Before we jump into the next chapter, I'd like to take a moment to address something. I've found it quite amusing how a single word Harry used in the previous chapter has sparked such a wave of negative comments and overanalysis. So, let me be perfectly clear:

If you don't like this story, you're absolutely free not to read it.

As the author, I want to make it crystal clear that I do not hold homophobic beliefs, and neither does the version of Harry I'm portraying here. That said, normal readers already know this.

Now, let's move on to the chapter.

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The faint glow of dawn seeped through the curtains in the Gryffindor dormitory. Harry woke early, stretching under the warm covers. The quiet sounds of his dorm mates' deep breathing filled the room. He reached under his pillow for the enchanted mirror Sirius had given him, its surface cool to the touch.

"Morning, Sirius," Harry said softly, holding the mirror close so as not to wake anyone.

The surface rippled, and Sirius's face appeared, his features shadowed but alert. He gave Harry a warm smile, though his eyes looked a little tired. "Harry! Up before the sun, I see. Everything okay?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I just thought I'd check in. How are you?"

Sirius hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "I'm… managing. I've got therapy today, so it's one of those mornings. Better to catch me tomorrow if you need anything serious. No pun intended."

"Therapy day, huh? I know those aren't easy."

"They're not. You drag up everything you've buried and try to make sense of it. Like a mental Cruciatus—awful in the moment, but worth it, I think."

Harry's brows furrowed, and he shifted the mirror slightly. "Speaking of that… I talked to Neville last night."

Sirius tilted his head. "Oh? Is he all right?"

Harry exhaled, glancing toward the window. "He told me about his parents. How they were tortured. I didn't know before."

Sirius's face darkened slightly, his voice quieter when he spoke. "Frank and Alice. I knew them well. Brave, brilliant Aurors. What happened to them…" He shook his head.

Harry hesitated, chewing on his lip before asking, "Did anyone ever try to reverse what happened to them? I mean, the effects of the Cruciatus Curse?"

Sirius sighed, leaning back slightly in the mirror's frame. "I'm sure someone has. But it's not the kind of thing they'd share openly. The Ministry's pretty tight-fisted when it comes to regulating research like that."

"Regulating it?" Harry frowned.

"Yeah," Sirius said with a faint nod. "Every new potion, spell, or even a tweak to an existing one has to go through the Ministry for approval. They claim it's to keep things safe and ethical, but honestly, it's as much about control as it is about safety. Especially when it comes to something like reversing the effects of dark magic. They'd probably classify it as 'high-risk' and bury the research under miles of red tape."

"So… there might be a way, but no one knows for sure?" Harry pressed.

"Exactly," Sirius said grimly. "And even if someone was working on it, they'd have to be careful not to attract the wrong kind of attention. The Ministry doesn't take kindly to unsanctioned experiments, especially not with dark magic."

Harry stared at the mirror, his mind churning. The thought of Neville visiting his parents, year after year, with no hope of change..

"That's just… wrong," he muttered.

"It is," Sirius agreed. "But that's the world we live in. It's not always fair. The best thing you can do is be there for Neville. That kid's been through a lot."

Harry nodded. "I'll do my best."

Sirius's expression softened, and he offered Harry a faint smile. "You've got a good heart, Harry. Frank and Alice would be proud of you for looking out for their son."

Harry managed a small smile in return. "Thanks. And good luck with therapy. I'll call you tomorrow."

Sirius gave a little salute, his grin reappearing. "Thanks, Harry. And hey—don't let Snape ruin your day."

The mirror rippled as Sirius's face disappeared. Harry tucked it back under his pillow, his thoughts swirling with everything they'd discussed. He swung his legs out of bed, grabbed his clothes, and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. By the time he emerged, refreshed and ready for the day, the dormitory was still silent.

Common room was empty, save for Harry, who had settled into a comfortable armchair near the fireplace. He placed his Potions textbook, Advanced Potion-Making for Fourth Years, on his lap, flipping to the first chapter with a determined sigh.

The thick parchment pages emitted a faint, musty scent as he turned to the first lesson: The Principles of Brewing: Enhancing Stability and Precision. The text was dense, filled with diagrams of cauldron temperatures and annotated ingredient lists. Harry skimmed over the introduction, which discussed the importance of maintaining a steady stirring rhythm to avoid unwanted reactions.

