Hp: The Outcast

The students shuffled out of the classroom, their footsteps echoing in a disorganized rhythm while snippets of chatter blurred into static for Jon. His mind lingered on the professor's words, looping over them as though trying to crack a riddle he hadn't been meant to solve.

"Hey." A voice broke through the haze, tugging him back to the present. He looked up to see Hermione standing in front of him, her head tilted with faint concern. Jon nodded, a silent acknowledgment.

"You guys going to the club?" she asked, her tone casual but inviting.

"Yeah," Ted answered before Jon could, his voice full of energy as always. Hermione smiled, falling into step with them as they made their way down the corridor. Behind them, Daphne slowed her pace to match Jon's, glancing up at him as they walked.

"Everything alright?" she asked, her voice softer than Hermione's, less direct but no less concerned.

Jon turned to her, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Yeah… just thinking about something."

The four of them reached the Great Hall where the dueling club was meeting. The large, high-ceilinged room had been rearranged, the tables pushed back against the walls to leave an open space in the center. Students were already gathering in small clusters, their voices bouncing off the stone walls.

"What do you think we'll do today?" Jon asked, his gaze sweeping the room.

Ted shrugged. "I don't know. Hopefully something different from the usual Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. That's a mouthful, by the way. Anyone else feel weird saying that?"

Jon chuckled. "That's why I call it DADA when I'm alone. Saying it out loud, feels odd."

Their conversation was cut short when Hermione shushed them, gesturing toward the front of the room. "He's here."

Professor Flitwick climbed up onto a raised platform at the head of the hall, his small frame barely visible until he cast a spell that amplified his voice. "Settle down, children," he called out, his tone commanding but kind. The murmurs faded as students turned their attention to him.

"Now," Flitwick began, pacing across the platform, "today marks the first official meeting of our dueling club. Before we begin, I'd like to remind you of some essential rules. First: proper dueling etiquette. You must bow to your opponent and take seven steps back before initiating a duel. Easy enough, yes?"

A few students nodded, while others exchanged amused glances. Flitwick's sharp eyes caught the faint smirks, and his tone grew firmer. "Second: absolutely no spells designed to cause harm or injury. This is a space for learning, not for grudges. And finally, the purpose of this club is to help each of you improve your magical skills. This is not—let me repeat—not a place to settle personal disputes. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor!" the students chorused.

Flitwick smiled, the tension in the room easing as his demeanor shifted. "Good. Now, we'll start today with the Shielding Charm—Protego. This charm is a vital tool in any duelist's repertoire. Watch closely." With a flick of his wand, Flitwick conjured a wooden dummy onto the stage. Its carved wand arm raised, glowing faintly.

Flitwick stepped back, his own wand at the ready. "Protego!" he said, and a soft, shimmering barrier appeared in front of him. The dummy's spell bounced harmlessly off the shield and back onto the wooden figure, which jolted in place.

The room broke into scattered applause, though some students looked unimpressed. "We already know that," Ted muttered to Jon, earning a sharp glare from Hermione.

Flitwick wasn't finished. "This charm may seem simple," he said, addressing the room, "but do not underestimate its value. It can save your life—not just by blocking spells, but by redirecting them. Observe." This time, when the dummy cast its spell, Flitwick angled his wand so the spell rebounded in a precise arc, hitting the dummy's chest with a loud crack.

This demonstration earned a louder round of applause, and even the skeptics looked intrigued. Flitwick smiled knowingly. "Now, break into your assigned groups and practice. Remember, a successful shield is only the beginning. The key is control."

Jon and Daphne found themselves in the red group, along with several other students, including a few from upper years. They formed a loose circle around a second wooden dummy, which began shooting spells in random directions. The objective was clear: cast Protego to block the spell. If you managed to deflect it, the dummy would spin, sending the spell toward another target.

Jon's first attempt was flawless. The spell ricocheted back toward the dummy with such precision that it hardly seemed to interrupt his posture. Daphne was next, her shield holding firm, though her deflection was less controlled. Around the circle, other students struggled, their shields faltering or misdirecting the spells into unintended directions.

