Ravenclaw Dormitory — Night Four
The Ravenclaw dormitory on the fourth night felt different from the first.
It wasn't because the room had changed—the same stone walls, the same circular windows, the same arched ceiling with small star ornaments that occasionally moved slowly as if touched by an invisible wind. Everything was exactly the same.
What was different was the way the room felt inhabited.
Terry's books were scattered on the desk in a very distinct pattern—not messy, but not neat, more like a system that only made sense to its owner. Michael's notes were arranged with a precision very consistent with the way he did everything. And Kenzo's were on the small shelf beside his bed, sorted by relevance and frequency of use that had formed naturally over four days.
The way someone organizes books says a lot.
Terry lay on his bed with one book open on his chest and eyes that were no longer reading seriously. "I've been thinking about tomorrow's study session," he said toward the ceiling.
"Hmm," Michael replied from his desk.
"Let's start with History of Magic. Because that's the most urgent in terms of brain emergency."
"Brain emergency is not a real term," Michael said.
"It is now." Terry flipped a page of his book without reading it. "Kenzo, you agree?"
Kenzo sat on the window ledge with one knee raised and a Transfiguration book open in his hand—a position very common for him at the end of the day, when the light from outside was no longer enough to read comfortably but the small magic lamp near the window filled the gap.
"Start with Herbology," Kenzo said without looking up.
Terry turned. "Why Herbology?"
"Because the first Herbology exam is earlier than you expect."
Silence for a moment.
"When?" Terry asked.
"Two weeks from now. Professor Sprout mentioned it just as we were leaving class. You were talking to Michael about how Mandrake plants could be used as theoretical weapons, so you didn't hear it."
Terry stared at the ceiling for three seconds.
"I forgot that."
"I know."
Michael stopped writing. "Two weeks is enough if we start tomorrow."
"That is the reason," Kenzo said.
Terry took a long breath. "Fine. Herbology first. Then History of Magic."
"And Charms," Michael added.
"And Charms," Terry agreed. He closed his book and placed it beside his pillow. "This feels more like a study club than I imagined when I first suggested the idea."
"Because that's exactly what you suggested," Michael said.
"I suggested an informal study session. Not a structured schedule."
"The difference is very small."
Terry turned his body to the side and looked at Kenzo. "Hey."
Kenzo looked up from his book.
"Seriously, thank you." Terry's tone was different from his usual way—quieter, more direct, without the layer of irony that was usually always there. "Not just about the studying. About—all of this. The last four days."
Kenzo looked at him.
Terry shrugged slightly. "I know you're not used to people who talk too much. But you never told me I'm noisy."
"You are noisy," Kenzo said.
Terry chuckled. "Yeah. But you didn't say it as a problem."
Kenzo went back to his book. "Because it isn't."
Michael at his desk smiled very slightly toward his notes—a way enough to say that he heard everything and chose not to comment because the moment required none.
The silence that followed was a comfortable silence.
The kind of silence very different from the first night's silence—the first night which was still full of the way three strangers searched for the right distance from one another. Four days were enough to change stranger into something that didn't have a name yet but was already very felt.
Zetsu appeared from the shadow in the corner of the room in a way he had adjusted so as not to startle Terry—because on the second day, Terry almost fell from the bed when Zetsu appeared suddenly, and that experience was enough to make Zetsu decide that a more gradual approach was more efficient for all parties.
"Terry is almost asleep," Zetsu whispered toward Kenzo.
Kenzo glanced. Terry indeed hadn't spoken in the last three minutes—a very reliable indicator.
"Michael?" Kenzo asked quietly.
Michael raised one finger without turning—a sign that he was still here but was at a part that required concentration.
Kenzo nodded very slightly and went back to his book.
Zetsu sat on the floor beside the window in a very usual way—back leaning against the wall, notebook in hand, an expression very accustomed to how nights like this went.
"Father," Zetsu whispered after a few minutes.
"Yes."
"Harry Potter was asking about Quirrell."
"I know. I was the one there."
Zetsu ignored the tone. "I have been observing Quirrell since the first day."
Kenzo lowered his book a little.
"Conclusion?" Kenzo asked.
Zetsu opened a certain page in his notebook. "His movements are not consistent with someone who is just nervous or lacks confidence." Zetsu spoke with a tone very different from his usual way—more serious, more like a report from someone who had been doing this job for a very long time and knew exactly when something needed to be delivered precisely. "There is a certain pattern in the way he moves. The way he avoids eye contact with certain people. The way he always positions himself near the exit in any room."
"Someone who is afraid," Kenzo said.
"Or someone hiding something that makes them have to be afraid."
Kenzo closed his book completely and placed it on the windowsill.
Outside, the Scottish sky was full of stars—not an illusion like the Great Hall ceiling, but the real sky, a sky that was very uncaring of whatever happened in the castle beneath it.
"If you have observed him for four days," Kenzo said quietly, "what is most consistent?"
Zetsu thought for a moment. "The way he reacts to your name."
Kenzo turned to him.
Zetsu continued. "Every time your name is mentioned—by anyone, in any context—there is something in the way he moves that changes. Not ordinary fear." Zetsu tilted his head. "More like someone recalculating something."
Recalculating.
An interesting word.
Someone who recalculates is not someone who is just afraid—but someone considering consequences in a certain context. Someone who already has a plan and is evaluating whether the presence of a new variable changes that plan.
"Anything else?" Kenzo asked.
"The turban he wears." Zetsu spoke very quietly. "He never takes it off. Even indoors. Even when it's hot."
Kenzo stared at the sky outside the window for a few seconds.
"Continue observing," Kenzo finally said.
"Already on it," Zetsu replied with a tone that no longer required further confirmation.
Michael at his desk closed his book quietly and turned off his small lamp. He lay down without saying anything—Michael's very usual way to end the night, without announcement, just a very neat transition from one condition to the next.
The room gradually became quieter.
Terry had been asleep since a few minutes ago.
Michael followed not long after in a way that was very doubtless.
