February rolled in, and on the first Saturday of the new month, Charlie made his way up to the eighth floor that afternoon. He knocked lightly on Professor Flitwick's office door.
Just like during his duel with Gemma Farley, he'd gotten pretty comfortable slinging the water-gun version of Aguamenti and chucking fireballs around. Not perfect yet, but he'd figured out the practice rhythm that actually worked for him.
Last week he'd tried dropping by, but the professor hadn't been in. Professors always had more work than hours in the day—lesson plans, grading, school business. Not every knock got an answer. That was normal.
Knock knock.
"Ah, Charlie." The door had barely cracked open before Flitwick's voice came through.
Charlie pushed inside. The professor was already smiling as he came around his desk. Today he wore a small, comfortable robe that dragged along the floor. He usually dressed properly for classes, but this was clearly a day off—casual, relaxed. More like a day stuck at school.
"I thought you'd come later."
"I'm always impatient," Charlie said with a smile.
"I like that answer. Before we start today's lesson, though, I want to hear your thoughts on that duel from last time."
"Last duel?" Charlie's mind spun for a second. The last time he'd actually traded spells with Flitwick was during the Impediment Jinx drills—getting pelted with random objects. Unless the professor meant—
"Professor, you know about it?"
"Odd question. Doesn't sound like the sharp kid I know." Flitwick rested his hands on his hips and gave a short laugh. "How could I not know? One of my first-years took down a Slytherin fifth-year prefect in front of half the school."
Charlie dropped his head, embarrassed. He still remembered the note Flitwick had written inside the second-year spellbook he'd given him.
Seeing that reaction, a flicker of satisfaction crossed the professor's face. "Yes. Exactly what you're thinking. I'm not pleased about it.
The one thing that did make me happy was watching you turn down all the attention and praise in the Great Hall that night."
Charlie sucked in a breath. "Professor, you really do know everything."
Flitwick nodded once, not pressing further.
In truth, he knew the whole story—cause, effect, and every spell Charlie had used. He'd gone to the fifth-floor corridor that same night and used a small charm to watch the whole thing unfold. He'd needed to know one thing: who started it. If Charlie had been the aggressor, this door would've stayed shut.
"All right, no need to look so nervous. I'm not here to hold you accountable. I'm just curious—after your first real fight, did anything stick with you?"
Charlie let out a slow breath and thought for a moment.
"Too—"
"Difficult?"
Flitwick barely finished before Charlie shook his head.
"Boring."
"Boring?!"
"Yeah." Charlie met the professor's confused stare and didn't back down. "I thought it would be some life-or-death struggle. But my opponent had zero dueling sense.
On the surface it looked like I pulled off some big victory worth cheering for. Really, though? She was just swinging a sharp knife with her eyes closed. And I was a kid holding a dagger.
There wasn't much difference between us. Our weapons looked different in size, but either one could kill. I just didn't have my eyes closed. That's all."
Maybe Flitwick wanted some grand lesson about what he'd learned. Charlie didn't have one. He hadn't walked away with any big realizations or sudden wisdom. If anything, the only takeaway was that the other side had been… really bad. And that kind of negative lesson wasn't worth much.
Professor Flitwick nodded, accepting the answer for now. "Charlie, you're not as honest as you like to pretend.
Maybe you don't even realize it, but you're lying to yourself.
You're working awfully hard to hide your warlike side, aren't you?
Too bad. Someone who truly hated fighting wouldn't call it 'boring.'"
Charlie straightened up, then gave a helpless nod.
"Maybe."
Flitwick didn't push any deeper. For him, it was enough that Charlie could admit he had that side at all.
"See yourself clearly and you can control yourself. Lie to yourself and you'll just get lost.
Good. Let's start the lesson.
During the duel I saw you use the Engorgement Charm to swell up your fist. Interesting trick. Looks like you've already got some experience with that spell.
Any questions about it now?"
"Of course, Professor. I still don't fully understand the difference when it hits living things versus objects."
When the Engorgement Charm hit an object, it increased the actual mass. But when it hit something alive, Charlie had felt more like the spell's name—engorgement. Swelling. After he'd enlarged his fist, it hadn't felt heavy as stone. He'd still been able to move it freely and drive it straight into Gemma Farley's face.
"Good question." Flitwick nodded and launched into the lesson.
That evening Charlie dragged himself back to the dormitory, completely wiped. Anthony and Hector weren't there—they were probably still chatting with everyone in the common room.
He was exhausted. That afternoon, on top of the theory, Flitwick had drilled him on actual dueling form. Which naturally meant they'd been trading real spells the whole time.
Charlie could feel the shift. Back when they were practicing the Impediment Jinx, the professor had been willing to let him "get hurt." But after Charlie admitted he was at least half a fighter at heart, Flitwick had started loosening up. This kind of private lesson was pretty far outside the rules—what teacher lets a student get beaten bloody during practice? He'd have to be careful not to get reported to the Ministry.
Still… if this kept going, maybe he'd actually learn some real high-level magic.
In the dorm, Alice was perched on the windowsill, carefully sniffing at the flowerpot Anthony had brought in a couple days ago—the one that had been slowly dying.
Charlie opened his system panel. His Wish Dust was sitting at nearly thirty points. "All right, little guy. Let's see if this pile's enough to level you up."
He pulled up the specialization screen and looked at Alice. The little rabbit's colors were a shade richer, but still not quite enough to specialize.
Right next to her, though, that dying plant was glowing with a bright, pulsing blue outline. Charlie glanced at it without much interest—he wasn't even planning to burn Wish Dust on spells he already knew, so why would he care about some random plant?
But the blue highlight around the flowerpot was steadily pulsing.
Just like…
For some reason, two words surfaced in his mind.
Breathing.
A heartbeat.