By Saturday morning, Hogwarts had stopped feeling like a place Matthew had only just entered and begun feeling like a machine whose noises he could almost predict.
He knew which pipe behind his bed clicked shortly before the tower's hot water began flowing. He knew the seventh stair outside the dormitory dipped beneath the left foot, though it did not dip beneath the right. He knew the Fat Lady's mood improved after breakfast and deteriorated sharply whenever students woke her before dawn. He knew the shortest ordinary route to the eastern courtyard, the least unreliable route to the library, and three different ways to reach the Great Hall without trusting the central staircase.
He did not yet know why the portrait of a green-robed wizard on the fifth floor hissed whenever Aidan passed him.
Aidan claimed the wizard was jealous of his hair.
Matthew considered that explanation unsupported.
Saturday arrived without a first bell, which meant the dormitory remained quiet long after dawn. Pale sunlight entered through gaps in the bed curtains and stretched across the floorboards. Cormac McLaggen slept with one arm hanging from the side of his bed. Oliver Dunstan had buried himself beneath every blanket he owned, while Peter Alderton's curtains remained tightly closed around a soft, whistling snore.
Matthew woke at six.
He considered going to the courtyard.
Then he remembered the unopened magical anatomy text inside his trunk.
The courtyard lost.
He sat at the small desk in the private study compartment beneath the trunk's shielded lamp. The Study Leaf lay open before him, its newly revealed title written in steady gold.
FOUNDATIONS OF MAGICAL ANATOMY
CHANNELS, NODES, SCARS, CIRCULATION, AND THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SUPPORT AND HEALING
The introduction did not begin with a diagram.
It began with a warning.
A magical body is not a cauldron containing magic.
Matthew read the sentence twice.
Beneath it, the book explained that magic did not sit in one place waiting to be spent. It moved through living pathways shaped by the body, mind, habits, injury, age, wand use, emotion, and repeated spellwork. Some pathways were broad and heavily used. Others remained quiet until needed. Certain points gathered and redirected magic, though the Grimoire refused to call them reservoirs because storing power was only one of their functions.
Matthew turned the page.
A human figure appeared in gold ink. Fine lines crossed the chest, arms, spine, head, and legs. Several wider channels met near the heart, lower abdomen, shoulders, palms, throat, and the centre of the forehead.
The diagram changed when Matthew leaned closer.
Dark breaks appeared along the figure's right side, almost matching the path of his own scars.
He did not touch them.
Eleanor's portrait watched from the small frame beside the book. She had been reading quietly while he worked, offering no comment until Matthew reached the section on compensation.
"Your body has built detours," she said.
Matthew looked from the diagram to his right hand. "The golden current?"
"The current uses them, but it did not make all of them. Muscles, nerves, ordinary circulation and magic have spent years learning how to move around damaged areas. Some detours are healthy adaptations. Others are inefficient structures formed because the body had no better option."
"Can the inefficient ones be removed?"
"Not before you know what depends upon them."
The answer was irritating.
It was also the same answer every honest subject seemed to provide.
Matthew returned to the page. "The text says magical nodes are relationships rather than organs."
"They are places where several systems meet. Remove the structure around one, and the node changes. That is why diagrams are useful and incomplete."
"The point near the heart is damaged."
"Yes."
"The seal crosses it."
"Yes."
"And the survival current passes around both."
Eleanor closed her painted book. "Yes."
Matthew looked toward her frame. "That is too many yeses for one location."
"It is a complicated injury."
He copied the diagram into his notebook, using gold pencil for the family current, grey for ordinary pathways, blue for the known seal, and black for curse residue. Where evidence remained uncertain, he used dotted lines rather than allowing the page to pretend it knew more than he did.
By seven, his notes covered six pages.
By half past seven, Aidan opened the trunk compartment without knocking, leaned through the entrance, and stared at the diagram.
"Why is there a glowing person without skin on your desk?"
Matthew placed a strip of parchment over the more detailed scar notes.
"It is an introductory magical anatomy diagram."
Aidan entered and closed the compartment behind him. His hair stood almost vertically on one side, and he had put his jumper on backwards.
"Does everyone look like that inside?"
"Not literally."
"Good. It would make getting dressed unpleasant."
Matthew looked at the backward jumper.
"You have already made it difficult."
Aidan looked down.
He considered the neckline behind his head.
"This explains several things."
While he struggled out of the jumper, Matthew closed the Study Leaf. The book did not object. Its title remained available, and it did not behave as if pausing after one introduction constituted failure.
Aidan turned the jumper around and sat on the edge of the spare chair.
"Are we going to breakfast?"
"Yes."
"Before or after you explain whether magical people have glowing lines in their legs?"
"After I wash."
Aidan sighed. "Books have made you selfish."
Matthew returned the anatomy notes to the private drawer. "You came into my trunk to ask for food."
"I came to preserve you from disappearing into study until lunch."
"That is not less about food."
"It is not entirely about food."
Matthew believed him.
Mostly.
The Great Hall on Saturday morning felt different from the weekday version.
Students arrived in uneven groups rather than organised waves. Some wore ordinary clothes beneath open school robes. Older students remained over tea long after their plates had emptied, while younger ones discussed the day as though the absence of lessons had created an emergency requiring immediate plans.
Sunlight streamed through the high windows. The enchanted ceiling showed a bright autumn sky with thin clouds moving above the four House tables. Owls crossed beneath them in lazy arcs, carrying weekend letters, parcels, newspapers, and one long box which made a furious rattling sound whenever its delivery owl changed direction.
Matthew sat with Aidan near the middle of the Gryffindor table. Elara and Katie arrived a few minutes later, both dressed in school jumpers rather than full robes. Katie carried her broom notes. Elara had brought a small book despite declaring the night before that everyone should spend at least one breakfast without studying.
Matthew looked pointedly at it.
Elara placed the book beside her plate. "It is not open."
"That appears temporary."
"You brought a notebook."
"My notebook is always with me."
"That does not make it breakfast."
Katie dropped onto the bench beside Elara and reached for the toast. "I support any rule that prevents both of you discussing the definition of study before I have eaten."
Aidan raised his cup. "A wise policy."
A shadow passed across the table.
A large tawny owl landed beside Matthew's plate with enough force to disturb his tea. It held one leg forward, revealing a cream envelope secured with dark red wax.
The seal bore a stylised bone crossed by a wand.
Aidan stopped chewing.
"Is that from Madam Bones?"
Matthew recognised the private Ministry mark Amelia had placed upon their original correspondence.
"Yes."
Several older Gryffindors glanced toward them. Matthew untied the envelope and gave the owl a strip of bacon from the serving plate. It accepted the payment, clicked its beak once at Aidan when he moved too close, and launched itself back into the air.
Matthew turned the envelope over.
His name had been written in Amelia's strong, upright hand.
He opened it.
The first page was official.
Matthew Robert Knight,
The documents provided to me in Secure Consultation Room Seven at Gringotts have been inventoried, duplicated under Ministry evidence seals, and entered into protected custody. You do not need to send further copies of material already supplied. The originals should remain where they are.
Matthew read that sentence again before continuing.
The Office of Professional Standards has opened a preliminary internal investigation into the handling of the Merebridge escort, Rosebank evacuation, Ashdown operation, Dartford Road incident, associated post-war memory alterations, and the treatment of the surviving Knight heir.
Beneath that paragraph was a reference number written in red.
A second number followed.
A separate judicial review has been lodged concerning Sirius Black. The review will examine the absence of a recorded trial, the evidentiary basis for his imprisonment, the reliability of post-war witness statements, and whether a full hearing or retrial process must be ordered.
Katie had stopped buttering her toast.
Elara watched Matthew's face rather than trying to read the letter.
Aidan failed entirely to conceal his curiosity.