Kenzo remained sitting on the window ledge. Not reading. Just sitting in the way of someone letting their thoughts move to the places collected throughout the day without sorting them too tightly—a way of thinking different from his usual analytical way, more like letting the puzzle assemble itself rather than forcing it into a predetermined shape.
Quirrell. Harry who had realized it on the fourth day. His father's letter still inside his robe. Hermione who had asked permission to ask directly. Terry and Michael who had very much become part of how his days went without him planning it.
And Hogwarts itself—which was already very different from any way it was ever described, not in a disappointing sense, but in a sense that it was very clear this place kept more layers than what appeared on the surface.
"Father," Zetsu whispered once more—very quietly, almost inaudible.
"Yes."
"The letter from grandfather earlier." Zetsu spoke with a tone already containing something very rare there—a kind of sincere caution. "You kept it."
"Yes."
"Not folded neatly."
Kenzo didn't answer. Zetsu didn't continue either. Because some things are enough to be acknowledged in silence.
Kenzo finally stood from the window ledge and walked to his bed. He placed his robe on the chair beside him—with his father's letter still inside his pocket, not taken out, not refolded, just there.
He lay down.
The Ravenclaw dormitory ceiling, which was very familiar in four days, looked exactly the same as the three nights before.
But the way he looked at it was slightly different.
More like someone who had started feeling that this ceiling was his ceiling—not just the ceiling of a room he happened to occupy.
A very small difference. But already very felt.
The Headmaster's Office — At the Same Time
Dumbledore was not sleeping.
This was not surprising to anyone who had known him long enough—Albus Dumbledore at this age already had a relationship with sleep much more flexible than most people, a way formed from decades where the night always brought more things to think about than the day.
He sat in his chair with a cup of tea no longer hot in his hand.
In front of him, the desk was full of things that were very usual to be there—spinning spheres measuring something not always clear what was measured, documents from the Ministry that very rarely brought encouraging news, and one item not usual to be there tonight.
A report from Madam Pince.
Not an official report—more like an informal note sent by that loyal librarian because there was something she thought the headmaster should know. Madam Pince had long guarded her library in a way that very much couldn't be passed by anything without her noticing, and four days were enough for her to have something to report.
The content was short.
First-year Ravenclaw student, Kenzo Otsutsuki, has spent an average of two hours per day in the library. He accesses books from at least three levels above his own without visible difficulty. He speaks with several students from different houses. And today—he smiled.
That last sentence was what made Dumbledore read this short report three times.
Fawkes on his perch made a very soft sound—not a song, just a sound very close to something humans might call a comment.
Dumbledore put the report down and took his cold tea.
"Yes," Dumbledore said to Fawkes with a tone containing many things at once. "I saw it too."
He drank his cold tea in the way of someone very used to not minding the temperature.
"Four days," he murmured quietly. "And already there is so much moving."
Fawkes tilted his head.
Dumbledore smiled very slightly.
"No, I am not worried." He put the cup down. "On the contrary."
He looked toward his office window—toward the Ravenclaw tower standing in the distance, its lights out, already very dark from the outside.
"Hogwarts hasn't had a student like that for a very long time," Dumbledore said quietly. No longer to Fawkes, more to himself or perhaps to the room as a whole—the way of speaking of someone very used to thinking hard and choosing to do it with a voice. "Someone who comes not to learn how magic works—but someone who already very much understands it and comes to find something else."
He paused for a moment.
"The question is what."
Fawkes didn't answer—because Fawkes already very much knew that such questions do not always require an answer, but only need to be spoken so they can start finding their own way.
Dumbledore stood from his chair in the way of someone very used to carrying age in his bones but had not yet let it change the way he stood.
He walked to the window. Stared at the Ravenclaw tower that was already dark.
And in the corner of his eye that was very much no longer able to hide anything from anyone who paid enough attention—there was something very similar to a hope that had long been stored and just found a little reason to surface again.
The fourth day ended in a very usual way at Hogwarts.
The castle clock bell chimed midnight with a voice very familiar with the acoustics of its corridors. Most lights were out. Most students were sleeping. The castle stood silent under the Scottish sky already full of stars that didn't care about anything beneath them.
And inside a robe pocket hanging on a Ravenclaw dormitory chair—a letter from a father to his son remained there, not folded neatly, just stored.
A way that was very enough.
Morning
Morning at Hogwarts always started earlier than most students wanted.
The first light entered through the circular dormitory window in a way very much uncaring of anyone's preferences inside—slow, consistent, and very impossible to ignore after passing a certain point.
Terry was the first person to react to it. Not by waking up—but by pulling his blanket higher to cover his head, a way that very clearly said he was aware morning had arrived but had not fully accepted that reality.
Michael woke up in a very different way. He opened his eyes, sat up, and immediately took the notebook on his side table in one sequence of movements that required no transition. There was no warm-up period, no half-conscious moment. Just sleep, then not sleep.
Kenzo had been standing near the window since before the first light entered. Not because he didn't sleep—he slept, enough, in a way very much trained to be efficient. More because the morning was always the best time to let thoughts move without distraction before the day brought other things that needed processing.
Outside, a thin mist still drifted above the Hogwarts lake. The dark surface of the water reflected the morning sky which had not yet fully decided its color—between gray and pale blue, with one very thin orange line at the eastern edge.
Zetsu had been in the corner of the room since who knows when.
"Morning," Zetsu whispered.
"Morning," Kenzo answered just as quietly.
"Today's schedule is packed."
Kenzo already knew. Tuesday—morning flying class with Hufflepuff, study session after, midday Herbology, and night Astronomy. A schedule he already very much memorized since the first day.
"Your grandfather sent word this morning," Zetsu added while taking out a small envelope. "I took it so as not to wake Terry."
Kenzo took the envelope and opened it. The content was short—only three sentences. Typical Fujin Otsutsuki.
The Portland meeting went faster than expected. The relevant parties have agreed to move. Focus on Hogwarts—what is there is more important than what is outside for the time being.
