Looking at the young wizard's densely packed schedule, even Professor McGonagall's hands trembled slightly. She was just about to tell him he didn't need to push himself so hard when Owen finished scribbling his latest revision.
He let out a long sigh of relief. "If I calculate this correctly, I can squeeze in an hour of free reading before bed. Haha, score!"
The witch opened her mouth but found she had absolutely nothing to say. In the end, all she could manage was a weak, "Congratulations."
---
"Oh, Merlin. I don't know how those words even left my mouth. I... I can't fathom why he feels such an intense sense of urgency!"
After dinner, in the staff room, McGonagall finally lost her composure. She wept into Professor Sprout's shoulder. "I didn't tell him to slow down. I told him 'Congratulations'... I can't forgive myself."
Professor Sprout felt a prickle in her nose, too. She gently patted McGonagall on the back and forced a smile. "I've decided. Starting tomorrow, the greenhouses won't open until nine."
That's it!
The boy's schedule...
McGonagall perked up instantly. With a wave of her wand, Owen's timetable floated in the air before them. She pointed to a few lines. "If we adjust this, Owen should be able to get a few more hours of sleep."
Dumbledore's hand twitched slightly as he examined the floating parchment. The corner of his mouth ticked. "If I recall correctly... a first-year student's curriculum shouldn't be quite this... dense, should it?"
Indeed, it shouldn't. But looking at the schedule, Owen wasn't just taking first-year classes. He was taking classes for years one through three. All of them.
Snape's lip curled. "He has already mastered all the ingredient preparation techniques. From now on, he only needs to come to my office on Saturday afternoons."
Flitwick chimed in immediately. "Then I'll take Saturday mornings."
McGonagall shot them a look. "I'll take Sunday mornings. Let's leave Sunday afternoon open for him to rest properly. He needs time for entertainment."
Professor Sprout rolled her eyes. So much for best friends. You just threw me under the bus, didn't you? Why didn't you suggest giving the boy the whole day off?
But at least Owen loved nature. Whenever he had free time, he came to help in the greenhouses anyway, so Sprout figured she didn't need to fight over that half-day.
Still, the eye-roll remained.
---
Plans are made to be broken.
On the very first day of the new schedule, Owen's planned "free reading time" was shattered. Fawkes arrived, grabbed the boy, and Apparated him straight next door to the Headmaster's office.
"Aren't you tired?"
Owen was a little annoyed. He tapped Fawkes lightly on the claw. "You could have just called out, you know. You didn't have to transport me. Doing this burns your life force faster."
Fawkes let out a soft trill, apologizing to the young wizard, then rubbed his head against him. Done. The boy was easy to soothe. Hook, line, and sinker.
"Mr. Corlett, please don't blame him. I asked you here. Though I didn't expect him to bring you quite so... directly. It seems he missed you."
Dumbledore looked the same as alw—no, wait. Something was different. He had braided his beard into a little pigtail.
Owen found this bizarre fashion choice harder to accept than magic itself, but since it wasn't his beard, he could tolerate it.
After the candy was offered and the tea was poured, the conversation began.
"Owen, I've noticed you've developed a renewed sense of urgency lately. You know, seeing you like this makes us quite anxious as well."
Owen blushed and lowered his head. "Well, I realized my scholarship money seems to have run out. I was trying to figure out a way to earn some money to pay the school back."
Dumbledore paused mid-sip. He looked at the boy in astonishment. "Run out?"
"Yes, sir. The cost of quills, ink, parchment, and notebooks has already exceeded my scholarship fund..."
Impossible.
Dumbledore remembered clearly. He had told the boy the scholarship was two hundred Galleons a year. Owen's room and board were covered by the school. His textbooks were free. He never went out, so he had zero opportunities to spend money.
Are you telling me he spent all of it on stationery?
Two hundred Galleons worth of parchment and ink would fill half of Dumbledore's office!
"Could you show me exactly how much you've used?"
"Sure. It's in the empty room next to mine..."
The eighth floor didn't have classrooms, but it had plenty of empty space. The room closest to the Headmaster's office had been converted into Owen's bedroom—not to isolate him, but so Dumbledore could reach him instantly if another magical outburst occurred.
The room next to Owen's bedroom was also empty, so Owen had turned it into a study to store his notes. It was a quiet place to work, since even the most mischievous students wouldn't dare prank the room right next to the Headmaster's office.
This was Dumbledore's first time stepping inside.
He was dumbstruck.
There were... so many.
"These stacks here are my notes on A History of Magic. The current textbooks are too disorganized, so I reorganized everything chronologically. It makes studying much easier and memorization a breeze."
Owen smiled. These were his pride and joy.
"And over here are the Potions notes, here are Charms, Transfiguration, Alchemy, Herbology..."
After the tour, Owen sighed softly. "As you know, since I don't have a wand and my wandless magic isn't fully developed, I have a lot of time to write notes. So... I used a bit more paper than usual..."
Dumbledore was floored.
He looked at the room filled floor-to-ceiling with notes, then looked back at the small boy standing in front of him.
"Owen, you are going to be a great wizard."
Being praised by the Headmaster made Owen blush a little.
"It's my fault for not explaining properly. The school does provide subsidies for diligent students, but I don't think you'll need them..." Dumbledore placed a hand gently on the stack of history notes. "With just these notes on A History of Magic, you already have enough money to buy whatever you want. If you agree, may I take these?"
"Of course. I've already memorized them all, so I don't need them anymore."
Dumbledore's hand twitched.
He memorized the entire History of Magic?
Something Dumbledore hadn't managed in over a hundred years, this boy—who wasn't even nine yet—had accomplished?
"If you take a look, you'll see it's actually quite simple. Once you anchor a timeline, you don't need to memorize dates individually. You just need to remember the sequence of events that happened each year."
Dumbledore flipped through a few pages. It was easier to remember. Much more concise and logical than the textbooks the students were currently suffering through.
No, I can't wait any longer.
The moment the boy turns ten—a full year before he officially enrolls—I'm taking him as my apprentice.