(Author's note: I am not a writer, just taking my first step into creating fanfiction. I heavily used ChatGPT, so if there's anything wrong or things I should add, inform me so I can fix it.)
The Ravenclaw Tower was unusually quiet that morning, save for the distant echo of boots against stone and the soft murmur of students leaving for breakfast. Evelyn descended the spiral staircase slowly, her mind still tingling from the events of charms class the day before. Even with the excitement of Halloween decorations adorning the corridors—jack-o'-lanterns magically suspended in midair, enchanted cobwebs twinkling faintly in colored light—her thoughts were entirely occupied with magic, her system, and the subtle mysteries it had been revealing. Lumos, in its many forms, flickered at the edge of her awareness, now solidified at nineteen percent, teasing her with the elusive threshold she had yet to reach. She could feel the delicate balance between control and strain, the subtle ache behind her temples as her magical faculties stretched themselves further than they ever had before.
Despite the festive atmosphere, Evelyn's steps were measured and precise. Most students were distracted, chattering animatedly, comparing costumes, or pointing at floating pumpkins. She noticed the way the light bounced off the polished stone floors, how certain spells altered subtly depending on their environment, and a part of her mind cataloged it all. Even the faint breeze slipping through the windows seemed to carry magical residue, something that would be imperceptible to most, yet it hummed along the edge of her awareness. The magical system had become an intimate lens through which she could see the world differently, one in which every minor shift, every spark of energy, could be analyzed, cataloged, and, eventually, replicated.
Evelyn's internal system logs ticked quietly as she descended further. The percentages of Lumos, Nox, and Acus Ignis were etched into her mind, but she also pondered the finer details: how the colored variations interacted with different ambient lights, how the intensity and duration of a spell altered its effectiveness, and how these small experiments might hint at some broader pattern she had yet to understand. She knew that these months of subtle, careful experimentation were laying a foundation far beyond the average first-year. Every wand flick, every attempt to modulate her magic, even if it seemed minor or unremarkable, was a piece of a larger puzzle.
By the time she reached the hallway near the Charms corridor, Evelyn's focus began to shift slightly toward the mundane yet immediate: she realized she needed to use the bathroom. Her pace quickened, though still careful, as she thought ahead to breakfast in the Great Hall. She rounded a corner, glancing briefly at the corridors below. Despite the chill of the stone walls and the echoing footsteps, there was something comforting about the rhythm of Hogwarts in motion—the predictability of students hurrying, professors patrolling, and magical energies subtly dancing in the air. Yet, beneath this surface normalcy, Evelyn sensed a tension she couldn't quite place, the faintest hint of a disturbance, a foreshadowing that something unexpected awaited her.
Evelyn pushed open the bathroom door with a quiet creak, the familiar scent of aged stone and lavender from the enchanted cleaning sprays greeting her. The space was dimly lit, the moonlight streaming faintly through the high windows, catching the mist of moisture from the sink basins. Her footsteps echoed softly against the tile as she made her way toward the nearest stall, but she froze mid-step. There, crouched in the corner, was Hermione—tears streaking her face, her body curled as if trying to shield herself from a world she could not control. Evelyn's first impulse was surprise; the usually composed, fastidious Hermione had been undone, reduced to raw, fragile emotion.
Evelyn paused for a long moment, studying Hermione quietly. The words she wanted to say seemed to hover on her tongue, hesitant and careful, as if the wrong syllable might shatter the fragile moment further. She knew, instinctively, that rushing in with any magic would not help—this was a human moment, a delicate puzzle of heart and mind, not of wand and incantation. Instead, she leaned against the wall, voice low and measured, "Hermione… you're not alone. Do you want to talk about it?" Her words were soft, almost tentative, but there was a calmness in them that carried authority.
Hermione sniffled, attempting to wipe away the tears with the back of her hand. "It's… Ron," she muttered, voice tight. "I tried to help him with the spells yesterday, and he—he just—he made fun of me." Her shoulders shook slightly, a mixture of frustration and humiliation mingling in her small frame. Evelyn nodded, understanding that this was not about being right or wrong; it was about the weight of being dismissed, the sting of care met with ridicule. She realized then that, for all her own magical obsessions, she was still capable of empathy—a quality her system could not measure, yet that guided her actions.
