Hogwarts Castle, Scottish Highlands, The United Kingdom.
Albus Dumbledore was not the only celebrity at Hogwarts. Harry Potter, a skinny green-eyed boy, had been on everyone's lips since the moment Professor McGonagall had announced it at the Sorting Ceremony. Robert Hilliard, the Ravenclaw Prefect, had actually bitten his nails in anticipation as the Sorting Hat was placed on Potter's head.
''Ravenclaw… Merlin – let it be Ravenclaw.'' He had whispered loudly, almost a whimper.
And then.
''Hufflepuff!'' Another, louder voice had yelled from somewhere nearby.
''Slytherin!''
''Lost your whole mind!' another had howled at the Slytherin in disbelief. Fredrik had turned to see a lanky Gryffindor boy standing up from his table.
The lanky redhead then shifted his gaze to the singing hat and spread his arms. ''Gryffindor! Come on, Potter! Come to Papa!''
After that, the shouting match started. A few Ravenclaws. Some Slytherins. Mostly Gryffindors. Just the one Hufflepuff. Each one trying to convince the hat harder and louder than the other. Eventually, the Headmaster himself had to rise and raise a hand for silence.
'The Boy Who Lived', students called him. The child who had ended a war. The baby who had taken a curse that should have killed him and lived. And no one knew how. Fredrik's eyes had widened when he first heard the story. Who would want to kill a baby in a cradle?
He'd learnt another name then. 'You Know Who' and 'He Who Must Not Be Named'. Michael Corner, a fellow Ravenclaw, had told the story in bits and pieces. He seemed more focused on Harry Potter than on the man who had tried to kill him. His mind had clicked nonetheless; Fredrik had heard of him before. Den Namnløse. The Nameless. That was what Mr Gyllenberg had called him. A dark wizard who had spread terror across the British Isles with murder and torture.
Fredrik remembered the thunderous applause when the hat had shouted ''Gryffindor!'' and Harry walked to his table. It had made the cheers at Fredrik's own sorting feel tiny in comparison. He'd been proud when the hat had declared him a Ravenclaw. Professor Flitwick's face had glowed with delight, but even that had been dwarfed by his reaction to Potter.
The hat had taken its time with Potter too, longer than it had with most. It felt like an eternity before the hat had yelled out its choosing. And Fredrik remembered just the softest swirl of light around its brim as it sat on Potter's head. He hadn't noticed from the teacher's table but had caught it clearly from the lower tables. And it wasn't only Potter; the swirl had continued to glow around the brim as the hat sat on students heads.
Justin hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw. He'd gone to Hufflepuff. Fredrik had been a little disappointed at first, but upper-year students quickly explained that Ravenclaws would share plenty of classes with other houses. Justin, for example, he'd see in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions. He shared Transfiguration and Charms with Gryffindor house. While History of Magic, Astronomy, and Herbology would be together with the Slytherins.
Now, at breakfast, the first proper day at Hogwarts, Fredrik watched Harry again. He sat next to the card collector, Ron Weasley, giggling at something the redhead had whispered. Fredrik glanced away, thinking he had stared too long, but others were watching too. All around the hall, students stole glances at the famous boy.
''What's our first lesson?'' asked Anthony Goldstein, one of Fredrik's Ravenclaw classmates.
''Defence Against the Dark Arts.'' Michael Corner answered casually.
''I heard that Professor Quirrell was a Ravenclaw too,'' Terry Boot said. ''And that he has faced Vampires and Trolls while he travelled Europe.''
Gasps followed from around the table. ''Trolls?'' Goldstein echoed. ''Dangerous beasts, they are.''
Fredrik frowned. ''There is one in Hogwarts, though, isn't there?'' He voiced his thoughts.
Five heads turned to him. Ten wide eyes stared. ''Trolls? Here? At Hogwarts?'' Sue Li looked terrified at the thought.
Were they really that dangerous? They hadn't seemed like it at the Swedish Ministry. ''Guardians'', Gyllenberg had called them. ''Misunderstood.'' He and Mr Stark had even let Fredrik ride on one's shoulders during his stay with them until his Uncle arrived from Greenland. It had been one of the best days in his life, just a few days after his worst one.
''Well, I mean, the man who led us to the boats, he is one. Isn't he?'' Fredrik continued, his voice growing more unsure with every word.
More staring. A cough. Silence. Then, laughter.
''The Keeper of Keys? He's a giant, silly.'' Sue Li giggled.
''A half-giant. Everyone knows that.'' Corner looked more unimpressed.
''Oh.'' was all Fredrik managed. He hoped that his face didn't look as warm as it felt.
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The first four weeks passed quickly, but not pleasantly.
Most of his classes had been theoretical so far. He had been excited to do some actual magic, but all the professors had denied the first-years. Magic was a dangerous thing, and a decent understanding of it needed to be taught before any wands were lifted. Most first-years had protested with groans or sighs. Fredrik joined them.
