Despite the incident during Potions, I was still the favorite for the Slytherin leadership position. The Malfoy name alone was enough to ensure I remained a respected Slytherin student, and if Draco from the books managed to be a leader, then I certainly would. However, for now, I was biding my time, watching and evaluating.
We weren't exactly enemies yet. Rather, we were studying each other. Yarwood, for instance, was testing the boundaries. And he had made a move. But I would only be sure of that once I was certain of Amanda's truthfulness and my own subsequent conclusions.
It was most likely him, and I would answer him when he least expected it. For now, it was all just childish games, but in a couple of years, we'd be like the upper-years — studying, weaving intrigues, and making connections in this "sandbox" to make fewer mistakes in the adult world.
"You wake up too early," a familiar, sleepy voice sounded.
I looked up. Mark Avery had sat down opposite me, wincing slightly as he pushed my textbooks aside.
"And you wake up too late," I remarked.
"I prefer comfort over self-flagellation," he snorted.
"That's called discipline," I smirked.
Avery just rolled his eyes. He was one of those I could talk to freely — Avery was well-bred and no slouch in etiquette, but he preferred this kind of communication with those he considered friends. He didn't try to conform, didn't fawn, but he stayed close. On the other side, Cassius joined us. Warrington was the joker of our group. He couldn't stand doing nothing. Just an active guy with a hint of cunning, but no more. However, he was a reliable mate.
I'd even say he was too honest for Slytherin and could tell someone exactly what he thought of them if they crossed him. But he wasn't stupid, though he didn't excel in classes — well, except for DADA and Charms. He studied those two subjects with particular zeal and didn't need pushing, unlike with the others.
I had expected every Slytherin student to strive for high grades and thirst for knowledge, maybe slightly less than Ravenclaws, but still. It turned out there were individuals from decent families, some even with a certain reputation, who at best got 'Exceeds Expectations' and didn't try too hard. For example, that Flint guy who ran between me and Blackmore. Sometimes he got a 'Dreadful' or even a 'Troll'. He didn't shine with intelligence or effort — hence the consequence. Although he had a certain foundation, this lack of control was manifesting.
In short, I had overestimated Slytherin, thinking everyone would be universally clever. It turns out cunning and ambition aren't always accompanied by erudition and intellect.
Overall, I could admit that my attempt to create friendly bonds had been successful. Soon, a new acquaintance appeared next to Avery, trying to become a friend — Wilhelm Graham.
Graham was a rather large guy with a square face. Black hair, a simple character, but he wasn't dumb — he'd figured out who to latch onto. He rarely said anything unnecessary but always understood what was happening. He listened attentively and helped at my first word. He was also up for any activity I suggested. Sometimes I had to pull words out of him, but for now, I'd describe him as a reliable guy, albeit with an agenda. An obedient person who hangs on your every word can also be useful sometimes.
"Wilhelm, come on, tell him that waking up this early isn't normal!" Mark said theatrically. Wil just shrugged. The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of three more people.
Amanda Rosier sat down nearby, adjusting the folds of her robe with light grace. She was followed by her two friends, Evelyn Norton and Isabella Fontaine.
"Good morning, ladies!" I said to the most beautiful, albeit slightly venomous, part of our year. They, of course, responded as befits polite society… BUT, without a bit of sarcasm, it's just not interesting.
"A morning can't be good if History is ahead, but hello, Malfoy," the blonde commented. Only after her remark did her friends return my greeting.
At that moment, breakfast appeared on the tables, but of course, Sod's law kicked in, and it was right after the food appeared that the owls arrived with letters and more… the beginning of a small hell. Hundreds of parcels and letters, which our bombers very accurately shot right into the food — it was a miracle when they missed. I hate this…
The birds seemed to deliberately drop letters and things right into the food. And the feathers… overall, an unlucky day. Sometimes owls come a bit earlier, sometimes a bit later. They appear all at once because they wait outside the castle until they're let in.
A letter was falling right into my bowl of porridge — or rather, it wanted to, but I managed to catch it mid-air! The letter was anonymous. As expected — the little plan had worked. Although the author of the letter gave themselves away a bit by looking directly at it and seeming slightly nervous. I think, without knowing the full picture, no one would guess — not even Yarwood — so let's forget the anonymous sender's anxiety. I'll open the letter later; for now, it's breakfast.
Putting the letter away, I started on breakfast. So, for a while, the conversation around me, and generally at the table, died down significantly — unlike the Gryffindor table, where they managed to eat and chat as if breakfast hadn't even appeared.
