Never thought that the day off after the ball would turn out to be so exhausting. Seriously.
Maybe it's the holidays' fault — classes usually take up a huge chunk of time, and when they're gone, everything somehow becomes dull, and the daily rhythm collapses. I don't like this kind of thing.
It's not surprising that most people just go home for the holidays. It's not only about Christmas, not just that it's a family holiday. At Hogwarts, it simply becomes… boring. There's nothing to do. I realized this by evening after I'd done so much magic and self-study that I actually got tired.
But on the positive side — I summed up the half-year. I'm progressing not by the day, but by the hour. The shards are extremely useful after all. The mere fact that somewhere in the subconscious there's a constantly spinning thought, practically an axiom, that I have practiced magic for not just one, but hundreds of years, allows me to easily master the practical side of wand magic. And perfect memory plus very high brain activity work beautifully with theoretical information.
So, summary.
The Hogwarts curriculum is an amazing thing.
Its incredible quality №1 — it provides a full-scale but shallow foundation for literally any kind of magic.
Quality №2 — if you study it too much, too efficiently, and with full dedication, it ends embarrassingly quickly.
I experienced both of these things firsthand. Rapid study, rapid mastery of all skills thanks to the peculiarities of my magic and physiology — and here I am, almost finished with seventh year. I didn't even notice, honestly! I just went through books in order, practiced charms and spells in the same order — ten or twenty repetitions and a new practical skill settles decently in my head; another twenty or thirty and I can even show off.
Of the school program, only a few subjects are noticeably or even significantly behind in practice, and there's one subject where theory lags behind just as badly.
Potions — I'm in no hurry here. While I've studied the theory up to mid-sixth year, I practice at exactly the pace Professor Snape sets for me and Daphne. Do I want to know more and earlier? A little. But I don't consider myself ready for independent brewing of complex potions yet. The complete set for Felix Felicis is still sitting untouched, and I haven't even thought about trying to make it.
Ancient Runes and Arithmancy — here I'm noticeably behind in theory, especially in Runes. Terribly complicated thing — dead languages where absolutely every nuance matters. It reminds me of Asian writing systems, only even more difficult when you add the magical interpretation.
With Arithmancy, everything is simple — it takes second-to-last place in time spent on it. Only Herbology gets less time — I understand it as if I've always known it perfectly. In some sense, that's true.
No need to even talk about Transfiguration. I feel that if I went up to McGonagall and said, "I know everything," she would believe me. And if she didn't — I would prove it. Simply put, I understood the essence of transfiguration back in the previous year, and everything after that is just complication and diving into deeper and deeper thickets. There's nothing fundamentally new there — just ever-increasing complexity. An amazing discipline, this transfiguration. It's boundless and at the same time damn limited.
In short — the results are good. For a schoolboy.
But I need to be more than just a successful schoolboy; otherwise, I can walk toward my goal forever. One shouldn't forget that a human won't live as long as an elf. Though I… I'll live two hundred years in excellent shape and excellent health, and maybe four hundred if I seriously start working with genetics.
That's why I'm already trying to study all theoretical magic as broadly and deeply as possible while I still have access to the Hogwarts library — later it will be much harder. All that's left is to get permission to visit the Restricted Section.
With these thoughts, I returned to the Hufflepuff common room, which was, as usual, crowded and rather noisy. I looked around at the familiar round windows, the soft dark-beige tones, wooden finishing, round arches leading to the boys' and girls' dormitories — and felt no negative response from the Dwarf shard. As an experiment, I imagined working with a heavy hammer on a complex sword, better yet — a battle-axe… and felt notes of pleasure. So the negative parts of the shards can be compensated? That's good.
Spotting Cedric in the company of his friends, I headed toward them.
"Hi everyone," I waved with a smile and received smiles back.
"Hi…"
"…heyyy."
"Mind if I join?" I nodded toward an empty spot on the sofa.
"Of course not, sit down," Tamsin, our short-haired Chaser, patted the place next to her.
"Oh, perfect," I quickly sat, and the girl immediately moved a little closer. "If you're trying to make Herbert jealous — it won't work."
"And why not?"
"A friend's girlfriend is not a woman to me," I even raised a didactic finger toward the ceiling for emphasis.
"And if she's beautiful?"
Herbert, sitting on the other side of Tamsin, didn't let me answer — he copied my gesture and waggled his finger in the air:
"Then he's not my friend!"
"Hee-hee-hee," everyone laughed at the rather stupid joke.
"No, mate," I shook my head reproachfully. "If she's beautiful — then it's a loophole."
"Ohhh, so that's allowed?" one of the older boys gaped in surprise and immediately got an elbow from his girlfriend, which caused another wave of chuckles.
