Hogwarts, Hufflepuff dorms.

  The bed in my dormitory is soft, warm, and inviting. I'm just starting to drift into that comfortable, weightless state between sleep and wakefulness when an imperious voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade.

  'Get up. There's divination to be done,' Cassiopeia commands, her tone sharp and brooking no argument.

  I groan inwardly, turning onto my side in a futile attempt to ignore her. 'Can't it wait until morning?' I think back at her, my mental tone laced with exasperation.

  'Certainly not.' She replies. 'Omens of great importance do not adhere to your schedule, child.'

  I sigh deeply, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Neville's bed is still shrouded by the drawn curtains of his canopy bed, his breathing steady and deep. I move quietly, sliding out of bed and beginning to dress, slipping my wand into its holster and double-checking the placement of my backups. If Cassiopeia's definition of 'great importance' ends up with me stumbling into something interesting, or dangerous, I might need them.

  After last year, I'm not taking any chances.

  'What's this about, then?' I ask her as I tug on my robes and lace up my boots. 'And why couldn't it wait?'

  She doesn't answer until I've slipped out of the Hufflepuff dormitory, moving silently past the common room. It's empty, the fire reduced to embers, casting the room in a dim glow. No prefects in sight - a small mercy. I make my way to the exit, careful to keep my footsteps light.

  At least Hufflepuffs are nice obedient little boys and girls, or this would have been harder.

  I don't doubt Gryffindor is still holding a party in their common room.

  'Great importance is shown in the omens,' Cassiopeia says finally, her voice dripping with self-satisfaction.

  'Fantastic,' I reply dryly, slipping into the corridor and glancing around for any signs of activity. 'That tells me absolutely nothing.'

  I know she's basically an oracle, half mad - not exactly unusual for a Black mind - but I am really hoping she's not just messing with me.

  Granted, she is a Black girl. Like Tonks. Hence why I'm suspicious she is in fact messing with me because she's bored.

  If only she wasn't so damn useful, filled to the brim with knowledge practically unfound anywhere else in the world…

  I start up the staircase, casting quick Somnus spells at any portraits still awake and alert. The enchanted residents of Hogwarts love their gossip, and while they'd certainly know someone had passed, they wouldn't know who.

  They also wouldn't be able to report to Dumbledore. While we are allies, I see no need to advise him of my every action.

  I still don't trust him.

  I just acknowledge that it's stupid to not use every resource - and he is a very big resource.

  'September as a month, usually doesn't even have particularly strong portents,' I continue, my tone edging toward irritation as I ascend. 'You're going to need to give me more than that if you want me traipsing around the castle in the middle of the night.'

  Cassiopeia's voice is cool, almost condescending as she replies. 'There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'

  I snort quietly as I reach the fourth floor, stepping lightly to avoid the creaky spots in the stone in this particular location - yes it doesn't make sense - but it's Hogwarts. 'Shakespeare? Really? Quoting a Muggle playwright, Cassiopeia? You're a Black!'

  She's also one of the actual Blacks, not the more friendly and approachable Andromeda/Sirius types.

  There's a pause, then a sniff of disdain. 'A pithy creature, certainly,' she says, her tone almost begrudging. 'Yet, he was British.'

  'Ah, so that's the qualifier?' I think back, smirking to myself. 'If you must be defective, at least be British. Makes it all okay then, doesn't it?'

  She doesn't dignify that with a response, instead nudging me to turn back down the corridor I'd just come from. My brow furrows as I follow her mental prodding, the direction seeming increasingly random.

  'Cassiopeia,' I say slowly, suspicion creeping further into my thoughts. 'There aren't any great portents tonight, are there?'

  There's a beat of silence, then a muffled giggle in my head that makes my shoulders sag.

  'I was bored.' She admits, and I can practically feel the smugness radiating from her.

  My hands clench into fists as I bite back a growl. 'You dragged me out of bed and halfway across the castle because you were bored?'

  'Oh, come now.' She replies, her tone light and teasing. 'It wasn't entirely pointless. A bit of exercise is good for you, and I've proven I can get you to listen like a good little boy.'

  Oh, she is going to pay for that one… I think, uncaring if she's actually able to pick it up.

  'If you wanted to chat, you could have just… I don't know… suggested a discussion of history, or the intricacies of divination,' I shoot back, my tone sharp as I turn on my heel and head back toward the dormitory. 'Don't send me on wild goose chases!'

  Black women will be the death of me, I can't help but feel.

  Her laughter echoes faintly in my mind, unabashed and unapologetic. 'Why chase wild geese when you can catch them with a spell?' She asks, sounding honestly curious and amused.

  'You owe me for this,' I grumble, picking up my pace. The sooner I'm back in bed, the better.

  'Fine, fine.' She says airily. 'I'll regale you with one of my rituals as payment later.'

  And there we have why I put up with this, I think, grumbling to myself.

  'Not a useless one,' I demand, glancing around as I descend the stairs. The corridors are mercifully quiet, the castle's usual nocturnal bustle subdued. If the teachers are patrolling, they haven't been anywhere near where I've been walking, I haven't heard a peep.

  'Would I ever share something useless?' She asks, her tone dripping with mock offense.

  'Yes,' I reply flatly.

  Her laugh is like the chiming of distant bells, infuriatingly amused. 'Good. You're learning.'

  I let out a sigh of exasperation at her faint approval, slipping through the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. I move quickly, as I make my way back to my dormitory, hurriedly undressing with one eye on Neville's bed to make sure he didn't see my return.

  Finally, I settle back into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and closing my eyes. Cassiopeia's presence lingers at the edge of my thoughts, her satisfaction palpable.

  'You're lucky I tolerate you,' I think at her, my mental tone weary but resigned. Feeling an itch, I scratch at it, hoping I can fall asleep quickly to avoid an annoying first day of classes.

  'Oh, I've heard tales about what boys are like, is this when you pleasure yourself like a ravenous beast? It would be interesting to watch.' She says with clinical curiosity, her voice perking up as I feel her attention on me.

  I don't dignify that with a response, instead letting the warmth of the blankets and the familiar hum of the Hufflepuff dormitory lull me back toward sleep.

  With Tonks and Cassiopeia in my head…

  Puberty is going to be hell.

  Already looking forward to it…

  DADA classroom, first day of classes.

  The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom feels different the moment I step inside. The air is heavy, not with dust or the usual faint scent of old parchment and ink, but with a tense kind of expectation. The walls, once lined with the decor of our previous professor, are stark and bare now. No tapestries to be seen here, no quirky trinkets or rows of defensive training tools or dummies. Just rows of tall, narrow windows letting in the cool morning light, casting sharp shadows across the wooden floor.

