"Magical exhaustion? That doesn't sound... unique." I half-asked, half-stated as we walked.

  "For someone of muggle background such as yourself, it may make sense to view magic as like any other human practice," McGonagall answered. "But it works in mysterious ways, even to us who have grown up wielding it and studied it to the point of profession. The overwhelming majority can not simply grit their teeth and clench their fist to force the spell in their mind to reality. The repetition itself may get tiring and boring, but normally it's not beyond that as a bodily effort. Except in cases like yours, of course," she explained.

  "Is it dangerous?" That had priority.

  "Could be. The researchers of magic have theorized that it is actually the lack of a mental block, one that keeps the physical body and the magical body of a wizard separate and thus protecting it."

  That, sounded like the Manton Effect. I had dismissed the possibility of magic being a ploy of passengers, but it still hung in the back of my head, an ugly thought.

  "As is the case with everything else, the potential for magical exhaustion is a spectrum. I reckon it doesn't even get noticed in most individuals who have it; it's nothing more than a little oomph, aiding the casting of a spell. On the other end, there are tales and stories of wizards giving too much, felling themselves in the process of casting a spell. That's why we are taking you to the Hospital Wing now, to check if you have sustained anything."

  "Like internal bleeding?"

  "Hopefully nothing of that level, but any possibility should be checked. We don't have much precedence when it comes to cases like this. I think you're fine, Ms. Hebert. You are clearly fatigued and I assume you won't be performing very well in rest of your classes today, a negative side of this talent," I didn't think that was a problem, the remaining classes didn't seem to include a lot of wandwork, "but you're walking, talking, breathing okay, you look fine. Well, we'll see."

  This was kind of like that common myth, that we only used a little percent of our brains day to day. It was kind of true when it came physical performance, most progress new lifters had was actually their brain and nervous system adapting to the movements and exercises. And I'd read even us hitting failure, was not actually the muscle being depleted, but the brain hitting its perceived limit.

  "Does that mean one can train it? Or unlock it in some way while they couldn't before?"

  "Perhaps," she said offhandedly. "Something on that path demands blood and tears. The magical mentality is built on ease of use. Most wizards wouldn't bother, unless they are forced to, especially considering the risks." She glanced at me. "Do not... misuse your condition."

  I nodded. So I had a different method available, but standard magic was performed differently. Was it something spiritual? Mental? With all the drawbacks of exhausting myself, I wanted to squeeze out everything I could learn about regular casting.

  "What was up with my match, Professor?" I felt this was the more pressing topic. Magical exhaustion was an interesting concept and all, but I didn't actually do that myself. It had been only possible with my passenger's assistance. I had no idea what exactly it had done, beyond giving what felt like fuel, and helping me imagine what I'd do. But I'd still worn myself out, so had it been my own magic that I lost? And what was the shape my magic had taken?

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Had that been me, or had my passenger influenced the outcome?

  "I'm not sure, Ms. Hebert, but I'm sure it's nothing you need to worry about. Merely a quirk of the unearthed nature of magic."

  I wanted more than that.

  "We are here."

  Damn.

  There was a pretty cool looking unicorn statue before the entrance, but there wasn't anyone in the place.

  We ventured inside.

  It was a nice looking place. Beds lined up, closests which no doubt hosted tubes of weird liquid.

  "Poppy?" McGonagall called out.

  "Maybe she is in the loo, ma'am?"

  An elder woman strolled inside from the door on the opposite side of us. "This early?"

  "Is it the record?" McGonagall asked, smiling.

  "If only. Hi there, dear. I'm Madam Pomfrey. How are you?"

  "Hello, Madam Pomfrey, I'm Taylor. I'm fine, a little tired I guess."

  Her eyes settled on my right shoulder under my robe, and recognition flared in her gaze.

  "Okay, dear. Tell me what's the matter with you?"

  "Actually, I'm not sure what it is. I just learned about it."

  McGonagall took it from there, explaining what happened and the condition I had. I didn't even listen much as Madam Pomfrey waved her wand through the air around my body, checking me for any problems.

  "This one's healthy," she announced. "Heart rate's a bit low, for a kid who just exhausted their magic."

  I shrugged. "I run daily. Low resting heart rate compared to my peers."

  "Oh I see. Now that you are here, would you like to inform me of any health condition you may have, dear?"

  I thought a little. "I'm a little insensitive to pain."

  "A little?"

  "A little."

  Her wand danced through the air for half a minute.

  "I see it... I want you to visit me later, when both of us have time, so I can give you a proper check-up. All right?"

  "All right." I was fine with that.

  "Your prescription is not pushing yourself any more today. I want you to rest well, eat properly. Okay?"

  That was already what I planned to do. Madam Pomfrey set me free, and we went back.

  "Was it a good idea to leave the classroom, Professor?" I asked.

  "I'm experienced enough to tell which class of students will cause problems and which won't," she answered. "And I've watched them enough to know they won't do much at all to their matches."

  I felt I was like a prime example against that, but whatever, wasn't going to argue.

  Just then, a group of ghosts came out of a wall and shouted in excitement when they detected McGonagall. She, too, seemed happy to see them, cause we and the ghosts hurried over to greet each other. She and them fell into chit-chat, McGonagall asking about how the summer had been for the ghosts.

  I carried McGonagall one spot up in the weirdness scale in my head. Was it common to befriend ghosts, let alone stop in the middle of the corridor, while there were lessons underway no less, to have a talk?

  Before this whole exhaustion thing came up, I had planned to go up and introduce myself to the Hufflepuff crowd. I didn't want to be strangers with the people who I'd live with for seven years if not for one talking asshole headwear. I didn't want to wait out this bizarre cut-scene and risk the class ending.

  "Can I go ahead, Professor?"

  She frowned at me. "Will you be able to find the classroom?"

  "Easily, ma'am." I knew the way now, and I wasn't afraid of the tricks Hogwarts supposedly had up its sleeve.

  She gave me a curt nod. "No running."

  "Thank you, ma'am!" I turned around and walked as fast as I could, excited.