Their very first lesson had been Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Quirrell was a young man with sharp black eyes and a pointed purple hat. He had a faint, unreadable smile, one that reminded Fredrik a bit of Uncle Anders when he was pretending everything was fine. The room smelt strongly of garlic. Fredrik didn't notice until he sat down beside Justin. They both wrinkled their noses.
''Wands down, students. It shall not be needed in my classroom for quite a while,'' Quirrell said calmly. ''Now, I want everyone to take out The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection.''
The next ninety minutes had been spent in silence, reading the first chapter: A Beginner's Assessment. No spells. No demonstrations. Just reading. Fredrik remembered feeling Quirrell's quiet footsteps passing behind him more than once. At one point, the professor had even paused at their table. Fredrik hadn't dared look up. After a minute, the man had moved on without a word. He had spent the entire lesson pacing the room, silently watching.
Transfiguration had not been less strict. Professor McGonagall acted like she looked. Sharp and stern. She reminded Fredrik of a ball coach.
''Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,'' she said. ''Anyone messing around in my class during any of my lessons will leave and not come back. You have been warned.''
Like Quirrell, she offered only pages and pages of theory. Fredrik's hand cramped from all the note-taking. He massaged his wrist after the class and tried not to feel discouraged. He understood the need for theory. But he felt ready, and he wanted to prove himself. He needed to prove himself.
The only real fun Fredrik had experienced so far had been during his first flying lesson. It had been delayed for nearly a week due to an accident that left a boy named Neville Longbottom with a broken wrist. But eventually, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff got their turn.
Summoning the broom had been the first challenge.
''You're hesitating, Falkman. Hold out your arm, and say 'Up!' Do not be afraid.'' Madam Hooch had said sharply.
Fredrik frowned at that. The words had irritated him in a way he didn't expect. He wasn't afraid. He wanted this. He wanted to do magic, on command, with control. He needed to.
Despite his firmness, the broom hadn't moved. And Fredrik had ended up being one of the only students that had to pick it up normally.
Still, once they were in the air, his attitude changed. Flying was fun.
The movements came naturally. Lean forward to accelerate, lean back to stop, and tilt to turn. The first time he had travelled magically was back when he fell through a cracking hole in the floor. But this time, he wasn't being guided or at risk of falling uncontrollably. Now he was in control, perhaps that's why it felt amazing.
Potions was different compared to any of his lessons during the four weeks. It was a practical one but also the most nerve-wracking. Professor Snape had been yet another intimidating person. He wore a flowing black robe and always had a curling lip when observing anything.
During the lesson, they had been tasked with making a potion that could make pustules, hives and boils vanish from one's skin. Fredrik and Justin had followed the instructions carefully, measuring and stirring with as much precision as they could. At the end, their potion looked good, and both boys thought they had done well.
A single glance from the potions professor proved otherwise.
Snape passed their table, peered into the cauldron, and sneered. ''Mediocre,'' he said.
''But, sir,'' Justin protested, stunned. ''We followed the recep–''
''Five points from Hufflepuff, Finch-Fletchley,'' Snape countered flatly. ''Speak out of turn in my classroom again, and it'll be ten.'' He fixed them both with a chilling look, daring them to speak or do anything else. But Justin's lips had zipped tight, and Fredrik, already feeling out of place in Ravenclaw, wasn't about to make it worse by losing house points.
Fredrik hadn't spoken much to his housemates after that breakfast during the first morning. He caught on quite quickly that they had all grown up in a world he hadn't grown up in. A world of brooms and beasts and wonders, they knew all the rules and everything before they even stepped inside the Hogwarts Express.
His Ravenclaw classmates still welcomed him in small ways. They explained classes and answered his questions. But conversations drifted quickly to things Fredrik didn't understand. Someone would mention a Grindylow they saw over the summer. Another would debate 'Quidditch' teams and league standings. Fredrik couldn't relate to that, nor could he provide anything meaningful.
Thus, he found himself going quiet.
He could speak up when they talked about teachers or the school itself, those things they all experienced together. But most times, he felt like an outcast just listening in.
So, Fredrik retreated to the library. It was quiet, familiar. And, most importantly, it didn't make him feel stupid. He'd tried dragging Justin with him, but the boy only came once or twice. Justin still wasn't fully sure he wanted to be at Hogwarts, but he had made a few friends in Hufflepuff. Fredrik didn't blame him.
Today was one of those times. Justin was off doing a 'secret' Hufflepuff activity, some tradition their seventh years had arranged for the first years, so Fredrik was alone. It didn't matter much, though; there was still a week left before the homework on the properties of snake fangs and their uses in potion-making was due at Professor Snape's desk.
He had finished it rather quickly, too. The homework at Hogwarts was – or at least felt – pretty easy. Maybe I do belong in Ravenclaw, he thought as he slid the completed parchment into his bag. Only time will tell, as his uncle always said.