Matthew continued.
These actions do not guarantee a particular finding. They do ensure that the files can no longer disappear without creating a record of who removed them, when, and under whose authority.
The official portion ended there.
Amelia had added three handwritten lines beneath it.
You have already done the part only you could do: preserving the evidence long enough to place it in lawful hands. New evidence may be sent through the enclosed token. Do not resend the existing files. Let the investigators perform the work now belonging to them.
—Amelia Bones
A small brass disc fell from the envelope into Matthew's palm. One side carried the Knight case number. The other bore Amelia's personal seal.
Aidan leaned forward.
"Well?"
Matthew folded the letter along its original lines. "The files I gave Madam Bones before school have been entered into protected Ministry custody. An internal investigation has opened into the Knight operations, Dartford Road, the memory alterations and my treatment."
Aidan's mouth fell open.
Katie lowered her knife.
Elara asked the more important question.
"And Sirius?"
"A separate judicial review has been lodged. It will examine why he was imprisoned without a recorded trial and whether a full hearing or retrial must occur."
For several seconds, only the noise of the Great Hall surrounded them.
Then Aidan sat back.
"You opened two Ministry investigations before completing your second week of school."
"I did not open them. Madam Bones did."
"You gave her the files."
"Yes."
"Before school."
"Yes."
Aidan looked down the table, where several first-years were arguing about Chocolate Frog cards.
"I bought sweets before school."
"You also purchased a self-inking quill that insults your spelling."
"It has educational value."
Elara's gaze remained on Matthew. "Did Madam Bones ask for anything else?"
"No. She specifically said not to send the same documents again. The originals remain under the Knight wards. New evidence can be attached to the case through this."
He showed them the brass token.
Katie studied it without touching. "Does Dumbledore know?"
"I do not know."
At the staff table, Dumbledore sat between McGonagall and Professor Sprout. He was reading a letter of his own, half-moon spectacles low on his nose. If he had noticed the Ministry owl, nothing in his posture revealed it.
Aidan followed Matthew's gaze.
"He will find out."
"Probably."
"You sound very calm."
Matthew slipped the token into the inner document pocket of his ward-cloth. "The files are where they need to be. Worrying at breakfast will not make the investigators move faster."
Katie looked at him suspiciously. "Are you saying that because you believe it or because the porridge is getting cold?"
"Both facts can be true."
Elara reached across the table and poured him more tea.
"That is good news."
"It is movement," Matthew said.
She gave him a patient look.
"Movement can be good news."
Matthew looked down at Amelia's letter.
For years, the records had existed only beneath the Knight house, preserved by family wards, portraits, Hermione's careful handwriting, and Vivian's stubborn refusal to accept a tidy lie. Now the Ministry had copies that carried dates, signatures, seals, and a chain of custody.
Dumbledore might challenge them.
He could no longer quietly make them vanish.
"Yes," Matthew said at last. "It is good news."
Katie smiled and returned to her toast.
Aidan raised his cup again. "To legal trouble."
Elara frowned.
"To the investigations," she corrected.
Aidan considered the difference. "To legal investigations which may become trouble."
Matthew touched his cup to Aidan's before Elara could improve the wording further.
They spent the morning in the library.
Madam Pince had claimed the first full day without lessons would be an opportunity for students to return the books they had borrowed in a burst of first-week enthusiasm.
Instead, the library became more crowded than it had been during any class interval.
First-years occupied the long tables with essays, practice diagrams and the stunned expressions of children discovering that homework did not disappear merely because Saturday had arrived. Older students guarded piles of reference books as though expecting theft. Somewhere in the back, a seventh-year whispered an incantation over a roll of parchment and caused every word on it to rearrange itself alphabetically.
Madam Pince removed him from the library before he could explain why.
Matthew chose the western table beneath the tall windows. Aidan sat beside him with his Defence essay. Elara and Katie spread Herbology notes across the opposite side. Julian arrived carrying enough books to strain both arms, followed by Cho and Phoebe Fairbourne.
Phoebe stopped beside the table.
"For the record," she said, "I have not attempted to kiss any cats today."
Aidan looked up. "The day is young."
Phoebe sat beside Cho with as much dignity as she could recover.
Matthew opened An Introduction to Magical Wound Theory and placed his public anatomy index beside it. He did not bring the Study Leaf into the library. The family Grimoire belonged inside his private trunk compartment, not beneath the eyes of every passing student.
Julian leaned over the index.
"What are the colours?"
"Grey is ordinary magical circulation. Gold is the Knight survival current. Blue is the known seal. Black is curse residue. Dotted lines indicate uncertainty."
"You have drawn four systems over one another."
"There may be more."
Julian became fascinated rather than alarmed. "Do all magical injuries become that complicated?"
"No," Matthew said. "Mine had years to practise."
Katie looked up from her Dittany chart. "That was a joke."
"It was also accurate."
"Still a joke."
Matthew accepted the classification.
Aidan had written the title of his Defence essay three times and crossed it out twice.
"What are you calling it?" Elara asked.
"'The Importance of Not Throwing Danger at Your Friends.'"
"That is clear," Katie said.
"Wardwell assigned 'The Uses and Limits of Protego Minima,'" Elara reminded him.
Aidan dipped his quill. "My title is more memorable."
"Put hers first and yours beneath it," Matthew suggested.
Aidan did exactly that.
Julian examined Matthew's anatomy index more closely. "Why is the seal drawn through the chest and head but not the legs?"
"Those are the locations I can support from memory and the Grimoire's preliminary diagram. I do not yet know whether the seal exists elsewhere or whether its effects travel through ordinary pathways."
"What would prove it?"
"Independent diagnostics, comparison against the original spell structure, and a healer who understands core seals."
Cho had been listening while working on her Transfiguration essay. "Could Professor Flitwick identify it?"
"Parts of it, perhaps. That does not make him a curse-healer."
"What about Professor Snape?"
"He gave me a list of required fields rather than pretending one person could do all of it."
Phoebe looked surprised. "Professor Snape admitted there was something he could not do?"
"He identified the end of his expertise."
Aidan lowered his voice. "Do not repeat that in the dungeons. He may deny it from principle."
Matthew opened the linked book beside his public notes. The privacy enchantment cleared the page for him while leaving it blank to everyone else.
Hermione had already written.
Did you read the introduction?
Yes.
Without me?
We agreed I would read it first.
I remember. I am objecting emotionally rather than procedurally.
Matthew smiled.
The first chapter distinguishes channels, nodes, compensations and active current. My body has built magical detours around the curse pathways.
Her answer appeared quickly.
Healthy detours or harmful ones?
Both are possible. We cannot remove an inefficient pathway until we know what depends on it.
That is irritating.
Eleanor said the same thing.
Then she is irritatingly correct.
Matthew copied the public headings into the linked book. Hermione began building an index on her side, suggesting separate sections for observed symptoms, confirmed structures, suspected interactions, treatment questions and unknowns.
Aidan glanced toward him, though not at the page.
"Is Hermione reorganising your body?"
"She is reorganising the index."
"Good. The first option sounded ambitious."
Matthew shared the proposed headings.
Elara immediately shifted the order.
"Observed symptoms should come before suspected structures."
Hermione's next line appeared.
Elara is right.
Matthew looked up.
Elara saw his expression. "What?"
"Hermione agrees."
Elara tried not to look pleased.
She failed.
The morning passed in comfortable work. Quills moved. Books changed hands. Katie asked Julian to explain a diagram showing magical root rotation. Cho corrected the title of a source in Matthew's Transfiguration notes. Aidan finished nearly eighteen inches on shields and then discovered he had used the phrase badly engineered promise four times.
Madam Pince passed their table, read the first line, and said, "A thesaurus is available on the third shelf."
