HP: Ashborn

A strange sense of déjà vu hit me the moment I stirred. My body felt drained yet oddly satisfied—the unmistakable aftermath of an intense magical workout, followed by some light reading (which, in my case, meant flipping through tomes thicker than my torso). Ah, right. Time-Turner antics.

With a long stretch and an equally impressive yawn, I rolled out of bed, freshened up, and checked the time—5:58 PM. Huh. I had expected it to be much earlier. Either I had grossly underestimated how much my body hated me, or time was playing its usual tricks.

Bag slung over my shoulder, I made my way to the Gryffindor common room… and instantly regretted it.

To my absolute and utter annoyance, I had walked straight into what could only be described as a first-year uprising. From the sheer pandemonium unfolding, I gathered that some Slytherin had dared to call Jordan a dork—a grievous insult, apparently, since it had sparked a full-blown revolution.

And leading the charge? None other than the Weasley twins, standing atop a table like self-appointed war generals, their fiery speeches punctuated by dramatic gasps and outraged mutters from the gathered Gryffindors.

By the God. I should have stayed in bed.

It had barely been a day at Hogwarts, and these lunatics had already ignited their foolish house rivalries. Honestly? Both impressive and ridiculous.

But I had neither the time nor the patience for such theatrics. While the chaos unfolded behind me, I slipped away to a more private spot. A quick glance at the Marauder's Map told me where to find my dear friend—holed up in Ravenclaw Tower. Looked like Lily had finally wrapped up her heart-to-heart with her daughter.

Meanwhile, I was starving. All that spell-casting had drained me, and I needed food now. So, I did what any reasonable wizard would do.

"Zippy?"

With a sharp pop, a familiar, eager voice responded, "Max called Zippy?"

"Hello again, Zippy. I'm absolutely starving. Think you could get me some fruit?"

"What fruit does Max be wanting?"

"Two apples, two pears, and… hmm, let's go with half a dozen bananas."

"Okay! Zippy be coming in just a minute!" the excited little elf chirped before vanishing. True to his word, he popped back in moments later, handing me a perfectly arranged basket of fruits.

I tucked the basket into my bag, already feeling better about my life choices.

With my much-needed fruit stash secured, I made my way to an abandoned classroom near the Great Hall. My goal? Pushing Incendio to its limits. I wanted to test its versatility, experiment with its control, and see just how far I could take it.

With a flick of my wand, I cast Incendio—flames burst to life before me, flickering and dancing in the dimly lit room. Confident, I attempted to bend them to my will—only to be met with something unexpected.

Resistance.

That was… odd.

Fire had always responded to me effortlessly, moving as if we had an unspoken agreement. But now? It refused. Something about it felt… off. A discordant note in a once-perfect melody.

Frowning, I quickly extinguished the flames with a Flame-Freezing Charm before things spiraled out of control.

I stood there, puzzled, retracing my steps. Where had I gone wrong? Then, it clicked—fire talks. It's a communion, a give-and-take. And as someone who leans a little ambiverted, I knew one universal truth: once a conversation's flow is broken, it's hard to restore.

Consistency is key. Keep the connection constant, or lose it entirely.

With this in mind, I cast Incendio once more—but this time, I stayed attuned to the flame, keeping my focus sharp, my connection unbroken. Gently, I willed it to move.

And to my absolute delight, it obeyed—no hesitation, no resistance.

Success!

Internally, I was already celebrating my breakthrough when—

BANG!

A loud crash shattered my moment of triumph. Logic told me to ignore it. Curiosity, however, grabbed me by the collar and dragged me toward the source of the commotion.

As I arrived, I was met with the sight of a thoroughly drenched Slytherin girl. Ever-something, if I remembered correctly. Water dripped from her robes, pooling on the stone floor, while a few Gryffindor boys bolted in the opposite direction, their triumphant laughter echoing down the corridor.

Their prank? Successful.

I sighed.

One day.

It had been one day at Hogwarts. And the chaos was already in full swing.

The girl had black hair, hazel eyes, and an expression teetering on the verge of tears. Her reddened eyes—puffy from crying—sent an unexpected pang of pity through me.

As I stepped closer, hoping to offer some help, she lifted her gaze—wary, defensive.

"You okay?" I asked, keeping my tone gentle.

