We spent a little more time with Herbert showing me various bows, greeting wand waves, how to hold oneself, and other dueling etiquette. In the end, he promised to make a copy of the book, and if I prove myself well, a list of spells and their possible combinations that are acceptable to use in a duel without being considered bad form or outright overkill.
"Is there anything interesting?" I asked when we had beaten Herbert's long-suffering but completely unharmed dummy with magic many, many times, and about thirty minutes remained until dinner. "And what about Protego Totalum and Protego Maxima?"
"Stationary ones? Nah, won't work," Herbert shook his head. "First, it's wild bad form for any duel. Second... They take a long time to create, and once created—need to be saturated. They are more group-oriented, but with proper preparation, of course, can be organized. They can hold for hours, and protect better against physical objects."
"By the way, how is protection against material objects implemented in general?"
"The faster it flies, the easier it deflects," Herbert shrugged. "But, suppose, if you throw a stone at a normal Protego, the shield will let it through. But Protego Totalum or Maxima—will absorb the energy of the throw, and the stone will just fall right there."
"Understood. Nothing like that was mentioned in the books."
"You bet! So... Something special for you... There is, in short, a whole branch of spells related to a whip. You know, like a Muggle one, only magical."
"Suppose," I nodded.
"So-o-o... There is a spell that turns a wand into a whip. It's like alive, can shrink, grow, while retaining the wand's capabilities. And if you cut it off there, it becomes a wand again."
"That is, with such a whip I can, for example, go through Protego and create a spell at the tip?"
"Technically—yes. Practically..." Herbert pondered, hand on chin. "It's not easy at all. Let me show you..."
Herbert made an uncomplicated wand pass, looking more like a bunch of loops.
"Flagellavertum," his dark brown wand instantly turned into a whip, which, contrary to physics, without much help from the hand, behaved... Like a whip. "So-o-o..."
Herbert jerked his wrist slightly to the side, and the whip quickly surged up and cracked against the dummy's head, lengthening to ten meters—that was the distance. After the strike, the whip almost instantly returned to a length of three meters.
"Obeys the will, but Morgana be my grandmother, forgiveness if simply..." clear tension was readable on Herbert's face. "Right. Now I'll try with a spell. Put up Protego just in case. At the moment of impact. Can you?"
"No problem."
"Well, you asked for it..."
I watched Herbert's movements, and the moment he was about to strike, I cast Protego Duo, creating a double-layered shield. Herbert jerked his hand with the whip again, and it, just like last time, rushed in a wave toward the dummy's head. At the last moment, the tip of the whip described a simple loop as it moved, and Herbert clearly pronounced "Bombarda." At the moment the whip tip cracked against the dummy's head, an explosion rang out, throwing the dummy back.
"Yo-ho!" Herbert exclaimed, but because of his joy almost lost control of the whip and nearly whipped himself. "Ah-you-son-of-a..."
The guy blurted out the last phrase in one word, but managed to cancel the transformation of the wand into a whip at the last moment.
"Phew..." he exhaled. "No way, I'm not going to Pomfrey with a face slashed for the fifth time by my own magic. Want to try?"
"I do."
"They didn't put your sister in Gryffindor for nothing. Blood isn't water... Well, you saw the movement. I'll tell you a secret—it's all in your head. Hands help direct, set the tempo, sharpness, but hand movements are consciousness triggers."
"I understood. I know some nuances of magic."
"If anything, I have potions handy," Herbert opened the right side of his robe, showing a whole bandolier of elongated vials with potions. "For all possible injuries, except death—magic is powerless here."
Focusing, I waved my wand.
"Flagellavertum."
The wand quickly turned into a whip, and control of consciousness and magic allowed it to fall like a completely ordinary one and not move.
"I feel great envy in my soul," Herbert nodded importantly. "Try manipulating it."
Clearly imagining what I needed, I directed magic along the whip in a thin, dense string. The whip came to life and started acting like a snake hanging in the air, threatening, swaying, while I held it as if by the tail.
"So..." Herbert broke into a most satisfied smile. "Try creating a spell on the tip of the whip. Let's start with safe. Lumos."
Shrugging, I forced the tip of the whip to make the correct movement... Although, for Lumos—it's not difficult. Literally poked the tip into space, and that tip lit up.
"Excellent."
