Hogwarts Sect of Witchcraft and Wizardry

---

It's finally time.

You have an understanding of Qi. Even if it's only about just how far you have to go, you feel like you have a solid base to work off of. Likewise, you know your body has gotten stronger. Perhaps not with the same meteoric rise of your sharpening mind, which has blown most of your classmates out of the water, but stronger all the same. You're more flexible, a walk up a rare stationary staircase no longer makes your pulse climb, stacks of books move as easily as a single page, the whole works.

Thus, you think you're ready for your first technique. Well, you would be, if you had the first inclination about how to go and obtain one.

Thankfully, the library seems to have infinite answers, and from the somewhat infrequent meeting of the study group Tony set up, you also know that Roger Malone has done some research on the topic of transfiguration. You get a list of tomes from him, and blaze through the reading in scant days.

The node of Qi you observed activating in your network following your Quidditch match does indeed match the description of a meridian. While there are specific exercises to coax their opening, what you've experienced is a natural expansion of your abilities, an exceedingly rare occurrence which tends to happen when you fall fully in sync with the Qi of the world. One of the references is a more advanced work which you struggle to wrap your head around, but it does mention that the odds of a natural meridian opening are roughly one in a hundred. It then goes on to detail the conditions, but a lot of that goes over your head.

At least the books Roger recommended are more easily digestible. You find a leaflet about the differences between charms and transfigurations particularly handy. Charms let you change how things are, while your current target lets you alter what they are. There is also a good follow-up hint - apparently everything has inherent aspects.

It's the first time you've come across the term, but it quickly becomes apparent that it forms a cornerstone of all transfiguration. The example you most resonate with is the piercing transformation. It starts with a matchstick, an object which contains very little 'piercing-ness': it's pointy, but not at all meant for stabbing. With the proper application of Qi, however, it's easy to take a similar concept and turn one into the other. A needle is also a tiny rod-shaped utility object, but made of metal, and meant almost solely for piercing. Thus, a common beginner practice technique involves turning a match into a needle, by envisioning the change and working on increasing the piercing aspect of the former.

The book you get it from is meant for beginners, but it does hint at a whole family of sharpening techniques - collectively called a law - with some unexpected uses. The animation of a teacup sliding through a table and leaving a perfectly circular hole behind certainly suggests so. Digging even deeper, you learn that laws are further parts of arts. A fire starting technique might lead to a flame law, which in turn would fall under a heat art.

There are further allusions to the whole field getting more detailed, but you feel confident enough to finally - finally - go for something practical. You're under no illusions about mastering something on your first try, however, so you narrow down the options as much as you humanly can, before you're left with a choice between three different techniques to devote most of the rest of the month to:

-[][Transfiguration] Earthly Cloud Sharpening Law

-[][Transfiguration] Dollmaker's Petrification Diagram Law

-[][Transfiguration] Humble Light Bringer Law

---

As the train finally pulls into King's Cross Station, you banish any niggling feelings of wrongness out of your mind. As the hours passed and the untouched wilderness you were pretty sure wasn't on any map of Scotland gave way to the familiar sight of inhabited Britain once more, something had began to chew at you, but now you firmly deny whatever it was any purchase on your mind.

You step out of the portal leading to the mortal part of the station, emerging on the other side of a wide brick pillar, and quickly spot your father in the crowds. As soon as you start rushing towards him, he notices you right back, and spreads his arms with a smile.

You nearly leap into the hug, your old man letting out a whoosh of air on impact as you squeeze him tightly.

'Was he always this thin?' You feel like you could lift him up, instead of the other way around. Still, while no one is paying attention to you in the crowds, drawing notice with impossible feats of strength might change that, so you don't test your hypothesis.

"I missed you, baby," he whispers in your ear before letting you go.

"Me too, dad."

While you're still bursting with energy, the hour is getting rather late, the ride to London taking up most of the day, so the two of you simply hail a taxi and head home. The drive passes in silence, your stories not something meant for those not in the know, and that silence lets the pit in your stomach rear its head once more.