Her expression twisted into anger. "I am not alright, you dickhead," she snapped. "I'm completely drenched—and you're a Gryffindor too? Wasn't it enough to humiliate me from afar? What do you want now?"

Well. That escalated quickly.

"Calm down," I said, keeping my tone even. "I'm not here to hurt you—I'm here to help. Take my hand, and let's step inside that classroom over there. I doubt you want more people seeing you like this."

Her wary eyes stayed locked onto mine, still brimming with doubt and caution. "Why should I trust you? You're also a Gryffindor, just like them."

"Fair point," I admitted with a small nod. "But I'm not like them. Unlike those buffoons, I can actually help you in this situation. And, after today, I hope you won't lump me in with those pigsty lions. For I,"—I placed a hand on my chest, pausing dramatically—"am the lone lion."

Without another word, I pulled a towel from my bag and gently wrapped it around her shoulders before offering my hand once more.

She hesitated—still cautious, still guarded—but at least now, she was listening.

After a moment's deliberation, she reluctantly took my hand. I met her uncertainty with a small, reassuring smile.

"Smart choice. I promise you won't regret it. Now, let's get you sorted."

Leading her into the empty classroom, I turned to find her already giving me a look that clearly said, Alright, now what?

I smirked. "I know a few drying charms that should fix this mess immediately. If I have your permission, my lady?" I added, throwing in a mock bow for good measure.

"You do," she admitted—but then her tone sharpened. "But if you dare try anything—"

I didn't let her finish.

With a flick of my wand, I cast a drying charm, starting with her soaked hair before moving to her clothes—front first, then back. For the finishing touch, I used an ironing charm to smooth out any wrinkles.

Within seconds, she was as good as new.

…Almost.

Her black hair had puffed up into a frizzy disaster—the kind of mess that would make even the bravest witch reconsider her life choices.

I considered my options before pulling out a small bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion—a wise investment from my trip to the Leaky Cauldron. Taking a single drop, I levitated it over her hair and cast a gentle combing charm.

Within ten seconds, the transformation was complete.

She parted her lips, no doubt to say something snarky—but I was faster.

With a smooth motion, I traced a small circle in the air and tapped the wall in front of us.

"Speculum Facti."

The spot where my wand touched shimmered, shifting and stretching until a mirror formed, reflecting our images back at us.

She blinked, utterly stunned.

Gone was the drenched, miserable girl from moments ago. In her place stood a poised young witch—elegant, refined, and every bit the picture of a pureblood heiress ready to step into high society.

She let the moment linger before finally speaking, her voice smooth and composed.

"You know, it's quite rude to interrupt a lady when she's speaking," she said in a tone so refined it could make any pureblood matriarch proud.

The nerve of this woman.

"I think you mean threatening," I retorted.

Silence settled between us—thick, lingering, charged—until she finally broke it.

"You're not a normal Gryffindor, are you? Why help me—a Slytherin?"

"Normal is boring," I said with a shrug. "And as for why? Well, these damned good manners I was raised with won't let me walk away from a crying girl. My Matron would've been very disappointed if I had."

"I was not crying!" she shot back, her voice rising just slightly at the end. "My eyes were just… a bit red from things."

"Of course. I completely believe you."

She huffed, clearly unamused, but let it go.

"Well… thanks. It would've been a real pain to walk into my common room dripping wet."

Then, after a brief pause, she extended her hand.

"By the way, I'm Lilian Everleigh."

I took her hand, bringing it to my lips for a small, polite kiss.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Everleigh. My name is Maximus Ashborn. I only hope you don't see me in the same light as the other Gryffindors."

Her lips curled into the faintest smirk. "We'll see about that."

"What are you doing here, Max?"

The voice should have been sweet. Should have been. Instead, it sounded like someone had dissolved acid into honey.

"Jasmine!" I turned to face my favorite Ravenclaw with an innocent smile. "Miss Everleigh, please meet my dear friend Jasmine Potter. Jasmine, this is Miss Lilian Everleigh—a Slytherin."

Jasmine's expression soured instantly, her gaze locking onto Lilian with the warmth of a Dementor's embrace.

Undeterred, I continued as if the tension wasn't thick enough to cut with a cursed dagger.

"Miss Everleigh was in a bit of a predicament earlier," I said smoothly, "and I merely offered my assistance."

A pleasure," Jasmine said flatly, her voice so devoid of enthusiasm it could have curdled milk on the spot.