Evelyn took a slow breath and decided to speak in the only language she felt could reach Hermione in that moment: magic, indirectly. "Do you remember yesterday, in Charms? How Professor Flitwick was explaining the colored variations of Lumos?" she asked, trying to ground Hermione's scattered thoughts. Hermione's attention shifted, a small spark of curiosity flickering in her watery eyes. Evelyn continued, recounting in quiet, even tones, the details of Lumos Rubra, Lumos Viridis, Lumos Caerulea, Lumos Solis, Lumos Aqua, and Lumos Sanguis. She spoke not of casting, not of sparks and flashes, but of the thought and care behind each variant—the way color, intent, and magical structure could subtly alter a spell's effect.
Hermione listened, blinking through tears, as Evelyn described the properties of each one: the warmth of Rubra, the grounded persistence of Viridis, the focused projection of Caerulea, the radiant expansion of Solis, the flowing fluidity of Aqua, and the tension-balanced energy of Sanguis. It was a calm, measured discourse, and slowly, Hermione's shoulders relaxed, her breathing evening out. Evelyn didn't cast any magic; she only spoke, but it was enough to tether Hermione back to the present, to remind her that magic was not just chaos and failure—it was structured, learnable, and infinitely nuanced.
As the conversation drew to a pause, the two girls prepared to leave the bathroom. Evelyn adjusted her robes, feeling the slight tension in her own muscles from lingering alertness. But just as they approached the door, a strange, foul smell wafted in from the corridor beyond—a combination of damp stone, animal musk, and something far fouler she could not immediately place. Both girls froze. Their eyes met, wide with unease, as the hairs on the back of Evelyn's neck pricked. It was faint at first, but unmistakable, and instinctively she realized it wasn't harmless—whatever it was, it was large. Something was coming.
The smell hit again, stronger this time, acrid and metallic, and Evelyn's heart jumped. She instinctively placed herself slightly in front of Hermione, pulling the younger girl behind her. The bathroom tiles seemed colder underfoot, every echo of dripping water amplified in the suddenly oppressive silence. Evelyn's system hummed faintly in the background, a subtle awareness only she could sense—a flicker of magical data that was new, untamed, and urgent. She did not yet understand it, but it demanded attention.
A low rumble echoed through the corridor outside, and the floor vibrated faintly beneath their feet. Evelyn's pulse quickened. She crouched slightly, wand half-raised, ready, though unsure of what would come. The sound grew—a deep, guttural grumble, and then a thump as something enormous moved just beyond the doorway. The faint moonlight through the windows cast long, dancing shadows, hinting at a hulking form that seemed impossibly large to be contained in Hogwarts' narrow corridors. Evelyn's stomach dropped as realization struck: this was no ordinary animal.
Hermione whimpered, clutching her books to her chest, and Evelyn spoke quickly, her voice calm but firm, "Stay close. Don't make a sound. We'll move slowly to the side." She led Hermione toward the nearest stall, trying to put a solid stone barrier between them and the unknown intruder. The troll's presence was overwhelming—not just physically, but magically. Evelyn could sense it in a way that made her system tingle, registering an enormous amount of chaotic magical energy, completely untamed. Her mind raced as she realized that any misstep, any sudden motion, could provoke it.
Evelyn's heart pounded in her chest, and in that instant, something within her system opened—a new interface she had never seen before. Her vision swirled with subtle runes and shards, Nordic symbols floating in a faint golden glow only she could perceive. It was the spell creation area, the section her system had hinted at but she had never accessed until now. She blinked, wide-eyed, as instructions appeared: one Latin shard, one Nordic ruin shard, and an emotion could be combined to create a new spell. More powerful spells could use multiple fragments across categories, but each shard would be consumed upon use.
The urgency of the troll pressed on her, her protective instincts spiking, and Evelyn's gaze fell on her available components. The Nordic ruin fragment Sowilo glimmered faintly, and her Latin shards flickered: LUMEN, RUBRUM, VIRIDIS, CAELUM, SOL, AQUA, SANGUIS, OBSCURA, TENEBRAE, IGNIS, LEVIS. Her emotions were racing, but one rose above the rest: protectiveness. She did not hesitate. Carefully, she selected Sowilo, the Latin shard LEVIS, and her emotion of protectiveness, and with a mental confirmation, her system processed the combination. A pulse of light and warmth radiated through her, brief but distinct, and she felt a subtle connection to the energy of her new creation.
