Chapter 10 I got idea

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"Wicked," Jonathan breathed. He'd modified the charm, made it selectively permeable. It still blocked sound and fast-moving objects (he tested this by flicking a Bertie Bott's bean at it), but gentle, intentional movements could pass through.

His mind raced with possibilities. This could be huge. Sneaking past Filch, avoiding rogue Bludgers, maybe even... His thoughts stuttered. The troll. Halloween was coming. In his world, in the books, Harry and Ron had saved Hermione from a mountain troll in the girls' bathroom. But would it happen the same way here? And if it did, could this modified charm help?

A noise from the stairs made him jump. He dropped the charm as Hermione appeared, her hair bushier than usual, a sure sign she'd been tossing and turning.

"Jonathan?" she yawned. "What are you doing up?"

"Just practicing," he said, suddenly realizing how tired he was. "The Imperturbable Charm. I think... I think I've improved it."

That woke her up. "Improved it? How?"

He explained what he'd discovered, demonstrating with another quill. Hermione's eyes widened. "Jonathan, this is amazing! It's like... like a one-way shield. Do you know what this means for defensive magic?"

"I've got a few ideas," he said, thinking of trolls and three-headed dogs and a certain trap-filled corridor on the third floor.

They spent the next hour experimenting. Hermione, ever the researcher, wanted to test the charm's limits. They discovered it couldn't block spells entirely, but it could weaken them. A "Stupefy" from Hermione (cast at a pillow, of course) lost enough power passing through the barrier that it only made the pillow wobble instead of shooting across the room.

"We should tell Professor Flitwick," Hermione said as they finally packed up, the first rays of dawn peeking through the windows.

Jonathan nodded, stifling a yawn. "And maybe... maybe Dumbledore too."

Hermione gave him a sharp look. "Dumbledore? Why? Jonathan, what aren't you telling me?"

He met her gaze, seeing the worry, the fierce intelligence. "Something's coming, Hermione. Something big. And I think... I think we're going to need every advantage we can get."

She didn't press, but her hand found his, giving it a squeeze. In that gesture, Jonathan felt a surge of gratitude and determination. He might have the knowledge from the books, but here, now, he had something even more valuable: friends who believed in him(he never had any friends because of his magical personality).

The next few days passed in a blur of classes, homework, and secret practice sessions. In Transfiguration, Jonathan managed to turn his matchstick into a needle on the second try, earning a rare smile from Professor McGonagall. In Herbology, he and Neville teamed up to repot Bouncing Bulbs, with Jonathan using his modified Imperturbable Charm to create a "bulb bouncer" that had Professor Sprout chuckling.

But it was in Defense Against the Dark Arts that things took a turn. Professor Quirrell, his turban askew and his stutter worse than ever, was attempting to teach them about Gytrashes, magical creatures that haunted dark forests.

"T-the G-Gytrash," Quirrell stammered, "is a s-spectral hound, often m-mistaken for a l-large dog or a b-bear. It p-preys on l-lost travelers, g-guiding them d-deeper into the w-woods..."

Jonathan, seated between Harry and Ron, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty classroom. He knew Quirrell's stutter was an act, a cover for the much darker presence hidden beneath that ridiculous turban. But today, something seemed... off. Quirrell's eyes kept darting to Harry, and each time they did, Jonathan swore he saw a flicker of red in them.

"Mr. P-Potter," Quirrell suddenly said, making Harry jump. "P-perhaps you c-could tell us h-how one might d-defend against a G-Gytrash?"

Harry blinked. "Uh... light? I mean, they're dark creatures, right?"

"C-correct," Quirrell nodded, but his eyes narrowed. "And t-tell me, Mr. P-Potter, what is the b-brightest light s-spell you know?"

Jonathan tensed. This wasn't in the book. Quirrell - or rather, Voldemort - was fishing for information. About Harry's knowledge, his defenses.

"The Wand-Lighting Charm, sir," Harry said. "Lumos."

"A f-first-year spell," Quirrell sneered, his stutter momentarily forgotten. "Hardly enough to d-deter a d-determined predator, eh, P-Potter?"

Before Harry could respond, Jonathan spoke up. "But sir, isn't the power of Lumos dependent on the caster's will? A strongly cast Lumos could be as bright as a Patronus, couldn't it?"

The class turned to stare at him. Lumos as bright as a Patronus? But Jonathan held Quirrell's gaze, silently daring him to contradict the bluff.

For a moment, Quirrell's eyes flashed red - not a trick of the light this time, but a pulsing, malevolent glow. Then it was gone, and the professor was back to his stuttering self. "An i-interesting theory, Mr. B-Blackwood. T-ten points to G-Gryffindor for... creative thinking."

As they left the classroom, Ron rounded on Jonathan. "Mate, that was bonkers! Lumos as bright as a Patronus? Where'd you get that idea?"

"I read it somewhere," Jonathan said vaguely. "In the library."

"Of course you did," Ron groaned. But Harry was looking at Jonathan with a mix of gratitude and curiosity.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "For... you know. Quirrell was being weird."

"Weirder than usual," Jonathan agreed. He wanted to tell Harry everything - about Quirrell, about the Stone, about the years of trials ahead. But not yet. Not until he was sure he could change things for the better.

That night, after another session with Strange (who was teaching him to sense the "aura" of magical objects - "Useful when you're trying to figure out if that shiny bauble is a Horcrux or just tacky jewelry"), Jonathan lay awake in his four-poster bed.

Halloween was days away. The troll, the first real test. In the books, it had been a pivotal moment - the formation of the trio, the first step towards the Stone. But here, things were different. He was different.

He thought about his modified Imperturbable Charm, about Lumos and will-powered magic. About Harry, who in this world had Jonathan by his side from the start. About Hermione, who trusted him even without knowing everything.

And he thought about Quirrell, about the malevolent presence lurking beneath that turban. Voldemort was moving, testing, planning. But so was Jonathan.

As he drifted off to sleep, Jonathan Blackwood - boy wizard, sorcerer-in-training, and now, charm innovator - made a silent vow. He'd use every bit of knowledge, every spell, every ounce of will to change the story. Not just for Harry, but for all of them.

The game was changing. The pieces were moving. And in the quiet of the Gryffindor tower, with Mr. Whiskers purring at his feet.