What is there is more important than what is outside for the time being.
Fujin Otsutsuki never said something was more important than something else without a clear reason. And the clearest reason for that sentence was already very much not about the lesson schedule.
Kenzo folded the letter neatly and stored it.
Terry under his blanket made a sound similar to someone making peace with the reality that the day had started without asking his permission.
"How many minutes until breakfast?" Terry asked.
"Twenty," Michael answered.
"Enough to sleep again?"
"No."
Terry took a long breath and sat up.
Hogwarts Grounds — Morning
Flying class was held on the open grounds at the northern side of the castle.
The Scottish morning wind was already very different from the wind Terry imagined when he read about flying class in books—in books, there was no information that the wind was already very cold and already very uncaring of Ravenclaw robes not designed for open-field conditions.
Terry stood beside Kenzo in the way of someone already very much regretting his decision not to bring thick socks.
"Why isn't this class held indoors," Terry murmured.
"Because the broomsticks need space," Michael answered.
"There is such a thing as high ceilings."
"Terry."
"Yeah."
"Shut up."
Terry went silent. But his expression already very much didn't hide that he didn't accept that reason.
Across from them, the Hufflepuff students stood in their own rows—some looked enthusiastic, some looked nervous, and two of them were already very clearly different from the others.
Hannah Abbott stood in the way of someone already very much trying to look calm but her hands already very much couldn't stop tidying her robe. Susan Bones beside her was talking quietly to her in a way already very clearly calming her, although the way Susan calmed her already very much showed that Susan herself was not fully calm.
Kenzo already very much recognized them both from the train—two girls sitting in the same compartment during the journey to Hogwarts and who already very much left the impression that they were the type of people who already very much could be relied upon in situations already very much requiring calmness although not yet fully trained for it.
Hannah looked toward the Ravenclaw row. Her eyes met Kenzo's for half a second before she immediately looked away to the broom lying in front of her in the way of someone already very much not ready for an unplanned eye contact.
Susan, noticing the direction of Hannah's gaze, nudged her shoulder very gently.
Zetsu whispered from Kenzo's side. "Hannah Abbott. She recognized you from the train."
"I know."
"Susan Bones too."
"Yes."
Zetsu opened his notebook. "Both—"
"Zetsu."
"Yes?"
"Not now."
Zetsu closed his book in a way already very much showing that he was saving his observations for later.
Madam Hooch arrived from the castle door with a step already very much showing that she was already very much not teaching this class for the first time and already very much didn't need time to prepare herself. Her hair was short and silvery, her eyes a sharp yellow, her way of standing in front of the two rows of students was already very much like someone who already very much knew exactly what would happen in the next hour.
"Right," said Madam Hooch with a tone already very much not requiring a large volume to be heard clearly. "Welcome to your first flying class. Before we start—has anyone flown before?"
A few hands were raised from the Hufflepuff row. One from the Ravenclaw row—a boy who already very much looked proud of that fact.
Madam Hooch scanned the rows. Her eyes stopped for a moment on Kenzo in a way already very much similar to the way other professors stopped—something already very much a mix of name recognition and direct assessment.
Then she continued.
"Good. Those who haven't—no need to worry. A broomstick will not move until you command it correctly." She stepped to the side and pointed at the row of broomsticks lying neatly on the grass. "Now, stand beside your respective broomsticks. Hand on the right side, palm facing down, and say Up."
The students moved to their positions.
Terry stood beside his broomstick in the way of someone already very much preparing himself for the possibility of the broomstick not responding at all. Michael took his position very neatly. Kenzo stood beside his broomstick and stared at it for one second.
"Up," said Madam Hooch.
The broomsticks on the field reacted in a way already very much diverse. Some immediately jumped into their owners' hands. Some moved halfway then fell again. Some didn't move at all.
Terry's broomstick moved slowly upward then stopped at waist height—not reaching his hand. Michael said his command very precisely and his broomstick immediately jumped into his hand in a way already very much not dramatic but very efficient.
Kenzo didn't immediately say his command. He just placed his palm above the broomstick still lying on the grass.
The broomstick moved. Not jumping like the way other broomsticks responded to commands. More like sliding very slowly upward and placing itself exactly in Kenzo's palm in a way already very much different from the way any broomstick on that field reacted—more like something that already very much chose its own position rather than something commanded.
Madam Hooch, who was observing the field, turned toward Kenzo. She didn't say anything. But the way she observed the way the broomstick moved already very much showed that she already very much noticed it.
In the Hufflepuff row, Hannah, who had just succeeded in making her broomstick jump into her hand—in a way already very much requiring three attempts—looked toward the Ravenclaw row and saw Kenzo's broomstick move into his hand without a verbal command.
She stopped moving for half a second. Susan beside her also saw. The way Susan looked at it was already very much different from the way Hannah looked—more like someone who already very much noted something to think about later rather than someone who already very much reacted directly.
Madam Hooch continued the instructions. "Good. Now you will mount—only a few feet from the ground. Push off with your feet, lean slightly forward, and keep your balance."
Terry mounted his broomstick in the way of someone already very much unsure about this whole concept but already very much having no other choice. He pushed off with his feet and his broomstick rose—swaying slightly to the left, then he corrected it in a way already very much panicky but already very much succeeding. Two feet from the ground. No more.
"I'm flying," said Terry with a tone already very much between disbelief and very happy. "I'm actually flying."
"Two feet," said Michael who was already very stable at the exact same height.
"A very meaningful two feet," replied Terry.
Kenzo mounted in a way already very much different from how flying for the first time should look. There was no adjustment period, no correction movement required. His broomstick moved upward in a way already very much like a natural continuation of the way he stood—just as stable, just as controlled, only now no longer touching the ground.
Madam Hooch walked among the students who were already very much hovering low above the field.
In the Hufflepuff section, Hannah had already very much succeeded in mounting although still looking very uncomfortable—the way she sat on the broomstick already very much showed that she already very much didn't fully trust that the broomstick would remain under her if she didn't grip the handle very tightly.
