Matthew Knight's first full day of classes began before sunrise, while the rest of Gryffindor Tower still slept beneath the soft groaning of old stone and the faint murmur of wind against the windows.
He had already completed the recovery portion of his morning forms in the covered eastern courtyard. He had moved slowly beneath the grey light, careful not to force the right shoulder or allow the golden current beneath his scars to gather near his heart. The argumentative statue had thrown only two pebbles at him, which Matthew chose to interpret as growing tolerance rather than poor aim.
Aidan Rookwood had followed him again.
Unlike the previous morning, Aidan had arrived wearing both shoes, although the laces on one had been tied badly enough that Matthew made him correct them before stepping onto the wet stone.
"There is no point practising balance while deliberately leaving a loose object around your foot," Matthew had told him.
Aidan had crouched to retie the lace, his sandy hair falling across his forehead as he grumbled that Matthew could turn anything into a lecture if given enough time.
Matthew had considered this unfair.
The statement had taken less than ten seconds.
Now, freshly washed and dressed in his school ward-cloth, Matthew sat at the Gryffindor table beneath the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. The morning sky above them appeared pale and overcast, matching the real weather beyond the castle windows. Owls swept between the four House tables, their wings stirring loose parchment and sending younger students ducking whenever talons passed too close.
Matthew's charcoal tunic rested beneath his school robes, fitted closely through the torso and shoulders without pressing against the branching curse scars along his right side. Its silver seams remained dim in the bright hall, but he could feel the inner medical layer responding to the lingering tension beneath his ribs. The garment did not remove the pain. It distributed the strain so that pain remained information rather than becoming the only thing his body could hear.
Professor McGonagall moved along the Gryffindor table with a bundle of rolled timetables held beneath one arm. Her emerald robes brushed the stone floor without gathering crumbs, spilled tea, or any of the other hazards created by several hundred students eating breakfast at once.
When she reached Matthew, she placed his timetable beside his plate.
"Your first lesson is History of Magic with Slytherin in Classroom Four," she told him. Her voice carried the precise authority of a woman who expected both the room and the people in it to behave correctly. "Charms with Hufflepuff follows in the west tower. After lunch, Gryffindor joins Slytherin again for Potions in the lower dungeons."
Matthew read the schedule twice.
The west tower and lower dungeons were separated by a distance which would have been inconvenient even if the castle's staircases had remained still.
"Are travel intervals adjusted when the staircases change direction?" he asked.
Professor McGonagall's eyes lifted from the remaining timetables.
"The staircases generally cooperate with the school schedule, Mr Knight."
Matthew glanced through the open doors of the Great Hall. Beyond them, a wide marble staircase had begun turning away from three annoyed Ravenclaws carrying heavy bags.
"You said generally."
Aidan, seated beside him, lowered his face toward his plate. His shoulders shook with the effort of not laughing.
Professor McGonagall followed Matthew's gaze, although her expression did not change.
"When they do not cooperate, students learn alternate routes and leave sufficient time."
"That means the student carries the consequences of the architecture's decision."
The tip of Elara Vance's knife stopped halfway through a piece of toast. Across the table, Katie Bell looked down quickly, though the smile pulling at her mouth remained visible.
"Hogwarts has operated in this fashion for nearly a thousand years," McGonagall said.
"Age does not prevent a system from being badly arranged."
The professor regarded him in silence.
Matthew did not look away, but neither did he raise his voice or allow the exchange to become disrespectful. He had asked a practical question. The castle's age did not make the answer less incomplete.
At last, something almost like reluctant amusement touched McGonagall's eyes.
"You will find, Mr Knight, that Hogwarts rewards preparation."
"That is fortunate. I prepared."
"I had noticed."
She moved farther down the table before he could ask whether the school maintained an official process for reporting hostile architectural behaviour.
Aidan waited until she was safely beyond hearing distance before lifting his head.
"You argued with the Deputy Headmistress before our first class."
"I asked about travel time."
"You continued asking after she gave the answer available to her."
"The answer remained incomplete."
Elara folded her timetable into a neat rectangle before placing it inside her bag. "You should learn the difference between an incomplete answer and a conversation someone has chosen to end."
Matthew considered the observation while buttering another piece of toast.
"That is probably useful."
Aidan pointed at him with a sausage.
"That sentence means he will remember the advice and ignore it whenever he considers the subject important."
"That is not what it means."
Elara raised one eyebrow.
Matthew reconsidered.
"It is not always what it means."
Katie looked over her own schedule. "History and Potions with Slytherin, Charms with Hufflepuff. That feels like a great deal of Slytherin for one day."
"Perhaps the school wants us to practise disliking people," Aidan suggested.
"You have spoken to only a few Slytherins," Elara reminded him. "Cassian Flint does not represent an entire House."
Matthew nodded. "Deciding that one person's ancestry or association defines everyone around them is the same mistake old families make."
Aidan sighed and returned to his breakfast. "You make careless prejudice very difficult before nine in the morning."
"That seems beneficial."
Matthew looked down the table in the fading hope that breakfast might include curry.
It did not.
Hogwarts remained deficient in one significant area.
The History of Magic classroom was colder than the corridor outside it.
No window stood open, yet a faint draught moved across the stone floor and stirred the corners of parchment. Desks rose in orderly rows toward the back of the chamber, their surfaces marked by generations of students who had attempted to improve long lectures through carvings, notes, games, and, in one case, a surprisingly detailed drawing of a goblin wearing a crown.
The Gryffindors filled the desks nearest the centre aisle. The Slytherins arranged themselves along the opposite side, most of them sitting together with the unconscious confidence of children who had been raised to believe that belonging to a recognised group provided safety.
Cassian Flint sat near the front of the Slytherin section. His robes were perfectly pressed, his dark hair carefully arranged, and his expression already carried the faint sneer Matthew remembered from the platform.
Cassian noticed him entering.
His eyes moved from the web-like scar across Matthew's cheek to the silver seams visible at his collar. He whispered something to the boy beside him. Both looked toward Matthew before turning away.
Matthew did not respond.
He recorded the observation and took the desk beside Aidan. Elara and Katie sat in the row ahead.
The blackboard rippled.
Professor Binns passed through it.
Several students shouted. Aidan knocked his ink bottle sideways and caught it just before it spilled. Cassian did not make a sound, though the sudden stiffness in his shoulders revealed that silence had required effort.
Professor Binns floated toward the desk without acknowledging the disturbance. He was pale even for a ghost, dressed in transparent academic robes and wearing half-moon spectacles that seemed capable of making death itself appear tedious.
He opened a thick register.
"History of Magic," he began, speaking in a dry, distant voice, "is the disciplined study of recorded magical events, their causes, and their consequences. It is not a collection of entertaining tales concerning dragons, treasure, celebrated duels, or children who disregard instructions and later describe survival as courage."
Aidan slowly pushed the dragon book beneath his history text.
Professor Binns began reading the roll. He called Katie by her full first name, confused Elara with someone who had attended Hogwarts thirty years earlier, and seemed mildly surprised whenever a living student answered.
Then his transparent finger reached Matthew's entry.
"Knight, Matthew Robert."
Matthew raised one hand. "Present, Professor."
Binns did not continue.
He lowered his head over the register, turned one page, examined the back of it as though the correct information might be hiding there, and returned to Matthew's name.
"This appears to be a registry contradiction."
The Slytherin side of the room became attentive.
Matthew rested his quill against the parchment but did not write yet.
"What contradiction, Professor?"
"The Knight magical line is recorded as extinct."
The word crossed the classroom with more force than Binns appeared to understand.
Aidan's expression lost its humour. Elara turned in her seat. Katie's hand tightened around her quill.
Matthew remained still.
"I can confirm that I am not extinct."
A few students laughed, though the laughter faded when Professor Binns stared directly at Matthew.
"You are Matthew Knight?"
"Yes. I am the son of Robert and Jessica Knight and the grandson of Samuel and Vivian Knight."
"How irregular."
Cassian leaned back in his chair. "The registry cannot be wrong, Professor. My father said the Knights died out during the war."
