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The chaos in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom did not subside with Lockhart's cowardly retreat; it merely changed its nature. The initial, shrieking pandemonium gave way to a state of exhausted, grimy attrition. Harry Potter, his robes torn and his hair somehow even more chaotic than usual, was trying to swat a cackling pixie out of the air with a textbook. Ron Weasley, his face liberally spattered with ink, was attempting to lure two of the creatures down from the dragon skeleton with a half-eaten Cauldron Cake. It was a pathetic, disorganized, and utterly Gryffindor approach to problem-solving.
Hermione Granger, predictably, was trying to impose order on the chaos through sheer force of will and an encyclopedic knowledge of theory. "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" she incanted for the tenth time, aiming her wand at a pixie that was gleefully unscrewing the inkpots on Lockhart's desk. The spell, a useless jumble of nonsense from a fraudulent textbook, did nothing. The pixie blew a raspberry at her, showering a nearby portrait of a winking Lockhart with a fresh spray of midnight-blue ink.
Throughout this entire spectacle, Kaelen and Daphne had remained in their seats at the back of the room, silent observers at a particularly vulgar piece of theatre. Daphne's expression was one of cool, aristocratic disdain. Kaelen, however, was still smiling his serene, analytical smile, his chin resting on his steepled fingers. The frantic, wasted energy of the trio was, to him, a source of endless fascination. It was like watching a team of engineers trying to build a bridge by throwing rocks at a river.
Finally, when it was clear the trio's efforts were reaching the point of diminishing returns, Kaelen rose from his seat. His movement was unhurried, a quiet unfolding of limbs that somehow drew every eye in the room. He walked to the front of the class, his soft-soled shoes making no sound on the ink-stained floorboards. The few remaining pixies, sensing a shift in the room's power dynamic, ceased their chattering and watched him with beady, malevolent eyes.
Daphne remained at their desk, a silent, elegant sentinel, understanding that this was not a battle, but a lecture.
"An admirable effort, Granger," Kaelen began, his voice a calm, conversational purr that cut through the tense silence. He stopped beside her, his smile acquiring the teasing, condescending edge she was beginning to associate with him. He looked around at the wreckage—the ink, the torn pages, Neville Longbottom still dangling precariously from the chandelier. "You have successfully contained the problem to a single room, terrorized the primary subjects, and achieved a state of absolute strategic paralysis. From a certain point of view, it is a remarkable achievement in applied incompetence."
Hermione's face flushed a deep, angry red. "Well, if you're so clever, why don't you do something?" she snapped, her frustration boiling over.
"An excellent suggestion," Kaelen replied smoothly, his smile never wavering. He was enjoying this. He was beginning his project, and the first step was to demonstrate the utter inadequacy of her entire worldview. He wanted to give her, and the reader, goosebumps, to show them the chilling gulf that separated his mind from theirs. "The first principle of any engagement is to clearly define the objective. Your objective is not to reason with the pixies, nor is it to engage them in single combat. Your objective is to return them to their cage. Correct?"
"Obviously," Ron muttered, lowering his pathetic Cauldron Cake bait.
"Indeed. Obviously," Kaelen echoed, his gaze still fixed on Hermione. "And the most efficient path to that objective is not a series of chaotic, individual actions, but a single, decisive, and overwhelming application of force." He raised his wand, its yew wood a stark, dark line against the chaos of the room. "The solution is a low-power, wide-area Immobilization Charm to neutralize the targets, followed by a simple Summoning Charm to collect them. It would take approximately five seconds."
Hermione stared at him, her anger momentarily forgotten, replaced by a baffled indignation. "We can't do that! The Immobilization Charm isn't taught until third year! And the Summoning Charm is fourth-year magic! Using them would be a flagrant violation of the rules for underage spellcasting outside of direct, life-threatening situations!"
Kaelen's smile became a thing of profound, chilling pity. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a confidential, conspiratorial whisper that was for her alone, but his words were a lesson for everyone listening.
"And there it is," he murmured, the sound sending a shiver down Hermione's spine. "The cage you have built for your own magnificent mind, Granger. You are standing in a room that has been utterly destroyed. Your teacher, the supposed authority figure, has abandoned his post in an act of gross professional misconduct. Your fellow student is currently being used as a light fixture. And your primary concern is a procedural rule in a textbook, a rule written for the purpose of maintaining an order that has already, as you can plainly see, collapsed."
