For two days, the castle was buzzing with activity, all because of the foreign guests. As it turned out, they would be attending some classes with the seventh-years, specifically those subjects that their Headmasters were not competent to teach. There were few such classes, but they existed. The French would attend Potions and Transfiguration, while the Durmstrang students would go to Charms and Herbology. The remaining disciplines, it seemed, were known at a sufficient level by their Headmasters, which was not particularly surprising, though it deserved some respect.
For the most part, the foreign students kept to themselves and let few people approach them. It seemed Karkaroff was afraid his students might reveal something that absolutely shouldn't be told, such as Durmstrang's location—that's a secret. The French, on the other hand, considered themselves too "cool," intelligent, and so on, which meant they only interacted more or less with the Ravens or other girls. And, of course, mostly with their own age group.
"I wish I could talk to them," Ernie sighed one day. "All of them, not just the girls, as some people might think."
"Well, buddy," I patted his shoulder. "We're not in their age group. We're not even interesting to them. Only maybe to joke about and laugh at us."
"That's a shame."
"I'm fine with it. I don't have time for idle chatter."
"Yeah," Ernie smiled at me. "Everything's on your schedule. Even hanging out with us."
"Are you offended?"
"Not at all!" Justin, walking beside me, cheered me up. "We even approve. We also have everything on a schedule, but ours is... more flexible. Yes."
And this, by the way, helped us not to stray, not to succumb to the general trend of "Talk to the foreigners." We, like many Badgers, continued our lives as if nothing particularly special was happening—diligently studying, practicing, doing homework, or spending time together in the Common Room or in our unused classroom, practicing magic or just playing games.
On Saturday after breakfast, my first order of business was to approach Professor Snape with the question: "Well, what about the lessons, when do they start?" Of course, I didn't ask it quite like that, but the general meaning was roughly the same. Professor Snape told me to resume the extra lessons, as before, after dinner on Saturday, starting next week. That was good news.
The days flew by quite quickly. The appearance of the foreigners somehow prompted me to more actively study the local school of magic, and now, instead of studying society and which families achieved what, when, and how, I focused on the variety of specific magical effects, studying a multitude of different situational spells. Local wizards have invented a great number of them, for every possible life situation. Seriously, for absolutely everything. You can imagine the most ridiculous and wild stuff, and I'd give you a ninety-five percent chance that there's already a spell invented by someone for that wild stuff; you just have to look for it.
Among other things, I was looking for spells that could be amplified or somehow modified using the storm energy, which is currently in the process of assimilation, and that process will last about a year and a half. There are almost no restrictions, though; the main thing is not to try to use too much of this energy. But given that it's generally harmful for me to overexert myself with wandless magic for now, there isn't much to overexert myself with.
In short, a week after the guests arrived, I could boast that I had enriched my knowledge with about thirty minor, insignificant spells, which I didn't memorize to wild automatism, but merely brought to successful execution and recorded the result with five repetitions. But this all related to various trifles. What I considered much more important was that I found several spells that benefited positively from the addition of storm energy to the neutral energy from which these spells are created.
The first, and quite impressive, is Baubillious. It creates a yellow magical lightning bolt that strikes the target at the same speed as an ordinary one, but with much more modest damage. Hitting a person with such yellow lightning can cause mild shock, but nothing more. But the addition of storm energy significantly amplifies the damage, turning the yellow magical lightning much closer to its natural original—stone crumbles, smokes, and becomes incandescent, wooden tables fly apart, smoke, and catch fire, and I didn't hit live targets, because the result was already obvious with such power.
The second spell that makes sense to amplify with storm energy is Aqua Eructo. It creates a powerful jet of water. A little practice, experience with focusing, an addition of storm energy, and I get an extremely powerful and thin jet of water, which deafeningly sliced through a log that was transfigured as realistically as possible. If I put a slightly different image and intention into the spell, then by adding storm energy, I can either create an ice spear that shoots from the tip of the wand at a speed little inferior to a bullet, or the same jet of water, but electrically charged.
