HP: Infinite Talent, Ch 37-40

Chapter 37 — There’s No Filthier Word Than This

A crowd of Slytherins collapsed one after another under the wand of the young wizard. Even the fourth- and fifth-years couldn’t hold their ground. To the onlookers, the sight was so surreal it almost felt absurd.

A first-year—barely a month into school—had just taken down more than a dozen upperclassmen in a row?

Was that even possible?

“Bryne’s… that strong?”

Marietta, who’d been worried a moment ago, now stared with wide eyes, stunned.

Cho didn’t speak, but her gaze lingered on Ark—who still stood firm at the center of the chaos—with something bright and strange flickering in her eyes.

“Nice one!”

“Go, Bryne!”

Harry and Ron were the only ones who weren’t the least bit shocked by Ark’s display. They were shouting encouragement from the sidelines, so excited they looked like they were ready to jump in themselves.

At last, Ark raised his wand for the final spell.

“Stupefy!”

A red jet of light burst forth like a laser, striking the last upperclassman still on his feet. The boy stiffened, then dropped to the ground, out cold, sleeping as peacefully as if he’d simply gone to bed.

And with that, every Slytherin who had raised a wand against Ark was down. The few who hadn’t dared attack stared at the scene, faces pale, and began backing away in fright.

When Ark’s calm gaze swept toward them, they flinched as if burned and stumbled back several more steps.

Shame crept across their faces—but before anyone could speak, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“What on earth is going on here?!”

It was Professor McGonagall.

The students who’d run to fetch the professors had finally returned, and McGonagall led the charge—robes billowing, slippers still on her feet. She looked every inch the furious cat dragged out of a nap.

Floating in behind her, like an ominous shadow, came Severus Snape. His dark eyes swept over the unconscious Slytherins on the floor, and his already sour expression grew even darker.

Only the two professors had come—no one else.

It was obvious why: the fight had started between Harry, Ron, and Draco Malfoy with his two cronies. Gryffindor versus Slytherin meant the Heads of those Houses were summoned.

But what they found was not a brawl in progress—it was a battlefield of fallen Slytherins, and one lone boy still standing in the center: Ark.

“What happened here?” Snape’s cold voice cut through the tense air. “Who’s going to tell me what exactly transpired?”

The students froze. Not a breath dared to stir.

“Potter. Weasley.” McGonagall’s stern eyes locked on the bruised pair. “I was told you two were fighting Slytherins. Is that true?”

Harry and Ron—who’d been shouting moments before—now shrank their necks like two scolded quails.

“Bryne.” McGonagall turned toward Ark, who stood amid the unconscious bodies. Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of disappointment in it. “I’ve always believed you to be a good child. You’ll explain this to me, won’t you?”

It was clear she didn’t want to believe her polite young Ravenclaw had caused this devastation.

“Professor, it’s like this…”

Cho finally stepped forward, volunteering to explain what had happened.

She gave a fair account—no favoritism, at least not on purpose. She said it had started with Harry and Malfoy fighting, and Ark had intervened to protect his friends. Then the Slytherins had ganged up on him, forcing him to defend himself.

Not exactly biased, right? Though she conveniently left out the part where Ark had struck first.

Of course, the Slytherins wouldn’t stay quiet about that—especially Malfoy, who limped forward with a glare.

“He attacked me first, Professor! He’s the one to blame!” Draco pointed accusingly at Ark, his voice shrill with anger.

“Is that true?” McGonagall turned back to Ark, eyes filled with disbelief. “Tell me it isn’t, Bryne.”

Unfortunately for her, Ark didn’t deny it.

“It’s true. I struck first. Then the Slytherins attacked me together.”

His calm admission sent the mood plummeting.

“Well, there’s nothing left to discuss then.” Snape’s tone dripped with cold disdain. “I thought Ravenclaws were meant to be different from reckless Gryffindors—measured, thoughtful, capable of using what little brains they have. But it seems even so-called prodigies are no better—puffed up with pride, eager to flaunt their power.”

“One boy takes down a dozen Slytherins, including fifth- and sixth-years. Are you proud of yourself?”

“So desperate to show off your strength—to prove how special you are?”

“I’d call this bullying, wouldn’t you agree, Professor McGonagall?”

Before McGonagall could reply, Ark spoke—his voice steady and composed.

“Professor Snape,” he said quietly. “Malfoy insulted me.”

