I explained, showing her the slip of paper he had given me.

She nodded. “He seemed nice. Why is he so small though?”

“Part goblin,” I replied curtly.

“Oh.” Came the reply. “What do you think the defence against the dark arts teacher is going to be like, I think Professor Dumbledore said he’s new?”

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I shrugged once more. “There’s a new one every year for one reason or another, let's just hope he’s competent.” That was a real concern. Of the entirety of Harry Potter’s time at Hogwarts, he only had three competent defences against the dark arts professors; Moody, who happened to be a death eater in disguise. Lupin, who was a werewolf. And Snape, who was also a death eater, albeit a traitorous one.

“What does that mean? Dumbledore wouldn’t hire a professor if they didn’t know what they were doing, would he?” She asked with an urgent tone.

I decided not to answer that question and I stood up again, leaving my things next to Rebecca. “I’m going to go and look for these books.”

I walked off to a dismayed repeat of “Would he?”

My search proved far more fruitful than the day before now that I knew what I was looking for. I got an arm's length away from the roped-off restricted section at one point and had to resist the urge to go exploring. Its time would come, but I doubted I could make sense of anything I read at the moment. After twenty minutes or so I had netted myself two of the books on the list, ‘Visualisation and incantation’ and ‘Mind over magic.’ Both were books as thick as my arm, the latter of which looked significantly more advanced than first year.

Not able to physically carry any more books, I returned to Rebecca and began reading the first of the books. I hoped it would enlighten me on the mechanisms behind the behaviours of magic that I had already observed. It was with no small amount of hunger that I devoured the words and pages, soaking in all that I could and occasionally making notes in my NOT-book. Even Rebecca seemed to be inspired and got her head down into her own textbook.

But the time for our next lesson came all too soon and it was only through Rebecca’s urging that I managed to tear myself away from between its covers. I hurried to take out the two books with Madam Pince, and only after a stern warning about damaging or losing them and the consequences did she let me go.

Rebecca had been waiting for me, rather impatiently but remaining nevertheless, and we set off to the defence against the dark arts classroom together and with haste. It galled me a little to see myself breathing far heavier than my companion by the time we arrived before the door. I really needed to start doing some exercise, eleven years old or not it was getting embarrassing.

Fortunately, we were not late, though it was close call. The classroom was nearly full, yet we still found seats next to one another, although they were right at the front.

And though we were on time, the same could not be said for our professor. The minutes ticked by with no sign of him, and the whispered muttering quickly began. A curiosity of this particular classroom was that, up a short flight of stairs at the back of the room, the professor's office sat. The heavy wooden door remained closed, and I shared a glance with Rebecca.

I was going to say something when she surprised me, and the rest of the class judging by how they all went silent, by standing up rather suddenly and making her way to the office.

She climbed the stairs with trepidation, looking back to me for comfort to which I gave her an encouraging nod. Hesitating slightly, she rapped on the door. A loud banging and screeching could be heard from inside that caused Rebecca's nerves to fail her with a yelp as she ran back to her desk.

Several seconds later the door swung open to reveal a particularly dishevelled Professor Revan. His curly dark hair hung messily around his shaven face, looking like it hadn’t been washed in some time, and his violet eyes stared out across the classroom full of students.

“Ah.” He exclaimed with a look of embarrassment, his accent clearly of some American denomination though I couldn’t place it precisely. “One moment.” Yet again, the door to his office swung shut.

It wasn’t long before it opened once more to reveal a far more put-together professor, somehow appearing as though he’d had a shower and gotten dry in the few seconds in between. He wore robes of bright red that hid most of his figure and looked entirely too big for him.

“My apologies class, my sincerest apologies. I must have lost track of time.” He told us as he descended the stairs.

When he stepped in front of the blank blackboard at the front of the class, he opened his mouth but paused before speaking. His brow furrowed as he scratched his head and stood in silence for a good minute or so before he finally appeared to come to his senses.

“Ah yes, defence against the dark arts. Welcome, welcome my students! Today we will be learning about ghosts!” he started in an overly cheerful manner as he wrote ‘ghosts’ on the blackboard.

The lesson began from there, if one could call it a lesson. He wasn’t a bad teacher per se, just distracted. He kept running back to his office every ten minutes before coming out again, every moment he spent with the class he looked like he was counting the seconds before he could run off again.

