Midnight Excursions

The smell of coffee lingered in the room, Thomas' emptied cup resting on his bedside table. Since his first foray into Diagon Alley, his bedroom had changed drastically.

The Arsenal FC wallpapers were the first to go. After that, the toys on his table and cabinets also got thrown out - to be donated and some given to his sister.

Now, the whole bedroom had a neat organization - books arranged in order of subject and complexity. Gone was the usual chaotic disorder that was inherent to preteen rooms. 

Of course, he knew such a drastic behavior shift would seem odd, but there was no better time to justify it than now. The whole magic - 'you're a wizard' - thing should be good enough to explain anything.

'Not like I needed those dinosaur miniatures anymore. Better to donate it all to less fortunate children.' He mused, sitting on his chair while reading the 'Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)' by Miranda Goshawk.

The woman wasn't as in-depth as Bathilda Bagshot was, though that could be because the book's public target consisted of first years in Hogwarts. 

At least, Thomas hoped that was the case. If her other books were just as shallow, he didn't think he would manage- 'I need more coffee.' He suddenly groaned, eyeing his empty cup.

Coffee - another new oddity to his behavior, and this one was non-negotiable. As someone who went through college and even achieved a successful career, this he needed. 

'I shouldn't have caffeine dependency. I mean, this body grew up on tea and biscuits.' The math didn't add up. Regardless, he stood up all the same, cup in hand for a refill.

On the way to the kitchen, he couldn't help but ponder. 'Maybe the dependency is spiritual. That wouldn't surprise me - college does screw you up on a spiritual level.'

With a wry smile, he sneaked outside his bedroom, it already being the late hour. The light from his half-opened door streamed outside into the dark hallway, casting his shadow over the floorboards.

Like he did the past two weeks, Thomas had stayed up past his 'bedtime' - an outrageous early hour, mind you - and used the time to study and practice magic.

Closing the door behind him, Thomas went about acquiring his dose of caffeine quickly and efficiently. It took six minutes total, and he was already back in his bedroom.

When he did return, however, he did to the sight of an orderly and clean bedroom. Not a single trace of the past 'Thomas Granger' remained. The boy had, in all the meanings of the word, died.

Even as he knew this fact, not an inkling of guilt haunted Thomas. He intellectually understood that he had taken over the kid's body, but it brought him no distress. 

Thoughts of Voldemort, Death Eaters, and the imminent war constantly buzzed in his mind instead. He didn't know what to think about that - how to feel about his feelings. And he wouldn't.

It was not something he could control, just as he couldn't see his family again. Only the here and now mattered, and he was at peace with that. 'Focus on what you can do. Nothing else matters.'

He sat on his chair, setting his steaming cup on the table again. With the scent of coffee twirling in the air, he didn't hesitate to take his wand in his right hand again.

It brimmed with power like fireworks on the countdown to explode at New Year's did. And, as Ollivander told him, it lacked a bit of finesse yet made up for in raw power.

That wouldn't do, though. It wasn't enough. What if Thomas wanted to perform an intricate spell but failed because of that? He needed to learn how to control every aspect of his wand.

And it wasn't as if it was unruly like some phoenix-cored ones were - known for their independence and flights of fancy. No, instead, Thomas' wand was a tad too eager to answer. 

Using it felt like unleashing a full-powered firefighter hose. And controlling that ludicrous output was just as hard as it sounded. It was arduous but not impossible.

There was 'not trying to control things he couldn't,' then there was 'making excuses for doing what was hard.' And his parents had taught him better than choosing the easy route.

"Colloportus." He pointed his wand at the door, locking it remotely. A low click echoed in the hallway in response before everything went quiet again.

When he started practicing the Locking Charm, it would cause audible and loud clicks. But, with practice and diligence, he learned to lessen the noise.

Most spells had some dancing room to how they operated, contrary to what Thomas first expected. And it made sense, in a way, as all magic had an intimate connection to the caster's imagination.

'Of course, there are limits to this. A Colloportus spell won't make fire, as that isn't its function.' He noted, eyeing his wand in wonder. 'But spells can also do more depending on their purpose.'

'For example, a Colloportus spell is meant to lock doors and make them impregnable to manual lock picking. But it can also push an open door shut before locking it.'

'I could also use this spell to lock windows and cabinets. If I imagine these targets as doors/entrances to something, it works. Though it drains my mind more.' 

'Maybe changing the 'portus' portion of the spell can improve that-' And so, he theorized, drinking his coffee every time his ideas would hit a wall.

The hour grew late, yet not enough to stop him. 'I can improve my sleep schedule using potions later at Hogwarts. Though there must be side effects for overuse.'

[ - - - ]

The hour was late, and the night sky loomed over Surrey like a pitch-black duvet dotted with the galaxy. Hundreds of distant stars greeted her eyes as she stared through the window in her tiny bedroom.

If someone were to ask Violet what she most liked about Little Whinging - the only thing, really - she would say it was the sky. Due to it being a tiny community, the stars here didn't lose out to the city lights.

Sharp, emerald eyes scanned around her room, eyeing the broken toys of her cousin in distaste. Once again, they reminded her that the pretty sky wasn't enough to justify all the downsides of living with the Dursleys.

Groaning, the girl then stood up from her bed, letting go of the rough old sheets she slept in. They were coarse to the touch, and their smell itchy on the nose. She never once complained about it, though - it was all she ever knew. Such was life with the Dursleys.

'The giraffe, the pig, and their unholy offspring.' She cursed, palming the wand she kept hidden under the covers. 'How I wish I could strangle ickle Diddykins.'

The thought sent a thrill up her spine as she thought back to all the times the fat and dirty boy would harass her. That without mentioning all the meals she had to prepare for the little devil.

'Soon, I won't have to deal with them anymore.' She nodded while smiling to herself. Her luscious yet messy black hair bobbed up and down with the motion for how enthusiastic it was.

The day Hagrid entered her life was the day which confirmed all her doubts. That she was different - that she was special. Of course, she knew it already, but to have someone explain everything to her did put things into perspective.

Her bedroom felt even more suffocating when she was this close to finally leaving. Dudley's broken toys occupied almost the entirety of it, Violet having to tip-toe around half the room to exit it.

"Ah- to hell with it." She whispered in the empty room. Packing her wand and glasses, she shoved them inside the magical drawstring bag she bought in Diagon Alley.

The bad was made of linen - and it looked like a small, old potato bag - but it got the job done. It already held everything Violet would need for Hogwarts, with space to spare.

It could even keep things like cauldrons, as the drawstring could widen the bag's opening, making it possible to push sizable objects in and out. But that was not the main reason Violet bought it. No, not at all.

The shop owner had assured her the bag suited her peculiarities. 'Time to put that to the test!' She thought in excitement, opening the window in her small bedroom.

The crisp, cold air outside immediately entered the stuffed room. The skies and sweet whispers of the night called to her. 'How long has it been since I last did it?'

Her magic pulsed in her veins, warming to the touch of the howling wind outside. 'One week? It almost feels like an eternity.'

Violet held her arms wide open - messy black hair clinging to her shoulders - before finally closing her eyes. Magic crawled beneath her skin, brimming with power, and her body shifted.