A funny effect is produced by a weather spell that I stumbled upon purely by chance and which is outside the scope of the school curriculum—Nubilisparata. It serves to disperse clouds in the sky. It is quite capacity-intensive and costly, requiring a complex gesture and a small Arithmantic formula in the head, in addition to the mental image. The formula is simple, and by easily rearranging some signs and introducing a new variable, the opposite effect of the spell can be achieved with the same verbal key... and with the right image in my head. Ah, it wasn't for nothing that I memorized a couple of Arithmancy textbooks, and my general mathematical knowledge allows for even more. But with the addition of a fair amount of storm energy, this spell can turn a cloudless sky into a thunderstorm in a minute, with fierce gusts of wind, lightning, and rain. I even flinched a little when I tested it on a clear Tuesday afternoon by going out onto the Astronomy Tower. Fortunately, the resulting spell has neither a beam nor a visible bolt, unlike the original—which produces a red branching beam—and no one tracked me, that little rascal, who turned a rare sunny day into a nasty, annoying rainstorm with thunder, lightning, and low leaden clouds.
Overall, as I thought, the storm energy, despite a fairly large variability of application, simultaneously has a rather narrow range of truly effective use. Of course, I will eliminate this drawback over time by studying as many different spells of the local school of witchcraft as possible, but nevertheless, most of the potential applications boil down to combat, which I'm not particularly interested in. No, of course it's interesting; after all, every boy is inclined to some extent towards the combat manifestation of magic, and especially with my splinters, who were far from being innocent souls, and even the Elven Healer... Rather, the opposite—it was the splinter of the Elven Healer who could boast the most cruel or effective magical and mundane methods of killing his neighbor, distant kin, sentient and otherwise. A paradox, indeed.
On Wednesday evening, a week after the guests arrived, when my schedule called for Duelling Club, several students from Durmstrang came to the club—two boys and a girl. I was standing there, chatting with a seventh-year Ravenclaw and a sixth-year Slytherin, discussing the various nuances of using the whip spell—I never keep my skills a secret and willingly share what I've learned from experience. In short, we were discussing the whip, and the boys were sharing tricky spells and curses with me that "are also cool to pull off in a duel, and not shameful in a fight, if it ever comes to that," and then one platinum-haired menace named "Draco" appeared in the club.
In short, Malfoy brought Krum and his companions to us. Why? It became clear within a minute of his tour-style monologue, during which he showed off the bookshelves, the couches, the tables, and the duelling platform—he simply wanted to show off. This was revealed quite easily—he proposed a sporting duel, Merlin save us, with Crabbe. Professor Flitwick, who until that moment had been enthusiastically practicing spells with two third-years on two mannequins enchanted half an hour ago, of course agreed—the tiny professor, it seemed to me, was generally in favor of any action, short of a hunger strike.
The rest of those present, who weren't too many that day, turned their attention from their activities to the duelling platform. They didn't crowd around Krum, showing some politeness and respect, because only a blind person wouldn't notice how much the poor Bulgarian Seeker was bothered by attention, especially from female fans. This attitude, by the way, I think is a plus for the Bulgarian—at this age, boys are usually susceptible to female attention.
"What's he planning?" the Ravenclaw boy frowned, looking at the impending duel.
"He decided to show how great he is," I shrugged.
"Do you believe that yourself? Great? After so many duels?"
"It would be fair to note," the Slytherin was much calmer, "that Malfoy is not bad for his age. At least it's clear that he was heavily drilled in this over the summer."
Turning to the Slytherin, I smirked.
"Are you saying that I'm that good?"
"It would be foolish to deny it. I haven't figured out your secret yet, but I think if it weren't for the duelling rules about not evading attacks, no one would have forced you to cast even a Protego."
"Hmm... I don't know. I'll have to try a duel without those rules."
"What's the point?" the Ravenclaw looked at me questioningly. "What's the point of such a duel if, by generally accepted sporting rules and other duels, non-evasion is mandatory?"
"Life might not only involve duels. I think it could be a useful experience."
Malfoy began his battle with Crabbe. They started exchanging various spells. First, steadily, as if making sure their opponent was in rhythm, had cast off nervousness, and was ready to fight, and then they gradually began to speed up. Yes, speed up, but they were still fighting awfully slowly, in my opinion. But then again, that's my view of combat, and considering the speed of duels I've encountered in the club, fighting against students from various years, including the older ones, I can say that this is a perfectly normal speed.