“Oh?” Snape sneered. “And that gives you the right to attack a fellow student with magic?”

Ark didn’t flinch. His calm, unyielding gaze met Snape’s dark one.

“Do you know what he called me?” Ark said evenly. “He called me a filthy little Mudblood.”

Snape froze. The muscles in his face twitched violently, as if struck. His eyes burned with sudden fury.

“What?” McGonagall gasped, rounding on Draco. “Merlin’s beard—Malfoy! How dare you use such a vile, disgusting word? How could you call your classmate that?”

Draco’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

Nearby, Harry leaned toward Ron and whispered, “Is that… really bad?”

Ron muttered back, “It’s worse than bad, Harry. It’s one of the most disgusting slurs there is. It means dirty, inferior blood. In the Wizarding World, there’s no word more offensive.”

The term was used by Pure-blood supremacists to insult those of Muggle-born or mixed heritage—those they deemed unworthy of magic. It wasn’t just an insult; it was a declaration of hatred.

That was why so many faces in the crowd burned with anger.

Ark spoke again, still calm.

“I believe anyone would react if they were insulted like that by our dear young master Malfoy.”

“I don’t like using violence to solve problems. But if someone refuses to talk reason, I don’t mind letting my wand do the talking.”

“We learn magic, don’t we, to defend our own dignity?”

“So if you believe I was wrong, Professors, I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t McGonagall who spoke first—it was Snape.

“Anything to say for yourself, Malfoy?”

Snape’s gaze toward his own student was colder than toward anyone else.

“Professor, I…” Draco faltered, voice trembling.

“Enough.”

Snape’s tone cut like a blade. He understood perfectly well what had happened.

Normally, he would have found a way to shield his House—at worst, share the blame with the other side. But not this time.

Malfoy had used the one word Snape loathed above all others—the word that had once cost him the woman he loved, the word that had haunted him ever since.

And because of that—

“For your filthy choice of words, Slytherin will lose fifty points.”

For the first time, Snape punished his own House—and he did it harshly.

Chapter 38 — The One Who Truly Deserves Attention

“Professor!”

Malfoy stared at his Head of House in disbelief.

He couldn’t believe it—his own Head of House had just taken that many points from Slytherin.

“Shut up!” Snape snapped, voice rough and low. “And if you think that wasn’t enough, I can always take more!”

Malfoy immediately clamped his mouth shut.

“And the rest of you!” Snape’s black eyes swept over the battered Slytherins struggling to stand, each word sharp as a blade. “So many of you ganging up on a single first-year, and you still ended up like this? Don’t you dare tell anyone outside this school you’re my students. I’ve never had such pathetic pupils.”

“Slytherin will lose another fifty points—and every single one of you will write me a self-reflection essay. No less than ten inches long!”

The Slytherins collectively felt the world crumble around them.

Losing points was bad enough—but essays too?

What were they supposed to write? Sorry for being this weak?

Truthfully, Snape didn’t care that they’d attacked someone as a group. In his mind, there was no shame in using any means necessary to win.

That was Slytherin’s creed—survival of the fittest. There was no such thing as right or wrong, only strength and weakness.

Their real failure wasn’t that they’d ganged up on someone. It was that they’d ganged up and still lost.

In any duel or confrontation, being weak was the original sin.

If you’d already decided to fight dirty and still couldn’t win—then don’t expect mercy, even from your Head of House.

“Brilliant!”

“Serves you right!”

The onlookers burst out, grinning as the Slytherins’ faces turned ghostly pale.

Hogwarts’ strongest House—or so Slytherin always liked to believe—had finally fallen flat on its face. Six years of holding the House Cup hadn’t won them any friends.

After all, who liked being sneered at from above? Who enjoyed being looked down on for their bloodline or family name?

No one.

No one liked the ambitious little snakes who lived in the dungeons, scheming and sneering at everyone else.

So yes—watching them suffer was pure delight, especially for the Gryffindors. The Ravenclaws weren’t far behind, and even the mild-mannered Hufflepuffs couldn’t help but enjoy the sight. Slytherins had called them “the most mediocre House” for years—so maybe this was poetic justice.

Harry and Ron, of course, were practically glowing with joy. Nothing made them happier than seeing Malfoy and his cronies humiliated.

Unfortunately, they celebrated too soon.

“Do you two think you’re in the clear? Potter! Weasley!”

Professor McGonagall’s voice cracked like a whip. She’d noticed their grins and was not amused.

