"It's quite all right, Miss Grimm. In my class, everyone is free to speak their mind. Welcome to share your questions about Charms," Flitwick chuckled heartily, even conjuring a chair for himself to sit on. It was evident how truly passionate he was about the study of charms.
What he failed to see, however, were the looks the Slytherin students cast toward Iblis. Similarly, Iblis did not see them either—or perhaps it was more accurate to say she simply couldn't be bothered to look.
"History and Ancient Runes are too far removed from everyday life, making them obscure and incomprehensible. Transfiguration can grant inanimate objects a fleeting semblance of life, which is barely impressive since nothing is truly resurrected—it's merely a clever shortcut. Potions can bewitch the mind and erode the soul; I must admit, it suits my tastes rather well."
Draco, standing beside her, nudged Iblis with his elbow. Unsurprisingly, the girl completely misinterpreted his gesture. "Oh, I've gotten entirely off track. Let us discuss Charms now."
"Of course you are right, Professor. Charms are the foundation upon which a wizard's entire journey begins. But let us look at it another way: you, who are born with magic, still require arduous training just to control it freely. To use that as an excuse for your own ineptitude—isn't that terribly hypocritical?"
Iblis reached out and casually clutched at the empty air. "Though magic is formless, it is everywhere. A wizard is born the master of magic. Rather than racking your brains to invent countless useless incantations, you ought to simply feel it. You all place far too much importance on spells; it is precisely this pointless reverence that prevents anyone today from ever surpassing the wizards of the past. To think that even someone like Salazar could be called one of the Founders."
Flitwick remained silent for a long time before speaking again, though his expression was no longer as relaxed as before.
"It is true that none of us can completely master every single charm in the world—that is a reality we must accept. But incantations exist precisely to allow wizards to cast magic in a more convenient way. What you are saying is simply too impractical. After all, not everyone is born a master of non-verbal casting. Only by maintaining a reverence for spells can one avoid losing their way on the path of magic."
He stood up from his tall stool, and with a wave of his wand, every feather on the desks lifted into the air, dancing gracefully to the motion of his movements. "As first-year young wizards, I hope you will keep your feet firmly on the ground. Truly powerful magic will not submit to arrogance."
Hearing this, Iblis grew interested. She immediately turned her head toward Draco. Draco, suddenly pinned by the girl's gaze, felt a creeping sense of foreboding. He instinctively shrank back, and his wand slipped from his grasp. The next second, he felt a rough texture against his palm. Looking down, he saw that his ornate, exquisite wand had turned into a crooked tree branch.
He reached out, intending to snatch back his own wand from the girl's hand, but as he drew near, someone pulled him back, and a pair of silver eyes filled his entire vision.
"Hey, have you ever witnessed a sky full of falling snow? What if those snowflakes were turned into gently drifting feathers instead?"
Draco had been burning with anger, but his thoughts drifted away, carried along by the girl's words.
Feathers... drifting across the sky...
The branch in his hand trembled, and a blinding light condensed from it. Just as everyone's attention was drawn to this spectacle, the branch shattered under the unbearable strain, and the bright light dissolved with it.
"Mr. Malfoy, are you all right?"
Flitwick stopped casting and looked at the somewhat dazed boy, while Iblis, standing right beside him, pointed out the window and smiled.
"A person's potential is limitless. An old friend told me that—though I don't believe anyone else is quite like him. Becoming a master is not arrogance; a spell is the embodiment of one's own will. There is no need for manipulation, no need for study; whatever the heart desires will manifest into reality. This is what a wizard truly is."
Following the direction of the girl's outstretched finger, they looked out the window to see a world completely blanketed in white. Looking closer, they realized that exquisite, brilliantly white peacock tail feathers were drifting down from the sky!
"From nothingness to existence in a single instant... To manifest a scene like this would require far more than just a simple Levitation Charm. Mr. Malfoy, you..." Flitwick stared fixedly out the window, but just as he fell deep into thought, the feathers outside vanished instantly, replaced by a commotion inside the classroom.
"Draco!"
"Professor, Draco has passed out!"