Aidan looked wounded.
At midday, Cedric Diggory appeared at the end of the aisle wearing his charcoal ward-cloth beneath an open Hufflepuff jumper. The gold lines inside the seams flashed briefly when he shifted the strap of his book bag.
"Matthew."
Matthew looked up.
Cedric nodded toward Katie. "You said she likes flying."
"I do," Katie answered before Matthew could.
Cedric smiled. "Hufflepuff has an informal practice this afternoon. Nothing official. Chaser passes, basic turns, reserve drills. Professor Sprout said spectators may use the lower stand if they do not distract anyone."
Katie closed her Herbology book so quickly that dust rose from the cover.
"What time?"
"Two."
Aidan looked toward the library clock.
"That gives us enough time to eat."
Everything gave Aidan enough time to eat.
Cedric's attention returned to Matthew. "I could use movement notes on the ward-cloth. The left lower panel catches during steep descents."
Matthew reached for his design notebook.
Hermione's writing appeared before the page fully opened.
Finish the anatomy index before beginning a flight-cloth revision.
Matthew looked at the line.
Then at Cedric.
"The practice begins at two?"
"Yes."
"I will finish the index first."
Aidan stared at him.
"You have changed."
"No. Hermione anticipated the order of events correctly."
"That is more frightening."
Hufflepuff's informal practice turned into the first afternoon Matthew spent at Hogwarts without opening a schoolbook for nearly two hours.
He brought a notebook.
That did not count.
The Quidditch pitch lay beyond the lower lawns, its three tall goal hoops rising against the blue sky. The grass had begun drying after the week's rain, though mud remained near the changing rooms and beneath the lowest spectator stands.
Tonks met them at the entrance with a broom over one shoulder.
Her hair was bright yellow to match her Hufflepuff scarf, though the roots had remained pink in apparent protest.
"You brought half of Gryffindor."
Cedric looked behind Matthew at Aidan, Elara and Katie. "Four people are not half of Gryffindor."
"Depends which four."
Katie barely heard them. Her attention had fixed upon the brooms, hoops and older students warming up over the field.
A broad-shouldered Hufflepuff sixth-year called for Cedric.
He handed Matthew his outer cloak.
"Watch the left panel during descents."
Matthew caught the garment. "Do not alter your normal movement to make the fault easier to see."
Cedric looked amused. "I was going to fly."
"Good."
Tonks stepped closer to Matthew and peered at the open notebook.
"Have you developed a notation for robe movement?"
"Three."
"Of course you have."
Katie moved to the front of the lower stand. Elara sat beside her and immediately wrapped both hands around the rail as several players accelerated past. Aidan discovered that someone had left a basket of practice apples beneath the bench and began investigating whether they were communal.
"They are for the team," Tonks told him.
"I am supporting the team."
"Emotionally?"
"Digestively."
She took the apple from his hand.
Practice began with short passes.
Cedric flew as a Chaser that afternoon rather than Seeker, moving between two older students while they passed a red Quaffle across the field. His ward-cloth moved cleanly during level flight. The close cuffs prevented the sleeves from ballooning, and the split lower panels opened around the broom without tangling.
During the first steep descent, the left rear panel folded beneath the centre section and remained caught for two seconds after he levelled.
Matthew wrote it down.
Katie leaned toward him. "It happened when his left knee turned inward."
"The panel followed the leg and entered the centre overlap."
"Can you shorten it?"
"That may expose the thigh when he dismounts."
"Then change the overlap angle."
Matthew looked at her.
Katie lifted one shoulder. "I have been listening."
That was a good idea.
He drew the new line.
Above them, Cedric caught the Quaffle one-handed, twisted beneath an older player, and threw through the centre hoop. The Hufflepuffs on the ground cheered.
Katie jumped to her feet.
Elara grabbed the back of her jumper before she leaned over the rail.
"Stay inside the stand."
"I was inside."
"Most of you was."
Tonks laughed and joined Katie at the rail.
For the remainder of the practice, Matthew recorded cloth movement while Katie explained the flying choices that caused it. Aidan offered commentary of questionable value. Elara noticed that Cedric's right glove twisted slightly whenever rain-damp leather met the broom handle, a problem Matthew would otherwise have blamed upon grip strength.
When the players landed, Cedric came directly to the stand.
"Well?"
"The panel catches because the overlap follows the left knee into the centre line during steep descent," Matthew said.
Katie pointed at his waist. "You twist before dropping your shoulder."
Cedric considered the motion and repeated it on the ground.
"She is right."
"The overlap angle can change," Matthew said. "The panel does not need shortening."
Cedric looked between them. "You two should work together more often."
Katie smiled so brightly that Matthew suspected she had just acquired another project.
Tonks tossed Cedric his cloak.
"Careful. That is how Knight businesses happen."
"Is that a warning?" Cedric asked.
"An observation."
Aidan returned the apple he had not technically stolen.
No one asked why it had a bite missing.
Sunday passed more quietly.
Matthew trained with Tonks and Aidan in the morning, spent an hour helping Katie convert her flight observations into proper diagrams, and met Julian in the library to compare Transfiguration sources. Elara joined them after lunch with a set of colour-coded revision cards she claimed she had made only for herself.
By the end of the afternoon, everyone was using them.
Hermione appeared through the linked book during a dispute about the second-level Contexta design.
Matthew had proposed that a completed History essay transform into a folded timeline whose sections opened only when arranged in the proper causal order. Elara liked the idea but said the visible dates would make the solution too easy. Julian argued that the dates should remain visible because the educational purpose mattered more than difficulty. Aidan wanted one section to become a sword.
No one supported Aidan.
Hermione's handwriting crossed the linked page.
The lock should test whether the reader understands the relationships in the essay, not whether the reader can guess what Matthew thought was clever while building it.
Matthew read the sentence aloud.
Julian nodded. "Exactly."
Elara smiled.
Aidan looked toward the book. "Can she hear us?"
"No."
"Tell her I disagree."
"You do not have a relevant alternative."
"That has never prevented disagreement."
Matthew wrote:
Aidan disagrees without proposing a structure.
Hermione replied:
Then his disagreement may remain decorative.
Matthew shared that as well.
Aidan sat back, offended and impressed.
The final design kept visible dates, concealed causal links, and required the reader to unfold the sequence in an order supported by the essay. It was not ready to cast. It was ready to test on paper.
That was enough for Sunday.
Monday's History of Magic lesson began with Professor Binns attempting to return Matthew's essay.
The sealed assignment floated behind the ghost as he entered through the blackboard. Its dark blue ribbon remained wound around the letter form, though one loop had been placed slightly out of order.
Professor Binns settled behind his desk and lowered the essay onto Matthew's table.
"Mr Knight."
"Yes, Professor?"
"Your submission was inaccessible for seventeen minutes."
Matthew looked at the ribbon. "The translated key was attached."
"It was."
"The author, recipient and purpose marks were visible."
"They were."
"Which relationship caused difficulty?"
Binns stared at him through transparent spectacles.
"The witness mark."
Matthew turned the essay over. "The witness was the Ministry register itself. The essay analysed its own primary source."
"Yes."
"That relationship was explained in the second paragraph."
"I discovered that."
Aidan bent over his parchment, shoulders shaking.
Binns continued in the same dead voice.
"Your analysis was excessively argumentative, structurally sound, properly cited and historically inconvenient."
Matthew looked at the grade written beneath the ribbon.
O
Below it, Professor Binns had added:
Critical section longer than requested. Evidence sufficient.
"Thank you, Professor."
Binns drifted toward the next desk.
Aidan leaned close.
"Historically inconvenient is the best mark anyone has ever received."
"It was not the mark."
"It should be."
