(Author's note: I am not a writer, just taking my first step into creating fanfiction. I heavily used ChatGPT, so if there's anything wrong or things I should add, inform me so I can fix it.)
The corridor outside Flitwick's office was quieter than most of the castle, the kind of quiet that made every small sound feel deliberate. Evelyn moved through it with Harry at her side, her attention split in the way it had become familiar over the last few weeks—part of her focused on the immediate world, the other already running through the structure of Concussio again. The spell still wasn't wrong, not exactly, but it wasn't complete either. It held shape under controlled conditions, yet something in the way it responded under strain felt slightly unstable, as if it was waiting for the wrong emotional pressure to unravel it. Harry walked a half-step behind her, glancing sideways at her more than once before finally speaking.
"You've been thinking about that spell nonstop," he said quietly, keeping his voice low as they passed a pair of younger Ravenclaws who immediately went silent when Evelyn walked by. "It's starting to feel like you're more focused on it than sleeping."
"I sleep," Evelyn replied without looking at him, though the answer lacked any real weight of reassurance. Her tone was neutral, almost clinical. "Just not for long enough to interrupt progress."
"That's not really comforting," Harry muttered, but there was no real frustration in it—more concern than anything else. He adjusted his grip on his bag slightly, then added, "Flitwick's going to like it though. He already does, doesn't he?"
"He's evaluating it," Evelyn corrected, her gaze flicking briefly toward a window where the early winter light was beginning to dull against the stone. "Not liking it. That's different."
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the words never fully came out, because the air ahead of them changed before either of them noticed the source. It wasn't dramatic at first—just a shift in attention, a subtle tightening of space as if the corridor itself had become more aware of who was walking through it. Evelyn felt it first, not as emotion but as pattern recognition. People stopped talking before they were close enough to be heard. That alone was enough to make her slow slightly.
Then Lockhart stepped into view.
He wasn't rushing, which made the timing worse. If he had been running, it would have felt accidental. Instead, he appeared as though he had been waiting for exactly the right moment to intercept them, posture perfect, expression already arranged into something confident and unnecessarily bright. His robes were immaculate in a way that suggested preparation rather than coincidence, and his smile widened as soon as he saw them.
"There you are!" Lockhart said, as though he had been searching for them personally rather than simply inserting himself into their path. His gaze immediately fixed on Evelyn, then shifted briefly to Harry, and finally settled into something performative. "I was hoping I might catch you before your meeting with Professor Flitwick. Wonderful man, Flitwick, of course, but sometimes academic minds need a little… broader perspective, don't you think?"
Harry immediately looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight slightly as though preparing for an exit that wasn't yet available. Evelyn, however, didn't move. She simply watched Lockhart, her expression unreadable in a way that didn't invite interpretation so much as discourage it entirely.
"We're on our way somewhere," Evelyn said evenly.
"Exactly!" Lockhart replied, far too quickly, as though that had been his point all along. He stepped slightly into their path—not blocking it outright, but narrowing it enough to make continuation a choice rather than an inevitability. "And I thought, why not make the journey more productive? I've been reviewing your recent developments—Concussio, isn't it? Very intriguing work for someone so young."
Harry glanced at Evelyn at that, but she didn't react to the praise or the intrusion. Instead, she noted the phrasing. Reviewing. Not observing. Not teaching. Reviewing implied ownership, or at least authority over interpretation.
"That spell is under Flitwick's supervision," Evelyn said after a moment.
"Oh, of course it is," Lockhart said smoothly, waving a hand as if that detail was irrelevant rather than important. "And I'm sure he's doing an admirable job. But different perspectives are essential, especially with something that… powerful. I've seen what happens when young talent isn't properly guided into public understanding."
There was a pause there that might have been subtle if not for the way he held it, as though expecting agreement that never came. Harry shifted again, clearly uncomfortable, but Evelyn's attention had already moved past the surface of his words and into what they were trying to do beneath them.
He wasn't trying to help her spell. He was trying to position himself inside it.
"We don't have time," Harry said finally, a little more firmly than before.
"That's the beauty of Hogwarts," Lockhart replied cheerfully, as if Harry hadn't spoken at all. "Time can be arranged. Especially for students who are becoming… well known."
His eyes flicked briefly to Evelyn again, and this time there was something more deliberate behind it, something that didn't quite match his tone. Interest, yes—but not in her as a student. In her as a narrative.