  At the far end of the room stands Professor Scrimgeour, watching us as we get seated with intense eyes.

  He cuts an imposing figure, tall and broad-shouldered, his leonine mane of tawny hair giving him a slightly wild appearance. He's clad in dark, well-tailored robes, but there's a ruggedness to him that doesn't suit the usual polished Hogwarts setting. His expression is sharp, his amber eyes scanning the room like a predator assessing a herd. Even standing still, he exudes a sense of tightly coiled energy, like he might spring into action at any moment.

  I take my own seat toward the middle of the room, giving Neville a small nod as he slides in beside me. The Gryffindors file in on the other side of the room. There's a quiet hum of chatter as everyone settles in, but the second Scrimgeour moves, the room falls silent.

  He strides to the front of the room, his boots thudding against the wooden floor. When he speaks, his voice is gravelly, roughened by years of barking orders and bellowing spells.

  "Good morning," He says, his tone clipped. "I am Rufus Scrimgeour, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Some of you may know me as the former Head Auror of the Ministry of Magic."

  There's a ripple of whispers at this, quickly silenced when Scrimgeour raises a hand.

  "I am not here to regale you with tales of my time in the field," He continues. "I am here to teach you how to defend yourselves. Your textbooks -" He gestures toward the neatly stacked pile of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection on his desk, " - are useful, but if you think this class is about sitting quietly and reading, you are sorely mistaken."

  A murmur runs through the class, but Scrimgeour's sharp gaze cuts it off.

  I already have a feeling I'm going to quite enjoy this class.

  I had half dreaded being forced to endure Lockhart until I'd found out Scrimgeour would be teaching.

  It did make me wonder what Lockhart was like in this world, but as he's not at Hogwarts, it's not a big worry for now.

  "This is not a classroom for theory, not under me, I will not give you dozens of essays to write. This is a classroom for action. For learning how to do. Outside these walls, dark forces won't care how many chapters you've read or how many essays you've written. What matters is whether you can stand your ground and fight back. You can do the reading on your own time."

  The room is so silent now that I can hear the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots as he begins pacing.

  "You are second years," He says bluntly. "Young, inexperienced, and, frankly, mediocre at magic at best. But you are also eligible to join the Dueling Club this year, and I will not have my name associated with mediocrity. You will not embarrass yourselves, your houses, or this school - or more importantly, me! I will drag you out of mediocrity and into competence. That is a promise."

  His words hang heavy in the air, and I can feel the weight of his gaze as he scans the room. Several students almost whimper, and I feel a flicker of annoyance.

  If this is too much for them?

  What were they going to do facing anything of real danger? They'd survived Quirrel's classes for Merlin's sake!

  Without warning, Scrimgeour flicks his wand. The desks and chairs lurch into motion, sliding and stacking themselves against the walls with a series of sharp bangs. I barely manage to jump back in time, my reflexes saving me from toppling over. Neville isn't so lucky - he tumbles out of his seat with a startled yelp, and several other students crash to the floor in similar fashion.

  "On your feet!" Scrimgeour barks, his voice cutting through the confusion. "The second you see a wand move, you should be prepared to react. A wand is a potential weapon. When you see it move, you watch it. You assess. Is it conjuring flowers? Or is it sending something to hurt you? Let this be your first lesson."

  It wasn't constant vigilance, but it got the same point across, I think, surreptitiously sliding my wand into my hand.

  There's a shuffle of movement as everyone scrambles to stand. I glance at Neville, who looks thoroughly flustered, giving him a supportive nod.

  Scrimgeour doesn't wait for us to recover. With a sharp, deliberate motion, he stabs his wand forward. I react instinctively, my wand in my hand and a shield charm springing to life just in time to deflect a small globule of magical paint hurtling toward me. Not far from me, I see Harry Potter do the same, his movements quick and practiced.

  The rest of the class isn't so lucky. Paint splatters across robes, faces, and hair, bright yellow and blue streaks marking the slower students. The room is filled with groans, complaints, and a few indignant shouts.

  Hermione in particular looks down on the stain painting her robes like it's mugged her and had its way with her in a back alley.

  That girl always did take anything that could be construed as a test way too seriously.

  Parvati had somehow managed to be hit four times, and her complaint, not surprisingly, was only on how badly the color clashed with her hair ornaments and makeup.

  "Silence!" Scrimgeour snaps, and the room falls quiet again. "Those painted yellow find a blue partner and vice versa, and square off across from each other. I will walk through and explain what you are to practice."

  The students move hesitantly, pairing up with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Scrimgeour's gaze falls on Harry and me, and he gives a small nod of approval at our paint free visages.

  "Potter and Greenwood," He says, his tone curt. "You were awake and vigilant today. You'll partner together, or you won't have a challenge at all."

  Harry and I exchange looks as we step into position. I give him a small, half-smile, trying to gauge his mood. I'm well aware he'd had mixed feelings about me.

  My own feelings on him were equally mixed after the idiot tried to sacrifice himself for me.

  Never trust someone that's too good, they're more liable to screw you then someone actively trying, because you can't predict what they'll do.

  Like throw themselves in front of killing curses when they're supposed to be a prophesied chosen one.

  "Nice summer, Harry?" I ask, keeping my tone polite and non-committal.

  "It was alright," He replies, his expression guarded. "Yours?"

  "Alright," I say simply. I don't press further. Harry looks like he'd rather be anywhere else right now, and I'm not keen on making things more awkward.

  If he's anything like his canon self still, he is not that great at hashing things out. Or communication in general really.

  Scrimgeour stalks through the room, his sharp eyes taking in the pairs. "Today, you will prove to me that you know every spell on the first-year syllabus by casting it on each other while the one being cast on tries to dodge," He announces. "I want to see you cast them quickly, correctly, and without hesitation. If you cannot, you will remain here after class until you can."

  He looks us all over under bushy brows, "I have no problem teaching my next class while you all hang out in the back and continue until you've gotten it right, I'll square it with the headmaster and your other teachers after…"

  He pauses his explanation as he passes Harry and me, his voice dropping to a mutter. "When you two finish, as I suspect you are beyond that material, help the others, and let's avoid an upset on the first day, hmm?"

  I exchange a glance with Harry, whose expression has turned into something resembling a grimace. It's clear we're stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, and as unpaid teachers assistants too.

  Considering I already know Professor Flamel will use me likewise in Transfiguration, and Professor Heywood in History, I'm not going to catch a break in classes this year.