Katie's essay earned an Exceeds Expectations. Elara received the same, with a note praising her source organisation. Aidan received Acceptable and a request to remove two unsupported claims about tax collectors being "naturally attracted to suffering."
"They are," he whispered.
"You did not cite evidence," Elara replied.
The new lesson concerned the first goblin rebellions after the establishment of the Ministry of Magic.
Professor Binns described taxation disputes, wand restrictions, control of metalwork, and a series of failed negotiations in a tone that made armed conflict sound like an unusually complicated meeting agenda.
Matthew listened for ten minutes before raising his hand.
"Professor, which records provide the goblin position?"
Binns paused.
"The Ministry archive contains correspondence from several goblin representatives."
"Written by the representatives?"
"Recorded by Ministry clerks."
"Are there goblin-authored accounts?"
"A limited number."
"Why are they not in the assigned reading?"
Cassian Flint spoke from the Slytherin side before Binns answered.
"Because the goblins lost."
Matthew turned his head.
Cassian leaned back in his chair, a faint challenge in his expression. His friends were not present; only first-year Slytherins shared the class.
"Losing a conflict does not make someone's records irrelevant," Matthew said.
"It makes them less important."
"To the winner."
Cassian's mouth tightened.
Professor Binns floated between them.
"The curriculum draws primarily from Ministry-held material."
"That is an answer about availability," Matthew said. "Not reliability."
Several Slytherins looked toward Binns, interested despite themselves.
The ghost adjusted his spectacles.
"Goblin-authored records may be consulted in the extended archive collection."
"Are first-years allowed access?"
"With a research purpose."
Matthew wrote the collection title.
Binns watched him.
"You intend to request them."
"Yes."
"The assignment is twelve inches on the causes of the 1612 uprising."
"I require the records to answer the assignment."
For the first time, something almost like satisfaction passed across Binns's translucent face.
"Then cite them correctly."
The remainder of the lesson became livelier, though Professor Binns did not. Elara asked whether wand restrictions had been created before or after the rebellion. Katie wanted to know why goblin metalwork was taxed differently from wizard-made goods. A quiet Slytherin girl named Celia Burke asked whether the Ministry had ever compensated goblin families for confiscated workshops.
Cassian looked at her as if she had changed sides in a war no one else had realised was occurring.
Celia ignored him.
When the bell rang, Matthew packed his sealed essay beside the new notes.
Cassian passed his desk without stopping.
"You make every lesson political."
Matthew slid the record book into his satchel. "The Ministry deciding who may carry a wand is political before I ask about it."
Cassian had no immediate reply.
Celia Burke did.
"He is right."
Cassian turned.
Celia calmly fastened her bag and walked out.
Aidan watched her leave.
"That was unexpected."
Matthew stood. "Slytherin is a House, not one person."
Elara gave him a sideways look. "You have said that before."
"It remains true."
Professor Flitwick had preserved Matthew's floating Lumos rune.
Not the light itself.
The rune had finally faded after seven hours and twenty-three minutes, leaving a thin golden outline upon a square of black diagnostic parchment Professor Flitwick held up at the start of Monday's Charms lesson.
"The original illumination remained at practical strength for four hours and seventeen minutes," he explained to the combined Gryffindor and Hufflepuff class. "It continued at reduced strength for three hours and six minutes after that."
Aidan raised his hand.
"That adds to seven hours and twenty-three minutes."
"Yes, Mr Rookwood."
"I was confirming."
"You were proving arithmetic had survived the weekend."
Aidan looked pleased anyway.
Professor Flitwick turned the parchment so Matthew could see the faint rune.
"The release paths remained stable. The anchor decayed before the containment ring."
Matthew wrote that down. "The upper branch was too narrow."
"Possibly. Or the charm continued pressing upward after detachment. We will test both explanations later."
The lesson's main subject was the Levitation Charm.
A white feather waited upon every desk.
Professor Flitwick stood atop his usual stack of books and demonstrated the movement with careful exaggeration.
"Swish and flick. The distinction matters. Swishing provides direction. The flick releases the object from its present relationship with weight. Do not stab, chop, circle repeatedly, or conduct an orchestra."
He pronounced the incantation.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The feather rose.
It did not shoot upward or tremble. It drifted into the air, turned once, and remained beside his shoulder as though resting upon invisible water.
"Levitation is not throwing an object and hoping gravity becomes distracted," Flitwick said. "You are establishing an active magical relationship between the object, the wand, and the position you intend it to occupy."
Matthew liked the definition.
He liked it too much.
On his first attempt, the feather rose exactly twelve inches and stopped so firmly that it might have been pinned to the air.
Flitwick appeared beside him.
"What did you create?"
"Levitation."
"Partly."
Matthew looked more closely.
Fine golden lines extended from the feather to four invisible points around it. His intent had built a support frame.
"I warded the position."
"You gave the feather no room to move."
"It is stable."
"It is imprisoned by geometry."
Aidan's feather shot across the desk and attached itself to his hair.
He left it there while listening.
Flitwick tapped one of Matthew's invisible lines.
"A charm may establish a relationship without building a cage around every possible failure."
Matthew cancelled the spell.
On the second attempt, he thought of the broom.
Not the speed.
The moment of floating above the ground without being fixed to anything.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The feather rose.
It drifted slightly left.
Matthew corrected with a small motion rather than forcing it back to the original point. The feather followed, turned around the wand tip and settled above his open hand.
Professor Flitwick smiled.
"Much better."
A Hufflepuff boy named Martin Pritchard produced a feather which rose only when he stopped looking directly at it. Every time he checked, it fell.
Katie's feather rotated continuously because her flick had become part of the ongoing instruction. Elara's rose slowly but held steady. Aidan finally removed his feather from his hair and managed to levitate it halfway to the ceiling before Flitwick called it back.
During the final ten minutes, students worked in pairs to guide feathers through small silver hoops.
Matthew paired with Martin.
Martin's feather rose when Matthew watched it and fell when Martin did.
"You are changing your wrist when you look at the feather," Matthew said.
"I am not."
"You are."
Martin tried again.
The feather rose. He looked up. His wrist tightened. The feather fell.
"Oh."
"Watch the wand movement through the reflection in the window."
Martin turned slightly and used the dark glass.
The feather passed through the first hoop.
His grin became immediate.
Matthew guided his own feather through all three hoops, then around the outside of the final one and back to the desk.
Flitwick clapped from across the room.
"No enchanting the hoops, Mr Knight."
"I did not."
"You were considering it."
"Yes."
"That is why I spoke."
After class, Professor Flitwick gave Matthew the diagnostic parchment from the Lumos rune.
"Keep it with your development notes."
Matthew accepted it carefully. "May Hermione examine the decay pattern through our linked records?"
"Of course. I would be interested in her conclusion."
Matthew imagined Hermione learning that a Hogwarts professor had requested her analysis.
She would pretend not to be delighted for at least three sentences.
Tuesday's Potions lesson was titled A Foundational Forgetfulness Potion.
The name caused Matthew's right hand to become still before Professor Snape spoke a single word.
Snape noticed.
He noticed everything in his classroom, though he usually allowed students to discover that fact only after they had made a mistake.
Each workstation held a small covered flask of clear water, a bowl of mistletoe berries, dried valerian sprigs, a silver measuring spoon and a tightly sealed jar labelled LETHE WATER — DILUTED SCHOOL STOCK.
Aidan read the label twice.
"Is that water from an actual river that makes people forget?"
Snape entered behind him.
"No, Mr Rookwood. The jar was filled from a decorative fountain in Birmingham and labelled ominously for the pleasure of first-years."
Aidan turned.
Snape's expression remained blank.
"That was sarcasm."
"Your first correct identification of the lesson."
The professor reached the demonstration bench.