"Here, by the way," I nodded at Crabbe, "is what many don't see. Vincent is quite slow-witted in everyday life, but in a duel, he is quick to react."
"That's hereditary with him, just like with Goyle," the Slytherin explained what we were seeing. "And no, it's not a secret. Not exactly hereditary, but their families delved too deeply into combat, developing reflexes and memorization rather than analysis. That's how... things turned out."
The fight gradually came to an end. Of course, Malfoy was the victor, but considering his opponent was Crabbe, who generally gives the impression of a squire-armourer... it was not surprising at all—I wouldn't have placed a bet.
Draco jumped off the platform with an important air and headed towards the guests. I noticed that Krum and the unfamiliar boy showed polite interest, but the girl, looking quite fetching and strict in their uniform of a rather long and wide black skirt, a blouse, and a red tunic, clearly wanted to critique this circus to shreds but was holding back.
"...something like that," we heard Malfoy's somewhat arrogant voice. "I can honestly say that I am one of the best here..."
"Tell that to Granger," someone said quite loudly, and Professor Flitwick even chuckled.
"Granger?" Krum immediately asked.
"Pay him no mind," Malfoy waved him off. "Just a Muggle-born upstart."
I wasn't particularly bothered by this. I was already starting to benefit from my presence in this club and from having established a good reputation. The fact is that through interacting with the others, I somehow learn a lot of new things, and sometimes even manage to glean spells related to healing. For example, the rather powerful and wide-ranging Vulnera Sanentur. It allows one to close any cuts, even Dark Magic ones, mend tissues, return blood to the body, and so on, but only if you know precisely the nature of the damage and what caused it. I haven't had to use it, but I'm sure that with the addition of life energy, it will be significantly more effective, and that is a very, very big deal. Of course, I still have yet to fully learn how to break spells down into components—it is written in books that it is possible, and I did something similar with the weather spell.
"And you won't respond to that?" the Ravenclaw stated quite loudly, and the cunning Slytherin managed quickly to pretend he was just walking past.
Of course, such a loud remark could not go unnoticed—the students in red tunics immediately turned their attention towards us.
"Let him boast," I waved him off with a smile. "This is his moment of glory. He'll annoy them with his bragging in a week."
"Oh, perhaps then you will demonstrate your skills?" Draco sneered. "But since you are sure you are better than me, why waste time on me? Perhaps one of the guests would like to show how a wizard can fight? Miss Romanova, for example, who is the champion of the Durmstrang Duelling Club?"
Judging by the girl's face, she clearly regretted mentioning something like that, if she did at all. Or she was mentally cursing whoever told him.
"Oh, that's so wonderful!" Professor Flitwick instantly appeared next to our guests. "I've already noted in our lessons that Miss Romanova is very talented in Charms. Perhaps demonstrating your level wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it will be an incentive for our students."
The girl subtly exhaled, and I approached closer. This was the exact moment she chose to say in Russian: "I haven't beaten up toddlers yet."
"What do you like to say, Malfoy?" I approached the group, smiling slightly. "Remind me? That you'll show me my place, or something like that. Decided to do it at someone else's expense? I don't mind. I'm even for it. If I lose, I'll gain valuable experience in duels and combat."
"If?" Romanova looked at me. "You have no chance."
"So what? Should I run away without looking back now?"
"I like your attitude!" Professor Flitwick squeaked with delight. "We have rules here—no Dark Magic. Only conditionally-Dark."
Krum, apparently, was the unofficial leader of this team. He pondered and nodded.
"We also have rules. We do not like duels where you must stand still."
Viktor's accent and overall grammatical proficiency in the language were not at a high level, but everything was more than understandable. Assessing the Seeker with my eyes, I was surprised for the second time at how uncomfortable one could look on the ground. And the second thing that slightly surprised me—why doesn't he correct his posture? Well, even if there's no time or desire to do it the natural way, so to speak, there's always magic. Well, it's none of my business.
"That will be doubly interesting. We practice sporting duels according to international standards, and you, as I understand it, lean towards combat?"
