Lance lingered in the shadows of the dimly lit Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, breathing in the familiar tang of ancient wood and lingering wisps of burnt ozone from past spellwork. The late hour had cast the room in hushed tones of blue-gray, broken only by the flickering torchlight along the stone walls, and the room’s stillness seemed to pulse with energy — a silent challenge that called to Lance’s competitive spirit. Here, surrounded by silence and shadows, he was free from prying eyes and expectations, and free to test the very limits of his magic.

He gripped his wand, his fingers fitting perfectly around the polished vine wood as if it were an extension of his own body. The Phoenix feather core hummed in response to his pulse, faintly vibrating with a fiery potential that never ceased to amaze him. Tonight, he was ready for more than the ordinary charms and defenses they practiced in class. He wanted power; he wanted to feel his magic respond like a trusted ally, rising to meet every command with precision and intensity. His eyes narrowed with concentration, his jaw set, and he turned toward a line of spell-stricken dummies awaiting him with blank, unforgiving faces.

Taking a deep breath, Lance centered himself, letting every thought, every distraction, fade away. He raised his wand with a controlled, deliberate movement and whispered, “Expulso!” The spell shot forward like a streak of lightning, searing through the air as it made impact. The dummy blasted backward, splinters erupting from the wood as the air filled with the tang of charred material. Lance smirked, satisfaction flickering in his hazel eyes as he watched the smoke swirl in the torchlight, dancing like shadows across the room.

But he wasn’t here to celebrate small victories. There was no audience, no score, only the knowledge that he could push further. He could feel the limits, and he wanted to break them. He squared his shoulders and lifted his wand once more, mentally gathering his strength to concentrate, on this.