The weeks following their Ministry partnership agreement brought changes that Eliot hadn't anticipated. Word of their success had spread beyond Hogwarts, and suddenly they were receiving letters from magical inventors, researchers, and entrepreneurs from around the world.
"Look at this one," Susan said, holding up a letter with an ornate seal. "It's from the International Confederation of Wizards. They want to know if we'd be interested in presenting our work at their annual innovation conference."
"And this one's from a magical engineering firm in Germany," Eliot added, examining another letter. "They're offering us summer internships."
"We're first-year students," Susan said, shaking her head in amazement. "How is this our life now?"
The attention was flattering but also overwhelming. Their workshop had become a destination for curious visitors—older students, professors from other schools, and even a few journalists from magical publications.
"Mr. Clarke, Miss Bones," Professor McGonagall said, appearing in their workshop doorway one evening. "A word, if you please."
They followed her to her office, where she gestured for them to sit.
"I've been observing the changes in your situation since the Ministry evaluation," she began. "While I'm proud of your achievements, I'm concerned about the impact on your education."
"Our grades haven't suffered," Susan said quickly.
"No, they haven't. But your focus has shifted significantly. You're spending more time managing correspondence and visitors than you are on your actual research."
Eliot realized she was right. The past week had been consumed with meetings, interviews, and administrative tasks related to their newfound fame.
"What would you suggest, Professor?" he asked.
"Boundaries. You need to establish clear limits on your availability and stick to them. Your education must remain your priority."
"But these opportunities—"
"Will still be there when you graduate," McGonagall interrupted firmly. "You're eleven years old. You have time to build a career. You don't have time to repeat your first year if you neglect your studies."
---
Taking McGonagall's advice to heart, they established strict schedules for their various activities. Mornings were for classes and homework. Afternoons were for their research and Ministry partnership work. Evenings were for correspondence and meetings, but only on designated days.
"It feels strange to turn down opportunities," Susan admitted as they declined yet another interview request.
"But it feels good to have control over our time again," Eliot replied. "We were starting to lose sight of why we began this work."
Their research had indeed suffered during the chaos of the past few weeks. They had several promising projects that had been neglected while they dealt with the administrative aspects of their success.
"Let's get back to what we do best," Susan suggested. "Solving problems and building things."
---
Their next project emerged from an unexpected source. During a Potions class, Eliot noticed that several students were struggling with temperature control during a complex brewing process. Professor Snape's usual solution was to berate the struggling students, but Eliot saw an opportunity for innovation.
"What if we adapted our heat controller for potion brewing?" he suggested to Susan after class. "Precise temperature control could eliminate most brewing errors."
"That's brilliant. But we'd need to understand the specific requirements for different potions."
"And we'd need to make it compatible with standard cauldrons."
They spent the next week researching potion brewing requirements, consulting with Professor Snape (who was surprisingly helpful once he understood their goal), and designing a specialized version of their heat controller.
"The challenge is that different potions require different heating patterns," Susan explained as they worked on the design. "Some need steady heat, others need precise temperature changes at specific intervals."
"So we need a programmable system," Eliot said. "Something that can follow complex heating schedules automatically."
"Like a magical thermostat with memory."
"Exactly."
---
The potion brewing controller proved to be their most complex project yet. It required advanced runic programming, precise magical sensors, and a user interface that was simple enough for students to operate but sophisticated enough for professional brewers.
"This is graduate-level magical engineering," Professor Flitwick observed when they showed him their preliminary designs. "Are you certain you want to attempt something this ambitious?"
"We've learned that ambitious projects teach us the most," Susan replied.
"And we have Ministry resources to help us now," Eliot added.
"True. But remember that complexity increases the potential for failure. Make sure you understand every component before you integrate them."
Their first prototype was a disaster. The runic programming was too complex, the sensors were too sensitive, and the user interface was incomprehensible. The device managed to turn a simple Pepper-Up Potion into something that resembled molten metal.
"Back to the drawing board," Susan said, examining the ruined cauldron.
"At least we learned what doesn't work," Eliot replied optimistically.
---
Their second attempt was more successful. They simplified the runic programming, calibrated the sensors more carefully, and designed an intuitive interface based on traditional brewing terminology.
"Temperature steady at 180 degrees," the device announced in a pleasant voice as they tested it with a basic healing potion. "Reducing to 160 degrees in thirty seconds."
The potion brewed perfectly, maintaining the precise temperature control that Professor Snape demanded but that most students struggled to achieve manually.
"Remarkable," Snape said when they demonstrated the device for him. "This could eliminate ninety percent of brewing errors in my classes."
"Would you be willing to test it with your students?" Susan asked.
"I would be willing to consider it," Snape replied, which from him was practically enthusiastic endorsement.
---
Word of their potion brewing controller reached the Ministry quickly. Madam Bones visited Hogwarts again, this time accompanied by officials from the Department of Magical Education.
"This device could revolutionize magical education," said Mr. Crouch from the Education Department. "Precise potion brewing is one of the most challenging skills for young wizards to master."
"We designed it specifically to help students learn proper technique," Eliot explained. "The device provides guidance, but students still need to understand the underlying principles."
"It's a teaching tool, not a replacement for knowledge," Susan added.
"Exactly what we hoped to hear," Madam Bones said approvingly. "The Ministry is very interested in educational applications for your innovations."
They discussed the possibility of conducting trials in multiple schools, gathering data on the device's effectiveness as a teaching tool. The prospect of seeing their work help students across the wizarding world was incredibly exciting.
---
As February progressed, Eliot found himself reflecting on how much had changed since September. He had arrived at Hogwarts as a confused reincarnated engineer with vague plans to blend technology with magic. Now he was a Ministry partner working on innovations that could impact magical education worldwide.
"Do you ever feel like we're moving too fast?" he asked Susan one evening as they worked in their workshop.
"Sometimes," she admitted. "But then I remember that we're solving real problems for real people. That makes the pace feel worthwhile."
"I just want to make sure we don't lose sight of what's important."
"Which is?"
"Learning. Growing. Becoming the best wizards we can be." Eliot gestured around their workshop. "All of this is amazing, but it's not why we came to Hogwarts."
"Isn't it, though?" Susan asked thoughtfully. "We came here to learn magic. We're learning magic by using it to solve problems and help people. That seems like exactly what Hogwarts is supposed to teach us."
Eliot considered this. She was right—their work was an extension of their education, not a distraction from it. They were learning advanced magical theory, practical problem-solving, and real-world application of their knowledge.
"You're right," he said finally. "We're not just students anymore. We're student-inventors. And that's exactly what we should be."
Outside their workshop windows, the castle grounds were beginning to show the first signs of spring. Snow was melting, revealing patches of green grass and the promise of warmer days ahead.
The future was bright with possibility, and they were ready to embrace whatever challenges came next.
After all, they were no longer just learning magic—they were helping to shape its future.