Yes, boxing.
Wands could be disarmed. Magic could be exhausted. When pushed to such desperate straits, was there nothing left but to wait for death with eyes open?
No. There was still the body.
So mastering a means of defence beyond magic was necessary. Boxing was Owen's carefully chosen last defence, and he had been training at it for a long time.
He had never actually hit another person, but judging by the scene in front of him, one punch shredding bark, two punches sending chunks flying, he ought to be able to overpower some physically weaker wizards... perhaps?
He had never fought anyone, so he couldn't be sure.
But the Slytherins were even less sure. After hearing their companion's account, roughly two-thirds of the snakes were ready to drop the whole plan.
Among the first-years, nobody wanted to face Owen any more. Their magic was roughly equal... equally feeble. So if things turned ugly, it would come down to fists. But given that Owen could punch through trees, would he not leave their spirits as broken as their bones?
The second-years were rattled too. They had only just moved up a year; in first year they had learned no useful spells. A Lumos was about the best they had, and they could hardly blind him with that.
The third-years feared nothing, but they had no intention of acting directly. That would be beneath them.
"Here is what we do. Find an opportunity to bring him to the common room. With us there, he will not dare to strike, nor will he have the opportunity."
This plan was sound. In the Slytherin common room, with upperclassmen present, the younger snakes had nothing to fear.
So the next day, after Charms class, the young snakes surrounded Owen. They stated no purpose, only kept inviting him to the Slytherin common room.
Owen considered, then agreed. "Not right now. After dinner. I will have half an hour free then. Will that do?"
Satisfied that he had agreed and picked such a convenient time, the snakes let him go. They watched as Owen hurried off into the Transfiguration classroom...
Owen had no fixed timetable, for he was not a student of any of the four Houses. Yet he attended classes from all four simultaneously. The first-year workload was light and the classes were staggered, so he had plenty of time to sit in on every professor's lessons.
Even having already taught himself up to third-year material, he skipped nothing. Going over familiar ground was still a form of study. And after class, he had other things to attend to.
After dinner, Owen arrived at the Slytherin common room of his own accord. Under the curious stares of younger and older snakes alike, he sat down calmly on the sofa.
For a long while, no one spoke. Owen grew restless. "Gentlemen, ladies, please state your business quickly. My time is limited. In half an hour I must go to Professor Snape's office to grade your Potions homework."
Silence.
Then someone laughed. "What did you say? You? Grade our homework?"
Owen looked at the speaker and nodded. "Yes, Mr Carat. First through third year homework is graded by me. This is the task the professors have given me. Also, I should remind you: please stop copying Miss Flint's work. If you truly do not know how to write your Potions, Charms, or Transfiguration essays, you would do better to look at Mr Greengrass's work. His has the best completion rate and highest marks among you."
More silence.
The snakes couldn't quite believe it, but soon someone pulled out their Potions essay and pointed to the comments. "You wrote this?"
Owen glanced at it and nodded. "Yes. I believe Mr Parkinson's argument here is problematic. You referenced Magical Drafts and Potions, but Professor Snape stated explicitly in class that this argument is incorrect. Following that method produces Inferior Draught of Living Death."
Still more silence.
Owen looked around. No one said anything. He stood. "Gentlemen, ladies, my time is up. Professor Snape dislikes tardiness. I must go. If you have questions, write them in your homework. I will answer them. If I cannot, I will ask the professor to address them in class."
With that, Owen rose slowly from the sofa, then shot out of the Slytherin common room.
Time was short. Flight was necessary.
"What... what magic was that?"
"I don't know. He didn't cast a spell."
"He didn't even use a wand!"
The snakes drifted back to their dormitories in silence, needing time to absorb all of this properly.
Their homework was graded by Owen.
Not just first-year, but first through third year. This...
"This is also a method of study. By identifying others' errors, you learn not to repeat them."
Snape worked steadily at his potions, glancing occasionally at the boy bent over the stack of essays, a rare smile at the corner of his mouth. "If you are clever enough, you can find the correct path through these mistakes. Even if you cannot find it, you must strive to avoid the errors."
It was indeed useful.
First and second year homework Owen got through quickly, able to point to the relevant books without much thought.
But third year homework was still a challenge. The higher the year, the deeper the knowledge. Some books Owen had not yet finished, or not come across at all. He could tell right from wrong, but could not always give immediate guidance. For those, he had to ask the professor.
He noted down the titles as he went, planning to borrow them from the library when he had the chance.
It was a surprisingly effective way to learn.
When Owen finished grading and came out, curfew was near. He flew quickly back to the eighth floor. Passing the Headmaster's office, he paused and considered, but in the end did not go in. He crossed to his private dormitory on the other side, had a quick wash, and lay down.
"Ah. A new day coming... Sleep tight."
He cast a Sleep Charm on himself and dropped off instantly. Beginning with a proper deep sleep, magic really did have its advantages.
After he was out, red light flashed in the room and Fawkes landed on the bedpost. He watched the sleeping boy for a moment, rubbed his head gently against Owen's cheek, then vanished back to the Headmaster's office.
"Asleep?"
Dumbledore smiled gently. "Perhaps we should not put quite so much pressure on the boy. Don't you agree?"
Professor McGonagall turned her face away, pretending not to hear.
Professor Flitwick pretended to be asleep.
Snape's expression was blank.
None of the three professors paid any attention. When it came to teaching their apprentices, not even the Minister for Magic held any sway over them.
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