No sooner had the Slytherins caught their breath than a new swarm of tiny pests — or rather, furry flying creatures called Doxies — poured out of the treetops with a nasty squeak. They looked like Pixies, but slightly larger, furrier, and far more aggressive. Their bites burned like red-hot needles, and they were also venomous: for wizards, the venom caused dizziness, and a Muggle without an antidote would be in serious trouble.
"Merlin! Doxies!" Graham swore, waving off the persistent swarm with a wide curtain of sparks. But Cassius helped, taking out a significant portion of the small swarm with a well-aimed Immobulus.
As it turned out a little later, these furry creatures burned well… Fortunately, they were stunned in the air, otherwise a forest fire would have been unavoidable.
Luckily, there weren't too many of the flying creatures, and they managed to deal with them without anyone getting bitten.
All this time, Arcturus stood motionless at the epicenter of the wind, which only intensified. His voice, growing louder and louder, continued to chant the ancient words. The light from the ritual pulsed through the silver powder in time with his words, and each flare might have been mesmerizing for the four defenders if not for the spiders that kept coming and going — a continuous cycle until they were finished off.
Meanwhile, the ritual was finally beginning to wind down. The seven-pointed star flared with a stronger glow, and a pure stream of energy, mixed with the natural spectrum and a shadow of death energy, rushed into him with a final surge.
The others could only perceive this twist of magic by imagining the stream of wind as magical energy of different spectrums — which is exactly what it was.
The air trembled as the young ritualist's body filled with different spectrums of energy which, thanks to some natural miracle of ritualistics devised by Vassat Black himself, did not conflict despite their incompatibility.
Arcturus Malfoy slowly opened his eyes. During the final turn of the ritual, he had been forced to expel some of the excess death emanations that had outweighed the natural spectrum. This way, he had at least managed to bring the ratio to a point where there was no significant danger to his own magical body. And now his eyes glowed faintly in the darkness… and after such an amount of energy from the ritual, in this case, the faint glow could last for several months. After all, his body had been filled with a much larger volume of magic than it should have been.
Numerous factors had worked in the boy's favor, from his stronger magical channels, cleansed of all impurities, to his greater potential and strong physical body. If any of these factors had been at a lower level, the consequences could have been dire.
The faint glow of the silver powder in the contours finally died out. The ritual left behind only smoldering embers of runes, decayed offerings to nature (already ready to return to the earth), and the withered corpse of the crow. And in this situation, only the platinum-haired boy in the center was full of life and magic, feeling true delight from the energy coursing through his body. The intoxicating feeling of power reminded him of the sensation he had experienced right after the soul merger.
***
Everything inside hummed. There was no pain, but there was a feeling as if every cell, every nerve had been stretched to its limit, and now, having shed the unbearable tension, vibrated with an excess of power. I felt a surge of vigor and might the likes of which I had never known.
But in my chest, there wasn't only the cozy, life-giving energy of the forest, but also an entire ocean of cold, indifferent power. Its icy excess almost completely drowned out the warm sensations of the natural spectrum.
I was strong and felt all this power inside. But I understood that only the magic of the forest had kept me afloat, preventing me from fully immersing myself in that alien and eternal realm. The two spectra intertwined within me into a seething knot. And I feared this imbalance would last at least a week. The ritual had been more effective and orders of magnitude more dangerous than planned.
On top of this exultant feeling of power, a wave of undiluted rage washed over me. But it was far from hysteria or blind fury. It was suffocated, and in general, the all-pervading cold suppressed emotions. Otherworldly cold — that's how it could be described.
Something majestic and irrevocable sloshed within me, like gazing into a bottomless abyss. And it lent my thoughts a sepulchral clarity. As if Death itself now lingered in my soul. Its taste, its spectrum, had become a temporary part of me. And because of this, the entire world around seemed laughably insignificant and fragile. Including these… creatures.
My gaze swept across the clearing. The smoldering embers of runes looked harmonious against the backdrop of fallen, spell-scarred bushes and slightly damaged trees. The corpses of young Acromantulas, with broken legs and bodies cut almost in half, evoked not even disgust, but a kind of… admiration for my comrades' work. All of this, of course, was accompanied by a pungent smell and dark stains on the ground.
Cassius, Dexter, Graham, and Isabel — all were on their feet, but with rumpled robes, disheveled hair, and faces frozen in tension. Cassius was swatting away a last dying Doxy. Isabel, paler than usual, covered her nose and mouth with her hand — the smell seemed to have thrown her off. Blackmore couldn't care less. Let me remind you that this guy, in his first year, burned a classmate's face!
Although the rage, suppressed by emotionless cold, hadn't disappeared, I was satisfied and even slightly impressed. My foresight had paid off. They had stood, back to back, in the pitch darkness of the Forbidden Forest and protected me. They had proven their loyalty with blood — others' and nearly their own. And although the opponents were weak, mere small beasts and monsters, my peers were still just children, well… teenagers who had most likely never killed anything larger than a beetle in their lives.