"Abbott," said Madam Hooch as she passed. "Loosen your grip. If you're too tense, the broomstick feels it and becomes unstable."
Hannah swallowed and tried to loosen her grip. Her broomstick wobbled slightly.
"Take a breath," said Madam Hooch. "Let the broomstick do the work."
Hannah took a breath. Her broomstick stabilized itself.
Susan beside her had been already very much more stable than Hannah since the start—her way of sitting was already very much more relaxed although this was also her first time flying.
Madam Hooch continued to the next section. "Right. Now we will try to move forward. Lean your body forward very slightly—not too much, or you will go too fast and lose control."
Terry immediately leaned too far forward. His broomstick shot forward.
"Aaaah—" Terry took a sharp breath and immediately leaned back. His broomstick slowed drastically and almost stopped in the air. "Okay. Too much. Understood."
A few Hufflepuff students laughed quietly. Terry stared at them with an expression already very much not offended because he himself was already very much aware it was indeed funny.
"That is what is meant by too much," said Madam Hooch with a tone already very much not minding the incident. "Boot has been already very much useful as a demonstration."
"My pleasure," replied Terry.
Michael was already very much moving forward in a way already very much controlled—a lean that was already very much exact, a speed that was already very much consistent, a way already very much showing that he was already very much processing Madam Hooch's instruction very correctly before carrying it out.
Kenzo moved forward. Not in a way already very much dramatic or already very much fast—in fact very slowly, very controlled. But the way he moved already very much showed that speed and drama were already very much not something he sought here. What he did was already very much more like someone who was studying something from within—the way the broomstick responded to his body weight changes, the way the wind interacted with the surface of his robe at this height, the way the broomstick's magic system worked as one unit with its rider.
Madam Hooch observed Kenzo move from a distance of a few steps. She didn't comment on it. But the way she didn't comment was already very much like the way of someone who had already very much decided that some things were already very much better left to move in their own way.
In the middle of the session, Madam Hooch asked all students to return to a low position and stop for a moment. "Before we continue, I want to see the basic ability to control direction. One by one, you will move from this point to the white mark at the end of the field. A distance of forty meters. Straight."
The students waited for their turns one by one. Terry succeeded—with a slight deviation to the left that he already very much corrected halfway in a way already very much panicky but already very much still arriving at the correct mark. Michael succeeded in a way already very much neat.
Kenzo's turn. He moved from the starting point to the white mark at the end of the field. But not straight. Not because of losing control—but because in the middle of that forty-meter distance, without any instruction, he made one very thin curve to the right then returned to the straight path, adjusting position to avoid a small wind vortex that was already very much invisible but already very much felt for someone who was already very much noticing how the air moved.
He reached the white mark.
Madam Hooch stood at the end of the field.
"Otsutsuki," said Madam Hooch.
"Yes, Madam."
"You made a correction halfway."
"There was a small wind vortex at the three-quarter distance point," Kenzo replied. "Correction was more efficient than facing it directly."
Madam Hooch went silent for two seconds.
"Five points for Ravenclaw," she said finally with a tone already very much flat but already very much unable to hide something behind that flatness.
In the waiting row, Terry turned to Michael. "He just got points from flying class for avoiding the wind."
"Yes," replied Michael.
"Wind that no one saw except him."
"Yes."
Terry wiped his face with his hand. "Right."
In the Hufflepuff row, Hannah Abbott who was already very much finished with her turn—succeeding, although in a way already very much more cautious than necessary—stared at Kenzo who was returning to his position in the way of someone who was already very much noticing something but already very much unsure what she was noticing.
Susan beside her whispered very quietly. "He's the one from the train."
Hannah nodded very slightly. "Yeah."
"You know who he is now?"
"Everyone knows."
Susan went silent for a bit. "He doesn't look like what was imagined."
Hannah glanced at Susan. "What do you mean?"
Susan thought for a bit. "More... ordinary. But not ordinary either."
Hannah looked at Kenzo who was already very much back in the Ravenclaw row and was already very much talking very quietly to Terry and Michael in a way already very much not different from the way an ordinary student talks to their classmate.
"Yeah," Hannah said quietly. "Like that."
Flying session ended as the wind began to strengthen slightly from the west. Madam Hooch decided that conditions were already very much sufficient for the first day and ended the class in a way already very much not letting anyone go home without at least one thing needing further practice.
The students began to walk back to the castle in small groups. Kenzo walked toward the castle door. Behind him, Terry was already very much re-energized after flying class—a way already very much typical of Terry, a way already very much not hiding that he enjoyed something although he had already very much complained about it earlier.
"I wasn't as bad as I feared," said Terry.
"You deviated four meters to the left," said Michael.
"And I corrected. That's what matters."
"You almost hit the field boundary mark."
"Almost. Key word: almost."
Kenzo didn't join in that conversation. But in the corner of his lip, something very small moved upward for a few seconds.
From the direction of the Hufflepuff row walking not far from them, Hannah Abbott glanced once more toward Kenzo. This time Kenzo noticed it. He turned slightly. Hannah immediately looked away to the front in the way of someone already very much not ready for a second eye contact in one morning.
Susan nudged Hannah very gently from the side. Hannah didn't react. But her cheeks were already very much a bit redder than before.
Zetsu, walking at Kenzo's side, whispered in a tone already very much amused. "Hannah Abbott was twice not ready for eye contact."
"I know," Kenzo replied very quietly.
"And Susan Bones has been already very much noticing Hannah's reaction every time you are in her line of sight."
"Zetsu."
"Yes?"
"Close your notebook."
The sound of the notebook closing.
They entered the castle—with flying class behind them, a study session in the Room of Requirement ahead, and a day already very much only a third through but already very much feeling fuller than the morning had already very much not promised.
The Room of Requirement — After Flying Class
The Room of Requirement that morning decided to become the right study room—three large tables, sufficient light, comfortable temperature, no windows to the corridor.
