Alan completed a rough circuit of the castle before returning to the Great Hall. A few early risers were already drifting in for breakfast, and feeling the stirrings of hunger, he joined them.
"Alan! I thought you were still asleep. I was waiting for you in the common room out of the goodness of my heart," Vivian grumbled as she marched through the doorway. She dropped into the seat beside him, wearing the expression of a slighted friend.
"Sorry about that. I'm an early riser by habit, so I'd already left. You don't need to wait for me in the mornings; I can manage on my own," Alan explained with a small, apologetic smile.
"I certainly won't wait next time. What if you wander off and get lost? Honestly, the only reason I can find this place is because our common room is so close. The rest of the castle is a maze," Vivian rambled, already reaching for a piece of toast.
"Don't worry. I've mapped out most of the routes and found our classrooms. You can just follow me later," Alan said. He lowered his head and finished his breakfast with efficient speed.
As they ate, a flurry of owls swooped into the hall, dropping the morning mail. Alan received three letters: one from Lily, one from Sirius, and a short note from Tom. They were all messages of congratulations. Sirius, however, seemed particularly anxious, his letter filled with questions about whether Alan had made it into Gryffindor.
*He's going to be disappointed,* Alan thought wryly. *If Sirius finds out I'm a Slytherin, will he actually call off the friendship?*
He tucked the letters away and headed to the Charms classroom with Vivian. To his surprise, they were sharing the period with the Gryffindors. It was common knowledge that the two houses were at each other's throats, and even the first-year seating reflected that ancient tension. Alan spotted Charles in his red-trimmed robes; they exchanged a brief nod before Alan found a seat on the opposite side of the room.
Professor Filius Flitwick was as diminutive as rumored. A descendant of goblins, he had to stand on a precarious stack of books just to see over his podium.
From Alan's perspective, the curriculum was painfully slow. The entire first-year syllabus consisted of barely a dozen basic charms. Flitwick spent the first hour purely on theory, which did little to hold Alan's interest since he had already mastered the first-year spells during his summer at the Leaky Cauldron. Instead of listening, he pulled out his parchment and began drafting replies to his friends.
His note to Tom was brief—a simple assurance of his safety and a general greeting. To Lily and Sirius, however, he wrote more candidly. He described his sorting into Slytherin and shared his initial impressions of the house, admitting his concerns about the political climate and asking for their advice as former students.
By the time he finished, Flitwick had moved on to the practical portion of the lesson. The task was the Levitation Charm: the "swish and flick." The students were given feathers to practice on. Around him, the room filled with the sounds of frustrated muttering as feathers remained stubbornly anchored to the desks.
"Wingardium Leviosa! Wingardium Leviosa!" Vivian chanted, her accent butchering the Latin as she waved her wand frantically. Her face was turning a brilliant shade of red.
Alan suppressed a sigh. *Has she spent all her talent on gossip?* Flitwick's demonstration had been perfectly clear, yet she was still mangling the pronunciation.
Nearby, Sampel Travers managed to get his feather into the air after a few tries. It wobbled precariously, but he shot a smug, triumphant look at the students around him.
Noticing Flitwick approaching his row, Alan realized he couldn't simply sit idle. He drew his wand and gave a sharp, practiced point at his feather. It rose instantly, hovering with absolute stability.
*Wait. I forgot to speak.*
Because he had practiced the charm wandlessly and silently for so long, the casting had been instinctive. He had completely bypassed the "swish and flick" and the incantation.
"Excellent! Simply superb, Mr. Wilson," Flitwick squeaked, having appeared right beside him. He hadn't seemed to notice the lack of an incantation, only the result. "Two points to Slytherin! Look at that stability, class. Nearly a perfect casting. Everyone, look to Mr. Wilson's technique."
The entire room turned toward him. Many students looked on with envy, while others—Travers included—shot him glares that were far from friendly. Alan accepted the praise awkwardly, wondering if anyone else had noticed his silent casting.
"Did you even say the words?" Vivian whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
"Shh," Alan hushed her. He didn't want to stand out. An obvious target was a dangerous target.
Flitwick continued his rounds, correcting grips and pronunciations. Alan gave up the pretense of practice and focused on helping Vivian. After he corrected her wand movement and helped her find the right emphasis for the syllables, she finally managed to get her feather airborne just as the bell rang.
"That is all for today! Six inches of parchment on the theory of levitation for next time," Flitwick announced. He paused, his sharp eyes finding Alan. "Mr. Wilson, stay behind for a moment, if you please."
As expected, he hadn't escaped the professor's notice. Alan signaled for Vivian to go ahead and waited quietly as the classroom emptied.