When William stepped outside the common room, he saw Robert standing by the door, holding his face with a ridiculous grin.
Moments earlier, Marietta had peeked out to check if William's "prediction" about him being there was true, leaving poor Robert convinced that he was living his romantic dream.
Ah, the classic three great delusions of life: She likes me.
William left Robert to bask in his fleeting moment of joy—he would "die" soon enough anyway. It was just a matter of getting used to it.
Flitwick's office was on the fourth floor, and William took a quieter, less-traveled route to avoid the Quidditch crowds.
On the first day of the loop, he'd given Robert a bottle of Living Death potion to test it out, and it had worked perfectly.
[tl/n: I just realised, the simple sleeping draft he gave to Robert for testing was the Draught of the living dead!😹]
Later, it was Flitwick who had taken him aside to talk after Robert's demise, which had led to William's discovery of the Ravenclaw Bronze Ring in the Room of Requirement.
William wondered now if, after Tywin's demise, he could make his way back to the Room and get another ring.
Maybe so, he mused. But given the loop, every morning would reset everything to its original state, so it seemed unlikely he'd get to keep any extras.
He knocked on Flitwick's office door, and Professor Flitwick, looking curious, peered up at him. "William, what brings you here this morning?"
"I had a few questions about my studies," William replied with deep respect. "And I thought only you could answer them, Professor."
Flitwick's mustache twitched with pleasure at the compliment. "Oh? Well, come in, come in!"
Flitwick was in the middle of breakfast, and his office window offered a view of the Quidditch pitch, where preparations for the match were underway.
Hagrid was setting up the final touches, McGonagall was conjuring Gryffindor's signature lion banners, and Madam Hooch was inspecting the safety of the arena.
"William, why aren't you watching the match?" Flitwick asked as they settled down.
"Oh, Professor, how can watching a game compare to learning?" William replied, thinking of Dumbledore's words about "greater goals" and pushing himself to new limits.
"Besides, you're not attending, either, are you?"
"Well, I do have an excellent view from here," Flitwick chuckled, "and it's only the finals… But yes, I suppose it's better to sit this one out."
He let out a sigh. The year's final match was always between two other houses, and he figured it would be more of the same this time. He'd had quite enough of Professor Snape's sharp remarks after every Slytherin victory.
Just last year, when Slytherin had won, Snape had gone as far as to chastise the Slytherin Quidditch captain, bemoaning yet another trophy cluttering his office and suggesting he send it over to Flitwick "for a bit of luck."
"You've had breakfast, I hope?" Flitwick asked, snapping out of his memories.
"Not yet, Professor."
"Then we'll need some reinforcements." Flitwick winked, waving his wand.
With a flash, plates of turkey sandwiches, toasted crumpets, and rum-soaked fruit puddings appeared on the table.
"Tea, milk, or coffee?"
"Tea, please, Professor."
Flitwick snapped his fingers, and a steaming cup of tea materialized before William, who gazed at it in awe.
Flitwick smiled at William's expression. "It's not a Transfiguration spell, if that's what you're thinking."
"Really?"
Flitwick handed him a crumpet. "You'll cover it in more depth later, but food is one of the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. We can't just conjure food from nothing, nor can we transform objects into real food. Even if you tried, you wouldn't get any nourishment from it—and it'd probably give you a stomachache."
"So how did this food appear?"
"It was prepared by the house-elves and then brought here using the Summoning Charm—although I cast that charm without my wand."
Their meal turned into an engaging exchange of ideas, more like a seminar than a breakfast. Flitwick inquired about life in Ravenclaw, and William eagerly asked about advanced magic.
The time slipped by, and soon William glanced at the clock, realizing they'd been talking for over forty minutes.
"Professor, you'll probably say I'm getting ahead of myself, but I was hoping you might help me come up with a long-term study plan."
Flitwick considered this thoughtfully. "William, I must say, you've advanced astonishingly fast in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts for your age. But remember, just being able to cast a spell doesn't mean you truly understand it."
William nodded. Back in his past life, he'd often learned skills he could barely use outside of exams.
"As for Charms," Flitwick continued, "they're undoubtedly foundational to all magic, but that's only part of the picture."
"Practice and integrate them into your daily life as much as possible. I know many students who learn well but forget everything over the summer, and then struggle with the basics by seventh year. The more you use spells in your daily life, the more natural they'll become. If you reach a point where magic replaces every ordinary action, you'll be on the path to mastery."
It made sense to William. Even back in his past life, his language teachers had emphasized that true fluency came from using a language outside the classroom.
"By the way, William," Flitwick added, with a gleam in his eye, "you might want to try getting a doll to pirouette across a table. It could be very interesting. Who knows—maybe that'll show up on the final exam."
He winked, and William chuckled.
Perks of being a top student, he thought.
Once breakfast was done, they moved seamlessly into what Flitwick called "elevenses."
"Now, what do we study Defense Against the Dark Arts for?" Flitwick asked, his voice brimming with energy as he leaned forward eagerly.
"For combat," he answered his own question before William could respond.
"You could master dozens of spells, but if you can't apply them practically in a fight, they're useless. I suggest finding someone experienced in dueling to train with."
William frowned, wondering who might help.
Flitwick took a long swig of his drink, set it down with a thump, and laughed heartily. "William, never forget—I'm the school's duel champion! Not to brag, but there aren't many here who could stand against me."
Flitwick, having had a few glasses of butterbeer by now, was visibly relaxed and far less reserved than usual.
He clapped William on the back and launched into a spirited, tipsy lecture, discussing famous wizards and battles with the enthusiasm of an old general reminiscing about glorious battles.
join my patreon for 65+ advanced chapters: patreon.com/HyppoTL