Terry entered first and stared around. "This is amazing."
"Yeah," replied Michael with a tone trying not to sound impressed.
Kenzo placed his book on the center table and sat down. Zetsu chose a far corner but close enough to hear everything.
They began.
"Mandrake," said Kenzo. "Why is it dangerous?"
"Its scream can kill," Terry replied quickly.
"Specific."
Terry thought. "The sound wave attacks the nervous system. Above a certain threshold, it causes loss of consciousness. Above an even higher threshold—death."
"Good. Why must one use earmuffs and not a sound-blocking magic barrier?"
Terry opened his mouth. Closed it. Michael answered. "Because Mandrake's sound isn't just an acoustic wave. There is a magic component that can penetrate ordinary magic barriers but cannot penetrate physical material that is thick enough."
"That is what needs to be remembered for the exam. Not just facts—but the reason behind the facts."
Terry stared at Michael. Then Kenzo. "That isn't in the textbook."
"It is. Page two hundred and thirteen. Last paragraph."
Terry immediately flipped to that page. Read. "It actually is here."
"Reading books only from front to back without marking small things is the most efficient way to miss half of the important information."
Terry closed his book for a moment. "How do you read?"
"Twice. First fast for mapping. Second slow for detail."
"Before school started."
"Yes."
Terry sighed and opened his book again. "Right. Continue."
They continued for almost an hour—Herbology first, then switched to Charms because Terry asked. At the end of the session, Terry closed his book and leaned back.
"This is far more useful than an hour of History of Magic."
"Low standard," said Michael.
"But valid." Terry looked at Kenzo. "Again tomorrow?"
"Midday free hour."
Terry immediately nodded. Michael did too.
Corridor Toward the Greenhouse — A Few Minutes Later
They walked out of the Room of Requirement toward the Greenhouse for Herbology class. At the corridor intersection, they almost collided with two Gryffindor students from the opposite direction.
Harry and Ron. Also heading to Herbology.
"Oh," said Ron. "You guys have Herbology too?"
"Yeah," replied Terry. "We're in the same class, it seems."
Harry turned to Kenzo. "Hi, Kenzo."
"Er, hi Harry," replied Kenzo.
They walked together. Ron and Terry immediately found the topic of Quidditch within thirty seconds. Michael walked calmly. Harry walked beside Kenzo. A silence of a few seconds. Not uncomfortable.
Harry started.
"About Quirrell," Harry said quietly.
"Yes."
"I've been observing him since the first night. There is something that feels wrong about the way he moves." He paused for a bit. "And there is something on his neck. Behind that turban. The way he touches it—not natural."
Kenzo processed that information. Zetsu had mentioned that turban. The fact that Harry noticed the same thing from a different angle confirmed that this was not an exaggerated observation.
"Have you talked about this with anyone?"
"Ron knows I'm observing him. But we don't know what to look for yet."
"Don't talk about this yet with anyone except those you trust most."
"Including professors?"
"Including most professors."
Harry frowned. "Why?"
"Because someone frightened the way Quirrell is frightened usually has a specific reason to be afraid," Kenzo said. "And that specific reason is very likely connected to something bigger than Quirrell himself."
Harry went silent for a few steps.
"Voldemort," Harry said flatly.
Kenzo didn't confirm and didn't deny. Which was enough as an answer.
Harry nodded very slowly.
Greenhouse One — Herbology Class
Professor Sprout was already standing in front of the work table when they entered—her hair and robe full of soil, a kind expression that didn't change.
The air inside the greenhouse was more humid, warmer, full of the scent of wet earth. The plants on the shelves made very soft sounds—more like something felt at the edge of consciousness than heard.
Terry whispered quietly. "Why does it feel like these plants are watching us?"
"Because some of them actually are," Kenzo replied.
Terry stared at him. "That doesn't make me feel better."
Professor Sprout tapped her work table. "Magical plants respond to intent. Hasty hands are different from calm hands. That isn't a metaphor—it's very real magic."
She moved a pot to the demonstration table. A young Fanged Geranium. Its leaves suddenly positioned themselves toward Ron who moved too close. Ron moved back one step.
"Yes," said Professor Sprout. "Like that."
The task for the day—planting Dittany seeds with the correct depth and position.
Kenzo took his seed and held it in his palm for a few seconds. The seed moved very slowly—not falling, not rolling. Responding to the chakra flowing very slowly from his palm.
He placed the seed at the exact point and pressed it to the correct depth with one finger movement. The soil around it closed tightly in a way different from the way soil responds to ordinary finger pressure.
Professor Sprout stopped at their table. From the soil surface that had just been tightly closed, there was already a very small sprout appearing.
The class became silent.
"That's supposed to grow in how many days minimum?" Terry asked.
"Three to four days minimum," Professor Sprout replied quietly. She looked at Kenzo. "You felt something from that seed before planting it."
"Yes."
"What?"
"Its energy. The potential already within it. I only helped it find the most efficient path to get there."
Professor Sprout was silent for a few seconds. Then smiled in the way of someone who had just found something that made her work feel different.
"Ten points for Ravenclaw. And after class—if you don't mind—I'd like to speak for a moment."
After Herbology Class — Door of Greenhouse One
"The Otsutsuki family," said Professor Sprout quietly as other students went out. "I haven't heard that name in a direct context for a very long time."
"Professor has met a member of our family before?"
"Not directly. But I once read about the way they work with plants." She rubbed her hands. "The way the Otsutsuki family interacts with something living is very different from the way wizards usually do."
Kenzo waited.
"Magical plants aren't just objects that can be manipulated with the right technique," Professor Sprout continued. "They respond to something far more fundamental." She looked at Kenzo. "And you already very much know that."
"Yes."
"I won't ask more than necessary. But if you find something interesting in this Greenhouse—or something that needs attention—my door is open."
Kenzo nodded. "Thank you, Professor."
Outside, Terry immediately asked. "What did she say?"
"Things about plants."
"Specific."