He had overheard Boot and Goldstein debating the assignment fiercely in their shared dorm the night before. But Fredrik hadn't found it difficult. Not with Magical Drafts and Potions open beside him. The answers had been all there after all; it wasn't hard to find.
Since it was Sunday and he had no homework left, Fredrik decided it was the perfect time to return to a spell that had haunted him since the very first train ride: the Levitation Charm. He tucked away the Potions book and pulled out The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1). He had looked at the page so many times now that he found the spell in seconds. He raised his wand and began to trace the movement.
''Swish and flick. Swish and flick.'' Fredrik murmured. He had copied the curved guideline onto a small scrap of parchment so he could follow it exactly. He practised the motion over and over.
When he finally felt ready, he set his eyes on the quill lying in front of him. Swish and flick.
''Wingardium Leviosa,'' he whispered.
Nothing. Fredrik frowned.
''Wingardium Leviosa.''
Still nothing.
''Wingardium Leviosa.'' His voice rose slightly.
The quill might as well have been glued to the desk. He narrowed his eyes at the quill. Why didn't it work? He had tried this spell for weeks now, every free moment since the Hogwarts Express.
''Wingardium Leviosa!''
''Wingardium Leviosa!''
''Wingardium Leviosa!''
''No shouting in the library!'' a sharp voice hissed, very close to his ear.
Fredrik flinched so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. As he flinched, the quill suddenly floated for just a second before dropping back onto the desk with a soft thud. He turned to see a pale, thin woman with sunken cheeks staring down at him. Madam Pince, the librarian. Her eyes were sharp and unforgiving.
''Sorry!'' Fredrik yelped.
Silence. A long quiet moment when Madam Pince looked him up and down with tight-lipped disapproval. Fredrik braced himself for a proper scolding.
''You're hesitating,'' she said curtly at last.
…What? Fredrik blinked. ''Huh?''
''You're hesitating,'' she repeated, frowning.
The words left him stunned. He blinked once more. As the meaning finally settled in, his expression hardened. What is she talking about? What are they talking about? He wanted the quill to levitate, wanted the spell to work. It didn't make any sense.
''It's all over your posture,'' Madam Pince continued, looking him up and down like he was some book to be read. ''Every time you cast, you look as stiff as a Niffler caught stealing. The quill's not going to eat you.''
The comment struck something inside him; his eye twitched. Fredrik shoved his things into his bag and stood up fast. ''I don't hesitate!'' He snapped.
The woman shot him a glare, but Fredrik didn't care. He left the library with loud steps. What does a librarian know anyway?
Fredrik had spent the rest of Sunday exploring the grounds outside, trying to cool off.
Halfway through, his exploring had taken him near the Quidditch grounds. A match was already underway; it looked like a practice session judging by the few spectators. Wizards were flying around wildly on broomsticks, high above the grass. He climbed a nearby hill and sat down, watching from a distance.
The speeds they were going at were jaw-dropping. How fast are they going? Fredrik thought. He'd seen cars move that fast before. It was a wonder they didn't fall off. Maybe it was some sticking spell?
The players on one team kept passing something to each other, while the other team tried to catch it. Fredrik narrowed his eyes to get a clearer look, it was hard to tell from the distance, but it looked like a ball. Eventually, one player got past the other team, sped toward a set of tall hoops and launched the ball at one, but the goalkeeper made a dramatic save.
Fredrik tilted his head. It was kind of like football and a bit like basketball… but still very off. He stayed there for a while, silently watching. He did not know for how long, but when all the players landed and left the field. he stood and wandered off again, continuing his exploration.
Eventually, he came to the edge of a forest, the forest. He figured it had to be the Forbidden one. His legs were aching by then, but curiosity tugged at him. He stopped and peered between the trees. Why was it forbidden? Had a student once gotten lost? It happened in the normal world. He'd read newspaper reports and seen news flashes about missing children his age.
He lifted his head up to follow the pine trees in front of him that went on for an eternity toward the sky. The forest was thick; trees stood at close edges, only a metre from each other. And although the daylight shone outside, the inside of the forest looked very dark.
Fredrik had seen many forests before, both in England and Sweden, but they were never this… scary.
Scary. That thought made him narrow his eyes.
He wasn't scared. It's only a forest. With that conclusion in mind, he made the first steps toward the forest. Past the treeline, and once daylight no longer shone on him, he took a few steps more, deeper inside.
''Oi! What d'yeh think yeh're doin'? No student's s'posed to be goin' inter them woods on their own.''
Fredrik froze like a Bambi caught in headlights. The voice was loud and rough, and though the forest was dark, he could make out a huge shadow starting to loom from behind him.
He turned and tilted his head up. And up. The man was massive, the troll – it was the troll. No… not quite. He remembered Sue Li and Michael Corner saying he was a half-giant. But then again, they had both gotten the easiest question in Transfiguration wrong.