Everything is just a bit... less. Less than you remember. The evening traffic, which would have once been incredibly annoying, is barely background noise as you find yourself instinctively slipping into a light meditation. The lights of the city are hollow and fake, the fluorescence lacking in any warmth. The snow on the pavement is dirty and soggy, trampled under countless feet. Even when you reach the familiar streets of Croydon, the alleys that once held the promise of adventure now simply serve as a place for rubbish bins, and the projects themselves look shoddy, every brick slapped in place haphazardly.

The little garden in front of your home, once a source of inspiration and joy for you, is now revealed to be a simple patch of grass in the suburbia of London, currently bereft of greenery. The sign on the fence reads 'fire ambulances only', the rest of the letters scraped off in an attempt at juvenile humor.

You still have your memories, of course. Nothing can take those from you. But something tells you that you won't be making many new ones here. Not anymore.

Your home is the same as it always has been. A tiny apartment on the fifth floor, with a view of the tracks and a playground. Dad tells you to scamper off while he whips up some dinner, and you head for your room.

The bed is meant for a child, clearly something you would have outgrown in a year or so regardless, but the way it groans as you sit on the blanket makes you glad you hadn't decided to jump on it. Said blanket itself has a pattern of smiley faces and lilies on it, but it feels... not coarse, but certainly not warm or fluffy either. Just a blanket. There's a light layer of dust on the top of the closet, probably there since before you left in September, and you wipe it away while slipping into your old clothes. Everything is a bit surreal - the shirt and dress fit you just fine, but you still feel a bit more constricted, the Qi surrounding them almost listless.

You take a deep breath, pulling more of the ambient energy into yourself. Qi is still all around you - that seems to remain a fact of life - but it doesn't have any personality, no ingrained sense of mischief or curiosity, no ambition or courageous passion, no diligent love of the world it permeates. You catch a whiff of ketchup from the kitchen, no doubt a part of the dish your dad is preparing, but it no longer smells like food, just an academic amalgamation of sugar and tomatoes. You make a little mental note to remain appreciative despite that, spaghetti had been your favorite before, after all.

"Rei, dinner's served!"

Throughout the meal, you distract yourself by telling dad stories about your adventures, now suitably less edited that you're on hand to provide live explanations. In the few letters you'd sent since the first one, he'd always replied with basically the same platitudes, encouragements and well-wishes, his life without you on hand just not very interesting. Still, you carefully downplay the reality of Quidditch, especially the bludgers. You getting smacked with one would likely just stun you, but you fear that a similar hit on him would lead to fractured bones at least.

The evening proceeds in a similar fashion as the two of you curl up on the couch watching the telly - some silly gameshow providing a backdrop for you to continue running your mouth at dad, showing him your sketches and the accompanying stories about your school. Eventually, he starts to flag, and you let up, knowing that you'll have all of tomorrow as well before you'll need to get back.

You force yourself to sleep, and naturally rise before the winter dawn, silently padding to the kitchen to get started on breakfast. By the time you're finished with the eggs and bacon, the strong aroma of dark tea has done it's job and revived your father, who ruffles your hair as you set the table, praising you despite your protests about this being barely anything.

The praise doubles after the first bite. "My god, Rei. What did you do to the poor chicken? This is amazing!"

You feared as much, even as you make sure to smile extra wide. "Oh, nothing. Just my lucky day."

You really hadn't done anything special. Just flipping eggs at the right time, moving the pan over the stove at the right moments, letting the grease from the bacon lap perfectly at the edges. Things you knew would make the outcome taste better, but something which no mortal could keep track of. Every tiny detail adding up to a marvelous result. Well, marvelous for mortal standards, you consider yourself a mediocre chef at best, especially when you know what the Hogwarts kitchen could produce, to make no mention of the older students or even Terry.

Your dad has the day off, of course, and two tickets to the zoo. The visit is fun, even if it isn't exactly the best season for it, but not very memorable. When you've seen a daddy-long-legs karate kick a book moth in the library, normal arachnids just don't really measure up. The boa constrictor in the reptile house tracks you somewhat eerily, but the large red sign on the glass of the enclosure warning visitors to stay back means you don't go for a closer look. Then you take a quick lunch break at a nearby diner.

"So, sick of your old man yet?" dad asks, tip-toeing around what he really means - do you have anyone else you'd like to see.

