The other first-years scattered like startled birds as the group of Slytherins approached the Charms classroom, clearing a wide path. For once, the little snakes preened under the attention, their usual wariness replaced by a flicker of pride.
Inside, they claimed seats near the front, joined shortly by the Hufflepuff first-years, who filed in quietly with their easygoing chatter. The bell tolled, and Professor Flitwick hopped onto his stack of books at the podium. True to form, he wasted no time, flicking his wand with a silent flourish that sent a feather soaring effortlessly across the room.
Erwin watched with a faint smile. Flitwick always started with the Levitation Charm—Wingardium Leviosa—perhaps because it was the simplest spell for beginners, or maybe because it showcased the professor's own mastery. Either way, it was a sight to behold.
As expected, this was the second lesson on the charm, and actual wandwork would come later. The young witches and wizards first needed to drill the incantation and wrist flick until muscle memory took over. Flitwick called Erwin forward to demonstrate once more, the feather dancing upward at his precise wave. Satisfied, the professor released them to practice on their own, content to perch on his pile and observe.
Erwin leaned back, eyeing the class. Some students were already waving their hands in mock spells, mimicking the motion without wands. A few Slytherins struggled with the swish-and-flick, their feathers twitching but refusing to lift.
"Erwin, a word," Flitwick called, beckoning him to the front.
Erwin's interest piqued. He approached the podium, where Flitwick's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.
"About your question from last class—I dug into some old texts and found just the thing. It's not quite a spell, more a ritual akin to the Fidelius Charm. For secure communication, precisely as you described. Take a look."
With a casual wave, Flitwick levitated a thick, yellowed tome from the desk beside him. It drifted into Erwin's hands, heavy and ancient, its pages crammed with incantations and the professor's meticulous annotations scrawled in the margins.
"Impressive wandless control, Professor," Erwin said, genuinely awed.
Flitwick puffed up slightly—his reputation as a Charms master was well-earned across the wizarding world. "Now, this one here," he said, tapping a faded entry with a pointed nail, "is the Whispering Charm. Rare as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack these days. Only a handful of wizards even know it exists. It allows direct mind-to-mind links, but the catch is the magic must share the same origin. Blood ties, perhaps, or a shared magical signature. That alone renders it near useless for most."
Erwin frowned, flipping to the page. "What of its creators?"
"Ah, conjoined twins, separated by magic after birth. Their power was identical—one essence, really. No ordinary siblings could replicate that bond. So, the charm surfaced... and faded into obscurity."
Erwin nodded thoughtfully. "Professor, might I borrow the book?"
Flitwick hesitated. "Afraid not, Erwin. It's brimming with advanced charms—some far beyond a first-year's grasp, and a few downright perilous. No offense to your talent, of course. But you're welcome in my office anytime. Browse it there, ask questions. I'd be delighted to guide you."
Erwin wasn't surprised; the volume's weight alone hinted at forbidden depths, the sort of tome that skirted the Restricted Section. Still, access to Flitwick's private collection felt like stumbling on a hidden vault of knowledge—a surrogate apprenticeship.
"Thank you, Professor. Truly."
Flitwick waved it off. "Nonsense. Your idea for those early-morning revision sessions? Brilliant. The Ravenclaws adore them. You strike me as a true seeker of wisdom, Erwin. Such a shame the Sorting Hat placed you in Slytherin—must've been that drenching it took. You belong in Ravenclaw. I ought to have a word with Dumbledore about a transfer."
Erwin's mouth quirked in a wry smile. The old Charms master was sharp as a goblin-forged blade, but this poaching attempt was bolder than expected. In Snape's hands, the Sectumsempra curse might've twitched with jealousy.
"Your praise humbles me, Professor."
Flitwick chuckled. "Memorized the incantation yet? Though I doubt it'll serve you—the charm's too finicky."
"I've got it," Erwin replied. "And thank you again."
"Back to your seat, then. Practice the charm, and if you're inclined, lend a hand with the others. This perch gets tiring to climb."
"My pleasure," Erwin said, returning to his desk.
Word of the exchange had spread among the Slytherins, and a cluster of them soon gathered, peppering him with questions on wand angles and tone. Erwin guided them patiently—after all, as prefect, fostering talent was his duty. House points were merely a bonus, not the goal.
A few Hufflepuff first-years watched enviously, hesitating to approach. Slytherin's shadowed reputation lingered like a poorly cast Disillusionment Charm. Erwin caught their glances and couldn't let inter-house divides fester. Hogwarts was one castle, one family—every student a thread in its tapestry.
"Don't be shy," he called to the Hufflepuffs. "If you've got questions, ask away. Houses are just labels; we're classmates for years to come."
Two badgers edged forward, querying the precise flick for lift-off. Erwin demonstrated, breaking it down simply. Emboldened, more joined in, the room buzzing with shared effort. Feathers bobbed erratically at first, then steadier, as laughter cut through the frustration.
By lesson's end, Flitwick awarded points liberally—to Slytherins for precision, Hufflepuffs for persistence. Erwin's group earned extra for their collaborative spirit, a quiet nod to the bridges being built. As they packed up, he tucked the Whispering Charm's incantation away in his mind, already pondering its limits. Blood bonds or not, knowledge like this could unlock doors—or seal them tight.