Professor Binns turned toward him with glacial slowness.
"The Ministry registry is not technically incorrect according to the legal definitions under which it operates, Mr Flint. It may, however, be incomplete."
Matthew began writing.
Professor Binns returned his attention to the old entry, apparently deciding that the unexpected presence of a living Knight made an appropriate opening to the lesson.
"The Knight family is a useful example of the effect that the First Wizarding War had upon several recognised magical lines. The family was old, although never politically pure-blood in the narrow traditional sense. Its members were known primarily for ward construction, protective enchantment, and the maintenance of private safehouses."
The scars beneath Matthew's clothes warmed faintly.
Binns continued in the same emotionless voice.
"The eldest magical child of Samuel and Vivian Knight was Gareth Knight. He attended Hogwarts, entered Gryffindor House, and later became associated with defensive operations during the war. He died during the incident now recorded as the Merebridge Escort Disaster."
Matthew's quill stopped.
The family records called it the Merebridge Transfer.
The official title transformed a compromised route and an ignored warning into a disaster, a word large enough to conceal every person who had made a decision before it happened.
"Gareth Knight held a defensive line," Binns continued, "while Ministry witnesses and members of an escort led by Amelia Bones were moved to safety. He died before the withdrawal was complete. He was unmarried and left no registered magical children."
Matthew wrote every word.
Professor Binns turned another page.
"The second magical child was Eleanor Knight. She also entered Gryffindor House, although several surviving accounts state that Ravenclaw strongly contested the Sorting."
Elara looked back at Matthew. He remembered the Sorting Hat's description of Ravenclaw sulking after Eleanor's choice.
"Eleanor Knight trained in healing and protective spellcraft," Binns said. "She died defending Rosebank House, a refuge used by Muggle and Muggle-born families threatened during the war. Her final ward allowed civilians and two injured Aurors to escape. She was unmarried and left no registered magical offspring."
The public history named the people she had saved.
It did not mention the pattern of attacks she had identified, the warnings she had sent, or the evacuation Dumbledore had delayed while protecting a source.
Professor Binns moved to the next entry.
"Samuel Knight, magical head of the family, survived both magical children for only a short period. He died at Ashdown House in September 1981 while defending a compromised safehouse from Lord Voldemort. The Ministry account states that he fought alone and died when the house wards collapsed. The exact purpose of his presence at Ashdown was not entered into the public record."
Cassian shifted in his seat.
The movement was slight.
Matthew noticed.
"Samuel's wife, Vivian Knight, was non-magical," Binns continued. "His only surviving child at the time of his death was Robert Daniel Knight."
The ghost paused over the next word.
"Robert Knight was registered as a Squib."
Matthew's fingers closed more tightly around his quill.
A Squib was not an empty place inside a family tree.
Robert had grown up in a magical house. He had recognised Peter's Blasting Curse before the witches and wizards around him understood the danger. He had stood between that curse and his family without a wand because the absence of active magic had not removed his courage, knowledge, or name.
Binns appeared unaware of the anger settling beneath Matthew's composure.
"Under the Magical Lineage Continuity Act," the professor explained, "a family remained magically active only while at least one recognised witch or wizard existed in the direct legal line. A Squib could inherit ordinary property but could not independently maintain the magical registration without a magical spouse, magical child, or approved trustee."
Matthew raised his hand.
"Why?"
Professor Binns looked up. "Why what, Mr Knight?"
"Why could a Squib not maintain the family registration?"
"The register was created to track active magical inheritance."
"Then it did not record whether the family survived. It recorded whether the Ministry recognised its magic."
"That is a distinction of terminology."
"It is the distinction between saying my father was alive and saying his family was extinct."
The classroom fell silent.
Several Slytherins looked offended by the challenge. Others had begun listening with expressions that suggested no one had ever asked them to examine the definition from outside it.
Professor Binns looked down again.
"Robert Knight married Jessica Anne Knight, a Muggle woman. Their son, Matthew Robert Knight, appeared in the Muggle birth registry but was never registered by the Ministry as a magical child, magical heir, or continuation of the Knight line."
A quiet murmur moved across the room.
Matthew's quill remained suspended above the page.
"Robert and Jessica Knight were killed during the Dartford Road explosion on the first of November 1981," Binns continued. "Their child survived. No magical awakening report, heirship notice, wand registration, or lineage amendment was filed. The Ministry therefore concluded that Samuel Knight had died without a surviving magical descendant and entered the family as extinct."
The pressure behind Matthew's right eye became sharp.
He breathed slowly.
Dumbledore had sealed his magic.
The Ministry had altered witnesses.
The records had been made clean by removing everything which contradicted the chosen account.
"Did anyone test me?" Matthew asked.
"No test is recorded."
"Did anyone speak to Vivian Knight about accidental magic?"
"No interview is attached to the lineage entry."
"Did anyone record what happened to the lights and metal objects when the police moved me from Dartford Road?"
Professor Binns searched several lines.
"No magical incident is attached to your name."
Matthew placed the quill against the parchment.
"Then the Ministry did not discover that my family was extinct. Someone failed to record that it was alive."
The words carried no shout, no accusation, and no performance.
That made them land more heavily.
Professor Binns stared at him for several seconds. Even the distant vacancy in the ghost's expression seemed to shift.
Cassian spoke from the Slytherin side.
"Perhaps the Ministry had reasons not to count you."
Matthew turned his head.
"What reason would make an untested child cease to exist?"
Cassian smiled faintly. "I said perhaps."
"You implied knowledge without providing it."
"Everyone knows what happened to your family."
"No," Matthew said, returning his attention to Binns. "Everyone knows what the Ministry printed."
Professor Binns lifted one hand.
"This is a History lesson, not a private family dispute."
Matthew looked directly at him.
"History is the dispute, Professor."
The silence deepened.
Then Binns drifted toward the board and began explaining the original creation of the British Magical Lineage Register. The first commission had included twelve representatives of established families, several Ministry solicitors, and the Chief Registrar.
Matthew raised his hand again.
"Were Squibs represented?"
"No."
"Were Muggle spouses represented?"
"No."
"Were Muggle-born witches or wizards represented?"
"Not upon the first commission."
"Could excluded people challenge an entry?"
"A Squib required a magical sponsor. A Muggle guardian could not submit a direct challenge."
Matthew wrote two headings across his page.
What the Register Preserves
What the Register Erases
"The people most likely to be excluded had no direct voice in the system deciding whether they counted," he said.
Professor Binns regarded the headings.
"A system may be useful without being perfect."
"Yes. That is why both the usefulness and the harm need to be recorded."
At the end of the lesson, Binns assigned eighteen inches of parchment on the benefits of the Lineage Register.
Matthew raised his hand one final time.
"May the essay include a critical examination of its cost?"
"The title requests benefits."
"A benefit cannot be measured accurately without comparing it to what was lost."
Binns's transparent mouth tightened.
"In forty-seven years, no first-year has challenged the wording of this assignment before writing it."
"That does not answer whether I may."
Aidan made a quiet sound which might have been admiration or fear.
"You may include a critical section," Binns said, "provided that every claim is supported by historical evidence and properly cited."
Matthew lowered his hand. "That is reasonable. Thank you."
The bell rang.
Students began packing while Professor Binns continued speaking for nearly a minute before noticing that the lesson had ended.
As Matthew closed his notes, Cassian passed behind his desk. He bent just enough for his words to carry without becoming public.
"The register should have remained unchanged. Some families die for a reason."
Matthew looked up.
Cassian was already walking toward the door.
Aidan rose so quickly that his chair scraped the floor.
"What did he say?"
Matthew opened his small record book.
"He said some families die for a reason."
"You are writing it down?"
"I am recording the statement, location, time, and witnesses."
Elara stopped beside him. "I heard it."
"So did I," Katie said.
Matthew entered both names.
Aidan looked toward the doorway through which Cassian had vanished. "I was going to suggest hitting him."
"That would transform his statement into an immediate fight before it establishes a pattern."