"I also heard," Lockhart continued lightly, "that the Malfoy-backed winter event is progressing quite well. Very exclusive, very prestigious. It would be a shame if someone of your… visibility went into it without proper framing."
Evelyn's gaze sharpened slightly at that, just enough to register a shift in attention. Harry noticed it immediately.
"You don't need to frame anything," Harry said, his voice tightening a fraction.
Lockhart smiled wider, as though that reaction had been expected. "Oh, Harry, I'm not suggesting control. Just guidance. There's a difference."
And then, as if it had simply been waiting behind the conversation the entire time, Lockhart added lightly, "Besides, with everything being said about you two, it's important to make sure people understand the correct narrative."
He let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing, voice bright again. "Now—about Concussio. I think we should discuss how it might be better presented. After all, spellcraft is only half the work. The other half is perception."
Evelyn finally shifted her stance slightly, not toward him, but just enough to signal that she had registered the attempt for what it was. Harry tensed beside her, but neither of them spoke immediately. The corridor behind Lockhart remained open, Flitwick's office still ahead—but now the path forward felt slightly more contested than it had a minute ago.
Lockhart, meanwhile, looked entirely satisfied with himself, as though the conversation had already gone exactly as planned.
Evelyn didn't argue further, not because Lockhart had convinced her, but because the situation had already shifted into something less about choice and more about containment. If she pushed him away too directly, he would simply reframe it as resistance to "guidance," and that would only strengthen whatever narrative he was trying to build. So instead, she adjusted—subtly, deliberately—redirecting the momentum rather than fighting it outright.
"Fine," she said after a short pause, her voice calm in a way that didn't invite follow-up questions. "If you're going to speak about it, then you should see it properly."
Harry glanced at her immediately, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his expression, but Evelyn didn't look at him. She was already watching Lockhart instead, gauging how quickly he would try to turn permission into control.
Lockhart, predictably, lit up at the response.
"Excellent! Exactly the kind of open-mindedness I expect from exceptional students," he said, stepping slightly to the side as if granting them passage rather than resuming it. "Flitwick will understand. In fact, I imagine he would appreciate a second opinion on early-stage refinement."
Harry muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like disagreement, but he followed anyway as they continued down the corridor. Lockhart walked alongside them now rather than in front, which somehow made his presence more invasive rather than less. He kept talking as they moved, filling the space with commentary that was half observation, half performance.
"The structure of newer spellwork is fascinating these days," Lockhart continued. "In my time, of course, we focused more on refinement through repetition, but you young witches and wizards—so inventive. Concussio, for example, is quite the elegant concept. A controlled shockwave… very theatrical if done correctly."
"It's not theatrical," Evelyn said quietly.
"Of course not," Lockhart replied instantly, as though agreeing had always been his intention. "But perception matters. Always has."
They reached a quieter section of corridor near a small open alcove where practice space could be used without interruption. Evelyn stopped there without announcing it, and Harry slowed beside her, immediately sensing the shift in purpose. Lockhart, however, took an extra step forward before realizing they had stopped, then turned back with an expectant expression.
"This will do," Evelyn said.
"Do what, exactly?" Harry asked, though he already knew the answer.
Evelyn lifted her wand without ceremony. There was no dramatic pause, no flourish for attention—just controlled readiness. The motion itself was precise, almost minimal, as though she had already rehearsed it a hundred times and was simply executing the next repetition.
"Concussio," she said.
The spell formed quickly this time, more stable than before. The air in front of her tightened, not bending outward chaotically but compressing into a directed point before releasing in a sharp, controlled surge. The shockwave struck the far wall of the alcove with a heavy, contained impact—strong enough to rattle loose dust from the stone, but not enough to fracture anything structural.
Harry instinctively leaned forward slightly, watching the result closely. "That was cleaner," he said.
"It's stabilizing," Evelyn replied, already analyzing the outcome rather than reacting to it.
Lockhart, meanwhile, clapped his hands together as though he had just witnessed something far more theatrical than it actually was.
"Remarkable!" he declared. "Absolutely remarkable control for a developing spell. You see, Harry, this is exactly what structured mentorship produces—refinement, direction, clarity."
Harry's expression tightened, but he didn't respond immediately. Evelyn, however, noticed something more specific: Lockhart hadn't commented on the mechanics of the spell at all. He was commenting on how it looked.
"That's not the function," Evelyn said evenly.
Lockhart tilted his head slightly. "Pardon?"
"It's not designed for presentation," she clarified. "It's designed for displacement and interruption. Visual impact is incidental."
