Magic, people often said, depended more on talent than effort.
Wizards explained the Levitation Charm as nothing more than: say the incantation, and give your wrist a swish and a flick.
Any further explanation blurred into vagueness—like the bubbling of a cauldron, indistinct yet always present.
Even Professor Flitwick never taught more than clear pronunciation and that endlessly repeated instruction: swish and flick.
After memorizing Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, Sean still found no deeper guidance.
He had reason to suspect that charms worked on ancient principles—more like craft handed down through experience than a precisely understood science.
And when something relied on experience, precision inevitably slipped away.
How far should one's arm swing?
How much should the wrist flick?
No book answered. Wizards simply relied on "talent."
And, Sean suspected, those born gifted never faced these problems at all.
They simply succeeded.
Which led to the problem:
Gifted students felt no difficulty,
and those without talent were trapped trying to solve a problem they could not even see—
forced to rely on trial and error, wasting enormous time.
The issue was identical to the one Sean faced when brewing potions:
something essential remained unspoken, buried beneath assumptions and tradition.
Magic might not be science, but proficiency did increase—and that proved something:
There must exist a clearer way to perform magic.
"Yes, your arm should move a little wider—like this.
And the pronunciation: the stress falls on the g in Wingardium,
and the di must also be emphasized…"
Inside the hidden room, a lantern cast warm light across the dusty space.
Sean instructed Justin carefully, giving every bit of understanding he had of the Levitation Charm.
And when Justin followed every detail precisely—
The feather that had never stayed afloat longer than five seconds suddenly drifted gently for ten full seconds.
"Merlin's beard—Sean, we did it!"
Justin's voice burst out in excitement as he watched the feather descend.
"Sean, it's all thanks to you. Really—thank you."
Sean nodded, acknowledging it with quiet ease.
"I think the swing could be even broader… but—does Le still take stress after di?"
Hermione had been half-hidden behind her book for quite a while.
She spoke suddenly, voice clipped with her usual pride,
though both boys ignored that part effortlessly.
"Yes. Stronger, I think. As for the swing—worth trying. But—"
Sean glanced at the feather, about to say that his magic hadn't fully recovered—
But before he could finish, Justin had already raised his wand and cast.
Hufflepuffs were this attentive?
Sean blinked.
All three stared upward as the feather trembled—floated—wavered—and remained suspended for fifteen whole seconds.
The moment it sank, Justin gasped loudly.
"Wow! Hermione, your guess was completely right!"
Hermione's cheeks warmed a delicate pink, clearly delighted by the praise.
The three became absorbed in experiment after experiment,
each adjustment followed by excited comparisons.
When Sean's magic finally returned, he continued practicing until he reached Skilled level—only to drain his magic dry once more.
Time slipped past like sand between fingers.
The lanternlight swayed gently as the three left the room.
Sean was satisfied—he had gained 45 proficiency points.
Hermione was satisfied—her sharp ideas finally had a partner who could match and expand them, and a tireless test subject in Justin.
Justin was satisfied—he felt he had discovered a new continent.
Night had swallowed Hogwarts.
At the end of the third-floor corridor, the wall flickered and shifted,
revealing once again the cracked oil painting—
the snow-white owl in velvet waistcoat and pince-nez.
At that moment it was fussing irritably,
struggling with a feathered claw to push up its crooked spectacles.
"Pesky little wizards! Annoying pests!"
It screeched after Justin and Hermione disappeared around the bend.
But when Sean passed, it abruptly fell quiet.
Then muttered, very softly:
"Clever little wizard…"
While waiting for the staircase to settle into place, Hermione's voice rose over the grinding stone:
"I think we'll need to keep using that room. We should tell a professor—
Professor Flitwick will definitely approve us practicing charms there."
"You think of everything—typical Hermione!" Justin said admiringly.
Her cheeks flushed again.
She glanced at Sean, and when he nodded, she hurried off into the corridor, disappearing beyond the turning stairwell.
Only Sean and Justin remained, walking through the warm glow of torches.
"Sean," Justin said quietly, "you didn't even eat Yorkshire pudding tonight.
Was the potion brewing… not going well?"
Sean froze for a second—
How had Justin linked those two so quickly?
Then he nodded slightly.
"Was it Professor Snape? I've heard he never allows first-years to brew unsupervised.
But higher-year Slytherins do it all the time and he never complains…
I don't think you failed, so—do you want help?"
Justin's voice softened.
"Snape's terrifying, yes, but—I can go to his office with you. I've got the courage."
Sean turned, stunned into silence.
In the Hufflepuff's eyes shone a quiet, steady light—kind, determined.
"Remember? We're friends.
And if you were in trouble, and I didn't reach out my hand—
what kind of friend would I be?"
Later that night, pale blue curtains swayed gently in the dormitory breeze.
The fireplace crackled with comforting warmth.
Sean replayed Justin's final words:
'Even if I'm scared, I'll force myself to go.
The prefect says there's no school rule against students brewing potions.'
Ravenclaws had only one Herbology class on Fridays.
Sean would have a full day to wait for Snape to leave the dungeons.
He gazed at the moonlit window, thoughts churning.
Hogwarts, a thousand years old.
Hufflepuff, warm and steadfast.
The witches and wizards raised here were alive—
not always brilliant, not always memorable,
but, as Helga Hufflepuff had said:
Hard work, loyalty, patience, and kindness are greatness too.
Sean felt something complicated but warm stir inside him.
Advanced Potion-Making lay open on the windowsill,
its pages rustling softly like breath.
In his mind rose Justin's earnest handwriting:
The prefect says Hufflepuffs are loyal and trustworthy.
We never pick fights, but we're not pushovers either.
Like the badger, we protect ourselves and our friends
from everyone who means us harm.
Nothing scares us.
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