Chapter 38: Learning, Understanding, Mastery
Since accidentally eavesdropping on Quirrell’s conversation with the locket-embodied Voldemort, Wade had stopped venturing into remote, deserted corners of the castle. When he wasn’t in class, he spent most of his time in the Umbrella Room. Fortunately, Michael’s obsession with Quidditch had finally cooled—likely because Ravenclaw had lost to Hufflepuff, and two students had been injured, making the sport seem less thrilling than before.
During the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Wade kept a close eye on Quirrell. As usual, the professor was the same timid, nervous figure he’d always been—fidgeting, stammering, eyes darting nervously. When a mischievous student asked about the incident where Quirrell had fallen off the stand, he flinched and mumbled, “I—I didn’t notice—maybe—maybe someone pushed me—”
The students exchanged skeptical glances. Who in their right mind would prank a professor? They all assumed Quirrell had simply lost his balance from excitement—but no one dared admit it.
Of course, no one suspected Wade. In their eyes, he was the model Ravenclaw student: respectful, diligent, never causing trouble. He was the kind of student teachers praised quietly and parents envied.
After class, Padma quickly packed up her backpack and dashed over, eyes sparkling. “Going to the Umbrella Room to work on our assignments?”
Quirrell’s teaching was lackluster, but his assignment-making skills were nearing Professor Snape’s level—each essay demanded over a foot of parchment. Even Ravenclaw students groaned in frustration.
Yet after spending time in the Umbrella Room, Padma seemed to have cracked the code. She even began enjoying the process. Perhaps it was the thrill of finishing her work in record time, then watching classmates panic over unfinished essays, their faces twisted in despair—her sense of superiority was intoxicating.
Wade had seen her do it more than once in the Great Hall, cornering others with cheerful smugness:
“Still got a lot left?”
“Wait—that much? I finished mine in forty minutes yesterday. It wasn’t even hard. How haven’t you even started? Did you miss class?”
After a few such encounters, people stopped talking to her. Now she stuck close to her sister. But judging by her sister’s expression, she was only tolerating Padma’s bragging because she wanted to borrow her essays for “reference.”
Wade almost said something—urging Padma to stop showing off so blatantly. But Michael, watching Padma’s radiant smile from across the long table, just chuckled and said, “Don’t you think she’s kind of… adorable? Like she’s literally screaming, ‘Aren’t I amazing?’ ‘Look at me, please!’” He laughed. “So dumb and so clever—like a kid playing dress-up.”
…Alright, fine.
Wade swallowed his words. Maybe he was just too old, too serious. Maybe he didn’t understand the charm of childish confidence. Maybe he was the one out of touch.
Padma was practically bouncing with excitement at the thought of heading to the Umbrella Room. But behind her, Michael shot Wade a quick, knowing wink.
Wade glanced back, then turned his attention forward. “You two go ahead. I’ve got something to ask Professor Flitwick.”
Michael’s face lit up. He gave a big thumbs-up and bent his index and middle fingers twice—grateful.
Padma pouted slightly. “—Fine.”
They walked off together. Wade gathered his things and headed up the stairs toward the seventh floor.
He wasn’t deliberately creating an opening for Michael. He truly had a matter to discuss with Professor Flitwick.
Professor Flitwick’s office was on the seventh floor—rarely visited by students, so it was quiet. The long corridor echoed faintly with the murmurs of portraits, some whispering to themselves, others just shifting their heads or stretching lazily.
Wade had never seen another portrait as animated as Griffiths. Most of the castle’s portraits barely moved—some never left their frames. Miss Claudia was one of them, always frozen in her frame, silent and still.
He stopped in front of an oak door carved with an eagle. The portrait blinked and flapped its wings, murmuring to itself, “Wade Gray to see you.”
A moment later: “You may enter.”
The door slid open. Wade stepped inside.
Professor Flitwick’s office was a mirror of the Ravenclaw Tower—vaulted ceilings, thirteen windows framing views of the Ravenclaw Tower and the Owl Tower. Sunlight streamed through stained glass, painting the floor with shifting, kaleidoscopic patterns.
Most of the furniture was miniature—perfectly scaled for the tiny professor. Only the bookshelf stood out: towering from floor to ceiling, packed with hundreds of books. Parchment stacks lay thick on the ground—Professor Flitwick’s own notes, meticulously compiled. He occasionally lent them to students he admired. Wade’s backpack already held two.
“Oh, Wade!” Professor Flitwick’s voice came from above. Wade looked up to see the professor perched on a self-propelled ladder, which slowly retracted into a low, narrow staircase. With a light hop, he landed on the floor.
He beamed. “I was so impressed with your essay on the Softening Charm. You’re a natural, my boy. What brings you here today?”
“I’ve finished all the material in Standard Spells: Level Three,” Wade said, pulling out the notes he’d borrowed. “I’d like you to assess my level.”
“Excellent!” Professor Flitwick clapped. “Let’s start with a Cheerfulness Charm!”
Over the next hour, Wade demonstrated a dozen third-year spells—each one executed perfectly on the first try. Professor Flitwick nearly fainted from excitement.
“Oh, Wade! Oh, Wade! You’re a genius! Only three months—just look at you, from total beginner to this! You’re progressing faster than anyone I’ve ever taught. If you keep this up, you’ll be O.W.L.-level in less than a year. You’re going to do great things!”
Wade smiled. “Professor, I’d like to borrow the fourth-year textbooks and notes, please.”
“Of course! I’ve been waiting for this.” Professor Flitwick waved his wand, and several books floated from the table—Standard Spells: Level Four, the professor’s own annotated copies, lesson plans he’d prepared over the years, and exceptionally well-written essays from past students.
Professor Flitwick had taught at Hogwarts for decades—so long that he could now teach with nothing but a wand. But he’d never thrown away his old notes. He’d carefully preserved them, revising and refining them over the years.
Wade’s eyes allowed him to learn a spell instantly. But the same fire spell? One wizard could light a candle. Another could burn down a forest. A third could reduce a city to ash.
That was power.
But mastery? That was control. The difference wasn’t just in magic—it was in understanding.
The books in the library taught how to cast a spell. The textbooks taught why. But here, in Professor Flitwick’s office, Wade was finally beginning to grasp how to command it.
(End of Chapter)
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