"Professor, I—" Anduin began, his mind racing to construct a plausible half-truth—perhaps claiming accidental non-verbal casting due to intense focus.
Professor Filius Flitwick cut him off with a gentle wave of his hand. His gaze was sharp and deeply discerning, yet entirely devoid of malice. It was the look of a scientist observing a remarkable specimen.
"Mr. Wilson, if my eyes did not deceive me, what I just witnessed was a perfectly executed silent spell, was it not?" Flitwick asked, his faint smile revealing his genuine intrigue.
Anduin felt a deep, professional embarrassment. He had been found out within his first hour of class. He bowed his head slightly. "Well, yes, Professor. You are quite right. And please, call me Anduin."
He braced himself for the formal reprimand, perhaps a stern warning about the dangers of practicing advanced magic unsupervised. The political landscape of Slytherin had already made him cautious, and having a professor know his capabilities felt like a significant vulnerability. Is this a trap? Is he testing my loyalty?
"Don't be nervous, Anduin," Flitwick said softly, as if reading the internal turmoil in the young wizard's posture. He waved his wand with a small, elegant flourish, and two high-backed, cushioned chairs instantly floated into position, settling gently onto the stone floor. The Professor climbed into one, still appearing small but now seated at an equal height with the standing boy. He gestured for Anduin to take the other.
"Sit. Let's talk about that near-flawless Levitation Charm," Flitwick continued, leaning forward slightly. "Your performance was no accident of concentration. As I stated, it was technically perfect. Even many adult wizards struggle to achieve that level of stability and control on their first verbal attempt, let alone cast it silently. That requires an inherent magical discipline that is extraordinary for your age."
Noticing Anduin's continued tension, the professor subtly shifted his line of inquiry.
"Before we delve into your obvious talents, perhaps we should discuss my classes first? What is it like to sit through a class taught by old Flitwick? Be honest, my boy."
Anduin felt himself relax slightly, taking the conversational cue. He was adept at flattery when necessary. "Your lessons are excellent, Professor. Your explanations of magical theory are clear, in-depth, and exceptionally easy to understand. They provide a wonderful foundation for any young witch or wizard…"
Professor Flitwick chuckled, a dry, reedy sound that betrayed his exposure. "Yes, yes, 'in-depth and easy to understand.' You say that while simultaneously having time to write multiple letters during the first lesson and practically daydream during the first half of the practical work, only to snap into flawless execution when I approached. It seems you found my foundational lecture... less than engaging, Mr. Wilson."
Anduin's strange smile widened into genuine sheepishness. Oh my God, he didn't miss a thing. He was monitoring every student with an almost clinical vigilance.
"Anduin," Flitwick said, his voice dropping slightly, now carrying the weight of shared confidence. "I had heard about your exceptional nature even before your arrival at Hogwarts. Though I am not formally a part of the Order of the Phoenix, Professor McGonagall often exchanges correspondence with me regarding outstanding students. Your pre-Hogwarts achievements were mentioned, and they were, frankly, astonishing. Furthermore, your guardian, Lily, was one of the most brilliant Charms students I ever taught. While she has been discreet, she has consistently expressed her profound admiration for your intellect and capacity for magic in our conversations."
The revelation that his movements and capabilities were known and discussed by high-ranking faculty members sent a fresh wave of apprehension through Anduin. His attempt to maintain a low profile had been compromised before he even stepped onto the Hogwarts grounds.
"I apologize, Professor," Anduin said, offering a sincere apology this time. "I had no intention of being disrespectful or inattentive during your lecture. I understand the importance of fundamentals."
"You don't need to apologize for being advanced, Anduin," Flitwick responded, nodding briskly. "I accept your apology, but I must return to my question, and I want the unvarnished truth. What did you think of the lesson?"
"Your teaching quality is not in question," Anduin stated firmly, meeting the professor's gaze. "But to be entirely honest, the content felt significantly too simple. I had, through previous intense study, already mastered the core magical theory and most of the first-year curriculum spells before receiving my letter. I believe I have already achieved proficiency in nearly all the Charms scheduled for this year."
Professor Flitwick's eyes suddenly brightened, a genuine, excited glint of a dedicated teacher finding a truly rare student.
"Indeed! The moment you performed that silent spell, I realized your skill level was far superior to your cohort," Flitwick stroked his neatly trimmed white beard. "Which brings us to my initial observation. Do you know why I value your spellcasting so highly? Why it stands out, even when compared to the efforts of other bright students?"
Anduin pondered, considering a number of possibilities: precision, focus, or perhaps the sheer magical power he possessed. He settled on a humble response. "I assumed it was due to the resulting stability of the charm, sir."