"Nox," I cancelled Lumos, and the whip tip went out. "Amusing sorcery."
"How do you control everything like that?"
"Same as the broom."
"Ah-h-h, right! For you it's a piece of cake. And you feel the space around you!!!" here Herbert almost jumped in place. "That's how one can... Ooh! And no, I won't tell anyone."
"Yeah. Ooh. Just like that. And what other spells can be created? And thanks for not telling."
"Any," Herbert answered joyfully. "Just remember—they don't fly off the whip, but are transferred at the tip. That is, contact with something is needed. Try..."
"And Protego?"
"Honestly? Didn't try."
Focusing, I forced the tip of the whip to portray the spell gesture, simultaneously saying: "Protego." A shield appeared on the tip, positioned perpendicular to that very tip.
"Hmm... Well that's it, my student," Herbert announced with feigned importance. "With such a skill, school duels will be submissive to you, and much more."
"I didn't even know about such things..." I hesitated. "Well, about the whip, spells from the tip, and so on."
"You just haven't reached the necessary sections of the library yet. I can say, mate, that I thought of this myself. Of course, father already knew, mom too... I think there are quick-witted ones among other guys too. But it's hard to master—too much practice needed in magic, in self-control, in visualization, and generally in everything. Get distracted slightly, let consciousness release control over the whip, and it will immediately live its own life, obeying spontaneous thoughts and images in the head."
"That's dangerous."
"Yep. The first time I created this whip... lash... call it what you want," Herbert waved it off. "Anyway, my nose itched. I didn't even think to scratch it, didn't even pay attention."
"I can even guess what happened."
"Exactly. Scratched it. With the whip."
"Good thing the nose, not something else."
Herbert paled.
"I was a step away from tragedy!" the guy threw his hands to the ceiling, but smiled. "Got lucky. So... Know Bombarda?"
"No."
"Hmm... Well yes, fourth year, it seems... Look," Herbert took his wand, made another pass, pronouncing: "Bombarda."
No beams, nothing—as if shot from a cannon at the dummy—an explosion occurred on the surface of the miracle dummy, knocking it over. A powerful explosion, like during the creation of the same spell with the whip.
"Memorized? If you cast Bombarda successfully now for the first time, and with the whip too... I... I'll be shocked. I'll even start training intensively as a Keeper, and not just for pleasure."
"Well, you said it yourself," I shrugged, smiling, and forced the tip of the whip to make the correct movement, quietly muttering: "Bombarda." At the same time, I directed the whip itself in a wave motion at the dummy.
A sharp blow and explosion once again knocked over the miraculously surviving, and immediately rising like a roly-poly toy, dummy.
"That's it. You're a talent! Don't know why you need all this and who you're going to duel, but go and tear them all apart. And I'll go eat away my grief—dinner is just starting."
"Oh, really," cancelling the whip transformation, I returned the wand to its holster.
Herbert quickly turned the dummy back into a ball, and we left the classroom, heading for dinner in the Great Hall.
Naturally, there was noise from students talking, the multi-voiced ringing and clattering of cutlery on plates. Having eaten quickly, I hurried to leave the house table almost first, heading to the third floor to the classroom agreed upon with Flint. Checking the space around with a simple search spell to reveal at least anything, I found nothing special and entered the room—empty. In one of the books I read about the spell Homenum Revelio—one of the variations of the ordinary revealing Revelio. Applied it—no one in the room.
For a couple of minutes I simply inspected the tables and chairs stacked against the walls, the slight dustiness, the lamps on the ceiling that started working with my appearance here. I brightened up the waiting time by using cleaning magic, removing dust from everywhere with its help.
"You, I see, are already here?" big Flint entered the room silently, as it seemed to him.
"Yes. Waiting."
"Excellent. Not much time. What do you know about duels?" the Slytherin immediately began the interrogation, leaning against one of the tables at the entrance and crossing his arms over his chest.
Well, I started answering, extremely briefly and to the point. Flint was satisfied with the answers.
"Classic duel—'Gentleman's Set'?" he asked, and naturally, immediately received an answer.
"Good. Not bad, for a Muggle-born who hasn't been in our world for a year. Practice. To hell with bows, defend yourself."
Marcus immediately snatched his wand.
"Stupefy," he cast quite slowly, but clearly on purpose.
