After Yule, I was left with a mountain of gifts. Of course, I received fewer than I gave, but I could have bought all this anyway; the main thing was to receive reciprocal attention and respect in the form of a gift.
I received various presents, from cheap to quite expensive and interesting. These included sweets, three wand care kits, two broom maintenance kits... We are all so original... it is just that our "originality" is suspiciously similar.
Among the truly valuable items was a dueling manual from Cassius. From Graham, I got the book "On the Life and Rise of Ulick Gamp." From Avery, I received a magical diary — a kind of analogue of Tom's diary, but, of course, not a Horcrux. It was simply an artifact that only the owner could read, thanks to a blood binding.
Revelio had no effect on such a diary, and the protection and the binding itself could only be removed with a drop of the owner's blood. I think it would probably hold up against a strong Legilimency spell too, but I am not certain.
Judging by the label, it was from their family's artifact shop. All in all, an extremely solid gift. Next year, I will have to give him something better than a self-writing quill. Although, to be fair, I bought the most expensive version, so the value of the gifts was roughly comparable.
Furthermore, I received a bunch of outright junk from acquaintances and "buddies." Among this stuff were Quidditch magazines, posters, questionable sweets, and the like.
Amanda Rosier stood out. She sent a rare copy of a rare book: "The Pure-Blood Directory." It was an old copy of the book from which the very concept of the "Sacred Twenty-Eight" families originated. Such directories had not been printed for a long time, given the Ministry's soft policy towards Muggle-borns.
The book listed the surnames of the truly pure-blood families that had received the honorary title of "Sacred Twenty-Eight." It also described the criteria for determining "blood purity," the history of these families, and their traditions. The most interesting part was that the directory's author preferred to remain anonymous. Many influential families were not included in the list, which caused an uproar: "unworthy aristocrats" accused the compiler of bias and insult, as only those noble families that had not yet mixed their blood with Muggle-borns or Muggles were included.
I spent some time racking my brains, wondering if the gift was a hint. But both the Malfoys and the Blacks were on the list, so I simply appreciated the rare copy and enjoyed reading it when I needed to unwind my mind after mental exercises.
The gift also came with a card, which mentioned the sender, and there was one line handwritten on it: "The worthy must stand with the worthy." Further confirmation that it was not a hint and I could simply enjoy a pleasant gift.
From my parents, I received a substantial stack of books, including second-year textbooks. I had often complained and hinted before Christmas that I was ahead of the curriculum and had already studied everything, and that was the absolute truth. In a couple of months of study, I had managed to read and understand all the first-year textbooks. Of course, I had not managed to master all the spells in practice, but I lacked theory, and the standard textbooks provided theory in measured doses, allowing one to grasp the subject without excessive depth. And it would make future study easier.
Also, as a birthday gift (remember, my birthday is January 1st), I received an expensive protective artifact, or rather, an expensive artifact because it was protective: an amulet protecting against minor jinxes. Generally, such protective artifacts existed but were too expensive, and those that could protect against spells broke quickly, whereas amulets like mine, while not protecting against spells, could block or even reflect minor jinxes and did not break.
So, I had protection against pranks... like the "Eat Slugs" jinx. Now it is clear why that jinx bounced off Draco in the canon; apparently, it was not just Weasley's broken wand back then, but an artifact like this.
I was genuinely delighted with such a useful thing. While such jinxes are not fatal, they could seriously damage one's reputation: elongating teeth, causing itching, or, Merlin forbid, making one belch slugs. Disgusting.
In the future, my parents would, of course, gift me something more reliable, but for now, it was pointless, and as I said, such things were extremely expensive. And although buying a thousand of these is not a problem for my family, simply losing or breaking such a thing is a pity, especially considering the complexity of their manufacture and subsequent purchase.
By the end of the holidays, I had managed to read four books on Occlumency and one volume on the basics of Legilimency. Of course, half the text remained obscure to me due to my scant knowledge in related magical sciences and terminology, but I still grasped the main points: how to work with my own mind and how to protect it.
"You are growing up fast," Mother said calmly, but a note of sadness echoed in her voice. "Sometimes I think, too fast. Remember, son: strength is good, but it is easy to lose yourself in it. You are my son, your father's son, and the heir to the house. But first and foremost, you are part of this family. And that is not a duty, not a restriction, but a support and an opportunity. Remember that you can turn to us for any help. And be careful."
