I couldn't get that slightly demonic image of Peeves out of my head… If he always looked like that, half of Hogwarts would be stuttering. I even had a nightmare where that Mordred-like poltergeist was chasing me, promising torture and death, all accompanied by malicious laughter.
Despite all my internal reasoning, I couldn't purge that memory until I encountered Peeves rampaging in the corridors, tormenting passing students. He was in his multicolored clown attire, with that cylindrical hat and his already terrifying gaze. Only after that did something inside me calm down, and I even forgot to ask… who did I want to ask? I forgot. What a sieve for a brain! This won't do; I need to do something about this.
Hmm... Am I the only one getting the feeling I've said this before? It's starting to get a little scary... I'll have to sort this out during the holidays.
Anyway, I finally calmed down a bit, but that didn't cancel my goal, and every day I studied various materials on spectral and ghostly beings.
For the rest of the term, I was practically on vacation: I just studied well and followed my routine. Even Cassius stopped grumbling about me doing homework prematurely at some point. The winter holidays, Yule — Christmas — were gradually approaching. Everything outside had long been covered in snow, and we fondly remembered the rare sunny days when we still had flying lessons.
The last week before Christmas enveloped the entire castle in its festive spirit. Classes were still ongoing, but none of the students cared anymore: all thoughts were on the upcoming holidays. The Great Hall was gradually adorned with plump holly wreaths, fragrant decorations of candles and pine cones, as well as enchanted snowflakes and little bells. Roasted geese in sweet gooseberry sauce and Christmas pudding with nuts were served more and more frequently. All this was done in advance, a week early, precisely because most of us would be returning home for the actual holiday, and this was our only chance to experience the celebration within the school walls.
Eventually, the Christmas fever reached the classrooms: almost all the teachers tried to spruce up their offices to match the school-wide festive style. The exceptions were Professor Snape and, strangely enough, Professor Flitwick. His lesson was the last one today, and of the term in general. Tomorrow, I would head home to Malfoy Manor.
I had grown so accustomed to the boarding school and my roommates that I could barely imagine returning home for the holidays. It's a strange system, these boarding houses, but extremely amusing and interesting. Despite my words at the start of the term, it was clear now that tricky situations had happened and would happen, especially those related to the internal power struggles among the Slytherin first-years.
After failing to get to me, Alister switched his focus to Blackmore, tormenting him with his intrigues until he finally drove him to the point where, just a week ago, Dexter shot a fireball in Alister's face for another jab.
If I were a teacher, I'd have given Blackmore ten points for a brilliant execution of the Incendio charm. Snape, ever loyal to his house, limited himself to taking thirty points and giving him two months of detention in the dungeons. Fortunately, the conflict was between Slytherins, so no one else besides our Head of House intervened. And he even partially returned those thirty points later, bombarding us with questions in class.
For a whole week, he didn't let us breathe, extracting correct answers by the dozen. I'd never earned so many points from Snape before. True, many stumbled on the questions, so more than 30 points were actually earned, despite some unsuccessful answers. Overall, many, including myself, improved our Potions knowledge. Even if it cost us some nerve cells.
In the end, I remained in the good graces of my brother's godfather. Ha. I immediately remembered who exactly my godfather is, and the urge to laugh vanished. If anyone found out, Azkaban would be guaranteed.
Oops, distracted again. So, if the victim of the spell had been a Gryffindor, McGonagall would have handled the punishment — she would have definitely taken fifty points and given the same two months of detention with Snape, but also with Filch. She might have even pushed for expulsion.
There was a lot of talk about the punishment, but Blackmore had allies on the Board of Governors. Guess who managed to ask his father to put in a good word? Yes, it was me. Now Dexter Blackmore owes me a favor, and his family is indebted to mine.
As for Alister, he received serious second and third-degree burns. Despite Madam Pomfrey's best efforts, a couple of scars remained on Yaxley's face. But I suspect even those will be gone after the holidays — their medical magic is just that good. Fortunately for the Blackmores, they managed to hush the matter up, agreeing on something with the Yaxleys — I learned this from a letter from Father. So, no conflict between the families erupted.
Believe me, throughout the history of magical Britain, full-blown wars between families and clans have started over less.
There were a couple more conflicts between our year's Slytherins and Gryffindors, but I always managed to intervene and settle them without much fuss. The exceptions were situations involving Blackmore, though lately people had been trying to steer clear of him. Getting an Incendio to the face is a below-average pleasure, and such things don't happen often at school.
