So far, only the Slytherin students had kept up with the morning runs. Before Owen rotated out of their House, he gave them a parting gift: proof that with a strong enough body, you can withstand the Cruciatus Curse.
He used this demonstration to ensure the Slytherins would continue their morning training.
People tend to stick with things when they can see tangible progress.
Now, Owen was wearing the Gryffindor uniform. He hadn't even reached the Fat Lady's portrait yet when someone blocked his path.
"My dear Owen! I cordially invite you to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"
Looking at Oliver Wood, whose face screamed 'I won't take no for an answer,' Owen laughed. "Mr. Wood, you want me to join? What, as the referee?"
"Of course not! I want you to be our Chaser."
Owen laughed harder. "Mr. Wood, since the day I arrived at Hogwarts, I haven't touched a broomstick. How do you know I can fly, let alone play Chaser?"
"You're a genius! I believe in you!"
Seeing Wood's unwavering intensity, Owen sighed. "I appreciate the trust, truly. But think about it: if I could fly a broom, why didn't Slytherin recruit me for their team?"
"Because they're blind! They couldn't see your brilliance!"
Wood said this with absolute, righteous conviction.
Owen decided to be blunt. "First of all, I'm sorry, but I genuinely don't know how to fly a broom. Second, I have absolutely no interest in Quidditch. So please, excuse me. I'm going to be late for class."
He really was cutting it close. Wood watched as Owen floated into the air, forcing him to step aside, and then flew off toward his classroom.
"Mr. Wood..." Professor McGonagall appeared, wearing a rare smile that didn't quite suit her stern face. "Owen wasn't lying to you. He really hasn't taken a single flying lesson. And he truly has no interest in Quidditch."
Never taken... a flying lesson?
When Owen first became famous around the school, Wood had just started his third year and joined the team. Between studying and practice, he barely had time to breathe, so he missed the details about Owen's early days.
By the time Wood was a fourth-year, Owen was away on his study tour. Now Wood was a fifth-year, and Owen was back, taking fourth and fifth-year classes while teaching the first-years. It wasn't until today that Wood realized Owen had never actually learned to fly properly.
"Is... is that even reasonable?"
McGonagall wanted to answer: Yes, it is! Because the school brooms couldn't handle the sheer volume of magic surging through the boy. They'd likely explode mid-flight. Even the brand-new Nimbus 2000s would struggle.
The boy's magical reserves were three to four times that of an adult wizard. That meant a single broom had to withstand the magical pressure of three or four grown men. It simply couldn't hold up.
For Owen's safety, he was excused from flying lessons. Fortunately, Harry Potter had shown remarkable talent, and she had granted special permission for him to join the team instead.
While Wood was obsessing over Owen, Owen was obsessing over how to teach Gryffindor a lesson. Unlike the snakes, the lions had boundless energy but never thought to channel it into their studies—except for the fifth and seventh years who had O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s looming over them.
Of course, now there was one more exception: a certain young witch.
The moment Owen stepped into the Gryffindor common room, Hermione was there, clutching a stack of books. Question after question poured out of her. She unloaded every single thing she didn't understand.
Owen didn't get annoyed. He answered them one by one. When he realized some students didn't even know how to write a proper essay, he taught them the technique:
"First, state the premise. For example: Why does Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration hold true? Then, provide the proof. Finally, write your own understanding and conclusion. It's very simple."
It really was simple. Those who understood had an epiphany. Those who didn't just sat there with swirling eyes.
Of course, some students were dismissive and didn't bother listening at all.
Gryffindors were full of personality. They loved noise, excitement, and shouting. Owen, however, preferred quiet when he read. Consequently, miniature tornadoes started popping up around the Gryffindor common room. Inside each one was a student spinning and bobbing helplessly in the air.
Just a small punishment. It wouldn't affect their studies. Even after spinning all night, a vial of vile-tasting potion would fix them right up—aside from looking a little pale, they'd be fine.
Most of the punished students were first and second years. The third years and above had learned this lesson the hard way years ago.
"Harry... I don't think I can make it..."
Ron had spun all night. Although he drank the potion, he didn't want to go to class. "Can you tell them I'm sick..."
Harry didn't look great either—he'd also spun all night—but he felt much better after the potion. Just as he was about to agree, the dormitory door burst open. Owen stood there, smiling. He waved his wand at Ron, levitating him off the bed.
"Enervate."
Ron appeared at breakfast right on time, full of energy. He stayed awake through every class. Even in History of Magic, he didn't doze off once—because every time his eyes closed for more than ten seconds, a jolt of electricity zapped his backside, waking him right up.
"Demon! He's a demon!!!"
Ron sat in the common room, eyes wide with horror. After a while, he realized no one was responding.
Turning his head, he saw Owen sitting in his usual spot, holding a book, ready to read.
Ron didn't know where the courage came from, but he marched up to Owen and roared, "You are a demon! You..."
"Ventus."
Ron started spinning again. This time, the rotation was much faster than yesterday. Owen didn't even look up. He simply beckoned to Hermione, who was holding her books nearby.
Seeing his friend punished again, Harry felt a surge of loyalty and opened his mouth to argue. But Owen cut him off.
"Bravery is not impulsiveness or recklessness. And it certainly isn't an excuse to test my patience. Next time, I'll use the Cruciatus Curse. Trust me, my research on the Cruciatus Curse is excellent."
In Owen's eyes, most of the lions weren't stupid. They just had a character flaw. To put it simply...
They were spoiled kids who hadn't been beaten enough.
The prime examples were a certain group of red-headed Weasleys and Harry Potter, the Savior. Neville Longbottom was the opposite; he just lacked confidence.