Aidan looked down at the record book.
"I am beginning to understand why writing things down frightens people."
"It should frighten people who plan to lie afterward."
Charms was shared with Hufflepuff.
The atmosphere changed the moment Matthew entered the west-tower classroom. Sunlight passed through curved windows and lay in warm shapes across the floor. The Hufflepuffs had already divided themselves into pairs, and two of them were helping a nervous boy collect quills scattered beneath a desk.
Shelves lined the circular walls. They held bells, feathers, candles, coloured blocks, silver hoops, glass spheres, miniature doors, cushions, cups, and several objects whose purpose Matthew could not determine.
Professor Filius Flitwick stood upon three thick books behind his desk.
Before the lesson began, a Hufflepuff girl reached toward a polished silver bell.
The bell opened a row of small metal teeth and snapped at her finger.
She pulled her hand away.
Professor Flitwick smiled.
"That is our first lesson. Magic often remembers whether you asked."
Matthew wrote the sentence down.
Flitwick explained the distinction between spells, charms, enchantments, and wards. His voice carried enthusiasm without losing precision, and he moved across the desk with enough energy to make his small size irrelevant.
"A charm changes behaviour or adds a property without necessarily changing the essential nature of the target," he explained. "A cup may remain a cup while warming itself, floating, singing, detecting poison, or objecting to anyone who drinks from it without washing it properly."
Aidan's eyes brightened.
"Can it do all of those things at once?"
"A poorly supervised student may certainly attempt it."
Soft laughter moved through the room.
"An enchantment," Flitwick continued, "usually gives an object a longer-lasting habit, rule, or response. Wards become more complicated because they define relationships between a boundary, an intention, a recognised person or object, and the conditions under which magic should act."
His attention settled on Matthew's collar.
"Mr Knight, are those active ward channels?"
"Yes, Professor. The inner cloth supports damaged magical pathways. The middle structure distributes temperature, pressure, and minor impact. The outer layer defines the boundary and release paths."
Several Hufflepuffs turned toward him.
Professor Flitwick stepped down from the books.
"You have described a ward as a relationship rather than a barrier."
"A barrier is one possible behaviour. The ward itself decides whom it recognises, what it protects, what it refuses, and where the force should go."
Flitwick's eyes brightened. "A sophisticated definition for a first-year."
"I had an unusually long preparation period."
Aidan leaned toward the Hufflepuff beside him. "That means he studied while the rest of us remained happy."
Matthew heard him.
"That is not what it means."
"It is part of what it means."
The lesson's practical subject was the Wand-Lighting Charm.
Professor Flitwick demonstrated the movement carefully. His wand traced a small rising curve and pointed outward.
"Lumos."
White light appeared at the tip, steady and gentle.
"The movement gives shape. The word directs the charm. Your intention explains what the light is for. You are not attacking darkness. You are providing illumination."
Students began practising.
Katie produced a trembling spark on her second attempt. Elara's light formed on the third and remained stable. Aidan created a flash bright enough to make several students cover their eyes.
Professor Flitwick hurried over.
"Mr Rookwood, the charm is not announcing your arrival to ships at sea."
"I wanted the intention to be clear."
"You wanted the intention to be victorious."
Matthew raised his own wand.
The layered cedar and cherry felt warm beneath his fingers.
"Lumos."
Golden light formed at the tip.
It did not spread.
It projected forward as a narrow, sharply bounded beam and struck the far wall like a line drawn by a ruler.
Students exclaimed.
Professor Flitwick appeared beside Matthew with surprising speed.
"Interesting."
Matthew extinguished the light. "Nox. What did I do incorrectly?"
"You did not fail. You gave the charm too many restrictions. You defined width, direction, spread, strength, boundary, and destination before allowing the wand to create the light."
"I wanted control."
"You approached illumination as though it were requesting entry through a guarded door."
Aidan grinned. "That sounds like him."
Flitwick continued before Matthew could answer.
"Control is useful. Excess control makes simple magic rigid. Your wand already understands light. Give it purpose without dictating every breath it is permitted to take."
Matthew tried again.
This time he focused upon the page, the people around him, and the simple desire to see clearly without harming anyone's eyes.
"Lumos."
Warm gold spread from the wand tip and filled the space around his desk.
Professor Flitwick clapped.
"Very good. You retained purpose while releasing unnecessary control."
Matthew wrote the correction immediately.
Flitwick watched his quill move.
"You record criticism quickly."
"If I do not record a useful correction, pride may later remember it as something I already knew."
Flitwick's expression softened. "Samuel Knight once gave me a similar answer after I criticised one of his threshold charms."
Matthew's quill stopped.
"You knew my grandfather."
"I argued with him more often than I agreed with him."
"Who won?"
"Neither of us. That was why the conversations remained useful."
Matthew liked the answer.
He looked at the warm light resting upon his wand tip. The structure of the spell was simple and stable. Its magic wanted to illuminate. It did not need his hand once a separate anchor existed.
An idea formed.
He raised his hand.
Professor Flitwick turned. "Yes, Mr Knight?"
"May I attempt to place the Lumos inside a temporary ward rune and detach it from the wand?"
The classroom quieted.
Flitwick's expression became serious.
"Have you done that before?"
"I have anchored candlelight and a weaker illumination charm inside the Knight sanctuary. I have not attempted it with my own wand or inside Hogwarts."
"Explain your structure before casting."
Matthew drew a circle on clean parchment, leaving three deliberate openings in its edge.
"The outer line contains the spell. The central mark identifies the held force as light. The upper branch creates a temporary self-contained anchor. These openings release illumination without allowing the entire charm to disperse."
"What prevents the rune from attaching itself to the classroom wards?"
"The anchor will remain internal. It should hold position relative to the place where I release it without entering the ceiling or stone."
"What happens if it destabilises?"
"The lower opening releases completely and allows the light to disperse harmlessly."
"Will it continue drawing power from you?"
"No. It should contain only what I place inside."
Professor Flitwick looked around the classroom.
"Everyone will move away from Mr Knight's desk. Mr Rookwood, that includes you."
Aidan had already leaned closer.
He stepped back reluctantly.
Flitwick raised his wand. "I will maintain containment. If I tell you to release, you release immediately."
Matthew nodded. "Understood."
He lifted his wand and traced the rune in the air.
A fine golden circle appeared. He drew the source mark through its centre, formed the upper anchor, and left the three release openings intact.
The rune floated before him.
Matthew brought the wand tip to its centre.
"Lumos."
Golden light entered the symbol.
For an instant, it became too bright to see clearly. Matthew felt the spell push against the boundary, searching for the familiar route through his wand.
He did not force it smaller.
He guided it into the shape he had built.
The charm settled into the central mark. Light began flowing evenly through the release points.
Matthew closed the anchor and cast the rune upward.
The golden symbol rose through the classroom, stopping several feet below the ceiling. It began rotating slowly.
Soft illumination spread across every desk.
No flame burned. No smoke appeared. The rune shone like language written in sunlight.
Professor Flitwick lowered his containment spell in stages and cast three diagnostic charms.
Matthew's rune remained stable.
"That," Flitwick said, looking from the symbol to Matthew, "is not merely a Wand-Lighting Charm."
"No, Professor. It is a temporary ward carrying an enchanted Lumos."
"You built a container, transferred the charm, provided controlled release, and detached it from your wand during your first Charms class."
"I already understood the individual principles."
"The individual principles are often the easy part."
The class continued beneath the golden rune. It remained below the ceiling while Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs produced sparks, flickers, beams, flashes, and one green light which made its caster's eyebrows glow.
At the end of the period, Matthew's rune had dimmed only slightly.
A Hufflepuff girl paused beside his desk.
"That light is beautiful."
Matthew looked up. "Thank you."
Aidan stared at him.
"You accepted a compliment without explaining the release geometry."
"Hermione asked me to practise."
"That girl must be terrifying."
"She is organised."
When the other students had left, Professor Flitwick closed the classroom door.
"The castle registered your Clavis Contexta when your trunk entered Hogwarts," he explained. "I would like to examine the First Seal and the safety structure of your tunic."
