"Hufflepuff, one point."
"Hufflepuff, another point."
"One point for Slytherin."
"Hufflepuff, yet again—one point."
Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the Transfiguration classroom, glancing around at the tables with a look of satisfaction. It was only the second class of the week, but the students' performance had far exceeded expectations. As long as their Transfigurations had a decent metallic sheen, she didn't hesitate to award points.
All except Cedric Diggory.
While the rest of the class focused on transmuting needles into shiny buttons, Cedric sat quietly in a corner, diligently drawing. He was working on something of personal significance—decomposing the movements of Baduanjin, a traditional exercise that coordinated breathing with motion to nourish the body and stimulate inner energy.
In his previous life, Cedric had read about it being dubbed the "morning exercise of the gods." At the time, it sounded like hyperbole, but now that he had tried it with magic involved, he was beginning to believe in its potential.
Once he completed the annotations, he planned to photograph each pose. This would allow him to produce a physical manual—his own cycle of actions paired with magical theory. He already had a title in mind: The Squib Rebirth Technique.
Of course, Professor Flitwick's name would also appear as a co-author.
After all, it was Flitwick who provided the method for safely "blowing up the river"—a burst of magical energy that Cedric had learned to moderate through practice. Including Flitwick's name wouldn't just be a courteous nod; it would lend the work academic legitimacy. As a former Duelling Champion, Flitwick's name carried weight.
They had discussed it briefly, and Cedric had learned that the method could be replicated through basic magical props. Nothing complicated, just a simple enchantment that helped channel and ignite magic in short bursts.
This book, though it started as a personal project, had become Cedric's solution to another pressing issue: money.
Potion ingredients were expensive, magical tools even more so. If he wanted to conduct long-term magical research, he couldn't afford to remain broke.
With a steady income, Cedric could even help some of his less wealthy friends. He had already noticed a few students struggling quietly. Supporting them wouldn't just make him happy—it would likely trigger system rewards too.
Then there were the Weasley twins.
Cedric already knew he'd have to confront them eventually. Their antics were disruptive, even if their inventions were brilliant. But he saw value in their ideas—particularly for humor and innovation in the wizarding world. Sponsoring their joke shop might actually be a wise long-term investment.
He could keep them focused on R&D and off McGonagall's radar.
As for Harry Potter, well, he certainly wasn't lacking in gold. Cedric figured Harry would smile and support him regardless, especially once he saw the positive effects of the exercises.
But that was the beauty of this project—its effectiveness would speak for itself.
There wasn't a squib alive who would willingly reveal their condition. But a "magical enhancement exercise"? That could be framed positively.
After about an hour, Cedric looked up from his sketches, rolling his stiff shoulders. His muscles ached pleasantly, and he was about to stretch when Professor McGonagall approached the front of the room.
"Hufflepuff, one more point!"
She was radiant with satisfaction as she noted the improved transfigurations. But a flicker of confusion passed through her expression as she paused to observe the Hufflepuff students.
When they had entered class earlier, nearly all of them had red cheeks and sweat-dampened foreheads—unusual for early morning.
McGonagall tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"You've all improved remarkably," she said, eyeing them. "Tell me, did someone slip you a potion?"
It wasn't an unreasonable suspicion. There were potions—energy boosters, clarity brews, even stimulant draughts—that could improve magical performance temporarily. A student's ears might even smoke after ingesting some of them.
And in Hufflepuff, there was definitely someone capable of brewing them.
"Cedric?" she called softly.
Cedric looked up. "What? Oh—no! No potions. I just led everyone in a morning exercise routine."
He stood and demonstrated a few fluid motions from Baduanjin to prove his point, stretching out the stiffness from his sketching session. A warm glow flowed through him almost instantly.
"Physical exercise?" McGonagall frowned. "About half an hour's worth?"
She was clearly skeptical. It sounded too simple to be the explanation for such drastic classroom improvement.
"Maybe Cedric just teaches well," she muttered under her breath.
But before she could follow that train of thought, the Hufflepuffs themselves began speaking up.
"I think it's the morning exercise, Professor!"
"I feel way more energized than usual. I even ate more at breakfast!"
"My magic flows smoother too!"
"Yeah, same here!"
"Professor, Cedric is just being modest!"
McGonagall's eyes twinkled as she looked at Cedric with maternal pride. "Cedric, don't be too humble next time. You'll confuse everyone!"
"But—" Cedric tried to protest. "That's not exactly—"
It was no use. No one believed his explanation that it was probably just the students getting used to Hogwarts' rhythm. They hadn't done any serious morning exercise since arriving. Naturally, better circulation and mental clarity would boost magical performance.
Still, under McGonagall's beaming gaze and the starry-eyed admiration of his classmates, Cedric gave up.
To make matters worse, the Slytherins had also been paying close attention—and their conspiracy-loving minds had jumped into overdrive.
He overheard whispers about him involving: "secret training," "hidden bloodline," "charisma enhancement," "forbidden magic," and "mysterious potions."
Before long, a Slytherin student stood up, hand raised solemnly.
"Mr. Cedric, we respectfully request to join your morning practice."
Cedric choked on air.
"Mr.? We're classmates, don't use titles like that! Please!"
"If that's so," the Slytherin continued, unfazed, "then we shall refer to you as our leader!"
Cedric blinked. "No—just… fine! 'Sir' is better. Call me 'Sir,' please!"
He slapped his forehead mentally. That's not better!
Professor McGonagall, sensing his growing distress, gracefully announced the end of class.
But Cedric's relief was short-lived.
At lunch, another wave hit.
"Ravenclaw first-years want to join the morning exercise group too!"
"What?!"
Apparently, Ravenclaw had begun treating it like an advanced academic technique—mind-body alignment, magical optimization, and so on. They were curious and eager to experiment.
By the next morning, Cedric stood at the head of a large group in the courtyard, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he looked at the gathered crowd.
All first-years from Hufflepuff.
All first-years from Slytherin.
All first-years from Ravenclaw.
A few second-years from Hufflepuff.
Professor Flitwick and Filch, of course.
And then… oh no.
Out walked Professor McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore, quietly observing from the sidelines.
Merlin's beard, Cedric thought, if this keeps up, I really will become the head coach of Hogwarts morning exercises.
He took a deep breath, clapped his hands, and called out:
"All right, everyone—line up by house. Let's begin with the 'Hol
ding Up the Heavens' pose...!"
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