"Protego Reflecto," I answered immediately, putting up a reflecting shield at the right time and in the right place, hitting the "timing" exactly, if that term is applicable here at all.
The Stupefy clot reflected and whistled past the temple of the guy, who didn't even dodge.
"Cla-a-assic," Flint grinned, showing a not-so-even row of teeth. "Yourself?"
"Stupefy Duo," I delivered at the same speed as Marcus.
"Protego Duo," the Slytherin used a more reliable and simple way to defend.
We didn't shout the spells, but spoke loudly enough for them to be heard. For another five minutes we sluggishly exchanged various spells, including all sorts of Everte Statum, Glacius, Impedimenta, movement slowing, and so on.
"Well, that's conditionally combat," Flint nodded, stopping the sluggish duel. "Know anything jokingly safe? It also makes sense."
"Like tickling charms? Or leg-locking? Silencio? Sticking tongue to palate? Slug-vomiting?"
"Ha! Slug-vomiting? Need to remember that, funny. So. I understood that you're familiar with the essence of duels, etiquette too, there is a stock of spells—not ashamed to bring you. Can you go faster than now, Granger?"
"Don't know, haven't tried," although I know I can.
"Well, you'll find out in the club. That's it, let's go, or Flitwick will get offended. Too sore a subject for him—the impossibility of organizing a normal club."
We left the classroom, and reaching the stairs, headed down. Second floor, first, dungeons.
"In your territory?" I asked Flint walking ahead.
"Yep," he answered simply. "Actually, the club has a long history. Just as long as Flitwick's teaching tenure at Hogwarts. The club opened and closed. There were times when Flitwick led only three students in general. The rottenest times were, if the professor is to be believed, when the Slug Club became particularly popular."
"Slug Club?"
"Disgusting name..."
I caught up with Flint while we walked through the dungeons.
"Back then the Head of Slytherin was Professor Slughorn. So he organized the Slug Club—a meeting place for terribly important, significant, rich, talented people. Collected students, building connections. Naturally, everyone rushed there."
"Don't consider it rude, but you are very talkative towards a Muggle-born."
"Ah, don't flatter yourself," Flint waved it off. "We are not friends or comrades. But I try to hold the opinion that everyone can be useful in life. No sense in treating someone rudely until he shows that he deserves only that."
"Normal point of view."
"You bet. History tells us that not once or twice Muggle-borns achieved strikingly much. Strikingly, for non-purebloods. Who knows, maybe you specifically will become Minister for Magic?" Flint stopped at a nondescript portrait with an underwater landscape. "You'll become Minister, and you'll know that look, there is such a wizard from the Flint family, name's Marcus. Harbors no sympathies for Muggle-borns, but separates business and personal."
Flint knocked on the painting. A painted mermaid literally swam up to us, scary as nuclear war.
"Ultima Veritas," said Flint, and the painting slid aside, opening a passage.
A very short corridor, literally half a meter, and behind it—a spacious hall where quiet conversations of students could be heard.
"Follow me," Flint nodded to me and went first.
Of course, I didn't lose vigilance and was ready for any scenario. But in the end, nothing terrible happened. The hall was indeed large, but not Great, of course. Along one of the walls stood bookcases. Nearby were sofas and armchairs, tables with plenty of snacks, sweets, carafes of juice or tea sets. There were many sofas and armchairs, but all stood so that the large dueling platform could be seen. The lighting here was excellent—many magical lamps under the ceiling created an even, soft yellowish light. But not blinding and not too bright.
There were quite a few students here, but mostly Ravens and Snakes of different ages. Different, but not younger than third year for sure. From my year I spotted Daphne and Pansy sitting on a sofa, drinking tea and writing something in notebooks and parchments. Looks like they're just doing homework here. Draco was here too, but only with Goyle; Nott sat opposite him—they were actively discussing something, gesturing with their hands. The other Slytherins were older and not personally introduced to me, nor familiar.
Ravenclaw was represented, besides Professor Flitwick personally, by twelve senior students, and two younger ones, fourth year, it seems. They all split into pairs, discussing something, demonstrating to each other, characteristically waving pencils—showing spells or discussing them.
Our appearance attracted some attention, but far from all present. First thing, Flitwick noticed us and joyfully trotted in our direction.
"Mr. Flint, you brought a newcomer? What joy!" the professor clapped his hands, looked at me, recognized, was surprised. "Mr. Granger?"
