Sunday brought good weather, which pleased all the students. When the sun is shining—even if it's not warming things up that much yet—it's still far better than a gloomy sky with a biting wind. It's exactly the kind of weather that fosters good spirits while watching a Quidditch match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw.
Like many other Hogwarts students, I attended the game, even though I wasn't rooting for a specific team. Sitting in the stands among other Hufflepuffs, Cedric and I actively followed the play, studying the Slytherins' style, since we'd be playing them soon. Although, to be honest, Cedric kept getting distracted by the Ravenclaw Seeker—Cho Chang. I had to admit, the Chinese girl was quite pretty, and she stood out very, very strongly among the Europeans, drawing attention.
The Slytherins played rough, almost on the verge of fouling, thereby smashing Ravenclaw's intricate tactics. I imagine the Ravens felt quite insulted by such a graphic demonstration of the superiority of audacity and brute force over tactics and intellect. Oh well, it's a school game—if the talk in our team is to be believed, the situation is reversed in the professional league, where tactics and talent rule.
Slytherin won, all in all, but the score gap wasn't phenomenal—forty points. Apparently, the Ravens decided to use our tactic against the Slytherins, who play in essentially the same style as the Gryffindors—Ravenclaw wanted to win on goal difference. The only problem is they don't have "pilots" of my level, and without total superiority from the Chasers, the goal difference tactic is unfeasible.
After the match, our crowd of students from different years hurried to the Great Hall—we needed to discuss everything and fuel up properly. After all, it was still winter, and actively supporting the players required energy.
After lunch, the guys and I headed to the common room to do every conceivable bit of homework and just goof off. As it turned out, the goofing off was cancelled: due to the match, club activities were called off, so we ended up in our favorite abandoned classroom, practicing various charms and spells while polishing off tea and pastries we'd snagged from the kitchen.
When it was almost time for dinner, we decided to wrap up our magical gathering and headed for the Great Hall. Passing one of the classrooms, we couldn't help but be interested in the voices of Professor Lupin and Potter drifting through the slightly open doors.
"...already not bad, Harry. Really not bad," Lupin was praising Potter.
"Yes, Professor. But it's just a Boggart. I'm not sure if I could handle real Dementors on the field."
"You will handle it, Harry, I believe in you. And it seems we have guests. Come in..."
Exchanging glances, our whole crowd spilled into the rather lavishly furnished office. There was a pile of various artifacts in the form of spherical models of different planets with their moons, and on a slightly raised platform, clearly intended for magic practice, stood candles shaped like human spines. A rather peculiar place.
"Professor," I entered first, taking it upon myself to greet him on behalf of the others. "We didn't mean to interrupt, we were just passing by."
"Mr. Granger... Finch-Fletchley, Abbott, Bones, Macmillan, Smith. Wandering Hogwarts in full force? Commendable," Lupin smiled friendlily, adjusting his slightly sagging old brown jumper.
I've noticed more than once or twice that Professor Lupin always looks as if he's saying, "Things used to be better." But it must be noted that his DADA lessons are quite informative and diverse, with practice and demonstrations of aggressive representatives of magical fauna. Small and nasty representatives, but potentially dangerous ones. Take Hinkypunks, for example—little ghostly creatures with one leg that hop over bog tussocks, luring travelers with the glow of a lantern in their hands that looks material. They possess a mild hypnotic effect, which makes them dangerous, but only in swamps. Lupin simply loved demonstrating such various small, nasty creatures, and along with that, explaining how to fight them with minimal damage or bypass them entirely.
"What are you doing?" curious Hannah asked immediately, beating a shy Susan to the punch.
"Oh, we, along with Mr. Potter here, are studying the Patronus Charm."
"Oh, really?" Susan exclaimed joyfully. "We've been studying it too, and we're even starting to get results, see..."
Potter looked surprised, glancing briefly at a huge locked trunk.
"Indeed?" with a slight smile, Lupin looked us all over. "And how is your progress?"
Justin decided to answer, taking a step forward.
"Mist and shield forms. Close to corporeal, but I think we just need to push a bit harder for success," Justin glanced at me questioningly, but I just shrugged. "And Hector successfully creates a wave form but doesn't want to make a corporeal one. I do the corporeal one, but... It falls apart quickly..."
"Mr. Granger?" an obvious question was readable on Lupin's face, while Potter looked completely dejected, sitting on the step in front of the platform where he and the professor stood.
"I don't really want to know what form my Corporeal Patronus takes," I shrugged. "What if it's some kind of cockroach?"
My suggestion elicited chuckles from those present.
