The bell rang, bringing the first Charms lesson to an end.
Thanks to Alvin’s performance, Professor Flitwick awarded Ravenclaw ten points, earning him more than a few appreciative looks from his Housemates as the students filed out of the classroom.
Alvin, however, remained in his seat.
There was something he wanted to ask.
Once the room had emptied, Flitwick noticed him lingering behind.
“Mr.
Gaunt?” The professor tilted his head curiously.
“Is there something you need?” “Yes, Professor.” Alvin stood.
“I have a few questions about magic I’d like to ask, if you have the time.” Flitwick’s eyes brightened immediately.
“Of course.” “Come with me.” “Let’s talk in my office.” A few minutes later, Alvin stepped into Professor Flitwick’s office.
His first impression was simple: Books.
Books everywhere.
Towering bookshelves covered every wall, and every shelf was packed to overflowing.
Charms theory.
Spellcraft.
Magical history.
Dueling manuals.
Advanced magical research.
Some volumes looked ancient enough to predate Hogwarts itself.
Many appeared to be rare texts unavailable to the public.
For anyone interested in magic, the room was paradise.
Flitwick climbed into his chair and gestured toward the seat opposite him.
“Please.” Alvin sat down.
“Would you like some tea?” “Yes, thank you.” “Black tea.
No sugar.” Flitwick looked mildly surprised.
“A fine choice.” Alvin resisted the urge to explain his continuing confusion regarding Britain’s apparent desire to put sugar into everything.
A wave of Flitwick’s wand summoned an elegant tea set.
The teapot floated gracefully into the air.
Tea poured itself into two cups.
Not a single drop spilled.
Alvin watched the display with admiration.
“Beautiful use of a Levitation Charm, Professor.” Flitwick chuckled.
“Thank you.” He took a sip before setting down his cup.
“Now then.” “What would you like to discuss?” Alvin gathered his thoughts.
“Professor, I believe I have some talent for Charms.” Flitwick’s eyebrows rose.
That was a severe understatement if ever there was one.
“Before arriving at Hogwarts, I worked through most of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.” “Learning the spells wasn’t particularly difficult.” “My problem began when I tried to move beyond that.” “Specifically?” “Nonverbal Casting.” “And Wandless Magic.” Alvin frowned.
“Nonverbal spells occasionally work.” “But Wandless Magic hasn’t succeeded even once.” Everything he said was true.
Thanks to the Magic Card System and his own efforts, he had already learned a surprising number of spells.
Yet whenever he attempted Wandless Magic, absolutely nothing happened.
Flitwick leaned forward with obvious interest.
“Would you mind demonstrating your current abilities?” Alvin nodded.
He raised his wand.
The teapot lifted smoothly from the table.
It floated across the room.
Poured fresh tea into Flitwick’s cup.
Returned to its original position.
Then vanished.
A moment later, Alvin reversed the spell and restored it.
Silence followed.
Then— Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Flitwick applauded enthusiastically.
“Wonderful!” “Absolutely wonderful!” His face practically glowed.
“Mr.
Gaunt, if you had demonstrated that during class, I would have awarded twenty points.” He paused.
“Actually, fifty.” “Ravenclaw hasn’t produced a first-year with your level of talent in quite some time.” To Alvin’s alarm, Flitwick appeared suspiciously close to tears again.
The professor dabbed at the corner of his eye with a handkerchief.
Alvin was beginning to suspect that Charms professors simply became emotional whenever students displayed basic competence.
Eventually, Flitwick calmed down.
He folded his hands and sat quietly for several minutes.
Then he looked up.
“Mr.
Gaunt.” “Why do you think wizards use incantations and wands?” The question caught Alvin off guard.
He considered it carefully.
After several moments, he answered, “I think spoken incantations help focus a wizard’s attention.” “The wand and its movements help direct magical energy.” “When concentration, magical power, and intent align, the spell manifests.” Flitwick smiled.
“An excellent answer.” “In fact, your understanding is already approaching O.W.L.
level.” Alvin straightened slightly.
Praise from Flitwick carried considerable weight.
“However,” the professor continued, “you’ve overlooked something.” “Something most witches and wizards never consciously think about.” He tapped the side of his head.
“Will.” Alvin blinked.
“Will?” “Exactly.” Flitwick nodded.
“When a wizard casts a spell, they are not merely speaking words.” “They are imposing their will upon reality.” His voice grew more thoughtful.
“Magic exists because we believe something should happen.” “A spell is simply the method through which that belief takes form.” He took another sip of tea.
“When you cast verbally, the incantation helps focus and reinforce your will.” “When you remove the words, that support disappears.” “So Nonverbal Casting requires a stronger projection of intent.” “A clearer expression of what you want reality to become.” Flitwick smiled.
“Once you understand that, Nonverbal Casting becomes much easier.” “Though, generally speaking, verbal spells remain slightly stronger.” Alvin fell silent.
The explanation resonated with him.
Far more than any purely mechanical description of spellcasting.
Magic wasn’t merely technique.
It was conviction.
For several minutes, he sat deep in thought.
Flitwick patiently enjoyed his tea.
Eventually, Alvin drew his wand.
Without speaking, he pointed it toward a nearby quill.
The feather quill trembled.
Then it rose into the air.
It hovered for several seconds before gradually drifting back down as his concentration weakened.
A grin spread across Flitwick’s face.
“Congratulations, Mr.
Gaunt.” “It appears you’ve found the path forward.” Alvin looked down at the quill.
Then back at the professor.
The breakthrough felt surprisingly natural.
As though a missing piece had finally clicked into place.
“Thank you, Professor.” “I wouldn’t have figured it out this quickly without your help.” “Nonsense.” Flitwick waved away the compliment.
“A teacher can only point toward the door.” “You walked through it yourself.” The professor looked genuinely pleased.
In truth, he was already imagining future House Cup standings.
Slytherin had dominated for years.
Ravenclaw students were brilliant, but rarely competitive.
Most cared more about learning than collecting points.
Flitwick, however, was still a Head of House.
And Alvin represented possibility.
A very exciting possibility.
“Professor,” Alvin asked, “if Nonverbal Casting requires stronger will, does Wandless Magic require even more?” “Among other things.” Flitwick nodded.
“Wandless Casting demands both extraordinary control and a deeper understanding of magic itself.” His expression grew thoughtful.
“Which is why I strongly recommend Ancient Runes once you reach third year.” Alvin’s eyes sharpened.
Ancient Runes.
Interesting.
“Ancient magical theory often reveals patterns hidden beneath modern spellcasting.” “It won’t immediately teach Wandless Magic.” “But it will help you understand magic on a deeper level.” Flitwick smiled knowingly.
“For now, however, those subjects are a little advanced.” The hint could not have been more obvious if it had arrived engraved on a billboard.
Alvin understood immediately.
There were books.
Books he wasn’t officially supposed to be reading yet.
Books that might become available to exceptionally talented students who impressed their professors.
“I understand.” He rose from his chair.
“Thank you for your guidance today, Professor.” “My pleasure.” Flitwick’s smile widened.
“Never hesitate to ask questions, Mr.
Gaunt.” “You have the makings of an exceptional wizard.” Alvin thanked him once more before leaving the office.
As he walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, his thoughts lingered on a single phrase.
Imposing your will upon reality.
For the first time, he felt as though he had touched the true nature of magic.
And he suspected this was only the beginning.