Review of a School Year - Part 1
POV Filius Umbra
The school year was ending with an almost unnatural tranquility for Hogwarts. Without the dramatic incidents of the Chamber of Secrets, the atmosphere was one of peace. I had decided that the poor basilisk deserved to live; a future plan involved bringing a parselmouth healer from India to evaluate it and relocate it to a sanctuary. It was a much more humane solution than the common hysteria surrounding such creatures.
I made my way to the Great Hall for the end-of-term feast. The room was adorned with the elegant blue and silver tapestries of Ravenclaw. A discreet smile crossed my lips. My old house continued to produce exceptional minds – it was no coincidence that most of the Court members in England came from its ranks. My eyes scanned the tables, briefly resting on the Hufflepuff students, the loyal and hardworking ones who were the backbone of any operation.
I watched Dumbledore's speech and the announcement of the House Cup for Ravenclaw. After the feast, we conducted the final staff meeting. Natasha, efficient as always, handed me her notes before my turn.
When my turn came, I began with the advanced classes, highlighting Cedric Diggory's mastery and dealing with the "creative eccentricities" of the Weasley twins, which were circumvented with the prospect of losing an internship at the Court – a measure for which several colleagues expressed gratitude with visible nods.
Upon reaching the second year, I made a calculated pause. "And now, the second year. I notice a certain... collective interest in this particular class."
A visible discomfort ran through the room. It was Flitwick who laughed. "Well, it's not every day that one has the 'Boy Who Lived' as a student, is it?"
"Exactly," I agreed. "And that's why we must be meticulous. In terms of raw talent for the art of battle, the most promising are Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and Ronald Weasley. Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass demonstrate the result of pre-Hogwarts training but risk being surpassed by raw talent if they rely solely on technique."
Now, the delicate part. "And then we have Hermione Granger."
Everyone looked at me. The girl was a favorite of many.
"Hermione is, without a doubt, the most academically diligent. However, she views magic through an overly Muggle lens. Her mind is brilliant, but rigid. She treats magic as an exact science, a series of rules to be followed to the letter. This approach gives her a formidable initial advantage with basic spells and memorization. But for advanced magic, especially in life-or-death situations, this rigidity will become an anchor."
I paused, letting the words echo. "If she does not learn to feel the magic, to let go and trust intuition, her potential will be limited. She may become a talented witch, perhaps even reach the level of a trained auror, but she will never transcend that plateau."
It was then that Professor Snape spoke, his voice a thread of poisonous silk that cut through the silence. "An astute observation, Umbra." Everyone turned to him. "I can offer a... practical confirmation of your theory, from my Potions classes."
His dark eyes scanned the table, challenging anyone to contradict him.
"The Granger girl is perfectly capable of reproducing any recipe from the book with irritating... precision. She would get 'Outstanding' in all potions if she followed the book's standard to the letter. However," and his voice lowered further, "her yearning for a Muggle logic blinds her to the true art of potion-making. She questions the modifications that I, a Potions Master, implement to refine archaic recipes. She cannot comprehend that magic, especially in my cauldron, is not just about following instructions like a cake recipe. It requires intuition, a feeling for the ingredients that goes beyond the literal understanding of a text."
He made a dramatic pause, letting his words, which were a near-perfect echo of mine but from a different perspective, hang in the air.
"She is brilliant enough to follow the rules, but not wise enough to understand that there are rules beyond the comprehension of her textbook. This is not curiosity, it is a mental barrier. If she does not learn to trust intuition over pure intellect in my classroom, she will never transcend mediocrity in the art of potions."
The other teachers murmured their agreement. Professor McGonagall, who clearly held a special fondness for Hermione, agreed with a reluctant nod. "Unfortunately, I see traces of this same rigidity in Transfiguration, when theory meets more... fluid applications. I agree it is a limitation that needs to be addressed."
The meeting then moved on to final matters and was adjourned.
As I rose to leave, a thought crossed my mind. I turned to Dumbledore, who was organizing his papers.
"Albus," I said, my voice low. "I remembered something. About the high council meeting of the Court. I know you missed the last one..."
The headmaster blushed visibly, a rare sign of embarrassment. He adjusted his half-moon spectacles and cleared his throat. "Yes, well... This next one, Filius, this one I solemnly swear I will not miss. Wizard's word."
An almost imperceptible smile touched my lips. "I will be there to confirm it." And with that, I left the room, the echoes of the ending year giving way to preparations for the challenges yet to come.
The Court of Owls Summit - Part 2
POV Filius Umbra
The Floating Mountains of Huashan rose majestically against the twilight sky, their imposing rock formations hovering gracefully above the clouds as if defying the very laws of nature. This marvel of Chinese magical architecture housed one of the most prestigious headquarters of the Court of Owls - not a secret location, but rather a recognized and respected center of power throughout the magical world, where international delegations frequently gathered to discuss the directions of global magic.