  "Well," I say with a wry smile, deciding to just go with it, "Looks like we'll be getting plenty of practice this year."

  Harry's lips twitch into a faint smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah," He says quietly. "Plenty of practice..."

  Scrimgeour claps his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "Begin!" He commands, and the room fills with the sound of incantations, the swish and flick of wands, and the occasional burst of light or spark of energy.

  Also, most students, it turns out. Sucks at dodging the few first year spells that were applicable to fire at an opponent.

  Harry and I start with the basics, non-offensive spells first. Our movements are precise, our spells clean, and for a moment, it feels almost like a competition, each of us silently determined to finish the entire list first.

  Once we get to actual 'attack' spells. If you can call tickling spells that - neither one of us can catch the other, our dodging skills too great.

  Around us, the rest of the class struggles. Neville's attacks keep going wide as he hesitates to fire at Hermione, and I catch a glimpse of Dean Thomas accidentally setting his partner's sleeve on fire with a poorly aimed spell that's not even on the list. Scrimgeour steps in quickly, extinguishing the flames with a flick of his wand and barking a reprimand that leaves Dean looking thoroughly chastened.

  Brian Lupin accidentally tries to hex Professor Scrimgeour as he gets flustered, I notice, Harry sighing as he spots it at the same time.

  "You think a criminal or magical beast will wait for you to get it right and figure out where you're aiming?" Scrimgeour growls. "Focus!" He swats Lupin's spell back at him, just growling when he doesn't even try to dodge.

  Harry and I exchange another glance, and I can't help but feel a flicker of sympathy for the others. Scrimgeour's methods are more intense then most of them are used to, but I can't deny they're effective.

  That said, Brian had been part of our little study group where Tonks hexed the crap out of us, so I expected better from him.

  We move through the spells methodically, each one building on the last. By the time Scrimgeour finally calls for a halt, my mind feels like it's been stretched thin from sheer boredom.

  I'm way past first year material.

  That said, Harry and I had helped the other students at least succeed in casting the material, so no one would have to stay behind.

  "Well done, Potter, Greenwood take ten points for your houses," He says, his tone grudgingly approving. "The rest of you -" He sweeps his gaze across the room, his expression dark, " - have a long way to go. Class dismissed."

  I wince, Hermione looks like she's about to die, being included in the 'everyone else of you scrubs' category.

  Again, Harry sighs next to me, before rushing over to stop the girl from doing something inadvisable, like arguing with Professor Scrimgeour about not being able to get any essays graded.

  As we gather our things and prepare to leave, I can't help but feel a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. Scrimgeour is tough, but he's also exactly what this class, this subject, needs.

  This year is going to be anything but easy.

  But it will actually prepare students.

  Which is more then I expected.

  The morning classes seem to stretch on forever. By the time we're dismissed, I'm practically counting the steps to the Great Hall, eager for the sanctuary of lunch and the chance to regroup with Neville, Susan, and Hannah - as well as my Ravenclaw pals. The castle is its usual maze of bustling students, echoing chatter, and the distant clatter of footsteps on stone. The faint smell of roasted chicken and warm bread drifts through the corridors near the Great Hall, making my stomach growl.

  But as I near the massive doors to the Great Hall, a sharp pop of displaced air halts me in my tracks.

  A house-elf appears in front of me, small and clad in a Hogwarts brand tea towel. Its bulbous eyes widen as it thrusts a thick envelope toward me, bowing so low its ears brush the floor.

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  "Master Lucas Greenwood," It squeaks, its voice high-pitched but formal.

  Neville, Susan, and Hannah pause just ahead, turning to glance back at me. Susan raises an eyebrow, clearly curious, but I wave them on. "Go ahead, I'll catch up," I tell them.

  Neville hesitates for a moment, but eventually nods, leading the others into the hall. The house-elf's large eyes blink at me expectantly, and I carefully take the envelope from its outstretched hands.

  "Thank you," I say, offering a small smile. The house-elf bows once more before disappearing with another sharp crack.

  I glance down at the envelope, my brows furrowing as I read the elegant script on the front. Lucas Greenwood. Beneath my name is a short line of instruction: Astronomy Tower. Lunch.

  I flip the envelope over, noting the seal pressed into the wax - a crescent moon surrounded by stars. Professor Sinistra, I think, furrowing my brows.

  Intrigued, I open it quickly, pulling out a small note inside.

  Lucas,

  If you are not otherwise engaged, I would appreciate your company for lunch in the Astronomy Tower. It would be my honor.

  Professor Sinistra

  I read the note twice, my curiosity piqued. It's not every day a professor personally invites me to lunch. Tucking the note into my robes, I turn and head toward the stairs that lead to the Astronomy Tower.

  I already have a good idea what this is about, but I'm still surprised she couldn't even wait for the first day of classes to be done before contacting me.

  The trek is quiet at first, the corridors mostly empty as students gather in the Great Hall. But as I round a corner, I nearly collide with a figure sweeping down the hallway, his black robes billowing like storm clouds.

  "Greenwood," Professor Snape's voice cuts through the silence, low and cold. He stops directly in my path, arms crossed, his dark eyes boring into me.

  I mentally sigh as I feel the prod of his Legilimency, it just isn't worth it to call him out on it, my defenses are enough now to showcase nothing. Even to him.

  One day though…

  "Professor Snape," I say, straightening instinctively. Trying to keep a polite tone.

  "And where, pray tell, are you going?" He asks, his tone dripping with suspicion.

  I hesitate, not wanting to explain but knowing there's no avoiding it without the man finding a reason to delay me indefinitely. Slowly, I pull the envelope from my robes and hold it out to him.

  Professor Snape takes it, his thin fingers turning it over as his gaze flicks to the seal. His eyes narrow slightly, and he looks up at me with an unreadable expression. "Professor Sinistra?"

  "Yes, sir," I reply, keeping my tone neutral.

  "And why, precisely, does she want to see you?"

  None of your fucking business…

  "To have lunch," I say simply, keeping my thoughts to myself.

  Professor Snape's lips curl faintly, though it's not quite a smile. "Lunch," He repeats, his tone making it sound like the most ridiculous idea he's ever heard. "And I assume you find it acceptable to wander the castle unsupervised, up to no good, skipping meals in the Great Hall?" He turns the envelope over, "This is not dated, are you trying to play me for a fool?"

  This child of a man, I think, exasperated. Like wandering the halls during the day was against the rules…

  I bite back a sigh. "I wasn't skipping, sir. I was on my way there before the house-elf arrived with this envelope for a lunch meeting today."

