Changeling in Exile or, Being Human is Awful, and Hogwarts is Worse

Chapter 17

In which Dru learns that casually breaking the laws of magic might result in one being worshipped as a god in certain places, so perhaps don't; Tom confronts Professor Marshall about being a spy for the reds; Dru and Tom might be moving a; and Professor Marshall continues to be a swagger bastard.

"Alright, alright, calm down, you lot," Professor Marshall called out, laughing at the excitement his latest exercise — play-acting an encounter with a suspicious muggle — had provoked. "You have all weekend to consider the matter. You needn't start from one of the scenarios described in Chapter Three, but if you do choose a different encounter circumstance, it must be one it is possible to experience in the real world, not, say, a muggle somehow finding his way into the Great Hall at dinner time, or onto the Express.

"The object is to attempt to imagine more realistic responses from the suspicious muggle, rather than the easy agreement of the idealised interactions outlined in the textbook, and develop responses which take into account your actual level of ability — none of this confound the muggle and apparate away nonsense you won't be able to perform for years.

"And it ought to go without saying that you cannot simply avoid the interaction entirely, as the textbook suggests that you ought to do at your age. The premise of the exercise is that you are already in direct contact with a muggle who is already suspicious that there is something strange about you. You are not accompanied by a qualified adult who can easily subdue, deflect, or obliviate the muggle. You must attempt to placate their suspicions or somehow remove yourself from the encounter without employing violence. Preferably without using magic, as well. Got it?" There were scattered murmurs of assent. "Good. Class dismissed!"

Dru remained behind as her classmates filed out, partly because if Professor Marshall was meant to be her partner for demonstrations in lessons, they probably ought to discuss the scenario they would portray — Dru personally could not imagine ever finding herself lost in a muggle city (obviously if she knew how she'd gotten somewhere in the first place, she would know how to get back to safety) or agreeing to visit the home of a muggleborn friend (Tom, at least, would obviously prefer to spend holidays with her than the other way around), which were the two scenarios outlined in Chapter Three — but mostly because she'd been so eager to begin looking for information on wardcrafting Tuesday afternoon that it had entirely slipped her mind that she'd meant to ask him about Aradian magic.

Professor Marshall grinned at her, as the door clicked shut behind the last of her classmates. "Let me guess, you cannot think of a single circumstance under which you might encounter a muggle."

"Well, I haven't encountered one yet," she had to point out. "And as muggles tend not to be heavily represented in magical schools and libraries, I rather doubt that I ever will."

He chuckled. "I think you'll find that there is at least one magical university town which has a fairly large muggle population."

"I thought most of the muggles who live in Miskatonic are practically in the know." It certainly sounded like it, from what Lady Margolotta had told her. There was some tynged or massive land-enchantment that made the magical and strange seem perfectly commonplace within the valley, and disinclined the residents to discuss the truly weird things which happened there with Outsiders. It also made the weird things fade from the memories of those who moved away, and let them recall Miskatonic as an odd little superstitious town, but nothing magically out of the ordinary. It was, perhaps, the neatest solution to Secrecy Dru had ever heard of.

"I've never been there myself, but my understanding is that the locals are more or less aware of magic — they just try to keep their heads down and live their lives between magical catastrophes and eldritch incursions — but they do still make a nod toward Secrecy for the muggle students from out of town. Visiting Outsiders, you know."

"So, our scenario is that I'm at Miskatonic and somehow become engaged in conversation with a muggle who suspects that something strange is going on because something strange is always going on?" Were that the case, she suspected that she would just tell the muggle the truth, relying on the protections of the Valley to keep them from telling other Outsiders.

"Well, no, I was thinking that our scenario could be that you were out flying but encountered inclement weather, and were forced to take shelter, only to be joined in your cave or hunter's shack or wherever by a muggle rambler also seeking shelter. You of course would not be able to refuse to share the space, but your style of dress and the fact that you are alone in the middle of nowhere with a broom and nothing else would obviously raise certain questions."

Oh. That would be a bit trickier, then. "I presume that I'm not allowed to simply charm the muggle to sleep and let him think that such a peculiar encounter must have been a dream?"

"I would prefer that you don't. I know you're capable of doing so, but the point of the exercise is to discuss methods of conflict avoidance and Statute preservation that your classmates are capable of employing." Hmmm... "You needn't come up with a solution now. In fact, I'd prefer you not tell me what you're planning to do. I expect most of your classmates will script out their encounters, but I find that a bit of improvisation makes these things more interesting."

