POV Marcus Avery
Another school day was over, feeling more like a series of battles than a peaceful school life, and Marcus Avery could finally relax in the company of his best friend. In a far corner of the common room, across a table, they were bent over a chessboard. His friend and eternal rival was, as usual, winning, but not always, and maybe this time, he could pull ahead. With each year, the ratio of Marcus's losses to victories was evening out. And Arcturus was also getting better — meaning despite his lazy nature, Marcus himself was trying to keep up. And it wasn't just about chess.
Arcturus wasn't just a friend to him, but also an example to emulate, though the boy understood he didn't want to become even partially like him. The heir to Britain's wealthiest family did far too much for lazy Marcus to want such a fate.
Arcturus was too complex, too clever and cunning, a true aristocrat and, in Marcus's opinion, the perfect Slytherin. Arcturus was different things: a leader to the Council and those who obeyed him; a friend to Avery and the Council members individually; and to others — a budding king of Slytherin. He could be cheerful and sociable, or suddenly become silent, focused, and inscrutable. And that was just a small part of his multifaceted persona.
A brilliant wizard, manipulator, schemer, diligent student, lover of adventure, friend, son, leader, master, pleasant young man, friendly bloke. He could be anything and anyone at any time, but this multiplicity didn't bother Marcus because he knew these weren't masks at all, but traits of his personality that he merely hid or emphasized as needed. And with him, Arcturus hid nothing, at least Marcus hoped so.
Meanwhile, the mythical chess pieces tapped impatiently if a move took too long to ponder.
I wonder if he managed to impress yesterday, Marcus thought, assessing the position where his black bishop threatened his opponent's white knight. Although… I have no doubt. Even in such a situation, he'll come out on top.
"So, how did yesterday's grand gathering of the world's great minds go?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the board.
Arcturus frowned and moved a pawn, covering the threat. His movements were sharper than usual.
"A lot went wrong. I gave a brief rundown this morning, but I can tell you everything in detail now," he muttered. "The worst part was us being late. Even though we flew part of the way on brooms, the Council meeting dragged on, and then there was… the talk with Amanda. I planned for a whole extra hour, but we still burst into the Three Broomsticks about five minutes late. A Mor-dred's mistake…"
Marcus mentally whistled. Being late for such a meeting… That wasn't like him. Too many emotions, Arcturus. Way too many. This was clearly about Amanda… He sensed something had changed between them after the winter of their second year, and now again. There was a subtle tension between them. Avery, of course, knew about their possible engagement, but that didn't change the fact Arcturus didn't even share this with him. And usually, Arcturus was always honest and didn't hide his thoughts around him, around Marcus.
"I'd have lowered my opinion of such a person myself," Arcturus continued, a rare note of frustration in his voice. "And we were there on borrowed time as it is."
Marcus liked not having to talk much; in dialogues, he preferred listening to speaking, so he let his friend vent — after all, he couldn't be this frank about his mistake with anyone else. Only occasionally, when laziness retreated, did Marcus support the conversation with a joke or ask a clarifying question, satisfying his curiosity at the same time.
"I bet they were gobsmacked when two third-years joined their high and mighty meeting," he chuckled, finally looking at his friend. In Arcturus's eyes, he saw a familiar, thoughtful expression and realized he was clearly not focused on the game, which only meant an increased chance of victory for Marcus. "By the way, why take Amanda?"
The question was partly sincere, partly an attempt to test the waters. Avery had long noticed how Arcturus and Amanda had grown closer, and it unsettled him. Not out of jealousy, but due to unpredictability. Emotions were poor advisors, and while he had no doubt in his friend, Amanda was a snake through and through.
"'Gobsmacked' is putting it mildly," Arcturus's lips twitched in a wry smile. "Head Boy Adrian Vance presided at the head of a rectangular table. I walked in and, without asking, sat directly opposite him. As for Amanda… that's a matter that doesn't concern our business. You know."
So he won't tell, Avery concluded to himself. So there's something personal mixed in there too. Bad. Very bad.
Arcturus moved his queen, and Avery's white rook snapped away with a resentful click.
"Our Foley introduced us as key witnesses to all the Gryffindor antics of Burke and Reed, and he, poor fellow, is just trying to contain our rightful indignation. Supposedly, conflicts are because of them, and we third-years are merely defending ourselves. Especially this year."