"Cedric," I turned to the prefect who was enjoying peace and quiet on the sofa. "I wanted to ask — have you solved the egg riddle? Need any help?"
"I did solve it," he nodded, while the others immediately became more serious. "But it didn't make things much easier."
"Really? Care to enlighten me?"
"No problem," Cedric reluctantly leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Ahem… Seek where our voices might be heard, yet on land we are mute as fish. Seek, and know that we have taken what you will sorely miss. Seek quickly — only one hour is given to find and reclaim what we stole. Seek and remember: go on this journey, one hour only — after that, the stolen cannot be returned."
"That's not, I hope, a demonstration of your poetic talent?"
"No, Hector. That's the clue from the egg. It sounds like a song — but only underwater."
"Hm… Underwater?" I quickly ran through everything I knew about underwater dwellers. "Mermaids — their voices get distorted on the surface into screeching and howling. The Black Lake. One hour to search for something. Two questions: how to last an hour, and what will be taken."
"We came to the same conclusions," Tamsin nodded. "Just took us a bit longer."
"The question of how to last an hour isn't an issue," Cedric waved dismissively, and the others supported him.
"You're wrong," I disagreed.
"What do you mean?"
"What are you planning to use? Bubble-Head Charm?"
"Of course."
"It's very easy to disrupt, plus it doesn't let you cast verbal spells properly because of the difference between how you perceive your own voice and the surrounding space. Very, very bad option."
"As if there was a better one!" Herbert threw up his hands.
"You're a smart guy," Tamsin smiled at him in an exaggeratedly flattering but not offensive way. "Got any ideas?"
"Transfiguration, for example," I especially emphasized the last word.
"Who's the genius transfigurer here?"
"Lately — you," Cedric smiled. "Transfiguring oneself is very different from transfiguring everything around you."
"Agreed," nodded an unnamed dark-haired boy from Cedric's year. "Our prefect is great at any transfiguration except his own beloved self."
"Narcissus, obviously," grinned Cedric's year-mate Sandy Higgins.
"Yeah, yeah," Cedric smiled "for the audience". "It's not that bad."
"Alright, I get it — not transfiguration then. So…" Under everyone's attentive gazes, I thought for a moment but, to my shame, couldn't come up with anything suitable. Fine for me — I can just use raw will-magic. But the others rely on spells and charms.
"I see," Cedric smirked, "that you don't have any other options either."
"Seems like it."
"That's only half the trouble. What are they going to steal from us?"
"Speaking of 'steal'…" Everyone suddenly paid even more attention; even some passers-by stopped since there were no privacy charms around our little sofa group. "Does the condition of the task fall under the category of a magically binding contract?"
Silence. It seemed no one present had thought about this obvious and extremely important nuance.
"So…" Tamsin began thoughtfully, but Herbert immediately interrupted:
"Does that mean the condition will become magically real?"
"Exactly," I nodded. "And now it's worth seriously thinking about what exactly they plan to steal from the champions. Isn't it?"
The atmosphere changed slightly. If before everyone was just theorizing in a pleasant atmosphere, now they were genuinely concerned — both about the conditions of the second task and about the possible consequences of failure.
"Can that even happen?" asked a very serious Cedric. We had never seen him like this before.
"Possible…" Tamsin leaned back on the sofa, simultaneously poking Herbert, who was staring at some sixth-year girl passing by. "It's magic, after all."
"Tam-Tam, you're basically our house historian," I looked questioningly at the short-haired girl. "Any information or thoughts based on other sources?"
"I have thoughts," she nodded importantly. "But Hector, you have to understand — it's magic. If the conditions were agreed upon and passed through the Cup, and therefore through the contract in advance — then yes, it's quite possible."
"Damn…" Cedric looked upset. Seeing our questioning looks, he quickly explained: "I have a theory that they'll take people."
"People?!" A multi-voiced chorus of simultaneous exclamations filled the Hufflepuff common room.
"Yes. Very high probability."
"I agree with our prefect," I nodded, also leaning back on the sofa like Tamsin. "Such a task, with kidnapping, right after the Yule Ball where the judges and organizers could observe the champions from every angle. That's exactly how you can determine 'the most precious thing' that is within arm's reach."
"But that means…" Cedric looked at me just as seriously. "You and your sister are in danger."
"Me — hardly."
Not everyone immediately caught the catch, so I explained:
"Who remembers — was it ever said that relatives would come to support the champions in the second task?"
"Yes, it was mentioned," several people nodded.
"And who exactly, for example, from the champions' families?"
"Krum — mother and father. Delacour — mother, father, and little sister."
"There you go. Most likely it's Gabrielle Delacour who will be 'taken'."
