HP: Ashborn

Hello ladies and Gentlemen, we are at a 31 power stones currently.

If we make it past 60 this week. I will immediately post another chapter. So GIVE ME THE STONES.

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"Yes, Severus," McGonagall sighed, rubbing her temples. "I will speak to my lions about this."

Good. That was at least a start in instilling some discipline.

But I needed to ensure they truly grasped the urgency of the situation.

So, I dropped a bomb.

"Professor," I said, tilting my head as if deep in thought. "I think you should know this—The Weasley twins claim it is their mission to surpass some group called 'The Marauders' in terms of mischief."

Silence.

Then—

McGonagall's eyes widened in sheer, unfiltered horror.

Snape's expression, meanwhile, twisted as if he'd just bitten into the world's sourest lemon. And the way he turned—slow, deliberate, dripping with ominous intent—to look at McGonagall? If looks could kill, she'd already be a pile of smoldering robes and regret.

But none of that was my concern. Rising from my seat with an air of innocence, I simply said,

"It's getting late. I believe I should return to the dormitories now. Good day, Professors. Take care."

With that, I turned and left, leaving them to deal with the impending chaos in Gryffindor House.

As I stepped out into the corridor, I immediately noticed someone leaning against the wall at the far end, arms crossed, eyes sharp, looking as if she had been waiting for quite some time.

I smirked. "Didn't think you would be waiting for me."

Jasmine arched an eyebrow. "Well, apparently, someone got called to the Vice Headmistress's office. And that same idiot also promised to teach me something—but clearly, he has no tact, considering he made a lady wait." She mock-pouted, shaking her head as if deeply offended.

I let out a dramatic sigh and gave an exaggerated bow, one foot crossing behind the other. "Then I offer my sincerest apologies for such an unforgivable transgression."

Straightening, I smirked. "Would the lady be willing to forgive me if we begin her Transfiguration lessons immediately?"

She hummed, pretending to consider. "She may."

"Well then, my lady," I said, gesturing toward the abandoned room ahead, "let's begin."

Once inside, I glanced at the time—7:45 PM.

Turning serious, I met her gaze. "Jasmine, we have a little over an hour. I'll teach you as much as time allows, but how much you learn depends entirely on you."

She nodded, her usual teasing demeanor giving way to focused determination.

"We'll start slowly, building your foundation just as I did. Once your basics are solid, we'll move on to Transfiguration exercises." I paused for emphasis. "Is that clear?"

"Yup. All clear, Professor Ashborn," Jasmine said, flashing a wide grin.

"Good. Then let's begin."

I dove into the lesson, explaining everything I had learned—my experiences, my thought processes, and how I shaped my intent when performing Transfiguration.

To my surprise, it took her no more than 45 minutes to grasp the theory. Fast. Very fast. It had taken me nearly 50 minutes to understand these concepts myself. The fact that she managed to match my pace meant only one thing—Jasmine Potter was a prodigy, at least when it came to theory.

But theory and practice were two very different beasts.

Once we moved on to the practical exercises, she hit her first roadblock.

How did we get materials to practice on? Simple—summon a house-elf, request politely, offer genuine praise, and boom—you'd have your supplies and an elf happily singing your praises for the next ten minutes.

Now armed with matchsticks, we got to work.

It took Jasmine twenty tries, a lot of focus, an exhausting amount of encouragement, and an absurd amount of staring at the matchstick before it finally transfigured into a needle.

The moment it happened, her face lit up—like a flower blooming in spring.

I congratulated her, but before she could bask in her success for too long, I sighed and reminded her, "Unfortunately, it's getting late. Curfew's approaching, and I'd rather not get caught by Filch, that sadistic, ugly bastard."

With that, we packed up and started making our way back to our dormitories.

We walked together in comfortable silence. There was a particular warmth in the air, something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

But as we reached the corridor where our paths diverged, Jasmine hesitated, her fingers fidgeting at her sides.

"Um… listen," she began softly.

"Hmm?" I turned to her, giving her my full attention.

"Thanks."

I smiled at her sincerity. Meeting her gaze, I held it for a moment before replying just as gently, "It was nothing, Jasmine. You did the same for me when I bombarded you with questions about Potions. In fact, it must have taken a lot of patience to answer all of them."

"So you are aware?" she teased, a small smirk playing on her lips.

"Of course. You weren't the first to endure it, you know," I said with a quiet chuckle. "My matron, Professor McGonagall—they both suffered through the same." I exhaled lightly, smiling at the memory.

Her expression softened.

"But if you ever have anything to ask, don't hesitate. I'll do my best to help. I actually enjoyed teaching you, you know. It was… fun."

"I enjoyed it too," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "It reminded me of when Mum used to teach me."

There was something unguarded in her tone, a quiet vulnerability that made me pause. But before I could say anything, she straightened slightly and spoke again—a little louder, but still soft, almost hesitant.

"When are we meeting tomorrow to continue?"

"Tomorrow afternoon at three in the library," I reminded her. "You haven't forgotten about our morning exploration with Charles Weasley, have you?"