Very well, then. She nodded. "That wasn't actually what I intended to ask you about, though."


"What's Aradian magic?"

"Ah, that," the professor said, clearly trying not to smirk, and equally clearly failing.

"What's funny about it?" Dru had to ask. "The Headmaster told Professor Dumbledore that he ought to ask you about it if he wanted to know why it wasn't entirely absurd for me to reify a conjuration. As I've never heard the term, I thought it worth asking you myself." Especially since she had realised that if "Aradian magic" was how Professor Marshall thought she was doing things like that, and the Hat thought that it was an effect of the dreamer symbiote, perhaps the professor knew of others like her. He couldn't be a dreamer himself — the Hat said it had never met another on this plane — but maybe someone he'd met in Venice...

"Oh, well, technically, strictly speaking, it's just what they call an aetheric affinity in the Adriatic region, and to a lesser extent throughout the northern Mediterranean. More broadly speaking, it's a talent ascribed to anyone who's unusually skilled at intuitive magics: will magic — pre-Merlinian wish magic, that is — or the various performative magics, and so on. In Venice and Tuscany specifically, it's also used to describe people we would call changelings over here — anyone with an outstanding ability to perform magics which are generally considered beyond humans.

"It's funny because practically any supposedly-inhuman magical ability can be called a manifestation of a talent for Aradian magic, which is ultimately just...being unusually good at magic. For example—" He broke off at a knock on the door — Tom, looking for her because she had taken slightly longer than he expected to appear in the Library.

I did tell you that I intended to speak to Professor Marshall after the lesson, Tom.

I want to know about Aradian magic, too, and while I could just steal the memory from you, I also want to see if I can suss whether he's a spy for the reds. Because you were taking too long is just what I'm going to tell him if he asks.

Grindelwald's movement isn't the same as the muggle communists, you know.

Don't care. I'm going to keep calling them that just to annoy you.

Because Tom liked feeling her annoyance. Though in fairness to him, when she legilimised him to feel how he felt her emotions, his reflection of it wasn't really negative, just mildly warm and focused directly on him. (She was pretty sure he just liked the attention.)


Professor Marshall opened the door with a wandless charm. "Mister Riddle? Can I help you with something?"

"No, I was looking for Dru."

The professor waited expectantly, as though he thought Tom might actually have something to say to her.

"Oh, go on. I didn't mean to interrupt. You were about to give examples of Aradian magic?"

Professor Marshall's eyes flicked from Tom to Dru and back, narrowed in suspicion, with a confused little frown, like he suspected that he knew what was going on, but it made no sense. "Did you just...?"

"Catch up from my memory of the past few minutes?" Dru finished. "Yes, he did. Legilimency really is terribly convenient like that. What were you saying, though?"

He shook his head as though he couldn't quite believe she didn't mind Tom legilimising her, or possibly that he hadn't bothered trying to hide it. He's more baffled than uncomfortable, at least, Tom thought at her.

"Er, right. What was I— Oh! Right. For example, Nina — Corinna Loredan, that is, she was the one who told me about Aradian magic — Nina would say that I have a talent for Aradian magic because I have an aetheric affinity, which gives me a much greater awareness of my magic and how it interacts with magic around me, and thus a much greater degree of control over my magic than most people think is possible. You do, too, by the way, Miss Rosier. But she might also say that Mister Riddle has a talent for Aradian magic because normal, human legilimens don't use serial legilimency to approach other minds without disturbing the ambient magic between them. Mind mages using magic around me normally feels like someone is doing magic around me," he informed Tom, which Tom found somewhat surprising.

Ha, I'm not the only one of us who has no idea what is or is not normal.

I always knew I was special, though, growing up with muggles. And you just have to look around the Great Hall to see hundreds of other people who are just terrible at magic. It's not surprising I'm doing something other people don't or can't. It's surprising that Marshall can feel other people using mind magic around him, even when they're not trying to get into his mind. I don't think that's normal.

"I'd have to ask John to be sure, but I think serial legilimency — a single mental extension assuming multiple different frequencies— That is how you did that, isn't it?"

Tom shrugged. "Not really intentionally, but yes."