"Forgetfulness potions do not function like Memory Charms," he said. "They do not necessarily erase information, rewrite an event, or remove a memory from the mind's structure. They interfere with access, continuity and retrieval."
He drew three lines on the board.
MEMORY EXISTS.
MEMORY MAY BE REACHED.
MEMORY MAY BE USED CORRECTLY.
"A person may possess a memory and fail to reach it. They may reach fragments and assemble them incorrectly. They may remember an event without remembering the name, sequence, or emotional meaning attached to it."
Matthew thought of Vivian remembering Morrigan as a cat but not as Samuel's companion.
Snape touched the first line.
"A powerful Memory Charm may alter the memory itself."
The second.
"A Forgetfulness Potion usually interferes with retrieval."
The third.
"Confusion, injury, compulsion and repeated suggestion may corrupt use."
Elara raised her hand. "Does the potion wear off?"
"A properly brewed first-year formulation does. Strength, duration and recovery depend upon dose and subject."
Matthew spoke after Snape looked toward him.
"Could it reveal whether an inaccessible memory still exists?"
"No."
"Could an antidote restore access?"
"Sometimes."
"If the memory was altered by a charm?"
"An antidote to a potion does not reverse a spell."
"What would?"
Snape's eyes rested on him.
"Diagnosis before optimism."
He turned to the board and began the brewing explanation without offering a simpler answer.
The potion required the diluted Lethe water to be warmed without boiling, mistletoe berries crushed until their skins opened but the seeds remained whole, and valerian added only after the liquid changed from clear to pearl-grey. Stirring direction altered whether the brew produced mild distraction or deeper retrieval failure.
Matthew and Elara worked carefully.
The Lethe water reflected more light than ordinary water, though nothing in the dungeon was bright enough to explain it. When Matthew poured it into the cauldron, the surface briefly reflected a ceiling painted with clouds instead of the stone arches above them.
He blinked.
The image vanished.
"Did you see that?" Elara asked.
"A different ceiling."
"Memory or reflection?"
"I do not know."
They recorded it without deciding.
Cassian and Lucian worked across the aisle. Cassian crushed the mistletoe too hard and broke two seeds.
Lucian caught his wrist before he tipped them into the cauldron.
"The seeds remain whole."
Cassian pulled his hand away. "I know."
"Then stop crushing them."
Snape passed between the stations.
"Mr Warrington is correct. Broken seeds produce confusion rather than forgetfulness."
Cassian's gaze flicked toward Matthew.
"You would know about confused memories."
Lucian closed his eyes briefly.
Snape stopped walking.
"Mr Flint."
Cassian's posture tightened.
"You will remove the broken seeds, prepare a fresh measure and refrain from using another family's injury as a substitute for conversation."
Cassian looked down. "Yes, Professor."
Snape moved on.
Lucian did not apologise for Cassian. He simply returned to the mortar and said, "Use less pressure."
That was more useful.
Matthew and Elara's potion turned pearl-grey at the correct time. The mistletoe skins curled away from the whole seeds, releasing pale green threads through the water. Elara added valerian. Matthew stirred twice clockwise and once counter-clockwise.
The potion became clear again.
Snape tested one drop upon a charmed strip of parchment. The writing vanished for five seconds, returned out of order, and then arranged itself correctly.
"Acceptable," he said. "The retrieval disruption is even. Recovery is complete."
Matthew watched the words settle.
"Professor, would someone under a Memory Charm respond differently?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"The strip would not tell us. A mind is not parchment."
Snape's gaze sharpened when Matthew continued looking at the test.
"You are not brewing this for your grandmother."
"No."
"Good."
Matthew met his eyes. "I am learning what it cannot do."
For a moment, Snape's expression became less severe.
"That is often the more useful lesson."
After class, he handed Matthew the signed account of the Wiggenweld vapour response. The parchment contained exact wording, batch number and the limits of the observation.
Matthew placed it in his medical file.
He did not send a new copy of Amelia Bones's existing evidence package. Instead, he recorded the document as a later medical entry under the case reference the brass token carried.
The distinction between adding evidence and repeating it was small.
Investigations depended upon small distinctions.
The second Transfiguration lesson did not involve cats, kisses or pigs.
Phoebe Fairbourne still entered cautiously and looked beneath the front desk before sitting.
Professor McGonagall noticed.
"Miss Fairbourne, I have no intention of beginning every lesson in Animagus form."
Phoebe straightened. "Yes, Professor."
"Nor should you assume that every cat in the castle is secretly a member of staff."
"No, Professor."
Aidan whispered to Matthew, "That sounds exactly like something a secret professor-cat would say."
McGonagall turned.
"Mr Rookwood."
He immediately opened his book.
The lesson continued from match-to-needle transformation, but this time McGonagall cared less about producing the needle than recovering the precise original match.
She placed five objects upon the front desk: a new match, a damp match, a match with a cracked head, one shortened by a broken end and a final match bearing a line of blue ink.
"Transfiguration does not begin from a generic idea of 'match,'" she said. "The target exists in a particular condition. If you reverse every needle into the same perfect match, you have not preserved the source. You have replaced it with your preference."
Matthew disliked that possibility immediately.
Students worked in pairs. One transformed while the other recorded the original object's condition. Then they switched objects without showing the written record and tested whether reversal preserved the details.
Matthew worked with Julian.
Julian gave him the damp match.
Matthew examined the swollen grain, darker colour and softened head before transforming it. The needle formed cleanly, though a faint coolness remained in the steel.
When he reversed it, the wood returned damp.
Julian compared it with his notes.
"Correct colour. Correct grain. The head is slightly too sharp."
Matthew inspected it.
"The needle point influenced the chemical tip."
"Probably."
Julian received the blue-marked match. His transformation created a proper needle with a faint blue line running beneath the steel surface.
He frowned.
"I preserved too much again."
"Not necessarily. The mark is part of the source condition."
"It should not remain visible in the transformed state."
"No. But it should return."
Julian tried to move the blue line into the transformation's hidden source pattern without leaving it on the needle. The result worked on his third attempt.
McGonagall stopped beside them.
"You are discussing whether memory must remain visible."
"Yes, Professor," Julian said.
"And?"
Matthew answered. "No. But the reversal must recover it."
"What if the blue mark were harmful?"
"Then we would need to know whether the task was preservation, repair or removal before deciding what an accurate reversal meant."
McGonagall's eyes moved from him to the mark.
"Good. Transfiguration cannot answer the purpose for you."
When the assigned work was complete, she placed a square of blank parchment on Matthew's desk.
"You have been designing a transformed document seal."
Matthew glanced at Julian, who looked immediately interested.
"Yes."
"Show me the intended destination without casting."
Matthew drew the folded timeline structure. He explained the visible dates, hidden causal hinges, author mark and recovery route.
McGonagall listened without interrupting.
"This is not yet a lock," she said when he finished.
"No. It is a transformation framework."
"Good. Build the object first. Add wards after it can transform and reverse reliably."
Matthew had wanted to combine both.
He recognised why she was right.
"May I begin with blank parchment?"
"Under supervised practice. Not upon completed homework."
Aidan raised his hand from the next desk.
"Can mine become a sword after he succeeds?"
"No," McGonagall and Matthew answered together.
Wednesday morning found Greenhouse One brighter than usual.
The rain had finally stopped, and sunlight entered through the wet glass in broken green-gold patterns. Condensation slid from the roof panels and collected in silver gutters suspended above the planting beds. Every few minutes, one gutter tilted and released a measured stream into a tank beside the door.
Livia, the blue creeper, had added two buttons, a Hufflepuff badge and what appeared to be a teaspoon to her collection.
Aidan stopped before the trellis.
"Where did she get the spoon?"
Professor Sprout passed behind him carrying a tray of seedlings.
"That is between Livia and the kitchens."
