Chapter 36: The Shield and the Decree
"Perhaps," Elian said with a shrug, answering Hermione's question about the prophecy. "Or perhaps not. Who knows?"
Luna, uninterested in prophecies, leaned forward. "Are you going to teach us the… Mystic Arts?" she asked, getting the unfamiliar term right on the first try.
"Good memory," Elian smiled.
He looked at Hermione. She was still pale, her mind clearly reeling. He sighed. "I know it's a lot to take in. But I can tell you this: the Mystic Arts are powerful. Different. And to learn them, you first need to be strong."
Hermione still hadn't fully recovered. The portal had broken something fundamental in her worldview.
Finally, Elian made a suggestion. "Let's have a duel."
They faced each other a few paces apart in the Room of Requirement. Hermione clutched her wand, her knuckles white, every ounce of her focus on the boy opposite her.
Elian stood calmly. His left hand was behind his back. His right palm was extended towards her. In its centre, a shimmering, golden-red mandala of light had formed, hovering just above his skin. It was solid, intricate, and humming with a quiet, potent energy—very different from the portal's ring.
The Shield of the Seraphim. It was a basic defensive construct he'd mastered through relentless practice. Simple in name, but in this world, he believed it was an impenetrable barrier.
Hermione took a steadying breath. "Petrificus Totalus!"
A jet of light shot from her wand. It struck the centre of the glowing shield and vanished without a sound, a ripple of light the only evidence it had ever existed.
Hermione's eyes widened. She tried again. "Stupefy!"
"Expelliarmus!"
"Confringo!"
"Immobulus!"
Spell after spell flew from her wand in a desperate, brilliant barrage. Each one met the golden shield and dissolved into harmless sparks. Elian didn't move. He simply stood there, the shield unwavering, as he took one deliberate step forward, then another.
A crushing sense of futility rose in Hermione's chest. This wasn't a battle; it was a demonstration. When Elian was finally standing right before her, all her spells exhausted, she lowered her wand, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Is… is that the Mystic Arts?" she whispered, staring at the intricate shield in his palm.
"A basic shield. Yes." He closed his hand, and the light winked out.
Luna hurried over, taking Elian's hand and peering at his palm as if the secret might be written there. Her eyes shone with pure fascination. "I want to learn. Teach me, Elian."
He smiled, ruffling her hair. "Of course."
But when he looked at Hermione, he saw only deep confusion and lingering shock. This wouldn't do. He'd just performed a masterclass to convince them to learn, and now she was hesitating?
Hermione's face suddenly flushed a deep pink. Elian understood. Pride. Of course. Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, didn't know how to ask for something she couldn't already find in a book.
He cleared his throat, adopting a mock-serious tone. "Ahem. The Mystic Arts can't be taught to just anyone. Only those with a certain… affinity. I sense that potential in both of you. So, I'll teach you. But!" He held up a finger. "You must swear to keep it an absolute secret. No exceptions."
His ridiculous, grandiose statement broke the tension. Hermione rolled her eyes, a familiar, exasperated expression returning to her face. "As if anyone would want to learn something so… flashy," she muttered, looking away.
Elian hid a smile. It was her way of saying yes. He checked the [Bonus Mission] in his mind. It was marked complete. Hermione was convinced, even if her pride made her phrase it like an insult.
So, a new routine was born. After D.A. meetings, Elian, Hermione, and Luna would stay behind in the Room of Requirement. Hermione and Luna were clever; they asked no prying questions about Elian's origins or the source of his knowledge. They simply agreed to learn.
As a token of their new, secret alliance, Hermione gave Elian one of the special fake Galleons she'd charmed for the D.A.—a clever piece of magic that would grow warm and change its numbers to signal the next meeting time.
The need for such secrecy had just become more urgent. A new Educational Decree, Number Twenty-Four, had been plastered on the castle boards. It banned all unapproved student organizations, clubs, and groups. Any student forming or joining one faced expulsion. It was Umbridge's blunt instrument, aimed squarely at crushing Dumbledore's Army. Even with the threat, about thirty students remained loyal to Harry's cause.
Elian's reasons for teaching were originally just to complete the system's task. But as the days passed, he began to feel a flicker of genuine excitement. He pictured it: Hermione and Luna, facing down Death Eaters in some future battle. Hermione, with a Shield of the Seraphim glowing on one hand, a precise, powerful bolt of mystical energy erupting from the other. Luna, turning the very air into strange, defensive shapes with her unique perspective. They would be like nothing this magical world had ever seen.
The thought was thrilling.
But what Elian didn't know, as he lost himself in these daydreams of teaching, was that a different kind of attention had solidified. A plan was being hatched in the shadows of Malfoy Manor, not by a toad-like bureaucrat, but by a serpentine Dark Lord. Danger wasn't just looming for Hogwarts; it was now slithering quietly, with a specific, sixteen-year-old traveler in its sights.
(End of Chapter)
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