Professor Marshall's eyebrows rose a few millimetres more. "I'm fairly certain serial legilimency is considered a very advanced speciality technique used for training new mind-healers — the Master legilimises their apprentice and uses their apprentice's magic to legilimise a patient, in order to teach them to perform particularly tricky manipulations which have a high probability of hurting the patient if performed incorrectly. Figuring it out independently is certainly impressive enough that the Venetians would say you have a talent for Aradian magic in the sense that they're very impressed and think there must be something special about you."

Tom managed to keep it off his face, but Dru could feel how very pleased he was to have an adult mage acknowledge that yes, he was indeed special, even among mages. He would probably never forgive Dumbledore for (among other things) refusing to be impressed by any of the magic he had managed to teach himself before he was officially brought into Magical Britain — ruining the moment of finding out that he wasn't alone in the world by immediately making it clear that he was still a nobody, and all the things he'd thought made him better and unique compared to his fellow orphans were in fact not special at all.

Not that Dru thought he should forgive Dumbledore for that, or anything else, for that matter. It had been terribly cruel and unnecessary of him. Tom hadn't been any more eager to show off his abilities than Felix was when he mastered a new skill, and even Dru knew that normal people considered brushing off children's accomplishments entirely — making it obvious that they truly didn't care — to be even more rude and inappropriate than trying to help them improve by advising them on the next step. People like Ella, who were generally considered good with children, usually made a big production of how proud they were of even the smallest accomplishments a child wanted to show them. Not just their own children, either — Dru had had plenty of tutors who had habitually done the same sort of thing, even after she'd made it clear that she'd rather they not.

Amusingly enough, Tom seemed to agree with her that Professor Marshall's so-matter-of-fact way of acknowledging that he was special was the best way to give someone a compliment, though because he thought it implied something like, yes, you're so obviously good at this that there's no point making a scene about it, if anyone doesn't already know clearly they're an idiot, rather than because he didn't like being made much of.

"Doing it unconsciously edges over into we're saying 'Aradian magic' but we mean that we suspect you're not human territory. Of course, they'd also be saying we suspect you're not human but we don't want to admit it, because being amazingly good at magic does not in any way decrease your suitability as a potential son-in-law, while openly speculating that you're a changeling or the unnatural product of blood magic enhancements most definitely would. So especially among the Venetian and Florentine nobility, claiming that someone has a talent for Aradian magic can mean practically anything one wants it to mean in terms of abilities, but it always holds a positive, very impressive connotation," the professor explained cheerfully, with a smile inviting them to join in the joke which was nobles both wanting to bring people who were impossibly good at magic into their Houses, and also not wanting to admit in any way, shape, or form that their bloodlines might possibly be anything less than perfectly natural and entirely human.

It was sort of funny in a way, Dru supposed, if one found such hypocrisy amusing. It was the same sort of thinking behind the cultural preference for natural (slightly flawed) gemstones over alchemically produced (perfect) gemstones, and decorating with physical art and furniture rather than conjured equivalents. Things which were rarer and more difficult to produce held more 'inherent' value, so attempting to breed beauty, power, and talent into their families 'naturally' over the course of dozens of generations was somehow more inherently valuable than using blood magic to do the same over two or three generations. (Never mind that bioalchemy was a delicate, incredibly complex art, and inarguably more difficult than choosing likely breeding pairs and encouraging them to copulate, producing children as luck and fate dictated.)

Personally, Dru thought it was a bit pathetic, but then, she also preferred perfection and convenience over rarity, so what did she know?

Tom laughed. The funny part is that they are pathetic, and completely delusional because they all think they're better than we commoners for their pathetic, made up reasons. Excepting you, obviously. I'm counting mocking the nobles as a point on the spy for the reds side of the scale.

"Er...thanks? I guess?" he said, deliberately downplaying how much the compliment meant to him, though honestly, he was positively chuffy over it. He was just much better than Dru at not standing there blushing inarticulately in the face of a compliment he actually appreciated receiving.

Even if she didn't really see the humour in Society being rather pathetic and awful, she did, at least, appreciate the irony of assuring Headmaster Dippet that she could be human by essentially telling him that Professor Marshall didn't think she a way the Headmaster just didn't have the cultural context to understand, though that would itself be somewhat ironic if he were in fact a Gemeenschoppist, because that was a very 'Society' way to subtly mock someone.

I'm sure he knows that. He gets to keep the point.

