"Bewitchment, Enchantment, or, as I like to put it, good old Charmwork," said Professor Flitwick in his reedy voice. "There are as many Charms as there are concepts, and perhaps more besides! By now, you must have realised that they all have one thing in common: Charms add a property to their targets!"
Oleandra raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. Time flew by as fast and as inexorably as a loosed arrow, and, without her noticing, the month of October had already crept up on her, quietly and surreptitiously.
"Pardon me, Miss Greengrass," Professor Flitwick called. "Am I perhaps boring you?"
It hadn't taken long for Hogwarts's professors to notice that the respect the current administration and its employed Death Eaters extended to Daphne did not apply to Oleandra as well. They viewed her as one might a mad dog: unpredictable, dangerous, and unworthy of trust. As of late, some of the staff had begun trying to test her limits, to see how much it would take to make her snap.
"No, sir," Oleandra said irritably, trying her best not to scowl.
She had barely slept more than an hour the previous night. Ever since she had discovered the Map Chamber, she had dedicated every waking moment not spent attending classes or doing homework to deciphering Dumbledore's research on Ogham runes, in the hope of finding a way to seal Loki's powers within the castle grounds.
"Then put away that book of yours," Professor Flitwick snapped. "This is a practical lesson, so wands out, please!"
Oleandra resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him and dropped her borrowed copy of Ancient, Ancienter, and Ancientest Runes into her bookbag.
Though Charms was not her speciality, she had in the past always enjoyed Professor Flitwick's lessons, which were usually quite entertaining and often involved wandwork rather than tedious grimoire reading. But now that she was actually trying to learn something, his enthusiasm for non-traditional teaching was getting in her way.
"Now, where was I?" said Professor Flitwick, pushing up his glasses. "Ah yes, enchantment. Over the past six years, you will have learned that there exist many schools of thought in Charms: some spells intersect with Transfiguration, such as Colour-Changing Charms, which you will have studied under Professor McGonagall; others intersect with Defence Against the Dark Arts, such as the Shield Charm…"
A loud, fake-sounding cough rang out from the group of Slytherins sitting in the front row.
"Ah yes, my mistake," Professor Flitwick said, his voice strained. "In Dark Arts, you might also have learned the Exploding Charm, or one of its many, many variants… or did I teach you that? Oh, bother…"
He mopped his forehead nervously with a handkerchief.
"But there exists only one discipline that can truly be said to belong to Charms alone," he went on anxiously. "I earlier listed Bewitchment, Enchantment and Charmwork as if these terms were interchangeable, but that is not quite the case. Spells that bewitch, like Cheering Charms, can also intersect with the Dark Arts depending on their application and the caster's intent, such as the Imperius Curse, and, as I have said before, many appearance-changing spells are often used in Transfiguration as if they were Transfiguration spells."
Professor Flitwick tapped the blackboard behind him with his wand. Pieces of chalk leapt from the tray and began sketching a comically stylised caricature of a kindly old man, his robes adorned with little five-pointed stars.
"Can someone tell me who this is?" Professor Flitwick said, rapping his knuckles against the blackboard. "Five points to the first… yes, Mr Corner?"
Without Hermione present to hog all the glory to herself, some of the cleverer Ravenclaws could finally begin to show off their knowledge. Michael stood up and said smartly, "That's Merlin the Enchanter, of course. He's so famous that his name is still remembered by Muggles to this day. I assume Enchantment was going to be the answer to your next question, Professor?"
Oleandra's fluttering eyes flew wide open. She'd been about to fall asleep where she sat, but the mention of Merlin's name had given her quite a start. She looked down at the Slytherins sniggering to each other in the first row.
"Of course Mr Know-It-All would bring up Muggles…"
"You know half-bloods, their blood is tainted…"
Oleandra glanced at Tracey, who had lowered her head to avoid the mocking gazes of her fellow Slytherins, well aware that she had a Muggle parent. Most of the other Slytherins were technically half-bloods as well, but without examining their doubtlessly meticulously sterilised genealogical trees, Oleandra would be hard-pressed to find proof of any impurity.
Despite being looked down upon by true pure-bloods, these half-bloods themselves embraced notions of blood purity, terrified at the idea of complete exclusion from society… even though they vastly outnumbered pure-bloods, and that following such antiquated ideals perpetuated their subjugated status, compared to the true nobles. But as long as they remained above the Muggle-Born, they could still go to sleep content, knowing they were not considered absolute rubbish…
Oleandra's gaze grew cold. Humanity… was truly disgusting to look at.
"Enchantment, that is indeed what I was getting at; five points to Slytherin," Professor Flitwick said, forcing a strained smile where he would normally have scolded the whispering students for their intolerable remarks. "Enchantment is the art of giving an object the semblance of true life; one only has to think of Excalibur, the famous Sword in the Stone; a Goblin silver sword Merlin Charmed to recognise only its rightful owner's touch—"
"Liar."
Shocked at being so openly contradicted by a student, Professor Flitwick fell silent. Hushed murmurs rippled across the room as students shifted in their seats, turning to locate the source of the voice in the back of the classroom…
"Excuse me, Miss Greengrass, but Charms is my speciality!" Professor Flitwick said, his voice growing increasingly strident. "I happen to know exactly what I'm talk—"
"You know nothing!" hissed Oleandra. "You have no idea of the sacrifices made to forge that sword!"
Daphne looked at her sister strangely. She looked like a Witch possessed.
"Caliburn was the Sword in the Stone, Merlin's Sword of Selection— not Excalibur!" Oleandra went on, her voice tinged with anger. "To claim that Excalibur was forged by Goblins is tantamount to suggesting Avalon was infested with vermin!"
"Pardon!?" Professor Flitwick said, aghast. "What are you talking about!?"
Oleandra's eyes glazed over as visions of ages past flashed before her: survivors of the cataclysm; primitive Goblins clad in animal hides, scurrying through underground tunnels, stealing precious food and the secrets of the Runes of the Moon and the Earth, right from under the remaining Avalon Faeries' very noses… then back on Earth, pilfering the arts of silversmithing from the Dwarfs in the north, even attempting to steal the humans' secrets of wandlore when the first wandmakers arrived in Britannia with the Romans…
"But of course you would say that," Oleandra concluded, her lip curling in disgust. "You miserable, little, half-breed."
"DETENTION!" Professor Flitwick howled, pointing at the door with his wand.
The door slammed open with a bang, and Oleandra blinked. What had come over her?
"I said OUT!" Professor Flitwick screamed, stamping his foot.
A storm of applause rang out from her fellow Slytherins as Oleandra gathered her things— and the last of her dignity— and made a beeline for the exit. At least until detention, she would have more time to study Ogham runes… and, really, would it be actually necessary for her to attend detention?