The first day of the Easter holidays, and nothing. Absolutely nothing has changed and nothing has happened. Ordinary physical exercises, ordinary breakfast in the ordinary company. Ordinary classes. Well, others may not have classes, but I decided to spend a couple of hours in the library, delving deeper into the essence of maleficism and what local wizards understand by the Dark Arts.
Along the way, I wondered—how, just how do children, and teenagers my age, manage to find adventures? Various rumors reach me now and then about incidents and adventures of some or other students. I begin to feel too restrained, focused on different tasks, and therefore boring. What prompts teenagers to act, looking for trouble? The answer is obvious—interest. But I cannot force myself to be interested in all sorts of trifles, even if there is a tiny interest. But it is limited by experience, even if this experience is somehow wrong, fragmentary. It allows me to reasonably limit curiosity.
Here, for example, recently lions and snakes staged a brawl. With magic, spells, and all that. Am I curious what exactly happened? A little. Am I curious about the reasons? Just a bit. Will I go to find out the details? Definitely not, because this is outside my area of interest. And so it is in everything. The same Potter and Weasley, for example, took the modest Longbottom into the company, because he is well-read no less than Hermione, but at least he can be got rid of—that's how I see it. And so the three of them are investigating the case of "Karkaroff, his connection with Snape, and their dark deeds". Karkaroff, of course, is to blame himself—no need to follow Snape on his heels and try to talk, even in classes. Naturally, this provokes the interest of those who are not used to limiting themselves in adventures. Everyone wants to know about the results of the investigation, but prefer roundabout ways—rumors, observation, or something else.
Of course, I have spiders. Perhaps their presence kills a good part of curiosity, because I learn quite a lot of different information literally firsthand. True, this is not the most significant information. But if used correctly, one can quite cunningly and competently manipulate society inside the school to sting painfully and straight to the target those who are objectionable to me. But I don't want to climb into the swamp of intrigues—I am mostly a reactionary, so to speak. But this is not due to my passivity, but due to the complexity of choosing an adequate response to the intrigues of teenagers—not to cripple them, with my capabilities. The main thing is not to get used to such a thing, and clearly understand that an adult wizard can be answered in full.
Such thoughts were prompted by the study of maleficism in particular, and the Dark Arts in general. But the strangest thing lies in the strong difference between my perception of the Dark Arts and how locals perceive it. For me, the Dark Arts were, are and will be the manifestation of precisely dark magical energies in magic. That is, the same energy of death aimed at torment and painful death of a compulsory nature, and even capable of causing madness—these are dark arts that bring no benefit to either the user or the object of application. Sections of life magic, the use of this energy for evil, which is also very easy—these are dark arts. And here? And here is some strange crap so far. And this question needs to be clarified.
With such intentions, I finished reading another ancient book and went to lunch. At the entrance to the Great Hall, I waited for the appearance of Professor Snape.
"Professor."
"Mr. Granger?"
We stood slightly to the side of the entrance, but did not attract much attention—students hurried to fill their bellies.
"I have a few questions..."
"It's holidays now, Mr. Granger," Snape interrupted me. "I dare to note that this is a period of rest for teachers as well, not just for students."
"But the question is important."
"Fine. Go ahead."
"What is the essence of the Dark Arts?"
Snape looked at me, silent. So passed a few seconds.
"You ask too general questions. Come to the Potions classroom in the evening."
"Alright."
After lunch, I went to our Dueling Club. To my surprise, almost all its members were here. This did not constrain us at all, because the halls were spacious, and there were enough seats at tables, sofas or armchairs for everyone. But the attention of all these was riveted to the duel. Clearly educational, but nevertheless, quite active. Malfoy butted heads with Nott. Both showed good results, and Draco, it seems, finally learned to more or less wield a whip from a wand—Flagellavertum obeys him. Yes, so far Draco spins the whip around himself, and his actions are easily read, because he helps the mind with the body—starts movement with the body, arm and so on, as if he has a real whip in his hands. And from its tip spells fly off now and then or shields appear, blocking counterattacks or reflecting spells from Nott.
With my gaze I found Romanova, who nestled in a dark corner near two bookcases, held one of the books in her hands and pretended to read, but in fact, like everyone else, glanced at the practice duel. She was dressed, as always, in the Durmstrang uniform, and yet, this scarlet cross between a tunic, a jacket and the devil knows what else, suited her very well, and other Durmstrang girls too, as well as a wide long skirt. I headed towards her. To Romanova, not to the skirt.
"Doing quite well," she said instead of a greeting.
"And I'm glad to see you too. How are you?"
Romanova looked at me with a malicious smile.
"Oh, hi. I'm doing well, and how are you?"
"Okay, don't be snide," I stood next to her and also began to watch the duel. "Is Malfoy doing well? Depends on what you compare with."
"Hm?"
"If with how he decided to show his advantage to me at the beginning of the year, like, practiced all summer, blah-blah-blah, then not bad. And if compared with ideal execution, in my understanding, of course, then mediocre."
"And what is the mediocrity?" Romanova corrected a strand of dark chestnut hair, and judging by the look, she already knew the answer, well, or guessed.
"In movements. The whip obeys only the mind, no matter how much you wave your hands. But tying the whip's actions to body movements—is losing most of the spell's advantage. Lose freedom of movement—lose the ability to work with the whip. Well, and the list of spells he can use is still small."
"Maybe he keeps a 'signature move'?"
"Maybe."