"You know?"
"I value my working relationship with the house-elves."
Aidan looked at Livia with renewed respect.
The lesson concerned magical watering, root response and early growth.
Matthew and Katie's Dittany seeds had sprouted.
Three silver-green shoots stood above the soil, each no longer than his smallest finger. The central veins glowed faintly when Katie moved the pot into the light.
Professor Sprout crouched beside them.
"Healthy colour. Even spacing. No water shock."
Katie looked pleased. "All three grew."
"They were planted carefully."
Matthew moved his scarred right hand near the pot without touching it. The nearest shoot bent slightly toward him, then stopped.
"The response is weaker than the Moly cutting."
"Dittany responds more strongly to tissue than to general magic," Sprout explained. "A seedling also has less restorative force to spare."
Their Moly cutting had opened two leaves and one white flower. Its black roots had begun extending toward the moonstone grit.
Sprout showed the class how to water around the edge of the root zone rather than pouring directly against the stem. The watering cans contained a mild charm that turned each stream silver when the soil had received enough.
Aidan poured until the stream changed colour.
Then he continued.
The plant spat the water back into his sleeve.
Professor Sprout looked at him.
"It answered."
"I thought the silver meant it was working."
"It meant stop."
"That is poorly labelled."
"The plant considered it clear."
The second half of the lesson introduced Moondew.
The plant grew low against dark soil, its round leaves covered in pale droplets even under direct sunlight. Professor Sprout explained that the droplets were produced by the plant rather than gathered from the air.
"Moondew cools irritated magical pathways without numbing ordinary sensation as strongly as Frostmint. It appears in several healer's preparations and in stabilising compresses used during curse treatment."
Matthew leaned closer.
The droplets nearest his right side trembled.
"Does it draw heat?"
"It redistributes magical heat through the preparation in which it is used. Raw Moondew should not be applied directly to a deep curse pathway."
Sprout lifted a small rooted cutting from the tray.
"This is for the restorative study bench."
Matthew looked at her. "Already?"
"You have recorded the Dittany and Moly responses properly. One additional plant will not turn you into a healer."
Aidan, working at the next table, whispered to Martin, "He was hoping."
Matthew heard him.
"I was not."
"You were considering the project expansion."
"That is different."
Katie helped prepare the Moondew pot. They mixed dark loam with crushed pearl shell and a small amount of sand. The plant disliked standing water despite the droplets upon its leaves.
When Matthew allowed the golden current to warm his palm near it, the Moondew's droplets brightened and moved toward the scarred side of his hand.
When he withdrew, they returned to the centre of the leaves.
Katie recorded the motion.
"It is responding to heat."
"Magical heat," Matthew said.
"How do we prove the difference?"
They borrowed a warmed stone from Professor Sprout.
The droplets moved only slightly.
Then they borrowed a charm-heated stone from a Hufflepuff student.
The response was stronger.
Professor Sprout watched the three trials.
"Good. You asked the plant rather than deciding for it."
At the end of class, Cedric passed through the greenhouse corridor and asked whether Matthew had found the panel fault.
"Katie found the movement that causes it," Matthew said.
Katie looked up from the Moondew pot.
Cedric smiled at her. "Then I owe both of you."
"You owe me another descent at the same angle after we alter it," Matthew replied.
Cedric laughed. "There it is."
"What?"
"The invoice hidden inside the conversation."
Katie shook her head. "That was not an invoice."
"It was definitely an appointment."
Matthew considered.
Cedric was correct.
Professor Wardwell's second Defence lesson began with a music box.
It sat upon a low table in the centre of the practice floor. The box was made of pale wood, with a silver handle, painted flowers and one small brass latch. Nothing about it looked threatening.
That made Aidan immediately suspicious.
"It is going to bite."
Wardwell stood near the blackboard. "Why?"
"Everything attractive in magical schools eventually bites."
Phoebe Fairbourne, seated with the Ravenclaws, touched her forehead in remembered offence.
Wardwell ignored the theory.
"Today's subject is cursed and suspicious objects. No one will touch the box."
Aidan lowered the hand he had not realised he was raising.
Wardwell divided the class into groups and gave each one a viewing boundary marked by white rope. Matthew's group included Aidan, Elara, Katie, Julian and Cho.
"You may observe from outside the line," Wardwell said. "You may speak. You may use ordinary parchment, mirrors and the non-magical measuring tools provided. You may not cast until instructed."
Aidan looked at the closed box.
"What are we trying to discover?"
"What you can establish without becoming part of the problem."
The groups began.
The music box did not move.
Matthew crouched outside the white line. The dust around the table legs had been disturbed on the western side but not the eastern. The handle cast a shadow in the wrong direction. One painted flower had seven petals while the others had six.
Julian used a small mirror to examine the back.
"There is writing."
"What language?" Elara asked.
"Latin, perhaps. Reversed."
Katie adjusted the mirror.
"It says audi me."
"Hear me," Matthew translated.
Aidan sat back. "That seems direct."
Cho examined the floor.
"The table has scrape marks facing us. It was moved into position after the room was cleaned."
"Or it moved itself," Aidan said.
Elara pointed toward the legs. "The marks are parallel. Someone pushed it."
Matthew watched the brass latch.
It had become slightly brighter while they spoke.
"The box responds to attention."
Julian looked at it.
The latch brightened again.
"Do not stare continuously," Matthew said.
Everyone shifted their gaze.
The brightness dimmed.
A faint melody began inside the box.
Katie's head turned toward it.
Her expression softened.
"I know that tune."
Matthew looked at her rather than the box. "From where?"
"I…" Her brow furrowed. "My mother used to sing it."
The box had not opened.
Aidan heard something different.
"That is not the same tune."
"What do you hear?" Cho asked.
"A pub song my uncle sings when he thinks no one can hear."
Julian's face tightened. "It is tailoring itself."
Elara took the provided chalk and wrote on the floor outside the line:
AUDITORY LURE. PERSONAL ASSOCIATION. ATTENTION RESPONSE.
Matthew added:
NO EVIDENCE THAT THE MEMORY IS REAL.
Wardwell passed behind them.
"Why include the final line?"
"Because recognition increases trust," Matthew said. "The box may be using a real memory, a guessed association or a fabricated pattern."
"What does it want?"
"Someone to open it," Katie answered, pulling her attention away from the melody.
"What does it cost?"
Aidan looked at the silver handle. "We do not know yet."
"Good."
"What should we do?" Cho asked.
Julian pointed toward the emergency flare station. "Mark the location, stop others approaching and call someone qualified to inspect it."
Wardwell nodded. "Do that."
They used chalk to extend the boundary, placed a red warning marker near the entrance and cast Vermillious through the open upper window. No one attempted to open the box.
When every group had finished, Wardwell cancelled the charm.
The music stopped.
She tapped the latch, and the box unfolded into an empty training device filled with memory-responsive crystals.
"No curse would have activated today," she explained. "The compulsion was real. The personal songs were real responses drawn from surface associations. Had you touched the latch, the box would have marked the contact as failure."
Aidan looked disappointed. "Nothing was inside?"
"The desire to know was inside."
"That is not an object."
"It moved six students closer to the rope."
Aidan conceded the point.
Wardwell looked around the class.
"Defence is not always casting first. Sometimes it is leaving the attractive box closed while recording enough information for someone else to act safely."
Matthew thought of the forbidden gallery.
He had remained outside.
For once, the lesson did not feel like a warning aimed only at him.
It felt like something the entire room could use.
Astronomy that week concerned the Moon.
The sky was clear enough that Professor Sinistra extinguished every shielded lamp for the first ten minutes and made the students stand quietly while their eyes adjusted.
The Moon hung above the eastern towers, bright enough to silver the parapet and turn the brass instruments pale.
