Chapter Twelve: I Whisper to a Letter and It Turns Into a Bird

For a whole week, I'd been dragging myself out of bed at ungodly hours, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Gray Lady as she drifted through the corridors of Hogwarts. No luck. Turns out, hunting for a ghost who prefers solitude is like trying to spot a needle in a haystack—a very quiet, elusive needle. With my nightly escapades turning up nothing but extra yawns during Astronomy, I began another morning trying to pretend I understood the faintest thing about stars with Professor Sinistra. Stars, planets, celestial movements—it should have been captivating, right? Instead, it was just cold and sleep-inducing. And every night, like clockwork, my dreams seemed to dive deeper into weirdness. This time, my mysterious dream lady with her violet eyes had hovered just out of reach, her scent of lilacs and gooseberry lingering even as I blinked awake. The odd detail clung to me as I shuffled to breakfast, half-expecting to see her sitting at the Slytherin table asking for the salt.

I tugged on my robe and shuffled my feet toward breakfast, my mind foggy but fixated on that dream. She had curls that fell perfectly around her face, pale and mysterious, and just like that, she was gone every time I woke up. What was my subconscious trying to tell me? Get a haircut, maybe?

The corridors of Hogwarts felt extra eerie this morning, with the portraits' eyes tracking me more obviously than usual. Great, just what I needed—more spectators to my half-awake zombie shuffle.

Settling into the Great Hall, I slumped into my usual spot at the Slytherin table across from Blaise, who was mid-rant about our upcoming Potions project. "And then Slughorn says, 'I expect innovative concoctions, not just textbook brews,'" he mimicked, earning a few tired chuckles from around the table.

"Maybe you can brew a potion to make mornings less dreadful," I muttered, poking at my eggs. Blaise snorted.

"Mate, if I could, I'd be wearing the Head Boy badge already."

The chatter around us faded into a blur as I dug into my breakfast, my thoughts drifting back to the mysterious dream woman. Was it a prophecy? A warning? Or maybe my brain was just too wired from Sinistra's stargazing marathon.

It was like my brain had decided to run a nightly soap opera I couldn't switch off. But before I could dive too deep into that rabbit hole, a particularly enthusiastic owl torpedoed down, narrowly missing my orange juice, dropping a letter onto my plate and decided my ear was a snack.

After convincing it otherwise with a bit of toast, I unfolded the letter. The handwriting was neat, urgent:

*Dear Arthur,*

*Meet me as soon as you can. When you're ready, just say with this letter in hand, "ostende mihi viam."*

*Yours sincerely,*

*Iris Black nee Prince*

'ostende mihi viam.'" Yeah, no pressure, right? Just some light, casual instruction to potentially warp the fabric of reality or summon a magical Uber. With Iris, you never really knew.

I mean, if you're going to ask someone to potentially jump dimensions or summon who-knows-what, at least throw in a "please."

Those months training with her weren't just about learning to not set my eyebrows on fire (which, for the record, happened exactly twice).

She taught me to think on my feet, to see magic as more than just spells and potions. It was about weaving through the weird and wonderful of the wizarding world without losing your cool—or your eyebrows.

Now, clutching her letter in the middle of the Great Hall, with its echoing chambers and the clatter of breakfast dishes, I couldn't help but feel like this was another test. One of those 'what have you learned, young wizard?' moments that could end with me turning a professor into a potted plant if I wasn't careful.

But hey, that's what magic's about, right? Leaps of faith and all that. Iris's lessons always had a flair for the dramatic, and this letter? Classic Iris. She'd probably enjoy watching me sweat over what saying "ostende mihi viam" might unleash.

Nott caught my confused look and raised an eyebrow.

"Who's writing to you?" he prodded, curiosity piqued.

"Oh, just Aunt Iris being her usual enigmatic self," I replied, tucking the letter next to my heart in my robe pocket. "Family stuff." I muttered, deflecting his curiosity with a shrug. I wasn't about to dive into it at the breakfast table—not with the possibility that my dream might be more than just random neurons firing.

Class that morning was a blur. First up: Charms with Flitwick, who was so tiny next to his podium that you'd think he'd need a levitation charm himself just to be seen. Today, he was all about Cheering Charms, which I figured I could really use given my recent nights.

I was paired with Tracey, a fellow Slytherin known for her quick wit and quicker wand movements.

Unfortunately, my first attempt turned her chuckles into full-blown guffaws.

"Mr. Belmont, we're aiming to uplift, not incapacitate with laughter," Flitwick chirped, a slight twinkle in his eye as he watched Tracey try to compose herself.