I knew little about the conflicts among the older Slytherin students, but a month ago, two of them got into a fight right in the corridor. The result was a couple of unpleasant jinxes and bruises, and that was it. Such things happen more often among the older years than it seems; it just rarely becomes known to us simple first-years. Half of Hogwarts was discussing it… until Alister caught fire. Pfft-hah.
I had a couple of sources among the older students, not to mention a fairly good relationship with the Prefect, Gemma, but they tried not to flaunt such conflicts, and no one was particularly eager to socialize with us first-years. Except for a few individuals who wanted to establish connections with the right people early on, including me. There were especially many of these from the seventh year; they wouldn't have another chance to build connections later.
Thanks to this, I was confident in my safety; if anything happened, many were ready to stand up for me if anyone dared cause trouble. These were mostly either smart people who knew how useful it was to be acquainted with the heir of the wealthiest family, or simply those whose parents or relatives worked for my father. That is, for my family or were our vassals.
As for the situation with Blackmore… one thing is clear — there's something not quite right with Blackmore's head. And that means I need him. Such a person is always useful. That's precisely why I wrote to Father when things started to smell… fried… Yaxley. Pfft-hahaha. An endless source of jokes.
Ideally, he would become my blunt instrument in school, and later handle all the work that could cast me in a bad light. To draw an analogy, I want to establish a special bond from childhood. To mold something like a "Soldato" in the Italian Mafia in the future. If it works, he'll be the first and far from the last. The main thing is to draw Blackmore to me and, in the process, avoid getting a fireball to the face.
I'll have to start supporting and covering for him now, but the Malfoys have that in their blood. We're good at it, hah. Look at my father — he managed to get some of the Death Eaters, influential ones at that, off the hook, and remained free himself, despite being one of the accused. And he was the treasurer of the entire faction and was close to the Dark Lord. Practically Voldemort's right-hand man.
In reality, subordinates like Blackmore are merely tools to keep my own hands clean. But I don't plan to limit myself to others' strength; I intend to become much stronger myself. Because power decides far too much in the magical world.
But I'm just making plans for the distant future, and it's not a given that I'll be able to tie Blackmore to me. After all, we've had almost no contact. So, next term, I need to change the situation and come up with something grand.
It's good that he's in conflict with Reid and his gang, and also with Cedric Diggory, who loves to interfere in his friend's conflicts with Gryffindor. And Cedric is a prominent figure among the first-year Hufflepuffs. All of this can be used to my advantage.
I can twist all of this to my advantage! For now, I have the last lesson of the term with my favorite professor waiting for me.
Classroom 2E looked the same as always, but that's precisely what made it suspiciously empty and pale in my eyes. Compared to other classrooms, it seemed deliberately stripped of anything that could be even slightly distracting — even the window behind the lectern, overlooking those very mountain slopes, was tightly curtained with dark fabric today. I set my notebook aside and simply observed; Professor Flitwick was definitely up to something. I love his classes!
— Today's lesson topic is 'Light Magic', — chirped the professor. — This is a very subtle and beautiful form of magic that every self-respecting wizard should master. Oddly enough, light charms were discovered relatively recently, in the 17th century. I'm talking about light-producing charms, not Light magic in the moral sense. Before that, wizards didn't separate light magic from fire magic and only created flame. But in 1670, the Periculum spell, which creates signal sparks, was invented for the first time. And it was created by accident. You can read about this history in detail in your textbook on page 28, but I will just say that accidents have sometimes contributed to the development of the magical community no less than serious, purposeful research! — the wizard smiled.
— This brings us to 1772 and Levina Monkstanley — the inventor of the Lumos spell… according to one version. History says that once during a meeting at the Ministry, Levina dropped her quill. It fell under a chest of drawers, and to search for it in the dusty corner, the witch lit a small light on the tip of her wand, incredibly astonishing her colleagues. Her comrades immediately suggested she register the spell, and Monkstanley didn't refuse. There is a version that Levina didn't invent Lumos, but simply learned it from a relative or acquaintance, but one way or another, it was she who registered it, described its incantation and wand movement, for which we owe her great thanks.
After the story, the professor demonstrated the movement and then helped us repeat it. And only after that did we move on to practice.
The entire classroom was illuminated only by faint lanterns floating near the ceiling, which was strange for this room, usually brightly lit by torches.
— Lumos is a spell that is both simple and very complex, — said the professor. — More precisely, it becomes simple after good practice, but initially, it can be difficult to attune to it. And yet, I think today is a lucky day for practice.