A small notification appeared, visible only to her: "New Spell Unlocked: SHIELDUM. Components Consumed: LEVIS, SOWILO, Emotion: Protectiveness. Effect: Generates a temporary protective barrier in a controlled radius. Primarily defensive; can absorb impacts or redirect force. Duration and strength scale with user intent and magical capacity. Initial proficiency: 5%. First Latin shard unlocked: VIGOR." Evelyn's mind barely registered the text; adrenaline and panic surged. There was no time to analyze the spell fully. She raised her wand instinctively, using the basic motion that the system suggested, and a faint shimmer of protective energy flickered outward, forming a semi-transparent barrier around her and Hermione just as a massive shadow filled the doorway.
The troll's foot thudded against the floor, shaking the tiles, but the barrier absorbed the brunt of the impact. Hermione gasped, clutching Evelyn's arm, and for a tense heartbeat, the girls remained unseen and unharmed. Evelyn could feel the energy of SHIELDUM responding to her intent, her protective will flowing into it almost instinctively, a tangible connection she had never experienced with her magic before. She understood, even in her panic, that this was her first truly creative act of magic, born entirely from her own combination of emotion, knowledge, and magical fragments.
The protective shimmer of SHIELDUM held, wavering faintly as Evelyn instinctively adjusted her wand, channeling her will into the barrier. The troll's massive silhouette loomed in the doorway, its grotesque features partially illuminated by the faint light filtering through the corridor. Evelyn could hear the heavy breathing, the grunts of frustration from the creature, and she felt every step it took reverberate through the floor beneath her. Time seemed to stretch, each second weighted with the potential for disaster. She barely dared to breathe, but her focus sharpened, every instinct honed toward protecting herself and Hermione.
Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open, and in a rush of chaos, Harry and Ron appeared. Harry's wand flicked automatically, and a jet of light collided with the troll, drawing its attention and giving them a crucial distraction. Ron shouted something incoherent, fear mingled with determination, and the troll turned its attention toward them, swinging a massive arm with brutal force. Evelyn felt the barrier around her pulse and shimmer violently, absorbing the impact in a way that made the air around them hum with concentrated magical energy. It was clumsy, imperfect, but effective—enough to buy precious seconds.
Hermione, initially frozen in fear, began to comprehend what had just happened. She stammered, trying to articulate thanks and relief, but Evelyn cut her off with a firm whisper, "Stay calm and follow my lead. Don't touch anything." The protective spell responded immediately, like a living extension of Evelyn's intent, covering not just herself and Hermione but forming a faint dome that slightly extended toward Harry and Ron. It wasn't perfect, but it slowed the troll enough for Harry to act decisively. Evelyn's mind raced, astonished at the tangible effect of combining her Latin shard, Nordic ruin, and emotion. She had created a spell out of sheer necessity, and it had worked on the first attempt.
The troll swung again, missing Harry and Ron narrowly, and Evelyn saw her window of opportunity. The SHIELDUM barrier shimmered, and she carefully guided it outward, redirecting a small chunk of debris the troll had swung into the wall. The impact ricocheted harmlessly, and the troll, frustrated and confused, hesitated just long enough for Harry to yell, "Now!" and for him and Ron to push forward, forcing the troll back toward the corridor. The creature's footsteps thundered, echoing with every frantic movement, but the immediate threat had been mitigated. Evelyn's protective spell still hummed faintly, adjusting and stabilizing as the troll began to retreat, eventually disappearing into the shadowed halls beyond.
As the adrenaline began to subside, Evelyn's system pulsed faintly, acknowledging the creation of SHIELDUM and updating her catalog: First Latin shard gained: VIGOR. She realized that the barrier had not only protected them but had also demonstrated a crucial principle: a spell created in real-time with intent, emotion, and magical fragments could manifest in a fully functional form. Her mind raced, partially exhilarated, partially terrified at what she had just accomplished. Hermione, still clutching her books, looked at Evelyn with wide, awed eyes, muttering, "I… I don't know how you did that…" Evelyn barely had the presence of mind to reply, nodding slightly, her focus still lingering on the dissipating protective glow.