Talking during meals wasn't exactly a faux pas — phrases were exchanged here and there at the Slytherin table. I like table etiquette, even though there are a couple of annoying rules, but you often didn't have to follow them strictly — you just had to know them. And my mother had been very particular about perfect adherence to all the rules in the last couple of months. To ensure there were absolutely no mistakes at school — meaning here.
For example, you can talk at the table, but there's a certain code of conduct prescribing specific rules. You mustn't behave noisily, talk loudly, slurp, or eat too quickly. Conversation should be moderate, polite, and about general topics, avoiding gossip or crude expressions. It's important that the conversation doesn't disturb others from enjoying the meal and that it's pleasant for everyone.
And if you look at the full list, there are some extremely unpleasant points. For instance, when starting a conversation, you should first address the person sitting to your left, then you can continue with the neighbor on your right. You mustn't reach for food; you should ask the person closer to the desired item. When passing dishes, you shouldn't hand the plate directly; you must place it next to the person who asked or the next person in line to pass the dish along.
You cannot sit at the table with cigarettes, and you cannot perform hygienic procedures: wiping your face, hands, or neck with a napkin, combing your hair. It's improper to discuss indecent topics of any nature at the table. Conversations themselves should be more of an exception to the rule and should only occur when you don't have food in your mouth.
In general, it's simply a slightly expanded version of the etiquette of a regular, modern person. In my opinion, these aren't some extreme fussy rules but quite normal table manners that should ideally be instilled in everyone, in any world and at any time.
After breakfast was History, and that says it all...
"...The Goblin Rebellion of 1311 was a turning point in wizard-goblin relations, but it was the first and not the last attempt. In 1392…"
I had almost stopped listening. Professor Binns's voice — endlessly monotone, disembodied, never changing for a second — sounded like white noise, filling the giant classroom. Every word was so bland that I just wanted to throw a chair at him and run out of here.
The History of Magic classroom: high stone vaults, long rows of wooden benches arranged in an amphitheater, massive candelabras hanging from the ceiling. It could seat over fifty people.
Unlike the films, which had a maximum of 200-300 students, we had over twice that many here. Literally, just in our year, there are about 90 magical larvae. And our year is small due to the civil war.
Not a single person in the audience showed much enthusiasm. Some were mindlessly dragging their quills across parchment, others were doodling in the margins of their books, and over there, at the very edge, a few students were already brazenly dozing off, using their textbooks as cover. Binns didn't say anything about it, though. Binns was perhaps the most "lifeless" ghost at Hogwarts. You could mistake any other ghost for a person if you couldn't see them, but Binns was like a recording.
He floated in the air before us, barely touching the floor with his disembodied feet. His voice was just as ghostly, drawn-out, and indifferent. The history of my country's past, and simultaneously lore for another part of my personality, simply went in one ear and out the other — though I knew a lot of it already thanks to homeschooling.
Perhaps it would be worth briefly recalling history here, starting from the first significant wizards who created the classical magical tradition and divided unified magic into types, or how even in the Roman Empire they invented wand magic and started arming their mages with it, which led to the total superiority of Roman wizards over others.
The focus changed the magical world beyond recognition, because before that, only a truly powerful wizard could perform magic visible and impactful on the physical world. Literally all geopolitical, mythical, and legendary events from human history were, for the most part, real and involved magic. But the Statute of Secrecy forced the erasure of the colossal influence of wizards and magic in general on politics and human history. I still don't understand how they managed to arrange that…
I can't imagine the volume of work the wizards of that time did to hide the existence of the magical world and its influence behind simple legends and myths. Since the classes were so bad, I had to study history on my own…
Those who do not know their history are doomed to repeat it. And I'm going to make enough mistakes as it is; no need to make things worse. And I'm not joking — nowadays, even the Muggle-borns in Britain, thanks to Binns, don't know about the magical world's influence on the Muggle world before the Statute of Secrecy. Hell, some individuals don't know about the centuries-old wars between wizards and the Inquisition, sometimes not even realizing that the magical world doesn't end with Magical Britain… how is that possible? Well, it just is. The curriculum covers the Goblin Rebellions in detail, but the Inquisition gets only a couple of paragraphs in the entire first-year textbook. Yes, I've read it all. I hope it wasn't the remnants of the Inquisition behind that…
As an interesting tidbit, I knew that around sixty thousand wizards live in Magical Britain, plus another five or six thousand Squibs who know about the magical world and live and work with wizards. And there are about twice as many Squibs in total. Also, if you count veela, werewolves, centaurs, and goblins — who don't have wands and consequently no voting rights — the number of inhabitants of Magical Britain slightly exceeds eighty thousand sentient beings.
