[Time-Skip]
One year.
It's strange how time feels both endless and fleeting when you're focused on improving yourself. Days blur into weeks, weeks blur into months, but every moment is a step forward. For me, the past year has been nothing short of transformative. I've gone from being a scrawny, awkward orphan struggling to levitate an eraser to someone who can move a chair across the room with a flick of my mind.
Okay, maybe not a flick—more like intense concentration and a bit of sweat. But hey, progress is progress. Oh and i am now 6!...cool?
Let's start with the obvious: magic. When I first started training, I could barely hold an object in the air for five seconds. Now? I can levitate not just erasers, but full-sized chairs, books, and even the occasional stray shoe when the younger kids try to pelt me with them for fun. That's right, I've reached the "conveniently dodge incoming projectiles" level of magical skill.
But moving multiple objects at once? Yeah, that's still a no-go. I've tried everything: visualizing, brute-forcing, even bribing my own mind with promises of chocolate. It doesn't work. The moment I try to lift two things simultaneously, it's like my magic trips over itself and collapses in a heap.
What I've learned is that magic isn't just about raw power. It's about finesse, control, and creativity. That's where my training has really paid off. For example, I figured out how to use magic to pull a chair toward me while keeping my hands free to juggle books. It's small, but it's practical. And honestly? I'm proud of it.
Speaking of training, my physical transformation has been just as significant. When I first started doing push-ups a year ago, I could barely manage five without collapsing in a heap of noodle arms and humiliation. Now, I'm up to fifty in a single set. Not bad for a kid who used to think gym class was a form of medieval torture.
Bodybuilding wasn't just about getting stronger, though. It was about discipline. About proving to myself that I could push past my limits, both physically and mentally. Plus, it's ridiculously satisfying to see the other kids' jaws drop when they realize I can carry two crates of potatoes without breaking a sweat.
My Occlumency has been another massive area of growth. It's become second nature to organize my thoughts, compartmentalize memories, and block out distractions. My mind is a fortress now, an impenetrable labyrinth that even the most skilled Legilimens would struggle to navigate. Not that anyone's tried, of course. But if they did? They'd be in for a rude awakening.
The best part about Occlumency isn't just the defense, though. It's the clarity. I can think faster, process information more efficiently, and recall details with pinpoint accuracy. It's like having a supercomputer in my head—one that's always on, always organized, and never forgets a thing.
And let's not forget my infinite memory. It's been a game-changer. I've read every book in the orphanage's tiny library, from dusty encyclopedias to cringy romance novels, and I remember every single word. Sometimes, I'll recite entire passages just to mess with the younger kids. They think it's magic—and I guess, in a way, it is.
But infinite memory isn't without its downsides. There are moments I wish I could forget—the look on the old woman's face when I saved her, the sound of the motorbike roaring toward me. Those memories stick, no matter how much I try to shove them into the deepest corners of my mind. Still, they're a part of me, and I've learned to live with them.
If there's one thing I've learned over the past year, it's that magic thrives on creativity. Sure, lifting a chair is impressive, but why stop there? I've started experimenting with more unconventional uses of magic. For example, I figured out how to use a subtle force to turn the pages of a book while I'm reading. It's a small thing, but it's ridiculously convenient.
I've also started using magic to make chores easier. Sweeping the floor? Why not enchant the broom to move on its own? Carrying water from the well? A simple levitation spell does the trick. Mrs. Thompson, one of the caretakers, caught me doing this once and gave me a look that was equal parts suspicion and amusement. "You're a clever one, Bhatti," she said. I just grinned and went back to pretending I was struggling with the bucket.
One of my prouder moments was discovering how to enhance small objects with temporary enchantments. I've managed to make a small wooden ball roll on its own, which the younger kids now use as a toy. They think it's the coolest thing ever, and honestly? I kind of agree. It's not grand, but it's a step toward understanding how enchantments work.
Of course, it hasn't all been smooth sailing. There are days when the frustration gets to me—when my magic fizzles out, or my body refuses to cooperate during a workout. One particularly bad day, I couldn't levitate so much as a spoon without getting a splitting headache. I ended up lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling and questioning whether I'd made any progress at all.
But every setback has taught me something. That bad day? It forced me to rest, to let my mind and body recover. The next morning, I woke up feeling stronger, more focused. It was a reminder that growth isn't linear. Sometimes, you have to take a step back to leap forward.
Despite all the progress I've made, I know there's still a long way to go. Magic is a vast, complex field, and I've barely scratched the surface. But for the first time, I feel confident. Confident that when I finally get my letter to Hogwarts, I'll be ready.
Until then, I'll keep training, keep experimenting, and keep pushing myself. Because if there's one thing this past year has taught me, it's that growth doesn't come from wishing. It comes from working—every single day, one small step at a time.
And who knows? Maybe by this time next year, I'll be levitating entire tables.
Or at the very least, moving more than one chair at a time.