"Stability is key in brewing," he read aloud to himself in a whisper, "especially when dealing with volatile ingredients like asphodel or powdered dragon claw."

He tilted his head, his brows furrowing as he studied a diagram illustrating the preparation of a potion called the Elixir to Induce Euphoria. The accompanying text described the precise manner in which to zest a Peppermint Toad to prevent the potion from becoming too potent.

Harry leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Snape's going to have a field day pointing out everything we're doing wrong," he muttered.

As Harry continued to read, his mind began to drift. The words on the page blurred, replaced by memories of Tracey Davis lying in the hospital bed at St. Mungo's. He hadn't told anyone about the peculiar sensation he'd felt when he touched her hand, the faint trembling beneath her skin. It wasn't the normal sort of shivering caused by cold or fear—it was deeper, as if her nerves themselves were shaking, their signals misfiring in a way he couldn't quite explain.

He frowned, staring blankly at the Potions book, the words now meaningless. What could cause something like that? The Cruciatus Curse had attacked her body so viciously that even her nervous system seemed locked in a constant state of distress. He'd felt it, almost like a vibration, as if her body was caught in an echo of the torture she'd endured.

His thoughts spiraled further. Was that what happened to Neville's parents too? Neville had said their minds were "broken." But minds and bodies weren't separate, were they? If the Cruciatus Curse tore through the nervous system first, shredding the connections that let a person function, did that eventually affect the mind? Or was it the other way around—did the mind give in first, and the body follow?

He tapped his fingers absently against the arm of the chair, his brow furrowed in concentration. The body and mind… they had to be connected. If the body broke under enough stress, the mind might follow, and vice versa. Could repairing one fix the other? Could they work backwards—start with the nerves, the trembling he'd felt under Tracey's skin, and somehow reach her mind?

His head was full of questions, too big to answer, but impossible to ignore.

A quiet sound broke through his thoughts—a soft rustling of fabric. Harry blinked and looked up, startled to find Hermione sitting beside him. Her posture was relaxed, and she was smiling faintly, watching him as though he were a puzzle she was trying to piece together.

"Hermione!" Harry said, his voice slightly higher than usual. He straightened in his chair, brushing a hand through his messy hair, his cheeks warming. "How long have you been sitting there?"

"Not long," she said lightly, though the amused glint in her eyes suggested otherwise. "You looked like you were miles away. I didn't want to interrupt."

Harry glanced down at the forgotten Potions book in his lap, suddenly self-conscious. "I was just… thinking."

She tilted her head slightly and after a moment, she smiled.

"You know," she began, her tone casual but thoughtful, "at first, I thought this might be the positive influence of Sirius. And don't get me wrong, that's probably part of it. But the more I see you, Harry, the more I think… this is you. You've really changed—not just physically, but mentally too."

Harry raised an eyebrow, unsure where she was going with this.

"The fact that you're sitting here, with a Potions book, preparing before class—that alone is a pretty big change," she continued, her smile widening slightly. "And I just… I really like it. But I need to ask—are you okay?"

Harry blinked at her, surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"

Hermione shifted in her seat. "Harry, I've been thinking about what you said to Professor Dumbledore. The truth is… Ron and I, we'll never truly understand what it's like to be you. We can't know how it feels, not really. But that doesn't mean we don't care."

For a moment, Harry didn't answer. He studied her, taking in the earnest concern in her eyes. Finally, he smiled faintly. "Thanks, Hermione. Really. But I don't think I have any huge problems or anything. I just… I want to be a better version of myself, you know? And lately, I've had this idea stuck in my head—about reversing the effects of the Cruciatus Curse."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't interrupt.

Harry continued, his voice gaining a quiet intensity. "Especially after what Neville told me last night… it's become my absolute priority. I can't stop thinking about it. But it's hard to figure out where to even start."

Hermione exhaled softly, her lips curling into a small, supportive smile. "That's… an incredible goal, Harry. Ambitious, but amazing. And I know you can do it. Maybe not all at once, but step by step. And you know I'll help in any way I can."

"I appreciate that, Hermione. I really do. Thanks."

She leaned back slightly, giving his arm a light nudge. "Anytime. And remember—you've got people who care about you. You're not in this alone."

Harry's eyes widened slightly as Hermione's words echoed in his mind. Sirius said the exact same thing, he realized. The same comforting sentiment, the same belief in him.