"That is part of it," Flitwick agreed. "But the larger reason is this: You are not normal."
Anduin was momentarily stung. You're the abnormal one! Is demonstrating early competence a sign of abnormality? Is this professor deliberately trying to provoke me?
Flitwick anticipated his objection. "You misunderstand, Anduin. The word 'abnormal' in this context refers to a deviation from the standard magical development profile. And to explain why, I must briefly discuss how magic is tamed."
The Taming of Chaotic Magic
"Tell me, you went through a magical outburst, correct? Around the age of seven or so?" Flitwick asked.
Anduin nodded. He had certainly experienced an event of uncontrolled magic around that time, marking the definitive, terrifying confirmation of his nature.
"That moment, the first magical burst, is absolute proof of a wizard's potential. But what many fail to understand is that the surge of magic that occurs in late childhood—the phase we call Magical Adolescence—is not a controlled flow. It is chaotic, highly energetic, and profoundly volatile. Pure-blood families love to boast that their toddlers can move toys with a flick of a finger, but that is rarely true sustained magic; it's an uncontrolled, often fear-driven flicker. True, sustained magical potential begins its rapid acceleration around the age of eleven. This is why Hogwarts only admits you then."
Flitwick leaned closer, his expression serious. "The uncontrolled chaos of a young wizard's inherent magic is immensely difficult and dangerous to manage. Without guidance, the energy can surge outward, or worse, turn inward. Left unlearned and unguided, the growing magical core of a child can harm the wizard and those around them at any moment. Your formal journey of control and guidance began the moment you acquired your wand."
Anduin suddenly remembered the strange, initial dampening effect he had felt when first grasping his own ash and unicorn hair wand.
"The wand," Flitwick continued, tapping his own lightly, "is the most remarkable piece of magical engineering in our history. It is, first and foremost, a regulator and stabilizer. When a young wizard acquires their first wand, the chaotic, wild magic surging within their core is subtly affected. The wand acts as a magical circuit breaker, regulating the flow and reducing the danger of a catastrophic, uncontrolled spell release."
He paused, letting the significance sink in. "In the days before wands, casting even a simple spell was a highly perilous endeavor. Wizards would die simply from the uncontrolled backlash of their own power during incantation. The wand greatly reduces this danger, channeling and focusing the raw energy into a manageable stream."
"However, there is a fundamental trade-off," Flitwick said, his voice becoming conspiratorial. "Because the wand regulates and channels the magic, it also creates a subtle, but critical dulling effect. The young wizard relies on the wand's structure to perform the work, rather than manipulating the magic directly with their raw mind and will. This is a safety measure, but it slightly reduces the wizard's intrinsic magical sensitivity—the sheer, raw connection to the surrounding field of magic. Many young wizards can perform small, almost unconscious acts of wandless magic before school, but once they acquire the wand, those simple tricks become more difficult because the wand is now imposing order on the chaos."
Flitwick placed his hands together. "This is why your silent, effortless, and perfect Levitation Charm is so abnormal. To cast a charm without incantation and without a deliberate gesture requires bypassing the wand's dulling effect, and instead using pure, direct Intentionality and flawless core control. You are performing the work of a seasoned, exceptionally talented adult wizard, not a beginner. You are not only overcoming the chaos of your growing magical core, but you are performing a perfect spell while your wand—which is designed to take the easy way out—is essentially serving only as a pointer."
Flitwick's eyes twinkled with anticipation. "Tell me, Anduin, how much of your current skill is due to simple, hard study, and how much of it is due to an innate, intuitive ability to command the raw magical energy itself? And more importantly: Have you noticed the wand affecting your non-verbal, non-gesture spells?"
The question hung in the air, a direct challenge to Anduin's carefully constructed façade. The professor hadn't exposed him to shame; he had exposed him to opportunity, offering a mentor-ship that could potentially transcend the superficial curriculum and unlock true power—but at the cost of his absolute secrecy. Anduin realized this diminutive man held the key to the advanced understanding he craved.
"Professor," Anduin admitted, letting his shield drop for the first time. "It is mostly study, but yes, I have found that sometimes, when I focus, the need for the incantation just… drops away. The wand feels less like a tool of control, and more like a tool of precision. I hadn't realized the implications of the dampening effect you described."
"The implications are vast," Flitwick said, standing up. "It means your potential is perhaps the highest I have seen in decades. It means the core curriculum will be a disservice to you. But we must be careful. Such abnormality—such raw control—can attract the wrong kind of attention, particularly here in Slytherin."