"Ah," Lockhart said, smiling as if she had confirmed his point rather than corrected it. "But incidental impact is still impact. And impact is what people remember."
Harry exhaled quietly through his nose, clearly holding back a response, but Evelyn had already returned her focus to the spell structure in her mind. The output had been better, but still not perfect. The emotional anchor was stabilizing, yes—but it was still slightly reactive rather than directive.
Lockhart stepped a little closer to the impact mark on the wall, inspecting it as though evaluating a piece of art.
"Of course," he added lightly, "there are also ways to present this sort of talent publicly. Especially with events like the Malfoy winter competition approaching. Very influential audience, I'm told."
Harry frowned. "Why do you keep bringing that up?"
"Because opportunity is rarely accidental," Lockhart replied smoothly, without looking at him.
Evelyn lowered her wand slightly, but she didn't fully relax her stance. "It's not part of Concussio development."
"Not yet," Lockhart corrected.
The word hung there a fraction too long.
Harry shifted closer to Evelyn, not aggressively, but enough to signal alignment rather than separation. "We're supposed to be going to Flitwick."
"And you still will," Lockhart said pleasantly. "After all, I would never interfere with proper academic supervision."
But he didn't move aside immediately.
Instead, he added, almost casually, "Still… it's interesting how quickly certain students rise in visibility these days. One moment they're unknown, the next they're being discussed in connection with ancient classifications, lineage theories, and—"
He paused just long enough for it to feel intentional.
"—Primordial origin speculation."
Harry's posture stiffened instantly.
Evelyn didn't react outwardly, but something in her attention sharpened in a quieter way.
Lockhart smiled as though he had simply mentioned the weather.
"Fascinating how rumors evolve, isn't it?" he said.
Then, finally, he stepped aside.
And the corridor forward reopened.
Flitwick didn't announce himself in a dramatic way. He rarely did. Instead, his presence became noticeable in the subtle correction of the space—like the corridor itself had decided to straighten slightly. The tension that Lockhart had been stretching across the moment didn't disappear, but it shifted, becoming less dominant, less confident.
"Professor Lockhart," Flitwick said pleasantly, though his tone carried a firmness that didn't match the softness of his voice. "I was not expecting company in this section of the corridor."
Lockhart turned immediately, smile already in place, as though he had been anticipating exactly this arrival rather than reacting to it. "Professor Flitwick! Wonderful timing, truly. I was just discussing one of your most promising students. Exceptional work she's doing—Concussio, quite a fascinating development."
Flitwick's eyes moved past him immediately to Evelyn, then Harry, taking in their posture, their positioning, and the faint residual trace of spellwork in the air. He didn't respond to Lockhart right away. Instead, he walked forward a few steps and stopped at the impact mark Evelyn had created earlier.
"Clean displacement," Flitwick said after a moment, more to himself than anyone else. "Controlled compression rather than scatter. That's improved since your last report."
Evelyn inclined her head slightly. "The containment layer is holding better."
"Yes," Flitwick replied, turning his attention fully to her now. "But your emotional anchor is still slightly reactive. You're responding to output instead of directing it."
Harry glanced between them, clearly realizing this was no longer a conversation Lockhart could easily insert himself into.
Lockhart, however, attempted exactly that.
"Ah, yes, refinement is always key," he said smoothly, stepping closer again. "I was just suggesting that broader perspective in spell development can be quite beneficial. Especially when preparing for public-facing magical demonstrations—such as the upcoming Malfoy-sponsored winter event."
Flitwick blinked once.
Then, very calmly, he said, "Professor Lockhart, are you currently supervising Miss Carmichael's spell development?"
The question was light in tone. The implication was not.
Lockhart smiled a fraction more tightly. "Not formally, of course. But mentorship is often informal between colleagues."
"I see," Flitwick said.
There was a short pause that no one rushed to fill.
Then Flitwick turned slightly back toward Evelyn.
"I will be reviewing your Concussio report directly," he said. "Not through secondary interpretation. That includes any external commentary."
Lockhart's smile faltered just slightly at that, though he recovered quickly. "Of course. I only intended to assist."
"I'm sure you did," Flitwick replied politely, without looking at him.
Harry shifted slightly closer to Evelyn, clearly relieved that the balance in the room had changed.
Flitwick continued, now fully in professional mode. "We will proceed with proper evaluation in my office. No further demonstrations in corridors unless supervised."
Evelyn nodded once. "Understood."
Lockhart made a small sound of agreement that wasn't quite convincing. "Naturally, safety first."
