Snape's words brought Loren a measure of relief. The matter he had been worrying about since before arriving at school was finally moving forward.
Yet, relief did not bring happiness. The memory of earlier lingered—the helplessness, the cold, slippery touch, and the anger that came with feeling deceived—all etched deeply into his heart.
Though Snape fulfilled his duty as a professor and did not refuse, Loren's spirits remained unsettled.
Back in the common room, Loren washed thoroughly three times, scrubbing away every trace of the cold, slippery sensation before finally lying down.
His roommate was already asleep. Loren lay flat on his bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling but seemingly looking beyond it.
Exhaustion tugged at him, sleepiness pressing in, yet some barrier kept him awake—sleep close but unreachable.
He closed his eyes, teetering on the edge of sleep, and in a dreamlike haze saw those densely coiled snakes again.
Time felt long, yet he remained awake, faint bird calls drifting through the window.
After a moment's hesitation, Loren pointed a finger at the Book of Fantasy.
A halo flickered, and the scene shifted to a bright, clear library.
Flamel, oblivious to Loren's strange behavior, floated around twice and announced, "Today we learn function words and grammar."
Loren gazed at Flamel in a trance, noting how the old wizard's movements twisted and turned—eerily reminiscent of the snakes.
"Flamel, I don't want to study today," Loren said softly.
"Oh! Of course!" Flamel replied cheerfully.
But then the face of Nico, which Flamel held, twisted grotesquely and his voice sharpened, "You don't want to study today? Today is the weekend! There are four weekends each month, fifty each year!"
"If you live a hundred years, that's over four thousand weekends!"
"Of course! You'll be the refiner of the Philosopher's Stone, and you'll have countless weekends!"
Loren didn't notice the oddity and took it as encouragement to study hard. "It's not about the weekend, I…" He hesitated, then confessed, "I just felt tired after coming back. I needed to rest."
Flamel floated silently, calming, and said nothing.
Loren rested his head on the table, eyes narrowing, the bright illusions blurring as sleep threatened.
Flamel regarded the small boy—only eleven, chosen by prophecy, unaware that fate's gifts come at a price.
"Alas~"
"How does fate choose, Albus?"
Flamel rose, shining bright white.
Loren, half-asleep, imagined a rainy Saturday after a late Friday night, waking drowsy and gray-eyed, only to close his eyes again.
When he awoke, it was as if a century had passed. He opened his eyes to the bright library once more.
Flamel floated nearby, leafing through a Muggle drama.
Seeing Loren awake, Flamel floated over. "Loren, do you feel your powerlessness?"
"???" Loren frowned, confused.
"If you had Dumbledore's power, would you still feel like this?" Flamel asked, bewildered.
Loren thought, Which first-year wizard has Dumbledore's power? He doubted Flamel wasn't quite right.
Ignoring Loren's doubt, Flamel continued, "You'll face more such challenges. Don't waste your talent. Loren, you must learn to fight."
Loren considered the coming battle with the Death Eaters and agreed it was wise to improve his combat skills.
"Are we going to the dueling room?"
"No. You're not ready yet." Flamel's bluntness stung Loren's pride.
"What should I do then?"
"Master spells in reality first. Use your talent to build your own strength."
"Why not practice in the dueling room?"
"Spellcasting requires not just will, but bodily participation. Skilled duelists practice spells instinctively."
Loren pictured Harry's Expelliarmus and nodded, understanding.
"Your talent lets you learn faster, but you must find the spells that suit you—not just the strongest."
"Start with the Shield Charm."
Breakfast time.
The Gryffindor table offered stewed beans, bread, salad, bacon, and sausage.
Only Loren ate steak for breakfast.
Ron watched Loren chew the last bite, licking his lips.
Watching Loren eat was a pleasure—it was as if Loren savored every juicy, well-done strand.
"Why are you staring?" Loren asked, sipping vegetable juice to refresh his palate.
"Nothing. Just seems weird to eat steak for breakfast," Ron said.
"You should try it sometime."
Loren moved closer to Hermione. "Got plans today?"