''Are you really a giant? Or are you a troll?'' Fredrik blurted out before he could stop himself.
The man's eyes widened in surprise. As if no one had ever asked him that before. ''A troll?'' he echoed, incredulous. Then his expression shifted to something grumpier. ''I'm a half-giant, I am. Now come on, outta the forest with yeh. Or Dumbledore hears 'bout it and has a word with yeh.''
The walk back was short – ten seconds at most – but it felt much longer. Fredrik hadn't been scared going in... but walking back out, with the half-giant looming beside him, he suddenly was. What if he told the Headmaster? Could he be expelled? He'd never been much for breaking rules, but still, he had done it. Gone inside a forest that had been strictly forbidden, would've gone further if it wasn't for the Keeper of Keys.
A loud boom welcomed them, only it was not a voice, but a bark. Fredrik barely suppressed a flinch as an enormous dog came bounding toward him. The beast tackled him and started to lick his face and bark loudly. The dog looked like a right pet for the man beside him, black-furred and massive.
''Back, Fang, yeh great lump!'' the giant huffed. ''Off the first year!'' The dog obeyed immediately, bolting toward a nearby hut at the command.
''Is that your house?'' Fredrik asked, brushing slobber off his face.
The half-giant followed his gaze toward the hut and nodded. ''Yeah,'' he said. Then turned back toward Fredrik with a frown. ''What were yeh doin' wanderin' in there for?''
''Uhm,'' A hundred reasons swirled in Fredrik's head, a lot of them to do with proving that he wasn't afraid. But he only managed to blush. ''I'm sorry, I should head back.''
''Wait – 'Old on there!'' the giant called after him, his voice softer this time. But Fredrik was already running. Back toward the castle. Away from the forest. And away from explaining the stupid reason he had gone inside the forest.
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The school weeks continued in a steady routine. Every Sunday since that first incident, Fredrik had made it a tradition to sit on the same hill overlooking the Quidditch pitch, watching practices from afar. He'd come a little closer each time, inch by inch, toward the giant's hut, but he had yet to summon the courage to visit and apologise.
Today, however, Justin was alive with excitement as the two of them left the Great Hall together, heading toward their first class of the day. Fredrik couldn't help but get caught up in it. It was Hallowe'en, after all. That evening, there would be a feast in the Great Hall. Lit pumpkins, sweets, tasty food, and maybe, if the rumours were true, something even cooler.
''Ernie told me the Headmaster always plans something wild for the feasts,'' said Justin excitedly. ''One time, he had ghouls dancing.''
''Really?'' Fredrik asked, raising his brows.
Justin nodded eagerly. ''Yeah. It's been so good, honestly, having a friend like Erine who, you know, actually knows all of this.'' He gestured to the stone corridor they walked on. ''I know it's only been two months, but… I think I made the right decision coming here.''
Fredrik smiled. He wanted to roll his eyes. ''You did make the right decision. I mean, come on, this or some normal school?''
Justin paused; he seemed unsure suddenly. ''Well... it was this or Eton,'' he said with a sheepish grin
Fredrik blinked. ''Eton?'' he echoed.
Justin shrugged, the grin turning into a smile. ''Yeah, I know most wizards wouldn't get it, but you do, right? It's hard.''
Fredrik nodded slowly. He did get it now. Eton was a very prestigious school. The kind of place that not many children had the opportunity to go to, a place that guaranteed a great career. His uncle would've leapt at the chance to send Fredrik somewhere like that. If Flitwick had shown up while his name had been down for it. Fredrik was sure Anders would've slammed the door in the tiny professor's face.
He glanced at Justin again. He didn't look like someone with money. If he wasn't wearing robes, he mostly wore clothes that, well, weren't rich. It didn't look rich, at least.
''Do you think your parents will be okay with it?'' Fredrik asked gently.
Justin's smile faded. He looked down. ''Maybe,'' he said lowly. Then, after a moment, he looked at Fredrik. ''I guess I'll have to figure out a way to convince them.''
Fredrik clapped him on the shoulder with a reassuring smile. ''I'll help you; we'll figure it out. Okay?''
Justin's eyes widened, then softened. ''Yeah,'' he breathed. ''We'll figure it out.''
Together, the two boys entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and found seats. Professor Quirrell was already there, standing like a statue at the front, hands clasped behind his back. His sharp, dark eyes darted over every student that entered. When the last student finally slipped in and sat down, Quirrell raised his wand and slammed the door shut behind them.
''Wands away, students,'' Professor Quirrell said. ''I trust you've all read the assigned chapters?''
No one spoke. Fredrik, Justin, and a few others nodded. Two or three students gave quiet yeses. Not nearly enough to satisfy the professor.
''I must not be speaking clearly enough,'' Quirrell said. He still smiled, but his voice took on an unexpected chill. ''I asked: have you all read chapters one and two?''