It was definitely odd behaviour, but then wizards in general were odd folk and I didn’t read too much into it. I just put it down to yet another poor hire from Dumbledore and left it at that.

Rebecca, however, seemed more focused on his office than the contents of the lesson. “What do you think is in there?” She asked me as Revan slammed shut the door to his office for the fifth time.

I shrugged, busy theory-crafting in my NOT-book, having stopped paying attention to the lesson some time ago. “No idea, probably something dangerous,” I told her offhandedly.

It may be clear by now, but my mouth and my subconscious often conspired against me to say things that, with more consideration, I would never dare utter. The moment I saw the spark in her eyes I realised the absolutely terrible mistake I had just made.

Sure, the combination of the subject he took, his generally nervous and constipated appearance along with him acting as though he had a ticking time bomb in his office drew me to the conclusion I so carelessly uttered, but I’d never actually thought about doing anything about it, it just made sense. He was a professor of defence against the dark arts, he was supposed to know and possess dangerous, perhaps even dark, things. And if I had something particularly dangerous in my office I wouldn’t want to take my eyes off it either.

“No,” I told her firmly, before the thought even crystallised in her mind. I failed.

“What do you think it is?” she asked with a wistful look on her face, ignoring me entirely.

“Don’t know. Don’t want to know. Ask him if you want.” I said, hoping she would drop it or perhaps the professor would come up with a perfectly reasonable answer to quell any overly curious students.

To my dismay, the moment he stepped out of the office once more with a forced smile on his face, Rebecca’s hand shot up.

“Sir! What’s in your office?” She asked with absolutely zero tact.

Professor Revan froze between steps with his hand on the bannister, his head slowly turning to the brash young girl.

His mouth hung open for a couple of moments before he shook his head and got a hold of himself. A pained smile returned to his face, “just a rowdy boggart my dear, nothing to worry about.”

That seemed to mollify Rebecca to my relief and she lowered her hand, before leaning over to me and none too subtly asking, “what’s a boggart?”

My face was in my hands at this point as the professor tried to quell the whispering that had erupted and get the class back on track.

“I’ll tell you after,” I replied. I sincerely doubted it was a boggart that was worrying our professor, but then again It didn’t really bother me either way. So long as he kept it locked up and out of my way then it could be a dementor for all I cared.

The class passed rather uneventfully after that. I didn’t learn much I didn’t already know, except for the odd and surprisingly insightful anecdotes Professor Revan gave on occasion. He had apparently once been an auror in America and, at least according to him, had plenty of run-ins with dark creatures, including ghosts. He did little to make himself sound impressive when he spoke, often mentioning he had just been on the sidelines, so I doubted I had a Lockheart situation on my hands.

When it was time to leave, Rebecca didn’t let me out of her sight so I lost my chance to slink off to the room of requirement. The rest of the day was free, so we went to lunch together as I explained what a boggart is, Rebecca once again walking ahead of me looking in the opposite direction to the way she was walking.

“… no one knows what they really look like because they always take a shape when being observed. To combat it you’re supposed to force it into a shape you find amusing, there is a charm for it I believe.” I was explaining.

“Spooky. What form do you think it would take for you, for me it’ll definitely be…” she was interrupted when she backed straight into a group of what looked like second years, sending their books scattering across the floor.

Seeing their robes were the red trim of Gryffindor, Rebecca went red and apologized and bent down to help them pick up their books.

“We don’t need help from a mud-blood. Watch where you’re going next time, idiot.” Said one of them, a tall boy with short brown hair and a scowl on his face. The other two with him, both girls, one with blonde hair and one with red, had similar looks as they sneered at Rebecca.

Rebecca quickly backed away with a shocked look on her face as they picked up their books and began to walk off.

I should have let it be. It was just a little childish bullying was all, stuck-up kids that didn’t really know how stinging their words could be, barely twelve years old.

But my eyes flicked to Rebecca and I saw the tears welling up in her reddening eyes, a downcast and crushed look on her face, and I felt my anger getting the better of me.

I wasn’t quite so far gone as to use magic on them however, they were only twelve after all, but I wasn’t going to just let them walk away scot-free.

Taking a step forward, I pretended to trip over my own feet and fell just before the boy, grasping onto his pants to stop myself from hitting the floor, incidentally pulling them down to his ankles.