"Yes, good evening, Professor," I nodded respectfully.
The professor spoke quite loudly, and therefore, hearing my surname, Malfoy and Nott abruptly stood at attention. The latter, judging by the delayed movements, just for company.
"What did he forget here?" Draco started speaking quietly, but the resumed noise of conversations drowned out the remark from very many.
"Well then... Mr. Flint, how is Mr. Granger?"
"Will do. Knows what's needed, can do it, it works out. I'm off to mine, Professor. And yes, who do we start with?"
"We have, if you remember, a theoretical day today, but... In honor of the newcomer... And why invent?" the tiny wizard was surprised. "Since Mr. Granger can already do something, let's put him up first thing. Against someone from the fresh blood."
"Hmm? How about Malfoy?" Flint asked quietly, smiling. "He's been doing nothing but warming sofas with his ass for half a year..."
"How uncultured," the professor reproached Flint, but the latter didn't think of being reproached.
"He has a grudge against Granger anyway. Besides, haven't watched newcomers screw around for a long time."
"Forced to admit," Flitwick nodded. "That Mr. Malfoy indeed somewhat... Does not meet expectations. I remember Lucius was marvelously good at duels."
Flitwick cast a short glance at the most beautiful cabinet, previously unnoticed by me. There stood awards, shields, cups, diplomas. There was even a large shelf for a somewhat peculiar board of honor.
"Eh... And young Narcissa was good. Diamonds!" squeaked Flitwick. "Yeah... Well, Mr. Granger?"
"Yes, Professor?"
"How do you look at a training duel with Mr. Malfoy?"
"Why not?"
"That's wonderful!" Flitwick rushed like a small hurricane toward the table where Malfoy sat with his comrades.
"Well, and I'll go to mine," Flint grinned. "Let's see who's worth what. Come on, Granger, don't let me down. I brought you and shame will fall on my already not most chic head if you fail."
A minute later, Malfoy and I stood close to each other on the dueling platform, Flitwick adjusted protective charms for the spectators, and Snape, who looked in here, helped him. What did he forget here? Who knows. A couple of seniors from Ravens and Snakes also busied themselves with pulling out wands and preparing to cover the spectators if something went wrong.
"You're finished, Granger," Malfoy hissed quietly at me, making a terribly severe face. "Now you'll learn how much better a pureblood wizard is than you, mudblood."
"Mr. Malfoy," I made a surprised face. "Do you also hear this squeak? Nasty one, like a mosquito got into Hogwarts in winter."
"So," Flitwick's voice rang out, and Draco and I saluted each other with wands as if on command. "Separate, gentlemen."
The elf shard couldn't help but influence the manner of my movements in such conditions, and I myself couldn't and didn't want to move clumsily and sluggishly after my physical training. Smoothly, but fast, sharply, but not jerkily. Counting fifteen steps, stood, turned around, with a fluid continuous movement stood in a stance, but somewhat more... elevated, perhaps?
"Three, two, one... Fight!" commanded Flitwick.
I became interested in what Malfoy would show, although since that skirmish at the Owlery hardly anything changed much.
"Slugulus Eructo!" shouted Draco, casting an offensive spell with quite average speed.
Average. Slightly faster than the lazy check from Flint. Reflect or absorb with normal Protego? While I thought, a misty and bright green clot flew in my direction leisurely, for my perception. Nah, if I reflect, everything will end too quickly.
"Protego," I created a shield film quietly and timely, and at the same moment the clot crashed into it, being absorbed and disappearing along with the shield.
"Stupefy," I cast somewhat faster than Malfoy, but far from maximum. Even had to hold back.
Made the spell weak, but fast. The whitish clot hit Draco, who didn't manage to defend himself, in the chest, pushing lightly and making him fall on his ass. Quiet chuckles in the hall mixed with words: "So weak?".
Draco jumped up, and sent a Stupefy at me himself. I reflected it, catching the spell timing exactly and creating Protego Reflecto. A moment, and the spell flies back at Malfoy, and he was preparing not defense at all—attack. Thought I wouldn't put up Reflecto. Correctly thought, actually—according to Herbert, not a skill for my year. In general, the spell weakened during reflection, and Malfoy fell on his ass again. Jumped up again and started showering me with various unpleasant offensive spells, designed either to stick legs together, or laugh, or cry, or the same Stupefy.
