Days passed after Flint's expulsion.
The tension that had once crackled openly through the Slytherin common room had dulled into something quieter, but far more dangerous. On the surface, things looked calmer. Fewer arguments in corridors, fewer sneers spoken aloud. But underneath, resentment festered.
Flint had been influential. More than that, he had been a rallying point. A symbol for a certain kind of Slytherin: pure-blood supremacists who clung to old doctrines like sacred law. To them, Flint hadn't just been expelled. He had been sacrificed.
And they knew exactly who they blamed.
To them, Aurelius and his friends weren't just rivals or annoyances. They were enemies. Obstacles. Proof that the world was changing in ways they refused to accept. Flint's name would likely be whispered into blacklists across Britain now—families that closed doors quietly, legacies that turned their backs. And in their minds, all of it traced back to one thing.
All because of a mudblood.
Aurelius noticed everything.
The way conversations stopped when he entered a corridor. The looks that lingered half a second too long. The whispers that followed him like shadows. He didn't react—not outwardly, but he was far from unaware.
They were planning something.
And when they came, he would be ready.
—---
Charms class was one of the few places where the tension seemed to fade—at least temporarily.
Professor Flitwick stood atop his stack of books at the front of the classroom, his voice light but precise as he addressed the mixed group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws.
"Magic," he said cheerfully, "is not merely a sequence of words and movements. Those are tools. The true heart of a spell lies in intentionality, the clarity of purpose behind it, and the precision of the caster's will."
He gestured with his wand as he spoke, small movements punctuating each sentence.
"Over time, with enough practice and repetition, these actions become… well," he smiled, "second nature. The spell no longer needs to be forced. It flows."
Aurelius raised his hand.
Flitwick turned immediately, eyes bright. "Yes, Mr. Gryffindor?"
"Is that why," Aurelius asked thoughtfully, "some professors barely need wand movements at all ? Like Professor McGonagall with Transfiguration, or Professor Sprout when working with certain plants ?"
A murmur spread through the classroom.
Flitwick's smile widened, clearly pleased.
"An excellent observation," he said. "Yes,precisely so. When the mind, will, and magical instinct are fully aligned, the wand becomes less a guide and more an extension of the self."
He turned slowly, stepping down from his books.
"Allow me to demonstrate."
Flitwick raised his wand, but did not move it.
He merely pointed it upward.
From the tip of the wand, a soft glow bloomed… then detached itself, forming a perfect sphere of light. It floated upward, slow and graceful, drifting across the classroom ceiling like a small, captured star.
Gasps filled the room.
The light reflected in wide eyes, illuminated open mouths. Even students who had been half-distracted moments earlier were now staring upward, spellbound.
Flitwick hadn't spoken a word. Hadn't flicked his wrist. Hadn't traced a single motion.
Only intent.
"This," he said softly, watching their reactions, "is what happens when magic listens to you because it knows you."
The lesson carried on without further incident.
Across the classroom, several students began to show visible improvement. Some managed to produce steady points of light at the tips of their wands, while others were still stuck with weak flickers or brief flashes that vanished as quickly as they appeared. Professor Flitwick floated between the desks, offering encouragement and gentle corrections, clearly pleased with the overall progress.
Near the back of the room, Oliver Wood let out a frustrated huff.
"Merlin's beard," he muttered, wiping his forehead. "I swear, my arm's about to fall off."
Aurelius glanced over and raised an eyebrow. "Need help ?"
Wood hesitated for a moment, pride warring with practicality, before nodding. "Yeah. If you've got any advice, I'll take it."
Aurelius stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly. "You're thinking about the movement, not the result. Don't try to make light, expect it."
Wood straightened, gripping his wand tighter. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again.
[Lumos!]
He made the proper movement this time, face reddening as he poured concentration into the spell. For a second, it looked promising—
Crack.
A few weak sparks spat from the tip of his wand before dying out completely.
Wood groaned and bent forward slightly, hands on his knees, sweat forming at his temples.
"That's it. I'm done. My brain hurts."
Aurelius laughed softly, unable to help himself. "Relax, this kind of control takes time. You're not going to master it in a single class."
Wood straightened slowly and shot him an irritated look. "Oh yeah ? Then you do it, Professor Brilliant."
Aurelius' smile turned unmistakably smug.
Without another word, he lifted his wand casually, barely paying attention to his stance, and whispered..