"I will, Mother. And you are right — family is our support. Thank you for your guidance. This time, I will write a letter as soon as I am in the castle," I replied, also joking about the letter incident at the start of the year.
Mother finally smiled.
That was how our farewell went. With Father — a few dry words hinting at "worthy behavior." With Draco — friendly roughhousing: I ruffled his hair, and he indignantly swatted my hands away. By the way, the gift of magical chess turned out to be a success; he truly appreciated it. During the holidays, I taught him how to play, and game by game, we grew closer. Meanwhile, I told him stories, shared reflections, thus gradually broadening his horizons.
I wanted to make him, first and foremost, a support for me as the heir of the house. Secondly — to instill in him the right values and model of behavior in society. But not from the perspective of an arrogant aristocrat, but from the position of an adult man. I presented this through stories, wrapped in engaging examples.
Draco, though still just an eight-year-old child, played quite well for his week of practice, and as I had already reasoned, he was beginning to see me as an authoritative figure. Perhaps slightly less so than our father, but it was enough for him to strive to emulate me.
In the end, I hoped he would not grow up to be the Draco I remembered from the canon. Ideally, he should become a Lucius 2.0 — bolder, more decisive, and, more importantly, loyal to me. I did not need a division of property and power, but a good manager and businessman in the person of my own brother would not be superfluous.
The only thing is, Draco is also family, so I could not just use him as a pawn, but any piece is a small price for a check and further checkmate, so I needed to continue raising him to be a person convenient for me.
Returning to Hogwarts was pleasant in its own way. I was genuinely happy to be back in the castle. I enjoyed studying here, despite all the nuances. Home was good, but there I was literally buried in reading — things that were impossible to get at Hogwarts. And here, I was not under such close supervision. When I finally entered my abandoned practice classroom, levitated a desk into the air, and then with a precise Flipendo, sent the school property crashing into the wall... I truly felt good inside.
Sometimes you just want to release emotions like that, which is what I did, and then practiced Reparo. Besides Flipendo from the category of knocking spells, I had learned Stupefy during the holidays, which was also a knocking spell, but it was also stunning. Unlike the more dangerous Flipendo, it did not harm the target as much, especially if it was fragile. However, against living beings, it was more effective due to the stunning effect.
I could cast both spells without words or wand movements, but all this paled in comparison to "telekinesis."
Now I could move a thin textbook. Only by a couple of millimeters, but it was hellishly difficult: friction turned out to be a much more serious obstacle than I had expected. Compared to rolling a crumpled piece of paper — it was night and day. And yet, it was real.
By the end of the year, I set myself a goal: to move a chair. Why did I stubbornly call this "telekinesis"? Because I was not using a single principle from existing spells. Only the application of pure magic. And this gave me a much greater understanding of how to feel its flow, especially the one flowing in my own body, and how to control this flow, even outside the body.
But enough joy. It is time to admit — I have serious problems with my head.
And not in a figurative sense, but in the most literal one. Inside, there is a fusion of two personalities. Not just "two voices" or "two sets of memories" — it is two sets of reflexes, habits, emotions, and even bodily responses that have been trying to live in one body for half a year.
The result? Chaos.
And not an abstract one, but a quite tangible one. Try combining two different operating systems in one device. At first glance — it works. But if you dig deeper, every command is duplicated or conflicts. Sometimes a memory surfaces that is not mine, but I still feel it as my own. A smell, a gesture, a reaction — and it is immediately clear: this is not from here, this is from another life. But that does not make it any easier.
The only thing saving me is my innate mental protection. All wizards have it, but for pure-bloods, especially from old families, it is much stronger. Mine, in addition, was strengthened by a ritual. If not for that — I would have lost my mind long ago.
Although, that is not all. The main factor was that after the initial fusion, I clearly chose the foundation, which was my part from the magical world, and considering that the body agreed with my position, the mind was not as severely damaged, because the struggle between the two fragments, under equal conditions, favored the chosen foundation.
Thanks to this, I was more Arcturus, and many elements, like the name of that other personality or its face, were simply erased, as that was the foundation of the human mind, the anchor that partly held our "Self" together.
The magic within the mind did its job: the natural protection smoothed out the sharp edges, but it was clear I could not last long like this. A year, maybe two — and then even the best mind healers from Italy's Centro Mentale would not be healing, but picking up the pieces... that was my initial conclusion, but things are not quite that critical. After all, I am not a master Legilimens, just a person who has read four books, and with a half-broken mind at that. And it is this person who is going to fix what professionals would not touch...
