After a short lunch in the Great Hall, Adrian Blackwood made his way up to the fourth floor. The Charms classroom was located along the left-hand corridor, nestled between old portraits and moving suits of armor that muttered at passing students. As he approached, he nearly collided with Argus Filch, the school's notoriously grumpy caretaker, who was dragging a mop behind him while Mrs. Norris, his dust-colored cat, stared menacingly from his shoulder.
Adrian froze. He remembered Dumbledore's warning during the Start-of-Term Feast:
"I must warn you all that anyone who does not wish to suffer a most painful death should avoid the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor."
That ominous passage was supposedly off-limits, and even a brush with Filch so close to it was enough to make the more cautious first-years scurry in the opposite direction.
So, like a well-programmed system following a quest line, Adrian and his classmates turned left—obediently—and waited outside the Charms classroom for their professor to arrive.
Soon, Professor Filius Flitwick, Ravenclaw Head of House and one of the foremost spell theorists in the wizarding world, waddled into the room with an energetic pace. Though barely taller than the desk, he radiated an enthusiasm that filled the entire classroom. He climbed atop his customary pile of books, balancing deftly so he could see over the podium.
"Welcome, welcome!" he squeaked, opening a scroll and calling roll.
When he reached Harry Potter's name, Flitwick gave a high-pitched squeal and nearly toppled off his stack in excitement. Most students giggled, but Adrian Blackwood remained serious, analytical. He understood it wasn't mere celebrity awe. It wasn't because Harry was "The Boy Who Lived." Flitwick, a spell scholar, had likely studied for years the theory behind Unforgivable Curses, particularly Avada Kedavra, the killing curse that had rebounded off an infant Harry. The boy's survival was a phenomenon without precedent—a magical anomaly, perhaps even a disruption of foundational spell mechanics.
Such an event would fascinate any spell theorist, and for Flitwick, it had probably rewritten entire sections of his own research.
Though Adrian already owned the Encyclopedia of Curses and Counter-Curses, he paid close attention to Flitwick's lecture. The professor's explanation of pronunciation, wand movement, and spell intent helped bridge the gap between rote memorization and true understanding. For Adrian, this wasn't just about casting spells correctly—it was about deconstructing the magical theory behind them, identifying patterns in incantation structures, and unlocking the reasoning of the wizards who created them.
If casting a spell was like constructing a house, Adrian didn't just want to be the builder—he wanted to be the architect.
Charms, unsurprisingly, was where Adrian shined brightest. He replicated Wingardium Leviosa with perfect wrist movement and stable wand control on his first try.
"Marvelous!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed, staring at him as if he had grown an extra wand arm. "Blackwood, such precision! Five points to Ravenclaw!"
He wasn't just impressed—he was hopeful. Adrian's meticulousness and intellect were beginning to restore Ravenclaw's academic prestige after years of being quietly overshadowed by Gryffindor's dramatic heroics.
Later that afternoon, in Herbology with Professor Sprout, Adrian demonstrated an uncanny familiarity with magical flora. Thanks to his photographic memory—and having already read One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi front to back—he answered every question Sprout lobbed at the class.
"Excellent work, Mr. Blackwood—five points to Ravenclaw!"
Whispers started circulating among the Ravenclaws: "Point Engine," "Mr. Points," even "Blue Prefect," though it was half in jest. Still, Adrian's reputation was cementing quickly—not just for being brilliant, but for being consistently prepared and quietly dominant.
His performance wasn't limited to theory. In Flying Class, held out on the Hogwarts lawn with students from Hufflepuff, Adrian displayed an impressive natural talent. Though he didn't particularly enjoy broom travel—he found it crude compared to his previous life's experiences in engineered flight—the Cushioning Charm developed by Elliot Smethwyk in 1820 at least made broomsticks tolerable. He performed controlled takeoffs, mid-air sprints, and stationary hovering with ease, quickly becoming the top first-year flyer in both houses. His older brother and sister had both played Quidditch during their time at Hogwarts—perhaps it was genetic.
Still, to Adrian, flight was more function than thrill.
Even in the much-dreaded Potions class, where Professor Snape ruled the dungeon with acidic disdain and favoritism toward Slytherins, Adrian kept his composure. He was careful not to show off, but he also didn't grovel or shrink like many others did.
Snape, who had clearly noticed Adrian's camaraderie with Harry Potter, watched him with a hawk-like gaze—yet found little fault. Every measurement was precise. Every stirring technique textbook-perfect. It was… infuriatingly competent.
And that alone was enough to lessen the infamous Potions Master's hostility—if only slightly.