He straightened up, his voice returning to its normal, conversational volume. "Rules are for the obedience of fools and the guidance of the wise. They are a framework, not a prison. The truly logical mind understands when the framework has failed and must be… temporarily disregarded… in the pursuit of a successful outcome. The question you must ask yourself, Granger, is not 'what do the rules permit?', but 'what does the situation require?'. Or are you content to let a technicality prevent you from solving the problem?"
He held her gaze for a long, silent moment, a silent battle of philosophies being waged between them. He could see the conflict in her eyes—the ingrained respect for authority warring with the undeniable, frustrating truth of his logic.
Then, without waiting for her answer, he acted. He gave his wand a small, almost imperceptible flick. No incantation was spoken.
"Immobulus."
The word was a thought, not a sound. A wave of invisible, silent force radiated from him, washing through the entire room. Every single pixie froze in mid-air. One that had been about to bite Neville's ear stopped, its tiny jaws open. Another, mid-scream, was silenced, a perfect statue of malevolent rage. The entire chaotic swarm was now a collection of glittering blue sculptures, hanging in the air as if suspended on invisible threads.
The trio stared, their mouths agape. It was so sudden, so silent, so absolute.
Kaelen then pointed his wand at the open cage on Lockhart's desk. "Accio Pixies," he said, his voice calm and clear.
As one, the dozen or so frozen creatures shot through the air and piled into the cage with a series of soft, metallic clinks. Kaelen gave his wand another flick. The cage door slammed shut and locked itself. He lowered his arm. The entire operation had taken, as he had predicted, less than five seconds.
He then casually pointed his wand at the chandelier. Neville Longbottom was gently levitated down to the floor, where he collapsed in a grateful, trembling heap.
Silence. The room was still a wreck, but the chaos was over. It had been ended not with a bang, but with a quiet, terrifying display of efficiency.
Kaelen turned his back on the stunned Gryffindors and walked back to his desk, his smile the very picture of serene satisfaction. Daphne looked at him, her eyes alight with a mixture of awe and profound admiration. He had not just solved the problem; he had delivered a masterclass in his own philosophy.
"Come, Daphne," he said quietly. "There is nothing more to learn here."
They walked out of the classroom, leaving the trio standing in the middle of the wreckage, staring at the now-silent cage. Kaelen had not just cleaned up the mess. He had left them with a deeply unsettling question: what kind of power, what kind of mind, could so effortlessly command the world while they were still struggling to even understand its rules?
As they descended the staircase from the DADA corridor, Kaelen's mind, which had been sharp and focused, suddenly felt the familiar, soothing balm of Luna's proximity. He paused, looking down the next corridor. He saw her standing by a window, dreamily tracing the patterns in the ancient glass with her finger.
"I have some research to attend to in the library," Daphne said, understanding his unspoken need instantly. She was learning to read his patterns. "I will see you in the common room later." She gave him a nod and continued on her way.
Kaelen approached Luna, the predatory smile melting away, replaced by a genuine, quiet calm. The storm in his mind subsided.
"The Gulping Plimpies are active today," Luna said without turning around, as if she had been expecting him. "They like the moisture in the old stones."
"Do they have a practical application?" Kaelen asked, his voice softer now. He leaned against the wall opposite her, content to simply exist in the peaceful aura she projected.
"Oh, no. They're not for doing," she replied, finally turning to him, her large, silvery eyes seeming to look right through him. "They're just for being. Most creatures are, you know." She smiled. "It's very quiet in your head today, Kaelen. The Nargles have all gone. Did you scare them away?"
"Perhaps," he said, a real, unforced smile touching his lips.
It was in that moment of profound, uncharacteristic peace that he heard it. It was not a sound for his ears, but something that seemed to slither directly into his mind, a cold and ancient whisper from within the very stones of the castle.
…Riiiip… Tear… Kill…
He froze. His head snapped up, his eyes scanning the empty corridor. The peace in his mind was shattered, replaced by an instant, high-alert analysis.
"Did you hear that?" he asked, his voice a low, urgent whisper.
Luna tilted her head, her expression serene. "Hear what? The stones are just singing their usual song. It's a bit sad today, though. A very old and lonely song."
She hadn't heard it. Only him. It wasn't a sound. It was a voice. And it was hungry.
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. The incompetent fool Lockhart, the blundering Gryffindors… they were all just distractions. Children's games.
A real monster had just woken up within the walls of Hogwarts