Calm... breathe...
Anyway, only thanks to these factors was I more or less whole and had not gone insane.
According to the books, every wizard perceives their own mind differently. And it is not about imagination, but about the limitations of perception. It is impossible to grasp consciousness in its entirety. So, you take a piece of your "self," create an avatar from it — and this piece goes deep, into the subconscious.
And the subconscious is all automatic work. The things people are accustomed to not noticing. Blinking, breathing, coordinating muscles. Plus millions of associative chains that activate in a second. We think we think consciously. In reality, most thoughts rise from below, from the subconscious, and consciousness merely "selects" and sorts them.
And this is where it gets most interesting.
The magical system is not a metaphor, but a real structure. It works as an energetic imprint of the body and mind. It has channels, reserves, energy flows that are directly connected to the brain's neural activity. That is why it is possible to penetrate the mind — your own or someone else's. It is not a "figurative journey," but an interaction with the magical imprint.
Therefore, advanced mind protection differs from simply hiding thoughts. The essence is to create a barrier between your consciousness and someone else's, which is trying to get inside.
But a barrier cannot be absolute — otherwise, you will block the path for your own thoughts and for thoughts to reach your consciousness. Pure logic: a completely hermetic lock will not let the owner in either. So, any protection is a compromise. In some places, you create an impenetrable dome, and in other places within this dome, you lay keys, ciphers, bypass routes. They allow your own thoughts to flow but become a labyrinth for an intruder. And herein lies the vulnerability.
In essence, mental defense has many approaches, including concentrating efforts on the basic instinct of any mind protection. Simply strengthening the natural mental protection, which works like an immune system. It filters out the "foreign," but must let the "own" through. And if the load becomes too strong — the system fails. My current situation resembles an autoimmune disorder: my own memories, my own emotions begin to be perceived by the protection as "foreign." And at that moment, panic rises inside — as if you are being pushed out of your own head.
What is happening there, deep inside... is impossible to describe. Any thought triggers associative chains, often having a copy, an analogue with different connections from the second set. As a result, these two pieces collide in this projection, and these collisions damage both pieces.
And the pieces that had not yet collided were crashing into each other in a mad whirlwind where millions of small and thousands of huge fragments were colliding in this chaos. It is like the noise of a thousand voices in a crowded auditorium. Everyone is talking at once. But the worst part is that every voice sounds familiar. You cannot say, "this is not mine." It is both yours and not yours at once. Some images anchor me, for example, Grandmother Walburga — her words, her image. Others surface chaotically, like torn pages of a book, mixed by the wind.
Thanks to the magical system, which essentially represents a magical imprint of our body, we can penetrate our own or even another's mind and change anything that our skill allows, only another's mind will resist and try to eradicate you, but your own... in your own consciousness, you could do everything without obstacles — because you are its own. As a result, I had to take risky steps, namely — to begin changes.
The following months passed for me as if in a fog.
No, I did not become a stranger to everyone, nor did I disappear from school life entirely. I sat at my desk, talked during breaks, participated in a couple of scheduled Slytherin games. From the outside, it looked almost normal. But inside — it was as if I was looking at everything through frosted glass.
I was present, but not involved.
Many were surprised: I had become too passive, even in those little "serpentine games" where I had always previously found a place for a word or a hint. My group of friends noticed too — I smiled, agreed, but as if I was not truly living it. What had once seemed important now paled in comparison to the main task — working with my mind, the thing that made me who I am.
Of course, I did not allow myself to slack. I handed in my homework on time, attended classes, and when tested, I did not remain in debt. It is just that all of it had become almost mechanical. The textbooks had long been read, the theory mastered, so I more often allowed myself to "skip" lessons... while sitting right there in class. The teachers saw an attentive student, but in reality, I was diving inside myself, into the work that consumed all my strength.
Outside the windows of Hogwarts, life went on as usual:
The January wind rattled the windows, driving sleet against the castle.
In February, the corridors filled with drafts and the damp smell of stone as meltwater tried to seep through the thick walls, but never succeeded.
In March, everything grew brighter: the snow melted on the training field, students were chasing balls on brooms again, and I still sat in the shadows, as if hiding from the world.
In the evenings, I even stopped my physical training, and "telekinesis"... even that I practiced automatically... without the enthusiasm I had originally planned. I rarely played chess, and even my habitual walks around the castle were reduced to a minimum. Every evening I devoted entirely to mental practices. Essentially, I had turned myself into a lab rat — but there was no other way.