Iblis looked down at the boy who had collapsed into her arms, blood streaming from his nose. She waved a hand, trying to calm the rising panic.
"It's fine. Probably just malnutrition, nothing major."
"This is a massive problem, Filius."
"What kind of immensely powerful spell could you possibly have been practicing in class? This child's magical energy is entirely depleted, and it's already showing signs of backlash. For a young wizard whose magical surges are still unstable, draining all their magic in a single instant can permanently impair their future magical growth—it could even turn him into a Squib!"
Madam Pomfrey from the hospital wing looked ready to grab Professor Flitwick by the ear and scream. From nearby came an out-of-place and bizarre question: "Will he die?"
Madam Pomfrey swallowed her anger and shook her head. "Not fatally, but for a wizard, becoming a Squib casts a shadow over their entire life. Many sink into despair because of it, and some even try to end their own lives."
"Bang!"
The doors of the hospital wing were flung open. Iblis practically ran on all fours, sprinting frantically to the bed where Draco lay. Since coming to school, she had never been this panicked. "You can't die on me yet, it's not time. One time was quite enough for me to deal with!"
"Miss Grimm, you cannot simply storm into the hospital wing..."
Professor Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey hurried into the hospital wing as well, Flitwick weakly trying to call the girl back. Madam Pomfrey, radiating authority, strode purposefully toward the bed.
"Eh, why are you sitting there grinning at me like that? It's gross, you know..." The boy's voice suddenly rang out from behind the curtain, freezing Madam Pomfrey in her tracks. She pulled back the curtain to reveal Draco, sitting up against the headboard with a healthy flush on his cheeks, looking nothing like the pale, unconscious boy from moments ago.
Iblis stood beside Draco, a serene smile on her face as she held his hand. Her tone was dripping with tenderness, her expression full of concern: "Is there anywhere else that hurts?"
The warmth radiating from Draco's palm crept up to his cheeks. He averted his gaze. "No, of course not. I was just exhausted, that's all."
"Then do you remember everything that happened?"
"I... didn't I just cast a very powerful spell?"
"Smack!" Draco's hand was brusquely batted away. Iblis dusted off her palms and walked away, perfectly satisfied. As she headed out, she waved at the three of them. "All better now, you carry on with whatever you're doing. I have class to attend, ever so busy."
Once Iblis stepped out of the hospital wing, she found herself hesitating at the fork in the corridor, completely stumped. She needed to get to the Potions classroom, but which way was she supposed to go?
"Well, well, if it isn't Slytherin's most peculiar little wizard."
"What are you doing here? Are you exploring the castle just like us?"
Two red-headed boys stepped out from a side corridor, immediately spotting Iblis's striking appearance. They flanked her, one on each side, and leaned down to peer at the girl.
"I don't know where the Potions classroom is. I'm a bit lost."
The Weasley twins looked at the girl in surprise, exaggeratingly covering their mouths. "No way! Aren't you a Slytherin student? You don't even know where the dungeons are?"
Iblis tried hard to recall and realized that morning she had simply been led to class by Wenwen, and the only time she had gone down herself was on the night of the Welcome Feast.
"Heh heh, leave it to us!"
Seeing Iblis bow her head in deep thought, Fred assumed the girl was genuinely terrible with directions. He leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, "Just tell us the secret behind your little prank, and we'll show you the way."
"Prank?"
George rested an arm on Fred's shoulder as the two of them shared a knowing, mischievous grin. "Naturally, the ones you pulled on the Sorting Hat and the Baron. We've wrung our brains dry trying to figure out how you managed it."
"Oh, that... If I told you I didn't actually do anything at all, and that they were simply terrified of me, would you believe it?"
Both boys shook their heads.
Iblis didn't mind. She casually started walking down one of the paths. "The dungeons are underground, naturally. If I just keep following the stairs, I'm bound to find them eventually. Goodbye, Weasley brothers."
After the girl had gone, George and Fred exchanged glances. They suddenly realized they had never even introduced themselves to her. So how on earth did she know their surname?
"Well, brother, it seems our reputation in Slytherin is quite something."