"If it's suddenly a cockroach, it will strike a heavy blow to my sense of self-grandeur. I, you know, plan to become an excellent Healer and a strong, if not great, wizard in general. It'll be hard to call myself 'great' if my Patronus is shaped like a cockroach. As it is, the wave Patronus is powerful, chases Dementors tooth and nail—and that's fine by me."
"Yes, indeed," Lupin tilted his head and leaned against the desk behind him, "that would be problematic. But I must praise you—the wave Patronus is mastered by few. Right, students..."
Lupin pushed off from the desk.
"Dinner time is approaching. It would be sad if we were late for it, or worse—missed it."
We moved briskly to the Great Hall, which was already full of people. Potter, first thing, headed to the High Table, and judging by everything, asked McGonagall about the broom again. Receiving a negative answer, he headed dejectedly to his house table.
After dinner, I planned, as always, to either take a walk, engage in self-study, or sit in the common room with the guys, but I inadvertently overheard the conversations of careless Slytherin second-years, right around the corner from the Great Hall doors. They were talking about a Dueling Club for the "chosen," and this elective was led by none other than Snape and Flitwick.
The latter, by the way, if conversations in the common room were to be believed, had repeatedly tried to create a school-wide Dueling Club, but something always went wrong, and so badly that the whole idea collapsed like a house of cards. So, apparently, he limited himself to a small "underground" club. Why do I put "underground" in quotes even in my thoughts? I highly doubt that any organized activity within the school walls remains outside the Headmaster's knowledge, which means all this "secrecy" is inflated.
Catching the main point—that "you need to ask Flint"—I naturally decided to find Flint. This wasn't difficult; I just had to return to the Great Hall. The burly seventh-year, and Beater for his house Quidditch team to boot—everyone knew him. He was standing by the house table, talking to two guys and a girl. I headed straight for them.
"Mr. Flint, if I'm not mistaken."
"Precisely," the big guy shifted his gaze to me, adding a touch of mockery and arrogance. Just like his companions. "Hector Granger?"
"Precisely. I'll get straight to the point. I want in the Dueling Club. Requirements and conditions?"
"Straight off the bat, huh?" the guy smirked. "I respect directness."
"Marcus..." his companion started to say something.
"Tsk," Flint hissed at him, and he fell silent. "Since that's the case, I'll answer directly. We don't just let anyone into our club. But..."
He even decided to hold a dramatic pause.
"I can recommend you after a test, that's firstly. And secondly..." Flint walked up almost close enough to touch, and funnily enough, it turns out I've grown a bit in the last six months. "You will explain to me, Granger, why in Mordred's name you fly a broom like that? And what kind of broom is it?"
"Oh, no problem. Sleipnir. Completely without limiters, without brakes or other mechanisms. With the ability to throw all power sharply onto a single vector, rather than a cone or hemisphere."
As I gave the brief explanation, the guys' eyes involuntarily widened in surprise, which I found quite amusing.
"And I fly like that because I'm completely crazy and have a good sense of the space around me."
None of this was a secret anyway; almost everyone in my House knew about it. So if he wanted to know, he would have found out. In the end, I sold completely free goods for a price.
"You... How did you not end up in Gryffindor with that approach?" Flint smirked, while the others shook their heads. "Alright. A deal's a deal. Tomorrow after dinner in Room 302."
"They have numbers?"
"Tsk... Muggle-borns... Traditionally, the classrooms are numbered by the students themselves, and the scheme is simple. Three is the floor number. The rest is the door number from the entrance, clockwise."
"Logical. Got it. I'll be there. What do I need to know?"
"Something from defense and attack. I'll see what you know and how you cast in general. But keep in mind, if you cast like crap, don't even think about the club. We have enough of our own, as the Head of House would say, with hands growing from anatomically incorrect places."
"Hey, Marcus, don't diss your own..." interjected the same guy who wanted to reproach Flint earlier.
"Can't get offended at the truth," Flint waved him off. "Is that all?"
"Yes. Good evening."
Turning around, I walked away from the Great Hall. If everything works out, I'll even find myself a club, which is not bad at all. I wonder what a local magical duel looks like? Of course, I'm one hundred percent sure that primarily, dueling is a tradition of the "privileged" part of magical society, but that doesn't make the action itself any less interesting. And I can annoy the particularly radical kids if everything goes well.
Eh, if only they'd remove the Dementors from the castle—life wouldn't just be life, it would be a song!
---------------
Give me Powerstones if you like the story.
If you want to read 60+ advanced chapters, you can do so on my Patreon.
Patreon(.)com/TheRedSpell