“Let’s not forget,” she said sharply, “the fight began with you two—and neither of you was insulted, nor acting in self-defense! Twenty points each, from Gryffindor!”

“And you’ll both write me a ten-inch essay as well, due before the end of the weekend!”

Harry and Ron’s faces went slack.

“No, Professor!”

“We’re sorry!”

They tried pleading, but McGonagall wasn’t in the mood for forgiveness.

“I’m not praising Mr. Bryne for using his wand against fellow students—but at least he used his wand. Unlike the two of you, who decided fists were the better option.” Her tone grew even icier. “By next week’s class, I expect to see significant improvement. And for Merlin’s sake, try not to turn a matchstick into a matchstick man again.”

“If you can’t manage that, you’ll be in my office for extra lessons.”

To McGonagall, using magic to attack another student was unacceptable, no matter the reason. So no—she wasn’t going to praise Ark.

But still... a first-year from another House had just taken down over a dozen Slytherins, including upper-years, with actual spells. Meanwhile, her Gryffindors were still brawling like Muggles.

Were they wizards or boxers?

At this rate, anyone watching would think Gryffindor trained fighters, not spellcasters.

Looking at Harry and Ron’s bruised faces, McGonagall could only feel bitter disappointment.

Without glancing back at them, she turned toward Ark again, her expression firm.

“As I said, Mr. Bryne, I don’t condone such behavior, no matter the reason,” she said in her brisk, professional tone. “I’ll be reporting this to Professor Flitwick and letting your Head of House decide if disciplinary action is necessary.”

“Next time something like this happens, I hope you’ll remain calm—and handle it with reason.”

“Do you understand, Mr. Bryne?”

Though her words were strict, Ark could tell she was giving him a way out.

“Thank you for your leniency, Professor.” Ark bowed slightly. “I’ll remember that.”

Whether he truly would or not was another matter.

McGonagall’s expression softened slightly, and she turned to leave.

Snape was already gone, his black robes billowing behind him. Even from a distance, it was clear his mood was foul—haunted, perhaps, by bitter memories he’d rather forget.

The students soon began to disperse. Some ran toward the castle, eager to share the story with their friends.

The Slytherins, meanwhile, could only grit their teeth. They knew this would spread like wildfire—and that they’d be mocked by every other House.

Even their own Housemates who hadn’t been there would sneer at them for losing. They’d say they’d disgraced Slytherin, shamed Pure-blood pride.

Malfoy, limping toward Ark, muttered coldly, “I’ll tell my father about this. He’ll make sure you’re expelled.”

Ark’s reply was calm, almost bored.

“Then you’d better pray your father’s more powerful than the greatest wizard of the century.”

Expel him? He’d like to see them try.

He didn’t know Dumbledore personally—but he knew enough.

The Headmaster prized Hogwarts’ students above all else and would never let outside influence harm them. Not over something as trivial as a schoolyard duel.

Even if Dumbledore sometimes set aside his principles for a greater cause, this wasn’t one of those times.

Ark was certain that if Dumbledore ever heard about the incident, he’d just chuckle and say something like, “Ah, youth—so full of energy.”

Malfoy, of course, knew none of this. Convinced his father’s position as a Hogwarts governor made him untouchable, he sneered and stalked off.

To him, getting a Muggle-born expelled was child’s play.

He couldn’t imagine how ridiculous he’d look next week when Ark strolled into the Great Hall laughing with a group of witches, perfectly fine.

Not that Ark cared.

A spoiled, silver-spoon brat from a fair-weather family? If this were one of those novels from his old world, that kind of character wouldn’t survive three chapters—unless it was to get trampled on for the next thirty.

Ark’s mind was already elsewhere.

Not on Malfoy. Not even on Hogwarts’ petty squabbles.

His thoughts had turned to Quirrell. To Dumbledore. And to the Dark Lord lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike.

They were the ones who truly mattered—the ones who could change everything, who might even threaten his life.

Fighting them… that was the kind of challenge worth his focus.

As for the rest of the students at Hogwarts?

They weren’t even on his radar anymore.

Chapter 39 – A Boy’s Budding Crush

Before long, most of the students on the lawn had dispersed, leaving only Ark, Harry, and the others behind.

Harry and Ron were still wallowing in the misery of losing House points and being assigned detention. Only when everyone else had gone did they finally drag themselves over to Ark.