"Alright, everyone," Cedric slapped his knees, drawing attention. "Who thinks the task conditions went through a binding contract?"
To my surprise, almost everyone raised their hands. I personally rate the probability as extremely high, and considering how ambiguously magical energy can react to a breach or, conversely, fulfillment of contract conditions — the consequences of failing this task can be extremely varied, and the most unpleasant part — up to and including fatal ones.
"How do we find out?" Herbert asked very briefly but very much to the point.
"I don't know…"
"And no one knows, Hector," Cedric leaned back. "No one… Too vague conditions. For example, just hypothetically…"
It seemed the prefect was calming himself down, and he was unusually gesticulating.
"They kidnap Cho. I don't manage to save her. What is the probability that they will leave her in the lake afterward?"
"Zero," I answered together with several others. "Dumbledore won't allow it."
"Exactly. So instant 'deprivation' is out."
"Hm… Cedric…"
"Yes, Hector?"
"The terms of 'never return' are not specified. It could be a delayed effect. For example, the kidnapped person suddenly dies some time later. Magic is easy like that. A brick falling from a roof at the right time and place would be enough for a human. Or even a butterbeer bottle thrown by a Gryffindor out of a window, hitting someone passing below the castle walls…"
"That's nonsense," the most light-minded of us, Herbert, waved it off. "No way."
"People are mortal, Herbert. And the worst part — suddenly mortal. Or can we consider that 'never return' means the champion himself will die soon? It's much easier to affect a direct contract participant than someone involved against their will."
"That's if against their will," the prefect nodded. "And what if they tell them in advance — okay, you'll sit in the lake for an hour, nothing dangerous."
"Fuck, guys…" I stood up and headed for the exit. "I need to think."
"Hector," Herbert called after me. I turned. "You're not going to tell, like, Krum about this open secret, right? He's the enemy, remember…"
Relatives are a sore subject for all shards. I didn't even notice how in one instant — literally the duration of one heartbeat — I appeared right in front of Herbert and was about to express everything I thought, possibly adding physical emphasis, but restrained myself, simply looking into his eyes.
"Listen carefully, friend…" My voice became extremely even.
They say that during rage people growl or their voice becomes threateningly low. In my case — nothing of the sort. Even, calm… absolute dead calm, just like on my face — not a trace of emotion.
"…we are talking about my sister's life. Every participant of this fucking tournament threw their own name into the Cup voluntarily. Betting their own life — their choice. It shouldn't concern other people. Want to stop me?"
"Um… calm down," Herbert got seriously scared, and the others even reached for their wands just in case. "I just meant that we shouldn't give Krum an advantage over Cedric…"
"So that Krum would lose and my sister could die?"
"It's not necessarily—"
"But you admit the possibility, don't you?"
"Enough, guys," Cedric rose from the sofa and stood between me and the suddenly very tense Herbert. He himself looked rather pale. "We all understood what Herbert meant and he definitely didn't mean anything bad."
"One should formulate one's thoughts more clearly, or be ready to answer for the consequences of unclear wording."
"And do you always do that yourself?"
"Ready to answer for any word right now. Alright. I'm going."
No one tried to stop me.
The Hogwarts corridors met me with light noise and bustle — curfew was approaching, those who hadn't made it or simply didn't want to get caught were returning to their common rooms. Not many students wander the castle after hours. But I didn't care — light irritation and growing anxiety were brewing inside, and I could do nothing about it.
I walked, thought, thought… thought. Many options how Cedric could complete the task faster than everyone else went through my head, but in the end I discarded them one by one until I stopped at a rather interesting variant — training apparition rings. A paired enchanted artifact (though calling it an "artifact" is too grand for them). Basically, one of the few things capable of creating a spatial breach for apparition that ignores Hogwarts' protections. Yes, there are limitations, but they can be easily bypassed. I think this is worth working on.
Walking down the corridor, I glanced out the window — it was already deep night. Time to head back so as not to get caught by anyone.
"Look at that, hic…" Polyakov stumbled toward me, holding a half-empty bottle of firewhisky. "Someone's wandering at night… stupid Mudblood."
He finished the last phrase in Russian, looking at me with drunken eyes.
"Go sleep it off, idiot," I threw over my shoulder, walking past, but Polyakov staggered and abruptly blocked my path, ending up very close.
"Nice meeting you… hic…"
Because of the too-close distance, I didn't manage to react properly to the instantaneous stab to the stomach. The pain was sharp and pierced right to the internal organs. Looked like the stiletto went into the liver, and it obviously wasn't ordinary.
"One more, one less…" Polyakov tried to pull the blade out, but I caught his hand, instantly stopping the bleeding and removing the pain with life-energy. "What the—?"