Matthew's shoulders became still.
"Who can access the castle's registration?"
"Relevant Heads of House, the Deputy Headmistress, certain security wards, and the Headmaster if he requests it."
Matthew touched the recognition seam inside his cuff. It confirmed that only he and Professor Flitwick occupied the room, though he did not assume Hogwarts itself lacked deeper methods of observation.
"Before I show you the family craft," he said, "I need a promise."
Flitwick's expression became careful. "What sort of promise?"
"You must not give the designs, medical enchantments, runes, construction methods, or future development notes to Albus Dumbledore. You must not allow him to use your inspection as a route into Knight family knowledge."
The professor became completely still.
"That is a serious condition to place upon a teacher concerning his Headmaster."
"I understand."
"Why do you believe it is necessary?"
Matthew met his eyes briefly, then shifted his gaze enough to avoid prolonged contact.
"Albus Dumbledore is recognised by the Knight house as the betrayer of my family."
The golden rune rotated above them.
Flitwick's face lost colour.
Matthew explained only what was necessary. He spoke of Samuel's acknowledged reinforcement signal at Ashdown, Dumbledore's presence inside the Knight house during the rescue window, Vivian's altered memories, the family lockdown which had never happened, his own magical seal, the absence of a healer, and Amelia Bones's possession of authenticated copies.
Professor Flitwick lowered himself onto the nearest chair.
"You possess evidence?"
"I would not use the classification on anger alone."
Flitwick looked at the silver lines of Matthew's tunic.
"I cannot promise to conceal an immediate danger to a student or an active crime within the school."
"I would not ask you to."
"I cannot disobey a lawful Ministry order."
"The order must be independently verifiable. Dumbledore's personal instruction is not enough."
Professor Flitwick considered the wording.
"That is reasonable. I will not give your family craft to the Headmaster or anyone else without permission. I will not place technical details in the ordinary school record. If safety or lawful authority compels disclosure, I will tell you unless the law specifically prevents it."
Matthew weighed the promise.
"I accept."
He opened the outer layer of his tunic enough to reveal the relationship seams without exposing the scars beneath the fitted medical lining. Flitwick examined the pressure channels, release points, diagonal closure, impact paths, and separation between the healing support and defensive structure.
"Pain taught us where the cloth could not pull," Matthew explained. "Martial training taught us where it needed to move."
"And Hermione Granger?"
"Hermione taught me that enthusiasm is not a valid pocket requirement."
Flitwick laughed softly.
Matthew demonstrated the Clavis Contexta next.
A blank sheet folded itself into the form of a formal letter. Dark blue ribbon wound around it in seven interlocking loops, and a rune formed at every crossing.
"The relationships are author, subject, intended reader, date, purpose, witness, and release," Matthew explained. "The reader follows the runic meaning in the correct sequence. The key remains visible because Level One tests understanding rather than concealment."
"If forced?"
"The seal records the attempt, contracts into a smaller form, and remains closed. It does not retaliate."
"Miss Granger rejected retaliation?"
"Yes."
"Miss Granger continues to sound wise."
"She is often wise in inconvenient places."
Flitwick opened the seal correctly.
"You intend to develop further levels."
"The First Level will remain exactly as it is. The foundation should stay teachable and fair."
"What changes in Level Two?"
"The document may stop being a letter. A History essay might become a folded timeline. A Potions report might become a sealed ingredient case. Defence work could become a shield with moving runic joints."
"And beyond that?"
Matthew looked toward the golden rune near the ceiling.
"Reader recognition, changing geometry, contextual questions, moving locks, transformed structures. Level Two and above will test what a lock can truly become."
Flitwick stared at him for a moment before looking upward.
"The illumination rune is still holding."
Matthew followed his gaze.
"Yes."
"You love this work."
The answer came easily.
"I love enchantments and wards because an idea can become useful enough to keep someone safe."
Professor Flitwick's expression softened.
"Remember that the most dangerous moment in protective craft comes when the maker begins loving cleverness more than the person being protected."
Matthew thought of Hermione rejecting the stinging charm.
"I will remember."
He left the classroom while the golden rune continued rotating beneath the ceiling, illuminating the empty desks long after both of them had gone.
Potions was shared with Slytherin.
The dungeon classroom smelled of damp stone, ground herbs, metal, old smoke, and ingredients that Matthew had no intention of identifying through scent alone. Pewter cauldrons stood upon black worktables. Brass scales, stone mortars, knives, chopping boards, tongs, and glass stirring rods had been arranged with severe precision.
Shelves covered the walls.
Dried nettles hung in dark green bundles, their surfaces still carrying tiny silver hairs. Snake fangs rested in lidded trays, pale and hollow. Horned slugs floated inside cloudy preservative, their translucent bodies curling around themselves. Black-and-white porcupine quills filled a tall glass jar beside the demonstration bench.
Elara chose the station beside Matthew.
Aidan paired with Oliver Dunstan at the next table.
Cassian sat across the aisle. Before the lesson began, he spoke quietly with two older Slytherins waiting beside the door. One was tall and narrow-faced, with dark blond hair and a silver clasp at his throat. The other was broader, pale-eyed, and heavy through the shoulders.
Both looked at Matthew before leaving.
He recorded their faces in memory.
Professor Snape entered.
The door opened only a narrow distance, yet his black robes flowed through it like smoke. Conversations died before he reached the front bench.
"Potions does not reward enthusiasm, family name, confidence, unsupported creativity, or the belief that reading an ingredient's name constitutes understanding it," Snape said. His voice remained quiet enough to make the entire room lean toward him. "Potions rewards exact preparation, controlled heat, clean tools, correct timing, and the increasingly rare ability to follow a sequence without deciding that an eleven-year-old's inspiration belongs in the cauldron."
His gaze settled on Matthew.
"Mr Knight."
"Yes, Professor?"
"You will restrict any experimental enchantment capable of responding unpredictably to heat, fumes, liquids, impact, or sudden motion."
"The outer channels can be restricted. The medical layer must remain active because it regulates pressure around curse-damaged pathways."
Several students looked toward him.
Snape did not soften.
"Restrict everything which is not medically necessary. If your clothing interprets my classroom as a battlefield, I will remove it from the room whether or not you remain inside it."
Matthew touched the control seam. The defensive channels dimmed, leaving only the inner support and emergency release marks active.
"The outer responses are restricted."
Snape passed a diagnostic charm over the cloth.
"Acceptable."
Cassian muttered, "Convenient."
Snape's head turned.
"Mr Flint, you have not yet demonstrated enough intelligence to comment upon another student's medical requirements. Preserve your breath for the moment your cauldron begins smoking and you require it for screaming."
Cassian's face reddened.
The class prepared a Cure for Boils.
Snape lifted the dried nettles first.
"These provide anti-inflammatory properties. They are bruised rather than powdered. Destroy too much structure and the oils release before the mineral base is ready to bind them."
He displayed a hollow snake fang.
"These have been rendered non-venomous, but the internal magical channels remain active. Grind six. Add four measured portions. Retain the remaining powder for correction rather than demonstrating enthusiasm by emptying everything you own into the potion."
The horned slugs came next.
"They provide viscosity and absorb excess heat. Drain them properly. Preserving fluid thins the potion and disrupts binding."
Finally, Snape lifted two porcupine quills.
"These are added only after the cauldron leaves the flame. Their defensive magic reacts violently to direct heat. Anyone forgetting this will spend the afternoon helping Madam Pomfrey identify which blisters came from the original ailment and which came from stupidity."
Matthew read the full sequence before touching an ingredient.
He placed six snake fangs into the mortar and pressed the pestle downward. The fangs resisted before breaking with brittle cracks. A chalky smell rose from the fragments.
His right hand did not close evenly around the pestle. He compensated by tightening the wrist.
Snape appeared beside him.
"Stop."
Matthew stopped.
"You are forcing pressure through the wrist."
"The third and fourth fingers do not maintain equal force."
