As the classroom began to fill with students, the usual dynamic of Slytherin and Gryffindor tension became apparent. Alexander was already seated at his desk, flipping through An Introduction to Arithmancy when a blonde Slytherin girl with a cold, composed demeanor approached. Without a word, she gracefully slid into the seat to his left. Alexander glanced at her briefly, recognizing her as Daphne Greengrass, a member of one of the most prominent pure-blood families. Her expression was unreadable, and she seemed uninterested in engaging, preferring to focus on her own parchment and quill.
On his right, however, Hermione Granger sat down with a flourish, clutching her books and parchment tightly. The air grew a bit tense as she glanced at Alexander, clearly still irked by their earlier interactions. Alexander, however, paid her little mind, already engrossed in his book.
Hermione huffed quietly, likely annoyed at his lack of acknowledgment. Daphne, on the other hand, remained aloof, her cold gaze fixed on the front of the class as though neither Alexander nor Hermione existed. It was a contrast that Alexander couldn't help but notice, though he said nothing, continuing his reading as the room buzzed with murmured conversations.
Professor Flitwick, perched atop his stack of books, surveyed the room with his usual cheerful expression before clearing his throat. "Good afternoon, class. Today, we're going to delve into a fundamental question: what is a charm?" His gaze moved across the students, but instead of asking for volunteers, he turned directly to Alexander.
"Mr. Ravenwood, would you care to enlighten us?"
Alexander looked up from his parchment, his expression calm yet thoughtful. "A charm," he began, "is a branch of magic designed to alter or enhance the properties of an object, creature, or environment without fundamentally changing its nature. Unlike transfiguration, which transforms one thing into another entirely, charms modify or add to what already exists."
Flitwick's face lit up with a smile. "Excellent explanation, Mr. Ravenwood! Ten points to Slytherin. You've summarized the essence of charms perfectly."
Hermione's hand shot up. "Professor, isn't it also true that some charms can indirectly change the nature of an object? For instance, the Summoning Charm changes the object's location, which could be considered a transformation of sorts."
"Ah, an excellent point, Miss Granger," Flitwick said, nodding approvingly. "The lines between magical disciplines can sometimes blur, but the key distinction is intent and effect. Summoning is a manipulation of the object's motion, not its fundamental form, which keeps it firmly in the realm of charms."
Alexander tilted his head slightly. "Wouldn't that mean the boundary between charms and other branches, like conjuration, depends entirely on how a wizard perceives their magic?"
Flitwick looked delighted. "Precisely! That's an advanced perspective, Mr. Ravenwood. Magic is as much about intent and perception as it is about the spell itself. A truly skilled wizard understands how to navigate those nuances."
The discussion stirred a wave of murmurs through the class, with some students furiously scribbling notes. Daphne Greengrass glanced at Alexander out of the corner of her eye, her expression still unreadable, while Hermione looked mildly irritated, though she said nothing.
Flitwick clapped his hands together. "Now, let's put that theory into practice! Today, we'll be working on the Lumos and Nox charms, two foundational spells that every wizard and witch should master. Wands at the ready!"
As the classroom filled with the murmurs of incantations and the occasional spark of light, Alexander remained immersed in his book on Arithmancy. The detailed equations and magical formulas fascinated him, offering a glimpse into the structure of spell creation.
His quill moved swiftly across his parchment, jotting down notes as he connected concepts. He reflected on how each formula was essentially a blueprint, guiding the magic into a specific form or function. It wasn't just about the words or wand movements—it was the delicate interplay of intent, magical energy, and mathematical precision.
Occasionally, the flicker of a successful Lumos charm would draw his attention, but he quickly returned to his studies.
Professor Flitwick approached quietly, observing the young wizard with a mixture of curiosity and pride. "You seem quite captivated, Mr. Ravenwood," he remarked softly.
Alexander glanced up briefly. "It's fascinating how these formulas dictate the spell's effect, Professor. It's like understanding the language behind magic itself."
Flitwick beamed. "Exactly, my boy! Arithmancy is the key to deeper magical understanding. Few students grasp its importance so early. Keep at it, and you might find yourself crafting your own spells one day."
Alexander nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. The hum of the classroom faded into the background as he delved even deeper into the mysteries of magical theory.
As Alexander flipped through the pages of his book, deeply engrossed in the intricate theories of Arithmancy, Hermione raised her hand.
"Professor Flitwick," she asked, her tone laced with curiosity and a hint of indignation, "why are you encouraging Alexander not to follow the class? Shouldn't everyone learn the same way together?"