Flitwick finally looked at him again. "Indeed."
And that single word ended the conversation.
They began moving again, Flitwick now walking slightly ahead with Evelyn and Harry following. Lockhart lingered for half a step longer than necessary, watching them go, his expression still composed—but now more measured, less certain.
As they walked, Harry leaned slightly toward Evelyn.
"That felt like he was being politely removed," he muttered.
Evelyn's gaze stayed forward. "It was."
Harry glanced at her. "Flitwick doesn't usually do that."
"No," Evelyn replied quietly. "He usually doesn't need to."
Flitwick, a few steps ahead, spoke without turning back. "Professor Lockhart has enthusiasm. That is not the same as authority."
Harry almost smiled at that.
Evelyn, however, remained focused—not on Lockhart anymore, but on what Flitwick had said earlier about her spell structure.
Reactive instead of directed.
That was the real problem.
And Flitwick had noticed it immediately.
Which meant she wasn't as far ahead of understanding as she needed to be.
Lockhart's office felt too warm, like the air itself had been forced to behave politely. Everything in it was arranged for appearance first and function second: polished surfaces, framed photographs that moved too eagerly, and trophies that looked as though they had never been touched by anything as unglamorous as real work. Evelyn stood near the center of it all with Harry slightly behind her shoulder, both of them clearly aware they had been redirected rather than invited.
Lockhart, of course, was delighted by this.
"Now then, this is perfect timing," he said, clasping his hands as though fate itself had applauded his scheduling. "I was just discussing your… little development with Professor Flitwick. Quite the topic, isn't it? A young Spell Weaver refining a fifth spell already—extraordinary. And Concussio, was it? A very dramatic name. Very marketable."
Harry shifted slightly, already looking uncomfortable. "We were actually on our way to see him—"
"And now you are here first," Lockhart interrupted smoothly, as though that solved the matter entirely. His eyes flicked to Evelyn with a practiced enthusiasm that never quite reached sincerity. "You see, I simply think guidance is so important at your stage. Especially with attention increasing around you. Rumors, expectations… inheritance talk, even. One would hate for a talent like yours to be mishandled."
Evelyn didn't respond immediately. Her gaze rested on him with the kind of calm that usually made adults think they were being respected, when in reality they were being measured.
"I don't require guidance from you," she said at last, evenly.
Lockhart laughed lightly, as if she had made a clever joke rather than a boundary. "Oh, I'm not suggesting you require it. Merely that it is offered. Consider me a… supportive influence." He gestured toward a cleared space in the room. "Now, Concussio. Show me again. I want to understand its intent. Every spell has intent, after all—especially one attracting this much attention."
Harry frowned. "Why do you care so much about this one spell?"
Lockhart turned toward him with an expression of patient condescension. "Because, Harry, when the world is watching students like you and Evelyn, it reflects on the school. On its educators. And I do so enjoy ensuring that reflection is… flattering."
Evelyn exhaled once through her nose, controlled. "It's a controlled shockwave. Short-range impact. Stronger than Flipendo, weaker than Reducto. Designed for interruption, not destruction."
"Yes, yes, I read the summary," Lockhart said quickly, waving a hand. "But summaries are so dull. Show me the feeling of it."
There was a pause.
Harry glanced at her. "You don't have to—"
"I know," Evelyn replied quietly.
Still, she lifted her wand.
"Concussio."
The spell snapped forward—clean, compressed, and controlled. It struck the far side of the room with a dull, contained burst that rattled the framed photographs just slightly. Nothing shattered. Nothing escalated. It was precise.
Lockhart's eyes lit up in a way that felt less like understanding and more like opportunity.
"Excellent! Wonderful control, yes, very disciplined. You see, that is exactly the kind of refinement I encourage in my students," he said, already stepping closer as if he had personally shaped the result. "With a bit of presentation, this could be quite the demonstration piece. Imagine the Winter event at Malfoy Manor—snowbound dueling showcases, elite guests, Ministry presence—"
Harry's head snapped toward him. "What?"
Lockhart continued as if the reaction was enthusiasm. "Oh, yes, you hadn't heard? The Charms Guild is sponsoring a winter exhibition. A wonderful networking opportunity. And given your recent recognition, Evelyn, I've taken the liberty of ensuring your participation is… strongly encouraged."
Evelyn's expression tightened slightly. "You did what."
"Oh, don't look at me like that," Lockhart said, smiling brightly. "It's all quite beneficial. Especially now that certain… classifications are being discussed."
