The Weight of the Past
The revelation about his mother being a witch—and the mystery of his biological father—weighed heavily on Ezzy's mind. That evening, he sat by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, staring into the flames. His friends noticed his silence and gathered around him.
"You alright, mate?" Ron asked, nudging him with his elbow.
Ezzy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just found out my mum was a witch. A powerful one, apparently. And my dad… I don't even know his name. It's like half of my life is a blank page."
Hermione's eyes softened. "That must be so hard, Ezzy. But you're not alone. We're here for you."
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I didn't know anything about my parents either until I came here. It's… it's tough, but you learn to live with it."
Suhi leaned forward, her dark eyes filled with empathy. "My family's complicated too. My parents were so focused on tradition and reputation that they forgot about me. That's why I'm here—to make my own path."
Neville, who had been quietly listening, spoke up. "My gran always compared me to my dad. He was this great Auror, and I… well, I'm just Neville. But being here, with all of you, makes me feel like I can be more."
Ezzy looked around at his friends, their faces glowing in the firelight. "Thanks, everyone. I guess we all have our own stories, don't we?"
Ron grinned. "Yeah, and yours is just getting started. Who knows? Maybe your dad was some legendary wizard. Or a dragon tamer. Or a pirate!"
The group burst into laughter, and for the first time that evening, Ezzy felt a little lighter.
A Day of Classes and Curiosity
The next day, classes resumed with their usual mix of chaos and wonder. In Elemental Magic, Professor Riddle challenged the students to refine their control over elements outside their affinity.
"Fire users, try to summon a breeze. Water users, ignite a flame. And plant users… well, try not to set the room on fire," Riddle said with a smirk.
Ezzy, ever the overachiever, decided to push his limits. He focused on his mandle, channeling energy into his palms. First, a flicker of flame appeared, then a swirling gust of wind, followed by a small orb of water. The class watched in awe as he balanced all three elements at once.
"Impressive, Mr. Knight," Riddle said, his tone a mix of pride and caution. "But remember, control is key. Don't let your ambition burn you."
After class, Ezzy and the others headed to Hagrid's hut to ask about Fluffy.
"Hagrid, what's Fluffy guarding?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual.
Hagrid's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Now, now, that's not fer yeh to know. Dumbledore's got his reasons, and that's that."
"But—" Ron started.
"No buts!" Hagrid said firmly. "Now, who wants a cuppa tea?"
The group exchanged frustrated glances but knew better than to press further.
The First Quidditch Match
The first Quidditch match of the season arrived, and the Gryffindor team was buzzing with excitement. Harry, as the youngest Seeker in a century, was the center of attention.
Ezzy, Suhi, and Jane sat in the stands, cheering loudly. "Go, Harry!" Ezzy shouted, waving a Gryffindor banner.
The match was intense. Harry's broom suddenly went haywire, bucking and twisting as if trying to throw him off.
"Someone's cursed it!" Suhi gasped.
Ezzy's eyes darted to the teachers' stand. Professor Quirrell was muttering under his breath, his lips moving rapidly. Snape, on the other hand, was glaring at Harry with his usual disdain, but mouthing something without taking his eyes off Harry.
"It's Quirrell," Ezzy muttered to Jane. "He's the one cursing the broom."
"But Snape looks so suspicious," Jane replied, frowning.
"Exactly. Too suspicious. It's a distraction."
Meanwhile, Hermione had spotted Snape's apparent involvement and set his robes on fire with a well-aimed Incendio. The distraction broke the curse, and Harry regained control of his broom. Moments later, he caught the Snitch, securing a narrow victory for Gryffindor.
But the celebration was short-lived. Harry crashed hard, breaking his arm. Madam Pomphrey whisked him away to the hospital wing.
The Art of Healing
The group visited Harry in the hospital wing, where Madam Pomphrey was performing her magic—literally.
"Bone-mending is a delicate art," she said, waving her wand over Harry's arm. "It requires precision, patience, and a touch of finesse."
Ezzy watched in awe as the broken bones knitted themselves back together, the swelling subsided, and the pain vanished.
"That's incredible," he whispered.
Madam Pomfrey smiled. "It's not just magic, Mr. Knight. It's care. Healing is about understanding the body, the mind, and the soul."
Ezzy felt a spark ignite within him. This is it. This is what I want to do.
A Symphony in the Sky
That night, Ezzy couldn't sleep. His mind buzzed with thoughts of his mother, his father, and the path he wanted to pursue. He grabbed his broom and slipped out of the common room.
The night sky was a canvas of stars, and the air was crisp and cool. Ezzy mounted his broom and soared into the heavens, the wind rushing past him.
As he flew, he began to sing—a soft, haunting melody that echoed through the night. The birds of the Forbidden Forest joined in, their chirps and trills harmonizing with his voice. The Grindleflies, drawn by the music, swirled around him, their glowing bodies creating a dazzling light show.
It was a symphony of magic and nature, a moment of pure, unbridled joy.