Expelling an ordinary poltergeist that had settled in an ordinary Muggle house for a couple of decades was already challenging. But now, the situation involved a truly extraordinary poltergeist, over half a millennium old, who had been creating chaos fueled by the emotions of hundreds of wizards, all within Hogwarts — a place situated on a wellspring of magic, where the entire castle and even its surroundings had a highly elevated concentration of magical energy.
It was known that Peeves, over time, often changed his attire, making it non-corporeal, just like his body. For instance, in 1876, when the unfortunate caretaker tried to seal up the impudent poltergeist and it all ended with an agreement, one of the contract clauses Peeves obtained was a specially ordered hat from France.
I had read all about this in the very first book I'd picked up. In short, Peeves was an extremely powerful and malevolent being who only acknowledged authorities like Dumbledore or McGonagall on his own terms, and only when it suited him.
After everything I'd read, I was just left bewildered... why had he been peeping on me in the men's bathroom, and why did he look so terrifying? According to the descriptions, and from the one time I'd seen him, he was dressed in multicolored clown-like clothing and wore that very same hat from the incident a century ago.
I needed to figure out how to appease the Bloody Baron so he would tell me more details. He definitely knew a lot about Peeves.
In the meantime, I began studying a spell that could cause slight discomfort even to the more non-corporeal ghosts, let alone a poltergeist. Poltergeists were vulnerable to magic and even to some physical impacts during the moments they became semi-corporeal to interact with the physical world.
The catch was, while the spell worked, it didn't provide any significant long-term effect. I concluded that expelling Peeves was extremely difficult even for a truly powerful wizard, which was why he was still allowed to cause so much chaos.
What frightening creatures these poltergeists are... Well, at least the feast was something else. The food was so good it surpassed even the usual meals at Hogwarts, and that's saying something.
And it was strange how Reid kept looking at me. After dinner, of course, I went to "my" classroom, where I practiced the Scouring Charm — Scourgify — until I was blue in the face. It seemed like household magic, but it was considered the simplest and most accessible spell for dealing with certain kinds of filth that left behind ectoplasm.
The charm was designed to destroy/cleanse ectoplasm — the residue left behind by ghosts and poltergeists when they stayed in one place for a long time. Due to its destructive effect on that viscous, greenish substance, the spell could indirectly harm those who left it behind.
Of course, it wasn't a miracle solution, but it would certainly sting. For the entire half-hour I'd allotted for practice, I worked on learning the spell and even managed to master its casting. I decided to work on removing the wand movements, simplifying it to a simple flick, tomorrow. Still, after that, I briefly practiced my other spells and exhausted myself with Flipendo and Levicorpus.
I had finally managed to chain Levicorpus and Flipendo together. That is, I could now consistently cast two spells in a row without words or gestures. A worthy result, I thought.
The next victim of my experiment — another chair — was easily lifted without movement or incantation, and then, as it fell, it was caught by the beam of the spell.
The test object literally slammed into the wall with a crash, and wooden pieces scattered across the classroom. A small mark was even left on the wall from the impact.
"Finally..." A smile appeared on my face for the first time since the encounter with Peeves in the bathroom. Back then, I'd managed it in the heat of the moment, but it seemed I needed that little push. Because in the past week, I'd succeeded a couple of times during practice, but only once each time, and couldn't repeat it.
Now, I was calmly reinforcing it, sending yet another chair into the wall. The main thing was to clean up tomorrow, as I had little strength left now, and I needed to save a bit. What if that rogue poltergeist showed up again?
Fortunately, nothing else happened, and Samhain ended. Back home, we performed one ritual on this day, but Mum wrote that fetching me home for just one day was pointless, and those rituals weren't particularly critical; they could be performed on any ordinary day or during Yule.
It was just a tradition — to perform rituals during Samhain. After all, many rituals on this day were especially powerful and effective, but only some of them, and not all were exactly... permitted. It was just something that came from our ancestors, and many still felt it necessary to perform at least one basic ritual on this day, even if they could do it any other time.
The next day, I mastered Scourgify, and after a few repetitions, managed to eliminate the wand movements. I also realized that as I removed the components of other spells, I was slowly beginning to understand the underlying principle itself. My own magic was also helping me in this, adapting more quickly to the principle of non-verbal spellcasting.
I had also finally grown accustomed to and memorized the chain of levitating and then banishing. I won't describe every charm, but I'll mention Transfiguration, where I was gradually grasping the formulas that formed the foundation of this discipline.
Transfiguration itself was an extremely interesting science. The immense variety of transformation formulas made it possible for even weaker wizards to alter matter. The trade-off was the need to learn the formulas.
Sometimes there were ten formulas for turning one specific object into another specific object, but all this was to learn the necessary one and apply it without deep diving into the science and without a huge magical investment for a simple transformation.