Flitwick turned toward her with a patient smile. "Ah, Miss Granger, an excellent question. However, I believe in tailoring education to each student's strengths and pace. Mr. Ravenwood has already demonstrated a remarkable understanding of the curriculum, allowing him to explore more advanced topics independently."
"But, Professor," Hermione persisted, "wouldn't it be better if everyone had the chance to learn like Alexander? That way, we could all improve at the same rate."
At this, Alexander closed his book and looked at Hermione with a calm but sharp expression. "Miss Granger," he began, his voice steady, "it wouldn't help most of you. The majority wouldn't understand the material at this level. And you, Hermione, would likely just memorize the books instead of truly understanding them. Since this morning, you've been trying to show off your so-called academic superiority, but it's been pointless. All you've done is act like a bossy brat."
Hermione's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. Before she could respond, Flitwick gently cleared his throat.
"Now, now," the professor interjected, his voice light but firm, "let's keep our discussions respectful. Miss Granger, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, every student learns differently. Mr. Ravenwood's approach is not meant as a standard for everyone but rather as a recognition of his individual prowess."
Hermione pressed her lips together, clearly biting back a retort, while Alexander returned to his book, unbothered by the brief exchange.
"Now," Flitwick continued with a cheerful tone, addressing the rest of the class, "back to practicing Lumos and Nox! And Mr. Ravenwood, do let me know if you find anything fascinating in your readings."
With that, the classroom settled back into its rhythm, the flickering glow of Lumos charms reflecting off the eager faces of the students.
As the class ended, Alexander packed his belongings swiftly, his movements precise and deliberate. With Artemis perched silently on his shoulder, the raven's sharp eyes scanning their surroundings, he began making his way toward the library, his usual sanctuary of knowledge.
As he walked through the hallways, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone's gaze was lingering on him. He cast a discreet glance to the side and caught sight of Daphne Greengrass. The blonde Slytherin girl was a few steps behind, her piercing eyes fixed on him with an expression that seemed to hover between curiosity and confusion.
Alexander's pace didn't falter, though his mind briefly pondered her intent. Was she analyzing him? Judging him? Or was it something else entirely? He decided not to dwell on it. People often observed what they didn't understand, and he had no intention of explaining himself to anyone—especially someone like Daphne, whose icy demeanor mirrored the subtle rivalries of their house.
Reaching the library, he allowed the soothing quiet to envelop him, the familiar scent of parchment and ink instantly calming his thoughts. As he slipped into his usual spot by the Arithmancy section, Alexander pulled out his notebook, ready to immerse himself once again in the intricate world of magical theory.
Still, a faint thought lingered at the back of his mind: Daphne's gaze. It was the kind of look that often preceded either trouble or intrigue. Either way, he resolved to remain focused on his goals, unwilling to let distractions pull him from his path.
As Alexander flipped through the pages of his notebook, the rhythmic scratching of his quill was interrupted by the sound of a chair being pulled out in front of him. He glanced up, his sharp, calculating eyes meeting the calm, steady gaze of Daphne Greengrass. She had seated herself across from him, her posture poised and composed, as though this were the most natural thing in the world.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Artemis ruffled her feathers, seemingly annoyed by the intrusion, while Alexander set his quill down, folding his hands over the open pages of his notebook.
"Greengrass," he said evenly, his tone betraying no hint of emotion. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"
Daphne regarded him silently for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a faint tilt of her head, she said, "You're an enigma, Ravenwood."
Alexander raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "An enigma? That's an overused word for someone you don't understand."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her tone remained calm. "Perhaps. But it's not every day someone like you shows up—someone who defies the usual expectations of Slytherin. You don't align with anyone, yet you stand out. People notice."
Alexander leaned back in his chair, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. "People notice what they can't categorize. It's human nature to try to label what they can't comprehend. But tell me, Greengrass, why does it matter to you?"
Daphne hesitated, her gaze flicking briefly to his notebook. "It doesn't, not really. I'm just... curious. You don't seem to care about house rivalries, yet you're clearly capable. People like Malfoy underestimate you, but you don't even try to prove them wrong. Why?"
Alexander's eyes darkened slightly, his voice dropping to a quiet, cutting tone. "Because I don't need to prove anything to anyone. I'm not here to play their petty games. What about you, Greengrass? Why does my lack of interest intrigue you so much?"
Daphne didn't answer immediately. Instead, she leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as if weighing her next words. "Maybe because I'm not as quick to dismiss someone just because they don't fit into the usual molds. Or maybe I just wanted to see if you're as clever as everyone's starting to whisper."
Alexander chuckled softly, a sound devoid of warmth. "Careful, Greengrass. Curiosity can be dangerous. But since you're here, feel free to keep observing. You might learn something."