Holding the scum by the arm, I sharply struck his neck with my free hand, knocking him out. Not letting the body fall, I dragged him to the nearby classroom door. A couple of moments — and we were inside. With pure will-magic, I sealed the door and isolated the space around us in a small sphere — now no energy would leak out.
Dropping the guy's body on the floor (the bottle he was still clutching shattered, spraying glass and liquid everywhere), I crouched over him. A couple of slaps charged with life-energy and will-magic — and he came to, but was paralyzed.
"You know, Polyakov," I began the conversation, simultaneously stimulating regeneration of my own tissues. "I want to become a healer…"
"What the fuck are you doing?!" Polyakov could only speak. He was drunk, angry, and, apparently, not very smart. "Do you even know who my family is? You're finished, you filthy—"
"And like any healer," I continued, ignoring his words and creating an absurdly sharp, thin stiletto in my hand, "I need practice. Shall we begin?"
"You're finished…" Polyakov spat, though he could only lie spread-eagled on the floor and curse.
I took out my wand from the holster and applied a very strong Silencio on him — one that he definitely wouldn't be able to break. Polyakov wouldn't make a sound.
"You're already of age, fully adult," I kept saying, bringing the stiletto to his right side. "I let my peers get away with almost anything. But you should answer for your actions and words."
I slowly pushed the stiletto into his body — the instrument met no resistance at all. With magic, I prevented any bleeding. Pouring life-energy through the blade, I greatly amplified the response of his nerve endings. An expression of hellish pain twisted his face. I didn't let him slip away, didn't let him lose consciousness — life-energy combined with Enervate gives astonishingly stable and powerful results.
"How is it?" I asked, leaning over him. "Feeling it?"
I couldn't get any coherent reaction from the face contorted in agony, but I knew he heard every sound, and every word was being imprinted in his conscious and subconscious.
"Want to know," I pulled the stiletto out of the wound and a faint trace of relief appeared on his face, "why I use a knife?"
With a wand wave, I cast Vulnera Sanentur, heavily infused with life-energy. Polyakov's wound closed before our eyes.
"Spells are too fast," I nodded sagely, bringing the stiletto to his ribs, aiming for the lung. "You don't have time to truly enjoy…"
My hand once again began sinking the blade into Polyakov's body, this time puncturing the lung. He started convulsing because I continued to catastrophically amplify the sensitivity of his nerve endings.
Interesting — he hysterically burst into tears, wet himself, and soiled himself.
"Hm… You know," I pulled the stiletto out and reapplied the healing spell, generously laced with life-energy. "Oh, I see you have something to say?"
I dispelled Silencio, but was ready to reapply it any second.
"Enough… pff… khh…" Polyakov choked on his own tears, only not gurgling blood thanks to the healing. "Mercy… I won't…"
"Mm, allow me to continue," I reapplied the muting charm. "You know, right at this very last moment…"
Hearing my words, Polyakov's face contorted into a desperate howl and crying.
"…a person's true nature is revealed."
Without further preamble, I began stabbing different places on Polyakov's body with the stiletto, causing a variety of effects, and immediately healing them. The most unpleasant part was that during this excruciating, extremely excruciating process, death-energy was emanating into the space. I had to "catch" it. It went through the stiletto into me, but I knew it couldn't be allowed to disperse — I immediately redirected it back into Polyakov's body, amplifying the torment and suffering even more.
"So…" I finished the "procedure", having healed all wounds on this completely soiled, slobbering, snotty body with burst capillaries in his eyes. "Now I know you better than your own mother ever did."
Crouching next to this utterly disgusting character, I began waving my wand, cleaning everything up — his clothes, himself, healed even the trauma he received. Trained the spell, yes. Removed all traces of his bodily fluids and so on. The guy lay with a dull, half-empty stare, but he was still here, hadn't drifted away, hadn't lost consciousness.
"The funniest part," I stood up. "Is that no matter how much you erase a person's memory, some effects remain. Traumatic memories can be wiped, but the effect cannot be erased."
I hit Polyakov with a strong Enervate, returning clarity to his gaze. The moment he saw me, real, animal fear appeared in his eyes. What a weakling… The Dwarf shard fed me a memory of how its owner was tortured for four days and four nights. What I did now was just a warm-up, a check — is the client conscious?
With a final wand wave, I pointed the tip straight at his head, formed the necessary mental image — an extremely clear, maximally combined and complete command.
"Obliviate."
The tip of the wand glowed greenish. Polyakov's face became even more stupid than before.
I turned and walked out of the classroom — he would soon regain consciousness and think he simply got way too drunk, and the broken bottle was far from the first one.
I reached the common room quickly and without problems. Room, changing clothes, bed. What could be better than a deep sleep after a productive day?
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