"Similarly, the act of correctly casting and reciting spells is critical," Professor Flitwick stated, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his brow. He looked genuinely drained from the intensity of the discussion. He waved his wand at a small crystal pitcher of water on his desk, and it drifted toward him.
"Proper wand technique and pronunciation are essentially training wheels for wizards with diminished natural sensitivity. You must understand that silent, wandless magic wasn't an advanced trick during the age before wands—it was simply the norm of how magic was accessed."
Flitwick cleared his throat, taking a long, grateful sip of the floating water. The air in the room, despite being a Charms classroom, felt charged with the academic excitement of a breakthrough.
"I see," Anduin murmured, his mind synthesizing the professor's lecture with his own isolated years of rigorous self-discipline. His brutal regimen—the daily drills, the controlled deprivation, the constant mental focus—had done more than just strengthen his overall magical power; it had refined his sensitivity to a degree he hadn't fully appreciated until now. His training had inadvertently bypassed the safety mechanisms of the natural magical development process.
"That's precisely it, Anduin," Flitwick confirmed, his voice regaining its chipper intensity.
"Look around today. Almost all young wizards struggle immensely to execute even simple spells. This is because the reliance on the wand—the great stabilizer—creates a 'perception gap.' They experience uncontrolled magic in their youth, proving their capability, but once they receive the wand, the magic no longer feels raw and intuitive; it feels channeled and foreign. They struggle to reconcile the two. This 'gap' can cause deep frustration, making them feel increasingly inept, which is doubly damaging because, as you know, emotions are a significant catalyst in spellcasting."
Flitfitck leaned back, settling into a professorial rhythm.
"While a very small percentage of skilled wizards can learn a new spell or two immediately after acquiring a wand, for the vast majority, magical ability is a gradual process. The amount of magical power, the control over that power, and the sensitivity to the ambient magical field all increase steadily until a wizard reaches their late twenties or early thirties.
He continued, "Therefore, learning and casting spells naturally becomes easier and simpler with age and maturity, assuming consistent practice. If a twelve-year-old can only use a handful of spells proficiently, that is entirely normal. But to say you have mastered all the first-year spells and can cast silent, non-verbal magic skillfully and consistently? That proves you are, by every metric of contemporary magical pedagogy, highly abnormal."
The word "abnormal" no longer sounded like an accusation; it sounded like an official academic title.
"So, Anduin," Flitwick said, his voice dropping to a tone of genuine plea, "can you explain this to an old man whose life is devoted to the art of Charms? Your knowledge is not just a personal secret; it is potentially groundbreaking information for academic research into the development and refinement of wizarding magic. I sincerely hope you can understand my professional curiosity."
He gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. "I know it is rude to casually inquire into others' private secrets, especially a student's, but my passion for Charms drives me to be shamelessly curious. Despite my years, I still possess a powerful thirst for the unknown."
Anduin looked at the tiny man, noting the sincerity in his eyes. Flitwick had offered far more than just a passing interest; he had provided critical context about the wand's dulling effect and the nature of magical chaos, clearing up years of Anduin's self-doubt and isolation. This was not the hostile curiosity of a rival; this was the genuine, academic curiosity of a scholar.
"Thank you, Professor Flitwick," Anduin replied, deciding to give the most crucial, true elements of his background, editing only the details of his precise methods. "The reason I can perform magic silently at such a young age may not be as complicated as you think. It actually has to do entirely with my childhood experiences and the lack of a magical safety net."
Professor Flitwick folded his hands, his attention riveted.
"As you know, I am an orphan," Anduin began, his voice soft, recalling the solitude of those early years. "My experiences required me to be independent and self-reliant very early. When I was about seven, I started noticing the magical disturbances you described. Sometimes, objects around me—a heavy book, a fork—would suddenly levitate, especially when I was angry or afraid."
Flitwick nodded slowly, confirming the typical onset of Magical Adolescence.
"I was terrified, initially. But I was deep in the Muggle world, and there was no one—no Professor McGonagall—to tell me what it was. I had no concept of 'magic.' I just thought I had what Muggles call a superpower, something that made me profoundly different and, potentially, dangerous."