"Yes, sir," the Durmstrang students nodded strictly, like soldiers, or suggesting something similar. I also noticed that they looked at Flitwick with more respect than their own Headmaster, which couldn't help but make me smile.
"Excellent! So, Miss Romanova?"
"Ugh... Fine."
"Wonderful!"
The tiny professor immediately bustled around, asking us to move away from the platform. A couple of wand movements, and the platform transformed from a runway into a circular arena. Romanova and I immediately stepped onto it and moved to opposite sides without any preamble or prelude. The girl held herself casually and confidently, standing half-turned towards me, wand in hand. Well, since the rules of a sporting duel are somewhat irrelevant now, I should stand in a way that is convenient for me, and more importantly, more sensible. After a moment's thought, I cast off my robes and tossed them outside the field—they only get in the way, and they give the opponent's spell a chance to hit the robes, "dragging" me along.
Professor Flitwick reconfigured the protection in ten seconds.
"Ready? Three. Two. One... Fight!"
Romanova quickly and sharply flicked her wand, silently sending a powerful and fast Air Punch at me. It seemed she had drawn conclusions from the speed of combat demonstrated by Draco, and now she wanted to end everything quickly and simply. It was impossible to dodge this spell without giving away a speed advantage—the blast is quite wide and has a peculiar "effect field," albeit a weakened one, around it. Just as quickly, I cast Protego Reflecto and reflected the blast.
The girl had anticipated this possibility and darted right. I cast Bombarda Maxima at the floor between us, tearing up a pile of debris. Just as I was about to send it towards the girl, she beat me to it, silently pointing her wand in my direction.
Alright. Transfiguration field to my aid—that's the barrier I started creating. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted the formation of something fiery at the tip of the girl's wand as she circled closer. I changed the mental image of the Transfiguration field just before it formed, and now it would turn the debris into water. I immediately began forming a water control field, Aqua Imperium, which would spread the water that hit it into a shield, as I needed, adding more, as with Aguamenti.
Fiery bolts fanned out from the girl's wand and rushed towards me. The debris from the explosion had just turned into water and formed the shield. The girl continued to close in, clearly counting on something. But I wasn't stupid—water would simply put out the fire spell, but ice would create an explosion. Quickly casting Glacio on the Aqua Imperium shield, and adding storm energy for a brutal freezing effect, I leaped back and to the side, bringing my wand to my mouth.
"Fumos..."
Inserting a bit of storm energy, I achieved a very rapid spread of black smoke. The fireballs crashed into the ice shield, exploding everything to hell, scattering fragments, and spreading the fog even further.
Enveloping myself in magic, I wished to become invisible—at this moment, I was completely obscured by smoke. As I had expected, Romanova protected herself with a Protego Totalus sphere, which absorbed both the explosion and the fragments, and the next moment, she waved her wand dismissively, scattering the smoke-fog as if it had never been there. But I was already invisible and inaudible, using the fast Elven step to circle towards the girl from the side. The distance was about fifteen meters.
Romanova somehow sharply and deftly spun her wand, and the arena was filled with the tiniest dust particles, which didn't hinder vision at all. Avoiding contact was impossible, and quite a few dust particles touched me, flashing brightly. Romanova immediately slashed her wand in that direction, silently sending a wide air sickle, spinning like a propeller, towards me. This would have worked, had I not possessed a brain that easily calculated everything. Abandoning the initial idea of jumping up, I bent backwards, as if in a movie I had forgotten, passing under the sickle and simultaneously sending a basic Incarcero at the girl to force her to move.
The dust particles in the air flashed as soon as I touched them, giving everyone a rough idea of my silhouette. It was annoying, but they weren't air dust particles; they were magical. I could remove them, but not with local magic, and I didn't want to expose that. Smethwyck figured out that I can use magic of will and imagination at will, not just as a childish burst. Let the number of people who know about it end with him.
The girl dodged the Incarcero in my manner, arching her back but not moving from her spot. It seemed her posture for casting wasn't very comfortable—time to exploit the advantage. I immediately sent a Stupefy at her, still remaining conditionally invisible and continuing to close the distance. Just as the blast left my wand, Romanova had already turned her convenient side towards me and was preparing to cast Protego—there was little time for anything else.