Draco was angry, and the casting speed increased slightly. But it seems this is his limit. What did he start with? Slugulus Eructo? Okay, I'll reflect his slow Expelliarmus first.
"Slugulus Eructo," I cast an equally fast green cloud very quickly.
I was about to send a spell at him forcing him to keep his mouth shut, but Malfoy actually defended nicely with Protego and even in the Duo modification, if I heard his shout correctly. In the end, I got bored somehow.
"Avis," a flock of small birds broke from the wand, rushing at high speed toward Malfoy. He defended with Protego Duo, which wasn't necessary—the birds popped into feathers. But!
"Aqua Eructo," I turned every feather into ten liters of water, drenching Draco from feet to shoulders.
"Duro," with the last spell I forced the water to harden.
Malfoy froze like an idol, starting to slowly topple backward.
"Hey?!" he was indignant, since his head was dry, and consequently, remained mobile. "What is this?!"
Malfoy fell on his back like a statue and tilted sideways a bit because of the pose.
"I suppose," Professor Flitwick rubbed his hands. "The winner of the duel both on points and in fact becomes Mr. Granger. Colleagues?"
The professor looked at Snape and a couple of seniors who were insuring the other spectators.
"However regrettable," Snape began dryly. "But I am forced to admit that Mr. Granger surpasses Mr. Malfoy. At the moment."
"Likewise," nodded the seniors.
"Then, render assistance to Mr. Malfoy," Flitwick pointed a hand toward the defeated opponent. "And you, Mr. Granger, how do you feel?"
"Unchanged, Professor."
"Another duel? With a more serious opponent, so you don't think everything is so smooth."
"I don't mind."
"Hmm... McLaggen?" Flitwick looked around the students sitting on sofas or standing in groups.
"Here, Professor!" a horribly pompous guy in dark clothes emphasizing an athletic build rose from an armchair.
Incredible self-conceit was readable on the face of this curly but short-haired guy, and his lips curved in a disdainful smile.
"Put on a robe, McLaggen," Professor Flitwick didn't appreciate the gesture.
"As you say, Professor," ignoring the disdainful smirks of the other guys, the guy put on a Gryffindor robe and headed to the platform with an important but fast step.
"Take Mr. Malfoy's place, let's do without preludes," Snape gave instructions, and Flitwick nodded.
Greeting, bow, stance. Countdown, and off it went.
"Confringo," shouted the guy, and I had to defend with a normal Protego, for the speed of the invisible spell was unknown to me. Flash of the shield, absorption—half a second flight time.
"Expulso..."
Another invisible spell. The guy has a brain, but he's too proud of it. Okay... Let's play.
I caught a couple more invisible spells on a normal Protego. The guy cast faster than Malfoy, and most importantly—didn't wait for the result of his actions, pressing tirelessly. But his assortment came to an end, he started repeating in combinations, and I remembered the timing perfectly.
"Confringo," McLaggen cast again, but I hit the timing exactly with my reflecting Protego. Half a second, and McLaggen was thrown back slightly by a weak explosion, setting fire to his clothes in small patches. He panicked and threw away his wand, rolling onto his stomach and extinguishing the fire. The victory was obvious.
"Victory for Mr. Granger," announced Flitwick.
After that, I was released from the platform, and I headed to a group of Ravens who clearly showed interest in my methods. There were no more duels for the evening, but we listened to Flitwick's lecture on the peculiarities of using the Confringo seen today, and several of its modifications. The seniors, clearly seventh years, discussed their own topic.
At the end of the gathering, I tried to end up next to Daphne at the exit.
"Greengrass."
"Granger."
"Regarding the topic of the last Potions class."
"Yes?"
"Everything is ready, so any time."
"I'll keep it in mind."
Parkinson walking nearby couldn't stand it and literally flared up with quiet indignation.
"What secrets, huh?"
"That's why they're secrets, Parkinson," I smiled. "To remain secret."
"Daphne..."
"Later, Pansy..."
So, basically, we parted ways. It wasn't far or long for me to walk from the dungeons to the house common room—we live almost in a dungeon ourselves. Dropping by the kitchen and asking the house-elves for milk and a cupcake, I ate it all right there, poured out a little magic into the space for these funny parasites, and went to sleep. After all, Monday is a hard day. No matter what anyone says.
---------------
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