In the background, the chaos had drawn attention. Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved toward the girls' bathroom, and Evelyn carefully guided them along the safest path. The bathroom itself was slightly damaged—the lingering signs of the troll's entry and exit evident—but the danger had passed. Evelyn's heart was still racing, and her mind buzzed with the raw energy of creation, the thrill of successfully manifesting a protective spell under extreme pressure. She knew she had just crossed a threshold in her magical development, but the implications of SHIELDUM—how it could be adapted, improved, or combined with future shards—would have to wait for calmer moments. For now, survival and calm were the priority.
As the last echoes of the troll's footsteps faded into the distant corridors, Evelyn felt a strange pulse of awareness in her mind, like a whisper brushing against the edges of her consciousness. It wasn't the lingering adrenaline from her protective spell—this was something entirely different, something deeper, more deliberate. Her vision flickered for a moment, but it wasn't a trick of the light. Before her eyes, a translucent interface appeared, layered over reality but visible only to her. It was geometric and intricate, lines of soft Nordic runes swirling in elegant patterns, almost as if the air itself had folded into a schematic of magic. Evelyn's heart raced, every fiber of her being alert. This was not just a tool; it felt like the very blueprint of spellcraft had unfolded for her alone.
The interface immediately drew her attention to the fragments she had used in SHIELDUM. There, highlighted and pulsing faintly, were the Latin shard VIGOR, her Sowilo Nordic ruin fragment, and the raw emotion of protectiveness. A small text box, glowing faintly like embers in twilight, hovered above, explaining the parameters. "To create a new spell," it read, "a minimum of one Latin shard, one Nordic ruin, and one corresponding emotion are required. For more complex or powerful spells, multiple shards from different categories may be combined. Each fragment is consumed upon use. Choose wisely." The clarity and precision of the instruction were almost overwhelming, but Evelyn could feel the weight of potential in the interface, the magnitude of what she could now do.
She leaned forward instinctively, instinctively tracing the glowing paths of the runes with her eyes, trying to comprehend the structure. Each Latin shard was a node, each Nordic ruin a stabilizing lattice, and emotion—her emotion—was the activating force. The system didn't just explain what combinations were valid; it hinted at potential outcomes, though it did not reveal everything. It was as if the interface respected the need for experimentation, demanding that she learn through action and consequence. Evelyn's fingers twitched, craving to create, to test, but the urgency of the moment—the lingering panic and protectiveness from the troll—kept her grounded.
As she observed, a second layer appeared, showing how SHIELDUM had been constructed from the components she'd chosen. A faint simulation traced the flow of magical energy, how the protective dome had expanded outward, and how the intent behind her emotion had amplified the Latin shard and Nordic ruin's effect. Even in her panic, Evelyn could see where efficiency had faltered, where magical output could have been stronger or more focused. This visualization was not just informational—it was instructive. The system was teaching her, silently, patiently, in the language of pure magical architecture.
Evelyn's mind raced with questions she couldn't answer yet. How many spells could she create with this system? Could she eventually craft a spell strong enough to alter a battlefield or protect an entire group? How would fragments interact if multiple emotions were combined? The interface offered hints, but no guarantees. Each choice, each creation, would come with consequences, and every fragment consumed was an opportunity permanently spent. She felt the weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders, heavier than any physical burden she had carried.
Yet even amidst the awe and trepidation, a spark of excitement flared. For the first time, Evelyn understood that the potential of her magic was not confined to the curriculum, not limited to the first-year spells she had been practicing for months. She had crossed into uncharted territory. With her system now fully revealing this interface, every experiment, every careful attempt, every creative use of her shards could yield new, unique spells that no one else could foresee. The possibilities were staggering, and the pull to explore, to innovate, was irresistible—even in the shadow of chaos.
With a deep, steadying breath, Evelyn forced herself to step back, lowering the visible interface. The immediate threat had passed, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were safe. Yet in the recesses of her mind, the interface remained, a constant, glowing promise of the new magic she could shape, build, and command. It was a revelation, a turning point, a quiet declaration that she was no longer just a first-year student navigating classes—she was a creator, a potential master of a magic all her own.
