The next morning, the corridors of Hogwarts were abuzz with chatter, the air thick with the faint smell of parchment and pumpkin juice. My robes swayed lightly as I made my way toward the History of Magic classroom—a room notorious for one thing and one thing only: boredom.
Professor Binns, the only ghost teacher in the entire school, had a reputation for being able to turn even the most fascinating parts of magical history into an endless, droning lullaby.
When I slipped into my seat beside Abraxas, he gave me a look of quiet dread. "If I fall asleep," he muttered, "wake me before he notices."
"He's dead," I replied dryly. "He doesn't notice anything."
Abraxas smirked faintly, and then the room dimmed slightly as the ghostly figure of Professor Binns floated through the wall, his voice beginning before his feet even touched the ground.
"Now then, class, today we shall be continuing with the Goblin Rebellions of the seventeenth century…"
That was all it took. The first words were already enough to make several heads droop. I could feel my eyelids getting heavier by the minute. The slow, monotonous rhythm of Binns' voice echoed through the air like a hypnotic spell.
No amount of magical resistance could protect against this kind of attack.
I leaned back in my chair, blinking once, twice—then exhaled softly and reached into my bag. Dumbledore's notebook.
The worn leather cover was unassuming, yet I could feel the hum of enchantment on it—subtle protection charms woven throughout. The handwriting inside was elegant, old-fashioned, yet precise.
I flipped to the section on defensive charms. Each page was meticulously detailed with Dumbledore's own theories—how the Protego spell interacted with environmental magic, how to channel shield energy through wand movements to create layered protection, even how emotion and intent affected the spell's strength.
"A shield born from fear will falter," one note read, "but a shield born from calm certainty endures."
I found myself quietly fascinated. His understanding of the underlying mechanics of magic was on a level few could match—even Grindelwald himself would've been impressed.
My eyes traced the diagrams of advanced variants—Protego Maxima, Protego Totalum, and one particularly interesting design labeled Reflective Shield Form. A counter-defense model that didn't just block spells but redirected them back at the caster.
Now that, I thought with a faint smile, could be useful.
I could feel the faint spark of magical resonance as I mentally walked through the wand motions. Even without casting, I could sense the energy pathways adjusting, flowing smoother, sharper—refined by my newly obtained transfiguration insight.
Abraxas glanced sideways at me, whispering under his breath. "You're studying in this class?"
I smirked without looking up. "Would you rather I died of boredom?"
He almost laughed—but the ghost at the front didn't notice a thing. Professor Binns was still deep in his monologue, talking about treaties and goblin uprisings as if reading from a thousand-year-old script.
By the time the bell rang, half the class was either asleep or close to it. I closed the notebook quietly, feeling far more awake than when the lesson started.
While everyone else had wasted an hour listening to ancient history, I'd learned something far more valuable.
I'd deepened my understanding of magical defense—and the path to mastering my own evolving magic had just become a little clearer.