Flitwick smiled mysteriously and waved his wand. At that same moment, the light in the classroom went out. Completely.
For a couple of seconds, an awkward silence reigned in the class. Students shifted uncomfortably, rustled in their seats, trying to get used to the darkness… and then began casting spells uncertainly. Many already knew the charm, and for them, it wasn't a problem. I, for example, had been taught it almost first thing.
I wordlessly conjured light, and my wand lit up with a familiar warm glow. The guys next to me did the same, as did a portion of the students throughout the classroom.
— I see many are already familiar with this spell, — Flitwick said contentedly. — In that case, try to perform it without the wand movement. The counter-charm for Lumos is Nox.
Immediately, a soft whisper of the incantation swept through the class, and all the light went out again. The classroom was plunged into darkness once more. A second later, some of the lights reignited — already without unnecessary movements. However, the number of glowing tips noticeably decreased, and the attempts and dissatisfied mutters of the incantation increased; not everyone had mastered the spell well enough to remove the movement.
And this was no surprise. Some wizards are sure that achieving a result once is enough, and then you can forget about the spell for a while. But in reality, it's different: only through multiple repetitions do you grasp the principle of action, learn to feel the influence on your internal magic, and with each time, it becomes more and more pliable. At least, I — thanks to my sensitivity — felt this very clearly.
— Light magic is one of the most fragile, and that is its complexity, — the professor continued. — To create light, you must follow one of two paths. The first is to clear your head of all extraneous thoughts, achieve peace and lightness.
Flitwick encouraged those attempting it for the first time, helping and correcting their movements. The spell seemed simple, yet so significant… And for those who managed it without movements, he immediately proposed a seemingly impossible condition — to cast it without the verbal incantation.
I could, of course, hide and conceal my abilities, but I saw no point. My achievements are still too insignificant. And my goals are completely opposite to concealment.
I needed to establish myself as a strong and talented wizard, and so — a mental command, and the charm went out… and then lit up again.
— Wow, you did it non-verbally, Arcturus!? — surprised Avery, usually so calm, sitting next to me. He himself immediately tried to repeat my trick, but in vain. Whispers started around me: nothing was working for the others, but it was for me.
— It's all about practice and discipline, heh, — I smirked, recalling his constant grumbling about my early rises. After all, no one knew about my secret training sessions. Well, 'secret' only nominally: I didn't really hide them.
— Oho, Mr. Malfoy, an excellent Lumos without movement or incantation! — Flitwick exclaimed excitedly. — Five points to Slytherin for non-verbal magic. You, as always, are a pleasant surprise. See me after class — I have an additional task for you.
He switched back to those who weren't succeeding. And those who knew the spell tried to perform it immediately without words and without movements, skipping a small but crucial step, which seemed like a gross mistake to me. The task was almost impossible to accomplish without long practice.
— Try it with the movement, but without the words, — I quietly suggested to my friends. — It will be easier for your magic and mind to understand what result you're aiming for.
Of course, no one succeeded immediately, but this was the simplest of spells for practicing non-verbal magic. So let them try.
Flitwick, like a true maestro, killed several birds with one stone: he showed us there was room for growth, gave us 'ground' for training, didn't let the slackers get bored, and at the same time supported the beginners. No one could become arrogant; everyone was on equal footing.
I, understanding the professor's idea, simply canceled the charm and waited for the end of the lesson, meanwhile helping my friends. Everyone was trying very hard. Some lights went out but then immediately lit up again; others burned brighter and brighter. But one way or another, by the end of the lesson, there was no one who hadn't managed the task, and when the bell rang, the classroom was bright enough to see the enchanted interior.
The walls were entwined with green garlands of spruce with dark burgundy berries; sprigs of mistletoe swayed in the air. Instead of a floor, shimmering snow gleamed, gathered into snowdrifts, and beneath it, the icy sheen of the Black Lake was visible. The desks were covered with red-and-green tablecloths, and before each lay a neat gift parcel: gingerbread and candy canes.
— That concludes the lesson, children, — said Flitwick. — I congratulate you all on the upcoming holidays and wish you successful vacations. Well, if any of you wish to study light magic a little more fully — I advise you to read your Charms textbooks and practice the Periculum and Lucius Inficatus spells on your own. Of course, only within the walls of Hogwarts.
With a light flick of his wand, the familiar light flooded the classroom once more. The students, joyful and filled with the holiday spirit, hurried towards the exit in a crowd, nodding gratefully to the professor. I remained seated, examining the interior — a marvel of charms created by a true master.