"No need to be specific for you, Terry."
Terry snorted. Michael smiled very slightly.
They walked toward the Great Hall for lunch—with flying class and Herbology behind them, Astronomy tonight ahead.
Astronomy Tower — Night
Astronomy class was always held at midnight. Terry had been already very much sleepy since ten o'clock.
"Why must this class be at midnight," Terry murmured.
"Because the stars are out at night," Michael answered.
"The stars are also in a planetarium. In the daytime. With comfortable chairs."
"This is Hogwarts, not a planetarium."
"Unfortunately."
Kenzo walked behind them. Midnight was already very much usual for him—already very much no different from morning or afternoon in terms of his mind's ability to work.
At the top of the tower, the night air immediately greeted them. The real sky—not an illusion like the Great Hall. And real was already very much different from illusion in a way that couldn't always be explained but could be felt by anyone noticing enough.
First-year Astronomy class was combined for all houses. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had arrived. Daphne Greengrass with a few Slytherins—very neat, very controlled. Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones from Hufflepuff arrived together, talking quietly to one another.
Hannah looked toward Kenzo as she arrived at the top of the tower. The way of looking was already very much different from the way she looked in the field this morning—slower, more like someone who had already very much considered something before doing it and had already very much decided to still do it.
Kenzo didn't look back directly. But he was already very much aware of it.
Professor Sinistra stood in the middle of the tower with a large star map. Kenzo stood on the side facing north. Constellations he had already very much memorized long before this class were displayed above his head.
On the western side of the tower, Daphne Greengrass prepared her telescope. Her eyes occasionally moved toward the sky in a way different from how other students did—not looking for the requested constellation, more like someone who already very much knew what was there and was considering something else. And occasionally—very briefly, very controlled—her eyes moved toward Kenzo.
Professor Sinistra asked about the Orion constellation. Hermione answered very correctly and very completely. Then Professor Sinistra turned to Kenzo.
"Otsutsuki. You have been staring at the northern sky since you arrived. What do you see there that isn't on the standard constellation map?"
The class became quieter.
"There is a very small shift in Polaris's position from the standard table prediction," said Kenzo. "About zero point three arcseconds. Too small to be seen with a standard telescope and too consistent to be atmospheric interference."
Professor Sinistra didn't move for two full seconds.
"How much?"
"Zero point three arcseconds. It has been going on for at least three consecutive nights."
Terry, who was almost asleep, stood straighter. Michael stopped writing. Hermione put her pen down.
Professor Sinistra took her telescope and directed it to the position Kenzo mentioned. A long silence.
"You're right," said Professor Sinistra quietly. "Zero point two eight arcseconds. I've been noticing this for a week but hadn't been able to confirm if it was data or instrument interference."
"Data," said Kenzo.
"Do you know what it means?"
"Not enough data for a definite conclusion yet. But a consistent pattern over three nights shows that this isn't a random anomaly."
"Fifteen points for Ravenclaw."
On the western side, Daphne was no longer looking at her telescope. Her eyes stared at the northern sky—the way of someone who just realized that there was something there that had long been there but only just got a name.
On Hannah's side, she noticed Kenzo from a distance already very much not close and already very much not far—a distance already very much like someone who had already very much decided that she wanted to notice but already very much didn't want to be caught doing it.
Susan nudged her shoulder very gently. Hannah moved her gaze back to her telescope.
Class ended nearly at one in the morning.
The students descended the stairs in different ways. Terry in the way of someone surviving something he didn't anticipate. Michael in the way of someone having a new thing to think about. Harry in the way of someone adding one more thing to the list of things he needed to understand about Kenzo.
Hannah descended the stairs a few steps behind the Ravenclaw row. Susan beside her.
Below the tower, as the students began to disperse toward their respective dormitories, Hannah stopped for a moment. Susan waited for her. "What is it?"
Hannah stared at Kenzo's back already walking toward the Ravenclaw tower. "Nothing," she said quietly.
Susan stared at her for two seconds.
"Okay," said Susan finally—with a tone already very much clearly saying she didn't fully believe that answer but had already very much decided not to pursue it further tonight.
They walked toward the Hufflepuff tower.
In the opposite direction, Kenzo walked to the Ravenclaw tower with Terry at his side.
"Kenzo," said Terry.
"Yeah."
"Zero point three arcseconds."
"Yeah."
"You saw that with the naked eye?"
Kenzo didn't answer directly. "Get enough sleep, Terry," Kenzo said finally.
Terry looked up at the sky from the corridor window gap. "Today," Terry murmured very quietly, "has been already very much not like I imagined."
Michael didn't say anything. But the way he walked said that he agreed.
Ravenclaw Dormitory — Late Night
They returned to the dormitory nearly at half-past one in the morning.
Terry immediately threw himself onto the bed in the way of someone who had already very much passed his energy limit since a few hours ago but only just received permission from the situation to give up completely. Shoes still on his feet. Robe still attached.
Michael sat on the edge of his bed for a few seconds. Then took off his robe neatly, placed it on the chair, and lay down.
Kenzo sat on the window ledge. Not immediately sleeping.
The sky outside was still the same as the sky he had just observed from the top of the tower—same stars, same darkness. But from this height, it felt different. At the top of the tower, there were over twenty students and the sound of wind not hiding itself. Here there were only himself and the sound of the breathing of two people already asleep.
Zetsu appeared from the shadow in the corner of the room.
"A long day," Zetsu whispered.
"Yes."
"Flying class. Study session. Herbology. Conversation with Harry. Midnight Astronomy." Zetsu opened his notebook with a slow movement. "And that Polaris shift."
"Yes."
Zetsu didn't immediately continue. He sat on the floor beside the window—book in hand, back leaning against the wall.
"You've been noticing it since the second day," Zetsu finally said.
"Since the first night."
"But you didn't say anything until tonight."
"There wasn't the right context before."
Zetsu nodded very slowly. "The shift isn't natural."
"No."
"Something caused it."
"Or someone."