"Then alter the grip rather than bullying the joint. Support the pestle with the base of the palm. Guide with the fingers. Use the forearm for pressure."
Matthew followed the instruction.
The grinding became smoother. The fragments turned into a fine pale powder.
"Better," Snape said. "Continue compensating badly and you will create an injury on the left side to match the right."
Matthew wrote down the correction.
"Thank you, Professor."
Snape moved away without answering.
Elara bruised the nettles with the flat of her knife. Their fibres darkened, and a sharp green scent entered the air.
Matthew measured four portions of fang powder into the simmering mineral base. The liquid changed from cloudy white to dull grey. When Elara added the nettles, thin green lines travelled through the potion before disappearing.
They stirred three times clockwise, lowered the flame, and waited.
The horned slugs were unpleasantly soft. Matthew lifted them with tongs while Elara checked that no preserving liquid remained trapped beneath them. Each slug dissolved slowly, thickening the potion and turning it pale lilac.
Across the aisle, Cassian had left several large fragments in his fang powder.
Matthew glanced at them.
Cassian saw.
"What are you staring at?"
"Your powder is uneven."
"I did not ask."
Cassian added it anyway.
Grey foam spat over the rim of his cauldron.
Snape turned.
"Mr Flint, remove the cauldron from the flame before your refusal to accept information costs Slytherin more than dignity."
Cassian obeyed.
Snape looked toward Matthew.
"Mr Knight, allow your classmates the opportunity to fail without becoming responsible for every cauldron in the room."
"The fragments could have made the potion dangerous."
"That is the professor's responsibility."
Matthew nodded.
The statement felt unnatural.
It was still reasonable.
"Yes, Professor."
When their own potion lost visible steam, Elara removed the cauldron from the flame. Matthew added the quills one at a time. Each dissolved from the tip downward, deepening the liquid into a smooth violet-blue.
Cassian leaned sideways.
"Perhaps the Squib's son needs help holding the spoon."
Matthew's hand stopped.
Snape spoke without turning.
"Robert Knight possessed no wand and nevertheless identified three inventory errors in a field apothecary ledger which six trained wizards had missed. Five points from Slytherin, Mr Flint, for substituting blood prejudice for competence."
Cassian stared at his Head of House.
Matthew did as well.
Snape continued walking.
Cassian's humiliation made him careless.
While Snape's back was turned, he nudged an unused porcupine quill from his table toward the flame beneath Matthew's cauldron.
Matthew saw the movement reflected in the polished brass scales. He caught the quill on the flat of his knife and placed it safely upon the stone.
Snape turned.
His eyes moved from the quill to Cassian's extended hand.
"Ten additional points from Slytherin."
"I did nothing."
"Then the quill has developed ambition and crossed the aisle independently."
Cassian said nothing.
"You will remain after class and scrub every worktable by hand. If you interfere with another cauldron again, I will remove you from practical work until you understand that sabotage in a Potions room is attempted murder performed by an idiot."
Matthew and Elara completed their potion.
The finished mixture was a deep blue with the consistency of light syrup. One drop placed upon a heated copper plate spread evenly and cooled the metal without cracking it.
"Adequate," Snape pronounced. "Your fang powder improved after correction. The nettles were bruised rather than destroyed. The slugs were drained properly. Your final stirring was too cautious."
"The thickness suggested another turn might overbind it."
"The thickness resulted from hesitation between the previous two turns. A correction made too late often becomes a second error."
Matthew wrote the sentence down.
Snape noticed.
"Of course you have recorded it."
"It is useful."
"That does not make it less irritating."
At the end of class, Snape called Matthew back after the other students had begun leaving.
"Your father's apothecary correction occurred in 1979," he said. "He was carrying a ward-supply inventory for Samuel."
"You worked with him?"
Snape's expression closed.
"I supplied a fact relevant to the statement made during my lesson."
"You answered a question I had not yet asked."
The dungeon seemed to become colder.
Matthew inclined his head. "That was impertinent. I apologise."
Snape's gaze dropped to the scars across his right hand.
"Do not allow justified anger to tighten your grip during practical work. A potion does not care whether the reason for an error was morally satisfying."
"No, Professor."
Snape turned away, then stopped.
"Your father disliked being praised for succeeding despite being a Squib. He preferred being recognised as competent without qualification."
Matthew's throat tightened.
"That sounds like him."
"Leave."
Matthew entered the corridor.
The passage ahead appeared empty.
It was not.
Cassian stood in the centre of the corridor. The two older Slytherins waited beside him, one leaning against the wall while the broader boy blocked the staircase.
Matthew stopped several paces away and shifted his satchel closer to the safer left side of his body.
Cassian smiled.
"You cost Slytherin fifteen points."
"You cost Slytherin fifteen points. I happened to be nearby."
The broad boy laughed.
The taller one looked over Matthew's ward-cloth.
"My father said the Knights always hid behind clever words."
Matthew removed his record book.
"What is your name?"
The boy's mouth curled.
"You do not know?"
"That is why I asked."
Cassian gestured between them. "Dorian Selwyn and Malcolm Avery. You should remember the names of families which still matter."
Matthew wrote both names.
Cassian's smile faded.
"What are you doing?"
"Recording the people present, the location, the time, and the fact that this encounter was arranged after Potions."
Malcolm moved away from the stairs.
"You think writing makes you frightening?"
"No. Writing makes later lying more difficult."
Dorian's gaze hardened.
"The registry was right. Gareth died without children. Eleanor died without children. Samuel died without a magical heir. Your father was a Squib who married a Muggle."
"Every part of that sentence describes people. None of it makes the family extinct."
"A Squib does not continue a magical house."
"My father continued his family."
"Not properly."
Matthew's fingers tightened once around the notebook.
He deliberately loosened them.
"Your definition of properly is not law."
Dorian stepped forward. "My father said Dumbledore should have allowed the Dark Lord to finish the traitor families cleanly."
The pressure behind Matthew's right eye sharpened.
"What is your father's name?"
Dorian's expression changed.
Cassian glanced toward him.
Malcolm intervened. "He did not say anything about his father."
"He said his father made the statement."
Dorian moved closer. "You are not writing that."
Matthew wrote the sentence exactly.
"The Knights should have died at Ashdown," Dorian said. "Everyone knows Samuel walked into a trap because he thought he was cleverer than the Dark Lord."
The burning house appeared behind Matthew's eyes. Samuel's final call echoed beneath the pain.
"How does your father know what happened at Ashdown?"
"You do not get to question my family."
"You introduced your family's knowledge."
Cassian stepped close enough for Matthew to smell potion fumes in his robe.
"The Knight line should have stayed dead. Your parents should have finished the job instead of throwing you behind a wall."
Dartford Road struck Matthew's memory.
Jessica's hands pressed against his chest. Robert turned toward Peter's light. The wall broke around him.
Matthew breathed through his feet.
Pain was information.
It was not always an order.
"Do not speak about my parents again."
Cassian smiled.
"Your Muggle mother died because she belonged where Muggles belong."
The anger stopped feeling hot.
It became cold enough to use.
Dorian reached for the notebook.
Matthew moved it behind his hip.
"Do not touch me or my property."
Cassian seized his collar.
The ward-cloth tightened beneath the grip, preventing the fabric from crushing Matthew's throat.
"I gave you a clear warning."
Cassian pulled him forward.
Dorian drew his wand.
Matthew saw the movement reflected in the glass of a portrait above the corridor cabinet.
"Impedimenta!"
Matthew turned.
The jinx struck his right shoulder. Silver runes flared, carrying part of the force through the shoulder panels and releasing it down the divided lower sections of the tunic.
He slid one pace instead of striking the wall.
Cassian still held his collar.
Matthew trapped the wrist, rotated outside the grip, turned the captured arm upward, and removed the leg beneath Cassian's weight. Cassian hit the floor on his side.
Matthew released the arm before the joint broke.
Dorian raised the wand again.
Matthew crossed the distance before he finished the incantation. His left palm struck the inside of Dorian's forearm and redirected the wand toward the wall. A red spark scorched the stone above the portrait.