With a movement of my wand, while continuing to approach, I transfigured a simple stiletto into my left hand and immediately turned my wand into a whip, using sheer will to direct it following the Stupefy blast. This all happened very quickly, and only my mind allowed me to come up with anything on the fly—Romanova, however, was doing many things based on reflexes, practiced countermeasures, and so on. That's why she cast a simple Protego against the Stupefy. That's also why the tip of my whip passed through the defense after the Stupefy, and I created an Air Punch spell at the tip, continuing to close the distance.
The girl showed a miracle of reaction, managing to shift slightly to the side at the last moment, creating a Protego Reflecto at the tip of her wand, holding it almost flush against herself and deflecting the Air Punch from the tip of my wand tangentially to the side. But I was already close enough for hand-to-hand combat. Romanova turned towards me at that exact moment, but the tip of the dagger in my left hand pressed against her temple.
"Interesting..." I said.
My invisibility was slowly fading.
"Draw!" Professor Flitwick announced happily, practically jumping and clapping his hands.
"Indeed," Romanova smirked, flicking her eyes downwards.
Following her gaze, I saw a wide-bladed dagger in her right hand instead of a wand, which literally promised to pass between my ribs straight into my heart.
Cancelling the Transfiguration, we both put our wands into the holsters on our forearms.
"I come here on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I will wait."
"Is that so?"
I was the first to step off the arena and offered the girl my hand. She took the offer.
"Unusual spells. Unusual fighting style. That's interesting."
"Your spells are ordinary, but their application is quite correct."
Several things are worth noting. Malfoy's sour face certainly pleased me a little. I don't know why, but when he sulks like that, it greatly amuses me. And the second thing—the students in the club weren't running around, jumping for joy, or anything else. They were taking notes, actively discussing what they had seen, gesturing, explaining interesting moments to their comrades. But they were doing it quite quietly, not disturbing anyone. This is a good place.
"Hector Granger, by the way," I introduced myself.
"Ekaterina Romanova," the girl nodded. "I will consider visiting this place."
The scowling Draco managed to compose himself, saying something about how I was obviously lucky, but with that phrase, he somehow managed to offend Romanova, who disagreed. In any case, the guests left with their guide, who no longer wished to stay among us, and I joined the company of the seventh-year Ravenclaw and the sixth-year Slytherin, who clearly wanted to discuss what they had seen. Yes, it was indeed an interesting experience. Maybe I should take up physical training, adding elements of weapon handling to it? Combat doesn't particularly appeal to me, but who knows what might come in handy in life?
. . . . .
Days flew by one after another, and the September weather grew worse and worse... Sometimes it seemed like you'd gotten used to the overcast days and the suspiciously bone-chilling cold, despite the otherwise warm weather, but then the weather would surprise you again—at the end of September, a frost hit, causing the Whomping Willow to shed its leaves in surprise. Yes, of course, we all have warming amulets, but almost no one wore them constantly. Until that day.
The dinner on September twenty-ninth was particularly noteworthy, and Dumbledore even made it somewhat festive. It was during this festive dinner that I allowed myself to reminisce about the events of the past week. I reminisced for a whole two minutes because, as it turned out, there wasn't much to recall.
There had been only one extra session with Snape, during which Daphne and I did nothing but work: preparing ingredients, brewing potions, occasionally exchanging brief phrases. The most memorable was a short dialogue:
"So," Daphne drawled thoughtfully, tossing her portion of some critter's crushed bones into the cauldron. "Duelling with Romanova..."
"Yes. After the duel Malfoy provoked, we crossed paths in the club twice."
"And?"
"A draw. But I was damn close to losing."
"Hmm... Alright then."
Yes. An interesting dialogue. Very significant. Nothing clear, but very interesting.
Indeed, Romanova and I "crossed wands" two more times, but more in the form of training duels. She showed me the spell she used to fill the space with those wretched dust particles, and I explained in simple terms how I constructed an effective Transfiguration field. In the second duel, we simply exchanged spells for speed, which eventually turned into a kind of ping-pong using very fast Stupefy and multiple reflections with Protego Reflecto. It was a great workout, by the way.