You shake your head. While you hold some tiny spark of curiosity about how Ms. Pearsby, your old art teacher, is doing, you certainly don't need it satisfied badly enough to re-visit your old school. As for the other kids... no, you have no one else you want to meet. Well, there is one stop you have to make, but dad is welcome to come along.

The cemetery is empty, so you get to show off your burgeoning progress with transfiguration, lighting the candle with a snap of your fingers, the fire and warmth aspects right on the cusp of culmination, your Qi bringing them over the edge.

"Hi mom," you say, placing the candle in the snow by the foot of the granite gravestone. "I bet you could have done that too, but it's still kind of new for me, so I want to keep practicing even now."

Dad is far enough behind you to be out of earshot, his face inscrutable and somber, lost in his own thoughts and rituals.

"I bet you know what that's like. That and a thousand other things. Hogwarts is amazing, as I'm sure you agree. I could talk about it for days, but I better keep it brief lest dad catch a cold."

"I'm already in the late realm of Qi Gathering. There's only one other kid that's higher than me, I think. And he's both a Lord and some kind of special chosen one, so he doesn't count. Plus I'm better than him in Defense. Top ten for that as well, for sure. But I'm branching out this month, trying Transfiguration."

You let out a little chuckle, "Still sometimes hard to believe that magic is real. That there's a whole science behind it, shelves and shelves of books. Did anyone ever get crushed by one of those in your time? Don't tell me, I don't want to get scared of the library. That would be a tragedy, I'm a Ravenclaw, after all. That's right, repping the blue and bronze. You were in Slytherin, I looked it up in the records. I wonder what that would be like? Would I be all 'this one' and 'as honored senior sect brother wills it'? Were you like that?"

"Sorry, I shouldn't presume, and it's rude to mock people like that. We're playing them next month in Quidditch. Oh! This one you definitely didn't expect: I'm on the team. Keeper, and we won the first match. My teammates are all pretty great. Duncan and Jason are the funny ones, but especially Duncan is also very protective of me. Don't tell dad, but I think he's kind of cute too. Then there's Randy and Jeremy. Jeremy is the captain, and he really takes it seriously. He's good friends with Randy, and I think they really push each other. Roger is the final chaser, and probably the next captain too. He's got both speed and endurance in spades. Finally there's Morgan. He's a seventh year, so it's understandable that he's focused on other things right now. Still, he's plenty good, just not quite as driven. His replacement though, is a real Quidditch freak. Cho's... intense, but I can definitely appreciate her passion."

You continue like that, detailing your adventures with Lisa in the painted world and sprinkling details about your friend in between - her love of charms and art foremost. Then you come clear about the troll, once more asking her not to tell dad the whole truth, before describing Hermione and her bookish nature. Then Tony, Mandy - and Billy - and the other Ravenclaws, then Tracey and Daphne, and Lavender and Susan and Hannah. By the time you're finished, the snow under your feet has melted, and the sun is starting to set.

"So there you have it," you stand up from your crouch, stretching. Your toes and fingers are feeling numb, but that doesn't really matter. "Thanks for watching over me, eh? Love you."

Then you leave, taking your dads hand in yours. Pretty soon you'll be too old for that, but right now, it's fine.

The evening after is quiet, your dad lost in memories and you in your imagination as you decide to get started on a sketch of him reading a book by the window. The next morning, you're once again praised for breakfast before you're taken back to the station, leaving with another hug. This time, you don't hold back and prove that you can, in fact, lift your father.

However, as you settle into an empty compartment, falling into meditation and cycling Qi once again, you're out of excuses. Being home, and more importantly, away from Hogwarts... wasn't what you expected, and not in a good way. How do you reconcile the fact that the mortal world suddenly feels dull and plain? That you suddenly feel apprehensive about returning to your father for the whole summer?

-[][Home] One day at a time. You'll just not think about it, and do the best you can when the time comes. Your father deserves that much, at least, and hopefully you'll get used to the disappointment eventually.

-[][Home] Through shut eyes. Metaphorically of course... You believe you can wrap your senses in your own Qi, deadening your perception of the world, at the cost of the clarity you've come to take for granted.

-[][Home] Through gritted teeth, you'll prevail over yourself. Your own advice once given to Hermione still rings true - if you're unhappy, either change the circumstance or yourself. Since changing the whole world is a bit beyond you, you'll need to change yourself.