"Why so?" Marcus asked, intrigued. "Wasn't that a chance to show we have some say at the house level?"
"You know we're no longer trying to flaunt the Council… after that incident," Arcturus continued, his voice growing quieter, as if speaking more to himself. "Let ours know the Council exists, but it's better not to spread the word for now. Need to be more careful, though those who understand already know about us, and I'm not sure that's good."
Fear is a rare bird in his internal zoo, Avery thought. But it's there. Arcturus was clearly afraid they'd attract too much attention. Seems he's afraid everything will collapse. Marcus had no doubt that besides himself, Arcturus wouldn't show this fear to anyone else.
"And Vance?" Avery clarified, sacrificing a pawn in a long-shot gambit. "Is he seriously hoping for universal reconciliation? I bet any truce will last a week."
"Vance," Arcturus pronounced the name with a detectable shade of respect, "turned out to be more Slytherin than some of ours. He raised the issue of interfering with first-year affairs, reminded everyone of the unwritten rule, and started heaping ashes on our prefects' heads. Foley and Selwyn, of course, started denying, but I think it was a stone aimed precisely at our garden. The Council was the topic."
Marcus nodded, taking in his friend's words and storing them away.
"Charlie Weasley and their female prefect, Spinnet or something, immediately grew wary," Arcturus continued, his gaze becoming distant, as if seeing that table again. "Started saying they'd heard Slytherins were recruiting first-years. That's when I joined the conversation."
He made a move without looking at the board.
"Said that despite our good relations with the first-years, whom we merely help with studies, no one is recruiting them. Our house isn't an army, after all. And everything their third-years are blathering about is just rumors from old grudges. In short, reduced it all to them nursing resentment from last year's conflicts."
While Arcturus spoke, Avery asked short questions, and their game proceeded on autopilot. And suddenly, almost unexpectedly to himself, Avery saw his king driven into a corner. Arcturus delivered checkmate, seemingly without even realizing it. His movements were mechanical, his thoughts clearly far away.
"Hmm. Not bad," Avery murmured, analyzing the defeat. He plays like he's half-asleep and still wins. This is irritating sometimes, but it forces me to shelve my lazy nature and try to catch up — in chess and magic alike. "Another game? But let's try a different opening; I've got no chance with the usual one."
"Sure," Arcturus nodded, resetting the pieces, but his attention was scattered.
He made the first moves — pawns to the center, apparently preparing a flank operation. An unusual approach for him.
"Is this… the French Defense?" Marcus raised an eyebrow, studying the board. Something clicked in his memory. "You didn't start like this before."
Arcturus froze for a second. His fingers, which had just been resting on a knight, trembled slightly.
"I don't really know opening names…" he began, and his voice sounded strange, distant. "But this one… is indeed called the French Defense… the French Defense."
He said it as if tasting the words, retrieving them from deep within his memory. His face became utterly expressionless, fixed on a single emotion.
"Arcturus?" Avery frowned. Something was wrong.
For several seconds, Arcturus simply sat motionless, not responding. Staring at the chess pieces before him, his eyes wide but empty.
"Hey," Avery touched his hand. The skin was cold. "Arcturus, are you alright?"
Silence. Then his friend stood up sharply, almost convulsively. The chair rocked back with a clatter and fell over.
"Later… I'll finish talki…" he tried to say, but the words stuck in his throat. He took a step and suddenly swayed violently, as if the floor beneath his feet had turned into a ship's deck during a storm. His eyes rolled back, and his knees buckled.
Fortunately, Marcus reacted instantly. He jumped up and managed to catch Arcturus under the arms before he could crash to the floor. The weight of his friend's limp body slumped against him.
"Merlin's beard!" Avery swore through gritted teeth, struggling to hold Arcturus upright. "Hey! Snap out of it!"
He didn't know what had happened, but he understood one thing for sure: showing his friend's weakness to everyone was the last thing to do. He needed to get him to their room, urgently.
***
The echo of a voice rang in my head, repeating the name of the chess opening. With each second, the voice grew louder. Avery's questions and the room's noise began to fade, as if someone had turned down the volume knob. Their place was taken by fragments… fragments of memory.