That was basically all the events. It's also worth noting that the teachers suddenly started piling on the homework, as if they wanted to crush any thirst for adventure. It helped, I must say—it drove many into mild depression.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the Headmaster's voice pulled me out of my suddenly prolonged contemplation of magic. "I would like to welcome you all to the long-awaited event—the official opening of the Triwizard Tournament!"
Everyone without exception began to applaud with the Headmaster's silent permission, but after a few seconds, he raised his hand in the air, as if stopping us, and the applause died down.
"Mr. Filch," the Headmaster turned to the caretaker, dressed in a tailcoat, who was holding a rather large wooden chest. "Let us not keep them waiting. The chest here, please."
Filch, with a terribly self-important expression and a solemn, dignified gait, walked from the edge of the staff table to the lectern from which the Headmaster was speaking and handed him the chest. The students bustled about, some standing up from their seats to get a better look at what kind of chest it was.
"The instructions for the tasks have already been reviewed by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman. Everything is ready for each task. There are three tasks," Dumbledore continued to broadcast, holding the chest. "The challenges are based exclusively on the school curriculum. The champions will have to demonstrate their mastery of magical arts, personal courage, and the ability to overcome danger."
The word "danger" made the slightly noisy students quiet down completely, and eventually, only the sound of fire in the wall braziers and the candles burning overhead could be heard.
"As you know, three champions participate in the Tournament, one from each participating school. They will be judged on how they handle each task. The champion with the highest total score after all tasks wins. And the Tournament participants are selected from the school teams by an impartial judge—the Goblet of Fire."
The Headmaster took out his wand and tapped the lid of the chest three times. Slowly, as if deliberately building suspense, the lid opened with a creak audible throughout the hall. Dumbledore reached inside and pulled out a large, very old-looking wooden Goblet covered in rough carvings.
I was literally left speechless, recognizing the blue flame dancing in the Goblet. The Headmaster placed the chest on his lectern and the Goblet on the lid of the chest. The flame... I definitely know it; that sensation of energy is unmistakable.
"...write their name and the name of their school clearly on a piece of parchment and drop it into the Goblet," Dumbledore's words reached my consciousness, which was plunged into mild shock, and I forced myself to listen. "They are given twenty-four hours to decide. The Goblet will be placed in the entrance hall. And tomorrow night, it will return the names of the champions who will take part in the Triwizard Tournament with tongues of flame. Of course, the worthiest of the worthy will be chosen. The Goblet will remain in the hall all night and will be available to anyone who wishes to participate in the Tournament."
Dumbledore kept talking, but I couldn't shake the thought that I needed a sample of that flame. The Flame of the Tribunal—it is truly an impartial pseudo-sentient energy. It was used to strictly enforce contracts or for any other purpose where conditions had to be met to achieve a result. It was used by the few, the counted units of wizards who could summon this flame and who were compatible with it to conduct affinity... I just need a sample... But it's not so easy to get. I'd bet a lot that you can't just take it out of this Goblet, since it's capable of keeping the flame from dissipating, and more importantly, from leaving for its own plane of existence.
"...only those who have reached the age of seventeen," I refocused my attention on the Headmaster's words. "And so that those under seventeen do not yield to temptation, I will draw an Age Line around it. Anyone younger than the specified age is forbidden to cross this line. And finally: those wishing to participate in the contest, take note—for those chosen as champions, there is no turning back. The champion will be obliged to see the Tournament through to the end. By throwing your name into the Goblet, you are entering into a magical contract with it that cannot be broken. Therefore, think carefully about whether you really want to participate in the Tournament. Well, now, I think it's high time for bed. Good night, everyone."
I didn't quite understand when or how we left the Great Hall. I only came to when we almost reached the House Common Room.
"Welcome back," Justin smirked, noticing the "clearing" in my gaze. "What were you thinking about?"
"I need to get into the Tournament."
"Um... Alright then. Good luck."
"You don't believe in me at all, do you?"
"I believe in you, I believe, buddy. But I believe in Dumbledore more."
But I really need to go there. I need to think. I need to think hard. And analyze. Which means I need to set up an observation post near the Goblet... But I also need to sleep.
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