“Thanks for stepping in back there, Byrne,” Harry said, gratitude and embarrassment mixing in his voice much like the night before. “And… sorry for getting you involved.”

“No need to thank me.” Ark smiled and shook his head, his calm, gentlemanly demeanor restored. “Didn’t cost me anything.”

“You were brilliant, mate,” Ron said, equal parts impressed and envious. “If I were as good as you, I’d’ve blasted Malfoy straight into the sky the moment he opened his mouth.”

Last night, Ron hadn’t felt jealous watching Ark at work—but now, seeing him humiliate a bunch of Slytherins and walk away without punishment, that envy was kicking in hard.

Maybe that’s the kind of privilege model students got.

Should he… try studying harder?

The thought barely floated through Ron’s head before he stomped it right back out.

Study harder? Merlin’s beard, what a terrifying idea.

Was wizard chess suddenly boring? Were Gobstones not fun enough anymore?

The image of himself holed up in a corner with a pile of books like Hermione sent a chill down his spine. The envy in his eyes quickly evaporated.

Yeah, no. Let’s just be a normal student. No need to turn into a bookworm.

“I have to say, you really surprised me,” Cho said as she and Marietta finally walked over. Her eyes were still filled with amazement, as if she hadn’t yet recovered from seeing Ark suddenly lash out at the Slytherins.

“Same here, little junior,” Marietta added, her expression one of open admiration. “I thought you were the kind who’d never pick a fight.”

Who could’ve guessed that this polite, soft-spoken, and infuriatingly handsome Ravenclaw boy—who seemed the picture of grace and manners—would suddenly attack someone without hesitation?

That was so un-Ravenclaw. It was downright Gryffindor behavior.

Maybe these two Gryffindors are rubbing off on him…

Marietta turned to glare at Harry and Ron, eyes brimming with disapproval as though she were staring at a pair of wanted criminals. Ron blinked back at her, utterly baffled.

Harry, however, didn’t notice a thing.

From the moment Cho showed up, he’d gone completely still, staring at the pretty Ravenclaw like he’d been hit with a Stunning Spell.

Unfortunately for him, Cho wasn’t looking his way at all. Ignoring the famous Boy Who Lived, she sighed softly and said to Ark, a note of reproach in her tone,

“Even if Malfoy’s words were awful, using magic against him was still risky. It’s honestly a miracle that Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape didn’t punish you. One’s notoriously strict, and the other—well, you know—always takes Slytherin’s side.”

That’s because you don’t know just how much Snape hates the word ‘Mudblood,’ Ark thought silently. Or how fond Professor McGonagall is of me—she was the one who guided me through Diagon Alley in the first place.

Out loud, he only said, “Didn’t Professor McGonagall say she’d report it to Professor Flitwick and let him decide the punishment?”

Maybe the Head of House would call him in later for a lecture.

“No, I doubt it,” Cho said, shaking her head. “Professor Flitwick’s nothing like Snape. He and Professor Sprout are the kindest professors at Hogwarts. You didn’t attack anyone without reason. He might scold you a bit, but I can’t imagine him being harsh.”

“Exactly,” Marietta chimed in. “Our Head of House is the best. As long as he knows you weren’t in the wrong, he won’t hold it against you.”

“That’s a relief,” Ark said with a shrug. “I’d hate to lose points.”

He wasn’t kidding. He’d worked hard the past two weeks to earn Ravenclaw a decent pile of points. If he got docked fifty—or worse, a hundred—like what McGonagall or Snape might’ve done, that’d sting.

Still, even if he had known he’d lose points, he would’ve acted the same way.

He wasn’t about to let Malfoy insult him without consequence.

Ark liked to reason with people—but that didn’t mean he’d let himself be pushed around.

Be too kind, and people will walk all over you. He understood Slytherins well enough to know that backing down today would only make them see him as weak, an easy target for the next round of bullying.

If you wanted peace, sometimes you had to earn it with force.

And if anyone in Slytherin thought about causing him trouble in the future, they’d damn well better make sure they were tougher than the dozen students he’d already flattened.

Cho seemed to realize that too, but she still couldn’t help warning him.

“Just be careful, all right? Slytherins hold grudges. Pure-blood families can be incredibly petty, and some of them won’t hesitate to use underhanded tricks to get what they want. Remember last year’s Quidditch match? Someone from Slytherin actually tried to drug a player from another House.”

She spoke from personal experience—Cho was on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.