"So, instead of reporting it, I kept it a complete secret and decided to study this unusual ability in detail. I realized I was truly different, and if I didn't control it, it would control me. I began to explore this extraordinary power within me. It was incredibly difficult at first—unpredictable, painful, and often humiliating. But my curiosity, and my absolute need for survival, fueled my patience."
Anduin allowed a rare, wry smile to cross his face. "When I think back, it's almost comical. I would stare at a single teacup on a shelf for hours every day after the matron was asleep, trying to mentally summon the power—the feeling—within me. I didn't even know the word 'magic' back then. I just knew I was trying to pull on an invisible thread attached to the world."
Professor Flitwick raised his eyebrows in astonished understanding, recognizing the sheer, unguided mental effort involved.
"Persistence paid off, eventually," Anduin continued. "I lost track of the hours I spent, but one day, the cup shuddered. I could faintly feel the magic—a dull thrum—and I made the cup move a fraction of an inch toward me. From that moment, my entire life became about remembering and replicating that specific feeling. I kept practicing, every day, often until exhaustion, until I received my letter to Hogwarts."
Anduin then performed the crucial, silent demonstration. He casually waved his hand—a gentle, almost dismissive gesture—at the professor's books on the desk. Without a wand, and without a single word, the three thick Charms tomes rose silently into the air and began orbiting each other slowly.
"Oh my God, this… this is silent, wandless magic!" Flitwick exclaimed, scrambling out of his chair to peer closely at the rotating books. His eyes were shining with the light of pure academic elation. "Anduin, you are not just a talented student; you are a living study in magical self-control."
"The practice didn't stop there," Anduin said, returning the books to the desk with another quiet mental command.
"Through those years, I became increasingly adept at releasing and directing that raw energy. I also invented my own exercises to deepen my control, which I now recognize were increasing my magical sensitivity. I would focus on holding objects in mid-air for increasing durations—what I call time delay training—and then attempt to manipulate objects of increasing density—a form of weight training for the magical core."
Anduin avoided mentioning the martial context, framing it instead as a solitary, physics-based magical exercise. "I believe this constant, rigorous, and unguided training strengthened my direct connection to magic far beyond what is typical, giving me the sensitivity you mentioned."
"When I finally received my letter and Professor McGonagall helped me acquire my first wand, I was, as you correctly guessed, immensely curious. I devoured every book I could find and taught myself the incantations and gestures for the foundational spells. But, as you pointed out, I felt a slight diminishment in my sensitivity initially."
"With the wand, casting spells—especially the Levitation Charm—became incredibly fluid and stable, almost too easy. However, when I would remove the wand or consciously block the incantation, I felt the familiar discomfort—the wand's regulating effect fighting my raw control. After months of integrating the wand into my practice, I found I could successfully override that dampening effect. I can now consistently levitate objects without the wand, relying entirely on the core control I developed in the Muggle world."
Anduin concluded with his final, crucial piece of selective truth. "However, I must be honest: this level of absolute, immediate control is currently only fully effective on the Levitation Charm. Other spells, while learned and usable with the wand, still require the verbal and gestural crutch. The Obstruction Charm is another one I feel the raw control for, but I'm still working on replicating the full first-year syllabus wandlessly."
Professor Flitwick simply stared, utterly lost in thought, stroking his beard rapidly. Anduin's testimony made perfect, elegant sense, providing a clear mechanism for his exceptional talent. There were no shortcuts, only years of solitary, disciplined hard work and dedication that had fundamentally altered his magical physiology. Flitwick felt an overwhelming sense of admiration for the young wizard.
"Ah, Anduin," Flitwick finally sighed, his eyes turning melancholic. "You were not merely born to be a Ravenclaw student; you are the very definition of one—wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. You used logic, curiosity, and sheer perseverance to solve the riddle of your own magic, a task that has stumped generations of adult wizards."
He shook his head in genuine regret. "How on earth did that absurd, old Sorting Hat choose you for Slytherin? I confess, the Hat's judgment often seems wildly… eccentric."
Anduin muttered under his breath, leaning down to pick up his backpack. "That awful hat is so unimportant, Professor. All that matters is the result."
The result, Anduin thought, is that I am exactly where I need to be to cultivate the power Flitwick just confirmed. He was not a Ravenclaw seeking knowledge for its own sake; he was a Slytherin seeking knowledge as a weapon. And with Flitwick's mentorship, that weapon was about to be sharpened.