He was midway through the fourth repetition when he became aware that he wasn't alone.
A pair of second-years had stopped a little further down the corridor, on their way to wherever they were actually supposed to be, and were now doing a poor job of pretending they weren't watching. When he glanced over, they didn't scatter— just straightened slightly, one of them offered an awkward, "Don't mind us," but he didn't seem to have any intention of leaving.
He finished the repetition and moved on to the next spell regardless. It wasn't ideal, but it wasn't worth stopping over either.
More drifted by within the next few minutes— a trio of Hufflepuffs on their way to lunch, slowing down without stopping, whispering to each other just loud enough that he caught fragments of it. That's the one from Potions, isn't he? The one who— before someone shushed him into silence.
A prefect passed once and, rather than moving him along as the rules technically say, simply lingered at the end of the corridor for a minute, watching him with curiosity before leaving without a word.
By the time the Charms class started, a small, rotating handful of onlookers had gathered and dispersed and gathered again, drawn in by whatever new rumour about him that had already made it around the school.
He didn't acknowledge them, mostly, beyond the occasional flat glance when someone got close enough to actually interrupt his line of sight. He noted that he would need a better spot than this one. Somewhere in the castle that people will stop bothering him, and not just a random corridor that can't keep people from bothering him for more than twenty minutes.
The Charms lesson began with Flitwick perched on his usual stack of books. A row of locks was lined up along the front desk.
"Last week, we learned to levitate a feather," he said, beaming out at the room. "This week, we are going to open a lock. A rather useful skill, in my opinion." He chuckled to himself, then tapped one of the padlocks with his wand, and it sprang open with a soft click. "The Charm incantation is Alohomora. Simple enough, isn't it? Though it's far less forgiving of sloppy wand movements than Levitation Charm."
He demonstrated the movement—a short, decisive twist of the wrist, nothing like the gentle swish-and-flick from before. Passing down the rows, he distributed two padlocks to each desk and instructed the class to begin.
Marcus had his tongue between his teeth in concentration, muttering the incantation with increasing irritation as his own padlock stubbornly refused to do anything at all.
"You're twisting too hard," Rosalind admonished, not looking up from her own lock, which she had already opened on her first try and lay open on the desk in front of her.
"I am not!"
Aegeus placed his padlock on the desk and executed the movement— a motion far smaller than Marcus's, barely a twitch— before whispering the incantation. The mechanism released with a quiet, clean click, matching the professor's own demonstration. He pushed the opened lock aside without the slightest hint of satisfaction.
Flitwick, making his rounds, paused at their table just long enough to assess their progress— two padlocks open and one being taken apart, against a room full of first-years still fumbling with theirs
"Well," he said, glancing between Aegeus and Rosalind. "I see this table has already mastered the charm." He picked up the disassembled lock from in front of Rosalind, inspecting the neatly separated springs with open amusement. "Though I don't recall giving the additional task of taking it apart entirely, Miss Ashworth."
"It seemed a shame to leave it closed and boring, Professor," Rosalind said with an unrepentant grin.
"Mm. As long as it goes back the way it was before the end of the class." Flitwick set it back down and moved on, still smiling, leaving Marcus glaring balefully at his own uncooperative lock as though it had personally wronged him.
"How did you do it?" Marcus said, not quite a question, more a general complaint.
"I told you you're twisting too hard— you're putting your whole arm into it."
"I am not—" Marcus tried again, wrist barely moving this time, and the padlock, apparently satisfied, sprang open with a soft click of its own. He stared at it like it had betrayed him by working. "...Oh."
"There you go," Rosalind said, already reassembling her own lock.
By the end of the lesson, most of the class had managed to open at least one lock, though a scattering of stubborn ones remained shut at the back of the room, their owners increasingly convinced the padlocks themselves were somehow defective. Flitwick collected them all anyway, assured everyone that practice would master it by next week, and dismissed the class with the same energetic clap he had opened with.
~~~
Tuesday evening found the Defence classroom rearranged again, but on a scale Aegeus hadn't seen before. The dummies had been shoved entirely out of the room this time, and in their place stood perhaps twenty students, spread out across the full width of the floor— sixth and seventh years mostly, a handful of fifth, and a scattering of younger ones who'd clearly earned their place the same way he and Rosalind had. He recognized exactly none of them.
Beside him, Rosalind stood with her hands clasped behind her back, her posture composed as she quietly watched everyone in the room.
He and Rosalind were by far the youngest people in the room by a huge margin, the smallest, with Rosalind being a couple of months older.
A tall seventh-year girl near the front glanced back at them, did a visible double-take, and leaned over to murmur something to the boy beside her. Aegeus caught the words— first-year, and you're joking— before the boy turned to look for himself, eyebrows climbing.
Then, from further down the room, a familiar voice: "Granger?"
"Weasley," greeted Aegeus.
Rosalind offered only a faint, polite inclination of her head. "Evening, Weasley."
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TO BE CONTINUED
~~~
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