Without overthinking, Harry leaned forward slightly and placed his hand gently over Hermione's.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said quietly, "Really. For everything."

Hermione blinked in surprise, her expression softening. Before she could respond, the moment was abruptly interrupted by a loud voice from the boys' staircase.

"Hermione! Harry!" Ron bellowed as he descended the stairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Let's go eat breakfast! I'm starving."

Harry let out a laugh, withdrawing his hand as Hermione shook her head with a small smile. "That's Ron," she said wryly.

"Never changes," Harry added, standing and stretching. He reached down to scoop up his potions book before glancing back at her. "Come on, let's catch up before he starts raiding the Great Hall on his own."

They both made their way toward the staircase, where Ron was already impatiently waiting, muttering something about sausages and pumpkin juice.

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter as students from every house tucked into platters of bacon, eggs, and toast. Harry sat between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table, enjoying the warmth of the hall and the scent of breakfast wafting through the air. Hedwig swooped down gracefully from the rafters, her snowy feathers gleaming in the morning light.

"Morning, girl," Harry said, smiling as Hedwig landed lightly on his shoulder. She nipped affectionately at his ear before hopping down to the table and plucking a strip of bacon from his plate.

"Hey!" Harry protested half-heartedly, though he stroked her feathers with one hand. "That's mine."

Ron chuckled, his mouth full of toast. "She's got good taste, mate."

Ron leaned back in his seat, wiping crumbs from his mouth. "Alright then, what's the plan for today?" he asked, turning to Harry expectantly.

Harry reached into his bag and pulled out the folded parchment schedule they'd been given the night before. Flattening it against the table, he scanned the neat, looping script.

"Double Potions first," he said. "Then Charms after lunch. And Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid in the afternoon."

Before Ron could respond, Hagrid's booming voice carried across the hall again, this time directly to their table. "Care o' Magical Creatures, eh? Yeh'll love what I've got planned fer today!" His enthusiasm was infectious, though it made the trio exchange nervous glances.

Hagrid leaned down, his large, rough hands gripping the edge of the table. "It's somethin' real special this year. Been workin' on it all summer."

Harry smiled at him, though the flicker of apprehension didn't go unnoticed. "Sounds great, Hagrid. We're looking forward to it."

Hermione, ever diplomatic, added, "We'll be ready. It's always fascinating to see what you come up with."

Ron, however, couldn't help muttering under his breath, "I hope 'fascinating' doesn't mean fire-breathing."

"Eh? What was that, Ron?" Hagrid asked

"Oh, er, nothing," Ron said quickly, forcing a grin.

"Well, see yeh this afternoon then!" Hagrid said cheerfully, straightening to his full height. He gave them a broad wave before heading back to the staff table, leaving the trio to their breakfast.

"You think it'll be another one of his… unique creatures?" Ron asked, his voice hushed.

Harry shrugged, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "Could be. You remember that oversized Flobberworm he thought was fascinating last year?"

Ron groaned, his face falling. "Don't remind me. If I never have to scrape Flobberworm goo off my boots again, it'll be too soon."

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The sound of the bell echoed through the Great Hall, signaling the start of the day. The trio grabbed their bags and joined the flow of students filing out into the corridors. They chatted idly as they made their way toward the dungeons for Potions, the air growing colder with each step.

As they approached the Potions classroom, Harry spotted Draco Malfoy lounging against the wall, his usual smirk absent for once. The Slytherin glanced their way but didn't say anything, instead turning to mutter something to Pansy Parkinson. For once, Harry felt relieved by the lack of confrontation.

"Morning, Dean," Harry said as they caught up with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. "Ready for another thrilling year of Snape's lessons?"

"Thrilling is one word for it," Dean replied with a grin. "Let's see how many points he takes off before we even sit down."

Seamus laughed. "I'm betting five. Any takers?"

Harry chuckled, but his amusement faded as the heavy wooden door to the Potions classroom creaked open.

The Potions classroom buzzed with the usual undercurrent of tension that accompanied lessons shared between Gryffindor and Slytherin. As always, the two houses sat apart, the air practically crackling with unspoken rivalries. Professor Snape swept into the room, his black robes billowing behind him, and the murmurs died instantly.

"Today," Snape began in his usual cold tone, "we will be doing things… differently." His lips curled slightly, not into a smile but into something far less pleasant. "Per the illustrious suggestion of our dear Headmaster—" his voice dripped with disdain at the mention of Dumbledore—"you will be working on a project in pairs. This project will last until the end of December and will form a significant part of your final grade."

