Chapter 78: The Nonverbal Spell
At Hogwarts, nonverbal magic is formally taught in sixth year.
Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Transfiguration all expect students to learn it, and most adult witches and wizards in Britain can manage it to some degree. Still, because sixth- and seventh-year courses are electives, some never take all three, so proficiency varies widely.
"So, you want to learn nonverbal casting?"
That afternoon, Professor Flitwick stood in the empty classroom, surprise and satisfaction mingling as he looked at Shawn.
"Yes, Professor."
"Then let me see your Levitation Charm."
He indicated a chair. Shawn had barely finished the incantation when the wooden chair rose smoothly and did two neat turns in the air.
"Remarkable progress!"
Professor Flitwick could not help applauding.
"Now then, Mr. Green, tell me: what are the advantages of a nonverbal spell? And the drawbacks?"
"An opponent cannot tell what you are about to cast, which gives you a split-second advantage," Shawn said after two seconds of thought, and then added, "Of course, if you give up 'speaking' the incantation, you lose the accuracy and emotional surge that come with it, and the spell can weaken."
The first part came straight from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6; the second was his own conclusion. In the original accounts, spoken spells hit harder. After Hermione was injured by Dolohov in the Department of Mysteries, it was stated that his silent curse was less damaging than it would have been aloud.
"An excellent answer!"
Flitwick looked even more delighted, with a glint of surprise. "Once a witch or wizard is mature enough to shape the spell clearly in the mind, without the crutch of speech, nonverbal casting becomes possible. Plainly, Mr. Green, it is time to climb higher."
He gave his wand a brisk swish. The chair circled the room; jars and books took to the air as well—he even whisked the squirrelly professor who'd just hopped in through the window for a mild loop. It looked like a little miracle.
"The secret of nonverbal magic is extreme concentration. Wizards tend to mouth the words unconsciously; that ruins nonverbal attempts. You must fix one exact incantation in your mind. Try it, Mr. Green."
Shawn's Quick-Quotes Quill scratched at the margin. This was the ease of magic: he could take notes while thinking, and fail three times while Flitwick stayed endlessly patient.
It was maddening. A wizard used to speaking a spell feels physically wrong when going silent. The impulse to say the word surges up; it takes iron will to suppress it, and then the lips tighten or move soundlessly—another kind of distraction. It is like trying to sneeze and forcing yourself not to.
But under Flitwick's steady coaching, he adjusted, step by step, until at last he made not a sound.
"Rapid progress indeed," Flitwick said. "Now the next step—focus on both the spell and the emotion at once and cast it silently. Only strong attention and will can hold the incantation in the mind without a whisper. It is very difficult."
Emotion, firm will, and a precise spell?
Shawn's wand moved.
[You practiced the Levitation Charm once at Expert standard, Proficiency +50]
"Merlin's beard!"
…
October pressed close, and with it the damp cold, soaking the grounds and seeping into the castle.
Bullet-sized raindrops drummed on the windows for days. The lake swelled, beds of flowers turned to mud, and the pumpkins by the Forest hut swelled as big as sheds.
Perhaps it was the strain of nonverbal casting, perhaps the grind of Snape's exacting guidance, or perhaps the chill of the night air—but Shawn came down with a cold, just after mastering the silent charm.
His breathing was heavy; his nostrils flared; his cheeks and brow were hot. He felt woozy, and sometimes could not tell if the figure in front of him was great Hermione or small Professor McGonagall. After all, just yesterday, Professor McGonagall had been teaching him in her office while Hermione was drilling Justin in the corridor.
Michael had snapped two pictures by the office window. Hermione's posture and expression were indistinguishable from those of the Head of House.
"No Transfiguration practice today. Go have pumpkin juice in the Hall, child."
Professor McGonagall pressed a cool hand to his forehead. He was hot enough to fry an egg.
Shawn drifted to the Great Hall and sat. Even then, he did not forget to check his progress. The silent Levitation Charm had held steady on Wednesday morning. Next, he needed Smokescreen and the Knockback Jinx; then the scholarship he had set his heart on would be within reach.
Professor Flitwick was keen to tutor him one-on-one, but could he manage any magic in this state?
His thoughts turned and turned, finally coming to rest on the matron.
Madam Pomfrey, whom people said could save a witch or wizard so long as a breath remained. She could knit bones in a second—Ginny's ankle healed in a blink; Harry's skull fracture was sealed at once. In the second year, after Gilderoy Lockhart's botched mending, she had used Skele-Gro to regrow the thirty-three bones in Harry's arm. Her record was impeccable.
Justin, flustered to pieces at Shawn's side, snapped to when Shawn rasped, "We're going to the hospital wing."
He shouldered Shawn's weight and set out.
Professor McGonagall had already swept from the Hall.
Hogwarts kept a cure-all cold draught at the ready. It was effective; the very best, however, came from a certain Slytherin Head of House's own hand.
At the far end of the corridor, Professor McGonagall found Snape at once.
"Severus, I need a Cold-Curing Potion."
Snape was silent for a moment, then said in his velvet chill, "Professor McGonagall... if memory serves, treating student colds is—my responsibility."