Aidan rested both elbows on the stone.
"It looks closer from here."
"It is not," Julian said.
"I know."
"You said—"
"I said it looks closer."
Elara poured tea from her flask. "You two are becoming Matthew and Hermione without the books."
Both boys objected.
Professor Sinistra called them to the instruments before the argument developed.
She explained lunar phases, the difference between the Moon's actual illumination and its visible shape from Earth, and the way magical traditions often confused correlation with cause.
"Some plants respond to moonlight," she said. "Some potion ingredients change according to lunar phase. Some creatures follow tides, reflected light or inherited magical rhythms. None of that means the Moon personally approves of your choices."
Katie looked disappointed.
Matthew measured the angle between the Moon and a marked star. Julian recorded the time. Aidan held the chart flat against the wind, a role he claimed required uncommon strength.
Professor Sinistra brought Matthew the historical survey on celestial wards.
"You may borrow it for one week."
The cover bore a faded circle of thirteen stars.
Matthew opened to the contents page.
One chapter concerned zodiac codices. Another examined star-based boundary wards in North Africa, Europe and the Middle East. Operational diagrams had been removed, but historical descriptions remained.
"Why thirteen?" he asked.
"The author uses Ophiuchus as part of the ecliptic system."
"So the key depends upon the chosen celestial model."
"Yes. A person who assumes twelve signs would misread the structure."
Aidan leaned over his shoulder. "Could the thirteenth sign be the secret one?"
"It is not secret," Sinistra said. "It is omitted from a different system."
Aidan looked faintly disappointed.
Matthew wrote across the top of his Stella Contexta notes:
A HIDDEN KEY AND AN UNSTATED FRAMEWORK ARE NOT THE SAME THING.
No vision interrupted the lesson.
That absence felt almost strange.
Matthew spent the full period looking at the sky because he wanted to, not because pain dragged him somewhere else. He charted the Moon, asked questions about coordinate systems and listened while Sinistra explained why a star's apparent position required both time and observer location.
When class ended, he remained at the parapet for one extra minute.
Elara stood beside him, blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
"No dog or rat?"
"No."
"Are you disappointed?"
Matthew considered the question.
"No."
The answer came more easily than expected.
"Good," she said. "You are allowed to like the sky when it does not tell you anything terrible."
Matthew looked toward her.
Elara sipped her tea.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That usually means something."
"You sounded like Hermione."
Elara smiled into the cup. "I will accept that."
Friday's Flying lesson introduced slalom turns and controlled climbs.
The flags had been rearranged into a curved course across the lower half of the field. Coloured ribbons marked height limits, while Madam Hooch stood beside a rack of padded training hoops.
Matthew used a modified grip.
His left hand carried more steering force. The right rested farther back, maintaining contact without requiring the weakened fingers to hold constant pressure. Hooch inspected the change before take-off.
"You designed that after one lesson?"
"I tested the position on a stationary broom in the equipment shed."
"Did you remove the broom from the rack?"
"No."
"Did you alter it?"
"No."
"Good. Show me."
Matthew mounted and rose to three feet.
The grip felt uneven at first. His left shoulder wanted to take too much control, so he corrected through the hips rather than tightening the arm. The broom stabilised.
Hooch watched from below.
"Turn right."
He did.
"Left."
The broom curved more easily.
"Climb to six feet."
Matthew rose without the pressure behind his eye sharpening.
"Hold."
He held.
The wind moved against his face. The ground remained close enough for detail—individual blades of grass, muddy footprints, the shadow of the broom beneath him—but the old weight had left his damaged leg.
Hooch blew the whistle.
"Course one. No racing. Knight, Bell, Warrington, Vance."
Katie launched first, happiness visible in every line of her body. Lucian followed with economical movements and a steady posture. Elara rose more cautiously. Matthew entered last.
The first three flags required shallow turns. The new grip held.
At the fourth, he shifted his hips and allowed the broom to lean without pulling harder through the right hand. Air rushed across his ward-cloth. The lower panels opened and settled cleanly.
He did not chase more speed.
He did not need to.
Freedom remained freedom at a pace he could carry.
Ahead of him, Katie completed the final turn and climbed through the padded hoop. She laughed when the wind caught her hair.
Matthew followed.
His broom passed through the centre without touching the sides.
On the descent, he felt the first warning warmth behind his eye. He widened the line, reduced the angle and landed smoothly.
Hooch approached.
"Pain?"
"Warmth only. No grip loss."
"Recovery?"
Matthew flexed the right hand. "Immediate."
"Good. Repeat once after the others finish."
Cassian entered the second group.
He flew well.
Matthew had expected that. Cassian's arrogance did not erase skill.
During the final climb, however, he looked toward Matthew instead of the hoop and clipped the padded edge with one shoulder. The hoop spun. Cassian corrected before falling, but his landing drove both feet hard into the grass.
Hooch walked toward him.
"What caused the contact?"
"The wind."
Lucian landed behind him.
"You looked sideways."
Cassian turned sharply. "I did not ask."
Hooch's whistle remained in her hand.
"Mr Warrington is correct. The wind did not move the hoop. Repeat the final section while looking where you intend to fly."
Cassian's face reddened.
He repeated it cleanly.
Matthew did not smile.
Katie noticed.
"You could have."
"He corrected the mistake."
"That does not mean it was not funny."
"It was slightly funny."
Katie grinned.
After the lesson, a broad-shouldered Gryffindor older student waited near Hooch. Matthew recognised Oliver Wood from the House table and from several loud discussions about Quidditch strategy.
Wood approached Katie.
"You flew before Hogwarts."
"A little."
"You turn naturally."
Katie stood straighter. "Thank you."
"First-years do not normally play."
Her face fell by a fraction.
Wood continued, "But Hooch says you may attend the first half of tomorrow's open practice. No promises. No team position. You listen, follow the height limit and leave when told."
Katie's expression transformed so quickly that Matthew thought she might lift without a broom.
"Yes."
Wood stepped back.
"Tomorrow. Nine."
Katie waited until he walked away.
Then she seized Elara's hands.
"I am going to practice."
Elara laughed despite herself. "You are crushing my fingers."
Katie released her and turned toward Matthew.
"You have to come."
"I will."
"And take notes."
"I assumed that was part of the invitation."
Aidan groaned from beside his broom.
"Another morning lost to productive activity."
Lucian Warrington passed them on his way toward the castle.
"Your left-hand grip worked," he said to Matthew.
"Yes."
"Flint says it is compensating."
"It is."
Lucian glanced toward Cassian walking ahead.
"He meant it as an insult."
"Compensation is not failure."
Lucian looked at Matthew for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"No."
He continued toward the castle.
Aidan watched him go.
"Are we becoming friends with a Slytherin?"
"We spoke twice," Elara said.
"Friendship has to begin somewhere."
Matthew slung the school broom onto the return rack. "It usually begins before anyone calls it that."
Katie looked at him.
"That sounded nearly sentimental."
"I am tired."
"Of course."
Friday evening found all six of them in the library.
Matthew, Aidan, Elara and Katie occupied their usual table. Julian and Cho sat opposite. Phoebe had joined another Ravenclaw group after promising she would return if anyone discovered a cat-related footnote.
Their homework covered nearly every subject.
Professor Binns wanted twelve inches on the causes of the 1612 goblin uprising, with at least one non-Ministry source. Flitwick required a diagram showing the Levitation Charm's direction, release and ongoing control. Snape wanted a comparison between potion-induced retrieval failure and spell-altered memory. McGonagall had assigned exact reversals. Sprout wanted root-growth records. Wardwell required a response plan for an unknown cursed object. Sinistra wanted a lunar chart. Hooch wanted no written homework at all, which made her Aidan's favourite professor for the evening.
