"o apologize. I tell you're feeling more fortable now," Flitwick replied gently, then leaned forward with a thoughtful expression. "So, Alex, I'll ask again: how do you really feel about my css?"

  Alex hesitated but then decided to be ho.

  "Actually, Professor, your css is excellent, but… it's a bit too easy for me. I've already studied spell theory and learned most of the first-year spells on my own."

  Flitwick's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Ah, I had a feeling when I saw you cast earlier. You are certainly ahead of your cssmates. But do you know why your spellcasting caught my attention so quickly?"

  Alex shook his head, unsure of how to respond.

  "Because it's unusual," Flitwick said, leaning ba his chair.

  Unusual? Alex's mind raced. Could he really be that different from the other students?

  "You see," Flitwick tinued, "a wizard's growth isn't something you measure from birth. Magical talent only reveals itself after what we call a 'magical outburst,' which happen anytime between ages six and ten. Some families like to boast about their children showing magic as early as three. But that's nonsense."

  Alex nodded. He himself had experienced his first magical outburst around age seven.

  "After the outburst," Flitwick expined, "a wizard's magic groidly, but it's chaotid difficult to trol. That's why Hogwarts only admits students at eleven. By then, a young wizard's magic has stabilized enough to be safely guided. Before wands were ied, casting spells was far riskier, and many wizards in aimes died from magie out of trol."

  Alex thought back to how much more in tuh his magic he had felt after getting his wand.

  "The wand is a powerful tool. It stabilizes the magiside you, making it safer to cast spells. But at the same time, it dulls your sensitivity to magic. Befetting a wand, most young wizards perform simple tricks without one. But after they get a wand, it's often harder to do those same tricks. That's why many wizarding families avoid giving children wands too early; they don't want to dull their magic awareoo soon."

  Alex's thoughts drifted back to the moment when he first held his wand, remembering the subtle ge in how his magic felt within him.

  "Simirly, the precise movements and words used in spellcasting py a critical role," Professor Flitwick expined. "They help wizards who have reduced sensitivity to magiabling them to learn spells more quickly and easily. Ba the days when wands weren't only used, silent, wandless casting was the norm."

  Flitwick paused, clearing his throat as the lengthy expnatio him a bit parched. "That's how it was."

  Alex recalled his years of secret self-training. It wasn't just about strengthening his magic, but it also seemed to heighten his sensitivity to it, making him more aware than most wizards.

  Flitwick leaned forward, his tone soft but firm. "As you may have noticed, most young wizards today struggle with magic because their sensitivity has decreased. They lose the ability to perform small tricks without wands. This creates what I call a 'perception gap.' If not addressed, it lead to frustration, even making it harder for them to cast spells as they grow. Emotions are crucial to spellcasting; they are a key part of the process."

  He tinued, "Some exceptionally talented wizards might pick up a spell or two quickly after getting their wands, but even they ime and practice. Sensitivity to magierally increases well into a wizard's 30s. As this sensitivity improves, learning and casting spells bees easier and more natural."

  Flitwick gave Alex a thoughtful look. "But when you say you've already mastered first-year spells and perform them silently, it tells me you are... unique."

  Flitwick's curiosity was clear. "So, Alex, could you tell me more? This could be valuable for academic researagical development. I do uand that it may seem intrusive, but my love for spells makes me ask, even if it's cheeky."

  Alex sidered Flitwick's siy. The professor had given him so musight into spellcasting and answered questions Alex had carried for years. It didn't seem like a huge secret to share.

  "Thank you, Professor Flitwick. The reason I learned silent casting so early isn't as plicated as it might seem. It has a lot to do with how I grew up."

  Flitwick leaned in, listening closely.

  "You might not know this, but I'm an orphan. Growing up in an orphanage, I had to learn independence early. When I was about seven, strahings began happening around me—like you mentioned with the magic riot. Objects would float or move uedly."

  Flitwiodded, encing him to tinue.

  "I was terrified at first. Living in the Muggle world, I had no idea what it meant, so I kept it a secret. I started iigating it myself, trying to trol the strange power inside me. Back then, I thought I had some sort of superpower, like in Muggle stories. So I experimented."

  Alex chuckled lightly at the memory. "I'd stare at a cup for hours, trying to make it move. I had no cept of magic then, just this burning curiosity and a lot of patience."

  Professor Flitwick's eyes widened as Alex spoke, impressed by his perseverance.

  "Eventually, after who knows how many tries, I mao move the cup. That's when I realized I could trol this forside me—magic. From then on, I practiced daily, experimenting and training myself to trol it better. It wasn't until I got my Hogwarts letter that things became clearer."

  To illustrate his point, Alex raised his hand, and the books in front of them lifted off the table, floating effortlessly in the air.

  "My goodness!" Flitwick excimed. "This is wandless, silent casting!"

  Alex smiled faintly, but there was more to his story.

  "After all those years of practice, trolling magic became sed nature to me. I trained not just my magic, but my body, too—though it's hard to expily how I did it. When I finally got my wand, things felt a little off at first. As you said, the sensitivity to magic decreased. But thanks to all my training, I mao maintain a higher level of trol."

  Flitwick listened ily, his admiration for Alex growing.