Matthew drove his right palm into Dorian's chest. When the older boy stumbled, Matthew turned his hip and kicked behind the knee.
Dorian dropped.
Matthew rotated the wand wrist until the hand opened and sent the wand beneath the cabinet with the edge of his boot.
Malcolm attacked from behind.
His arm closed around Matthew's ribs, pinning the damaged shoulder against his side.
Pain tore through the curse scars.
For one moment, white-blue light filled Matthew's vision.
The golden current surged beneath his skin. The inner ward-cloth caught the movement and guided it around the damaged path near his heart.
Matthew dropped his centre, stamped on Malcolm's foot, and turned inside the loosening hold. His left elbow struck Malcolm's abdomen.
The larger boy lost his breath.
Matthew caught the back of his robes, placed his hip beneath Malcolm's centre, and redirected his weight.
Malcolm struck the stone floor hard enough to lose the wand hidden in his sleeve.
Matthew kicked it out of reach.
Cassian had already risen.
He charged with his right shoulder pulled back.
Matthew stepped inside the wide punch, deflected the arm, drove his palm into Cassian's sternum, and followed with a shorter strike beneath the ribs.
Cassian folded.
Matthew's controlled kick struck the centre of his chest and sent him backward into the wall.
The release enchantments in Matthew's boot and lower tunic softened the force returning through his damaged leg.
Cassian slid to the ground, gasping.
Dorian reached beneath the cabinet.
Matthew stepped onto his wrist before he recovered the wand, applying enough pressure to open the hand but not enough to damage bone.
Malcolm rose to one knee.
Matthew turned toward him.
The older boy stopped.
Golden light had become visible beneath the scars across Matthew's right hand. Silver lines glowed along the shoulders and cuffs of his tunic. His glasses sat crooked, and fresh blood crossed the edge of the web-like scar on his cheek.
"Do you intend to continue attacking me?"
Malcolm looked toward Cassian and Dorian.
Then he sat back.
"No."
Matthew stepped beyond their reach and opened his notebook.
"Cassian Flint is already recorded. Dorian Selwyn and Malcolm Avery are confirmed. Mr Selwyn, identify the first spell you cast."
Dorian stared.
"You are mad."
"That is not the spell's name."
The portrait above the cabinet opened one painted eye.
"It was the Impediment Jinx," said the elderly wizard inside it. "Poorly pronounced but recognisable."
Dorian looked up in horror.
"Young people always forget paintings when arranging crimes in corridors."
Matthew recorded the witness.
Footsteps thundered down the staircase.
A young woman shouted before reaching the corner.
"Get away from him!"
Tonks appeared with her wand raised and her hair blazing red.
She stopped when she saw the corridor.
Matthew stood with his notebook open. Cassian sat against the wall, Dorian lay beside the cabinet, and Malcolm remained on the ground holding his abdomen.
Tonks lowered her wand by an inch.
"Well," she said. "That is not the direction I expected this rescue to take."
"They attempted an assault."
"I gathered that from the part where Selwyn shouted that the Knights should have died at Ashdown."
Matthew wrote immediately.
Tonks stared at the notebook. "Are you taking minutes?"
"I am recording an independent witness."
"You have blood on your face."
"That has also been recorded."
She looked at the three Slytherins again.
"You had finished before I arrived."
"Yes."
"I heard three of them threatening one first-year and assumed the arithmetic was against you."
"The arithmetic changed."
Despite the seriousness of the scene, the ends of her red hair shifted briefly toward pink.
Professor Snape arrived first. McGonagall and Sprout followed moments later.
The evidence was difficult to dispute. Matthew's wand showed no recent spell. Dorian's wand produced the echo of the Impediment Jinx. Malcolm's revealed an attempted Stinging Hex. The portrait confirmed the order of the attack. Tonks confirmed Dorian's statement about Ashdown.
When McGonagall asked Matthew for an account, he gave it from the beginning, identifying every action, warning, spell, movement, and point at which he had released control.
"You are trained," she told him after finishing her questions. Her expression remained stern, but she did not accuse him of beginning the fight. "That gives you more control than the average student and therefore more responsibility for the force you use."
"I stopped when they stopped attacking."
"The portrait confirms that. I will not punish you for defending yourself after your exit was blocked and magic was introduced."
"Thank you."
"You will report future threats before they reach this point whenever doing so is possible."
"I will report them if reporting does not leave someone in immediate danger."
McGonagall held his gaze.
"That is the promise you are willing to give?"
"It is the honest one."
After several seconds, she nodded.
Then she instructed Tonks to escort him to the hospital wing.
Matthew did not object immediately.
He watched Snape take the three Slytherins away. He recorded Dorian's father's name, Cassius Selwyn. He straightened his glasses and followed Tonks toward the staircase.
The refusal came two corridors later.
The route toward the hospital wing grew brighter as they climbed.
Narrow dungeon passages gave way to broad corridors with tall windows. Afternoon light fell across the stone in pale rectangles. A row of portraits showed famous healers brewing potions, binding wounds, and waving wands over unconscious patients.
Matthew slowed beneath the portrait of a silver-haired witch standing beside a hospital bed.
Tonks noticed almost immediately.
She adjusted her pace to match his, allowing the change to occur without drawing attention to his leg.
"Would walking more slowly help?"
Matthew did not answer.
The painted healer raised her wand over the patient.
Silver light descended toward the bed.
The corridor disappeared.
For one heartbeat, Matthew saw white hospital walls, bandages, Dumbledore's blue robes, and the wand coming down over his body. He felt the seal close around his magic. He heard Vivian begging not to have her memories taken.
His right hand closed around the front of his ward-cloth.
"Stop."
Tonks stopped.
Her hair faded from pink toward brown at the roots.
"What is wrong?"
Matthew looked toward the hospital corridor ahead. The air carried a faint smell of potion vapour and cleansing magic.
"I am not going inside."
Tonks's expression sharpened with concern, but she did not reach for him.
"Because you think you are not hurt?"
"No."
The answer surprised her.
Matthew took one careful breath. He placed his back against the wall, not because he needed support, but because he wanted the corridor in front of him rather than behind him.
"I have never been examined by a magical healer."
Tonks lowered her wand completely.
"Never?"
"The Muggle doctors treated the physical damage after Dartford Road. They did not know it was a curse. Dumbledore was the only wizard who used magic on my body."
Tonks's hair darkened further.
"What did he do?"
"He sealed my core. He left the curse residue inside the wounds. He altered my grandmother's memories and left before morning."
The portraits along the wall continued moving, unaware that the meaning of their painted work had changed around the boy standing beneath them.
"Madam Pomfrey is not Dumbledore," Tonks said carefully.
"I know."
Matthew's voice remained calm, but the calm now required deliberate effort.
"She may be honest. She may be excellent. She may have helped hundreds of students. I do not know her. I do not know what her medical records report to the Headmaster, what her examination spells would reveal, whether she can access the seal, or whether Dumbledore would be informed before I left the room."
Tonks opened her mouth.
Matthew continued before she could offer reassurance he had not asked for.
"The first magical person who touched my injuries decided what happened to my body without my consent. I will not allow another person to do that because a professor ordered me through a door."
Tonks became completely still.
The scarlet colour had left her hair. It remained a subdued brown, close to the natural shade she wore when frightened or deeply serious.
"McGonagall told me to escort you."
"She told you where she wanted me taken. She did not give you ownership of my decision."
"No," Tonks said. "She did not."
Matthew studied her.
He had expected argument. He had expected to hear that he was being unreasonable, that Pomfrey could be trusted, or that school rules mattered more than whatever lived inside his memories.
Tonks did none of those things.
"What do you want to do?" she asked.
The question eased something in his chest.
"I want to return to Gryffindor Tower. I can examine the ward-cloth diagnostics, contact Hermione and the portraits, record the pain, clean the cut without magic, and decide what help I am prepared to accept."
"And if the pain worsens?"
"I will reassess. I am refusing an unknown healer under Dumbledore's authority. I am not refusing reality."
