An hour later—"As good as new."
Professor Flitwick's wand danced across Charlie's forehead. The bloody gash sealed shut in seconds. One blink later, there wasn't even a scar.
They had already run this exact scene dozens of times.
Charlie glanced down at the blood-stained trophy, then straightened up again. "All right, Professor. One more time."
"Another round?" Flitwick frowned, staring at the boy. He hadn't expected this kind of stubbornness.
When Charlie said he wasn't afraid of pain, he meant it.
Fifty minutes earlier, the first time the heavy trophy had smashed into his forehead and split the skin wide open, Flitwick had assumed the boy would flinch. Instead Charlie just kept repeating, "Again! Again!"
He even demanded that Flitwick make the attacks trickier, more unpredictable. By now he was insisting the professor cast silently and wandlessly.
Charlie knew Flitwick was still giving him reaction time—every flick of the wrist, every murmured incantation was a deliberate courtesy. That wasn't enough.
"One more time, Professor," Charlie said, voice steady.
The instant the words left his mouth, Flitwick's left hand morphed into a snarling wolf's head and lunged straight for Charlie's face.
No warning.
"Impedimenta!"
Charlie's wand snapped up. The spell left his lips clean and fast.
Flitwick's wolf-hand slowed as if it had slammed into thick mud. But two seconds later the barrier shattered. The jaws broke through and stopped an inch from Charlie's eyes.
Charlie blinked, then let out a long breath. "Still not good enough."
"Absolutely remarkable," Flitwick said at the same time.
Two very different answers hung in the air.
Flitwick turned to the boy, brow furrowed. "Charlie, you cannot push yourself like this. A momentary obstacle is already a successful cast. You just held a sustained barrier for two full seconds. I can say without exaggeration that eighty percent of sixth- and seventh-years couldn't manage that. You've done brilliantly. You must stop being so merciless with yourself."
Charlie rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Professor, the Impediment Jinx isn't something you practice on a stationary dummy. I have to make it perfect, because the day something dangerous actually comes at me, this spell is what's going to keep me alive."
Flitwick turned away, shoulders slumping a little. "You've already done more than enough, Charlie."
He exhaled, voice firm. "You are to rest for the remainder of the holidays. You are not to come back here until term starts. That is an order from your Head of House."
Charlie's face fell, but he knew he couldn't keep taking up the professor's time. Flitwick had his own work.
Still, the thought of losing these private lessons stung.
Then something clicked.
He looked up, eyes bright, and stared at Flitwick's back.
"Professor," he said quickly, "I'll come visit you again after the holidays, all right?"
"Mm. Off you go."
Flitwick waved him away.
Charlie stepped into the corridor, then punched the air once he was out of sight.
"Yes!"
Private lessons? Or had he just gained a personal mentor?
This was the top dueling champion Britain had ever produced. Flitwick could cast silently and wandlessly, switching spells like breathing. In Charlie's limited experience, the man was the strongest wizard he'd ever seen. McGonagall and Snape never showed their full power in front of first-years, but Flitwick had.
Charlie felt like the monkey who'd just been tapped on the head three times by his master. The only difference was he wasn't about to sneak into the professor's bedroom at night.
Still grinning, he headed straight for the Room of Requirement—Moonlight Club.
He sat at his desk, took a moment to calm down, then opened the system panel.
[Specializable Target: Impediment Jinx]
Let's go.
Wish Dust poured out in a torrent. In the blink of an eye it was almost gone, leaving him with a lonely 0.1.
?!
He yanked open the income log.
[From Kaelin Field: Wish Dust +0.3]
He'd had 19.8 at lunch. Add the 0.3 and that was 20.1. So yesterday afternoon, when the Impediment Jinx hadn't even shown up as a specializable target, it wasn't because he hadn't learned it properly.
It was because he hadn't had enough dust.
Staring at the pathetic 0.1 left in his balance, Charlie felt his heart twist.
Fine. Fine. Let's see if you're worth twenty points.
He opened his traits.
[Impediment Jinx: You may now cast the Impediment Jinx silently and wandlessly. Choose one of the following specialized casting forms.]
[Zeno's Tortoise] [Area Slow]
Two forms for one spell.
Charlie clicked on the first one and read. His eyes widened.
Exactly what he'd hoped for.
The spell now sliced the space between him and the target into infinite divisions. The moment the target covered half the distance, it had to cover half of what remained—and half of that, and half of that, forever.
One foot of staff, halved each day, never exhausted.
The same principle applied here.
Of course it wasn't invincible. As Flitwick had said, a fleeting obstacle counted as basic success. A sustained barrier showed mastery. Zeno's Tortoise simply took that idea and pushed it to the absolute limit.
The cost? Charlie's own magic.
He stood, grabbed a textbook off the desk, and tossed it straight at his own head.
The book sailed up, hung for a split second at its peak, then plummeted toward his skull.
Charlie watched it fall, face calm, and triggered the spell.
At first the book dropped normally. The instant it crossed the midpoint between them, its speed bled away.
It slowed again.
And again.
By the time it was a hand's width from his face, its descent was almost imperceptible.
A heartbeat later it hung motionless in mid-air.
Charlie stared, waiting.
Yes, it was still falling.
But it would never reach him—unless—
A spike of pain exploded behind his left temple.
The book dropped the last inch and cracked him square on the forehead.
Charlie winced, then grinned through the sting.
Worth every single point.