Dru couldn't help smiling at that — both at the irony and Tom's stubborn insistence that Professor Marshall should be a Gemeenschoppist. As a poor commoner himself in the predominantly noble environment of Hogwarts, Tom had developed some very Gemeenschoppist-like attitudes toward the concept of nobility in general, and he liked Professor Marshall almost as much as Dru did. (Possibly in part because Dru did, though acknowledging Tom's abilities went a long way toward Tom liking him independently as well.) He'd been delighted by Auntie's idea that the professor was here as a spy.

"Casually reifying conjurations, on the other hand, is literally Aradian magic. Mages throughout the Adriatic region refer to practically any seemingly impossible feat of magic as Aradian, but simply having had an aetheric affinity wouldn't explain the wonders she's said to have enacted on behalf of her followers. They deified her because she speaks as a god does, remaking the world in the image of her will and her word. As she defines it, so it becomes." That was clearly a quotation, though Dru wasn't familiar with the source.

"Of course, she always claimed not to be a god, or even a prophet, but it's fairly clear from the surviving records of her life that she acted independently to effect her miracles, rather than appealing to some greater aspect of magic. The most widespread interpretation today is that she used some kind of naming magic, like that of the Blessed Islanders. She wasn't a Blessed Islander, according to her cult, which does still have a small following today — I shouldn't go about that region casually redefining the nature of the world around yourself if I were you, unless you want to be hailed as Aradia reborn, I suppose — but a similar type of magic, at least."

Well that was...

Unnervingly familiar, Tom finished for her, not feeling very unnerved at all. Certainly not as much as she was. Should I be? I thought you were hoping that asking about this would give you a hint about how to find other dreamers.

Well, yes, I was, but I wasn't expecting that hint to be a Fourteenth Century sorceress who was worshipped as a god. Not only is it unnerving to suspect that I might be the same sort of being as one who was literally worshipped, but she's been dead for centuries.

So? That's what necromancy is for... Or if she's actually a goddess, we could just invoke her directly, I suppose.

This was not the time to discuss all the reasons that performing High Ritual at Hogwarts was a Bad Idea.

The professor gave them a little shrug, entirely oblivious to Tom suggesting they just invoke a goddess to interrogate her about Dru and whether they were the same sort of being probably over tea or something equally absurd, with a degree of casual unconcern for the dangers involved in summoning aspects of magic that Dru quite frankly found slightly disturbing.

It's not like I suggested we ask Melinoë to come 'round for tea...

When you manage to get into Draco's mind to eavesdrop on him, mention that you've spoken to a spontaneous manifestation of an aspect, if you want to know how terrifying most traditionalists find the idea of conversing with gods, especially outside of the formal structure of a ritual exchange.

Melinoë was a chthonic goddess whose most notable attributes in surviving texts were concerned with nightmares and madness. She would probably be delighted if Tom were to mention her to Draco, because he would be having nightmares for the rest of his life — or at least until he never had to interact with Tom ever again. He wouldn't turn him in, though. Aunt Bella would disown him if he testified against someone for practising black magic.

"Still, It's not much of a stretch to extend the potential manifestations of a supposed talent for Aradian magic to include actual Aradian magic." And then Professor Marshall stopped talking.

Bother. Now she had to actually come up with a response to being compared to a sorceress worshipped as a god, whose cult was still active, apparently. And the best she had was, "...Oh."

Tom sniggered. "What Dru means to say is, thank you for covering for me, please excuse me while I attempt to come to terms with the fact that being able to break the laws of magic without any consequences other than feeling somewhat guilty for breaking the rules is the sort of thing that might get you worshipped as a god if you do it in front of the wrong people."

Professor Marshall let out a surprised little huff of laughter. "Think nothing of it."

"That," Tom said, with a cheeky smirk, "would be a hell of a lot easier if we had some potentially damaging information to hold over you as well."

Tom, what are you doing?

Warning Marshall that it's easier to peg him as a spy than he thinks? And/or that if he tells anyone anything you don't want him to, that we can make his life just as difficult as he can make yours.

I don't think there's really any risk of that, Tom. He did cover for me with the Headmaster, after all. And you know I don't want him to think that the House is trying to threaten him or leverage that information!

He ignored her protests in every potential outcome of this conversation, which was on the one hand very annoying, but on the other, she could feel how important he thought it was, ensuring that this potential ally was aware that betraying them could be dangerous.

It is important. We don't know him well enough to just trust him.