“I am terribly sorry,” I said in my most apologetic tone, as I stood up hastily and my skull struck the underside of the blonde-haired girl's chin. Again, I spun around and apologized, once more tripping over my feet and falling back-first into the final of the trio as she fell hard on her bum whilst cushioning my fall.

By that point, a sort of crowd had gathered around us, many of them struggling to hide their giggles at my definitely accidental antics. One was displaying his bright green underwear to the student body; one was clutching a cut chin and the other was groaning as they rubbed their bruised bottom once I returned to my feet.

“I am really, truly sorry. I am terribly clumsy you know; I must be cursed or something.” I told them, more for the crowd's sake, and gave them an apologetic smile.

The trio looked at me with utter contempt and then I slunk off through the laughing crowd to find Rebecca watching with a shocked look on her face.

“I’m starving!” I exclaimed as I skipped past, beckoning her away from the three embarrassed second years that were making their own escape.

She stared at me for a moment, her eyes still red and her feet rooted to the ground before she snapped herself out of it and caught up with me.

“How did you do that?” she asked, trying to catch my eye as we walked, though at least this time she was facing the correct direction.

“Do what?” I said, looking straight ahead.

She waved her hand behind her. “That!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, that was purely accidental,” I replied innocently.

“Sure it was, and pigs can fly.” She said sarcastically.

“Pigs can fly, the magic ones at least,” I said, finally meeting her gaze with a grin.

Her jaw dropped. “There are magic pigs?” She asked in amazement, and I had to fight the urge to burst into laughter. All I managed was a nod in reply.

I didn’t know if there were or weren’t, though I supposed it was entirely possible. Either way I had succeeded in bringing a smile back to her face, and on the way back to the great hall we discussed all the various magical species of farm animals that most definitely existed.

Just before we reached the great hall Rebecca went silent and turned to me with a more serious look. “Thank you.”

I simply winked back at her.

“Have you been getting much lip from the other students?” I inquired as we found an empty bench to sit down across from one another.

A frown marred her face and she began fiddling with a few lengths of hair. “That’s the first time anyone’s called me… that.”

I sensed a ‘but’ in there, and waited for her to continue.

She seemed to gather her thoughts for a moment before doing so. “But the other first years won’t talk to me. They always find some excuse to leave, even the girls in my dorm. I overheard one of the boys, Will, telling the others to keep their distance. He said something about me stealing their magic, I can’t actually do that can I?”

She asked that last bit with a sort of scared curiosity and I saw tears welling up once more in her eyes. Her words did explain why she came looking for me again instead of finding friends in her house instead.

“Not unless you’re a dementor in disguise. That’s just a common slander people like to throw against muggle-borns, trying to rile up fear. The other first years are young, they likely don’t know any better and are scared. Give them time, they’ll come to see it for the awful lie that it is soon enough, if they have any sense that is. This ‘Will’, was he a first year?” I told her.

She nodded weakly. “I think the boy I ran into was his brother, I’ve seen them talking in the common room.”

“I guess that explains it, shit runs downhill as they, their parents are probably stuck-up supremacists too. It’s odd they’re both in Gryffindor, but I suppose being brave does not stop one from being a bigot.” I said with a thoughtful look.

Her eyes widened at my cursing. “I thought you said wizards don’t use muggle swear words.”

“We don’t,” I replied deadpan. “Have you seen the grounds yet?” I asked, changing the subject.

Rebecca scowled at me, then shook her head. “I thought Professor Dumbledore said we couldn’t leave the castle.”

“He said we couldn’t leave the grounds. Come on, it’ll be fun. Besides, I’ve done enough reading for today.” I told her.

That wasn’t at all true, one can never do enough reading when it came to magic, and there was nothing I’d rather be doing than sitting in the room of requirement going through my new books. But when I saw her eyes light up at the prospect of doing something other than just schoolwork it became a loss of time I could stomach. Besides, I felt the need to go outside, stretch my legs and maybe do something a bit more exerting than turning a page, so it wouldn’t be a complete bust.

We finished our lunch, though I avoided the pumpkin juice and stuck only to water this time, and set off to explore the castle grounds. Whatever Dumbledore was worried about outside the grounds would hopefully remain so, a fact I was at least ninety per cent confident in.

… Maybe eighty per cent.