Magic is rarely kind to those without talent.
But even wizards with a bit of talent are not always clever.
Shawn quietly put away the quill-shaped lollipop. Hermione stood there, startled into uncharacteristic silence.
When Shawn swapped in an actual quill, he turned and found Hermione glaring at a barely contained Justin, as if she might turn him into a skunk the moment he laughed.
"If you want to laugh, laugh," Shawn sighed.
"Ha ha—Shawn, Hermione, you didn't seriously take that for a real quill, did you? That's the second-funniest thing I've heard today..."
Justin laughed so hard he nearly folded in half.
"Jus-tin," Hermione said, cheeks puffed.
At that, Justin instantly sobered. "Hermione, teach me? I've been working on Accio lately, but I can't seem to get it right. Do you think it's a wand-movement problem?"
"...Your swing is too hesitant," Hermione said, calming whatever embarrassed anger had been brewing and shifting into crisp instruction.
Shawn, meanwhile, focused on the quill.
He pulled a broken quill from his bag. Quills were supposed to be durable, but not in Shawn's hands. He had extended its life by deftly shaving the barrel with a small knife, over and over.
But what breaks will break. The worn-away part of a quill never comes back.
"Accio, Quill!"
He enunciated precisely. The quill shuddered hard and drifted gently into his hand.
[You practiced the Summoning Charm once at Apprentice standard, Proficiency +1]
Shawn froze.
Summoning Charm?
The panel called it that.
Why not simply Accio?
There were few coincidences in magic.
He considered it seriously.
"The strength of a spell is determined by the caster. The wizard's summoning intent acts upon the object and produces the Summoning Charm. Accio, Quill!"
As he spoke, every quill in the classroom quivered, then flew to Shawn.
[You practiced the Summoning Charm once at Entry-level standard, Proficiency +3]
And it wasn't only quills that arrived.
Justin, still clutching a quill, staggered forward and collapsed onto the wooden table in front of Shawn.
Shawn looked at him calmly, weighing whether to lend a hand, when Hermione snorted and tried not to laugh.
"Not bad at all. Is that a new dance you've learned?"
Shawn watched Justin blush scarlet.
Shawn was beginning to understand the Summoning Charm's nature.
As Hermione had said, a wizard summoning an unknown object did not need its name, only one of its properties.
For example, Hermione might not know a book's title, but she could know it was about the Summoning Charm. When she could not name it, she could fix the object's property in mind (a book about the Summoning Charm) and lock the range (the school). Then an item in that range meeting her intent would fly to her.
Of course, the energy drain would spike sharply.
If living things could be summoned, this spell would be terrifying. Thankfully, they couldn't.
Harry once tried to summon Hagrid. Naturally, it failed.
Shawn thought failure was for the best. Otherwise, Hagrid would come flying...
And no matter what Harry whispered, Ginny would not fly to him either.
Once Shawn clarified his understanding of Accio, his pace picked up:
[You practiced the Summoning Charm once at Entry-level standard, Proficiency +3]
[You practiced the Summoning Charm once at Proficient standard, Proficiency +10]
[Summoning Charm: Unlocked]
Exhausted, Shawn set down his wand and glanced aside at equally exhausted Hermione and Justin.
Justin recovered fastest. From somewhere in Shawn's blind spot, he produced three steaming cups of honey jasmine tea.
To this day, Shawn still had no idea where Justin obtained his food.
He only knew the tea tasted wonderful.
...
By dusk, Shawn was on his way to the dungeons.
The corridor was cut into alternating light and dark by the setting sun. The portraits entered the busiest and most leisurely hour of their day.
The Fat Lady appeared beside her dear friend Violet. She was clearly tipsy, leaning elegantly against the frame and humming off-key.
"Look, it's Shawn Green, Sir Cadogan—your 'ace of mischief.'"
Hogwarts portraits were never just paintings. They delighted in making their own fun.
They could pop into other frames, invent passwords, hand out life advice, or challenge students to a duel.
Privately, they hatched schemes of every other sort.
The most important of those was finding a small wizard to be their "ace of mischief." It didn't sound flattering, but it was the portraits' way of expressing a peculiar fondness.
"In the name of a knight, Fat Lady, ten centuries of experience seldom errs. Young Green will make a name for himself in the wizarding world, I guarantee it," Sir Cadogan declared.
That drew frequent glances from the Fat Lady. Knights never lied, after all.
There was no time in the dungeons.
Severus Snape had been there for who knew how long, until the rain stopped.
The dungeon remained what it always was. Cold. Cut off from the world. The scent of potions lingered and coiled without end. Parchment piled in drifts.
Severus Snape stood motionless, like a statue that had blended into the dungeon's shadow.
A slip of paper lay open in his hand. Had Shawn been there, he would have recognized it as knowledge hidden in Master Libatius Borage's book.
But unlike Shawn's, this slip had a faint number "1" at the top.
The door clicked.
Shawn stepped inside, breaking the hush.
When he saw Professor Snape, the light of delight flashed in his emerald eyes.
He went straight to his cauldron, set down his notes, and moved to the specimen cabinet for ingredients.
He was a little excited. Today, he carried two missions that would thrill any wizard.
First, to measure how much Master Borage's improved ritual could raise potion quality.
Every quality increase translated into a sharp jump in effect—and a better price.
Second, to test a theory he'd formed in Flying: could a wizard precisely will and guide magical reactions in a potion, the way one guided a broom?
He did not notice the complicated look in Professor Snape's eyes.