Tonks glanced toward the hospital wing and then back toward him.
"I have to tell McGonagall that we did not go."
"Yes."
"I will tell her you made an informed refusal. I will not say you panicked or ran away."
"Thank you."
Tonks pulled a folded piece of parchment from her pocket, wrote a short message, and tapped it with her wand. The paper folded itself into an uneven bird and flew toward the staircase.
Matthew watched it disappear.
"Your paper birds are structurally inconsistent."
"I was being supportive."
"Both things can be true."
Her hair regained a thin line of pink.
"There he is."
They turned back toward Gryffindor Tower.
Tonks did not walk in front as though leading a patient. She moved beside him. When his right knee stiffened, she slowed without asking again. When they reached the moving staircase, she waited for Matthew to choose the route.
Halfway up, she spoke quietly.
"My mother was burned from the Black family tapestry because she married my father."
Matthew looked toward her.
"Your father is Muggle-born."
"Ted Tonks. The Blacks decided Mum stopped being family when she stopped obeying them."
The words carried old anger, but no shame.
"They burned away her name and then acted as though the empty place proved she had never belonged."
"The Ministry registry did that to Robert."
Tonks nodded. "Old families say a line should die when they mean it stopped obeying the people who believed they owned it."
Matthew stored the sentence.
"That is useful."
"I meant it to be emotionally meaningful."
"It can be both."
Tonks looked sideways at him.
"You really speak like that all the time."
"Hermione says my emotions often arrive disguised as structural observations."
"Hermione sounds terrifying."
"She is very organised."
"That was not a denial."
"No."
The staircase settled.
They continued upward.
Percy Weasley was standing beside the portrait hole when Tonks and Matthew reached Gryffindor Tower.
His prefect badge gleamed against his robes. Concern tightened his face when he saw the blood on Matthew's cheek and the stiffness in his right arm.
"Professor McGonagall said you were going to the hospital wing."
"I declined."
Percy stared.
"You cannot simply decline medical attention after a fight."
Tonks folded her arms. "He can refuse an examination he does not consent to."
Percy looked toward her Hufflepuff colours and then at Matthew.
"He is eleven."
"He is also conscious, breathing, coherent, able to describe his injuries, and carrying reasons you do not know."
"That does not make him a healer."
Matthew answered before the exchange could become an argument around him.
"I did not claim to be a healer. I chose not to be examined by a magical practitioner working under a man who previously altered my body without consent."
Percy's expression changed.
The Fat Lady leaned out of her frame, listening openly.
Matthew gave the password.
The portrait swung forward.
Before entering, he looked at Percy.
"McGonagall has been informed. Tonks remained with me. I will ask for help if the condition changes. You are not responsible for forcing me through a medical door."
Percy struggled with the answer. Matthew could see the prefect inside him searching for a rule which would place the decision back into a familiar structure.
At last, Percy stepped aside.
"I will note that you returned to the common room."
"That is accurate."
Matthew entered.
Tonks followed.
Aidan, Elara, and Katie were waiting beside the fire.
They stood the moment they saw him.
Katie's gaze moved immediately to the cut across his cheek. Elara examined the posture of his shoulder. Aidan looked relieved first and angry second.
"You did not go to Pomfrey," Elara said.
"No."
"Why?"
"I have never been examined by a magical healer, and I do not yet trust a medical system controlled by Dumbledore."
Elara absorbed the answer.
She did not tell him he was wrong.
"Do you need anything from us?"
That question was better.
"A clean cloth, water, room around the right shoulder, and witnesses while I check the ward diagnostics."
Katie left for water.
Aidan moved two chairs aside, opening space near the fire.
Elara brought a folded towel from the staircase leading to the girls' dormitories.
Tonks sat on the arm of a nearby chair, close enough to help if asked and far enough not to crowd him.
Matthew removed the travelling coat and opened the outer shoulder panel of his ward-cloth. He kept the medical layer closed over his scars.
A silver diagnostic line appeared beneath his fingers.
It travelled from the cuff toward the shoulder, paused near the ribs, and divided into three small marks.
The first indicated elevated strain.
The second indicated active golden-current support.
The third showed no immediate spread of dark residue.
Matthew recorded the result.
Aidan leaned unconsciously toward the linked book when Matthew opened it.
The page turned grey.
Fine black-and-white static moved across its surface, making every line unreadable.
Aidan stopped.
"I cannot see anything."
"The book recognises only Hermione and me."
"I was not trying to steal it."
"You were attempting to read private correspondence over my shoulder."
Aidan sat back.
"That sounds worse when you say it accurately."
"It often does."
Tonks leaned slightly from the chair arm.
The static thickened.
She immediately moved back.
"Rude book."
"Private book."
"From this side, those feel similar."
Elara looked at Matthew rather than the page.
"Will you tell us what Hermione says if it concerns the attack?"
"I will share what belongs to the group. The rest of the conversation belongs to Hermione and me."
Elara nodded.
"That is fair."
Katie returned with water and handed it to him without looking toward the protected page.
That improved all three of them.
Matthew cleaned the blood from his cheek using the damp cloth. The cut was narrow and had already stopped bleeding. The older web-like scar beneath it remained warm but unchanged.
Then he placed his quill against the linked book.
Hermione's handwriting was already appearing.
Why is your writing uneven?
Matthew began his report.
My right shoulder and ribs were strained during an attack after Potions.
Her answer arrived before he finished the sentence.
Define attack.
Matthew described the three students, the blocked corridor, the words about his family, Dorian's spell, Malcolm's attempted hex, the physical holds, his response, the portrait witness, Tonks's arrival, and the professors' findings.
Hermione's writing interrupted the report several times.
Three students were waiting?
Yes.
Two were older than you?
Yes.
The spell was cast before you used force?
Yes.
Someone restrained the arm with the worst curse damage?
Yes.
A long pause followed.
Then Hermione wrote:
You need to go to the hospital wing immediately. Tell Tonks to take you back. Do not train tomorrow. Tell Vivian now. Open the medical seam fully and let Pomfrey inspect—
Matthew's quill stopped.
He read the lines twice.
Then he wrote one sentence.
Hermione, enough.
Nothing appeared for several seconds.
Across the fire, Aidan began speaking quietly with Katie, giving Matthew the privacy of sound without pretending they were not concerned.
Hermione's reply came slowly.
Enough what?
Matthew rested his injured arm against the chair.
Enough orders. Ask me what happened. Tell me what concerns you. Give me advice. Do not decide that fear gives you command over my body.
The ink remained still.
Matthew continued before the silence could become a wound of its own.
I love you. I trust you more than anyone outside my family. That does not make me a project you can manage. The portraits do it sometimes as well. Concern turns into instructions, instructions turn into rules, and suddenly everyone who wants me safe is holding a different part of the leash.
The word looked harsh on the page.
It was also honest.
That is not who I am.
Hermione did not answer for nearly a minute.
Matthew imagined her at the Knight house, sitting over the matching book with her mouth tight and her quill held too firmly. She would be hurt. She would also be thinking.
At last, one word appeared.
Fine.
Matthew waited.
The word remained alone.
Tonks looked at his expression but did not ask to see the page.
The silence lasted another forty seconds.
Then Hermione wrote:
Have you finished the Clavis Contexta for Professor Binns's essay, or have you spent the entire evening becoming a legal and medical problem?
Matthew smiled despite the ache beneath his ribs.
The essay is drafted. The seal is not finished.
A smaller line appeared beneath Hermione's question.
I understand. I was frightened, and I pushed too far.
Matthew's hand softened around the quill.
I know why you did it.
That does not make it acceptable.
No.
Another pause.
May I advise you to check the diagnostic seam again in one hour, tell Vivian yourself, and seek independent medical help if the pain spreads or the golden current becomes irregular?
The wording mattered.
So did the fact that Hermione had changed it.
Yes. I accept that advice.
Will you tell me if the condition changes?
Yes.
Thank you.
Matthew rested his fingertips against her handwriting.
Aidan looked over from the other chair.
