Chapter 33. The End of Winter Holidays
Christmas had passed, and our lives gradually began to return to their usual routine—except now it included our new sister and Sirius, who wasn't particularly thrilled about spending the night in the house he grew up in, but for the sake of being with his daughter, he forced himself to do it. We also got frequent visits from Nymphadora Tonks, whom we personally took to a department where she could read about metamorphmagus abilities and finally get a better understanding of her powers, instead of fumbling in the dark like a blind kitten.
Speaking of the Tonkses: the morning after Christmas, we had a conversation with our aunt. At first, she refused to believe that the Malfoys—and especially her sister—were in any way involved in the deaths of Sirius's children, but all it took was to give Kreacher a direct order to tell the truth as it happened, and she had no reason left to doubt. The fact was undeniable: even if Narcissa had no idea what her husband used the house-elf for, her command was what made this tragedy possible. Andromeda was truly upset: as unjustly as she'd been treated by her family, she was still a Black at heart and certainly didn't wish for the family's downfall. And Sirius was perhaps the person she was closest to, so it was even more unbearable for her. And if they dared to kill Sirius's children, what guarantee was there that her own daughter wouldn't be in danger one day?
All of this led to the Tonkses, who had only mildly disapproved of their daughter becoming an Auror before, now turning radically against the idea. It was far too easy to frame a servant of the law, as they explained to her. Because of this, she started visiting our house often, trying to think of what she might do after graduation if her original career choice was no longer an option. At the same time, she sparred with us—after all, we hadn't dropped dueling, and the magical world was a dangerous place, so knowing how to defend yourself was important.
"This is absurd! I'm six years older and I feel like a complete klutz!" we once overheard her complaining to Sirius after one of our training sessions.
"Ahem, you know, you really shouldn't worry about that so much," Sirius started, trying hard to look like a reliable adult.
She just looked at him silently, as if wondering whether it was really worth talking to such an unreliable man.
"Don't look at me like that, I'm absolutely serious: even Dumbledore thinks that, as wizards, they're an absolute anomaly, which means comparing yourself to them is a particularly twisted way to torment yourself. Where an ordinary wizard their age would be lucky to train magic for even an hour without getting exhausted, they can go a whole day without even getting winded, you know? Add to that the fact that they've been intensively training magic for half their lives, and it turns out they've probably already cast more spells than you have in your whole life. And the gap is only going to widen from now on, so I'm telling you—don't worry."
Incidentally, this conversation was overheard by Kreacher, who immediately reported it to us. We didn't really care, except perhaps we were a little surprised that Sirius was sometimes capable of seeming like a reliable adult. And unfortunately, the holidays weren't very long, so when they were over, we didn't have much time left to visit home, though we still trained with Tonks occasionally—only this time in the dueling club, which we'd introduced her to. There, her heart was put at ease, as she saw that compared to her peers, her skill level was still above average.
Meeting Hermione after the holidays was quite pleasant—even the way she puffed up like a hamster because we hadn't written to her was rather cute. Why hadn't we written? Honestly, we're just not that drawn to socializing. So while we enjoy her company and genuinely consider her a friend, we're not particularly interested in spending much time on correspondence, waiting for replies from a few hours to a whole day. In this regard, wizards are far behind Muggles, who can simply talk on the phone, while paired mirrors are rare and expensive. Which is exactly what we, not sugarcoating it, told her—causing her to puff up indignantly again. Still, she resigned herself to our character and unilaterally declared that our main focus for the next term would be creating a set of paired mirrors.
Then, we had a conversation with the headmaster, who was definitely pleased that we hadn't rushed to study the most dangerous and advanced spell in the gift he'd given us.
"Vega, today I want to discuss an extremely important topic with you, one concerning responsibility and self-control," Dumbledore began seriously. The corners of our mouths twitched in unison at what he said. Honestly, we weren't thrilled when he'd drift from teaching magic into philosophical lectures.
"I see you don't like this topic, but it's important. Even the most saintly person, if placed in the right environment, can unintentionally become a villain. People are constantly influenced by countless factors, and in moments when someone feels all-powerful or thinks they're free from consequences, they may start crossing boundaries of morality and human decency—no matter how upstanding they seemed before. The only thing that distinguishes people from one another is the ability to tell oneself 'no'."
We listened silently, not trying to interrupt, knowing full well that if he deemed this lesson important, then it was more vital than any other taught at Hogwarts.
"Tell me, child, do you remember the day of the troll attack?"
"Yes," we nodded.
"You had the option to simply wait a moment, and the person you, at the very least, dislike, could have died. Yet you managed to overcome dark thoughts and do the right thing. But believe me—very few would have done the same."
"This phenomenon has a name—the Lucifer Effect. It's called that due to the corruption of human hearts. History knows many examples where once-righteous people, gaining power over others, became tyrants and committed atrocities that went against all morality. Worse still, remembering their righteousness, such people typically have many followers who blindly obey their authority. The clearest examples of this in the magical world would be Grindelwald, Voldemort… and myself," the last words were especially hard for the old man to say.
"You?" we asked. After all, who even talks about themselves in such negative terms?
"Sadly, it's true. In my time, I was far too arrogant, thinking myself above everyone else, and I paid the price. I hope I've become better, but even so, it's clear I still have followers who trust me blindly. But that's a topic for another day. More important now is the issue of dehumanization—when someone is no longer seen as human, and thus it becomes easy to disregard moral standards toward them. These might be Muggle criminals, on whom some wizards experiment, thinking they won't be caught—people who no longer see criminals as human and easily sacrifice their lives. And also Death Eaters,"—at these last words Dumbledore looked at us especially intently, making us a little uncomfortable.
"In the future, I ask you, when you encounter such people, to remember that, outside the environment that influenced them, they still have families, within which they seem completely ordinary, respectable people."
"We'll try," we promised, bending the truth a bit. In a way, he was right: to us, Death Eaters had long stopped being people—they were just parasites, hard to get rid of.