"Yes! The exploration—I totally remembered that," she replied, though there was something just slightly off in her tone. I noticed it, but let it slide. Curfew was approaching, and there would be time to ask later.

"Just be ready by eight in the Great Hall," I said.

"Sure," she murmured.

Then, she locked her eyes with mine, her expression unreadable. Taking a slow step backward—then another—she held my gaze, as though reluctant to break the moment.

"Good night, Max."

I responded with a small, genuine smile. "Sweet dreams, Jasmine."

I watched as her silhouette faded into the corridor's dim light, the sound of her footsteps growing fainter with each step. And when she was finally gone, a strange weight settled in my chest, something quiet and unspoken.

Exhaling, I turned on my heel and headed for my dormitory, picking up my Arithmancy book from where I had left off.

By the time my eyes drifted to the clock, it was already 11:30 PM.

I closed my book, feeling exhaustion settle over me.

Well… time to sleep. Good night.

The very next day, outside the Great Hall:

"He's late," came a sweet yet thoroughly unimpressed voice.

"It's not even 8:00 AM yet, Jasmine," I said, though I shared the exact same sentiment. The clock read 7:59 AM, and our so-called guide was nowhere in sight.

She crossed her arms. "One must always arrive at least ten minutes early while leading a group. What kind of Prefect doesn't even show up on time?"

"The kind that will be serving as your guide to Hogwarts," a voice interrupted from beside me.

And just like that, Charles Weasley materialized, clearly thinking he had made a dramatic and awe-inspiring entrance.

He had not.

He had, however, failed at it spectacularly.

But I decided to let it slide. "Good morning, Prefect Weasley."

"Hello, Ashborn," he greeted before turning to Jasmine. His voice noticeably softened. "Hello, Jasmine."

"Hello, Charlie."

…Well. That was awkward.

Brushing past whatever that was, I clapped my hands. "Alright, Prefect Weasley, where are we starting?"

"Since we're already on the ground floor, we might as well start here," he said, regaining his composure.

Our first stop was the staffroom, a rather unremarkable space, save for the lingering feeling that at least one professor had eyes on you at all times. Then, we passed by Filch's office—which, despite my low expectations, somehow still managed to be worse than anticipated. The whole place smelled… fishy. No pun intended.

To our surprise, most of the first floor was dominated by Transfiguration classrooms, courtyards, and various academic departments. Pretty standard.

But the true evil lurking on the ground floor?

The Grand Staircase.

Those stairs were pure malevolence incarnate. One moment, you're walking like a normal, civilized human being—next thing you know, poof—they vanish beneath your feet.

And no, before you ask, there was no discernible pattern. No logic. No schedule. The shifting was entirely at the whims of Hogwarts itself, a semi-sentient castle that clearly thrived on making students suffer.

Needless to say, I was not looking forward to dealing with that for the next seven years.

From the ground floor, Charlie led us to the first floor, which housed several important classrooms. There was Defence Against the Dark Arts, the ever-thrilling History of Magic classroom—where the Professor's voice instantly connects you to Morpheus's Realm—Muggle Studies, and, of course, the Hospital Wing.

This floor also contained Professor McGonagall's office and—more importantly—Madam Pomfrey's domain, or as students preferred to call her, Poppy 'The Dragon' Pomfrey.

The second floor, however, was relatively uneventful. The only noteworthy locations were Myrtle's toilet—which we wisely avoided—and the cursed Defence Against the Dark Arts office, which had a reputation for its ever-rotating inhabitants.

Things got interesting on the third floor.

Here, we found the armory, the Charms classroom, the Clock Tower entrance, and the library, which extended into the fourth floor. More specifically, the Restricted Section was on the fourth floor—something I mentally bookmarked for later.

Then, there was the One-Eyed Witch passage—our soon-to-be ticket straight to Honeydukes. Very useful.

The Trophy Room was also here which, while interesting in its own right, mostly served as a reminder of Hogwarts' long history of overachievers.

The fourth floor itself was… painfully unremarkable.

The only thing of note? Binns' office. Which, as expected, was just as uninteresting as the ghost who occupied it.

The fifth floor, however, held something of great importance—

The Prefects' Bathroom.

Charlie, naturally, took great pride in showing it off, almost as if it were some sort of royal chamber. Jasmine and I simply exchanged amused glances and let him have his moment.

The sixth floor was mostly forgettable, with the exception of two locations.

One was a seemingly ordinary boys' bathroom, which I now knew would, in a few years, become the scene where Draco Malfoy almost died.

The other? Professor Babbling's office, which definitely piqued my interest. Given the professor's expertise in Ancient Runes, I was certain her office held a treasure trove of arcane symbols just waiting to be studied.

Finally, we reached the seventh floor, home to several significant locations.

There was the Hall of Hexes, the Headmaster's office, and Professor Flitwick's office, where the ever-jovial Charms Master greeted us cheerfully when we passed by. Bless the tiny dueling champion.