When brewing the Hemostatic Ointment in Potions class, Adrian Blackwood's exacting technique—refined through his rigorous McLean-style physical training—gave him an unusual edge. His precise hand control and deliberate wand movements made chopping and stirring appear effortless. Though Adrian followed the textbook method strictly, he noticed something important: Professor Snape, despite his scathing demeanor, occasionally offered subtle refinements not found in Magical Drafts and Potions.
It was these quiet details—techniques whispered in critiques—that made Adrian realize how far he still had to go.
"Blackwood," Snape drawled coldly, glaring down his hooked nose, "your ointment took so long to finish, I daresay the patient might have healed on their own before application. A touch of Mentha piperita—peppermint—would reduce sting and add a scent your kind seem to prefer. You lot always want comfort first."
He leaned closer, tone dripping with disdain. "And pressing the Dittany with the flat of your silver knife—not the blade—helps extract the juice without contamination. Or did you miss that?"
Adrian, who had finished his ointment ahead of most of the class, nodded respectfully. Snape's criticisms stung, but they were steeped in logic—advanced brewing wisdom, veiled in sarcasm.
Nearby, Edward Macmillan bristled. "Why doesn't he ever consider who's going to use this ointment? It's not like we're brewing it for the Queen."
"Shh. It's Professor Snape," Adrian reminded him as he helped Edward slice Mallowsweet leaves with methodical precision.
"But you did everything perfectly, and he still sneered at you!" Edward hissed.
Adrian kept his voice low and focused. "He's giving us what's not in the books. Watch—if we add peppermint like he said, and adjust the pressure…" He pressed the crushed herbs into the cauldron. Instantly, the potion turned a rich blue-green with a shimmer of silvery sheen—a marked improvement.
"See? That's the point. If we're going to learn from a Potions Master, we need to absorb more than just his words."
Edward stared at him in disbelief. "You're honestly saying that greasy bat deserves respect?"
Adrian offered a faint smile, stirring clockwise. "Snape hides his brilliance behind insults. But in spite of himself, he still teaches us secrets. I don't have to like him—but I'd be a fool not to learn from him."
As if in agreement, the System Notification appeared in Adrian's vision:
✅ New Quest Unlocked: The Scholar's Cauldron
Objective: Read every potions book in the Hogwarts library outside the Restricted Section within 3 months.
Reward: Potion Master's Memory Crystal (1)
Time Remaining: 89 days
Adrian's fingers tightened slightly on his wand. Three months. At first glance, it seemed ample. But with classes, meals, assignments, and system quests piling up, he knew time would slip through his fingers fast. Still—if he could gain access to the distilled experience of a master brewer, it would open the gates to true alchemy. And thankfully, the system only required reading, not full comprehension—yet.
"Adrian? Hello?" Edward waved a hand in front of his face. "Class is over. You've been standing there like a statue. Also, dinner's soon, and I'm definitely claiming the seat next to the treacle tart. I only got three slices yesterday!"
Chuckling, Adrian snapped out of his thoughts. Edward's passion for dessert reminded him oddly of Luna Lovegood's future quirks—eccentric yet oddly earnest. He quickened his pace, not just to beat Edward to the pudding table, but to reach the library before the crowd.
He ate fast, barely tasting the shepherd's pie. His thoughts were elsewhere. The moment dinner ended, Adrian rose and made a beeline toward the library, passing students still chewing.
He arrived even before Hermione Granger, the famously studious Gryffindor whose academic reputation was already blooming. That alone was a small but satisfying victory.
Inside, Madam Irma Pince, the notoriously strict librarian, eyed Adrian with suspicion—at first. But seeing the stack of textbooks he carried, and the respectful way he handled the tomes, her severe expression softened.
Adrian had already earned a modest reputation among the staff: brilliant, quiet, hardworking, and unusually mature for a first-year. Most importantly, he respected the books. And in Madam Pince's eyes, that elevated him above ninety percent of the student body.
He first completed his regular homework with mechanical speed. Then he gathered a towering stack of potion texts, including Moste Potente Potions, Magical Drafts and Potions, Advanced Herbology for the Discerning Brewer, and Curative Concoctions Through the Ages. Thanks to his eidetic memory, he flew through pages like a machine, eyes scanning and imprinting paragraph after paragraph.
Understanding could come later—completion was the goal.
Within half an hour, the library began to fill with students preparing for the first round of assignments. The good single seats, nestled in corners near candlelit windows, were soon claimed by students noisier and less focused. But Adrian's head start had secured him the best spot—quiet, well-lit, and untouched.
The road to mastery had begun. And Adrian Blackwood had no intention of wasting a single step.