A silence of a few seconds. Outside the window, the wind moved very slowly across the dark surface of the lake.
"Quirrell," Zetsu whispered.
"Maybe." Kenzo stared at the stars. "Or something that has been already very much longer than Quirrell."
Zetsu wrote something in his notebook with a slow and careful movement.
"This castle keeps something beneath it," Zetsu said. Not a speculation. More like a confirmation of something he had collected from many observations he hadn't spoken until tonight.
"I know," said Kenzo.
"The third floor. The locked corridor. I could no longer go deeper than the outer door because there is something behind it that is active and unfriendly toward uninvited presences."
"When?"
"Day three. I tried tracing the castle's underground system from the shadow path." Zetsu tilted his head. "There is something big there. Not just a locked door."
Kenzo finally turned from the window and stared at Zetsu. "You didn't report this yesterday."
"Because yesterday there wasn't the right context," Zetsu answered—using the exact same words as Kenzo earlier.
Kenzo stared at him for two seconds. Then in the corner of his lip, something moved very slightly.
"Don't go in any deeper," Kenzo said.
"I know the limit, Father."
"I know you know. I'm still saying it."
Zetsu closed his notebook. "Right."
In his bed, Terry moved slightly in his sleep but didn't wake up.
"One more thing," Zetsu whispered.
"Yes."
"The letter from your grandfather this morning." Zetsu quoted the sentence. "What is there is more important than what is outside for the time being." He spoke very quietly. "Grandfather never writes like that without a very specific reason."
"No."
"Meaning he already knew something about Hogwarts before you arrived."
"Most likely."
"And he decided to let you find it yourself."
Kenzo didn't answer. Because an answer to that was not needed. Fujin Otsutsuki never gave complete instructions for situations that needed to be found out for oneself. An uncomfortable but very consistent way of teaching—and a way already proven to achieve something that couldn't be reached with full instructions.
Zetsu stood up from his position. "Get enough sleep, Father," Zetsu said—using the exact same sentence Kenzo said to Terry earlier.
Kenzo nodded very slowly. Zetsu vanished into the shadow.
Kenzo still sat on the window ledge for a few more minutes. The Polaris star was still there in its usual position in the northern sky—but no longer exactly as all the tables and star maps that hadn't been updated for a long time said it was supposed to be.
Zero point two eight arcseconds. Very small. But consistent. And consistency in something very small is often a sign of something much bigger behind it.
Kenzo finally stood and walked to his bed. He lay down. The dormitory ceiling stared back in a way that didn't care about anything he was thinking. A few minutes passed. And for the first time tonight, his thoughts stopped spinning—not because all his questions were answered, but because he had decided that the unanswered questions didn't need to be solved tonight.
One thing at a time. He closed his eyes.
The Great Hall — Breakfast Day Six
The sixth morning at Hogwarts started in a way that didn't look different on the surface.
However, Terry Boot, who usually needed at least two pieces of toast before being able to speak coherently, was already talking as soon as he sat down.
"Polaris," Terry said.
Michael raised his eyes from his teacup. Kenzo poured his own tea very calmly.
"I've been thinking about it since last night," Terry continued. "Zero point three arcseconds." He lowered his voice although the Great Hall was already very crowded. "That isn't something we learn in first-year class. Even our professor only found out after you mentioned it."
"Yes," Kenzo answered.
"And you saw it with the naked eye."
Kenzo took his tea. "We've discussed this."
"I'm still processing." Terry reached for his toast. "Michael, have you thought of anything about this?"
Michael sipped his tea. "I have."
"And?"
"There are two most plausible possibilities." Michael placed his cup down neatly. "One—the shift is caused by something outside the castle. An unrecorded astronomical phenomenon." He paused for a bit. "Two—the shift is caused by something inside the castle strong enough to affect the way starlight is reflected through the castle's magic protection."
A short silence.
"Which possibility is more likely?" Terry asked.
Michael turned to Kenzo.
"Two," Kenzo said.
Terry stared at the table for a few seconds. "Right. That is more worrying than I imagined."
"Or more interesting," said Michael.
"The two are not mutually exclusive."
Across the room at the Gryffindor table, Hermione had already arrived earlier than most students and had opened something—not a textbook, by the way she held it—in the way of someone who was continuing something from the night before. Harry arrived a few minutes later. Their conversation started quickly. Ron arrived last in the way of someone not ready for a serious conversation this early.
At the Hufflepuff table, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones sat side by side as usual. But this morning Hannah ate in a way slightly quieter than usual—a way Susan already very much noticed by the way she occasionally glanced at her friend. And the way Hannah occasionally glanced at the Ravenclaw table. Susan didn't say anything. But the way Susan drank her tea already very much showed that she had already very much noted all that.
At the Slytherin table, Daphne Greengrass opened a book different from yesterday—older, the cover darker. From this distance, Kenzo couldn't read the title.
Zetsu whispered from his side. "The book Greengrass is reading."
"Yes."
"Magical Star Cartography. An old edition. Not on the required book list." Zetsu tilted his head. "She brought it from home."
Kenzo didn't say anything. But he noted that.
Second Floor Corridor — After Breakfast
In the second-floor corridor, Harry stood somewhat apart from the flow of students—in the way of someone who had deliberately stopped and was waiting for someone specific. Ron beside him was talking about something related to breakfast, not noticing where Harry was staring.
Harry stared toward Kenzo.
Terry and Michael continued walking a few steps forward in a way that already very much understood that this was a conversation not requiring additional spectators. Terry immediately found a topic with Ron. Michael opened his notebook.
Harry and Kenzo walked side by side behind them.
"The third floor," Harry said quietly.
Kenzo turned his head very slightly.
"I went there last night," Harry continued. "Before Astronomy class. I know Dumbledore forbade everyone to enter. But I was curious."
"And?"
"There is a door at the end of the corridor. I didn't enter. But I heard something from behind it." Harry searched for a word. "Breathing sound. But very big. And there was a smell not usual from under the door."