"You look bored," a voice said from behind Jon. He turned to see Flitwick, his face creased with a knowing smile.

"Not at all," Jon replied with a grin, deflecting another spell without even glancing at it.

Flitwick chuckled, clearly unconvinced. "I understand your restlessness. But I assure you, more challenges are coming. Keep up the good work." He patted Jon on the back—well, his lower back, given their height difference—before moving on to assist a struggling student.

Daphne leaned in, her voice low. "He's right, you know. This is just the warm-up. You'll have a challenge in your hand."

Jon smirked. "I'll hold you to that. Bring your A game."

The session wrapped up with Flitwick offering final remarks and feedback, and the students began to disperse. But Jon's day wasn't over. As the others headed toward the Great Hall for dinner, he made his way to Dumbledore's office, his footsteps echoing along the spiral staircase. The phoenix-shaped door opened with a quiet creak, revealing the headmaster standing by the window, his silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the setting sun.

"Headmaster?" Jon cleared his throat.

Dumbledore turned, his eyes twinkling. "Ah, Jon. Come in, come in. We have much to discuss."

Jon took a seat across from the desk, placing his Walkman on the table and pressing record. Dumbledore's gaze lingered on the device, amusement flickering in his expression. "I remain fascinated by this little contraption. Muggle ingenuity knows no bounds."

Jon nodded, smiling faintly. "It is, sir."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "How did you find Professor Müller's lecture today? I've heard it described as 'eye-opening.'"

Jon frowned slightly. "How did you know I was there? I'm not even in his class."

"The paintings talk, Jon," Dumbledore said with a knowing smile.

Jon sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I'd say it was… charismatic."

"Charismatic?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the choice of word.

"I'm not saying the lecture wasn't insightful," Jon clarified. "But it felt more about style than substance. He didn't just talk about Muggle advancements. He showed us how Muggles think—how they see the world as a collective."

Dumbledore folded his hands, his expression thoughtful. "And do you view that as a good thing or a bad thing?"

"I'm not sure," Jon admitted. "A charismatic leader can inspire great change… or lead people straight into ruin. It's a pattern that always seems to repeat itself."

Dumbledore nodded, his gaze distant for a moment. "Wise words, Jon. The line between leadership and manipulation is often thin."

The conversation lingered in Jon's mind long after they had shifted to other topics. By the time their lesson ended, Jon was able to join the others for the tail end of dinner, though his appetite was faint.

Later that night, he was back in his dormitory, leaning against the headboard of his bed with a journal open on his lap. His quill scratched against the parchment as he noted the latest entry: a brief reflection on Indonesia, where the journey described in the journal had taken an intriguing turn. He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the portal open until Tori stumbled through it.

"Rough day?" Jon asked, setting the journal aside.

"I'm beat," Tori groaned, collapsing onto the bed. Jon chuckled, pulling her closer and grabbing her feet.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her tone skeptical but amused.

"Massaging them. You deserve it," Jon said, his hands kneading gently. "So, did you have fun today?"

She sighed, her exhaustion softening into a smile. "Yeah, it was thrilling. Nothing like chasing after a Snitch to make you feel alive."

"And how was your day?" she asked, sitting up to look at him.

Jon shrugged, noncommittal. "Same as always. No life-or-death situations today, at least."

Tori frowned slightly. "You've had that dream again, haven't you?"

"It's not the dream that's bothering me," Jon admitted. "Just… something more intellectual. Nothing urgent."

"Well, thank Merlin for that," Tori said, relaxing against him. "You want to see my new jersey?"

Jon raised an eyebrow. "You've got me curious now."

Tori flicked her wand, changing into her Quidditch jersey. Jon stared, momentarily stunned.

"Oh, I love it," he said, pouncing playfully. She laughed, wrapping her arms around him, "Slow down tiger." She giggled and kissed him. He looked at her and said, "Not before I eat you." He kissed her and they started going at it. Their laughter filled the room.

For now, the heavier thoughts could wait.