An old man, Alain, sat before me, his intelligent, tired eyes narrowed. He moved his knight and said, "French Defense, Arcturus." That was his voice… and then he repeated those words again and again, and with each repetition, more memories surfaced.
The scene before my eyes shifted to the Malfoy gardens. Celine and I walk along a path, a light drizzle falling. She says something, laughs, and my head is spinning with possible counter-moves to that very game. The last game with old man Alain, who left a strong impression on me.
Then I remembered another place… a study. The smell of old books and Master Renodier's voice: "…and thus, transfiguration is based not on power, but on clarity of image… power can be replaced…". Abruptly, the scene changed to Madame Celine's familiar study, and ended with a ramshackle room with walls long since beginning to rot.
Why? Why this particular opening? I hadn't forgotten the name; Grandfather Alain had taught me about it long before that last day I forgot. But now… now it seemed to pull a tightly wound, hidden ball of memories behind it.
"…Arcturus? Hey, are you alright?"
Avery's voice broke through the growing roar in my ears. I felt my palms grow damp.
"Later… I'll finish talki…" I forced out, standing up. My legs suddenly turned to jelly. The room swam before my eyes, darkness creeping in at the edges.
"Hey!"
I heard the screech of a pushed-back chair. My knee gave way. But before I could hit the floor, a hand grabbed me under the arm. Avery… he half-carried me, muttering something anxious through his teeth.
"Not… Hospital Wing…" I mumbled, trying to fight the rising nausea and throbbing pain in my temples. And the pictures before my eyes shifted under the growing echo of the opening's name.
"Are you mad? You're white as a sheet!"
"Don't… to the nurse…" The words came with difficulty. Memory fragments beat against my skull like birds in a cage: Grandfather Alain, Celine, the last lesson with Renodier, the chessboard, a knight's move, the sound of her laughter… the conversation in the garden… rain… a cave… a wooden house… blood… "It's… fine… Just… my head…"
He dragged me to our dorm and laid me on the bed. The ceiling above swam and doubled.
"We need Madame Pomfrey."
"No!" I rasped out. I grabbed his sleeve. "Just… give me a minute."
Avery froze, looking at me with a mix of worry and incomprehension. But in his eyes was the ingrained habit of obedience, because when I speak, he listens.
I closed my eyes, shutting out his gaze and the room. Inside, fragments of lost… forgotten memory raged. The name of the opening, which I knew anyway… was a key that only needed to be spoken. And that key had just turned in the lock, unlocking a door. Pictures layered upon each other, demanding I sort them out. That I finally remember what happened that last day… before the farewell and the Apparition.
For about fifteen minutes, I was completely out of it, remembering specific moments. Then came days filled with reflection.
Those few days after the meeting and the so-called 'reconciliation' between Gryffindors and Slytherins brought a real lull. At least, the conflicts between Answorth's former friends and Farmus's gang stopped. Though, there were so many fights between them and not a single serious incident, which raised suspicions… were they faking it? Seems crazy, but worth checking.
Not a single case made it public school-wide by landing someone in the Hospital Wing. So either they deliberately avoided serious injury the whole time, raising the question of why fight at all, or it was just a minor spat, and they really had nothing serious left to fight over.
As for the younger years… well, the Gryffindor prefects clearly had a 'talk' with Burke and Reed and others, so everything quieted down for a while.
We, accordingly, also stopped any attempts at conflict or revenge against the Gryffindors, even though the very next day after the verbal truce, a scuffle broke out between second-years, organized precisely by Burke.
In short, the meeting, which ended with an agreement from both sides to correct their houses' behavior, was a success for the Ravenclaw. And if the prefects hadn't complied, it would have gone to McGonagall or even the Headmaster; he hinted he just wanted to settle things peacefully. To avoid hard feelings.
To avoid being seen as aggressors, Foley and Selwyn worked hard to convey to everyone that we shouldn't be the ones to start conflicts. Foley even asked me to tone down the active influence on the first-years, as, it turns out, it's noticeable even to other houses… or rumors get around; we do have some loose lips. At least, for the Head Boy, it was important.