  Honestly, lunch in the Great Hall is hardly mandatory, and why I would go to the trouble to fake a note in Professor Sinistra's handwriting, to go somewhere in the castle - during a time I'm allowed to go anywhere anyway - boggles the mind.

  Professor Snape studies me for a long moment, his dark eyes sharp. Then, without a word, he hands the envelope back to me and steps aside, his expression still unreadable.

  "Don't keep her waiting," He says, his tone grouchy but still laced with something I can't quite place. Probably the feeling of utter failure - since he can't peek into my mind.

  "Thank you, Professor," I say, inclining my head slightly before continuing up the stairs. Tosser, I add mentally.

  …

  The Astronomy Tower is quiet when I arrive, the faint hum of magic lingering in the air as the various Astronomy apparatuses keep on whirling. The wide, circular room he enters is filled with soft, natural light streaming in through the high windows, illuminating the stone walls and the intricate star charts that decorate them. A small table has been set near the center, draped in a crisp white cloth and set with two plates, a teapot, and a selection of sandwiches and pastries.

  Professor Sinistra stands by one of the windows. Her dark robes are elegant, and her hair is pinned up neatly, though a few strands have escaped to frame her face. She turns as I step inside, a warm smile gracing her features.

  She's still unfairly a chocolate goddess, something I'm paying far too much attention to already.

  Damn it. I thought it was girls who got puberty early?

  "Lucas," She greets with familiarity, not using the more formal address as she does in classes, her voice as smooth and melodic as ever. "Thank you for coming."

  "Thank you for inviting me, Professor," I reply, bowing my head slightly.

  She gestures toward the table. "Please, sit."

  I do as she says, taking a seat across from her as she pours tea into two delicate cups. The rich aroma of Earl Grey fills the air, and I can't help but feel slightly out of place.

  I had regular meetings with Penny Heywood and Aurora Sinestra last year, but it still feels out of place with my physical age, even if my mental one can keep up.

  "I hope you don't mind the informality," She says, handing me a cup. "I wanted a chance to speak with you properly, without the interruptions of a classroom or the Great Hall."

  I take the cup, nodding. "Not at all. It's... Nice."

  For a few moments, we eat in comfortable silence. The sandwiches are light but flavorful, the pastries perfectly flaky, and the tea warms me from the inside out. The ball is in her court, so I don't intent to be the one to go first.

  Finally, Professor Sinistra sets her cup down and looks at me, her expression soft but serious.

  "Lucas," She begins, her tone quieter now. "I wanted to thank you. Truly."

  I blink, having been fairly sure that would be coming, yet still somewhat surprised she just out and said it. "Thank me? For what?" I say, playing dumb.

  "For saving me," She says simply, her dark eyes meeting mine. "Last year, when you noticed... When you intervened..."

  She leans forward, her face coming close to mine, her gaze earnest and imploring, "I don't even want to imagine what could have happened." She reached out and grabbed my hand, squeezing it softly.

  I shift slightly in my seat, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks. "I didn't do anything special, Professor. I just -"

  "Don't," She interrupts gently but firmly. "Don't diminish what you did. You saw what no one else did, not even Professor Dumbledore. You recognized the signs of the Imperius Curse and ensured I received the care I needed before something horrible happened. That is no small thing."

  I hesitate, unsure how to respond. I want to tell her she's wrong, but I can't. Dumbledore must have known for one, yet… He simply didn't act for his own reasons - as usual. But I keep those thoughts to myself, knowing it would serve no purpose to say them out loud.

  "I just... Did what I thought was right," I say finally. "I can be very perceptive."

  "And that is precisely why I'm grateful," She says, her smile softening. "You gave me back my freedom, Lucas. My agency. That is something I can never truly repay."

  I glance down at my cup, unsure how to respond. The weight of her gratitude feels heavier than I expected.

  I'd found out because my divinations had told me she had intended to kill me, and since I knew she wouldn't do that - Imperius was the likely culprit.

  She had been nothing but a pawn in the chess game Voldemort, Quirrel, Dumbledore and I played last year. I don't really feel like I deserve any real gratitude for this.

  Professor Sinistra leans back slightly, her expression shifting to something lighter, though her eyes still hold a hint of mischief. "If you were older, and not my student, practically a pseudo apprentice as you are," She says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, "It would be very easy to repay you."

  Her words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I don't know how to react. My eyes flicker over her, taking in the elegant curves of her body, the delicate way her fingers rest on her cup. A heat rises to my face, and I quickly look away, cursing my age.

  She chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver down my spine. Taking a sip of her tea, she lets the moment linger before speaking again.

  "But as it stands," She continues, her tone more serious now, "I hope having a friend on the faculty will suffice. If you ever need anything - a note for the forbidden section of the library, permission to miss a class, or simply someone to talk to - my door is always open."

  Her words catch me by surprise, and I look up at her, my heart swelling with an unexpected mix of gratitude and respect. It's rare for someone in her position to offer such open-ended assistance, especially to a twelve-year-old.

  And it could end up incredibly useful.

  For one… That entrance to one of the four vaults involved in the issues at Hogwarts before my time was in the forbidden section of the library…

  "Thank you, Professor," I say earnestly. "That means a lot."

  She smiles, her expression warm and genuine. "It's the least I can do, Lucas. You've proven yourself to be someone worth trusting."

  As we finish our tea, the conversation shifts to lighter topics - astronomy, her plans for the year, and even a few anecdotes from her own time as a student at Hogwarts. By the time I leave the Astronomy Tower, my mind is whirling, a note excusing me from charms in my hand due to how late our talk had gone on for.

  It's too soon to ask for a pass to the forbidden section.

  But now I have the option.

  Not bad for my first day.

  Two days later,

  The moment I step into my dorm room, I freeze mid-step. Something's very obviously wrong I note immediately. Not dangerous - I don't feel any immediate threat - but definitely... Off. My gaze snaps to the ground, where a large, intricate symbol of a hippogriff is burned into the grass floor. The lines are precise, almost artistic, the creature's wings spread wide, as though ready to take flight. The singed edges still faintly smoke, the scent of charred greenery lingering in the air.

  I glance around the room, my eyes darting to every corner. Nothing else seems out of place. My bed is still neatly made, my books stacked where I left them. The room is silent, empty save for the quiet hum of magic that seems to radiate from the symbol.

  My first thought is that someone's messing with me. But who in Hufflepuff would risk something like this? The house values loyalty and fair play, not sneaking into someone's room and performing... Whatever this is.

  It's not ritual magic.

  I have played around enough with that I'd know immediately.