The narrower the variability of the transformation, the lower the requirements for the mental focus and, in general, for magical power.
Truly powerful Transfigurators didn't need formulas. Someone like McGonagall could, with a thought and a flick of her wand, change matter (an object) into whatever she wanted.
But that required monstrous amounts of energy, which was noticeable even with a wand (as a focus). That's why control and mastery were an integral part of Transfiguration; with them, one could increase efficiency exponentially, spending less energy for a greater result.
I remembered all this during the lesson; I needed to pay more attention. I honestly listened to every word Professor McGonagall said, tried to understand every point, and if I didn't, I approached her after class to ask. Fortunately, any shyness about asking questions, leftover from my university days in that other world, was gone.
"Write this down and underline it twice," the Professor instructed, pointing at the board. Written on the board was: Transfiguration always seeks the simplest path of transformation.
"This is why any Transfiguration spell consists of two parts: the formula, which searches for the necessary object, plus the imagination, which corrects and builds upon what is necessary."
According to the Professor, it worked like this: When we cast a spell, it first tries to find an existing analogue of our request somewhere in the world, and only then does it fill in the inaccuracies from the imagination, i.e., the mental image embedded in the spell.
"Let's consider examples. Suppose you are turning an object into a golden chandelier, but you are picturing a puddle. At that moment, a dissonance occurs between what is requested and what is imagined, and magic, taking the path of least resistance, produces something in between: a golden chandelier with rather drippy edges. The same applies to the transfiguration of living things. If you are turning an object into a parrot, but stubbornly imagine a crow, your parrot will be grey and drab. Do you understand why? Because the spell will find a living parrot and, relying on that creature's appearance, will try to complete the transformation correctly, and when it comes to your imagination, it will correct the most obvious inaccuracies as best it can."
It was then that my hand shot up. At the Professor's short nod, I stood up. I had already read our entire textbook but hadn't found a clear answer yet, so I was interested in asking the Professor.
"Professor, what happens if the spell can't find a suitable object? For example, if I want to turn an object into something that doesn't exist."
"An excellent question. In that case, the spell relies solely on the wizard's imagination, and then there are only two possible outcomes: either the spell fails, or it creates the object based entirely on the wizard's fantasy. But we will discuss this method of creation in more detail later, when we cover Gamp's Laws and their exceptions. That's all for today. The homework is on the board."
Walking to the next classroom, I pondered McGonagall's answer. Overall, my assumption had been correct, and I hadn't learned anything new. The textbook had roughly the same answer, but I needed to know the details. The books where this issue was raised were written too complexly for my current knowledge.
At least we had Defense Against the Dark Arts next, and I could ask a couple of questions about ways to combat non-corporeal entities.
Our "friends" from Gryffindor, with whom we shared this class as always, suddenly appeared nearby. We just tried to keep our little groups away from each other. Well, I was trying.
Edward Reid, and of course, a few of his Gryffindor buddies from our year.
"Well, of course, who else," Reid muttered upon seeing us. "Don't turn around, guys, they might spit venom."
The Gryffindors laughed. I just rolled my eyes. Why bother? I had been trying lately to soften the enmity a bit, especially after Blackmore's stunt. Long story short, incidents involving exchanged jinxes and various pranks leading to physical consequences kept happening. And the worst part was, people who had nothing to do with their little groups were getting dragged in.
"Reid, come here." One word, and the guy, who was waiting for a response, turned, approached, and stopped right in front of us, crossing his arms. His friends, of course, followed.
"Think that was a funny joke, do you?" After my words, Reid tried to put a smirk on his face. "I think it's funnier when someone makes a fool of themselves, but it's only funny from the sidelines, so you wouldn't understand."
He narrowed his eyes, and I even heard his teeth grinding; it was clear this had struck a nerve. He correctly understood the hint about the "itching hex" Blackmore had hit him with.
I switched to a harsh tone, devoid of any emotion. I was serious. I wasn't planning on joking; he'd made a few jabs already and gotten off lightly, but if he decided to step on a sleeping snake's tail, he'd find out it wasn't worth it.
"I wasn't the one who did it, but you deserved that jinx... for those words. And now listen to me carefully. I'll only say this once," I said in a serious tone, removing my ever-poisonous, yet beautiful smile from my face. "I'm not interested in playing these games with you; I don't like stooping to banal insults."
Reid snorted but took a slight step back.
"Of course, you're just above us, to stoop to such trifles..." Reid said angrily, but his voice wavered slightly.
"Well, maybe just a little," I said with a poisonous smirk and made to leave.
He frowned and stepped aside, letting us pass. Fortunately, he didn't argue further, aside from some muttering, but I needed to set the record straight. I turned slightly and, looking over their group once more, started speaking.
