That's right—boxing!
A wand can be disarmed by Expelliarmus. Magical reserves, no matter how vast, can eventually run dry. When faced with that kind of desperate situation, are you supposed to just stand there and die?
No. You still have your body!
That's why mastering a non-magical form of self-defense was absolutely necessary. Boxing was Owen's carefully chosen last line of defense, and he had been training for quite a while now.
He didn't know how it felt to hit a person yet. But judging by the fact that one punch could crack tree bark and two punches sent wood chips flying, he figured he could probably take down a physically weaker wizard... right?
Having never actually fought anyone, he wasn't entirely sure.
But the young snakes of Slytherin were even less sure. After hearing the description from their spy, about two-thirds of them decided to abandon the plan.
Specifically, the first-years completely gave up on the idea of teaching Owen a lesson. Their magical abilities were all roughly on the same level—which is to say, terrible. So if a fight broke out, it would likely turn physical. And considering Owen was smashing trees with his bare hands, they worried he might smash their souls along with their bones.
A lot of the second-years chickened out too. They had only just started their second year and hadn't learned many useful combat spells yet. What were they going to do? Blind him with a Lighting Charm?
The third-years weren't afraid, but they didn't want to get their hands dirty directly. It would be beneath them to beat up a first-year themselves.
"Here's the plan. Find an excuse to bring him to the common room. With us present, he won't dare try anything, and even if he does, he won't get the chance."
Great idea!
With the upper-years holding down the fort in the Slytherin common room, the younger snakes wouldn't need to be afraid.
So, the next day after Charms class, the Slytherins surrounded Owen. They didn't threaten him; they just insisted, repeatedly, that he come visit the Slytherin common room.
Owen thought about it for a moment, then agreed. "I can't go right now. How about after dinner? I have a thirty-minute break then. Does that work?"
Seeing him agree so easily—and even pick a convenient time—the Slytherins were satisfied. They watched him rush off to his Transfiguration class.
Owen didn't have a standard schedule because he didn't belong to any House. Instead, he had all the schedules. The first-year workload was light, and classes rarely overlapped perfectly, so he had plenty of time to attend lectures from all the professors.
Even though he had already self-studied up to the third-year curriculum, he didn't want to miss anything. Reviewing the basics often brought new insights. Besides, he had other tasks to complete after class.
---
After dinner, Owen proactively headed to the Slytherin common room. Under the bizarre gazes of the younger and mid-year snakes, he calmly sat down on a sofa.
For a long while, no one said a word. Owen started to get impatient.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please explain why you invited me here as quickly as possible. My time is limited. In thirty minutes, I need to be in Professor Snape's office to grade your Potions homework."
Silence.
Suddenly, someone laughed. "What did you say? You? Grading our homework?"
Owen looked at the speaker and nodded. "Yes, Mr. Carrow. I grade all assignments for years one through three. It's a task assigned to me by the professors. Also, I must remind you: please stop copying Miss Flint's work. If you genuinely don't know how to do your Potions, Charms, or Transfiguration assignments, you might want to reference Mr. Greengrass's work instead. He has the highest completion and pass rate among you."
Dead silence.
The snakes couldn't believe it. But quickly, someone pulled out their graded Potions essay and pointed to the comments in red ink. "You wrote this?"
Owen glanced at it and nodded. "Yes. I believe your conclusion was flawed, Mr. Parkinson. You likely referenced Magical Draughts and Potions, but Professor Snape explicitly stated in class that this particular theory is outdated. If you follow that method, the Draught of Living Death you brew will be significantly less potent."
Even deader silence.
Owen looked around. Seeing that no one was speaking, he stood up.
"Ladies and gentlemen, my time is up. Professor Snape hates tardiness, so I must get going. If you have any questions, feel free to write them in your essays, and I will do my best to answer them. If I can't answer, I will ask the professor to address it in class."
With that, Owen's body slowly floated up. With a whoosh, he flew out of the Slytherin common room.
Time was tight; he had to fly.
"What... what spell was that?"
"I don't know. He didn't say an incantation."
"He didn't even use a wand!"
The Slytherins dispersed in silence. They needed to go back to their dorms, lie down, and process what they had just learned.
Owen was grading their homework.
And not just the first-years—years one through three. This was...
---
"It is a method of learning. By spotting the mistakes of others, you learn to avoid them yourself."
Snape spoke slowly as he processed potion ingredients, occasionally glancing at the young wizard diligently grading papers. A rare, faint smile appeared on his face.
"If you are clever enough, you will find the correct path through their errors. Even if you cannot find the path immediately, you must at least strive to avoid making the same mistakes."
It was indeed effective.
Owen breezed through the first and second-year assignments, quickly noting which books the students should reference to fix their errors.
The third-year work was harder. As the grade level increased, the magical theory became more profound. There were books Owen hadn't finished—or even started—so while he could spot a wrong answer, he couldn't always explain the why or point to the solution immediately. In those cases, he had to ask the professor.
He would also note down the book titles mentioned so he could borrow them from the library later.
It was a very magical way to study.
By the time Owen finished grading, it was nearly curfew. He quickly flew back up to the eighth floor. Passing the Headmaster's office, he paused for a second, considered going in, but decided against it. Instead, he entered his own private quarters nearby.
After a quick wash, he lay down in bed.
"Ah, another day tomorrow... Somnulus."
Casting a Sleeping Charm on himself, Owen instantly drifted off. Straight into deep sleep. Magic was so convenient.
After he fell asleep, a flash of red light illuminated the room. Fawkes landed on the bedside table. The phoenix rubbed his head affectionately against the boy's cheek, then flashed away back to the Headmaster's office.
"Is he asleep?"
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Perhaps we shouldn't put so much pressure on the boy. Don't you agree?"
Professor McGonagall turned her head away, pretending she hadn't heard a thing.
Professor Flitwick feigned sleep.
Snape remained expressionless.
None of the three professors paid the Headmaster any mind. When it came to training their apprentice, the Headmaster's opinion didn't matter. Even the Minister for Magic couldn't tell them what to do.