''Yes, sir,'' the entire class echoed, this time louder.
''Good!'' Quirrell's smile warmed slightly, but it did not reach his eyes. ''Now, can anyone tell me what Quentin Trimble claims are the most important tools when encountering any threat?… Yes, Miss Brocklehurst?''
The student lowered her hand. ''He says to stay calm, sir.''
Quirrell nodded. ''And what else?''
''Um…'' The girl hesitated, thinking hard. ''I think he said–''
''I didn't ask what you think he claimed,'' Quirrell interrupted smoothly. ''I asked what he did claim. Take this as another lesson, Miss Brocklehurst: do not face what you're not ready for.''
The girl flushed crimson and went quiet.
''Macmillan,'' Quirrell said, without waiting for a raised hand.
The boy flinched slightly. He hadn't volunteered. Fredrik felt lucky to not have been the one the Professor called for, like Professor Snape and McGonagall, he had a look that just made you uncertain.
''Tell me the other two.''
''Er… Identify and Recognise, Professor.''
''Correct. Pacify. Identify. Recognise. Take five points.''
Quirrell moved slowly to the front of the class, folding his hands behind his back. Every movement he made looked deliberate.
''Now, over the course of this year, we will examine a number of dark creatures. But the truth is, the likelihood of any of you ever encountering such beings is extremely low. Most wizards go their entire lives without facing anything more dangerous than a garden gnome.''
A few students chuckled. Justin and Fredrik shared a look. Justin shrugged.
''That being said,'' he continued, voice cooling again, ''the most important things you will ever learn in this classroom are those three words: Pacify. Identify. Recognise.''
He paused, letting the silence stretch before continuing. ''Miss Brocklehurst has already given us the meaning of the first. Can anyone tell me what Trimble meant by the other two?''
Two hands rose.
''Yes, Miss Bones?''
''Identify means to know what creature you're facing,'' Susan Bones answered.
''Indeed,'' Quirrell nodded. ''The skill of identification is invaluable. If you don't know what you're facing, you're likely to make mistakes, often fatal ones. Some creatures use rudimentary magic; others can kill you with a look. Some should be dealt with from a distance; others are best handled up close. But how can you know that, if you can't tell a Thestral from an Aethonan?''
Fredrik's eyes had widened at his words. Looks that could kill? He had never imagined that such dangerous creatures existed. The only dangerous creature he had been told of was trolls, and they had been harmless when Fredrik had been close to them. The half-giant too seemed kind, he had stopped him from going further inside the forest. What kind of a creature could kill someone with just a look?
Quirrell actually stared at Fredrik as he walked past him. It was almost as if he knew that he had not been paying attention. The professor paced slowly across the classroom as he spoke, eventually making his way back to the front of the classroom.
''That brings us to the final word: Recognise. I know Professor Trimble left that term vague, too vague, in my opinion, so allow me to clarify it.''
Fredrik let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. He had been dreading the moment Quirrell might call on him. He had read the chapters, but Trimble's style had often wandered into ramblings. Like how 'Recognise' used to be the first word, creating the old wizarding acronym R.I.P., or its various old definitions. It had been hard to pin down what the word actually meant.
''Recognise,'' Quirrell said, ''means understanding a threat, both its strengths and weaknesses. The Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has developed a threat-level classification system that you'll study in the coming years. Knowing these levels, while unlikely, could one day save your life.''
He paused again, longer this time, while his eyes loomed over each face in the room.
''But,'' he added, his voice colder again. He often shifted between warmth and coldness. It was both confusing and intimidating. ''There is another meaning I wish to add.''
''To recognise also means to understand yourself. Your abilities, but also your limits. Every wizard experiences fear for a reason. Courage, while noble and inspiring, is often misplaced. And misplaced courage is no different than arrogance. It will get you killed. More than one wizard believed themself strong enough to face You-Know-Who, and it cost them dearly.''
Quirrell smiled, but the smile did not quite reach his serious eyes.
''I wager that if those same wizards listened to their fear and recognised the might that You-Know-Who truly possessed. They would be alive today.''
His gaze stayed briefly on the Bones girl while she and other students visibly shuddered.
''Recognising not only the strength of a threat but also your own ability to face it is not cowardice; it's wisdom. Many wizards, like Professor Trimble, tend to overlook that truth. There is no shame in running away from a threat. Nor is it to admit that something – or someone – is beyond your ability. For most of you, the ability to accurately recognise danger and weigh your own limits against it will be the single most essential skill you will ever need.''
Fredrik didn't even notice the Hallowe'en decorations until the Defence class was over. Lit pumpkins, cobwebs, and the occasional drifting ghost made for an exciting sight as he walked through the corridors. He wondered how the Great Hall would look during the feast later.
He and Justin parted ways after Defence. Fredrik had Charms with the Gryffindors, while Justin was off to Transfiguration with the Slytherins.