I automatically tapped my quill on the desk and let my gaze slide over the rows. Avery sat nearby, casually tracing patterns on the table surface with his finger, clearly suppressing another yawn. But Cassius and I were dutifully upholding our agreement, and for a whole month, Avery had stayed awake.
To my right sat Cassius and Wilhelm. The latter was trying to unravel the secrets of the universe by observing the static object that was the wall. Suddenly, Mark leaned slightly towards me and whispered:
"How long did you manage to pay attention to this drivel?"
"About ten minutes. Then I gave up," I whispered, dying of boredom. And this is coming from someone who once attended lectures by a PhD candidate who had gone slightly mad with mathematics and sometimes spouted nonsense, writing non-existent formulas and theorems on the board. He spoke at exactly 30 words per minute, but at least the university professor spoke with enthusiasm.
"Wow, seems you have nerves of steel."
"Or I just conducted an unsuccessful experiment. I honestly tried to listen, thinking I might catch the wave at some point…"
Mark snorted. A pause. One look — and we understood each other.
"Skip next time?" Mark asked.
"Next time, yes. I don't see the point in wasting time on something that doesn't stick."
"And we go look for the passage to Hogsmeade. I was told it exists; it's just hard to find," Cassius insisted, as he had been for the past half-month.
"Mind you — always skipping isn't a solution."
"Oh, and I'm with you," Wil immediately added.
Avery smirked.
"Well then, gentlemen, it seems we've just declared war on Professor Binns and his subject."
"It's not our fault Hogwarts made this subject torture by having it taught by the most boring ghost in the entire world," Avery said lazily.
Soon, the lesson ended. As if on command, the entire audience sighed with relief and began rushing for the exit. Us included.
Walking along, we discussed our common enemy, Binns.
"I'd rather dig in the dirt in Sprout's class than sit through Binns's lectures," Cassius's discontented grumbling sparked a new topic.
"And I'd prefer to hear the Head of House's lectures on our worthlessness again over Binns," Mark chuckled.
"Yeah, and he might just be passing by and hear you. And by evening, you'd be scrubbing cauldrons…"
"Oh, Merlin, not that!"
The lessons continued in this vein. But after DADA, another conflict was bound to happen between Blackmore and Edward Reed from Gryffindor. A kind of guardian of justice and a good friend of Cedric — whom I knew from my foreknowledge — but the Sorting had separated them.
I rolled my eyes.
"If no one else will make him pay for insulting our house, then I will." The Slytherins nearby, hearing Blackmore's words, smirked and started looking towards Reed. The result wasn't long in coming. A couple of subtle flicks of a wand, and the guy started itching intensely with a strong reddening of the skin. Everyone immediately perked up and started watching.
Soon, Reed figured out whose wand was involved and approached Blackmore with his entourage of three dumb but brave faces. But the further it went, the redder and itchier he became. In the end, the verbal conflict was short-lived — he had to go to Madam Pomfrey, and Blackmore got detention with Filch. Slytherin also lost 25 points.
"Serves him right," Mark nodded, supporting Blackmore. It turned out that a couple of lessons ago, this jerk next to Reed had called all Slytherins "slimeballs." For such an insult, you have to respond, but not in front of all the students in the middle of the day. I was once again convinced that Blackmore hadn't been Sorted into Slytherin for his cunning.
It's a pity I didn't learn about the insult earlier. I would have responded in a way that made it clear who did it, but without getting into trouble — losing 25 points, some of which I had earned myself. I could have used words, without direct insults, to infuriate the half-blood right before class, so he'd reach boiling point just as the teacher arrived. Or, as a last resort, challenge him to an unofficial duel. First-years were forbidden from official duels for now. Yes, yes, at Hogwarts, you could challenge someone to a duel in case of an insult. But only pure-bloods, who couldn't refuse a duel — or rather, they could, but it was a disgrace. Muggle-borns, however, while they could accept a challenge, could also refuse, and no one would hold it against them.
However, they themselves couldn't issue an official challenge. That's the privilege of pure-bloods. But if you're ready to claim the right, be ready to shoulder the obligation — the mandatory acceptance of a challenge.
Outside of school, if you refuse a duel, you might get a spell in the back, and the offender would be clean in the eyes of the law and other wizards.
It's interesting that this Reed guy, for some reason, had a very poor attitude towards anyone in school with green on their robes. And this was from the very first day. Blackmore was also at fault, but only for constantly escalating the conflict.
Right now, for example, it had clearly escalated from verbal to spells and jinxes. Reed would definitely try to get revenge in a couple of days, then Blackmore would want to, and so the cycle would continue.
After lunch, I was waiting for the moment of truth, and Professor Snape did not disappoint. He could have replaced Avery with anyone from Ravenclaw or Slytherin, but he chose Amanda Rosier.