I stepped forward, out of the circle. The ground beneath my feet felt unusually yielding. I could sense every blade of grass and every root. And at the same time, I felt the cold emptiness yawning beneath this thin film of life. This contrast was both intoxicating and sobering. My sensitivity to magic had either sharply increased permanently, or was under the effect of a "buff."
The records didn't mention that such a concentration would attract so much unwanted attention. So the error was in the execution. That is, it was my mistake. Perhaps my rage came from this… besides the attack and the internal imbalance, there was no other reason for fury. Probably…
I surveyed the scheme. The double contour of silver and chalk — apparently, it had failed. The insulator was supposed to contain the emanations, preventing energy from spilling out and attracting creatures. Apparently, my barrier wasn't perfect. Or perhaps I had made a microscopic error in the runic formulas on the anchors, mixing up the order of flow connections. The chalk contour simply wasn't enough. That is, its resistance was simply too weak for the colossal volume of sacrificial energy I had channeled into the scheme.
After all, I hadn't only sacrificed the crow. I had poured my own blood into the circle, and along with it, the energy of over a dozen magical creatures. So, I had accidentally overdone the "fuel," which had conveniently appeared precisely during the sacrifice phase. It was excessive, and since the ritual had absorbed the sacrificial force from the entire clearing, it meant I had also messed up the main contour. The conclusions were obvious, as some of the fallen monsters' bodies were also considerably withered…
Because of all this, the balance of spectra had shifted catastrophically. Instead of the planned dominance of natural energy with a thin controlling admixture of death… the emanations of otherworldly energy had gained a monstrous advantage. Their cold call, attractive to monsters, had broken through the insulation and echoed through the forest like a tocsin bell. It had gathered this pack.
I stood amidst the consequences of my mistake and felt how a new, alien part of me — the one that was cold and indifferent — analyzed what had happened without a shadow of emotion. There was no fear, not even disappointment in myself. And this effect was highly seductive; for a moment, I even regretted that it would fade over time. But I suddenly realized that I didn't want my personality to be permanently altered by a temporary magical admixture.
I had, of course, made a miscalculation due to lack of skill, but the price paid for the lesson was acceptable: none of my people had died, the ritual was completed, and there were no apparent negative consequences yet. Although, if I hadn't managed to expel the excess and cut off the flow of death emanations into my core… everything could have ended much more sadly. For me.
One more long exhale, and with it went the last regret about convincing my mother. In any case, it was invaluable experience. And now I was stronger than I had been. Wiser — because I knew about my mistake. And more experienced.
Before speaking, with a sharp, almost careless wave of my hand, as if brushing away a speck of dust, I sent a thin, invisible sickle of magical energy into the darkness. My analogue of a cutting curse, woven without a wand.
A wet crunch sounded, as if someone had snapped a huge branch, followed by the soft thud of a body hitting the ground. Yes, my sensitivity had definitely increased.
Dead silence fell. I felt surprised, even shocked glances on me. They knew, of course, that I could cast without a wand. But seeing lethal magic erupt from a bare hand, silently slicing through flesh… that was another level. Few could boast of that. After all, it's much easier and more efficient to spend a couple of hours learning a spell with a wand than to spend years honing a skill and suffering for a pale imitation of the same curse. But I had chosen the hard path, understanding what I could gain from it.
I didn't stop, by the way. I could sense several more stunned or lurking creatures. Now I drew my wand and, without haste, traced a complex trajectory with it.
"Creas Revelio."
This was a highly specialized variant of a detection spell, scanning a small but very precise radius for magical creatures.
In the next second, I systematically ended the lives of the last of the creatures that had emerged. The squelching sounds of flesh being parted by cutting spells rang out. The cut-off squeals and hasty rustling in the leaves came not from Diffindo, but from my own variant, more powerful and precise thanks to the wand's focusing effect. I could have used Diffindo, but that battle spell would have damaged the landscape too much, leaving marks for years. This way, in a week or two, everything would grow back.
My rage, compressed in the vise of excessive energy mixed with death, had finally found an outlet.
"Thank you, everyone," my voice came out unusually low. "We did brilliantly. Now let's get out of here before something… hungrier or less weak crawls to this smell."
I looked at them, and for some reason, meeting my gaze, everyone straightened up slightly, and in Cassius's and Blackmore's eyes flickered something like respect tinged with wariness. Maybe they were still in awe of my wandless magic? After all, telekinesis and banishing spells from the hands were one thing, but this was clearly on another level.
Anyway, all that remained was to clean up the traces of the ritual and explain to the guys where the dog-sized spiders had come from, and in such numbers. After all, unlike me, they couldn't know that a certain half-giant had set up a cozy little Acromantula nest for us here. Bloody, fucking Acromantulas!
These are spiders that can grow for decades, reaching the size of a car or a truck. There's a magical subspecies of giant spiders called Hectomantulas, also dangerous creatures that can grow to enormous, monstrous sizes, but, as befits a spider, they are solitary predators.
