"Thank you, Grey Lady."
Sean bowed his head slightly and thanked her sincerely.
Behind him, the other first-years had no idea what had just happened.
They only saw the ghost glide away, then the staircase shudder into position—
And like a rising tide, everyone surged forward.
"Sean, how did you do that?"
Michael's voice sounded beside him amid the buzz of chatter.
Anthony and Terry both leaned in, ears pricked.
"Hogwarts Castle was founded in the tenth century," Sean said calmly.
"The moving staircases were designed by Rowena Ravenclaw herself…"
At that point, all three of them understood.
In that kind of panic, though—who could calmly think of that?
And more importantly: asking a ghost for help?
Michael had always thought the prefect was joking when he'd said that.
"But how did you know the Grey Lady could actually affect the stairs?" Michael whispered.
"I didn't," Sean answered. "But trying something is better than doing nothing."
They still made it to the Charms classroom; the bell rang just as they slipped inside.
Every one of them sat down red-faced and breathless.
The Charms classroom's layout was unusual.
A narrow central aisle ran straight down the middle,
with four rows of linked desks fanning out on either side.
Sean slid into the nearest empty seat.
The girl beside him had her head buried in a book—Hermione.
No one else had sat next to her until Sean did.
Then Michael, Terry, and Anthony filled in the seats further along.
"You almost came in late," Hermione muttered from behind her book. Her voice was muffled but very clear.
Sean nodded and lifted his gaze towards the end of the aisle.
There, on a pile of books stacked into a makeshift platform,
stood the Charms professor—an incredibly small wizard: Professor Flitwick.
He'd just popped up from behind the front row when the whole class's attention snapped to him.
Everyone stared in curiosity at the tiny wizard, barely a metre tall,
with his fluff of white hair and a moustache that matched.
He turned, and quite literally climbed up the book stack step by step.
Several jaws hit the floor in unison.
Once he found his balance on the top, the room fell briefly silent—
and then erupted into giggles.
"Well, well, a bit of laughter never hurt anyone, did it?"
Professor Flitwick didn't seem bothered at all. He straightened his collar with a brisk little movement and said cheerfully:
"Charms are a skill every witch and wizard must learn.
If a wizard cannot cast a single spell, then what right do they have to call themselves a wizard?"
As he spoke, he flicked his wand.
Without a single audible incantation, the books beside him lifted off the desk and rose into the air.
They swayed and tumbled under the guidance of his wand:
For a moment they were the size of a desk,
the next moment no bigger than a fingernail.
With another small flourish, the books split and duplicated into dozens of copies,
and then—before anyone could blink—transformed into little scampering animals darting around the classroom.
Hermione stared as a rabbit hopped up onto the desk in front of her.
Then—bang.
All the animals burst into sprays of colourful sparks and vanished.
"Cool!"
"Wow!"
Exclamations of excitement and amazement burst out across the room.
Professor Flitwick smiled, clearly pleased.
Charms class began under that wave of excitement.
Just as Sean remembered, Professor Flitwick explained the theory behind charms in a simple, precise way.
Then he began teaching the easiest of all: the Wand-Lighting Charm.
"The key to Lumos is in the movement of your wrist—the pause must be firm…"
His voice carried clearly around the room.
Everyone threw themselves into practice.
Most of them managed to produce a result.
[You have practised Lumos once to an Introductory standard. Proficiency +3]
[You have practised Lumos once to an Introductory standard. Proficiency +3]
Light bloomed again and again at the tip of Sean's wand.
"I did it!"
After only three tries, a bright glow blossomed at the end of Michael's wand.
He turned around in excitement, just in time to see a glow flicker to life on Terry's wand as well.
As for Anthony—he'd clearly practised beforehand. He succeeded on the first try.
"…Right, fine."
Michael pouted and went looking for someone else to show off to.
"Sean?"
[You have practised Lumos once to an Introductory standard. Proficiency +3]
"Sean?"
[You have practised Lumos once to a Skilled standard. Proficiency +10]
"Sean? Didn't you hear me?"
Michael tilted his head and leaned closer, confused.
But Sean's mind was filled only with the echo of Professor Flitwick's earlier words:
"If you can't seem to produce any light at all, there is one thing you should try:
Imagine yourself standing in absolute darkness, aching for light—
ah, you must want the light, you must long for it…"
"Longing…"
Sean murmured.
He thought of the nights at the orphanage, when the electricity was turned off early.
There wasn't even a candle flame to break the darkness.
Back then, London still had criminals on the loose,
and the winter wind and snow would lash against the draughty windows,
making them rattle and crack.
Sean lay in a hospital bed. He wasn't afraid.
But the longing for light never left him.
"I have a wand now,"
he whispered.
"Lumos."
[You have practised Lumos once to a Master standard. Proficiency +300]
"Merlin's beard! Everyone, look at Mr Sean Green!"
Professor Flitwick practically launched himself off his book stack.
The entire classroom was bathed in a soft, steady glow.
The students held their breath and stared at the huge sphere of light—
at least ten times brighter and larger than usual—
and at the boy holding his wand aloft, his hair catching the glow like fine silver.
"A flawless Wand-Lighting Charm! Ten points to Ravenclaw!"
Professor Flitwick's voice rang out across the room.
"Sean, Sean, how did you do that? Teach me. I really want to learn that."
Michael chattered non-stop beside his ear.
"It's the emotion," Sean said seriously.
"Magic is something wizards are born with. Its strength depends on their emotions—and their mental strength."
"Emotion?"
Michael repeated thoughtfully.
Behind him, Anthony, Terry, and Hermione, who had all been quietly eavesdropping, wore the same look of dawning understanding.
While they were still lost in thought, Sean had already slipped out of the classroom and turned toward the Great Hall.
Justin, somehow, appeared at his side as if he had a built-in radar.
He always managed to find Sean.
Sean poked curiously at his plate: steak and kidney pudding.
He had no idea what kind of mindset British wizards were in when they invented that.
He ate slowly while thinking.
Magical Theory repeated the same point over and over: the importance of mental strength and emotion.
Lines like:
"When you have mastered a spell, to unleash its full power you must possess sufficient mental strength."
cropped up again and again.
Sean suspected mental strength was something like a composite—
part willpower, part clarity, part emotional state.
Willpower, he could understand.
Emotion, even more so.
Put together, they were likely the key to upgrading the so-called "I reckon" power.
The effect of emotion on magic was undeniable—
perhaps the most idealistic, irrational part of the whole system.
Molly Weasley, having lost one son and fighting to protect another,
enraged beyond measure by Fred's death, screamed:
"Not my daughter, you bitch!"
Her fury ignited five silent curses in a row, and in a single instant the duel turned—
Bellatrix Lestrange fell.
Or Harry, on the shore of the lake in the Forbidden Forest,
desperate to save Sirius Black's life.
He shouted:
"Ex–pec–to–Pa–tro–num!"
And in the next heartbeat, a powerful Patronus erupted forth,
driving away hundreds of Dementors.
Those examples made one thing obvious to Sean:
Emotion held terrifying weight in magic.
If the emotion for Lumos is longing,
then what about the emotion for Scourgify?
That thought lingered as Sean automatically said goodbye to Justin and headed toward the greenhouses.
…Wait. Justin?
Sean froze for half a second, then glanced back at him.
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