Chapter 18
After dealing with the reporter, the next few hours passed rather quietly. We attended classes, which were quite easy for us thanks to memorizing the curriculum by heart. Then, as usual, we were planning to go to the Room of Requirement to train, until Hermione reminded us of one important fact—Potter. We had promised to help Potter catch up.
So the pressing question arose: where could we train so that no one would disturb us? The Room of Requirement was definitely out—that was too big a risk. Who knew how Voldemort would react if, through his connection to the Chosen One, he learned that Potter was basically lurking near one of his Horcruxes? And it would be a real disaster if he suddenly decided to hide the Horcrux elsewhere—our confidence in defeating him relies precisely on knowing the location of every Horcrux. Yes, we're in no hurry to go for them because we lack the necessary skills to destroy fragments of the Dark Lord's soul, and Dumbledore, who could do it, still hasn't earned enough trust.
Speaking of Horcruxes and ways to destroy them: the most obvious method is Fiendfyre, capable of burning almost anything. We've long wondered: if Fiendfyre is fire summoned from the very depths of hell, what is that hell like? Is it akin to the nine circles of hell described in Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy? If so, then perhaps Fiendfyre is from the eighth circle, which is divided into ten ditches, where the flame tortures the souls of deceitful counselors—people who, under the guise of goodwill, give advice intended to harm.
If Fiendfyre really comes from there—which is somewhat confirmed by the fact that it doesn't destroy souls—are there other spells connected to hell? We're especially interested in the ninth circle: the cold that can imprison even Lucifer in ice. But if such a curse exists, how dangerous would it be? Certainly no less, and perhaps even more, dangerous than Fiendfyre. And I have a feeling that spells of this kind smell strongly of demonology, for which one would not be lightly forgiven.
Actually, it sounds amusing—the pupils of the great light wizard, demonologists.
"Earth calling the Blacks, come in!" Hermione's voice broke us out of our thoughts; Potter was standing next to her.
"Sorry, we were just thinking. As for where to train… If I remember correctly, the courtyard of the Clock Tower in the south wing was often used for duels. I think it's a great place for practice," Andromeda suggested.
"Used to be? And it isn't used now?" Harry asked curiously.
"I don't know," Andromeda shrugged.
"Well, we won't find out unless we see for ourselves. At least in the last century, when our great-great-grandfather Phineas Nigellus Black was Headmaster, there was an unofficial dueling club," Regulus added.
"Your great-great-grandfather was Headmaster of Hogwarts?!" Harry exclaimed in surprise.
"Yes."
"But weren't the Blacks…" Harry began.
"Yes, yes, the Blacks, those blood-purity fanatics. We know, we've heard, and we've even seen," Andromeda cut him off. "In essence, it's true. Our family even has a motto: 'Blood purity forever.' Believe me, despite how successful a wizard our ancestor was, he gained the reputation of Hogwarts's least popular Headmaster."
"That motto…" Hermione began.
"It's obsolete. Ever since the older generation of Blacks died out, only Uncle remains, and he ran away from home because of the family's obsession with blood purity," Andromeda declared.
"Now that we've finished discussing our family, let's head to the Clock Tower," she said, and through Andromeda we turned to leave—only to pause and look toward a corner behind us, where a shock of red hair immediately disappeared. "Weasley, instead of hiding like a thief, just come with us."
"I'm not hiding like a thief!" said the boy who had stepped out from around the corner, his ears red with embarrassment. "I… I was just passing by. Really."
"Sure you were," Hermione rolled her eyes at his excuse.
"Let's not start in on him," Regulus said, placing a calming hand on Hermione's shoulder. "You, Weasley, if you want to come with us—we won't mind, right?"
"Of course!" Harry answered immediately, though he was actually a bit ashamed in front of one of his first Hogwarts friends.
"But I…" Hermione was about to refuse—she clearly disliked this rude, lazy boy—when we interrupted her through Andromeda.
"Hermione, please, don't."
"All right… I don't mind," the girl relented, then added sharply: "But if he gets in our way, he's not coming with us anymore!"
"Fine," we agreed calmly to her condition, and a brightened Ron almost ran to catch up and walk beside us.
"So, where are we headed?" he asked cheerfully.
"We're heading to the Clock Tower to practice magic," Regulus answered him.
It's funny, but although we remember almost nothing personal about our past lives, we somehow have an association with those childhood friend groups. You befriend one person, but they have other friends, and even if you don't like them all, you can tolerate them—and sometimes even make new friends you grow closer to faster than the one who introduced you. This feels almost the same. Ron has temporarily joined our group through Harry, and he and Hermione are mutually hostile. But what the future holds only time will tell. It's not uncommon that, after getting to know someone you disliked, you eventually become friends. In canon, it was somewhat like that when the Golden Trio formed, albeit under rather extreme circumstances.