"Is she still angry?"
"She was frightened. Then she became overbearing. I told her to stop."
Aidan's eyebrows rose. "You told Hermione to stop?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"She sulked briefly and asked whether I had finished my homework lock."
Tonks laughed.
Elara's mouth twitched.
Katie looked thoughtful.
"That sounds like an apology which needed somewhere practical to stand," she said.
Matthew looked at her.
"Yes. I think it was."
The linked book warmed again.
For the record, I did not sulk.
Matthew wrote back:
You wrote "fine" and remained silent for forty seconds.
I was reorganising my argument.
You were sulking structurally.
A much darker line of ink appeared.
Finish your homework.
Matthew smiled.
This time he understood it as affection rather than command.
Tonks remained until Matthew completed the second diagnostic check.
The silver line showed no worsening strain. The golden current remained steady. His breathing did not produce sharp pain, and the right hand had recovered most of its grip.
Only then did Tonks rise from the chair arm.
"I need to report the result to McGonagall."
"You may tell her the diagnostics are stable."
"I will also tell her that forcing the hospital issue would be a very bad idea."
Matthew looked up.
"You do not need to argue my case as though I cannot speak."
Tonks stopped.
The correction landed.
Then she nodded.
"Fair. I will report what I witnessed and let you explain your own decision."
"Thank you."
She adjusted her sleeve.
"I know several things about magical healers, incident reports, and what school staff usually tell Dumbledore. I will share what I know when you ask. I am not going to push it into the book or your head without permission."
"That would be useful."
Her hair turned pink again.
"Good. Also, if you decide you want someone present during a future examination, I am willing."
Matthew considered the offer.
"I will remember."
Tonks moved toward the portrait hole, then glanced back.
"For the record, refusing Pomfrey does not mean you have to refuse every medi-witch forever."
"I know."
"Good. I was advising."
"I noticed."
She grinned.
"Progress."
After Tonks left, Aidan, Elara, and Katie remained near the fire. None of them demanded the rest of Matthew's secrets.
Instead, they shared what they knew.
Elara had heard two Slytherins use the phrase extinct line before the History lesson. Katie remembered seeing Dorian Selwyn speaking to Cassian near the lower stairs that morning. Aidan had noticed Malcolm Avery entering the dungeon corridor before Potions ended.
Matthew recorded each account separately.
They were not investigators because he declared them so.
They were friends choosing to give him information.
That distinction mattered.
Later, after the dormitory had become quiet, Matthew opened the private compartment of his trunk.
Three small portrait frames awakened in the dim space behind the privacy ward. Samuel appeared first, followed by Eleanor and Gareth.
The Study Leaf rested beside them.
Matthew reported the lessons, the fight, McGonagall's instruction, his refusal of the hospital wing, and the conversation with Hermione.
Eleanor's face tightened when he explained why he had refused Pomfrey.
"I wish you had been examined."
Matthew's shoulders stiffened.
She saw it.
Then she corrected herself.
"I am worried that the rib pathway may have reopened. My advice is that you avoid forceful movement until the diagnostic line clears. The choice remains yours."
The tension eased.
"I will assess it in the morning. If it remains strained, I will use the recovery sequence rather than the full form."
"That is a sensible decision."
Gareth leaned against the painted edge of his frame.
"Good. I was beginning to think we had turned every concern into a committee."
Samuel looked at him.
"You suggested three compulsory drills last week."
"They were excellent drills."
"They were still compulsory."
Matthew looked between the portraits.
"I need all of you. I need the knowledge, the tests, the arguments, and the warnings. I do not need to be managed."
Samuel bowed his head.
"You are correct."
Eleanor looked regretful. "The first years of your life were shaped by adults failing to protect you. It is easy for those who love you to overcorrect and begin protecting you from your own choices."
"A shield can become a cage."
"Yes."
Samuel folded his painted hands.
"The Grimoire may refuse to open knowledge which would harm an unprepared student. That is a boundary built into the knowledge itself. It should not become an excuse for us to command the rest of your life."
Matthew looked toward the sealed page containing the Knight Body Art.
"I will listen when you warn me."
"And we will remember that listening does not require obedience," Samuel said.
Gareth nodded firmly. "A Knight who never says no to his own family is only easier to control from inside the walls."
The Study Leaf opened.
It recorded the day's lessons without issuing orders.
HISTORICAL PRINCIPLE DEMONSTRATED: A RECORD MAY PRESERVE AUTHORITY MORE ACCURATELY THAN TRUTH.
CHARMS PRINCIPLE DEVELOPING: PURPOSE MAY GUIDE MAGIC WITHOUT OVERCOMPRESSION.
SELF-DEFENCE REVIEW: FORCE CEASED WHEN THE THREAT ENDED.
MEDICAL DECISION: MAGICAL EXAMINATION DECLINED DUE TO UNRESOLVED CONSENT AND TRUST CONCERNS. CONDITION STABLE BY WARD-CLOTH DIAGNOSTIC.
A final line formed.
ADVICE IS NOT OWNERSHIP. PROTECTION REQUIRES CONSENT WHERE IMMEDIATE INCAPACITY DOES NOT REMOVE IT.
Matthew read the words twice.
Then he turned to the History essay.
His opening sentence remained unchanged:
The British Magical Lineage Register preserves inheritance, taxation, education, and legal identity, but a system which excludes Squibs, Muggle spouses, and non-magical children records the continuity of magical power rather than the continuity of a family.
He completed the final paragraph and placed his wand against the bottom of the parchment.
The First-Level Clavis Contexta awakened.
The essay folded into the shape of a formal letter. Dark blue ribbon emerged from the lower margin and wound around it in seven interlocking paths. At each crossing, a rune appeared: author, subject, intended reader, date, purpose, witness, and release.
The key remained visible.
Level One did not hide understanding.
It required it.
Aidan woke while the last rune settled and opened his curtains enough to see the sealed assignment upon Matthew's desk.
"Your homework has become a parcel."
"It has become a letter-form ward."
"Why does History homework need protection?"
"Professor Binns declared me extinct before the lesson began."
Aidan considered the answer through the haze of sleep.
"That seems fair."
He closed the curtains again.
Matthew placed the sealed essay beside the Study Leaf.
His ribs still ached. The wound across his cheek had closed into a thin red line. His right eye carried the familiar deep pressure, and the greater Knight Body Art remained locked behind knowledge he had not yet earned.
Nothing about the day had been easy.
History had shown him how a government could erase a living family through definition.
Charms had shown him that control became stronger when it left room for magic to breathe.
Potions had shown him that justified anger did not excuse an imprecise hand.
The dungeon corridor had taught him that inherited hatred could arrive in the mouths of children and still become their responsibility once they chose to act upon it.
The walk toward the hospital wing had taught him something just as important.
A person could offer protection with sincere intentions and still cross a boundary. Concern did not create ownership. Love did not create command. Advice could guide him, challenge him, irritate him, and sometimes save him.
It could not become a leash.
Matthew closed the portrait cabinet and opened the linked book one final time.
Hermione's handwriting waited.
The lock looks good from the anchor response. Is the translated key sheet attached?
Yes.
Did you include a non-magical explanation for Binns in case he refuses to read the runes?
Yes.
Did you check your ribs again?
Matthew considered the wording.
It was a question.
Yes. The condition remains stable.
Her reply came gently.
Good night, Matthew.
He wrote:
Good night, Hermione.
After a moment, he added:
Thank you for listening when I said enough.
The answer took longer.
Thank you for telling me before resentment became silence.
Matthew closed the book.
Outside the dormitory windows, Hogwarts continued moving through the night. Staircases turned. Portraits whispered. Old wards measured doors, names, objects, and people crossing boundaries they did not always understand.
Matthew Knight lay beneath the curtains of his bed with his own boundaries intact.
He had taken three names.
He had found a new friend.
He had refused a door he was not ready to enter.
Most importantly, the people who cared about him had listened when he explained why.
That was not weakness.
It was not disobedience.
It was the first kind of protection he had ever been allowed to choose for himself.