Chapter 16: Time Waits for No One

“What?” Michael stared, utterly bewildered.

Hogwarts’ academic program spanned seven years. But if a student failed to pass even one Ordinary Wizarding Level (OWL) exam, they’d be required to leave after their Fifth Year. Michael couldn’t understand why Wade would ask such a basic question—something every student knew.

“Seven years,” Wade said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “A year has only fifty-two weeks. Subtract summer and Christmas holidays, and we’re left with about thirty-eight weeks per year. Seven years—just 266 weeks!”

“Uh…” Michael paused, thinking. “That’s true… but so what?”

“So… even if I could master a book every single week, in seven years I’d only read 266 books. But how many books are in the Hogwarts Library? Thousands! It’s like stepping into a treasure vault overflowing with gold—open to you, freely available—but you walk in, take a quick look, and leave with only a small sack of Galleons. Isn’t that a waste?”

Michael felt the logic hit him like a spell. A sudden, sharp sense of urgency—time is slipping away—poured into his chest.

“And think about this,” Wade continued. “We only have these seven years—266 weeks—when we can be in the safest place in the world, learning from the greatest wizards alive. McGonagall teaches Transfiguration—she’s one of only seven known Animagi in the 20th century. Flitwick, the dueling champion, teaches Charms. Snape, the Potion Master, teaches Potions. Sure, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor isn’t the best… but where else can you find such an environment? After graduation, when you face a complex spell or a potion mystery, who will guide you so selflessly, hand over hand? When you want to learn a powerful spell and have no way to begin—will you wait until it’s too late to miss Hogwarts’ Library?”

Not just Michael. Around him, a ring of students who had quietly gathered, now nodded in silent agreement.

“So, Michael,” Wade said, voice low and serious, “do you still think it’s enough to spend one-seventh of our time here, studying just eight books?”

Michael, now thoroughly convinced by Wade’s argument, shook his head fiercely. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. The thought of the two weeks he’d already wasted gnawed at him, sparking frustration.

Without another word, he stopped chatting with the girls. He pulled his book—the one he’d tossed into the corner—back onto his lap: Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration.

For a moment, the Ravenclaw Common Room fell into perfect stillness. Only the soft rustle of pages turning and the scratch of feather quills on parchment broke the silence.

Two Fifth Years, rushing back just before Curfew, nearly tripped over their own feet when they saw the scene. They froze, hearts pounding, convinced Professor Snape had invaded the Common Room. They dared not breathe, tiptoeing back to their dormitory like ghosts.

…

Dinner in the Great Hall.

“Something’s off, Fred.”

“Totally off, George.”

The redheaded twins exchanged a glance. In unison, they reached out and seized a passing Ravenclaw student, pinning him down on their long table before he could scream.

“What in Merlin’s name are you two doing, Weasley?” the Ravenclaw boy snapped, annoyed. “I don’t have time for your pranks.”

“Huh?” Ron looked up from his chicken leg, dazed.

“Not your problem, little Ronnie!” Fred shoved his brother’s head back down. The twins locked arms around the Ravenclaw’s neck, one on each side.

“Roger Davis,” Fred said, “what’s going on with Ravenclaw lately?”

“Reading books during meals—”

“Walking around with books in hand—”

“Not a single Ravenclaw in the courtyard at lunch—”

“Quidditch practice? Not half as energetic as before—”

“And weekends? No dates at all!”

“You weren’t this bookish before, man.”

“Seriously—did Snape sneak some kind of potion into your food?”

“Like… a Love Potion called Passion for Study?”

Roger Davis shuddered at the image of Snape brewing something pink and sweet. “Don’t be ridiculous! Snape wouldn’t make a Love Potion—no, I mean, there is no such thing—no, we just… suddenly realized—life is short. And the time we have to learn? Even shorter.”

“Huh?” The twins stared, utterly lost.

Roger took a deep breath, looked them dead in the eye.

“Fred, George… do you know how long we’ll actually be at Hogwarts?”

Fred reached out and touched his forehead.

“I’m not feverish!” Roger slapped his hand away. Then he launched into a full explanation—266 weeks, tens of thousands of books, missing the treasure of knowledge like a fool who walks into a vault and walks out empty-handed.

When he finished, Roger picked up his book and walked back to the Ravenclaw table to eat.

The twins stared at each other. Even Harry and Ron, who had been obliviously shoveling food, paused mid-bite.

The quiet spark of academic ambition began to spread through Hogwarts.

Of course, most students only lasted a few days. Ron, for example, finished his History of Magic essay and immediately returned to his enchanted Wizard’s Chess set. The twins, for their part, kept up their pranks and magic tricks—though now, they occasionally paused to glance at a book.

But a few were truly changed.

Michael was one of them—someone who only studied in bursts. Bright but lazy, he’d be inspired by Wade for a while, then drift off to play magic tricks with paper figures or chat with pretty girls about music and fashion.

In the Practice Room, Wade, Hermione, Theo, and Liam were usually the only ones present.

Sometimes, Professor Sprout would pop in—probably worried they were doing something dangerous.

But after seeing the room’s setup and the students’ progress, she was overjoyed. She awarded five House points to each of them, praised their dedication, and offered to answer questions anytime she wasn’t teaching. She said she’d always be happy to help.

Professor Sprout was, without a doubt, one of the kindest witches at Hogwarts. She never favored one House over another, only showing extra warmth to those with a natural talent for Herbology.

Soon after, she recommended a Gryffindor student to join their study group: Neville Longbottom.

The round-faced boy was gentle and earnest. He struggled with magic—his spells were the slowest in class—but he never gave up. He worked hard, stayed quiet, and quickly became a valued part of their little circle.

On a quiet Saturday night, a notice pinned to the Common Room bulletin board sent a wave of excitement through all the First Years:

Starting next week, you’ll be learning to fly.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end