[Lumos]
A soft, steady sphere of light bloomed from the tip of his wand and detached itself, floating gently above their heads. It circled them lazily, casting a warm glow over their desk.
Aurelius looked at Wood with a distinctly cocky grin.
Wood stared at the light for a long second… then glared at Aurelius. "Oh, shut up."
Before Aurelius could reply, the sound of enthusiastic clapping echoed through the classroom.
Professor Flitwick hovered nearby, eyes shining. "Marvelous ! Simply marvelous control, Mr. Gryffindor ! Excellent balance of intent and execution."
He tapped his wand against his book with a decisive nod.
"Five points to Gryffindor for an outstanding conjuration !"
A few cheers erupted from nearby Gryffindors, while Wood shook his head, muttering something about insufferable prodigies.
Aurelius dispelled the light with a flick of thought, still smiling.
—-
By dinner time, Aurelius, Lucian, and Mavis were seated together at the Hufflepuff table, eating in relative peace. The Great Hall hummed with its usual evening noise—cutlery clinking, low conversations, the soft glow of floating candles overhead.
Lucian was in the middle of explaining a problem he'd been having with a potion he'd been experimenting on outside class.
"I'm telling you," he said, poking at his food absently, "the mixture just won't stabilize. It looks right, but something's off."
Mavis tilted her head, thoughtful. "Did you control the temperature properly ?"
Lucian nodded. "Checked it twice."
She snorted softly. "Snape used to ride me about that nonstop. Enough that I'll never forget it." She smirked faintly. "Turns out temperature control was the reason I stopped having to scrub potion residue out of my hair after every class."
Aurelius chuckled under his breath.
Lucian frowned. "That's the thing. I've already accounted for that. I can't figure out what else it could be."
Curious now, Aurelius asked casually, "What potion were you trying to make, anyway ?"
Lucian glanced down at his plate as he answered, completely unfazed.
"Felix Felicis."
Forks froze midair.
Chewing stopped.
Several Hufflepuffs around them slowly turned their heads to stare.
The Hufflepuff table, the Hufflepuff table, had gone silent while they ate.
Lucian didn't notice.
"…What ?" he asked, looking up at the sudden attention. "What happened ?"
Aurelius stared at him, then rubbed his face. "That's exactly why it isn't working."
Mavis blinked. "Lucian… do you have any idea what you just said ?"
Aurelius leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to keep it between them. "Felix Felicis is one of the most difficult and expensive potions in the wizarding world. Half the ingredients cost more than five hundred Galleons each."
Lucian shrugged, completely unbothered. "That's why I'm trying to modify the recipe. Replace the expensive components with cheaper alternatives."
Aurelius pointed his fork at him. "That's also how you end up blowing your face off."
Then he laughed, shaking his head. "Honestly, though—trying to brew Felix Felicis in first year is borderline suicidal. And somehow… very Slytherin of you."
Lucian stared at him for a moment, expression unreadable.
Then he smiled.
"Shut up, Gryffindor."
Aurelius laughed again, Mavis shaking her head in disbelief as the Great Hall slowly returned to its normal rhythm, though more than a few Hufflepuffs kept sneaking glances at Lucian like he'd just admitted to casually tampering with a dragon egg.
Aurelius was eating calmly, barely listening to the hum of conversation around him, when…
' Aurelius. '
The fork froze halfway to his mouth.
' We need to meet. Now. '
Saphira's voice echoed inside his head, sharp and urgent in a way it had never been before. It's an emergency.
His heart skipped.
The world around him seemed to dull for a fraction of a second as he processed the tone alone. Saphira didn't exaggerate. If she sounded like this, something was wrong.
Aurelius lowered his fork slowly, swallowing the half-chewed bite.
"I—uh—bathroom," he said quickly to Lucian and Mavis,already leaving his seat.
Neither of them had time to respond.
Aurelius was already on his feet, weaving through the benches and breaking into a run as he exited the Great Hall. The sudden movement drew confused looks from nearby students—some startled, others merely curious—as the doors swung open behind him.
The warmth and noise of the hall vanished the moment he crossed the threshold, replaced by the cooler air of the stone corridors and the echo of his hurried footsteps.
' Saphira, ' he thought urgently as he ran. ' Where are you ? '
The castle seemed to hold its breath with him.
Whatever was happening, Aurelius knew one thing with absolute certainty...
Dinner was the last thing on his mind now.