The class exchanged uneasy glances. Snape's expression darkened further.

"To make this even more… enriching," he continued, the sneer in his voice unmistakable, "these pairs have been chosen completely at random and, to my great dismay, will involve collaboration between members of opposing houses."

A ripple of confusion and discomfort passed through the room. The Gryffindors, in particular, began to fidget in their seats. The Slytherins, meanwhile, looked as though they'd just been told they'd have to hand-wash cauldrons for a week.

Snape raised a hand to cut through the whispering. "The pairings are final. Any complaints will be ignored. You will sit with your assigned partner for the remainder of term, and you will work together, whether you like it or not."

Snape picked up a piece of parchment, his eyes sweeping over the classroom with barely concealed disdain. He began calling out names, his tone as lifeless as if he were listing ingredients for a simple potion. Around the room, students began grudgingly gathering their things and moving to sit with their assigned partners.

"Potter and Greengrass," Snape announced, his eyes flicking briefly to Harry before returning to the parchment.

Harry blinked, glancing across the room to where Daphne Greengrass sat. She looked momentarily surprised but composed herself quickly, her expression neutral.

"Weasley and Malfoy."

"What?!" Draco shot to his feet, his pale face flushing pink. "I refuse to work with that—"

"Sit down, Malfoy," Snape snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

Draco remained standing, fuming. "I won't work with him!" he declared, his voice rising. "A pauper—"

Ron cut in before Snape could respond. "Yeah? Well, I don't want to work with a bloody faggot!"

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the classroom, and Dean burst into laughter, unable to contain himself. Several other Gryffindors snickered, while Draco's face turned an alarming shade of crimson.

"You'll regret that, Weasley," Draco hissed, reaching for his wand.

"ENOUGH!" Snape's voice thundered through the room. The classroom fell deathly silent. Draco froze, his hand inches from his wand, and after a moment, reluctantly pulled it back. Snape's dark eyes flicked to Ron.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he said coldly.

"What?!" Ron protested. "He started it—"

"Another word, Weasley, and you'll spend every evening for the next month scrubbing cauldrons without magic," Snape snarled. Ron clamped his mouth shut, though his eyes burned with a mix of indignation and barely contained hatred.

Snape straightened. "I don't care if you like it or not," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "You will survive. The choice is not yours to make."

He stepped back to his desk and crossed his arms, surveying the room. "By next Monday, you will decide on the topic of your project. You may choose anything within reason that aligns with the principles of advanced potion-making. I suggest you use the time to acquaint yourselves with your partner, as you'll need to work closely together. Are we clear?"

No one dared to respond. Snape's expression darkened further, and he added icily, "I said, are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," the class murmured in unison, though it was far from enthusiastic.

"Good." Snape moved to the board and flicked his wand, the instructions for today's lesson appearing in neat, precise handwriting. "For now, we will return to the basics. Prepare a batch of the standard Shrinking Solution. Begin."

Harry opened his textbook to the page detailing the recipe for Shrinking Solution. Around the room, whispers and muttered complaints filled the spaces between the soft clinks of cauldrons being set up.

His eyes flicked to the blackboard, where Snape had written additional instructions in his spiky handwriting:

"Ensure precise measurements. Overuse of any ingredient will result in failure and, predictably, wasted house points. Stir exactly seven times clockwise, followed by four counterclockwise stirs. Temperature is critical; too hot, and the potion will curdle."

It was typical Snape, setting them up to fail if they didn't pay obsessive attention to detail.

Harry turned his attention to Daphne. She seemed fine—relaxed, even. Today, her blonde hair was tied back in a high ponytail. A touch of makeup softened her features, though it was subtle enough that he wouldn't have noticed if he weren't sitting so close. She looked… cute. Not in the way Ron might describe someone as "fit" or the way Seamus talked about the witches on his posters.

It made Harry's stomach twist a little, though not in an unpleasant way. He didn't know why, and he didn't have time to figure it out either. When she turned her head and caught him looking, his heart gave an odd lurch.

"Hi," he blurted out before he could stop himself. The word landed clumsily between them, and his brain immediately supplied an unhelpful follow-up: Brilliant, Potter. Really smooth.

Daphne blinked, then smiled faintly—more with her eyes than her mouth. "Hello, Potter," she said, her voice light. "Shall we start?"

