Is it a good thing when the school year starts on the last days of the week? Previously, I would have been happy for at least one more day of idleness. Better yet, two. But now... you feel cheated. Second day at Hogwarts, if you don't count the arrival day, September first, and it's already Saturday. My brain was just getting into study mode, and they tell you: "Day off, kid."
I didn't despair, of course. After all the morning rituals, I immediately headed to the library, where I began drawing up a plan to study various subjects in advance, with a simultaneous "expansion" and "deepening" of my horizons, so to speak. I even missed breakfast, but it wasn't my fault; I got carried away. The fact that the library was deserted on the morning of the second day of school, save for Madam Pince, only contributed to my inattentiveness.
Around ten o'clock, Hermione practically flew into the library. Seeing nothing in front of her, she scooped up a pile of books and settled into the quietest, farthest corner, immediately starting to actively study something, taking notes, and copying, looking surprisingly pleased and busy. I wouldn't even dare approach her.
I stayed in the library until lunch. Sometimes I asked Madam Pince for help with creating my personal study plan. I needed to cover a very extensive body of knowledge, both in theory and practice, to get Snape's approval and then Dumbledore's permission to access the Restricted Section. I need to gradually start carving my path towards becoming a Healer, and the best place to do it is while I'm attending Hogwarts, where there is a massive, and most importantly, free library.
In the end, I came up with a pretty simple and clear schedule. The class timetable had no gaps, meaning weekdays were straightforward. Morning: fitness, breakfast, classes. Afternoon: lunch and classes. Then dinner, followed by two hours in the library, one hour of homework with the guys, and the rest of the time practicing the material covered and memorized that day in an unused classroom. Variations are possible depending on the situation, but that was the rough plan. Saturday: three hours in the library, three hours of extracurricular practice with or without the boys, two hours socializing with the House and other students, two hours for the Duelling Club, and after dinner—work with Daphne under Snape's supervision, if he even agrees. Sunday: a rest day, but I'll probably be doing something important or interesting. Oh, I need to put the Duelling Club down for Wednesday, too.
In terms of studies—the subjects are the same as on the schedule, but I'll study them as deeply as possible. Time to expand my understanding and knowledge of the local school of magic.
Putting the finishing touches on the schedule, I headed to lunch. I looked at the schedule and made a command decision—I'd start following it tomorrow.
After lunch, where, purely for social activity, I participated in the conversation about the Tournament and the global injustice of the age restriction, I went to the dungeons, to the Duelling Club. There weren't many people here right now, mostly older students. They sat in small groups on couches or at tables near the bookshelves, clearly discussing the nuances of various spells, judging by their gestures. I nodded to those who noticed me and received similar nods in return. I started looking for an opponent—my hands were itching to cast something. But without Professor Flitwick, duelling was taboo.
"It would be bad," I overheard two Ravens walking past me, "if the professors don't have time to hold sessions here because of the Tournament."
"Agreed..."
To my delight, less than a minute later, Draco, his entourage, and Professor Flitwick showed up, which meant duels were on. I think Malfoy planned to just slack off here, talk about things, like many others do, but seeing me, he decided to approach.
"Well, well, Granger," he drawled in a refined manner, smirking, his eternal companions and Nott standing beside him. "I didn't think you'd be here again this year. Did you practice your magic well this summer? Among Muggles, I mean?"
"Not bad, Malfoy, I'm satisfied," I mirrored his smirk.
"Oh, sure. My father hired an excellent tutor, so prepare to be disgraced."
"Right now?"
"What, are you scared?" Malfoy sneered, glancing at his companions, who obligingly supported him with their snickers.
"Oh, far from it. I request we take our places."
Flitwick was pleased that some magical action would begin right after his arrival, so he quickly organized the protective boundaries around the duelling platform, which Malfoy and I stepped onto. We did everything correctly, bowed, separated, and took our stances.
"Three... Two... One..." Flitwick counted down, and the others watched with interest from their couches, armchairs, or standing by the shelves. "Fight."
"Flagellavērtum..."
Malfoy and I simultaneously turned our wands into whips. I decided to play defensively and see what Draco had learned—even if I lost, no big deal. With a movement of his hand, like a real whip, Draco sent his towards me, casting a Stupefy at the tip. Without moving my hand, relying only on control, I sharply deflected the tip of his whip aside, and the blast of Stupefy that broke loose upon contact went wide.
Without thinking too much, I cast a fast, simple, and invisible Itching Hex, and of course, it landed. The obvious downside of playing offensively while using Flagellavērtum is the difficulty of switching back to defense if you decide to strike the opponent with the whip tip. Here, you either need excellent control over magic and consciousness, which I have but isn't school-level, or you need to instantly cancel the wand-to-whip transformation to get the wand back and switch to defense the moment the attack fails or when failure is inevitable. Malfoy did none of this, trying to attack me again, for which he paid the price.