That word landed differently.
Harry noticed first. "What classifications?"
Lockhart's smile widened just a fraction too much. "Why, inheritance classifications, of course. Primordial Born theory—very exciting subject at the moment. The Ministry is quite interested. And you, Miss Carmichael, are at the center of it whether you like it or not."
Evelyn's grip on her wand didn't change, but the air around her did—not visibly, but in the way silence becomes heavier when something is about to turn.
"You're using that," she said quietly, "as leverage."
"Leverage is such an ugly word," Lockhart replied smoothly. "Let's call it opportunity."
Harry stepped forward slightly. "She didn't agree to anything."
Lockhart sighed as though Harry had missed the point of a lecture. "Harry, my boy, when opportunities align with public interest, agreement becomes… flexible."
Evelyn finally looked directly at him. "You're trying to attach your name to this."
There it was.
A flicker—just brief—before Lockhart recovered.
"Attach? Oh no. Guide. Support. Encourage. After all, if a student of yours is revealed to be something as rare as a Primordial Born—well, imagine the prestige for the institution that helped her come forward."
Harry's voice sharpened. "You're not helping her. You're using her."
Lockhart opened his mouth, then paused, as if considering which version of the truth sounded most heroic.
Before he could answer, Evelyn spoke again.
"I am not a symbol," she said, calm but absolute. "And I am not your project."
The room went still in a different way this time.
Even Lockhart hesitated.
Then he smiled again, softer now, more calculated. "Of course not. But symbols are what the world creates around people like you. My advice? Don't fight it. Shape it."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Evelyn lowered her wand.
Not in agreement.
In conclusion.
"We're leaving," she said.
Harry didn't argue.
And for once, even Lockhart didn't stop them.
Harry didn't say much as they left Lockhart's office, but the silence between him and Evelyn wasn't empty. It was full in a different way—tight, thinking, still processing what had just been said and what had been implied beneath it.
By the time they reached the corridor outside, Harry finally broke it.
"He's not going to stop, is he?" he asked quietly.
Evelyn adjusted her grip on her wand, her expression unreadable for a moment. "No," she said simply. "Not while it benefits him."
Harry let out a short breath through his nose. "He makes everything sound like it's already decided."
"That's because he speaks like perception is reality," Evelyn replied. "If enough people believe something about me, then it stops mattering whether it's true or not."
Harry glanced at her. "And is it true? What they're saying?"
Evelyn didn't answer immediately. Not because she didn't know—but because she didn't like how much power the question carried.
"I don't know," she said at last, honest in a way she rarely allowed herself. "And that's the problem."
They walked a few steps in silence before Harry spoke again, quieter this time.
"You don't like not knowing things."
"No," Evelyn said. "I don't."
That almost made him smile. Almost.
Behind them, the castle felt louder again as students moved through corridors, conversations overlapping, rumors multiplying without effort. The word Primordial had already started to change shape in people's mouths—less question now, more assumption.
Harry slowed slightly. "Do you think he's right about the Manor thing?"
Evelyn's eyes narrowed slightly. "He's not wrong that there's an event."
"That's not what I meant."
She glanced at him then, and for a moment her expression softened just enough to be noticeable.
"I think," she said carefully, "that anything involving people like Malfoy's family, the Ministry, and a classified inheritance classification is not going to be simple."
Harry sighed. "That sounds like a polite way of saying 'this is going to be awful.'"
"It is a polite way of saying that," she agreed.
That earned a short laugh from him—small, but real.
They reached a window alcove and paused there as students passed behind them, the noise fading slightly.
Harry leaned against the stone. "You're really not worried about what you are?"
Evelyn looked out the window for a moment before answering. The winter air outside pressed cold against the glass.
"I'm worried about what other people decide I am," she said. "That's more dangerous than whatever the truth turns out to be."
Harry nodded slowly, like he understood that more than he wanted to.
A pause.
Then he added, "For what it's worth… I don't think you're a project either."
Evelyn didn't look at him immediately.
When she did, it was brief. Controlled. But not dismissive.
"That's good," she said. "Because I'm not."
Another pause settled between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
Just unfinished.
And somewhere deeper in the castle, the story that had been building around her—rumors, classifications, expectations—kept moving forward without asking permission.
Evelyn turned away from the window first.
"Come on," she said. "We still have Flitwick to deal with."
Harry pushed off the wall. "Right. The one professor who actually talks like a normal person."
"That's generous," she said, already walking.
And for now, at least, that was enough to keep them moving forward.
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