Harry nodded, his cheeks warming. "Yeah, sure."

"We'll need daisy roots, skinned shrivelfigs, sliced caterpillars, and a splash of leech juice to start. You can prepare the daisy roots and caterpillars while I handle the shrivelfigs and measure out the leech juice. Does that work for you?"

"Yeah, that works," Harry said quickly, eager to focus on anything other than the odd feeling in his chest.

He reached for the tray of ingredients, stealing another glance at her when he thought she wouldn't notice. She was already busy with the shrivelfigs, her hands moving deftly as she skinned the fruit with practiced precision. Harry remembered Hermione mentioning last night that Daphne was always just behind her in grades. Watching how efficiently she worked, it was easy to see why.

I need to keep up, he thought, focusing harder on slicing the caterpillars.

As he sliced the caterpillars, his thoughts wandered back to the way her ponytail swayed, the faint amusement in her eyes when he said "Hi". He didn't understand why it stuck in his head, why it made him feel slightly off balance. But for some reason, he didn't mind. Not really.

The Potions classroom was unusually calm, with no explosions or catastrophic failures—for once. Harry and Daphne stood side by side, their cauldron a textbook example of success. The liquid inside shimmered with a soft, translucent green glow. Harry couldn't help but feel a bit of pride. He glanced at Daphne, who was cleaning her cutting board with a flick of her wand. She didn't look particularly triumphant, just calmly satisfied, as if this result was exactly what she'd expected.

Even Neville and Milicent Bulstrode had managed to brew a passable potion. Neville looked stunned as he peered into their cauldron, the pale green liquid reflecting his wide eyes. It was as if he couldn't believe his own success. Milicent, on the other hand, looked entirely unfazed, her large frame leaned lazily against the table.

Hermione sat nearby, her expression a mixture of irritation and focus. Beside her, their cauldron bubbled steadily, emitting a flawless green steam. Pansy Parkinson, however, appeared utterly uninterested in their progress, twirling a strand of dark hair around her finger as her other hand examined her nails.

Across the room, however, the most notable chaos brewed at Ron and Malfoy's station. Their cauldron was emitting a worrying shade of murky yellowish-brown, the steam rising in uneven spurts. Ron was furiously stirring the potion while Malfoy stood back, arms crossed, his face twisted in disdain.

"This is all your fault, Weasley," Malfoy hissed, his voice carrying across the room. "You didn't slice the caterpillars properly! They're practically chunks."

Ron glared at him, his face almost as red as his hair. "Yeah, well maybe if you'd actually done something instead of standing there like a bloody mannequin, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Do not call me a mannequin, you useless—"

"Enough!" Snape's voice cut through the argument, his black robes billowing as he strode over to their table. His dark eyes swept over the cauldron, his upper lip curling in disgust. "What in Merlin's name is this? The instructions were clear. This abomination"—he gestured to the potion—"is nowhere near acceptable."

"He didn't stir it properly!" Malfoy accused, pointing at Ron as if presenting evidence at a trial.

"Maybe because someone"—Ron's voice rose in volume—"was too busy fixing his hair in the reflection of the cauldron to help!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape snapped, his tone ice-cold. "And another five for your tone, Weasley. I suggest you both take this partnership seriously, or the consequences will be… unpleasant."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry caught his eye from across the room and gave a small shake of his head. Reluctantly, Ron clamped his mouth shut, muttering something under his breath that earned him a warning glare from Snape.

"Class dismissed," Snape barked, waving his wand to clear the board. "Leave your potions for evaluation. Next week, you will present your project topics, and I suggest you have something worthwhile to show for your time."

The students began packing their things, the usual buzz of conversation returning. Harry glanced at Daphne as they cleaned their workstation together. She gave a small, approving nod toward their potion. "Good work, Potter," she said.

"You too," Harry replied, feeling oddly pleased with the compliment.

As they exited the classroom, Harry caught up with Ron, who was still muttering darkly under his breath. Hermione walked alongside them, her irritation with Pansy still apparent in her furrowed brow.

"Well," Harry said, attempting to lighten the mood, "at least nothing exploded."

Ron shot him a look, his ears turning red. "Yeah, great, nothing exploded. But I still lost twenty-five bloody points! Twenty-five! Just because I'm stuck with that blonde git. Unbelievable." He threw his hands in the air. "What's Snape thinking? Does he actually expect me to meet Malfoy in the library? What, we're supposed to be 'study buddies' now?"