Beneath that quiet, gentle exterior was a girl who’d loved Quidditch since childhood. She’d dreamed of joining the team from the moment she arrived at Hogwarts.

She hadn’t been chosen as a first-year—she wasn’t a natural prodigy like Harry—but this year, she’d finally earned her spot and was now in training.

If she passed, she’d get to play in real matches soon. If not, she’d serve as a reserve.

Their team captain never let them forget about Slytherin’s dirty tricks. He reminded them constantly to stay on guard.

And, truth be told, it wasn’t only Slytherin who pulled stunts like that. Gryffindor had done its fair share, too.

Ron’s face went a little red as Cho spoke. He averted his gaze awkwardly.

He’d overheard his twin brothers more than once discussing how to “even the odds” by spiking Slytherin’s drinks before a match.

It was no wonder those two Houses were at each other’s throats every year—on and off the field.

Thinking of that, Ron decided it was time to warn his best friend.

“You hear that, Harry? You’d better watch out for those Slytherin gits. Don’t let ’em slip you anything funny!”

But when he turned to look, Harry wasn’t listening at all. He was still staring dreamily at Cho, utterly gone.

“What are you staring at, mate?” Ron asked bluntly. “Got something weird on her face or what?”

The words made Harry snap out of it—mortified—and Cho’s smile faltered.

“There’s nothing weird on my face, is there?” she asked, frowning and turning to Marietta instead of meeting Ark’s eyes.

She definitely didn’t want him to see her flustered.

“Relax, Cho,” Marietta said soothingly. “Your face is perfect. Too perfect, actually.” She shot Ron another glare, leaving him even more confused.

“H-hi,” Harry stammered, red-faced. “I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

“Of course I know you,” Cho said, her smile blooming once more. “The Boy Who Lived, right?”

That radiant smile short-circuited Harry’s brain all over again. His face went crimson.

Watching the scene, Ark raised an eyebrow, lips curving into a faintly amused smirk.

Looks like the Savior was right on schedule—spring fever and all.

Chapter 40 – You Really Are My Best Mate

In the original story, Harry didn’t notice Cho until his third year—and the moment he did, he was instantly smitten by the pretty young witch.

Before that, despite living at Hogwarts for two whole years, he’d never shown interest in any girl. But once Cho appeared, the Boy Who Lived experienced his very first crush.

Now, though, Harry had only just started his first year, and Cho was only a second-year herself. Yet history had a funny way of repeating itself. The young Savior found himself drawn to her all the same, his gaze trailing after her more often than not.

To be fair, Cho was curious about Harry too. After all, he was a living legend in the British wizarding world. Even young witches and wizards who’d only just entered the magical community—like Hermione—had read about him in books.

It was hard not to be curious when a name you’d seen in print suddenly became a real boy studying in the same castle as you. Especially if you were a Ravenclaw, where curiosity came as naturally as breathing.

That said, two weeks at Hogwarts had done plenty to dim Harry’s mystique. After the chaos today—his first real fight, face bruised and nose bloodied—Cho’s impression of him had dropped considerably.

He seemed more awkward than anything now. Always staring at people, particularly her, with that wide-eyed look—it came off as rude, not endearing.

Ark, on the other hand, was different. Gentle, composed, effortlessly charming. Every word and gesture of his carried an easy grace that drew people in without even trying.

So once her initial curiosity passed, Cho lost interest in Harry and soon left with Marietta after exchanging a few polite words.

Harry, meanwhile, couldn’t take his eyes off her retreating figure. He looked dazed, almost bewitched—so much so that even Ron, the king of obliviousness, noticed something was off.

“Hey, mate, what’s with you?” Ron gave him a teasing pat on the back. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that pretty upperclassman already?”

“Of course not.” Harry’s denial was instant, but he couldn’t stop himself from adding softly, “Don’t you think she’s… special?”

“Special how? You mean special as in pretty?” Ron said bluntly. “Well, yeah, Cho’s one of the most popular girls in second year—maybe the most popular. Loads of people say she’s the prettiest in her year. Even compared to Clivatt from fourth year, she’s not far off.”

“Oh, right—you probably don’t know Clivatt. Percy’s been trying to court her. Fred and George tease him about it all the time—”

Harry tuned him out halfway through, turning instead to Ark.

“You know her, right? Uh, Cho, I mean?” he asked eagerly.

Ark chuckled. “We just met. We were both fishing by the Black Lake earlier.”

“She likes fishing?” Harry perked up immediately. “Maybe I should learn, then.”