"Sorry, Tracey," I said, sheepishly grinning as I gave my wand another swish and flick.

This time, her laughter settled into a gentle giggle, a more appropriate reaction according to Flitwick's standards.

"Much better, Arthur," Tracey said, giving me a thumbs up, her giggles subsiding.

Next up was Defense Against the Dark Arts

Stepping into Professor Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was like entering a slightly musty chamber that carried a hint of something... off.

The air was thick, tinged with the peculiar, sharp scent of garlic that Quirrell wore like a cloak—rumored to ward off vampires, or so he nervously joked on occasion.

This smell mixed oddly with the old wood and parchment that filled the room, creating an atmosphere that was at once intriguing and slightly uncomfortable.

Quirrell stood at the front, his turban slightly askew, adding to his already nervous demeanor.

His eyes flickered around the room, never quite settling on anything for long, as if he were constantly on the lookout for some unseen threat.

"Today, w-we a-are goin-g to dive i-nto the exhilarating world of d-efensive theory," Quirrell announced, his voice quavering as it often did.

He cleared his throat, a sound like a twig snapping under the boot of a very nervous deer. "Er, y-es, well, understand-ing the theory i-is just as important as the p-practice," he continued, pointing at the blackboard with a wand that shook so much it might've been mistaken for a divining rod in search of water.

The blackboard displayed a series of diagrams that looked like they were drawn by a three-year-old during a particularly bumpy carriage ride. These were supposed to illustrate the proper wand movements for basic defensive spells. Quirrell tried to explain each squiggle, but halfway through, it became a guessing game of 'name that charm'.

He seemed to gather some inner strength as he continued, "V-ery important for, ah, d-defending oneself a-gainst the darker e-elements."

As usual, Quirrell's demonstration was less than inspiring. His wand emitted a feeble shimmer that barely materialized into a shield before dissipating into the air, which carried another wave of that garlic scent, now mixed with the slightly burnt smell of a spell gone wrong. "J-ust like t-that, but, um, s-stronger," he added, adjusting his turban nervously.

"Do any of you have any, ah, questions?" he asked, peering out from behind his stack of disorganized lecture notes like a meerkat on high alert.

Silence. You could almost hear the collective internal screaming. Ellie, a Hufflepuff who'd become my unofficial 'survive Quirrell's class' buddy, leaned over and whispered, "Is it just me, or does every class make you feel slightly less prepared to deal with the dark arts?"

"Definitely not just you," I whispered to Ellie, trying to keep it light. Walking out of Quirrell's class always felt like we'd just survived a minor magical disaster—which, considering Quirrell's shaky handling of any spell, wasn't far from the truth.

As we shuffled along with the rest of the crowd, I leaned closer to Ellie. "So, what do you think? Is Quirrell naturally this twitchy, or is it an act? Because if he's going for 'mysterious and haunted,' I'd say he's overdoing it."

I glanced back at the door we'd just escaped through, half expecting to see Quirrell's nervous face peek out, eyes wide and scanning for dark forces—or maybe just dark-minded first years.

Ellie laughed, her stack of color-coded notebooks nearly spilling out of her arms as she tried to navigate the crowd. "If he's acting, then I'm the Queen of England. He looks like he's about one 'boo!' away from disappearing into his own turban."

"Right?" I said, chuckling as we made our way toward the Great Hall. "I mean, if the whole teaching gig doesn't work out for him, he could always join a ghost tour. Bet he'd be a natural at making people's skin crawl."

Ellie snorted, and a couple of nearby students glanced over, probably wondering if we were laughing at some inside joke. "Seriously, though," she replied, "I'm just hoping his classes don't involve any surprise exams. If his spells are any indication, we might end up turning ourselves into newts instead of passing."

"Hey, as long as it's not permanent," I quipped as we stepped into the Great Hall, greeted by the smell of tonight's dinner. "And who knows? Being a newt might not be so bad. Could be a good excuse for missing homework."

Ellie rolled her eyes but was smiling as she replied, "Just keep your wand pointed away from me. I'm not ready to find out what newt food tastes like."

Our laughter echoed down the hallway, lightening the atmosphere as we joined the throng of students heading for the Great Hall. The smell of dinner wafted towards us, a welcome change from the dusty, garlic-scented air of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Who knows," I added with a smirk as we navigated through the crowd, "maybe by the end of term, he'll have taught us more about how to be paranoid than how to defend against the dark arts. Could come in handy if we ever need to write a thriller."Ellie rolled her eyes playfully. "Yeah, right. The only thing I've learned so far is how to dodge fear-sweat droplets when he gets wound up about Cornish pixies."