Hermione glanced at him, her expression caught between exasperation and amusement. "It's called teamwork, Ron. You might actually learn something."

"Teamwork?" Ron snorted. "Teamwork's what you do with people you can stand. Not Malfoy. The guy spent the entire lesson insulting me under his breath! And if I so much as look at him wrong, Snape will probably dock another twenty points."

Harry stifled a laugh, trying to keep things calm. "Just… think of it as a challenge, Ron. You've survived worse, haven't you?"

Ron glared. "Yeah, but at least in those situations, I didn't have to schedule meetups with Malfoy. Am I supposed to owl him to arrange study sessions? 'Dear Draco, when shall we discuss our groundbreaking potion ideas? Yours sincerely, Ron.' It's madness!"

The midday sun spilled through the castle's tall windows, illuminating the stone corridors as Harry walked alongside Ron and Hermione toward Charms. His thoughts wandered back to the meal they'd just had—a satisfying plate of grilled chicken, rice, and fresh vegetables.

Harry had been eating better lately, ever since Sirius had teased him during an evening in Latvia about being a "growing boy" who needed proper nutrition to support his body. "You're always running about saving people," Sirius had said with a wink. "You'll need to feed those muscles properly." It had stuck with Harry. Since then, he'd prioritized meals with plenty of protein, and he couldn't deny the difference.

As they rounded a corner, Harry spotted Neville walking ahead of them. He quickened his pace and called out, "Hey, Neville!"

Neville turned, startled, but smiled when he saw Harry. "Oh, hi, Harry."

"How was working with Milicent?" Harry asked, curious.

Neville hesitated, shifting his bag. "It was… okay. She didn't talk much, but I think that's better than her yelling at me."

Harry grinned. "And the potion?"

Neville flushed. "It worked. Barely. But she did most of it. I just… tried to keep up."

"That's still something," Harry said, clapping Neville on the shoulder. "Better than setting something on fire, right?"

Neville nodded, but he still looked unsure. Hermione joined them then, falling into step beside Harry.

"Still talking about Potions?" she asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Neville and Milicent managed to pull it off."

Hermione nodded approvingly before glancing at Harry. "You know, Daphne's a top student. You're lucky. She's probably the best person you could've been paired with, aside from me, of course."

Harry smirked and put on his best exaggerated tone, mimicking her. "Aside from me, of course," he said in a mockingly high-pitched voice.

Hermione's eyes widened for a moment before she burst into laughter. "Oh, very mature, Harry," she said between giggles, giving him a playful nudge.

Neville, who had been quietly walking alongside them, grinned and joined in. "It's true, though," he said, laughing. "Nobody could ever outshine Hermione, right?"

Hermione tilted her head, feigning modesty. "Well, someone has to keep you all on track."

Harry chuckled and clapped Neville on the shoulder. "See, Neville gets it. You're practically our guiding star, Hermione."

Neville laughed harder, while Hermione rolled her eyes, though she was clearly amused. "Just wait until you two need my help with your projects," she said. "Then we'll see who's laughing."

The trio entered the Charms classroom. Small, round desks were arranged in neat rows, and the enchanted ceiling twinkled faintly, reflecting the outside light. Students were already chatting amongst themselves, wands casually placed on their desks.

"Good afternoon, everyone!" Flitwick began, his high-pitched voice brimming with warmth. "Welcome back to Hogwarts! I trust you all had a wonderful holiday and are ready to dive into a new term." His eyes sparkled as he surveyed the class. "Fourth year marks an important stage in your magical education. The spells we cover this year will not only prepare you for your O.W.L.s but will also prove invaluable in everyday life."

He straightened on his stack of books. "Today, we'll be starting a charm that I'm certain many of you will find quite useful—Accio, the Summoning Charm. With proper focus and practice, it can save you time, effort, and possibly even embarrassment when you've misplaced something important."

"Summoning things? Sounds like something I could use at home. Imagine summoning Mum's cooking from my room…"Ron muttered

Flitwick's voice rose above the murmuring. "Now, Accio requires more than just pronunciation and wand movement. You must also visualize the object you wish to summon and focus on its location. Magic is as much about intent as it is about technique."

He gestured to the small objects on his desk: quills, parchment, colorful beanbags, and even a small teacup. "I've placed these here for practice. Start with something close by before attempting greater distances. Observe."