The Itching Hex stimulated a powerful urge to scratch in Malfoy. It caught him right as he was about to cast another Stupefy. The tip of his whip instantly lunged towards his stomach, obeying the subconscious urge to scratch, and the Stupefy created at the wand's tip backfired on its caster, throwing Draco backward, off the platform, and knocking the wand out of his hand.
"Mr. Granger wins!" Professor Flitwick immediately concluded and removed the protective barrier from the platform.
"What in the name of Mordred!" A dishevelled Draco jumped to his feet, picking up his wand but not daring to do anything, as no one wants to incur Flitwick's wrath.
"I simply took advantage of the difficulties in using the Whip spell," I shrugged, stepping off the platform and approaching Malfoy. "It's controlled by the conscious mind, but the conscious mind is pressured by the subconscious. I triggered your urge to scratch, and the whip immediately responded to it."
"Nonsense..."
"Not at all, Mr. Malfoy," a delighted Flitwick was instantly beside us and began explaining the intricacies of using such a spell, the difficulties associated with it, and so on, to us and everyone else.
After participating in a few more duels, I satisfied my desire to cast something hypothetically combat-oriented. The only thing that irritated and worried me was the hostile gaze of Malfoy and his cronies. But even if they plotted some mischief, I was sure I could handle them. Probably. Who knows what else he learned over the summer?
. . . . .
The schoolwork progressed as usual. Professor Moody's highly anticipated lesson turned out to be quite engaging. For me, at least. The others, I'm sure, either soiled themselves or considered him crazy, which wasn't far from the truth.
It wasn't just his abrasive manner, without any condescension due to age. Yes, he resembled an angry drill sergeant in some army, whose job is to "hammer" the youngsters mercilessly—such types were familiar to both me and the splinter-memory, and there were many of them. Just look into any training unit of any powerful organization, whether it's the Elven Watch, the Dwarven Hammers, or the Military-Space Force Academy. The main problem for everyone else was that the first topic of the lesson turned out to be the Unforgivable Curses.
After the incident at the Quidditch World Cup Final, I skimmed through the literature and learned about these curses. In principle, I don't see anything unusual in their actual effects. A torture spell—what a novelty! Where there are sentient beings, there will be some form of torture. Nothing new. The complete submission spell, Imperio—the same thing, just a different angle. Everyone, in all worlds, is always looking for ways to control others, and it doesn't matter if it's money, power, influence, implants, or magic. The only difference is whether you submit voluntarily or not. In this case—not. So what? I mean, yes, it's a bad spell, but it depends on the usage. For example, a future suicide victim is standing on a roof, or a terrorist is threatening to push a button and blow everything sky-high, and you go swoosh, Imperio, and that's it—problem solved.
Avada Kedavra—instant death. Instant death itself can be a more than kind act. It's no coincidence that there is a dagger with the telling name "Misericorde." This spell, like the misericorde, can be used in different ways—to treacherously kill by passing through the joints of armor, or to relieve the suffering of the mortally wounded, again by passing through the armor.
But the problem with these spells lies elsewhere, and it was distinctly clear to me during Moody's demonstration on some insect. The energy of compulsory death and torment. Using these spells, and possibly others, not only releases this energy in the process—that much is obvious. Cruciatus is a sustained spell. When Moody, even without obvious desire, used it for a few seconds on the insect, the wizard faintly exuded the energy of death for a couple of minutes afterwards. This is unacceptable—the experience of the Elf splinter screams it. There is no one, and never has been in the memory of all the splinters involved with magic, who could fully shield their mind from the influence of this harmful energy. The same effect occurred when Moody killed the insect with Avada—he exuded this energy. But Imperio, seemingly, was just a spell. In general, curious.
But besides these nuances, I took away a lot more from the lesson. Each of these spells, if Moody is to be believed, and there was no reason not to, requires great magical power. What does that mean? A precise, fervent desire to achieve the effect brought by these spells—a zealous wish. Without doubt, without hesitation, and preferably with added emotion.
Each of these three spells, if used on a human being, is a direct ticket to Azkaban. If caught, and if proven, of course. But the important point I found in this was "used on a human being."
Many were impressed, but the excitement passed quickly. Although, I'd bet a couple of particularly impressionable students, especially the girls, definitely suffered minor psychological trauma—such demonstrations are bound to leave an impression. But I agree with Moody—we need to know this.
And so the studies went on. The other classes were exactly the same as last year—it was as if I hadn't left at all. The same strict and demanding McGonagall, the same caustic Snape, who, by the way, told Daphne and me to leave him alone at least until the guests arrived, and we'd figure out the practice then. The same enthusiastic Flitwick, who loved his subject. Ancient Runes remained just as mysterious and fascinating, and Herbology was just as messy—in short, everything was the same, only the material was different, slightly more complex and extensive. And against this backdrop, the anticipation was clearly palpable—many students were eagerly awaiting the arrival of the other school delegations. Even I was looking forward to it, as it was genuinely interesting, and the appearance of new faces, and in such numbers, was bound to bring about something... I just needed to find out what exactly.
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