Professor Flitwick's classroom hadn't changed the way the corridors had. The tiny professor still stood atop a pile of books to see over his desk. He still called roll at the start of class, and when he reached Harry Potter's name, he still let out an excited squeak and nearly toppled out of sight.
But as the lesson continued, Fredrik noticed a very particular change. It had nothing to do with Hallowe'en, but still, it was a huge change.
''Books away, students. Wands up!'' Flitwick declared with a smile. A wave of excited chatter filled the room as everyone obeyed.
''Today, you will be attempting your very first charm. I believe you can all guess which one that is, seeing as we've spent the last week studying it.'' Flitwick said, beaming. ''The Levitation Charm has several variations, though mostly minor ones. To master the original is no easy feat for witches and wizards your age, so don't be discouraged if it doesn't work right away.''
''Yes, Miss Granger,'' he added, gesturing to a fizzy-haired girl with her hand raised.
The Know-it-all lowered her hand. ''Does the Levitation Charm work on all objects regardless of size or weight, or is there a limit?''
''Excellent question,''' Flitwick said. ''While the Levitation Charm is a powerful one, it does have its limits. It depends a lot on the caster's ability, intent, and the object's mass and magical resistance. That's why we begin with feathers.''
He then unrolled a scroll. ''I'll be sorting you into pairs. When I call your names, please move your seats accordingly… Falkman, please sit next to Goldstein.''
Fredrik didn't have to move far, as Anthony only sat two seats away from him. The rest of the rearranging took quite a while, and quietly. The only noise he heard besides Fliwtick's voice was the card collector's grunt as he sat himself next to Hermione Granger, the know-it-all.
''Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practising!'' Professor Flitwick squeaked. ''Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget poor Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.''
Huh? ''Did that really happen?'' Fredrik whispered to Anthony.
''Probably,'' Anthony said with a shrug. ''Want to go first?''
Fredrik had tightened his hold on the wand, swished and flicked, and whispered the incantation. But the feather didn't move. Goldstein gave him a sympathetic look, but Fredrik only stared at the feather. Then it was Anthony's turn. He failed too. The pitiful glance Goldstein had on quickly vanished. He frowned and tried again, but to no success.
Eventually, the only one who had managed to do it was Hermione Granger.
''You're saying it wrong!'' Fredrik heard her snap. ''It's Winggar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the ''gar'' nice and long.''
The card collector sneered. ''You do it, then, if you're so clever.''
Fredrik, Anthony, and probably the entire class watched as their heated exchange turned into her rolling up her sleeves, flicking and swishing, and whispering. ''Wingardium Leviosa.''
Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about a metre above their heads. ''Oh, well done!'' Flitwick cried and clapped. ''Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!''
Fredrik tried to say it the way she had said it; it was a bit different after all. He lifted his wand and whispered. ''Wingardium Leviosa.''
The feather twitched.
''You do look a bit stiff as you're casting,'' said Anthony thoughtfully, but Fredrik only blinked at the feather. That… was progress. It had moved.
''Good work, everyone! Ten points to Miss Granger for a successful attempt. I'll see you all later this week – Falkman, could you stay behind a moment?''
Fredrik blinked and looked to Flitwick. The professor gave him a warm smile. Once the room had emptied, Flitwick waved his wand. The stack of books floated over and settled in front of Fredrik. He climbed atop them so they were eye level.
''Not long ago, I received a complaint from Madam Pince about a student making a lot of noise in the library,'' Flitwick said gently. ''I thought little of it. But more recently, the Headmaster told me of a troubling report… about the same student wandering into the Forbidden Forest.''
Fredrik's stomach twisted. He stared at him, looked away, and then sighed. ''I can't do it,'' he said.
The professor looked confused. ''The Levitation Charm? Of course, you can't. It's only been one lesson.''
''No,'' Fredrik clarified. ''I mean, any spell. I'm the only one in Transfiguration that can't turn a match into a needle. And I have tried to do this spell for months, but it doesn't work. Madam Pince told me it was because I was scared.''
A fire lit in Fredrik's light eyes. ''But I'm not. I'm not scared!''
Flitwick observed him in silence. And then, with a swish of his wand, made his quill write a weirdly drawn line on his parchment.
''Will you please demonstrate another charm for me, Mr Falkman?''
''What? Another charm?'' asked Fredrik.
Flitwick smiled reassuringly. ''The incantation is Lumos. The movement is here.'' he pointed to a line he'd drawn on parchment with his wand.
Fredrik hesitated. A new spell? What did it do? His hold on the wand tightened as he followed the hand movement written. ''Lumos.''
Nothing happened.
''Now, try the Levitation Charm again,'' Flitwick said calmly.
Fredrik looked at the feather, swished and flicked. ''Wingardium Leviosa.''
A twitch. Nothing more.