The air, thick with ancient Chinese magic, created an almost palpable atmosphere, making even strands of hair stand on end from the concentrated magical energy. In the vast main courtyard, adorned with jade sculptures and dotted with floating lanterns casting golden patterns on the white marble, Ada Wong waited with a patience that only centuries of experience could grant.
She was a vision of deliberately calculated power and elegance. Her blood-red dress, tailored from the finest enchanted silk, fell in perfect folds over her body while an embroidered golden dragon snaked from the hem to her right shoulder, its meticulously detailed scales shimmering with every subtle movement she made. The side slit revealing her leg up to her thigh was not a mere fashion accident, but a silent statement - a reminder that even in this gathering of brilliant minds, readiness for action could never be completely abandoned.
Around her, the Chinese members of the Court maintained a posture of respectful expectation, their traditional brocade silk robes with ancient magical symbols seeming to whisper stories of past dynasties. They were the living embodiment of the rich Chinese magical heritage - wise, patient, but formidably powerful in their own serene way.
It was then that from the deepest of the elongated shadows stretching across the center of the courtyard, I emerged. The travel method wasn't a matter of concealment, but rather a personal signature - a demonstration of mastery over one of the most complex aspects of modern magic. The silent emergence through the shadow dimensions made some of the younger wizards involuntarily step back, their primal instincts reacting to the sudden appearance of concentrated power. Ada, of course, maintained her unshakable composure, though a slight and almost imperceptible smile of recognition touched her perfectly painted lips. The attendants bowed in a synchronized greeting that was both a salute and an acknowledgment of hierarchy.
As I walked with measured steps toward the great doors of the meeting hall, my silver eyes clinically analyzed the local wizards with interest. They strongly reminded me of the cultivators from stories I had devoured in my past life - not in the exaggerated ability to destroy galaxies with a thought, but in the way magic seemed to flow through them like a serene, uninterrupted current, a deep connection with the world's natural energies that few in the West would ever fully understand. They were strong in a way that went beyond mere brute power - they were wise, rooted, immutable like the very mountains they inhabited.
Ada joined me in perfect sync, our steps echoing softly on the polished marble. "All members of the high council are present and await your arrival, President," she whispered, her voice a deliberately soft contrast to the solemnity of the environment.
China had been unanimously chosen to host the main annual meeting - an honor that reflected both its growing influence on the global magical scene and the impressive architecture of its headquarters. While the Court met numerous times throughout the year in various locations, this particular meeting served as the ultimate showcase where all the most significant achievements and advances made under the organization's auspices would be presented and recorded for posterity.
In the imposing meeting hall that more resembled an ancestral temple, with its vaulted ceiling supported by red lacquered pillars carved with sinuous dragons, I sat in the slightly elevated central chair symbolizing my position as President. With precise movements, I placed the wrought silver mask that would transform me from Filius Umbra into the mere symbol of the Council's leadership. Around me, the other members performed the same ritual - not out of shame for their identities, but because in this room, their positions and contributions mattered, not their names or personal histories.
My gaze swept over the fifteen chairs arranged in a perfect arc, each representing a fundamental magical discipline: Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Herbology, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Alchemy, Rituals, and Dark Arts. Each seat was a work of art in its own right, carved from materials representative of their respective disciplines.
The room began to fill with masked figures moving with the solemnity the occasion demanded. My eyes lingered particularly on the Accent of Potions, the renowned Chinese wizard Li Wei whose jade green mask was adorned with tiny bells that produced no sound whatsoever, and on the Accent of Rituals, the enigmatic Egyptian Amunet whose mask resembled the wrappings of a royal mummy with lapis lazuli inlays that seemed to contain entire galaxies in their depth.
The last to enter were Gellert Grindelwald and Vinda Rosier, making their entrance with the theatricality that always characterized them. As Grand Sorcerer of Austria, Grindelwald sat among the other Grand Sorcerers with a familiarity bordering on arrogance, while Rosier, as his protégé and now equal, occupied the Dark Arts chair with deadly elegance. Dumbledore arrived moments later, his title of Grand Sorcerer of England preceding him as always, closely followed by Nicolas Flamel who, despite his many centuries, still carried the title of Accent of Alchemy with youthful vigor. The look Flamel directed at Grindelwald still carried the bitter weight of a Paris that almost burned to ashes - some wounds, even centuries later, continued to fester.
"The Annual Council is formally convened," I declared, my voice modified by the mask's magic to sound like the collective echo of all present voices.