"Then let's go!" Ron led the way, then stopped, awkwardly scratching his head, and asked, "Where is the Clock Tower, actually?"
"Follow me—we need to go to the third floor," Andromeda said with a grin and headed our small group.
On the third floor we reached the door leading from the castle onto the hill where the Clock Tower stood. Passing through it, we entered a hall—modest in size but sufficient for duel training—with plenty of room for spectators and several training dummies conveniently positioned.
"Are you sure no one trains here? It doesn't look abandoned," Hermione asked.
"Not sure. But for training, I doubt we'll find a better place than this," Regulus replied.
"So, where should we start?" Harry asked, drawing his wand.
"Hm, first it'll be better to practice on the dummies. I'll teach you two spells most useful for self-defense. First, a stunning spell to safely incapacitate your opponent. Second, a protective charm that will deflect most spells and curses, except for some special cases that bypass any magical shield."
"Although… Hermione, you know these spells. Maybe you could teach the boys, and we could have a demonstration duel?" we suddenly proposed through Andromeda. We were a bit too lazy to teach others, and Hermione's personality made her the perfect teacher.
"All right," the girl agreed surprisingly quickly. "But at first use only those two spells, for clarity."
"Okay," we nodded.
"Step back to the wall to avoid accidentally hitting you with spells," Regulus warned the others. We took our positions opposite each other and pointed our wands like foils.
No signals were needed, because in fact we were one unit, and our training duel lacked any element of surprise, which greatly reduced its effectiveness. So we tried to compensate with speed.
For a moment, the courtyard seemed to fall silent, then we moved at once, firing red beams at each other, both of which were immediately blocked by shields. The shields flickered for just a moment, then the next spells flew—and this time we both dodged. We looked like two mirror images, defending and attacking simultaneously, gradually picking up speed until we began creating shields, not with wands but with bare hands while the other hand was busy attacking. It felt like ancient warriors holding a shield in one hand and a spear in the other, trying to find a breach in the opponent's defense that would lead to victory. Of course, such attempts were foolish—any breach would mean we'd given in to our own expectations.
After several minutes of this spell exchange—combining defense and evasions—we decided to move to the next level and try something we'd been developing since our arrival at Hogwarts.
Once more dodging spells, we both swept our wands and cried, "Aqua Glacius!" Summoning a wide, two-meter-long strip of ice that slithered through the air like a living serpent. It spun around us, blocking spells instead of a standard shield. As chunks of the living ice occasionally broke off—quickly regrowing—it might have seemed less effective. But more important was that this provided active defense against our greatest vulnerability: the Killing Curse, which instantly ejects the soul from the body. At least we assume that curse is our weakness—and so far we have no reason to think otherwise.
After another ten minutes locked in mutual blocking, we decided to finish with a clash of two Expelliarmus spells. A narrow beam formed between us; at the collision point it turned golden and split into many smaller beams, creating two domes around us. Yes, that was the Priori Incantatem effect, when twin wands refuse to harm each other and replay the losing side's spells in reverse. Had our wands not been matched, the beam would have tested magical strength, and the loser would have been struck by both spells. As the magic began lifting us into the air, we sharply raised our wands and broke the connection—everything returned to normal.
"Clap, clap, clap!" Suddenly applause rang out from the entrance, and we turned in that direction.
It was none other than Professor Flitwick, almost bouncing with excitement, and behind him stood a small group of upper-year students from various houses.
"Simply marvelous! I never would have thought first-years could present me with such a wonderful surprise! What a fantastic magical display… And the way you moved… I doubt even our little club could perform so well," the professor praised us.
"Professor, you're overpraising them. It's unhealthy. That ice shield is dangerous. If someone hits it with a Bombarda—it would be bad for the defender," a blonde girl, the same age as our prefect Percy Weasley, shook her head, though she still looked shocked.
"Well, Miss Crystal, there's no need to be so categorical. Clearly, they're still experimenting."
"Professor, why are you here?" Regulus asked as Hermione, Harry, and Ron stepped back from the spectacle.
"As it happens, this place is the meeting spot for our not-quite-official dueling society," Flitwick said with a grin.
"Professor!" several annoyed voices rose from the older students.
"They're perfectly qualified to join, so tone down your objections," the professor said sternly.
"Maybe they're qualified, but there are three first-years here. And need I remind you, Professor, the club is supposed to be secret," a dark-haired boy who stood forward said grimly, standing out by his appearance.
"Perhaps, Mr. Diggory, but the most important element in magical development is desire. And though they may not be ready now, I believe they will soon be able to join," Flitwick replied, then fixed his gaze on our group, as if an invisible force pressed down on us. At the same time he said unexpectedly forbidding: "Now, children, I trust I don't have to explain that some things must not be disclosed?"