He flicked his wand with a practiced ease. "Accio quill!" A feathered quill zipped gracefully into his hand, landing with precision. The students murmured in admiration, and Flitwick smiled broadly. "See? Simple and effective."

The class began practicing, the air soon filled with the sounds of muttered incantations and the occasional thud of a wayward beanbag. Harry paired up with Ron at one of the desks, while Hermione moved next to Neville to assist him.

"Accio beanbag!" Harry tried, flicking his wand toward the small red beanbag on the desk in front of him. It wobbled slightly but didn't move.

Ron snorted. "Good try, mate. My turn. Accio beanbag!" His beanbag shot off the desk but fell halfway to him with a plop. "See? That's progress," Ron said, grinning.

Harry rolled his eyes but tried again. This time, he focused harder, imagining the beanbag in his hand. "Accio beanbag!" The beanbag trembled before launching off the desk and into his palm. He grinned triumphantly. "Got it!"

"Nice one!" Ron said, giving him a pat on the back. "Maybe you can summon my dinner for me later."

"Or your homework," Harry retorted.

Nearby, Hermione was coaching Neville. "Focus on the object. Picture it coming to you. Now, try again."

Neville's brow furrowed in concentration as he pointed his wand at a quill. "Accio quill!" The quill quivered before sliding off the desk and landing at his feet.

"That's much better!" Hermione encouraged. "Keep practicing, and you'll have it in no time."

The lesson progressed, with Flitwick moving around the room, offering tips and corrections to the students. Most had managed to summon at least one object by now, though the results varied. Harry had successfully summoned a quill from across the room on his third try, and Ron had managed to summon a parchment—though he'd also accidentally pulled an entire stack of books off a nearby shelf.

As Harry was practicing, Flitwick stopped by his desk. "Good form, Mr. Potter," he said, watching as Harry successfully summoned a beanbag into his hand. "Your focus is improving."

"Thanks, Professor," Harry said, hesitating for a moment before adding, "but… is it absolutely necessary to say what you want to summon? Can't you just focus on the spell itself? Like just 'Accio'?"

Flitwick tilted his head thoughtfully, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A good question, Mr. Potter. Why don't you try and find out?"

Harry blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the invitation to experiment. "Alright," he said, turning to the quill on the desk in front of him. He pointed his wand, took a breath, and said, "Accio."

The quill wobbled slightly but didn't move.

Flitwick raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "It seems intent alone isn't quite enough. Try again, but this time, don't just think about the quill—see it in your mind's eye. Feel its shape, its texture. And most importantly, focus your will on bringing it to your hand."

Harry nodded and took a deep breath, letting his thoughts zero in on the quill. He imagined its smooth feather and the faint scratches on its shaft. In his mind, he pictured it lifting, soaring gracefully through the air, and landing in his outstretched hand.

"Accio," he said again.

The quill shot off the desk and into his hand with perfect precision. Harry stared at it for a moment, surprised by how effortlessly it had worked.

"Excellent, Mr. Potter!" Flitwick clapped his hands, his delight evident. "That's the essence of the Summoning Charm—magic driven by intent and will. The incantation guides the magic, but it's your focus that makes it work."

He turned to address the entire class, his high-pitched voice carrying across the room. "Class, take note! Mr. Potter has demonstrated not only skill in execution but also curiosity and insight in his approach to the charm. Asking questions and experimenting thoughtfully are hallmarks of true learning."

Flitwick turned back to Harry, his eyes twinkling. "For an excellent question and a well-executed spell, twenty-five points to Gryffindor!"

Harry grinned, his confidence bolstered by the success. "Thanks, Professor."

A ripple of chatter moved through the room as the Gryffindors exchanged pleased looks.

As Flitwick moved on to assist another student, Harry glanced at Ron, who was still struggling with a beanbag that refused to move more than a few inches.

"What did you do?" Ron asked, frowning. "That quill flew like it couldn't wait to get to you."

"Flitwick said it's all about focus and intent," Harry explained. "You've got to really see it in your mind. Picture it moving, feel it, and then—well, just will it to happen."

Ron groaned. "Brilliant. More thinking."

Harry laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll get it, Ron. Just don't summon the whole classroom by mistake."

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Chapters 11, 12 and 13 have been posted. Check my Patreon for more information.