Hermione blinked, tired from late-night Transfiguration homework. "I'm usually in the library on weekends."
"I need your help."
Unsure, Hermione was dragged to the Room of Requirement.
Loren paced before the battered tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, commanding the Room to create a duel chamber, then pulled Hermione inside.
"For reasons I can't yet explain, I need to improve my combat skills—at least to a threshold."
"You've mastered the most spells among first-years. I need your help," Loren said, eyes locked on hers.
Flamel had insisted Loren must master the Shield Charm first—that he learn to take a hit before giving one.
Hermione frowned. "The only combat spell I know is the Binding Charm."
She sighed. "I don't know many spells yet. I don't think combat practice is urgent; we're only first-years."
"I only want to practice the Shield Charm—you just cast spells on me."
Hermione nodded.
Loren explained, "The Shield Spell forms an invisible barrier in the wand's direction, deflecting or dispersing attacks to protect the caster and a small area."
Unlike other spells, it gives no immediate feedback when cast. The caster must refine it by observing defense results.
Ideally, the barrier would direct or dissipate enemy spells.
Today, success meant just creating a complete protective barrier.
Hermione recalled, "Miranda Goshawk's Advanced Spells says many adult wizards can't cast this."
Since reading Goshawk's works, Hermione had become fascinated with the legendary witch.
"This might be beyond a first-year's ability," Hermione warned. "If you're struggling, we should ask the professors or Headmaster."
Loren stopped her. "It's just a spell. Nothing more."
Persuaded, Hermione agreed.
They stood two or three meters apart, wands raised.
Hermione, nervous, asked, "Ready?"
"Ready," Loren replied.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
"Ready?"
"Of course!"
"Ready?"
"Yes?" Loren hesitated.
"Ready?"
Loren snapped, "Enough, Hermione!"
Startled, Hermione cast, "Petrificus!"
Her vinewood wand emitted subtle white light.
Loren, distracted by an imaginary conversation with a captain, failed to react and collapsed, face pale.
Hermione blinked, shocked. "I told you—you weren't ready! Why're you so fierce?"
"We should have coordinated more."
"If you hadn't yelled, I wouldn't have panicked…"
She muttered and finally lifted the spell after some struggle.
Loren felt wronged but didn't protest—he still needed her help.
"Let's try again. I'll cooperate this time."
They reset.
"Ready?" Hermione asked, calmer.
"Yes, Captain!" Loren swore silently.
"Petrificus!"
Loren braced, but fell again, eyes wide.
Hermione sighed, "You're not ready."
She lifted the spell.
Loren stood, dusted off imaginary dirt. "Accident. Won't happen again."
Hermione shook her head, returning to position. "Ready?"
"Yes!"
"Petrificus!" "Protego!"
They cast simultaneously, but Loren failed to summon the barrier.
He fell again.
Hermione sighed, predicting a long, tiring day of casting and dispelling.
Loren's face flushed, breath quickened.
They reset again.
"Petrificus!" "Protego!"
Loren felt the spell again, but no shield formed. Embarrassed, he dodged the curse.
Practice continued.
By noon, Loren only successfully countered twice.
The good news: Hermione grew more adept at casting and removing spells.
The bad: Loren's shield spell remained unstable.
Clearing his throat, Loren said, "Hermione, maybe you shouldn't keep repeating this. It's not helping you."
A strange pride urged him to suggest knocking Hermione down once.
"What do you think?"
Hermione noted Loren hadn't learned attack spells. Seamus's explosion spell was too strong for practice.
"Let's duel!" Loren said earnestly.
"The score's 21 to 0," Hermione said proudly.
They bowed, wands ready.
"Petrificus!" Hermione attacked first.
Loren rolled aside, half-crouched near her shoe, and cast, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Her shoe floated, and Hermione staggered, losing balance.
She hurriedly cast a binding spell at Loren.
Both fell, shoulders touching.
Hermione's grin spread from eyes to teeth, shoulders shaking with laughter.
She patted Loren's shoulder, standing slowly. "Mr. Morgan, 22 to 0, haha…"