  But it practically reeks of magic.

  Yet it feels… Almost like Hogwarts.

  I pull my wand from its holster, my grip firm but steady. A quick series of detection spells confirm what I already suspect - no one else is here. Whoever did this is long gone.

  I eye the still smoldering edges, well, maybe not long gone.

  But the symbol itself... It hums with a strange energy, one that feels ancient and purposeful. There's no malice in it, but it's potent, charged with meaning. It's not random graffiti or some student's prank.

  Logic says I should get a teacher. Something this unusual warrants adult supervision, and it wouldn't be hard to find Professor Sprout or even Professor Flamel. But logic rarely wins out over my curiosity.

  Especially when I have an inkling of what this might be.

  I crouch down, careful not to touch the symbol yet, and study it more closely. The detail is extraordinary. Each feather of the hippogriff's wings is etched with precision, the claws gripping invisible ground as though ready to leap into the air. It's not just a picture - it's a statement, a challenge, maybe even an invitation.

  The realization settles in my gut like a heavy stone. I've heard about this sort of thing, haven't I? How certain groups within Hogwarts have their own unique ways of recruiting members to them. And this? This has all the hallmarks of an invitation to the Hippogriff Society, or club, or whatever they call themselves.

  One of the particulars of the Hogwarts Mystery game…

  If I'm right, I suspect Harry has himself a Dragon society invite - as they're more martial.

  I idly wonder if they burned a dragon into his floor, or if this is a out of the ordinary invitation.

  "Well," I mutter to myself, straightening up. "That's one way to get someone's attention."

  I take a deep breath and focus inward, feeling along the mental connection I share with Tonks. She's busy most of the time these days, deep into Auror training, but if anyone would know what to make of this, it's her.

  'What's up, Lucas? Miss me already?' Her teasing voice rings out in my mind, her tone bright and familiar.

  I do. I definitely do. Not that I will say it like that.

  The warm burst of feeling I encounter tells me she recognizes it anyway. Meaning her limits have expanded.

  'Immensely,' I reply dryly. 'Can't live without you.'

  I wonder if the Auror training is the reason for how she can sense my emotions so easily from this far away… I don't allow it to distract me now, focusing back on my goal.

  'Obviously.' There's a pause, and I can almost feel her smirk. 'What's going on?'

  'Busy right now? Or got a mo'?'

  'Just in the communal showers,' she replies, her mental tone shifting to something playful. 'Wanna see?'

  I roll my eyes, even though she can't see me. 'So anyway,' I continue, ignoring her bait, 'I've got a big hippogriff burned into my floor. Is it what I think it is?'

  There's a pause, then a soft laugh. 'How fancy. They must really want you. Usually, it's just a simple invitation.'

  Her confirmation is both a relief and a spark of intrigue. So, it's not dangerous. Good. It is exactly what I thought.

  An invitation.

  'Advice?' I ask, feeling the edges of my curiosity sharpen.

  'You're a divination nerd,' she says neutrally, her tone carefully balanced. 'The club would fit. But it's up to you.'

  I nod to myself, considering. The Hippogriff Society, if I remember correctly, does have divination as one of its core subjects of study. A place for the curious and the ambitious to dig deeper into the mysteries of magic. It's exactly the sort of thing I've always wanted to be part of.

  Even if it's likely more serious than it was in the game, since the Professor's themselves have been involved since they were students themselves, and even people outside of Hogwarts are still active in the societies. At least that's what I'd been told.

  Ophelia had been the source, so I took some of it with a grain of salt.

  Tonks being so neutral was likely in an attempt to not sway me one way or another, because she's obviously not in this particular society.

  'Alright then,' I say finally, feeling her retreat with a silent goodbye and good luck, as she heads back to her shower.

  The room is quiet again, save for the faint hum of the symbol. My wand is still in my hand as I step closer, my heartbeat quickening. The energy radiating from the hippogriff grows stronger, almost like it's responding to my presence. Even more so now, it feels like a part of Hogwarts.

  It means a Professor came into my room, because they utilized the wards to do this.

  Professor Sprout… You minx.

  Slowly, I extend one foot and place it onto the edge of the burned symbol. The moment my shoe touches the blackened grass, the entire symbol glows with a vibrant, golden light.

  And then I'm falling.

  The world around me dissolves into a blur of green light, rushing past like the wind through leaves. My stomach flips as gravity seems to vanish, leaving me weightless, spinning through a tunnel of swirling color.

  It's not like apparition or even a portkey. There's no jarring pull or sickening twist - just a sensation of being carried, as though the magic itself is guiding me.

  When I land, it's not the hard thud I expect but something softer, springy beneath me, like moss or freshly fallen leaves. The light fades, and I blink rapidly, adjusting to the sudden change in scenery.

  The sight that greets me is utterly surreal.

  I'm standing - or, rather, kneeling - in the heart of what seems to be a borough of trees in front of a impossibly massive tree. Its trunk is wider than the Great Hall, its bark glowing faintly with veins of deep blue arcane light that pulse like a heartbeat. The air is rich and heady, thick with the scent of greenery and wildflowers, as though the very essence of nature is concentrated here.

  Above me, the boughs stretch high into the air, forming a vast canopy that seems to hold up the sky itself. Or at least, what I think is the sky. When I look closer, I realize it's not the actual sky - it's the ceiling of Hogwarts, faintly visible through the shimmering branches. Somehow, I'm still within the castle, yet transported into a world that feels entirely apart from it.

  This is far superior to the tiny little rooms used in the game.

  Almost, magical, one could say… Heh.

  The ground beneath my feet is a lush carpet of grass, scattered with patches of glowing mushrooms and delicate flowers that shimmer in impossible hues. Small streams of water trickle between the roots, clear and sparkling, their soft burbling adding to the symphony of sound around me. Birds with plumage like stained glass flit through the air, their calls melodic and otherworldly.

  Nearby, magical creatures roam freely. A pair of shimmering unicorn foals drink from a stream, their manes rippling with iridescent light - bloody unicorns!? What!? A flock of tiny, glowing creatures - pixies or perhaps fairies - hard to see from the distance - dances around a thicket of ferns, their laughter like the chiming of bells. A majestic thestral stands in the distance, its dark, skeletal wings folded against its body as it gazes at me with unnerving intelligence.

  I take a hesitant step forward, my boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. The air hums with magic, vibrant and alive, filling my lungs with every breath. It's unlike anything I've ever experienced, as though the boundaries between the magical and natural worlds have dissolved completely. This was created to be nature and magic intertwined…

  Not so surprisingly when the society is founded partly on the principles of Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, as well as Potions and Divination.

