Wandless casting was an advanced technique, not known to all wizards. Flitwick did not mention this; Owen did not ask. He treated it simply as the wizarding world's "pre-school education."
Any power required solid foundations. Magic was no exception.
With this attitude, Owen studied seriously. Though he had not yet mastered it, he found the technique was useful for organising his own magic. At least now he could control the flow of most of his internal magic, rather than allowing it to rampage unchecked as before.
Such visible progress was naturally encouraging, so he studied even more diligently.
Hogwarts was vast. Though his life was regimented, he wasted considerable time travelling. Half an hour daily became five hours in ten days, fifteen hours in a month. Thinking it over, Owen felt he was being irresponsible with his own life.
So, was there a faster way? A magic to save time?
Yes. Apparition. The magic Dumbledore had used to bring him from the Ministry to Hogwarts's gates. But Hogwarts castle had Anti-Apparition Charms; it simply wouldn't work here.
Fawkes could help. House-elves could help. But these were favours. Owen did not wish to trouble them excessively, for this was not a matter of days, but of long persistence.
So he sought another method. He thought of flight.
Wizards flew on brooms, which fit the fairy-tale image nicely, but this was a school. He could use brooms during holidays, but what about term-time?
Breaking rules for his own convenience seemed wrong. Another method was required.
"Flight Charms?"
Professor Flitwick laughed at the question. "No such spell exists. To fly purely, besides brooms, one uses the Levitation Charm. Like so... Wingardium Leviosa."
After casting it on his robes, Flitwick bobbed through the air like a balloon, swaying gently.
But Owen was unsatisfied. This was flight, but too slow. He needed something that didn't have to go high, but had to be fast, cutting travel time.
Finding no such magic in the library, Owen decided to create one.
Magic was a force. Every spell channelled it through an incantation, shaping it into a different form to produce a desired result.
Spells mattered, then, because raw magical output alone was generally useless. Most wizards had limited magic.
But Owen was different. His magic grew every day. Each morning when he woke, he felt his power had increased. He didn't know whether this was good or bad, but he was wasting considerable magic daily, and even Dumbledore had no solution.
Rather than waste it, why not put it to use?
Magic could be released through wands. In learning wandless casting, Flitwick had taught him to release it through his hands. If hands, why not feet?
Simply releasing it, without shaping it into a spell...
Success!
Only twenty centimetres off the ground, but he was flying. And the consumption... well, actually, none. This amount of magic was less than he wasted on a normal day.
Lean forward. Forward! Then left, then back...
Quite simple, like riding a balance scooter.
The magical drain was negligible, but the mental strain was severe. After less than half an hour, Owen was forced to stop, his head swimming from the effort.
But he was pleased, because this could be improved with practice. Once turning and changing direction became instinctive, he would no longer need to concentrate so hard.
As Professor Flitwick always said: magic must be used. The more you practise, the greater your power.
"Good morning, Mr Squid!"
During his daily run, Owen always greeted the giant squid in the Black Lake, who would respond enthusiastically by waving his sucker-covered tentacles.
"Good morning, everyone!"
"Good morning, Mr Owen!"
The house-elves, who rose early, were now used to the cheerful young wizard. They no longer burst into tears just from a greeting, though they still wiped their eyes discreetly.
Mr Owen was too thin. It was their fault. Their cooking had not made him strong enough...
"Good morning, Madam Whomping Willow!"
The Whomping Willow extended a thin branch. Owen waved, giving it a gentle high-five, like two acquaintances passing in a corridor.
"Good morning, Fang!"
Hagrid was not yet awake, but his black boarhound Fang rose early. He wagged his tail at Owen, then flopped down again.
Owen had an inexplicable way with people and creatures alike. Whether witch, wizard, or animal, they all warmed to him quickly. But the closest of all was not a person, nor another animal, but Fawkes. The phoenix, who had previously spent his days napping in the Headmaster's office, now came to perch on Owen's head whenever he was free.
And Owen, whenever his hands held no books, would hold the bird in his arms or let it settle beside him while he read quietly.
But Madam Pince was nervous.
A phoenix was a magical creature associated with all manner of good things, but its presence in the library was less welcome. Phoenix. Library. If the bird accidentally set a book alight, Madam Pince might go mad.
So now, when Owen read and Fawkes came, he moved to the steps outside the library.
Fortunately, Fawkes did not come often, only every two days, staying for two hours before returning.
But today was different. When Fawkes arrived, Owen was skimming the ground at high speed, flying toward the greenhouses. The phoenix circled him, found he could not safely land on Owen's head, and chose the next best position: Owen's arms.
"Good morning, Fawkes. You've grown heavier!"
"Cheep!"
At the phoenix's indignation, Owen laughed. "That is good news. It means you are growing!"
Professor Sprout also rose early to tend the plants. But today she froze, for she saw the boy approaching through the air, cradling the phoenix, his feet clear off the ground.
She was terrified.
When Owen landed, she rushed forward, running her hands over him. Feeling his warmth and heartbeat, she exhaled in relief. "You frightened me, dear. I thought you had become like Professor Binns! But just now... what magic was that?"
Owen grinned. "Professor, it was not magic. Only a crude application of magical force."
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