Dinner in the Great Hall was just about wrapping up, and let me tell you, the enchanted ceiling was showing off a starry sky that looked so cool it almost made me forget about the mountain of homework waiting to eat me alive. I was sitting next to Daphne Greengrass, who was plotting how to win the Nobel Prize for Potion Making, or at least impress Slughorn enough to boost her grade.

"If we add the powdered unicorn horn right at the boiling point, it'll be magical," Daphne theorized, her eyes gleaming with the kind of excitement that probably should've been reserved for Christmas morning or discovering a new flavor of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

Tracey Davis, always the voice of reason, chimed in, "Yeah, magical or catastrophic. Remember, it's unicorn horn, not fairy dust."

I nodded along, but my mind was about a thousand miles away. Ever since I'd gotten that cryptic origami bird-letter from my Aunt Iris, I couldn't stop wondering what new form of chaos was about to unfold. It's not every day an origami bird becomes your new GPS.

"Earth to Arthur. You planning to join the living anytime soon?" Daphne nudged me with her elbow, which was about as gentle as a Bludger to the head.

"Just thinking about... stuff," I muttered, which was as good an excuse as any.

As the meal wound down and students began to disperse, I excused myself from the table, ignoring the curious looks from orthers, and made my way through the winding corridors of Hogwarts, seeking a secluded alcove near a window overlooking the moonlit grounds. The gentle glow of the moonlight provided just enough illumination to read by.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled out the letter and read the words again: "Ostende mihi viam." I whispered the phrase, feeling a slight tremor of anticipation.

The parchment shimmered and folded itself into a small, delicate origami bird. It flapped its paper wings and hovered in front of me, waiting for me to follow.

I glanced around, ensuring I was alone, before following the bird. It navigated effortlessly through the winding corridors, The portraits along the walls looked on with mild interest—because, obviously, a kid chasing a paper bird is Tuesday-level normal around here.

Finally, I reached the door marked with a sign that said 'Alchemy Lab: Enter At Your Own Risk.' That was Aunt Iris for you—drama queen of the dungeon. I knocked, and her voice called me in.

The office looked like someone had taken a regular wizard's study and thrown in a dash of mad scientist chic. Bottles bubbled ominously, books whispered secrets to each other on dusty shelves, and I could swear one of the quills was giving me the stink eye. And then there was Iris, sitting behind her desk with the kind of expression that said she could probably tell what I had for breakfast just by looking at me.

"Arthur," she greeted me with a knowing smile. "Made it here in one piece, I see. How are you finding Hogwarts so far?"

"Not bad," I said, trying to sound casual. "Haven't been turned into a toad yet, so I'll call it a win."

Her eyes twinkled with that all-too-familiar 'I know more than I'm letting on' look. "Glad to hear it. But seriously, how are you holding up? Hogwarts can be a bit… intense for newcomers."

"Intense?" I echoed, trying not to laugh. "That's one way to put it. Between dodging moving staircases, trying to figure out which way is up in the common room, and avoiding Peeves—yeah, it's been a ride. Oh, and sleep? What's that again?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Not sleeping well?"

I shrugged, playing it off as no big deal. "Eh, just a few nightmares. No biggie. Probably just my brain adjusting to the whole 'living in a giant magical castle' thing. It's not like it's every night…" I trailed off, realizing how weak that sounded. "Okay, maybe it is every night."

Iris nodded, as if this confirmed something she'd already suspected. Then, almost as if she had planned this moment perfectly, she reached into her desk and pulled out a small, intricately carved box, placing it in front of me.

"It's a calming draught," she explained. "Drink it before bed if you're having trouble sleeping. Dreams can be intense, especially for someone with your potential."

I took the box, feeling the smooth wood under my fingers. It was cool to the touch, the carvings intricate and almost mesmerizing. "Thanks. I've been having some pretty strange dreams lately."

"I know," she said softly, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "That's partly why I want you to be prepared. The dreams are a sign that your magic is growing, becoming more attuned to the world around you. It's important to stay grounded."

"Great," I muttered, trying to mask my unease with humor. "Just what I need—more things that go bump in the night. But in my head."

She chuckled, leaning back in her chair. "Consider it part of the experience. But that's also why I wanted to check in on you. The first few days can be rough, and it seems like you've had a bit of an… eventful start."

"Eventful?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I've only been here three days! How much trouble could I have possibly gotten into?"

"Well," she said, her smile widening, "let's just say Hogwarts has taken notice of you, and so have I. It's not every day a first-year manages to attract so much attention from the castle—and I mean that in a good way."