  At the center of this extraordinary space is a raised platform of intertwined roots, forming a natural dais. Standing upon it is a figure cloaked in deep green robes, their hood pulled up to obscure their face. They stand still, hands clasped in front of them, emanating an aura of calm authority.

  I approach cautiously, my heart pounding - not out of fear, but sheer curiosity about this place - and some avarice I admit - now wanting to see what the other societies hold secret. The figure raises their head, and as they lower their hood, I recognize her immediately.

  "Professor Sinistra?" I blurt out, my voice echoing faintly in the vast, natural cathedral.

  That doesn't make any sense, an Astronomist would have surely chosen the Sphinx society!?

  I suppose that's my fault for assuming everyone only went with what their natural subjects were when choosing…

  Considering my propensity for dueling, my love for history… I could have equally gone to the Dragon society and the Sphinx society myself.

  Professor Sinistra's dark eyes twinkle with a mix of amusement and mystery as she smiles. Her hair, usually tied back, flows freely now, catching the soft golden light that filters through the branches. She looks more comfortable here than I've ever seen her in the Astronomy Tower, her robes blending seamlessly with the lush surroundings.

  It's a reminder that people aren't typecast stereotypes, they have nuance. Although if Professor Sprout isn't part of this society I'll eat my hat. I can't imagine her in the other societies at all.

  "Lucas Greenwood," She says, her voice as smooth and melodic as the streams around us. "Welcome to the heart of the Hippogriff Society."

  I glance around again, still trying to process everything. "This... Is part of Hogwarts?" I ask, my voice tinged with lust for knowledge.

  I'm practically vibrating at the desire to know more about all of this. It's history, it's magic, it's new.

  "In a manner of speaking," Professor Sinistra replies, stepping down from the platform. "This tree is ancient, older than the castle itself, but it was dying where it was, not enough fey left to sustain it. When the Hippogriff society was founded, it was brought here and incorporated into the magical architecture, hidden away where only those of us who seek knowledge of nature and the beyond can find it."

  I take another step forward, my gaze sweeping over the space. "It's incredible," I murmur. "I've never seen anything like it."

  Professor Sinistra's smile deepens. "Few have. This place is a sanctuary of sorts now, a crossroads between the natural and magical worlds. And it serves as the headquarters for the Hippogriff Society - a place for those who wish to delve deeper into the mysteries of nature, magic and mystery."

  It sounded like a practiced speech, like she was following a script, and I wondered if she'd been the leader here very long. Either way, this is only good for me…

  Her words confirm what I'd already suspected anyway, but hearing it aloud sends a thrill through me. "So... The symbol in my dorm room was on your order, but I suspect, not your doing?"

  She nods, folding her hands in front of her. "An invitation. We've been observing you, Lucas. Your aptitude for divination, your curiosity, your willingness to question the world around you - all of it marks you as a candidate for our society."

  No doubt my growing fame as well… It would likely be considered a bit of a coup. For all that they were technically 'secret' societies, they really weren't - only the particulars.

  Ophelia had told us as firsties they existed after all.

  "And you're the head of the society?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, double checking to make sure.

  Professor Sinistra chuckles softly. "For now, yes. The role rotates among eligible faculty members on a yearly basis, but it's my turn to guide this year's initiates. And I must say, you're a rather promising addition.".She winks at me cheekily, going off script a little.

  I glance down at the soft grass beneath my feet, trying to ground myself. "So what happens now? Is there some kind of test?"

  "No, once you are invited and accepted. that is it," She replies, her gaze turning thoughtful. "You will be shown how to access this space on your own, and sworn to never reveal it. We have access to quite the potions laboratory, and a very well stocked library." Her smile turned sly, 'Of course, as such a young student, you'd need permission to access most tomes, permission only able to be given by the leader…"

  I smile back, thrilled. Take that Ominis, take your secret library passwords and shove it! I have a new sugar momma!

  "If you're ready, it's time to induct you into the society, where you'll join hundreds of others, both current students, and those no longer here…" She says, smiling at me softly. "You can still choose to leave right now… This is where you choose. To delve into the mysteries? Or to walk another path?"

  Her words resonate with something deep inside me. I nod slowly, meeting her gaze. "I understand."

  "Do you?" She asks, a hint of challenge in her tone. "This is not a decision to be taken lightly. Joining us means dedicating yourself to a path that may lead you far from the comforts of ordinary wizardry - those who join the society are not the kind who languish in mediocrity - we soar."

  I straighten my shoulders, determination solidifying within me. "I'm ready," I say firmly.

  Professor Sinistra's smile returns, warm and approving. "Good. Then let us begin."

  She gestures toward the platform, and I follow her up the natural steps, the roots shifting subtly underfoot to form a stable path. At the center of the dais, she places a hand on the surface of the table-like structure, and the golden runes etched into it spring to life, glowing with an inner fire.

  "Place your hand here," She instructs, motioning to a specific glowing shape, shaped like a tree with its roots gripping a globe.

  I hesitate for only a moment before stepping forward and pressing my palm against the cool surface. The moment I do, a surge of magic courses through me, sharp and exhilarating. Images flash through my mind - constellations swirling in an infinite sky, the branches of the great tree reaching toward the heavens, a herd of hippogriffs soaring in perfect formation. Unity! Echoes through my mind.

  The magic settles, leaving me breathless but steady. Professor Sinistra watches me closely, her expression unreadable.

  "It's done," She says softly. "You are now a member of the Hippogriff Society, Lucas. Welcome."

  I pull my hand back, the runes fading once more into the wood. "Thank you," I say, my voice quiet but sincere.

  Sinistra places a hand on my shoulder, her grip light but grounding. "You have potential, Lucas. Great potential. Use it wisely, we can help you here."

  I nod, feeling a sense of belonging that I hadn't realized I was missing. Here everyone pushed for excellence, you didn't get to join just because you scored well on an essay. Everyone here would be pure excellence, not your regular Hogwarts student. Whatever comes next, I know I'm ready.

  The Hippogriff society focused on Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology and Potions, amongst others, but those were the main focuses. This I knew.

  It wasn't until later that I realized what it meant.

  That the third Hogwarts Professor that was part of the club, although not as actively involved, thank Merlin.

  Was Professor Snape.

  It actually made the whole thing feel safer. Because if there wasn't an obvious downside, I would have been suspicious.

  I couldn't wait to crack open the library of Divination books on hand down here.