Also on this floor were the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Towers. Of course, out of respect for both houses' privacy, these weren't officially mentioned in the tour. But let's be honest—it was an open secret.

From the highest point of the castle, we made our way down—way down—to the bottommost level of Hogwarts.

Here, we came across a whole lot of barrels, which, as Charlie explained, served as the entrance to Hufflepuff's common room.

And then there was the fruit bowl portrait.

Charlie smirked as he gestured toward a particularly large pear in the painting. "To enter the kitchens," he said, "all you have to do is tickle the pear."

I glanced at Jasmine. She glanced at me.

Hogwarts was so weird.

We had been walking for nearly three hours, exploring every hidden corner and grand hall of Hogwarts. No book, no movie had ever truly captured the castle's magnificence—the sheer magic woven into its very walls, the endless corridors brimming with history, and the feeling of being in a place that had existed for centuries, untouched by time.

But if there was one thing more breathtaking than the castle itself, it was Jasmine's eyes.

The way they sparkled, reflecting the light of the enchanted torches, was almost dangerous. I could have been captivated, lost in their sheer beauty—had it not been for the saving grace of Occlumency.

"That was goddamn dangerous." I quickly pushed the thought away, thanking Occlumency for its timely intervention.

With the tour finally concluded, Charlie immediately headed toward his dormitory, while Jasmine turned toward hers, mentioning she had something to take care of.

"Let's meet directly in the library," she said before departing.

And now that I was alone… it was Room of Requirement time.

Taking all necessary precautions, I once again found myself in front of the hidden entrance. This time, after checking my watch—12:08 PM—I twisted the Time-Turner, stepping back twelve hours to maximize my practice time.

I divided my training into three structured sessions:

Session One (3 Hours): Spellwork and Dodging

The first hour was dedicated to dodging spells—or in this case, low-powered Stinging Hexes cast by dummies.

You ask why?

Well, dodging spells is a crucial skill—it raises situational awareness, reduces magical power consumption, and sharply decreases reflex time.

And for the spellwork, I started with standard spells—nothing too complex, just refining the basics to perfection.

Flipendo (Knockback Jinx)

Tarantellegra (Dancing Feet Spell)

Locomotor Mortis (Leg-Locker Curse)

Petrificus Totalus (Full Body-Bind Curse)

Impedimenta (Slowing Curse)

Stupefy (Stunning Spell)

And most importantly—Finite (Counter-Spell).

A solid three hours dedicated to sharpening spells straight out of the Hogwarts curriculum for beginners and First Years (except for the Stunning Spell). With repeated practice, it became easier to imbue intent, channel magic, and cast spells fluidly—all thanks to my prior experience practicing Expelliarmus (Disarming Jinx).

Session Two (6 Hours): Theory & Mental Arts

The second part of my training was purely academic—six hours of intense study, diving into both Hogwarts subjects and beyond, all according to the schedule I had created beforehand.

Flame Arts—a discipline few dared to master.

Occlumency—strengthening my mind's defenses. It was exhausting, but necessary.

Transfiguration—the delicate balance of intent, concentration, and magical precision.

Charms—refining spellwork for everyday use, focusing on accuracy and efficiency.

Defence Against the Dark Arts—counter-curses, jinxes, and dueling tactics.

Potions—memorizing ingredient interactions and the art of subtle magic.

Arithmancy—the magic of numbers, calculations, and their applications in spellcraft.

Ancient Runes—the study of magical symbols, inscriptions, and lost enchantments.

Session Three (2.25 Hours): Specialization Training

After a short 30-minute recharge—fruits, water, and some deep breathing exercises—it was time for what truly mattered.

Transfiguration Arts—pushing my limits, refining control, aiming for perfection.Flame Arts—practicing the element that would define my future specialty.Dueling—a discipline beyond just casting spells. It was about finding a style that truly suited me—balancing speed, precision, and strategy to outmaneuver opponents.

For two hours and fifteen minutes, I pushed myself—repeating, refining, and perfecting every motion, every incantation, every shift of magic until it felt as natural as breathing.

I wasn't there yet. But I would be.

The Final 15 Minutes: Clean-Up

The last fifteen minutes were spent erasing every trace of my training. No evidence. No misplaced objects. No lingering magic.

The Room of Requirement gave, but it was my responsibility to ensure I never left a mark behind.

And by the end of it?

Exhaustion did its job flawlessly.

The sheer drain from hours of spellwork, mental fortitude, and physical exertion left me barely able to lift a finger.

Food? Irrelevant.

Instead, I stumbled back to my dormitory, collapsed onto my bed, and barely managed to set a magical alarm for 2:40 PM.

Promises are promises.

"And an Ashborn keeps his promise… even in the face of death."

The thought surfaced unbidden—a whisper from the depths of my mind.

Cold. Unwavering. Absolute.

For a fleeting moment, it felt less like my own conviction and more like a truth etched into existence itself.

But exhaustion weighed too heavily, drowning the thought before I could grasp its meaning.

And so, I let the darkness take me, slipping into Morpheus' realm…

Unaware of the echo it left behind.