With that, he returned his attention to his notebook, leaving Daphne to her thoughts. She didn't leave, nor did she say anything further, her icy blue eyes studying him with quiet intensity. Whatever her intentions, Alexander knew one thing for certain: Daphne Greengrass was not someone who approached without purpose.
Daphne's eyes remained fixed on Alexander as she leaned forward slightly, her voice calm yet probing. "Then satisfy my curiosity," she said, her tone measured. "Both Granger and Malfoy annoy you, but the way you mock them is different. Why is that?"
Alexander paused, his quill hovering over the page for a moment before he set it down and met her gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his voice carried a quiet conviction.
"Malfoy and his group," he began, "have been told since birth that the world belongs to them. That they are inherently superior, that their bloodline entitles them to respect and power. That kind of indoctrination runs deep. It's not something you can argue against or mock away. Only time and experience—true hardship—can shatter that illusion. Until then, they're little more than parrots, repeating what they've been taught."
Daphne nodded slightly, but her gaze didn't waver. "And Granger?"
Alexander's expression softened, though his tone remained thoughtful. "Granger is different. She's like that because she's been ostracized for most of her childhood. Muggle society doesn't embrace what they can't explain, and a child with unexplained magical outbursts is bound to be cast aside or ridiculed. That kind of isolation leaves a mark. She clings to academics and this need to prove herself because it's the one thing she can control, the one thing that earns her recognition."
He paused, his gaze turning distant for a moment. "But eventually, she'll get a reality check—a moment when she realizes that her attitude has held her back from forming genuine connections. When that happens, she'll either change or double down on her ways. I'm betting on the former."
Daphne studied him, her expression thoughtful. "So, you think she'll grow out of it? And Malfoy?"
Alexander smirked faintly. "Granger has potential to grow because her flaws are rooted in survival. Malfoy's flaws are rooted in entitlement. Growth requires humility, and that's a lesson he hasn't learned yet."
For a moment, silence hung between them, the weight of Alexander's words sinking in. Then Daphne leaned back, her arms crossed as a small, intrigued smile played at her lips. "You're surprisingly insightful for someone who prefers to keep to himself. Maybe you're worth observing after all."
Alexander chuckled dryly, returning to his notebook. "Observe all you like, Greengrass. Just don't expect to understand everything."
Daphne tilted her head slightly, her cold demeanor softening into one of curiosity. "Why do you have so much interest in magic?" she asked, her voice low but steady.
Alexander glanced up from his notebook, his expression thoughtful as he closed it gently. "All my life, I've had an insatiable thirst for knowledge," he began, his tone measured. "In the Muggle world, though, that thirst was constantly stifled. The educational system there is... limiting. They teach you what they deem necessary, not what you want to know. Questions beyond their scope are dismissed or ignored."
He leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes scanning the rows of books around them. "But here, it's different. Magic doesn't have the same boundaries. Every spell, every concept, every discovery leads to more questions, more possibilities. It's an endless well of knowledge, and for the first time, I feel like I can finally learn without limits."
Daphne studied him intently, her expression unreadable. "So, it's not just about power or skill for you. It's about understanding."
Alexander gave a small nod. "Exactly. Magic is a key, and every door it opens reveals another mystery to unravel. That's what drives me."
Daphne tapped her fingers lightly against the table, a thoughtful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I'll admit, that's not what I expected to hear."
Alexander smirked faintly. "People often assume I'm chasing something else—power, prestige, or recognition. But I'm not interested in that. I want to understand magic, not use it to prove something."
For a moment, neither spoke, the air between them heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then Daphne gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, and leaned back in her chair. "You're... different, Ravenwood. I think I'll keep watching you."
Alexander chuckled lightly, picking up his quill again. "Watch all you want, Greengrass. Just don't interrupt my studies."
As Alexander finished speaking, his expression remained composed, but deep down, he knew his words weren't the full truth. His thirst for knowledge, his relentless pursuit of understanding magic, was only part of the story.
In his heart, he felt it—a faint, burning desire that he couldn't fully define yet. It was more than curiosity, more than the joy of discovery. It was something deeper, something raw and unyielding.
He wanted something so profound, so consuming, that he would burn the world to ash if it meant achieving it.
The thought lingered in the back of his mind as he glanced at Daphne, her eyes still fixed on him. She didn't press further, and he was grateful for that. There were parts of himself he wasn't ready to reveal, not to her, not to anyone.
For now, he buried the fire within, letting it smolder quietly. Whatever it was, he would find it. And when he did, nothing would stand in his way.