The reports began with Li Wei, whose voice emerged soft but authoritative through his jade mask: "The Wolfsbane Potion has been significantly improved after extensive research. The new version demonstrated approximately seventy percent reduction in physical characteristics of werewolf transformation during full moon tests, showing a promising path to a complete cure in the foreseeable future."
"Coordinate efforts with the Accents of Dark Arts and Alchemy to form a specialized research committee for this study," I ordered, my words coming out as an unquestionable directive. "The cure for lycanthropy will require a multifaceted approach uniting different disciplines."
One by one, the experts presented their advances - new spells discovered, magical plants cultivated, historical insights that rewrote our understanding of magic's development through the centuries. The room became a cauldron of revolutionary discoveries, each announcement more impressive than the last.
When all magical disciplines had completed their reports, I addressed specifically the five Grand Sorcerers - myself representing Britain, Dumbledore for England, Grindelwald for Austria, and the representatives from Brazil and Africa.
"Do the Grand Sorcerers have any significant contributions to add to the disciplinary reports?"
None had anything substantial to offer - their strengths lay more in raw power and leadership than in meticulous academic research. Then, as both President and lead researcher, I prepared to present the project that had consumed most of my time and energy in recent years.
"In collaboration with the Grand Sorcerer of Austria," I announced, feeling the room's energy instantly change, "we have successfully developed and tested a revolutionary method to allow Squibs to perform magic."
A palpable wave of shock swept through the room, so intense it almost seemed physical. Several masks turned abruptly in my direction, and even through the magic concealing them, I could feel the weight of their disbelief mixed with cautious hope.
"How is this possible?" asked the Accent of Alchemy, Nicolas Flamel, his voice trembling for the first time in centuries.
"Through a fundamental understanding of the nature of magic in Squibs," I explained methodically. "Unlike Muggles who completely lack magical pathways, Squibs merely have these channels atrophied from birth, not absent. We developed a complex series of magical tattoos that serve as artificial channels so their innate magic, always present but unable to manifest, can finally flow."
I then detailed the crucial innovation that made everything possible: "In exclusive partnership with Mr. Ollivander, we developed personalized wands that work in symbiosis with the tattoos. Since the connection is necessarily artificial, these special wands contain pre-loaded spells - the standard version contains ten essential spells, the intermediate twenty, and the advanced version thirty spells of varying complexity."
The Accent of Alchemy couldn't contain his curiosity: "And the effectiveness of these pre-loaded spells? How are they activated?"
"The spells are activated through the same components natural wizards use - concentrated will, precise wand movement, and correct enunciation of the incantation," I responded patiently. "Each casting occurs at consistent proficient level, so the spells don't fail as often happens with training wizards. The most promising aspect, however, is that regular use appears to stimulate gradual regeneration of the natural channels, with the possibility of eventually performing spells independently of the special wands, depending on the initial level of atrophy."
The proposal to create a new Accent of Wandmaker and grant it to Ollivander for his revolutionary contribution was accepted by unanimous acclamation - a rare moment of absolute agreement in the Court's history.
When the formal proceedings concluded and the masked figures began to withdraw in groups talking animatedly, Dumbledore approached with his characteristically silent steps.
"President," his voice was laden with a rarely heard emotion, "what you have achieved today... will give hope and purpose to so many souls who have suffered discrimination and exclusion for centuries. I think of all the children who carried the burden of being considered inferior now having the opportunity to live their lives in magical fullness."
"We are merely fulfilling our fundamental mission, Grand Sorcerer of England," I responded, my voice still modified by the mask sounding impersonal and distant. "Improving the wizarding world, solving one problem at a time, without haste, but without pause."
When we were finally alone in the silent room, with only the soft whisper of wind in the mountains as company, I removed the ceremonial mask. The symbolic weight of the presidency instantly dissipated, and I was simply Filius Umbra once more - not a title or position, but a man with a vision. I walked to the immense crystal window stretching from floor to ceiling and contemplated the floating mountains dancing gracefully among the night clouds, their imposing forms illuminated by the silvery light of the full moon rising on the horizon.
This particular project would undoubtedly be one of the most revolutionary in modern magical history, but I knew in my heart that it was only the beginning of a long journey that still had many challenges ahead. Every advance, every discovery, every improved life brought us step by step closer to realizing a truly inclusive magical world where talent and determination, not accidental birth, would determine an individual's worth. And for that vision, every sacrifice, every sleepless night, every battle fought in the corridors of power was worth it. The future of magic was being forged here, in these floating mountains, and I would have the honor of shaping it for generations to come.
In case anyone hasn't understood how the high court works, it is composed of the greatest minds in each area of study and the great wizards of the court. If a great wizard is also the greatest in an area, he can choose whether to sit in the area's seat or in that of great wizard. For example, Grindelwald could be in the seat of the dark arts or Dumbledore could be in the seat of transfiguration.