Late the following afternoon, Adrian pushed open the door to an unused classroom on the third floor.
Hermione Granger was already inside.
She had taken over the professor’s desk, laid out three different reference books, and filled half the blackboard with dates, names, and structured headings.
She had cornered Adrian outside the Great Hall after lunch, informing him that unless he began taking History of Magic seriously, his first essay would look like it had been written by someone who attended only the first and final minutes of the lecture.
Susan accompanied him with her own books tucked beneath one arm.
She had assignments to finish, and she expected Adrian and Hermione to spend more time arguing than studying if nobody else was present.
“Sit,” Hermione ordered, pointing her quill at a desk.
“We are starting with the 1612 Goblin Rebellion.” Hermione began testing him immediately.
Adrian knew the broad shape of the conflict.
He knew that goblins had repeatedly rebelled, that the Ministry of Magic had treated them unfairly, and that wand ownership remained one of the largest conflicts between wizards and goblins.
But when Hermione pressed him for details, the illusion of his competence shattered.
He did not know the exact date the strike began, he could not name the Minister for Magic involved, he had no idea what the specific tax was called, and he completely failed to recite the textbook’s preferred explanation.
“You know just enough to sound informed,” Hermione said flatly, “and not nearly enough to actually pass the assignment.” “That was also the foundation of several highly successful careers back home,” Adrian pointed out.
Susan opened her inkwell.
“That joke will not fill twelve inches of parchment, Adrian.” It was a fair point.
For the next hour, Adrian submitted to Hermione’s historical drilling and filled several embarrassing gaps in his essay outline.
When Hermione was satisfied that his essay wouldn’t be an embarrassment, she moved them on to Charms.
She lined up several objects on the desks: feathers, empty ink bottles, a small wooden box, and a tightly rolled piece of parchment.
Hermione demonstrated first.
Her feather rose cleanly, followed by the empty ink bottle.
The bottle trembled near the top of its ascent, but she lowered it without dropping it.
Susan managed the feather and rolled parchment.
Her attempt with the ink bottle lifted one side before scraping it across the desk.
Adrian raised the feather easily.
The ink bottle wobbled several inches above the wood before landing on its side.
When he attempted the wooden box, one edge scraped across the desk, but the box refused to rise.
Hermione corrected the angle of his wrist and made him repeat the movement.
On his next attempt, one corner of the box lifted before the entire thing slipped from the desk and rolled beneath the cabinet.
Hermione sighed and lowered her wand.
“Retrieve it so we can continue.” Instead of kneeling on the dusty stone floor, Adrian pointed his ash wand at the shadows beneath the cabinet.
He didn’t speak an incantation.
He focused his intent and pulled.
The wooden box jerked out from beneath the cabinet, scraped rapidly across the floor, and jumped toward his hand.
Adrian caught it against his palm, though the impact nearly knocked it from his fingers.
Hermione stopped speaking.
She stared at the box in his hand, and then looked at his wand.
“Which spell did you just use?” she asked.
“It’s just a basic pulling spell,” Adrian said casually, setting the box back on the desk.
“I learned it before Hogwarts.” “You did not speak an incantation,” Hermione said, stepping closer.
“The object moved directly toward you instead of floating, and your wand movement was nothing like the Levitation Charm.
It did not behave like the descriptions I have read of the Summoning Charm either.” “I was taught to use it without a spoken incantation,” Adrian admitted, “It only works on small, nearby objects.
It becomes completely unreliable with heavier targets, and I don’t know its formal magical classification.” Hermione pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward her.
“Demonstrate it again.” For the next ten minutes, Hermione tested the spell against every safe object she could reach.
When Adrian targeted a stray feather, it flew at him so quickly he had to dodge.
When he targeted the ink bottle, it slid correctly across the wood.
When he tried it on a heavy textbook, the book merely jerked a few inches and stopped.
When Hermione instructed him to pull a wooden chair, it didn’t even vibrate.
Finally, he aimed his wand at Susan’s quill.
Susan calmly reached out and caught the quill before it could leave her fingers.
“Do not steal working equipment,” she told him.
Hermione’s quill raced across the parchment.
Small objects only.
Direct movement toward the caster.
No sustained floating.
Weight and distance both affect the result.
She underlined the final observation twice and added a question mark beside the lack of a spoken incantation.
She looked up.
“Where exactly did you learn this?” “An unusual private source before I came to Hogwarts,” Adrian answered.
“I do not have a textbook for it.” Hermione stared at him.
“That explanation contains almost no useful information.” “Then it accurately represents how much useful information I possess.” Hermione clearly did not believe him, but the classroom door creaked open before she could continue.
The door to the classroom creaked open, interrupting the interrogation.
Neville Longbottom stood in the doorway, holding a thick Herbology text.
“Sorry,” Neville said.
“I just came to return the book Susan lent me.” “Come in, Neville,” Hermione said.
She glanced at her notes.
“Since you’re here, why does the snapping-vine root require a temperature drop before pruning?” Neville stepped fully into the room.
“Actually, the textbook simplifies that a bit.
Cooling the air isn’t enough.
The soil around the roots has to become cold so the plant pulls its sap away from the outer roots before they are cut.
If you only cool the leaves, it still snaps.” Hermione paused.
She grabbed her textbook, flipped to the index, and checked the secondary reading.
Neville was entirely correct.
Adrian simply listened, absorbing the information.
Neville shifted his weight hesitantly.
“Are you…
practicing Charms?
Would it be alright if I stayed?
I’m having trouble with the wrist movement.” “Of course,” Hermione agreed, before Adrian could even make a joke.
Hermione pulled another chair toward the table and placed a feather in front of Neville.
By the time the castle clock struck six, Neville had completed three controlled lifts, Adrian had repaired most of his History outline, and Susan had found two mistakes in the Potions sequence Hermione had written from memory.
Hermione corrected both errors without complaint, though Susan looked pleased for the rest of the session.
As they began packing up, Susan leaned over the table and glanced at Hermione’s parchment.
“You have written more about his hand movement than Professor Binns’s lecture,” Susan noted.
Hermione flushed.
“This is academically relevant.” “Of course it is,” Susan agreed smoothly.
**** At dinner that evening, an enchanted paper bird flew across the Great Hall and landed beside Adrian’s plate.
Susan leaned closer as he unfolded it.
Saturday.
Kitchens.
We invented toast that gives truthful compliments.
One batch has started revealing private thoughts instead.
Bring Appraisal before breakfast becomes a diplomatic incident.
—F&G Hermione had stopped beside the Hufflepuff table on her way back from speaking with Susan.
Her eyes caught on one word before Adrian could fold the note.
“What is Appraisal?” Adrian folded the paper bird.
“A practical subject.” “That is not a Hogwarts subject.” “It may be after Saturday.” Susan closed the Potions book she had brought to dinner.
“This is why studying with him will never be peaceful.” Somewhere beneath the Great Hall sat a batch of toast capable of announcing private thoughts aloud.
Adrian folded the note.
He would be in the kitchens on Saturday—before Fred and George accidentally served Hogwarts its own secrets for breakfast.