The days slipped by in a steady rhythm of lessons, studying, and quiet observation. Ethan spoke little to most of his classmates, exchanging only a few necessary words here and there. There was the occasional help with help with schoolwork, giving and receiving. Helena and Anthony, were the ones he interacted with most, their conversations brief, polite, and always centered around schoolwork or clarifying a bit of magical theory. Beyond that, he preferred silence, moving through his days, content to remain at the edges of the bustling life of Hogwarts. He was not there to form bonds or friends. It was mostly just how he interacted with people, yet something of it was from different things. He was there to learn magic, to immerse himself in the world he had once only read about, and to see with his own eyes the wonders he had long dreamed of.
The pattern of school life settled over him like a well-fitted cloak: mornings of rushing to classes through stone corridors, days spent copying careful notes under flickering candlelight, evenings lost in the endless rows of books in the library or curled up in the Ravenclaw common room's quiet corners. Nights came as a soft ending, slipping into sleep with his mind brimming over with incantations, theories, and the tantalizing possibilities of real magic.
Yet despite the quiet satisfaction he took in each lesson, a small, restless excitement built inside him with each passing day. The books, the theory, the chanting of magical laws and principles, it was fascinating, yes, but it wasn't what he craved. He wanted to feel it. To do it.
And at last, the day came.
Their first spell.
Inside the Charms classroom, the atmosphere crackled with eager energy. First-year Ravenclaws sat in perfect rows, perched forward on the edges of their seats. Ethan sat among them, listening to every flicker of movement and every whispered word. Professor Flitwick stood at the front of the room, so small he needed a stack of books to be seen properly over his desk, his bright eyes alight with enthusiasm.
"Now, my dear students," he chirped, "you've spent the last few days learning about the foundation of magic, pronunciation, wand movement, intent. Today, we bring it all together. Today, you will cast what is likely, to a few of you, your very first spell!"
A ripple of excitement buzzed through the classroom like static. Ethan's grip on his wand tightened ever so slightly.
"The Levitation Charm," Flitwick continued. "Or, as you shall say it, Wingardium Leviosa."
Of course. Ethan had known it would be this. The classic beginning, the same for generations.
With a deft flick of his tiny wand, Flitwick demonstrated. A small white feather rose smoothly into the air, spinning lazily as if caught in an invisible breeze, before settling down again on the desk with perfect grace.
"Now remember," Flitwick said, tapping the air with his wand for emphasis, "it's Levi-o-sa, not Levi-o-saaah!"
A few scattered chuckles filled the room, nervous, excited. Ethan was already examining every part of the demonstration in his mind: the exact sharpness of the flick, the tempo of the syllables, the rhythm of movement and voice combined.
Small white feathers were placed out, one for each student on their desks. Ethan placed his on the desk before him. It seemed impossibly light, almost unreal, trembling slightly whenever his breath stirred it. He adjusted his grip on his wand, positioning it the way he had practiced, loose but controlled, flexible yet firm.
Breathing steadily, Ethan pictured the movement, the sound, the intent, weaving them together in his mind.
He swished. He flicked. He spoke.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The feather sat, unmoving, on the desk.
Ethan did not frown, did not let any emotion cross his face. He had expected this. Learning magic was not like turning a key in a lock. It was deeper, stranger, requiring precision of body and mind alike.
Around him, feathers twitched or spun; some students overpronounced the words, turning them into clumsy stumbles of sound, while others slashed at the air with their wands as if trying to wrestle magic into submission. Ethan ignored them. He turned inward, running through everything he knew.
First, the wand movement.
He pictured again the elegant swish and flick Flitwick had demonstrated, the way the wand had sliced through the air with controlled ease, no sharp or sudden movements. Ethan loosened his wrist, allowing the wand to move with a more natural flow, not forcing it but guiding it. He drew the shape in the air, feeling the movement rather than just replicating it.
Again, he spoke.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
Still no lift, but this time, a faint tremor shivered through the feather, so slight it could have been imagined if not for the equally faint vibration Ethan felt like he had sensed something within him. He remembered inside Ollivanders, how it felt when he grasped his wand for the first time. Perhaps it was his imagination playing tricks on him, but he didnt let that though stay long.
Progress.
He allowed a small surge of satisfaction to flicker inside him, yet there was still work to do.
Next: pronunciation.
Ethan mouthed the word silently, testing the weight of each syllable on his tongue. The stress on the "o" in "Leviosa" mattered more than it seemed. Every bit of magic he had studied so far, minimal yet a start, pointed to the delicate interplay between movement, intention, and focus.
He inhaled.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
This time, the feather stirred more clearly, shifting half an inch to the side as though startled. Ethan felt the magic respond more strongly, like the first faint tug of a current pulling at a boat adrift on still water.
Almost.
He closed his eyes for a moment, building the image in his mind: the feather rising smoothly into the air, weightless, buoyed by invisible hands. He did not force the image; he believed in it, certain as breathing that it would happen. He let the feeling of it settle over him, calm and natural.
Opening his eyes, he moved his wand in a perfect swish and flick.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The feather lifted.
Not a twitch, not a shudder, it simply rose, drifting several inches above the desk, spinning lazily in place like a captured cloud. Ethan watched it, heart thudding against his ribs, not daring to move. His magic held it there, steadily.
For one glorious moment, time seemed to stretch out around him, the sounds of the classroom muffled and distant. Only the feather and the thin cord of magic tying him to it existed.
Then, gradually, he let his focus ease, and the feather floated down once more to rest on the desk.
He lowered his wand, breathing deeply, feeling an ache of satisfaction down to his very bones.
Around him, the classroom was alive with frustrated groans, shrieks of triumph, and the occasional minor disaster as feathers shot off like startled birds. Flitwick darted from desk to desk, offering encouragement and correction with the bright energy of a conductor managing an unruly orchestra.
Ethan sat there, hands steady, heart full. He did not need to boast, others were achieving success much like him, some earlier as well. He did not need anyone to notice. The magic had answered him. That was all that mattered.
In the quiet corner of his mind, Ethan marked the moment, tucking it away like a treasure: the first spell. The first true step into the world he had longed for all his life.
And somehow, despite all his expectations, it was even better than he had imagined.