''See?'' Fredrik said, growing frustrated. ''Maybe it's the wand. That wandmaker swapped out one that felt right. What if this one isn't mine?''
Flitwick didn't answer. ''Close your eyes for me, Mr Falkman.''
With a frown and some grumbling, he closed his eyes. Darkness.
''Spellcasting,'' Flitwick said softly, ''has to do with a lot more than words and wand movement. You couldn't cast Lumos because you don't know what it does yet. But you know what Wingardium Leviosa should do… you can picture it. You just don't want it to happen.''
Fredrik scowled. ''I do want it to happen.''
''Then show me,'' Flitwick said. ''Again, Wingardium Leviosa.''
A breath. A swish and flick. ''Wingardium Leviosa,'' he whispered.
Silence, still darkness. For a few moments, he held his wand up in the air, still.
''Open your eyes,'' said Flitwick.
He opened his eyes. Took a few moments to readjust his eyes, and when he saw it, he gaped. The feather that had once stood silent on the table was now a metre in the air.
''Now lower your wand,'' said Flitwick gently. ''Slow and steady.''
Fredrik hadn't looked at the professor once since opening his eyes, they were straight on the feather. His heart started to thunder, but with another deep breath, he obeyed. As he lowered his wand from the air and pointed it toward the table. The feather descended down and down until it lay nice and neatly at the table.
''You see? Nothing bad happened, did it?''
Fredrik shifted his gaze to the professor. ''Right…'' Fredrik murmured. The feather had floated and… nothing had happened. Nothing bad had happened.
''Now, do it again. With open eyes this time,'' Flitwick encouraged with a grin.
Fredrik blinked at the Professor. Nothing had happened. The words kept echoing in his head. No wrongs, no broken mirrors, no cracks… no moving shards.
The hold on his wand wasn't as tight as all the other times now, the swish and flick a lot smoother. ''Wingardium Leviosa!''
Different. Was the first thought that came to him. A warmth that hadn't been there before when he had closed his eyes came to him, his wand buzzed slightly, and the quill ascended, further and further up in the air, until it stood two metres in the air.
Flitwick clapped and cheered. ''Well done! Oh, fantastic work! Ten points to Ravenclaw. Outstanding!''
Fredrik grinned at the professor. He'd already done it, but this felt different. Better. The professor was a lot more enthusiastic this time too. Maybe it's different with open eyes. He lowered his wand and guided the feather back down.
''Did you notice any difference? A warmth, perhaps?''
''Er, yeah. How did you know?''
''Oh, well done, Falkman.'' Flitwick looked almost misty-eyed. ''I must admit that I was a little dishonest with you. It was I who cast the Levitation Charm when you closed your eyes.''
Fredrik's eyes widened. ''What?''
Fltwick took a moment to calm down and then smiled softly at him. ''Wizards come to Hogwarts in all shapes and sizes, Mr Falkman. I've taught students like you before. Some do come here with… shadows. You couldn't cast because you were afraid of something going wrong. You acted only on instinct. There's nothing wrong with that. Especially considering what has happened to you. But to cast any spell successfully, you must let go, clear your mind, and believe.''
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺🌍༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Fredrik left the Charms classroom with a grin that refused to go away. It stayed with him all the way to the Ravenclaw common room, where he eagerly demonstrated the charm to his Charms partner, Anthony Goldstein. The boy had gasped and then bombarded him with questions: What was he doing wrong? Could Fredrik help? Charms had been their last class of the day, and they ended up spending most of the afternoon in the library practising. In the end, Fredrik helped him manage it too, just barely though, with a twitch of the feather.
The grin faded slightly as they headed back from the library toward the common room. On the way, they heard soft crying coming from a half-open door to an empty classroom.
''It's the Know-it-all,'' whispered Anthony after peeking in. ''I saw her overhear Weasley growling about how annoying she is.''
''Oh,'' Fredrik sounded. A tugging feeling grew in his chest. The sound reminded him of David, his friend from primary school in Norwich. David had cried a lot too.
''I'll see you at the common room,'' Fredrik whispered. ''I'm going to talk to her.''
''You sure?'' Anthony asked.
Fredrik nodded.
Anthony hesitated, eyes flicking toward the door. ''Okay,'' he said eventually, turning and beginning to walk away toward Ravenclaw Tower.
Fredrik stepped through the door into the dimly lit classroom. Only two candles flickered on nearby desks. In the far corner, Hermione Granger was curled up with her face buried in her knees.
Fredrik approached her. ''Granger?'' he asked gently.
She froze, then lifted her head. The Know-it-all was a homely sight. Her large front teeth and frizzy hair were familiar, but it was the red, puffy eyes that struck him most.
''Go away!'' she hissed.
Fredrik raised his hands in peace. ''Sorry. I just heard someone crying and wanted to check if you were okay.''
Silence. She stared at him, and the way she did made him uncomfortable. David had never acted like that. It was always easier with him. Maybe this wasn't the right idea.