Lilian, to her credit, didn't so much as flinch. Instead, she offered a tiny smirk.

"Well, it wasn't exactly a displeasure meeting a lion like you, Ashborn. See you in class."

With that, she turned and left.

As soon as she was gone, I turned back to Jasmine.

"So, how were your talks with your mother?"

For the briefest moment, she stiffened—just a flicker, so fast that most would have missed it. But I didn't.

"It was quite normal," she said, her tone carefully unreadable.

"Uh-huh." I flicked my wand, casting Tempus. Glowing numbers appeared in the air: 7:00 PM.

"So, let me get this straight—your mother came all the way to Hogwarts to speak to you personally, and for the last three hours, you two talked about normal things?"

Yes." Expressionless. Unshakable.

"Sure." I sighed, realizing she wasn't going to give me anything else to work with. For now.

Jasmine wasted no time switching gears. "And what exactly was that Everleigh girl doing here?"

"Oh, that?" I grinned. "Well, let me tell you a tale of foolish Gryffindors, an unfortunate Slytherin, and a lone Lion."

As I recounted the events, I caught her muttering under her breath—barely audible, but not enough to slip past me.

"Maybe you are somewhat of a Gryffindor…"

Oh, I definitely heard that.

"I'm heading to the Great Hall for dinner," Jasmine said. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah, let's go."

We walked side by side, weaving through the crowded corridors, where students of all years were either gossiping or making their way toward the Great Hall. The hum of conversation filled the air, a mix of excited chatter and the usual end-of-day fatigue.

As we moved through the throng, a thought struck me.

"Hey, Jasmine, I wanted to ask you something."

"What?"

"I've asked Charles Weasley to give me a tour of the castle tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM. Want to tag along?"

She glanced at me, then offered a small smile. "Sure."

"By the way, when are you teaching me those transfigurations?" she asked, giving me a pointed look.

"How about after dinner?" I suggested. "I'll walk you through the thought processes and intent behind Transfiguration. We can use the same room from earlier."

"That works. But will you actually be able to teach properly?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Who was it that taught you to silently cast Lumos and Nox?"

She opened her mouth—paused—then closed it.

"…Touché."

By the time we reached the Great Hall, Jasmine veered off toward the Ravenclaw table, while I resigned myself to the company of the loud-mouthed and reckless lions.

Settling at the far end of the Gryffindor table—closest to the teachers—I ate quietly, only half-listening to the obnoxious tales of triumph from my housemates.

Apparently, humiliating a Slytherin was now considered a grand act of heroism.

"Cowards," I muttered absentmindedly, the word laced with undisguised disdain.

I had zero interest in getting caught up in petty house conflicts—not at the very start of my first year. So, without a word, I finished my milk, stood up, and prepared to leave.

That was when Professor McGonagall's voice rang out—firm, clear, and unmistakable.

"Mr. Ashborn, after your dinner, meet me in my office."

I froze mid-step.

That was… unexpected.

I hadn't done anything—at least, nothing that should warrant being summoned by my Head of House. But arguing or questioning her here, in front of everyone, would only draw more attention.

So, I simply gave a curt nod.

"Yes, Professor."

I arrived at McGonagall's office, only to find that she wasn't alone.

Severus Snape stood beside her—arms crossed, expression unreadable. But knowing him? I'd wager he was seething beneath the surface.

Unexpected. But not necessarily a bad surprise. At least now, I had an idea of what this was about.

"Mr. Ashborn," McGonagall began, her tone composed but firm, "I would like you to account for everything that happened with Miss Everleigh."

"Black hair, hazel eyes—Miss Lilian Everleigh, correct?"

"Correct," Snape confirmed, his gaze practically drilling into me. Not that I was particularly concerned—my Occlumency-protected locket ensured my mind was safely out of reach.

So, I calmly recounted every detail—how the Gryffindor boys ambushed Everleigh, how she was left humiliated, and how I had helped her afterward.

By the end of my explanation, McGonagall let out a quiet gasp.

Snape, on the other hand, remained as outwardly impassive as a cauldron.

But inside? He was practically boiling.

"This year is proving to be even worse than the last, Minerva," he said, his voice clipped with restrained anger. "We must ensure that this does not happen again. If something like this occurs with Miss Everleigh once more, we will have to answer to both the Everleighs and the Montroses."