Dru still thought that Professor Marshall knowing that she wasn't human and could break the laws of magic if she wanted to was less of a concern than, say Professor Dumbledore knowing.

Dumb-as-a-door thinks you just have some magical talent he's never heard of, not that you're a one-of-a-kind interdimensional jellyfish who can casually break the laws of magic, and he's a prideful get as likes to think he's better at magic than Merlin himself. He's not going to do anything that would draw more attention to the fact that there's a little girl at Hogwarts who makes him look like an incompetent pratt.

On the other hand, just because we like him doesn't mean Marshall might not turn around and try to manipulate you to his own ends, especially if he actually is a spy. And obviously I'm not speaking on behalf of your House. "Are you a spy for the reds?"

Professor Marshall blinked, taken aback. Dru could feel his consternation through Tom — an uneasy wariness which suggested that Aunt Caelia was right about his loyalties — though he was good enough at controlling his expression to keep it off his face, his features falling into a slightly confused frown. "The reds as in...communists? I don't even think they're active on the magical side of things..."

Tom smirked at him. "You know what I meant. Wondering how the hell I figured that one out blows the gaff, never mind how square you keep your mug."

The professor's consternation only grew stronger, presumably because he knew that his occlumency was excellent. He might not notice Tom doing mind magic nearby him, but Tom was certain the professor would notice if he tried to legilimise him directly. Even the best occlumens often didn't realise that they were still projecting their emotions, though. Generally speaking, containing their emotional reactions as well as their thoughts required a great deal more concentration than simply monitoring the edges of their minds for potential intrusions.

"We're not going to tell anyone," Dru hastened to assure him. "Tom's just being protective. Unnecessarily so," she added, with an annoyed glare at the boy, more to make a show of her disapproval for Professor Marshall than because Tom would care.

"And doing him a good turn, pointing out he's looking a bit downish, if your auntie's already got his number. But sure," he agreed. "I'm no nark, just so's we all know where we stand. We'll keep mum if you do, eh?"

Professor Marshall rubbed at his forehead for a moment, annoyed, exasperated, slightly confused — Tom's muggle argot was entirely unfamiliar to him, though the context made his meaning clear — but not unduly concerned, as though he thought they might actually tell anyone. "Yes, obviously. I wouldn't have told anyone anyway, I'm aware that Miss Rosier prefers to avoid undue attention — despite being rather terrible at predicting which actions might encourage such attention — and I have no desire to make her life more difficult. You both have my word that I will keep your secrets as you keep mine," he offered, drawing his wand to make the oath official. Tom tensed, obviously not recognising his intent, before picking it up from Dru and relaxing. "With Magic as our witness."

A pair of white sparks floated into the air, waiting for their response. "And you have ours," Dru agreed, the spark from her wand rising to the crown of the professor's head, as his descended on theirs.

What was that? Tom asked, shivering at the faint touch of foreign magic at the edge of his mind. It did tickle, a bit.

Magic witnessing the oath, so we'll know if he breaks his word and the agreement becomes void.

Professor Marshall gave the two of them a very peculiar look, which Dru found herself entirely unable to interpret. The curious, questioning feeling that went along with it didn't really help her guess what it might mean.

After a moment he asked, somewhat cautiously, "...Are you aware that you just accepted an oath on behalf of Mister Riddle, as well as yourself?" which she actually hadn't been. And it was odd, now that it had been pointed out, but Tom had initiated the agreement, so...

It's probably more relevant that, "We're sharing a mind right now, and we're in agreement about accepting the oath, so why should it matter if we use her body or mine to say the words?"

Professor Marshall hesitated, but only for a moment. "...Well, for one thing, using legilimency to facilitate extended possession is considered an abuse of mind-magic and for another, it suggests that you set up something like a soul bond with someone you've known for, what? two weeks? which I think most people would agree is moving a little fast. And thirdly, I'm no expert on legilimency, but if I were you, I'd be concerned about personality syncretism. So, it's not so much that you did collectively accept the oath that's concerning, it's the fact that you were able to."