''I don't need anyone checking on me,'' she said, then buried her face again.
''Oh, okay.'' A sudden thought came to him. ''I suppose I should thank you, then.''
That got a reaction out of the girl. Her head snapped up, she blinked, and wiped her face. ''What?''
''Well, uhm… I had problems with spells, well, casting them.''
''I know,'' she said flatly. ''You're the only one in McGonagall's class who hasn't turned a match into a needle.''
Fredrik blinked now instead. A bit blunt, isn't she? He thought. ''Yeah. And... well, you cast Wingardium Leviosa today, and it helped me realise what I've been doing wrong. So… uhm, thanks.''
Wrong move, apparently. Her eyes welled again. ''Everyone hates me,'' she cried. ''I thought it would be better here. But it's all the same.''
''You're different,'' Fredrik blurted out.
''Huh?'' her voice was teary.
''Yeah… my friend David back in primary school was different too. People picked on him for it. There's nothing wrong with standing out. I think people just don't like it when someone comes on a bit strong.''
Silence, a few sniffs, and then. ''Primary school, you're a muggle?''
Fredrik nodded. ''Norwich, you?''
''London,''
He nodded again, unsure what to say next. Granger and David were alike, but also very different. It wasn't something he could quite explain. David was quiet, odd, in his own world. Hermione was intense and intruding, in a way that still left her alone.
That gave him an idea. It had worked for David. It might work for her.
''Do you like books?'' he asked.
The frizzy-haired girl shrugged but didn't answer. He took it as permission. He rifled through his bag for a minute, worrying he might not have brought it. Finally, his fingers found the cover.
''Here,'' he said, holding it out to her.
She looked at it curiously. ''What is it?''
''A book,'' he answered. ''My, uhm, friend. David, he liked to read it when he was down. The main character kind of reminds me of you in class, different.''
His eyes widened. Only in classes, with the bossiness, not in general.
''Only a little!'' He quickly added. ''Not in a bad way. you know. Just… take it, give it a read and tell me what you think.''
He wasn't sure why he'd brought it to Hogwarts – a miss of home, perhaps, or a reminder of better days. Fredrik could still see the front cover as Granger held the book and inspected it, a red-haired girl with pigtails lifting a horse over her head with ease.
''Thank you,'' she said quietly.
''You're welcome.'' A pause. ''Do you want to come out with me?''
''I–'' she hesitated. ''No, not really.''
''That's fine,'' At least she had stopped crying, and she looked a little better. He counted that as a win. ''I'll see you at dinner?'' he offered, unsure.
She nodded. As he turned to leave, he glanced back. And saw that Granger was already on the first page.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺🌍༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Hours later, Fredrik and Justin made their way toward the Great Hall. They were talking about football, of all things. Justin and his father apparently had a thing for Arsenal Football Club. A mediocre team, in Fredrik's opinion. They weren't A.C. Milan or Manchester United. Not that he had any ground to talk smack; his own club was Norwich City, and they'd barely survived relegation this season.
The Hallowe'en feast looked incredible. The moment Fredrik and Justin entered the hall, they had to separate. He found his seat beside Goldstein. Food had already begun to appear, out of thin air, like always.
''Did she–'' Anthony began. ''Was everything alright, then?''
Fredrik nodded. ''I think so.''
Anthony nodded back, then turned his attention to the food, piling things onto his plate. ''People can be mean,'' Goldstein said thoughtfully.
''Yeah,'' Fredrik agreed.
After the feast had gone on for a while. Fredrik could feel the anticipation through the Ravenclaw table. Rumours had started to fly. Some claimed to have seen dancing skeletons earlier that day. Others swore they saw hags flying on broomsticks over the Quidditch pitch
But everything came to a sudden halt, though. When Argus Filch, the caretaker, had rushed inside the Great Hall and shouted for everyone to hear. ''Troll!'' He cried. ''Troll loose in the castle! Troll!''
A panic ensued, which was only stopped by Headmaster Dumbledore as he sent purple firecrackers exploding in the air. Fredrik remained pretty calm. But he found himself wondering. Were they really that dangerous? Maybe Scottish trolls were different.
''Prefects,'' Dumbledore said calmly. ''lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately. Teachers, come with me.''
All the teachers, McGonagall, Quirrell, Snape, Sprout and Flitwick, swept out through the doors. Some other teachers too, but Fredrik didn't know them by name.
''Ravenclaw's this way!'' shouted Robert Hilliard, their prefect.
Later, lying in bed with his curtains drawn tight, Fredrik pulled out his wand. He ran his thumb along the pinewood grip.
A quiet idea stirred. He held the wand softly, picturing the hand movement he had seen on parchment clearly in his head. About what he had read in the library. He took a breath.
''Lumos,'' he whispered.
A familiar warmth.
A buzz.
A flicker.
And then…
Light.