Libraries are the same in every world: quiet, guarded, and suspicious of children with too much curiosity.

  The Hogwarts library, however, added several yers of paranoia: shelves that rearranged themselves, books that occasionally bit back, and a librarian who could freeze your bloodstream with a single gnce.

  Madam Pince.

  She spotted me the moment I stepped in, her eyes narrowing over her spectacles like I was a sentient ink stain.

  “First-year?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t try anything clever. And no books from the Restricted Section.”

  “I’m too tired to be clever,” I muttered.

  She stared at me like that was somehow worse.

  Then she asked, “What do you need?”

  “Spells,” I said pinly. “Specifically, beginner spells. Castable. Practical. Not theory.”

  She seemed… mildly impressed. Or maybe that was less disgusted. She gave a single nod and pointed me toward a long row of wooden shelves carved with Latin script and dusted with more cobwebs than common sense.

  “Everything you’re permitted to read is there. Don’t damage the spines.”

  As I sat at the corner table, three familiar voices echoed through the hall.

  Of course.

  Jake, Desmond, and Nathaniel.

  Jake plopped into the seat across from me with all the grace of a falling cauldron. “Mate! You didn’t tell us you were library-sneaking!”

  “I wasn’t sneaking.”

  “You’re sitting in the corner like a vampire pnning a heist.”

  “I prefer the quiet.”

  Desmond sat beside him. “Are we allowed to just… read any of these?”

  Nathaniel adjusted his gsses. “Well, as long as they’re not restricted—”

  “I asked,” I said. “Beginner level only. Try not to light yourselves on fire.”

  Jake already had three books stacked in front of him.

  The titles were promising:

  Essential Spells for First Years

  Charmwork for Young Wands

  Practical Hexes and Their Proper Use (for Children)

  I opened one titled Foundational Magic: Utility and Daily Use.

  Inside, diagrams illustrated wand motions, intent structures, and most importantly: spell use cases.

  Accio. Latin root “to summon.”

  Incantation: Accio [object]

  Gesture: Wand toward chest, then forward in a flick.

  Function: Summons objects, visible or out of sight.

  Note: Strong mental image of object enhances reliability.

  I committed it to memory. Noted its internal logic.

  Next:

  Aberto – Unlocks doors.

  Aguamenti – Conjures clean, drinkable water.

  Aparecium – Reveals hidden ink, messages, or magical concealment.

  Appare Vestigium – Reveals magical traces and footprints. Rare. Not in most beginner books. But here it was, snuck in under a section beled Curiosities and Tracking Charms.

  And then—

  Bombarda – A spell meant for small bsts. Fourth-year level. Still... here.

  With a small warning note scribbled in the margin: For experienced supervision only.

  That sounded like a suggestion, not a rule.

  Carpe Retractum – A charm to summon objects with a glowing tether—or pull the caster toward a fixed point. Practical. Tactical.

  I didn’t just memorize them. I studied them.

  Wand movement. Linguistic structure. Magical resonance.

  Where my cssmates saw fun, I saw formation patterns. Where they saw “cool effects,” I saw battlefield logic.

  I opened my notebook and added:

  Spell No. 002 – AccioFunction: Object summoning

  Gesture: Pulling motion

  Mental Image: Required

  Practicality: High – retrieval, emergencies, utility

  Spell No. 003 – AguamentiFunction: Water generation

  Practicality: High – survival, cleaning, extinguishing fires

  Spell No. 004 – Carpe RetractumFunction: Magical tether – either pulls object or caster

  Type: Mobility/utility

  Risk: High if miscast – dislocated limbs?

  And so on.

  After hours, we left the library, our bags heavier and our ambitions louder.

  The next morning was crisp. Cold air wrapped the wns of Hogwarts like a quiet fog. While the other students remained inside pying chess or burning toast with spell mishaps, I walked toward the edge of the grounds.

  Hagrid’s hut loomed just at the edge of the forest—an odd little shack nestled against ancient trees and guarded by a crossbreed of pumpkins and disaster.

  The door creaked open before I knocked.

  “Caelum! Out early, aren’t yeh?”

  “Hagrid. Can I practice spells here? Somewhere away from crowds?”

  He scratched his beard. “Well, long as yeh don’t blow yerself up or summon somethin’ yeh can’t put back, I reckon it’s fine.”

  I stepped into the clearing near his hut and pulled my wand.

  Jake, Nathaniel, and Desmond appeared moments ter, out of breath.

  “You left us again!” Jake said, indignant.

  “You snore,” I replied.

  Hagrid ughed. “Right, let’s see what the young spellcasters’ve got.”

  I started.

  “Accio twig.”

  The stick flew into my hand. Light. Perfect.

  Jake cheered. “Mate! That’s what I’m talking about!”

  “Aberto.” I pointed my wand at a rusted garden box.

  Click.

  The lid opened.

  Hagrid gave an impressed grunt. “That one’s useful, that is.”

  “Aguamenti.”

  A jet of water sprayed from the wand. Direct. Clear. Controlled.

  Jake ducked. “Watch the hair!”

  I turned it off.

  “Aparecium.”I wrote on a stone with invisible ink and whispered the spell.

  The letters bloomed back into view.

  “WICKED,” Desmond muttered.

  “Carpe Retractum.”

  This one was trickier. I focused on a fence post. A thread of magical light extended, tethered to my wand, pulling me forward slightly.

  The others cpped. Even Hagrid gave a slow whistle.

  “Bit advanced, that one. Yeh got control.”

  And finally—

  “Bombarda.”

  I hesitated.

  Then whispered it.

  A soft pop—the size of a firecracker—blew a divot in the dirt.

  Jake’s mouth dropped.

  “YOU CAN BLOW STUFF UP?”

  “I can blow small stuff up.”

  He turned to Evie Lockhart—who had, once again, walked by at the worst possible moment—and shouted, “Hey, Evie! Caelum’s teaching me bomb spells!”

  I sighed.

  Hagrid ughed so hard he nearly dropped a pumpkin.

  That evening, I sat in the common room again, quietly updating my spellbook.

  My handwriting was neat. Cold. Calcuted.

  Each spell I learned wasn’t just a trick. It was a tool. A future technique. Something to adapt, master, and maybe—eventually—reshape.

  This magic was not chakra. But it was systematic. And systems could be mastered.

  If this world gave me nothing else, it gave me something to shape with my own hands again.

  And that, I thought, was enough.

  For now.

  [End of Chapter 8]