The clearing near Hagrid's hut was smaller than Alisa remembered.
Or perhaps it just felt that way with Harry standing across from her, his green eyes bright with anticipation, his wand conspicuously absent from his hand.
"First rule," Alisa said, circling him slowly. The evening air was cool, carrying the scent of woodsmoke from Hagrid's chimney. "Forget everything you know about casting spells."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Everything?"
"Everything." She stopped in front of him. "Wand magic teaches you to channel power through something external. Wandless magic requires you to understand that the power was never in the wand to begin with. It's in you. The wand is just a crutch."
"A crutch," Harry repeated slowly. "Most of our professors would have had a fit if they heard you say that."
"I agree. Professor McGonagall, for example, is an exceptional witch who has spent decades mastering wand-based transfiguration. Her methods work for her." Alisa allowed herself a small smile. "But you didn't come to me to learn her methods."
"No. I didn't."
"Good." She gestured for him to raise his hands. "Hold them out. Palms up."
Harry obeyed, extending his arms in front of him. His posture was tense, shoulders hunched slightly forward—the stance of someone expecting to be attacked.
"Relax," Alisa said. "You're not fighting anything right now. You're listening."
"Listening to what?"
"To yourself." She moved to stand beside him, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "Close your eyes."
He hesitated for just a moment before complying.
"Now. Feel your magic."
A pause. "I don't know what that means."
"Yes, you do. You've felt it before—every time you've done accidental magic, every time you've cast a spell that worked better than it should have, every time your emotions have run high and things have happened around you." Alisa kept her voice low, steady. "That feeling. Find it."
Harry's face tightened with concentration. For several long moments, nothing happened.
Then—a flicker. The faintest shimmer in the air around his hands, there and gone so quickly that Alisa might have imagined it.
"There," she said sharply. "Did you feel that?"
Harry's eyes flew open. "I—maybe? Something shifted, but I don't know if—"
"That was it. That was your magic responding to your focus." Alisa felt a spark of genuine excitement. Most people took weeks to achieve even that much. Why was Harry different?
"Try again. Eyes closed. Find that feeling and hold it."
They worked for the next hour.
It was slow, frustrating work.
Harry would find the sensation, grasp at it, and lose it almost immediately. His face grew increasingly tense with each failed attempt, his jaw clenching in familiar determination.
"I can't—" he started, after one particularly futile try.
"You can," Alisa interrupted. "You're trying too hard. Magic isn't something you force. It's something you allow."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"It will." She moved behind him and, before she could think better of it, placed her hands on his shoulders. "Your posture is wrong now. You're holding tension here—" she pressed gently, feeling the knots of muscle beneath his shirt, "—and here."
Harry's breath caught.
Alisa froze, suddenly aware of how close she was standing. How her front was nearly pressed against his back. How her hands were on his body…
Professional, she reminded herself firmly. This is just teaching. Just instruction.
But her cock stirred anyway, responding to the proximity, to the warmth of him, to the way his shoulders felt beneath her palms, and to the closeness of his ass.
An image flashed in her mind, and she stepped back quickly—perhaps too quickly.
"Roll your shoulders back," she said, and was surprised that her voice came out steady. "Drop them. Let your arms hang naturally, then raise them again."
Harry did as instructed. His posture was better now, more open.
"Good. Now try again."
This time, when Harry reached for his magic, the shimmer lasted longer—two seconds, maybe three, before it faded.
"Better," Alisa said. "Much better."
Harry opened his eyes, and for a moment, his expression was pure, unguarded joy. "I felt it that time. Really felt it. Like... like something warm inside my chest, spreading outward."
"That's exactly right." Alisa couldn't help but smile back at him. "That warmth is your core. Your magical centre. Everything else flows from there."
"Can you show me? What does it look like when you do it?"
Alisa considered for a moment, then nodded. She raised her hand, palm up, and let her power flow freely.
Light bloomed above her skin—not the golden diagnostic threads of McGonagall's spells, but something purer, whiter, shot through with silver.
It spiralled upward like smoke, taking form: a small bird, wings beating, that circled her hand once before dissolving into sparks.
Harry stared. "That's... incredible."
"That's just a parlour trick." But Alisa felt warmth at his admiration nonetheless. "The real power is in the magic you can cast. Shields. Force. Bindings. These are all things that can save your life when someone takes your wand."
"Will you teach me those, too?"
"In time. First, you need to learn to hold your connection to your core. To make it stable and reliable." She lowered her hand. "We'll practice every evening until you can maintain it without effort. Then we'll move on."
"Every evening?" Harry's eyes brightened further. "You'd do that?"
You shouldn't, a voice whispered in Alisa's head. You're getting too close. This is dangerous.
"I made you a promise," she said instead. "I intend to keep it."
龴ↀ◡ↀ龴
They took a break, sitting on a fallen log at the edge of the clearing.
The sky had darkened fully now, stars beginning to prick through the canopy overhead. Alisa conjured a small ball of light—wandlessly, of course—and let it float between them, casting soft shadows.
"Can I ask you something?" Harry said after a moment.
"You can ask."
"How did you learn? Wandless magic, I mean. Was there someone who taught you?"
Alisa was quiet for a long moment. The question touched on memories she usually kept locked away.
"No one taught me," she said finally. "I was just... born this way."
Harry turned to look at her, curiosity plain on his face.
"I never needed a wand," Alisa continued, flexing her fingers as if remembering. "Even as a child, before I understood what magic was, things would happen around me. Objects would move. Lights would flicker. My mother said I made flowers bloom in winter." She smiled faintly at the memory. "When other magical children were getting their first wands, I was trying to understand why everyone else needed one."
"That sounds lonely," Harry said quietly.
The observation caught her off guard. "It was," Alisa admitted. "The other children thought I was strange. Dangerous, even. Their parents whispered that wandless magic was dark, primitive. That I should be trained properly, tamed." Her jaw tightened. "But suppressing it felt like trying not to breathe. The magic was never separate from me—it is me."
"I think I understand that," Harry said. "Sometimes my magic feels the same way. Like it's just waiting beneath my skin."
"That's because it is." Alisa looked at him. "The magic inside you is yours, Harry. No one can take it away. No one can disarm it. It's the one weapon you'll always have, no matter what happens. You just need to learn to reach it without the crutch of a wand."
Harry absorbed this in silence.
Alisa tilted her head, studying him. "What about you? Who taught you?"
"Hogwarts, mostly. Dumbledore, when he bothers." Harry's mouth twisted. "Though sometimes I think I've learned more from getting thrown into danger than from any classroom."
"There's truth in that. Experience is a harsh teacher, but an effective one."
"Is that a Russian philosophy?"
"It's a hunter's philosophy." Alisa caught herself. She hadn't meant to mention that.
Harry's eyebrows rose. "Hunter?"
In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose.
"Before I came to Britain, I worked as a demon slayer. Part of an organisation that tracks and eliminates infernal incursions." She kept her voice matter-of-fact. "That's how I got... the way I am now. One of them cursed me."
Harry was silent for a long moment.
"Tonks said something happened to you," he said slowly. "But she wouldn't tell me what."
龴ↀ◡ↀ龴
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Chapter 37: Secrets
Chapter 38: Café confessions
Chapter 39: Tension
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