"So, I'm not in trouble?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

"No, Arthur," Iris said, her tone warm but serious. "This is just a check-in. I want to make sure you're not too homesick, that you're finding your way around, and, well, that you know you've got people here who are keeping an eye out for you. Hogwarts might be a bit overwhelming, but you're not alone in this."

"Thanks," I said, feeling a little awkward but also relieved. "I'll try to keep the nightmares—and the trouble—to a minimum."

She smiled again, that knowing look still in her eyes. "Don't worry too much about the trouble. It has a way of finding those who can handle it. Just be ready when it does—and remember, my door's always open if you need anything. Even if it's just more of that sleeping potion."

I chuckled, the tension in my shoulders easing a bit as I looked down at the box in my hands. "I might take you up on that.

"Good," she said, her tone turning lighter.

"So, any exploding cauldrons today?" Iris asked, shifting gears from heavy destiny talk to casual chit-chat as smoothly as a Nimbus 2000.

"Just the usual. Although, Slughorn's eyebrows might never be the same," I joked, and we both laughed.

"So, how have you been, Iris? What have you been up to?"

"Oh, you know," she said nonchalantly. "Exploring magical realms, studying ancient spells, the usual. But I've also been experimenting with some new potion recipes. Trying to perfect a calming draught that actually tastes good."

"That sounds like a challenge," I noted.

"Tell me about it," she sighed dramatically. "My latest attempt tasted like liquefied cabbage. Not exactly calming."

I laughed. "I'd imagine not. Well, if you need a taste tester for your next batch, I might be willing to volunteer."

"I'll hold you to that," she said with a wink.

Eventually, I stood up, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. "Thanks, Aunt Iris. For everything."

"Anytime, Arthur," she said, giving me a hug. "And remember, keep practicing, keep learning, and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything."

"I will," I promised, As I left her office, the corridors of Hogwarts seemed a little less daunting.

**Author's Note:**

Hey everyone!

What a ride this chapter turned out to be! We've got Arthur diving headfirst into the mysteries of Hogwarts with a healthy mix of dream sequences, secret letters, and a dash of dark arts paranoia. It's safe to say that our boy is definitely not getting the typical first-year experience—and I think we can all agree, that's exactly how we like it!

Writing this chapter was an absolute blast. Arthur's journey is taking him deeper into the labyrinth that is Hogwarts, both literally and metaphorically. The introduction of the Gray Lady and the strange dream sequences hint at the layers of mystery waiting to be unraveled, and I'm excited to explore these elements more as the story progresses. There's something about blending the ordinary (like barely surviving Quirrell's class) with the extraordinary (like receiving a mysterious letter from Aunt Iris) that makes Hogwarts feel alive and full of potential. Every corner Arthur turns, every new encounter, could be the start of something big—and I think we're all here for it!

The dynamic between Arthur and Aunt Iris continues to be a favorite of mine to write. Iris's enigmatic nature and deep knowledge of the wizarding world provide Arthur with a unique support system, one that's not always straightforward but is undoubtedly crucial. Their relationship adds an extra layer of intrigue to Arthur's story, and I love seeing how she subtly (and sometimes not-so-subtly) nudges him in the right direction. The "detention" with Professor Flitwick is one of those moments that I think will be really pivotal for Arthur as he grows as a wizard. Plus, who doesn't love the idea of secret dueling lessons? It's going to be so much fun to see how Arthur handles this new challenge.

Caitlyn continues to be a breath of fresh air for Arthur, guiding him through the maze of Hogwarts with a mix of humor and genuine care. Their budding friendship is one of the highlights of the story for me, and I'm looking forward to seeing how they navigate the twists and turns that are sure to come their way. Whether it's ghost-hunting or just surviving the day-to-day chaos of school life, these two are quickly becoming a formidable team.

And how about that mysterious dream lady? Who is she, and what does she want with Arthur? The layers of mystery are slowly being peeled back, and I can't wait to reveal more about this strange figure who seems to be haunting Arthur's dreams. Is she a figment of his imagination, a ghost from the past, or something else entirely? All I'll say is—stay tuned!

As always, I'm eager to hear your thoughts on this chapter. What do you think of Arthur's latest adventures? Are you as curious as I am about the Gray Lady and the dreams? And what about those secret dueling lessons—how do you think Arthur will fare? Drop your theories, comments, and favorite moments in the section below—I love reading what you all think!

Thanks for sticking with me on this journey through Arthur's Hogwarts years. There's so much more to come, and I'm thrilled to have you all along for the ride.

Until next time, keep the magic alive!