"You know, you often target my House and my acquaintances. But if you want to anger me so badly, know that a simple jinx won't be the end of it. I promise, you won't like the consequences. And now it's time for class, if you understood my words. Understood?"
During the entire conversation, I looked him straight in the eyes, barely blinking. He almost started to stutter.
"Y-yes." The guy faltered slightly under my gaze. "But keep your threats in your own House. Lions aren't afraid of snakes."
"Excellent, you heard me. But you understood. In that case, I wish you luck, for you'll need it. Have a good lesson, Gryffindors," I said, lightly patting Reid's shoulder a couple of times, and finally walked away from them. My guys, who hadn't interfered, just like Reid's crew, followed me.
No one really expected such a definitive, no-half-measures response. But apparently, that trick didn't work with this idiot. Oh well, I won't do anything for now, but if something happens, I'll respond in a way that no one will forget.
"Even I felt a slight chill. I think you made quite an impression on him," Avery said, walking beside me.
"I had to clarify things, in case he got too bold and I'd have to stoop to his and Blackmore's level of conflict. Though, he didn't really get it."
"You're dangerous, you know," said the ever-cheerful Cassius with a grin, for whom this was all just an amusing moment. "Good thing we're friends with you. Ha."
"Lucky you. And now we have Defense Against the Dark Arts, so let's go, friends, let's go!"
Our last lesson was Defense Against the Dark Arts, where we wrote a short test, and then Professor Kember told us about his experience encountering werewolves and why werewolves cannot be considered simple people.
He took this topic extremely seriously and explained in detail how to protect oneself. How to recognize a werewolf in human form and how to survive an encounter with a Class 4 Dangerous Beast, which werewolves are.
Generally, Lycanthropy was considered a curse, an irreversible curse transmitted through saliva entering an open wound or the bloodstream. Lycanthropy is one of the most dangerous afflictions in the magical world. Because of this, our British wizards build werewolf reservations. Furthermore, wizards with Lycanthropy were not permitted to own a wand, and the whole situation smelled rather foul.
Reservations, where sentient beings were so severely restricted in their rights... It all seemed inhumane, and any person could become a victim of Lycanthropy. But it wasn't so clear-cut; many werewolf rights advocates quickly changed their stance when a runaway werewolf mauled their acquaintance, or worse, if an acquaintance/relative/child was killed by the wolf. That most likely meant the Lycanthropy curse had claimed another person.
I don't know where this vile form of curse came from, but I could rightly call it a phenomenon, just like vampirism, though I'm not sure if vampirism is a curse.
The lesson gave me food for thought. I became deeply engrossed in the issue of Lycanthropy. An extremely delicate topic, with no solution possible without victims.
Either you grant normal rights to beings seemingly as sentient as you, but soon you'll undoubtedly hear about an acquaintance who fell victim to the beast. Or you create reservations, like our brave Ministry does now. One more step in the second direction, and the extermination of people based on this characteristic begins. And then what?
Everything could be quickly ended with a mass, worldwide genocide of people afflicted by this curse, but who could live peacefully after such a decision, without nightmares? And doing it is unrealistic because if even one werewolf remains, it's just a path to nowhere.
Such radical solutions reek too much of something... well, you know. In the end, everyone settles for half-measures, which is good in the short term, but ultimately, it only makes everything worse.
It's too early for me to think about this now, but the day will come when I can influence decisions of this level, and then I will face a very painful problem without a clear solution. It's easy to say — no half-measures! — when you're ultimately right or not making the decision. But in such matters... well, it's complicated.
I'm getting too preoccupied with problems that aren't mine yet. To hell with werewolves, I need to go do my homework. Besides, Kember dismissed my query, saying we'd cover ghosts much later, and that the only effective method against ghosts was rituals; everything else could only weaken a ghost or cause temporary inconvenience.
And that really got to me. Why should I, a wizard — literally the top of the food chain, the main creature on Mother Earth — put up with the helplessness of magical traditions against ordinary ghosts and poltergeists? Why isn't there a spell that simply banishes ghosts, maybe not on the first try, but why not?!
And what do we do when something doesn't suit us? Right! We take it and fix it with magic. And if magic doesn't offer clear solutions, then I must devise that solution myself, through magic.
Maybe not right away, but in a year, maybe two, or maybe all ten, but I will solve this issue. For now, I set myself another goal for the future and will strive for it. Today, all that's left is to rest... for everyone else. For me, there's still homework, reading in the library, then practice in the abandoned classroom, dinner, and finally, I can relax sitting in the common room, reading an interesting book from the shelves, maybe one about Hogwarts.
Where else would I have learned that Hogwarts has 142 moving staircases?... This is about where I should have remembered Peeves's peeping, made a joke about it, and forgotten it. But I'm not an idiot — something is clearly wrong here, and I really don't want to find trouble for no reason, but... I just can't forget it. I hate the feeling of the unknown