I was even starting to worry that Answorth's friends might find out about the meeting room. They could tell Snape, and no matter how well he treats me, he'd at least return the room to its previous inhabitants.
Many still didn't know about the occupation of an entire room only because we kept it within a tight circle of friends and supporters. We entered the room when no one was around and left the same way. I think if we're ratted out to Snape, my prefects are in for serious trouble.
In short, a lull had set in, which was good because I realized how to accelerate the recovery of my lost memory. When we played chess with Avery the day after the meeting, I apparently stumbled upon a trigger, and that trigger helped latch onto a small fragment of memory, which began to attract larger pieces.
After the first 'memory explosion,' it should have returned slowly anyway, and I noticed it when scenes were occasionally tossed up. Now I remembered another substantial chunk, or rather, a couple. But when my head calmed down about fifteen minutes later and I could convince Avery I was fine, I understood the theory of the mentalist master was correct, and the triggers had been hidden in the memories by me. When I remember how I left these triggers, then I can say I've beaten the 'Obliviate.'
To speed up recovery, I was already practicing Occlumency a lot and even performed a specific, regular ritual helpful in such cases. After some thought, I realized I could retrieve something related to the lost memory if I searched for these triggers myself. And where could I hide triggers if they needed to survive the Obliviate? Right, in the recent memories that weren't erased.
I used Occlumency, delving into my consciousness, rereading every letter I had from France. We corresponded rarely, but still. I exchange letters with Louis and Celine. Good thing I hadn't reached the level of burning letters.
After about a dozen readings aloud, I found several less powerful triggers. Thanks to this, some previously incomprehensible lines in the letters became obvious, while others remained unclear. I hope I haven't missed anything important. So currently, my memory was missing only a couple of substantial pieces: The last lesson with Master Renodier, which existed only as fragments proving the lesson happened.
I still couldn't recover an entire conversation in the garden with Celine, but it was raining, and I think the trigger is related to rain. This thought was prompted by a line in one of Celine's letters where she wrote it was raining there today, but she couldn't find me at Beauxbatons.
Corresponding with them was difficult, considering they're at Beauxbatons and I'm at Hogwarts. Owls flew relatively long distances and got very tired. I had to send a different owl, and feed, water, and let the arriving one rest.
Other memory gaps included the breakfast before the farewell, the farewell itself, and the night. The only thing I remember is that I was supposed to have a conversation with Madame Isabelle. Then I remember drinking with Louis and Frédéric… I hope my memory wasn't knocked out by alcohol and I didn't disgrace myself then.
That's regarding the moment before Apparition. After Apparition, there were still many blank spots.
So, my memory was returning bit by bit, which was good in that regard. The biggest news, however, was the outcome of the election for the new Minister of Magic.
Cornelius Fudge became the 32nd Minister of Magic of Great Britain.
By the way, I think Fudge is a rather clever politician, managing to sit on two chairs by getting reputational support from Dumbledore and financial support from my father. Without that, a mere Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes wouldn't have become the Minister.
I think a third, if not half, of the high posts in the Ministry will change today or tomorrow. That's of course not surprising — standard practice anywhere. Unless, of course, the one coming to power has a brain. I think Father is spinning all his wheels there now, and the Headmaster hasn't been at school for a couple of days either.
In the school itself, everything was calm, except for Slytherin, where there was some agitation over the election. Yes, even children were concerned about the Minister election.
Though I'd still call this calm, as there were no problems, which didn't bode well. I was worried something would happen during or right after the meeting with the Head Boy, and now I have a feeling like a strong storm is approaching, not just a minor shake-up. Maybe everything will pass?
Alright, that's enough for today. I've been poking at these targets for an hour, need to have a hearty breakfast today, didn't eat much in the evening…
With these thoughts, I headed to breakfast before the upcoming lessons — and there were truly many classes today.
However, despite the good start to the day, an excellent workout, and even the fact that every passing Slytherin greeted me today, everything was spoiled by a feeling of impending danger, and it clearly wasn't related to the planned revenge for Amanda.
Owls started bombarding us with letters and packages. Including the morning issue of the Daily Prophet landing before me. As soon as my eyes caught the headline and the moving picture of Sirius Black, emotions flared, mixing into a knot of anger, and I began trying every method in my arsenal to calm myself down.