“There’s no need,” Ark said, amused. “You’ve already joined the Quidditch team, haven’t you? She’s a Quidditch fan too—probably even a player by now. You’ll run into her on the pitch soon enough.”

That did it. Harry’s face lit up like a Lumos Charm.

“She’s on the Quidditch team too? That’s brilliant!”

Apparently, Harry Potter had just found another reason to love flying.

“Brilliant? She’s in Ravenclaw, you know!” Ron said, alarmed. “You’re Gryffindor! That makes her your opponent. Don’t you dare go easy on her during a match!”

“I won’t,” Harry promised—but his tone lacked conviction, and Ron looked instantly worried.

Please don’t let our Seeker ruin his career over a crush, he thought in despair.

In Ron’s book, the Quidditch Cup was far more important than a pretty face.

So, naturally, he set about crushing his best friend’s budding enthusiasm.

“Snap out of it, mate. That girl’s really popular. I heard even upper-year blokes are after her—some of them from her own Quidditch team. Big guys. Tall, strong. Let’s be honest, she’s not likely to fancy a scrawny little first-year like you.”

The blunt hit landed perfectly. Harry stared at Ron, utterly betrayed.

Not only is he not helping, he’s twisting the knife.

“You really are my best mate,” Harry said flatly, each word dripping with sarcasm.

“Of course! You can always count on me, Harry.” Ron puffed up proudly, oblivious to the murderous thoughts flashing through Harry’s head. “Just look at my face—these bruises are all from blocking punches for you. Pretty loyal, huh?”

To be fair, he wasn’t wrong. Ron had indeed taken a few hits meant for Harry. His right eye was still swollen.

Harry forced a smile but decided not to mention that Ron’s sudden charge had actually caused Goyle to miss his target—resulting in a vicious kick straight to Harry’s backside. He still couldn’t sit properly; the sting was unforgettable.

Ark, watching the exchange, struggled not to laugh. In the end, he gave up and drew his wand.

“Episkey.”

A faint light flared at the tip of his wand as he traced it over the boys’ bruises. Wherever it passed, the swelling faded, cuts closed, and the pain ebbed away.

“We’re… healed?” Harry and Ron blinked, prodding at their faces in disbelief before breaking into matching grins.

“Just a simple healing spell,” Ark said, pocketing his wand. “The Episkey charm can’t fix anything too serious. If something still hurts, you should visit the Hospital Wing—Madam Pomfrey will sort you out.”

“Got it.” Harry nodded quickly. “Thanks again, Byrne.”

“Call me Ark,” he said with an easy smile. “Really, it was nothing.”

“Then call me Harry.”

“And me Ron!”

Both boys spoke at once, grinning ear to ear. After fighting side by side—and bleeding side by side—they already saw Ark as a true friend.

Ark didn’t mind at all. He nodded, smiling warmly.

The three chatted a while longer before Harry promised to introduce his other friends soon, and he and Ron finally headed off together.

Ark watched them go, then turned toward the castle himself.

……

As it turned out, Professor Flitwick really was as kind as everyone said.

After hearing the full story from Professor McGonagall, he called Ark into his office—but instead of scolding or punishing him, he first asked if Ark was hurt. Only after confirming he was fine did he offer a few mild words of caution and let the matter drop.

Then his curiosity took a different turn.

“I’ve heard you can already cast the Shield Charm quite proficiently,” Flitwick said, his bright eyes twinkling. “Is that true? And, if you don’t mind me asking, how far along are you in your studies?”

Ark didn’t hide it. “Yes, I can use the Shield Charm fluently. As for my studies, I’ve already finished reading The Standard Book of Spells series—all of them. I’ve practiced and mastered every charm listed in the texts.”

“All of them?” Flitwick blinked, then beamed at him like he’d just discovered a rare gem. “Remarkable, Mr. Byrne! No wonder even upper-years can’t keep up with you. You’re bound to be a fine duelist one day.”

Coming from a former Dueling Champion, that was high praise indeed.

Flitwick was so impressed that he decided to reward him.

“If The Standard Book of Spells is no longer challenging enough, perhaps you should explore the Library next.” He scribbled something on a slip of parchment and handed it over.

“With this, Madam Pince won’t stop you from entering the Restricted Section. I hope it serves you well, Mr. Byrne.”

Ark’s eyes lit up instantly.

“Thank you, Professor Flitwick!”