“Lumos Maxima,” Peter whispered.
The tip of his wand glowed beneath the blanket.
“Lumos Maxima…”
“Why can’t you just sleep?” Stewart almost cried.
For the past thirty minutes, Peter had been lying under his blanket, repeatedly murmuring the Lumos spell as he tried to read something. It was nearly three in the morning, and Stewart had finally had enough.
“Just a minute,” Peter said.
Unlike Stewart, he was wide awake.
With an irritated groan, Stewart pulled his blanket over his head and tucked himself tightly inside, covering his ears.
Under his own blanket, Peter continued reading the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, published only a few minutes ago. The Ministry had announced a new law concerning professional sports, and Peter had been waiting all night to find out exactly what it was.
By the time he finished the article, the excitement had disappeared from his face. He looked puzzled—almost disappointed.
Peter lowered the newspaper and placed his wand on the desk beside his laptop.
Stewart’s head suddenly emerged from beneath his blanket.
“You know, you can read the news on your laptop!”
“They don’t publish it on the website until morning,” Peter replied.
“Then you’d better read the news in the morning, idiot!”
Stewart threw the blanket over his face again and disappeared beneath it.
Peter lay back against his pillow. For a while, he simply stared into the darkness, thinking.
Then, eventually, he tucked himself in and went to sleep.
The next morning, Peter walked through the corridor with Alison and Stewart. Or rather, a few steps behind them.
The two were busy talking about how they had spent their summer holidays, while Peter remained lost in his thoughts. The Daily Prophet was rolled tightly in one hand, his fingers clenched around it.
Stewart eventually turned around.
“Hey, Pete. What happened to your mum’s chocolate factory? I heard you’re shutting it down?”
“The business wasn’t doing well. She was already in debt, so she sold the place and cleared what she owed,” Peter answered.
His mind, however, was still somewhere else.
“That’s rough, mate. Can we help?” Stewart asked, exchanging a concerned look with Alison.
Peter shook his head.
Before either of them could say anything more, a familiar voice called from the other end of the corridor.
“Mr Harrow! The Headmaster would like to speak with you.”
It was Professor Black.
Peter’s expression changed instantly.
He hurried towards Black with such sudden enthusiasm that it almost seemed as though someone had just offered him the solution to all his problems.
Stewart and Alison remained where they were, staring after him.
“What was that about?” Alison asked.
Stewart could only shrug.
Professor Black led Peter through the corridors and up the staircase towards Flamel’s office. When they reached the door, Black knocked.
“Professor, Harrow is here.”
“Come in,” Flamel called.
The Headmaster’s office was filled with the golden light of the rising sun. The portraits hanging along the walls were, as usual, quietly chatting amongst themselves.
Flamel looked at Peter, then at the rolled-up newspaper clutched in his hand.
“Well,” he said, “I suppose you know why you’re here, Mr Harrow?”
“I do, sir. I read the news. I guessed you must have called me because of—”
“What news?” Black interrupted.
Peter stopped.
Flamel turned towards Black, who looked both anxious and completely clueless.
“The Ministry of Magic has announced that students wishing to pursue professional careers in sport will no longer be required to sit their NEWTs,” Flamel explained. “The highest qualification required will now be their OWLs. Which means…”
“This could be my last year at Hogwarts,” Peter finished quietly.
Black’s expression softened. He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to Peter.
Flamel continued.
“Peter, leaving after your OWLs is entirely optional. But if you truly intend to become a professional dueller, then there is little sense in spending another two years studying subjects you may never need. Those years could instead be spent training and competing at a professional level.”
Peter remained silent.
“I understand,” Flamel continued, “that leaving your friends behind will be difficult, but—”
“That’s not the problem, Professor,” Peter interrupted.
Flamel studied him for a moment.
“Then why are you worried, son?”
Peter looked down at the newspaper in his hands.
“It’s my mother. I haven’t told her about my…”
He stopped.
Black glanced at Flamel before speaking.
“Peter, your mother needs to know what you want to do. If she doesn’t consent, none of this will be possible. Whether it is today or tomorrow, you will have to tell her eventually.”
“She knows I want to become a dueller,” Peter said. “She’s always known. Ever since I was a child.”
He hesitated.
“But she doesn’t want me to end up like my dad. She’s spent my whole life trying to protect me from that.”
“Your father was a great man, Peter,” Black said gently. “And you can be just as good as he was.”
Peter didn’t answer.
Flamel rose from his chair.
“Peter, you cannot spend your entire life hiding things from your mother—especially decisions that will affect her as much as they affect you.”
“She just lost her business,” Peter said. “I can’t tell her something like this straight away, Professor.”
Flamel’s expression softened.
“Then don’t.”
Peter looked up.
“There is no hurry. You have the entire year ahead of you to decide what you want to do. But remember this: telling her may be difficult. Not telling her will eventually make things far more difficult.”
Peter nodded.
“Thank you, Professor.”
He turned towards the door.
“And Harrow,” Black called after him.
Peter looked back.
“Don’t be late for class.”
Black gave his hair an affectionate ruffle as Peter passed him and left the office.
Peter was only in his fifth year.
Until last night, he had assumed Hogwarts would remain his home for another two.
Now, for the first time, he had no idea whether this year would be his last.
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