  The next day,

  The Transfiguration classroom is already buzzing when I walk in, the usual chatter of students echoing off the high stone walls. I spot several eager faces glancing toward the front of the room where Professor Flamel stands. And what a sight he is - clad in robes of deep crimson trimmed with gold, his sleeves billowing dramatically every time he moves. His eyes - twinkling behind exaggerated spectacles - sweep across the room like he's taking stock of his new flock of young minds.

  "Ah, my dear pupils!" Professor Flamel announces, spreading his arms wide as though greeting a crowd at the theater. "Welcome to a world where the ordinary becomes extraordinary, where shoes can hop, chairs can dance, and you - yes, you - can transcend the mundane and embrace the art of true magic!"

  Several students exchange amused glances, while others seem unsure whether to laugh or be inspired. Flamel doesn't seem to notice - or care. He's in his element, and the energy is infectious if not the meaning of the words.

  I already know this is going to be both informative, and annoying.

  I take my seat near the front, resigned to whatever spectacle he has planned for today. Professor Flamel spots me immediately of course, as I'm the last student to arrive, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Lucas Greenwood! My ever-willing volunteer."

  "I don't think I agreed to that," I mutter under my breath, though it does nothing to dampen his enthusiasm of course.

  I am already resigned to this.

  "Nonsense! Consent is implicit when you radiate such potential!" Professor Flamel declares, sweeping toward me with a flourish. Before I can so much as protest, he flicks his wand, and I feel the familiar rush of magic wrapping around me.

  In an instant, the world shifts. My hands turn to paws, my vision narrows, and a strange itchiness spreads across my body. The room looks larger - much larger - because I am now a fox. A startled yelp escapes my new vulpine mouth, and I hear a few gasps from my classmates.

  "You can't do tha-" I hear Hermione begin, before someone places a hand over her mouth, going by the muffled mumbles that trail off.

  "Behold!" Professor Flamel announces, turning to the class with a grand gesture. "One of the pinnacle of Transfiguration! Human to animal - a skill few will master, but one that begins with the fundamentals. This is what seven years of dedication could bring you!"

  I glance down at my sleek red fur, twitching my bushy tail experimentally. It's not the first time I've been Transfigured like this since beginning to work with Flamel, but it's no less disorienting. Still, I sit back on my haunches, deciding it's better to play along than cause a scene.

  Even if I want to go pee on the bastard.

  I feel the hair on my neck stand up as Susan and Hannah stare at me almost predatorily, fingers twitching.

  "And now," Professor Flamel continues, his eyes sparkling, "Let us explore versatility!" With another flick of his wand, I'm suddenly a hawk, my wings spreading involuntarily as I instinctively flap to keep my balance where I sit.

  The class breaks into laughter and scattered applause, a few students leaning forward to get a better look. To my irritation, not a one says something like - you really shouldn't do that to Lucas, should you?

  At least Hermione had tried.

  Professor McGonagall must be turning in her grave.

  "This," Professor Flamel says, pacing dramatically, "Is part of the artistry of Transfiguration - a blend of precision, creativity, and control. Imagine the possibilities!"

  Another wave of his wand, and I'm a rabbit. My nose twitches automatically, and I resist the urge to thump my foot. Professor Flamel crouches beside me, addressing the class as if we're part of a grand theatrical performance.

  Which… It kind of is, in a way.

  It certainly isn't much like class, at this point.

  "But remember, my dear students," He says gravely, "With great power comes great responsibility. Misuse this art, and you may find yourself the subject of unintended hilarity - or tragedy."

  Seriously? Quoting Spider Man, Professor? I think irritably.

  Finally, he flicks his wand again, and I'm back to myself, standing somewhat awkwardly besides my desk. My cheeks flush as I return to my seat, avoiding the amused grins of my classmates.

  I see that grin Neville, I'll get you back, mate.

  "Thank you, Lucas, for your invaluable assistance," Professor Flamel says with a bow, as though I'd volunteered for this. "And now, to the lesson at hand!"

  He claps his hands together, the sound reverberating through the room. "Today, we shall transform shoes into rabbits - a simple yet elegant exercise to hone your precision and creativity."

  I glance at the pile of shoes stacked neatly at the front of the room, relieved that I won't have to endure any more transformations today. But then Professor Flamel turns back to me, a mischievous glint in his eye, like he could read my mind.

  "Lucas, my boy," He says, "Why don't you join me up here? I have a more interactive role in mind for you."

  I sigh, standing reluctantly as the class watches with barely contained amusement. "What's the plan, Professor?"

  Professor Flamel gestures to the pile of shoes, then waves his wand with a flourish. The stack vanishes, leaving the students murmuring in confusion.

  "Why waste perfectly good shoes," Professor Flamel says, grinning, "When we have yours?"

  I blink, glancing down at my black school shoes. "You're kidding."

  I already know he isn't.

  "Not in the slightest!"

  With a resigned groan, I hop up on his desk as he gestures to me, my feet - and shoes - dangling for the class to see.

  "These," He declares, "Will be your canvas today. One by one, you shall come forward and attempt to transform these humble shoes into rabbits. And who better to guide you than our very own Lucas, who will serve as both assistant and critic!"

  He taps himself on the nose with a grin, "Worry not, if you accidentally transfigure his toes into alligators, I shall put it right!"

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, already anticipating the chaos this will cause. But as Flamel ushers the first student forward, I square my shoulders and prepare for the inevitable, Flamel giving the incantation to the class.

  A Gryffindor girl named Dinah that I don't think I've ever spoken to steps up, her wand trembling slightly in her hand. I give her an encouraging nod, gesturing toward the shoes. "Remember to visualize the rabbit clearly," I say. "Focus in your mind on the texture of its fur, the movement of its ears, even the way it breathes. The more detailed your image, the better your chances."

  I send Flamel a glare, for making me teach the class, but he only looks amused.

  Dinah takes a deep breath and points her wand at the shoes. "Lapiforma," She says, her voice steady.

  The shoes twitch and quiver, their laces curling like whiskers, but they don't fully transform. A few giggles ripple through the class, but I hold up a hand.

  "That's a good start," I say, looking at Dinah. "Try again, but this time, imagine the entire rabbit - not just its shape, but its essence. What does it feel like to be a rabbit? Imagine it all, its shape, it's fur, the feel of it, how it hops, anything you can think to add to your mental picture of a rabbit"

  She nods, determination flickering in her eyes. Her next attempt is more successful; the shoes morph into a vaguely rabbit-shaped creature, though it's still a little too... Leathery.

  At least my feet are safe.

  Although I don't like that look in Neville's eyes…

  "Excellent effort!" Professor Flamel proclaims, clapping his hands. "Next!"