Kenzo processed that information. Zetsu had mentioned the third floor. Had mentioned something big. Harry added confirmation from a different angle.
"You went alone?"
"Ron was with me. But he said it wasn't a good idea and we went back before getting too close."
"Ron was right."
Harry glanced toward him. "You know what's there?"
"Not enough for a definite conclusion yet. But enough to know that approaching it alone isn't something that needs to be done now."
Harry was silent for a few steps. "You aren't curious?" Harry asked.
"Very curious," Kenzo answered. "But curiosity and impulsive action are two very different things."
Harry smiled very thinly—not a happy smile, more like the smile of someone who understood the point but wasn't fully satisfied with the answer.
"Kenzo," Harry said finally.
"Yes."
"I don't know why, but I feel you already know more than you say about all of this." He wasn't accusing—just stating something clear from his perspective. "Quirrell. The third floor. Even the star shift last night."
Kenzo didn't answer for a few steps. "If I know more than I say, there is a reason," Kenzo said finally.
Harry looked at him.
"And that reason isn't because I don't trust you," Kenzo continued. "But because incomplete information is more dangerous than no information. And I don't have all the pieces yet."
Harry was silent for a few seconds. Then nodded very slowly—a way that didn't say I'm satisfied with that answer, more like I understand the logic even if I don't fully like it.
They reached the corridor intersection where Gryffindor and Ravenclaw took different directions.
"Later this afternoon," Harry said.
"Maybe," Kenzo answered.
Harry walked away together with Ron. Kenzo continued with Terry and Michael.
Zetsu whispered. "He's starting to believe that you know more."
"Yes."
"Is that a problem?"
"Not yet."
"And when it is?"
"We'll think about it when it is."
Zetsu closed his notebook. "That is the way your grandfather answers questions."
Kenzo didn't answer. But didn't deny it either.
The Library — Midday
Midday free hour. Kenzo sat at his table—not too close to the door, not too far from the reference shelves. Terry on the left had opened a Potions book in a way more serious than usual. Michael on the right was writing a summary.
Kenzo opened a reference book about the movement of celestial bodies in the context of magic protection—a book not on the usual reference shelves and needed to be specifically requested from Madam Pince. Madam Pince had given it without additional questions. An unusual way from the librarian famous for being strict.
Kenzo read. The information in this book confirmed several things he already suspected and opened several new questions. The usual way of reading a good source—the answers that come always bring questions better than the ones before.
Footsteps he already recognized approached their table. Hermione Granger. She arrived with a book in her hand—different from yesterday—and sat in the chair across the table in the way of someone who had decided something before coming here.
Terry raised his eyes. Michael too.
"Hermione," Kenzo said without looking up from his book.
"I've found something," Hermione said directly.
Kenzo raised his eyes. Hermione placed her book on the table—open to the marked page. An old book with a dark green cover and faded handwritten notes in the margins.
Early Notes on the Families that Founded the Modern Magic System.
Kenzo looked at the open page. His ancestor's name was there. Hagoromo Otsutsuki. Mentioned not as a legend already very far away, but as someone real with direct influence on the way the British magic system was formed.
"Where did you find this?" Kenzo asked.
"Special reference shelves. Hidden among family genealogy books. The title doesn't attract attention." She stared at Kenzo. "But as soon as you read the first page, you can't stop."
Terry, who had closed his Potions book, stared at the book on the table with curiosity. Michael read the title from the distance of his desk in a way that wasn't conspicuous.
Kenzo read a few paragraphs on the open page. Then he flipped a few pages back and read again. Hermione waited in the way of someone holding herself back from immediately speaking—visible from her fingers that were still on the table whereas they usually couldn't stay still when there was something she wanted to say.
Kenzo closed the book. Stared at Hermione. "What do you conclude from this?"
Hermione was ready for that question. "The Otsutsuki family isn't just one of the famous ancient magic families. They are one of the reasons why the existing magic system is shaped as it is now." She spoke directly, not dramatically. "Not just in Britain. In many places."
"Yes," Kenzo answered.
"And information about that has been deliberately removed from most sources available to the public."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Kenzo thought for a few seconds about how to answer honestly but no more than needed to be said. "Because there is a very big difference between having influence and being known to have influence," Kenzo finally said.
Hermione stared at him for a few seconds. "That," Hermione said quietly, "is a much more honest answer than I expected."
"You asked in a way that deserves an honest answer."
Terry at Kenzo's side made a very small sound—a kind of surprise that he didn't plan but just came out. Michael didn't make any sound. But the way he held his pen stopped moving.
Hermione took a very shallow breath. "May I ask one more thing?"
"Depends on the question."
"Fair." She looked at the book for a bit then back to Kenzo. "You're here because you were invited by Dumbledore. But not just for school, right?"
Their table became very silent. Kenzo stared at Hermione for a few seconds.
A good question. A question showing that Hermione Granger in six days had succeeded in collecting pieces enough to form the right question—though not enough for a complete answer.
"Not just for school," Kenzo answered. "But for now, school is the relevant part."
Hermione accepted that answer in the way of someone who knew this wasn't a full answer but enough to continue to the next question another time.
"Right," said Hermione. She took her book back. "Thank you." She stood up and walked back to her table—with the step of someone who had many things to think about and couldn't wait to start thinking about them.
Terry waited until Hermione was far enough.
"Kenzo," said Terry.
"Yeah."
"Not just for school."
"Yeah."
"Meaning something bigger than Herbology class and midnight Astronomy is happening here."
"Yeah."
Terry stared at his table for a few seconds. "Okay," Terry finally said. "I won't pretend that isn't a bit scary. But I won't pretend it isn't interesting either."
Michael didn't say anything. But the way he went back to writing in his notebook showed that he had processed everything that had just happened and decided to continue—not dramatic, just continuing.
Kenzo opened his book again.
In the corner of the room, Zetsu noted one sentence. Hermione Granger asked the right question on day six. Then added a line below it. Faster than the initial prediction.