A Letter Home
The owlery was drafty, but Ezzy didn't mind. Rain perched on his shoulder, nibbling a treat, as he scribbled a letter to Aunt Emily on parchment illuminated by a shaft of sunlight.
Dear Aunt Emily,
Hogwarts is everything you promised and more. The castle feels alive—like it's breathing secrets. I've made friends (Harry, Ron, Hermione, Suhi, Jane, Neville) who'd fit right into one of your novels. Imagine: midnight explorations, enchanted maps, and a ghost who won't stop singing 14th-century tavern songs. I've even tamed a cat with antlers and an owl that glows like a disco ball. (Don't ask.)
Classes are brilliant. I'm top of the year in Potions, which annoys Snape to no end. Yesterday, I turned his desk into a fern. He docked Gryffindor 10 points but muttered, "Adequate," under his breath. Progress!
I'll send photos of Serena and Rain soon. Tell Mr. Whiskers I miss his grumpy face.
Love, Ezzy
Rain hooted approvingly as Ezzy tied the letter to a school owl. "Fly safe," he said, watching it soar into the clouds.
Elemental Mastery:
In Professor Alexander Riddle's Elemental Magic class, the air hummed with tension. Students sat cross-legged on silk cushions, eyes closed, as Riddle's voice echoed through the domed chamber.
"Focus on your mandle," he instructed. "Feel the magic in your veins—not as a tool, but as an extension of your soul."
Ezzy's mind drifted. For him, magic felt like sunlight filtering through leaves: warm, alive, effortless. He'd mastered plant affinity weeks ago, but today's lesson was about control.
"Now," Riddle said, "channel your element into your palm. Then… bend it."
Hermione's light orb flared like a supernova. Suhi's water swirled into a miniature hurricane. Harry's ice shards clinked into a fragile sculpture of Hedwig.
Ezzy, however, hesitated. What if I try… everything?
He let his mandle surge. Fire flickered in his left hand, water pooled in his right, wind ruffled his hair, and vines curled around his ankles. Gasps erupted as the elements danced around him in harmony.
Professor Riddle froze. "Mr. Knight. My office. Now."
The Professor's Gift:
Riddle's office smelled of cedar and ozone. Maps of storm patterns and volcanic eruptions adorned the walls.
"Sit," Riddle said, tossing Ezzy a leather-bound notebook. "This belonged to me as a student. Notes on elemental defense—warding spells, combat tactics, even how to calm a typhoon. You'll need it."
Ezzy flipped through pages scrawled with runes and diagrams. "Why me?"
Riddle's smile was sharp. "Because you're a storm waiting to happen. That raw power? It'll consume you if you don't learn to think." He leaned closer. "And because your mother—Elle Knight—was the finest elementalist I ever trained. She'd want you prepared."
Ezzy's throat tightened. Mom. The name was a ghost in his memories. "Thank you, sir."
The Marauders' Legacy:
Later, the group stumbled into the Room of Requirement while fleeing Filch after a prank (blaming Peeves was Jane's idea). The room shifted into a cozy lounge with velvet couches and a crackling fire.
"Bloody brilliant!" Ron said, collapsing onto a pile of cushions.
A translucent figure emerged from the wall—a ghost in a tattered Quidditch jersey. "Well, well," he drawled. "New recruits for the Marauders?"
"The what?" Harry asked.
The ghost—Sir Cadogan, self-proclaimed "Knight of the Woeful Countenance"—launched into a tale of four troublemakers: "A wolf, a stag, a rat, and a hound! Pranks! Map-making! They once transfigured Snape's robes into lace knickers!"
Harry's eyes lit up hearing the end part.
Ezzy's gaze flicked to Ron's pocket, where Scabbers snoozed. Peter Pettigrew. Traitor. Murderer. His fists clenched, but he forced a grin. "Sounds like our kind of legends, eh?"
Fluffy's Secret:
The mishap happened after curfew. Jane, navigating with a faulty telecrystal, led them into the third-floor corridor.
"This isn't the kitchens," Hermione hissed as growls rattled the walls.
They froze. Ahead loomed Fluffy, the three-headed dog, drooling onto a trapdoor.
"Merlin's pants," Ron whispered. "What's it guarding?"
Ezzy's mind raced. Philosopher's Stone. Quirrell. Voldemort. But he played dumb. "Dunno. But let's leave."
Too late. Fluffy's six eyes locked onto them.
"Run!" Harry yelled.
They sprinted, Fluffy's barks echoing. Back in the common room, breathless and giddy, they collapsed.
"We're telling Dumbledore, right?" Neville squeaked.
"And admit we broke the rules?" Ron said. "No way."
Ezzy feigned agreement, but his mind churned. Time to spy on Quirrell.
The To-Do List:
That night, Ezzy added to his journal:
-Expose Scabbers (without time-travel excuses).
-Tail Quirrell.
-Professor Riddle's typhoon spell.
He fell asleep to Rain's soft hoots and the distant howl of the Forbidden Forest.