  One by one, the students take their turns, each with varying degrees of success. Some manage to produce hopping, albeit misshapen, rabbits, while others end up with shoe-rabbit hybrids that are equal parts amusing and unsettling. Through it all, I do my best to offer constructive advice, even as I silently bemoan the state of my poor shoes.

  No one turns my toes into something weird so I can't complain.

  Finally, it's Hermione's turn. She steps up with a quiet confidence, her wand held steady.

  "Focus on the energy of transformation," I tell her, probably unnecessarily. "You've got the control; now channel it into the rabbit."

  Hermione just nods, her eyes narrowing in concentration. With a sharp flick of her wand, she mutters the incantation, and my shoes ripple and shift, transforming into two perfectly formed rabbits that hop around the desk with surprising agility, leaving my feet behind.

  The class erupts into cheers and applause, and even I can't help but grin a little. Even if my feet are cold now.

  "Well done, Miss Granger, twenty points to Gryffindor!" Professor Flamel exclaims, clapping her on the shoulder. "A natural talent, to be sure. Take note, everyone - this is the standard to aim for!"

  Hermione looks shell shocked this time. Having gotten praise from the Nicholas Flamel.

  As the class winds down, Professor Flamel restores my shoes to their original form with a wave of his wand, though they're a bit worse for wear I feel, although that might be a mental thing. I slip them on, relieved that the ordeal is over.

  "Thank you for your patience, Lucas," Professor Flamel says with a wink as the students begin packing up. "You've made an excellent assistant."

  "Glad to help, Professor," I reply, though my tone is laced with sarcasm.

  As the class files out, I can't help but reflect on the sheer chaos of it all. Professor Flamel's methods may be unconventional, but there's no denying they're effective. And if nothing else, today's lesson has given me a newfound appreciation for the art of Transfiguration - and the resilience of my shoes.

  That night, The Undercroft.

  I sit at my favorite corner table, parchment spread out before me like a battle map. My quill hovers, dripping ink in small, precise droplets as I stare at the neat grid I've drawn. Lines, numbers, and symbols weave together into something that looks more like a mathematical puzzle than a study plan.

  But this isn't just a plan. This is a system.

  I roll my shoulders, tapping the quill against the edge of the desk. Arithmancy. Divination. Two fields that most wizards don't think of as complementary, but in my hands, they feel like puzzle pieces clicking together. The numbers don't just show patterns; they reveal potential. They're the language of magic, woven into every spell, every ritual, every moment of our lives.

  And I intend to use them to make the most of mine.

  I mutter under my breath, "Alright, let's start with the constants." My quill scratches against the parchment as I jot down my core subjects: Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Potions. Each one gets its own column, marked with symbols representing their numerical values in the magical grid I've devised.

  Next, I add my extracurriculars. Dueling club. The Hippogriff Society. Personal study sessions in the Undercroft. Each is a variable, shifting in importance based on the week's demands.

  And then there's my physical training - essential for staying sharp, both physically and magically. I scrawl it into its own section, breaking it into categories: strength, agility, stamina, reflexes.

  "Too many moving parts," I murmur, tapping my quill against the desk again. "Let's break it down further."

  With a whispered incantation, I summon a small orb of light that hovers above the parchment, glowing faintly over the magical graph I've created. It's a focus charm, linked to my divination practice, and it pulses gently in response to my thoughts.

  I close my eyes, letting my mind settle. Divination isn't always about seeing the future in a literal sense; it's about interpreting the currents of possibility, feeling where they flow and where they break. I reach out mentally, imagining the grid before me as a living thing, its lines shifting and twisting with potential outcomes, the light catching on what I see.

  "What's the most efficient way to balance it all?" I ask the orb softly, my voice barely audible, as I'm almost in a trance.

  The light pulses once, then twice, and I open my eyes to see faint lines of gold tracing across the parchment, connecting certain points in the grid. My gaze sharpens as I follow the connections, noting where the numbers cluster and where they spread thin.

  "Alright, so Defense and Charms have the highest synergy this term," I mutter, circling the two columns. "Transfiguration's a close second, especially with Flamel's assignments. But Potions… Hmm, I'll need to allocate extra time for that. Snape's bound to throw curveballs apparently."

  Big surprise there.

  But good to have it confirmed.

  Who pissed in his oatmeal this year?

  I shift my focus to the physical training section, adding numerical values to each category based on their magical importance. Strength gets a lower value - most spells don't require me needing brute force - but agility and reflexes rank high. My dueling practice has taught me that much.

  "Two hours of agility drills, three times a week," I decide, marking it on the grid. "And reflex training… Maybe tie that into dueling club sessions. Efficiency."

  As the plan starts to take shape, I feel a flicker of satisfaction. The numbers are clean, the paths clear. But something still feels… Off.

  I lean back, running a hand through my hair as I stare at the parchment. "It's too rigid," I murmur. "Needs flexibility. Adaptability."

  The orb pulses again, drawing my attention to the divination numbers specific column. Of course. Divination isn't static. It's fluid, shifting with the tides of time and intent. I need to account for that. Hence why I'll need to redo this at times over the term.

  Grabbing my quill, I add a new layer to the grid - an overlay of potential adjustments. These are moments where the plan can bend without breaking, where I can pivot based on unforeseen challenges or opportunities.

  The logic of it all feels comforting, like I'm wrestling chaos into order. But the real test will be in its execution.

  "Alright, let's run a simulation," I mutter, pulling out a second sheet of parchment.

  I sketch out a mock week, filling it with hypothetical classes, assignments, and training sessions. Then I apply the grid, following its pathways to see how well it holds up.

  The orb pulses faintly, its light flickering as I adjust the variables. By the time I'm done, the week looks balanced - challenging, but manageable.

  I sit back, letting out a slow breath as I take in the completed plan. It's not perfect - nothing ever is - but it feels solid.

  "Not bad," I say to myself, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

  With the framework complete, I add one final touch - a feedback loop. At the end of each week, I'll review the plan, noting what worked and what didn't. The numbers will guide me, pointing out inefficiencies and highlighting areas for improvement.

  It's a dynamic system, one that evolves with me.

  As I set down the quill, a sense of accomplishment washes over me. This isn't just a plan - it's a blueprint for mastery. A way to harness the magic of numbers and divination to reach my full potential.

  I fold the parchment carefully, tucking it into my bag for safekeeping. Tomorrow, I'll put it to the test. For now, though, I allow myself a moment of quiet pride.

  "Let's see what you're made of, Lucas Greenwood," I whisper to myself, "It's time to push the limits."