Madam Pince brought Matthew two goblin-authored historical collections after confirming Binns had approved the research purpose.
One contained translated guild petitions. The other preserved oral testimony gathered decades after the uprising.
Matthew opened the second.
A goblin metalworker described the Ministry confiscating his grandfather's tools while calling the act regulation.
Elara read over the public page.
"That changes the assignment."
"It changes the source balance."
Aidan looked at his blank parchment.
"Can my argument be that everyone should stop taking other people's tools?"
"Yes," Matthew said.
"Excellent."
"You still need evidence."
"Less excellent."
The linked book rested beside Matthew's elbow. Hermione had spent the week studying from the duplicate textbooks at Knight House, and her questions had followed his classes almost as quickly as he could answer them.
That evening, she wrote:
Katie has a Quidditch practice?
An open assessment. No promise of a team place.
She must be thrilled.
She nearly injured Elara's hands.
That sounds like Katie.
Matthew smiled.
Lucian Warrington helped Aidan in Flying and corrected Cassian in Potions.
You have spoken about him three times this week.
He has been relevant three times.
You may be acquiring another friend.
Matthew looked across the library. Aidan was arguing with Elara about whether a goblin petition counted as a primary source after translation. Katie and Cho were comparing lunar charts. Julian had become trapped inside a footnote about seventeenth-century wand law.
Possibly.
Hermione's reply took a little longer.
You have begun saying "we" when you describe the library.
Matthew read the sentence again.
He had.
There are usually several of us.
I know.
There was something faintly careful in her handwriting.
Matthew understood it after a moment.
They are not replacing you.
The next words appeared quickly.
I did not say they were.
You were thinking it.
That is an irritating habit.
It remains accurate.
A pause followed.
Then Hermione wrote:
I am glad you have friends there.
Matthew looked around the table.
Aidan's tie had fallen into his ink. Elara was trying to remove it without smearing his essay. Katie had begun describing tomorrow's practice with both hands while Cho attempted to keep the lunar chart from being struck. Julian had found a sentence he considered important and was waiting for everyone to become quiet enough to hear it.
They were noisy.
They were distracting.
They borrowed his notes, corrected his conclusions, asked questions he had not anticipated, and occasionally required saving from their own school supplies.
They had also waited outside classrooms, stood beside him in the Great Hall, watched his blind sides, respected closed pages and remained after the interesting danger ended.
So am I, Matthew wrote.
Hermione's handwriting softened.
Have you finished the anatomy index?
The first version.
Send the headings.
He did.
She corrected two, combined three, and added a section titled:
WHAT THE BODY HAS LEARNED TO SURVIVE
Matthew stared at it.
That heading belonged.
He copied it into the permanent index.
Madam Pince announced that the library would close in fifteen minutes. Groans rose from several tables.
Aidan lifted his ink-stained tie.
"I have completed seven inches."
"You need twelve," Elara said.
"The remaining five may be conclusion."
"A conclusion is not half the essay."
"It could be a very strong conclusion."
Matthew passed him the translated guild petition.
"Use the section on confiscated forging tools. Compare it with the Ministry's claim that regulation caused the uprising."
Aidan read the marked paragraph.
His expression sharpened.
"That is actually interesting."
"Most subjects become interesting when someone stops removing the people from them," Matthew said.
Julian looked up from his book.
"That should be the opening line."
"It belongs in History, not only this essay."
Elara gathered their loose parchment.
Katie closed her lunar chart and looked toward Matthew.
"What was your favourite lesson this week?"
Matthew considered.
The first week had made the question impossible because everything had been new. The second week had been different. The wonder remained, but now the subjects had begun becoming work: imperfect attempts, revised notes, new sources, corrections, repeated movement and questions that led to more questions.
"Second lessons," he said.
Aidan frowned. "That is not a subject."
"The first lesson shows what something can do. The second begins showing whether you can actually learn it."
Julian nodded slowly.
"That is good."
Katie smiled. "Still not a subject."
"No."
"What did you enjoy most?"
Matthew looked toward the dark windows. Beyond them, Hogwarts rose in layers of stone and light. Somewhere in the castle, Dumbledore continued carrying the authority Matthew distrusted. Somewhere in the Ministry, Amelia Bones's investigators had begun opening files that had been buried for years. Somewhere behind distant bars, Sirius Black might not yet know that anyone had finally asked why he had never received a trial.
Those things remained.
They no longer filled every part of the week.
"I liked flying again," Matthew admitted.
Katie's smile became triumphant.
"I knew it."
"And the celestial ward book."
"Of course."
"And Moondew."
Aidan groaned. "You have selected three."
"The question did not require one."
"It strongly implied one."
Matthew packed the anatomy index beside Amelia's letter, Snape's signed observation, the Lumos decay record and the first sketch of the transformed timeline seal.
The documents did not all belong to the same investigation.
They belonged to the same life.
That distinction had taken him years to begin understanding.
When they left the library, the castle corridors were warm with torchlight. Students moved around them in groups, discussing weekend plans, Quidditch, essays, letters from home and every ordinary concern a school could hold.
Aidan walked ahead with Katie, arguing about whether spectators at Quidditch practice should receive breakfast. Elara and Cho compared their lunar measurements. Julian remained beside Matthew, still reading the final paragraph of a goblin testimony while walking and narrowly avoiding a suit of armour.
Matthew caught the back of his robe before he struck it.
Julian looked up.
"Thank you."
"Read after the stairs."
"That sounds like Hermione."
"It is still sensible."
At Gryffindor Tower, Julian and Cho separated for Ravenclaw. Katie and Elara entered through the portrait hole ahead of the boys. Aidan stopped beside Matthew before following.
"Next week," he said, "I intend to complete one potion that does not become glue."
"That is a reasonable goal."
"And I intend to fly without rolling."
"Also reasonable."
"And I intend to find where the kitchens are."
Matthew thought of Fred and George knowing routes, staircases and Filch's movements with impossible accuracy.
"That goal may require better information."
Aidan grinned.
"I know two red-haired sources."
Matthew looked down the corridor where Fred and George had disappeared earlier that week.
"So do I."
He entered Gryffindor Tower with the question stored for later.
Not forgotten.
Not yet pursued.
Christmas remained months away.
There would be time.
That night, beneath the curtains of his bed, Matthew opened the linked book one final time.
Hermione had written:
Madam Bones has the files. The Sirius review is active. You do not have to solve either case from your dormitory tonight.
Matthew smiled faintly.
I know.
Good. What are you doing tomorrow?
Watching Katie's Quidditch assessment, correcting Cedric's ward-cloth, reading the celestial ward survey, and beginning the exact-reversal practice.
A pause followed.
That is too much.
It is Saturday.
That does not make Saturday longer.
It makes it less occupied by classes.
Hermione's next line appeared darker.
You are impossible.
Matthew rested the quill against the page.
You are still helping.
Obviously.
He closed the book.
The second week had not brought a dramatic revelation, a hidden family door, or a name emerging from a dream.
It had brought something quieter.
The first green shoots of Dittany.
A feather moving without a cage.
A memory potion that taught him the difference between loss and access.
A blue mark returning to the proper match.
A music box left unopened.
The Moon observed without becoming prophecy.
A broom carrying him through the air at a speed his body could sustain.
Friends filling a library table until Matthew had begun saying we without noticing.
And, beneath an official red seal, proof that the records he had protected were finally being read by people with the authority to act upon them.
Dumbledore remained powerful.
Peter Pettigrew remained hidden.
Sirius Black remained imprisoned.
Matthew remained scarred.
None of that had changed in seven days.
But investigations had begun. Roots had broken soil. Second lessons had followed first ones, turning wonder into understanding one imperfect attempt at a time.
For once, Matthew did not need the entire path to open before taking the next step.