By the sixth day, repetition stopped feeling like routine.
It started feeling like data.
The difference mattered.
Routine dulled attention. Data sharpened it. The castle repeated itself every morning, but it did not repeat perfectly. Micro-variations slipped through the surface. A teacher arriving thirty seconds late. A staircase rotating in a new direction. A student changing seats at breakfast.
Small shifts.
Predictable shifts.
He woke already tracking them.
Calibration ran automatically now. The Interface confirmed memory integrity before he fully opened his eyes. Yesterday arranged itself into clean categories: social, magical, environmental, strategic. He no longer needed to search for information. It presented itself.
He added a new exercise.
Prediction.
He replayed the last five mornings and projected the likely flow of this one. Which students would arrive early. Which conversations would repeat. Which corridors would bottleneck.
He stepped into the hallway and tested the model.
Accuracy: high.
Not perfect.
But close enough to feel the edges of the pattern.
The castle was not random.
It breathed in cycles.
Breakfast confirmed the projection. The same cluster of Slytherins argued about Quidditch standings. The same Ravenclaw read while eating. Hermione sat with a different book but identical posture. Potter entered late and pulled attention with him like gravity.
Variables rotating inside a stable frame.
Good.
Stable systems could be climbed.
The first class was Charms again.
He welcomed it.
Repetition revealed improvement clearly. He performed the levitation spell and measured the difference from his first attempt days ago. The feather rose smoother. Mental strain decreased. Channel alignment felt natural.
Growth logged.
The professor demonstrated a variation. Students struggled. He slowed his breathing and mapped the adjustment before attempting it. The spell succeeded on the second try.
Not instant mastery.
Controlled adaptation.
The professor's gaze paused again.
Reputation tick upward.
He let it settle without feeding it.
Between classes, a pair of older Slytherins blocked part of the corridor. Not deliberately. They were simply large enough to narrow the path. Students flowed around them automatically. The boys spoke with the lazy confidence of those accustomed to space bending around them.
Social mass.
He did not avoid them.
He passed through the gap with calm eye contact and a slight nod. A recognition gesture. Neither submissive nor challenging. The older boy returned it without thinking.
Classification updated:
He belonged.
Not equal.
But accepted.
Doors opened easier for those already inside.
History of Magic followed.
The ghost droned.
Most students faded.
He did not.
He used the lecture for cross-linking. Every historical event connected to current power structures. Families still influential. Laws still active. Old conflicts echoing into present alliances.
The wizarding world did not forget.
It layered.
Understanding the present required excavation.
He felt a quiet thrill.
This was archaeology of power.
Hermione's quill moved steadily. She was not copying. She was building. He could see it now — the way she grouped information visually. She created architecture on paper the way he created it in his head.
Parallel methods.
Different tools.
Same goal.
The realization settled with clarity.
She was not just a variable.
She was a mirror.
Not identical.
But aligned in direction.
He did not pursue the thought further. Classification was enough.
The library absorbed the afternoon.
He advanced from theory to controlled experimentation. Small charms layered together. Holding one while preparing another. Mental multitasking under pressure. The Interface divided attention cleanly. No panic. No bleed-through.
He felt the edge of failure and stepped back deliberately.
Training ended before collapse.
Optimization held.
A group of students entered loudly and broke the silence. The librarian's glare froze them mid-step. Authority enforced instantly. The room reset.
He watched the interaction with interest.
Control did not require volume.
Only certainty.
The librarian never raised her voice. She did not need to. The expectation of obedience carried weight. That was real power. Not dominance. Not intimidation.
Assumption.
The system assumed compliance.
He wrote the word down.
Assumption.
Long-term goal.
Evening fell early under heavy clouds. The castle darkened faster than usual. Torchlight stretched shadows across the corridor. Students moved closer together unconsciously. Darkness tightened social distance.
Environmental influence on behavior.
Logged.
He stood at a window and watched rain strike the grounds in silver lines. The world outside blurred. The castle held firm. Stone against storm. Students against uncertainty. Systems against chaos.
He understood something then with sudden simplicity.
Most people wanted safety.
They dressed ambition in noble words, but underneath it lay the same desire: stable ground. Predictable future. Protected space.
Power was not attractive because it dominated.
Power was attractive because it promised safety.
He did not want safety.
He wanted control.
Different hunger.
He turned from the window and walked back toward the dormitory. The corridor echoed with distant laughter. Life continued in small circles around him. Homework. gossip. rivalry. childhood rituals that would fade into memory.
He walked through them untouched.
Not because he rejected them.
Because he saw the frame holding them up.
And once you saw the frame, you could not go back to the painting.
He lay down and replayed the day.
Predictions tested.
Accuracy improving.
Patterns stabilizing.
The system was revealing itself.
Slowly.
Patiently.
And he was learning how to read it.