The chaos in the bathroom had settled, though the lingering smell of the troll's passage still clung stubbornly to the air. Evelyn's heart was still hammering in her chest as she followed Hermione, whose steps were tentative and quick. They moved toward the door cautiously, their eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, but their relief was short-lived. Soon, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, and the voices of professors—Snape, Flitwick, and eventually Dumbledore—arrived at the scene. The sudden authority brought a tense silence, and Evelyn's mind raced. She knew what had just occurred—the troll, the protective spell, the panic—but explaining it all in the presence of the professors was daunting, especially when canonical events had to align.
Hermione, trembling and red-eyed from earlier crying, immediately began stammering out excuses. "It's—it's all my fault! I—I was trying to help Ron, and he… and then we…" She trailed off, flustered and almost on the verge of breaking again. Evelyn's first instinct was to stay quiet, as she often did, but the weight of truth pressed heavily on her. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, her voice calm but firm, cutting through Hermione's nervous babble. "Professor, it wasn't Hermione's fault. We were in here before the feast, planning to leave, when a mountain troll appeared out of nowhere. Hermione and I would have been crushed if Harry and Ron hadn't intervened. That's exactly what happened."
The professors' eyes shifted between the two girls, a mixture of surprise and scrutiny. Snape's gaze was cold, but not accusatory; he was taking in Evelyn's composure and measured explanation. Flitwick, meanwhile, was visibly intrigued, leaning forward slightly as if drawn in by the intricacies of the story. Dumbledore's calm, omniscient gaze lingered over them all, but his expression softened, focusing on the students rather than the chaos. Evelyn could feel the tension slowly ebb as the professors processed her words. She had spoken the truth without embellishment, and her clarity had prevented any misunderstanding from spiraling into unnecessary punishment.
Even as the canonical sequence of events continued, Evelyn couldn't help but notice something extraordinary. Flitwick and Snape, and even Dumbledore, had each detected a faint magical signature lingering in the air. It wasn't tied to any of the first-year spells they knew—this was new, unprecedented. The protective energy from SHIELDUM, amplified by Evelyn's system, had left a trace that only those attuned to magic of high precision could sense. Evelyn, her pulse still racing, realized that the spell she had created in panic wasn't just a temporary measure—it was now a real, tangible phenomenon in the magical world, albeit invisible to everyone but her. The weight of what she had accomplished pressed down on her shoulders, both exhilarating and terrifying.
Hermione, still shaking, began to mutter apologies under her breath, but Evelyn swiftly interrupted, not unkindly, but firmly. "Hermione, it's fine. You did your best. None of this is your fault. We were lucky, that's all." The sincerity in Evelyn's tone, combined with the calm precision of her explanation, seemed to reassure Hermione, if only slightly. The other students in the bathroom, some peeking nervously from the corners, watched in awe as the professors processed the situation. Flitwick's eyes twinkled with fascination, and even Snape's usual reserve showed the faintest hint of curiosity. Evelyn, despite her own exhaustion, felt a flicker of pride—not for recognition, but for having acted decisively and effectively under extreme pressure.
Dumbledore, stepping closer to assess the scene, allowed a small, almost imperceptible nod, acknowledging the courage and presence of mind both girls had shown. He didn't dwell on the magical anomaly itself, understanding that first-year students would not yet grasp the full significance. But Evelyn knew. Her system had revealed the interface, the mechanics, the potential. Every detail of SHIELDUM, every consumed fragment, every flicker of protectiveness that had fueled the spell—it was all part of something far greater than herself. Even as canonical events continued to unfold, she could feel the threads of a larger tapestry beginning to take shape, and she now held the ability to weave magic in ways that others could not yet comprehend.
By the time the professors departed, satisfied that order was restored, Evelyn and Hermione emerged from the bathroom, the tension of the encounter lingering like a thin fog. Students in the hallway whispered among themselves, excitement and fear mingling in the aftermath of the troll incident. Evelyn, however, felt a quiet determination settle over her. She had witnessed the raw power of creation firsthand, and though her first spell had been born out of panic, she now knew the mechanics, the potential, and the cost. Protectiveness, intention, Latin shard, Nordic ruin—each element was a tool, a building block, a key to a new future of magic that she alone could shape. And as the two girls finally made their way toward the Great Hall, the distant laughter and clamor of the Halloween feast reaching their ears, Evelyn's mind was already turning, cataloging possibilities, planning the next spell, and understanding that her journey had irrevocably changed.
If you want to support me and my story visit my YouTube channel, here's the link @pipplays3748 on YouTube