Dru glared at him. Bad enough she found herself caring about his opinion and concerns, but those opinions and concerns were all the more annoying because he clearly had entirely the wrong idea about what was going on here. She didn't want to worry him, but it was none of his business, and it wasn't even what he thought it was, anyway! "Neither of us is suppressing the other's personality or will and I don't think that particular statute applies when the possession in question is mutual, anyway; it's not a permanent soul bond, just reciprocal legilimency; and the integrity of one's person is predicated on continuity, not the relative weight of various individuals' influence on one's development." People change, she added, in response to Tom's inquiring curiosity. As long as we're not altering each other's memories and thereby changing the experiences which have shaped us as people, we're still ourselves. Growing more alike over time doesn't change that.

Ah. Makes more sense than Turner's discomfort, I guess. "Also, one week, and you may have noticed, we're not most people. Count this as a secret to keep between the three of us, though. Neither of us fancy a chivey over it."

"I presume a 'chivey' is a telling-off of some degree?"

They both nodded. Dru was fairly certain that the degree involved shouting, though in this case, if anyone was truly concerned about the matter, it would probably also involve physically separating the two of them to prevent them from making mental contact with each other — most likely by sending Dru home. Not fancying the prospect was, she thought, underselling it a bit.

Professor Marshall's eyes flicked between them, as though he was attempting to judge from their faces the sincerity and degree of resolve behind their insistence that they weren't doing anything harmful to each other. After a few seconds, he capitulated with a sigh. "Fine, then. None of my business, and in any case, I'd like to use the last few minutes of our lunch hour to begin composing a letter attempting to explain to certain friends of mine exactly how Lady Rosier could possibly have come to the conclusion that I'm a Revolutionary spy, in less than two weeks, without so much as having met me."

Dru couldn't help giggling a bit at the sheer indignance of that statement, her annoyance swiftly fading as he made it clear he had no intention of badgering Tom and herself over their relationship. "You were a student of Max Chernov, and Auntie's contacts and colleagues at Durmstrang hinted that you were involved in certain groups toward the end of your Mastery. Her friends in Maidstone and within House McKinnon assured her that when our cousins in Venice noted your absence from the City, you certainly weren't visiting your family here in Britain. Aside from that, it was mostly speculation."

"Ah, of course. Bloody noble gossip networks," he muttered, clearly annoyed, though it was hardly as though he could have done anything to control any of the information she'd gathered.

"If it helps, one of her friends on the Board of Governors also said that Lady Corinna wrote you a glowing letter of reference, which will certainly go a long way toward convincing most of the British nobility that you have left behind your youthful flirtation with political dissent, and Auntie isn't going to tell anyone that she suspects otherwise because you don't pose a direct threat to any of our allies. And she doesn't have any proof, anyway. Well, this conversation, but we promised not to tell anyone, so."

"Also, Dru likes you, so Lady Rosier doesn't want to get you run out of Hogwarts, and the Rosiers are Revolutionary sympathisers anyway," Tom added.

"No, we're not," Dru corrected him. "We just have no interest in standing in the way of the Revolution if it makes it to Brittany. We're scholars, not fighters, and we suspect that a Revolutionary administration would be more interested in promoting trans-Atlantic academic collaboration."

On a scale of British Noble Houses, that's pretty much saying that you would support the Revolution, because what's the worst they'd do to you? take all your books and turn them into a public library? and it's time to join the Twentieth Century already, but the Blacks and Lestranges and half the other British Noble Houses will slaughter you if you admit it before the Revolutionaries already have them lined up against the wall.

...Was it really? She'd have to ask in her next letter, because that was not the impression she'd gotten before, but she'd be the first to admit that she had a tendency to take people at their word a bit too often. She was, she thought, pretty good at implying things she didn't mean herself, but if she wasn't expecting polite, Society blandishments, she often didn't notice them at all.

Yes, really. But do, I'll say I told you so later.

"...That does help, actually. I do, however, actually need to write that letter, and I have another lesson scheduled in...twenty minutes," he finished, doing that little snap-tempus again.

"Alright, we're going. C'mon, Dru." I know you're planning on working on that map, but we should try to figure out that snap thing. Swagger bastard.

I know! I was going to last week, but then I was distracted by...everything else. "Good afternoon, Professor."

"Miss Rosier. Mister Riddle." He nodded politely, but he really was serious about the two of them needing to leave — he opened the door with a wandless charm again.

We should figure that one out, too.

Oh, I know that one. I just can't channel enough magic to initialise it properly without a wand. Though Professor Marshall did mention an extended casting technique last time we spoke, and I don't think there's a reason I shouldn't be able to use it wandlessly, she speculated, directing Tom to the memory in question as they made their way to the Library. What do you think?