The main danger of an Acromantula is that if one is present, it means there's a nest of these arachnids nearby, which expands very quickly… another half-century, and the tiny spiderling released by Hagrid will become the main threat to Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest's wildlife. Apparently, they had already multiplied so much that they were spreading throughout the forest. Even into the outer zone of the forest, where we had Care of Magical Creatures lessons. Now I wouldn't believe that Mr. Kettleburn didn't know about the nest. After all, he knew his stuff, and even if he'd never seen a live one, he must have figured it out from indirect signs.
But, despite all the danger of the nest, the guys would keep quiet about the spiders, as this could be an excellent tool for pressuring or striking at Dumbledore. Well, in case he really cornered my father and we needed to hit his reputation regarding the Sirius case.
Okay, all this was fine, but we needed to move on to the more complex task: returning to the nighttime castle… and not getting caught. Fortunately, there was a plan, and it was reliable… almost like a Swiss watch.
It so happened that during my time possessing the Marauder's Map, I had thoroughly studied all the secret passages the Marauders had found. The main advantage was that the castle was protected from outsiders, but not from students. Various life-threatening protective charms kept strangers out of the castle but were easily passable for the castle's inhabitants. So, we had each gotten on our brooms. This allowed us to leave the castle easily after dinner. And it would allow us to return just as easily. And from there, knowing a couple of secret passages, I could get our company back to the common room with low risk.
The only thing that now bothered my consciousness was the realization that one white-bearded old man could frequently check the Map and see all my movements. But as long as I didn't cross the line, I thought he wouldn't do anything. Besides, I was too small a fish for the Great Wizard to be watching me. Why would he bother?
But despite realizing this fact, I couldn't ignore it and had even stopped visiting the Room of Requirement… which was a mistake. First, I hadn't done anything wrong there; second, I was almost certain he knew that I knew about the Room of Requirement and had gone there, since he had very opportunely taken the Map from me, as if waiting for the right moment…
But he didn't know that I knew that he knew that I knew! Hah.
***
The group of Slytherins descended into the dungeons with quick but very quiet steps and without unnecessary whispers. They were heading towards the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Their shadows slid along the walls, lengthening in the light of the sparse torches, those that ignited upon approach and also faded. The other torches were not lit, thanks to the castle's charms, as it was after curfew.
Arcturus Malfoy walked at the back, bringing up the rear. The entire way, he constantly, almost imperceptibly, turned his head, peering into the dark corridors and niches behind him. His shoulders were slightly tense, and his hand occasionally tightened on the handle of his wand, hidden in the folds of his robes. He didn't hear footsteps behind him and didn't see any movement there, but he felt something else: the sensation of someone's attention. Heavy and unfriendly, clinging to him like a wet cloak.
When they were almost at the entrance, Arcturus suddenly stopped.
"Go on. I'll be right there."
Cassius wanted to say something, but meeting his gaze, simply nodded. After stating the password, one by one, they slipped inside the common room, safe from the duty teacher and Filch. Isabel was the last, casting him a worried look before disappearing.
Arcturus was left alone in the gloom of the empty corridor. Or was it empty?
The pressure of the surveillance, which only Arcturus could feel, intensified and became almost tangible. He instantly turned, peering into the impenetrable darkness from which they had just come.
His eyes, which, it turned out, after the ritual had begun to glow faintly in complete darkness, only picked out the outlines of stones and endless blackness. And suddenly… there, in the depths, at the very edge of visibility, he thought he made out two tiny lights. Dim and reddish, suspended in the air. They looked so much like someone's eyes… something frightening and ancient was watching him from the darkness, but only for a moment, and then it disappeared.
Malfoy wasn't afraid… his natural coolness and the internal pressure of that energy gave him a feeling of indifference to everything. But was that really the case? The tension in his shoulders suggested otherwise.
"Imagined it," he thought instantly, but he wasn't that naive. He, of course, acted preemptively. His hand shot up, and without a sound, a thin, invisible impulse of force erupted from his fingertips. A clot of magic, capable of sweeping a person from their path, raced down the corridor, presumably meeting nothing in its path but dust and shadows.
But the feeling of danger didn't subside. The chill that had crept down his spine as he walked here was too familiar. This intuitive shiver along his spine had saved his life more than once, warning him of a threat or another's gaze. Here, within the supposedly safe walls of Hogwarts, it was screaming of danger louder than in the Forbidden Forest. That's why the boy now didn't even think of turning his back to the corridor.
He understood that he shouldn't tempt fate any further. Whatever it was — Filch's cat, a restless ghost, or something else. Such a meeting promised little good, but could promise something bad. Arcturus, without turning around, spoke the password and, taking a step back, found himself in the safety of the common room.
Samhain had always been a peculiar holiday for him, becoming especially peculiar and strange in his first year. And he remembered very well whose gaze had frightened him so much then. And perhaps that same gaze was trying to frighten him now.