"The winner is Draco Malfoy!" Flitwick loudly announced to everyone as soon as Nott missed a Stupefy.
The protection over the platform dissipated, students restrainedly applauded the descended duelists.
"Tell me, Katya, what are the Dark Arts?"
"Couldn't ask anything simpler?"
"Could. But I can answer simpler questions myself. You study the Dark Arts at your Durmstrang."
"Hmm. I'll say as we were told. The Dark Arts are extremely multifaceted due to the vagueness and variety of methods."
"That is understandable. Just... Let's use examples?"
"Well try," Romanova smiled.
"Take for example the simplest curse, Jelly-Legs. Despite its harmlessness, it refers to curses, malicious magic, and essentially, is quoted as Dark Magic."
"There is that."
"But what is its darkness if it is a kind of variation of charms, albeit non-standard in its movements, images and formulas?"
"Oh, this is already from the category of the History of the Dark Arts. All sections of these very arts study the possibility of making ordinary spells with the same effect from curses, and vice versa."
"Okay ordinary, but why make curses from ordinary ones?"
"Curses react poorly with ordinary variants of Protego. Make a curse from Disarming—that's it. Enemies will have much less chances. Or some other spell. And making ordinary spells from curses also makes sense. Know Cruciatus?"
"Didn't apply," I shook my head. "And don't really want to. So much negative energy rolls back from the victim, and you seem to start using some wrong magic yourself."
"And you say—didn't use," Romanova shook her head with a smirk. "But you caught the essence correctly. When the desire to cause evil starts to go off scale, it seems as if your magic becomes different. I think it's about intention and the prism of consciousness, but this is not a fact."
"Not a fact," I nodded.
During the conversation, the students around began to go about their business—discussed something, showed each other some charms and spells, drew battle schemes on parchment, and some just drank tea while talking. Professor Flitwick enthusiastically told something to the recent duelists, Malfoy and Nott, and both guys somehow slightly grimaced. It seems the professor talks about their mistakes, and the excessive pride of the guys desperately fights with common sense.
"So," Romanova continued the story. "Cruciatus was quite successfully converted into an ordinary spell. Like Imperio, by the way. Know about Confundus?"
"Well yeah, who doesn't."
"Well there. Now it's impossible to say for sure whether these Unforgivables became a product of darkening ordinary spells, or vice versa, but the fact remains a fact. There are ordinary spells, analogues of these two Unforgivables, albeit much weaker. But they don't need steel will, a strong desire to cause harm, and generally. They are much more difficult to execute, in wand movement, in formulas, but much less demanding on magical power. Confundus and Tormenta. You know that bright emotions help accelerate the magical power of a spell?"
"Of course. I learned Patronus quite well last year."
"Hm?" Romanova looked at me doubtfully. "Hard to believe."
"Last year Hogwarts was guarded by Dementors of Azkaban."
"Oh... Harsh as it is."
"Yeah. There whether you want it or not, you have to learn. Then all my housemates learned Patronus."
"That's very impressive."
"Stimulators in hoodies flew outside the walls. Believe me, their presence is very motivating."
"So. As we were told, the simplest and brightest emotion that everyone can evoke in themselves, and which is extremely easy to succumb to—various forms of anger, desire to harm, tear apart, destroy. With these emotions, you can significantly strengthen even an ordinary spell. But if you also weave them as an element of intention, build quite simple formulas, splash out and direct with gestures—you get a dark spell."
"Some very vague and completely devoid of specifics edge."
"So it is. And when negative emotions become too strong, your magic seems to change, becomes aggressive, tough. But the biggest abyss lies in something else. A weak wizard is weak in mind."
"Heard about such a theory," I nodded, watching the seventh-year guys go onto the platform to practice attack and defense—heard from conversations.
"And what goal does anger pursue? What comes after the embodiment of an angry impulse, revenge on the offender, or something else?"
"Satisfaction? Some pleasure?"
"Exactly. Our teacher says that there is no greater drug than pleasure. A weak mind becomes dependent on this pleasure, seeks it constantly. And finds," Romanova frowned. "Finds in the application of dark magic to people. But this is also a trifle. The first thing we were told—not to apply dark magic to sentient beings. They say dark magic is distinguished by the fact that something like a connection is established with the victim. Such a thing should hit the brains."
"Well yes, logical," I smiled, understanding some nuances. "This should enhance the effect, since in return you receive distorted magic intended to bring pleasure..."
"Yes, yes!" Romanova almost jumped in place. "I couldn't formulate. There is a lot of text there, and briefly—no way. And then, as with drugs, cigarettes and so on. One is layered on another, and at the output we get a dark wizard with a leaked roof."
"Got it... I imagined it somewhat differently, but quite close to your information. Strengthening sorcery... Did no one really come up with how to get strengthening, but not side effects?"
"Of course they came up with. Various rituals, indirect torture and so on. The main thing in this is not to have direct magical or other contact with the victim, and the ritual must be autonomous."
"So as not to have contact with distorted dark magic. And do they teach you such things?"
"Pff-ff, no, of course," Romanova put the book back on the shelf. "You are also taught several curses, but the basis of your course is not in cognition, but in protection. We have—balance. But in cognition only the base itself. Advanced for really capable."
"And you?"
"Capable," Romanova smirked, and the expression on her face became somewhat predatory. "Want to check?"
"No, thanks," I smiled back. "This direction is beyond my competence. I don't even know how to defend properly."
"Well, don't say. Defended once. Moreover, by a rather advanced method. True, keep in mind, far from all curses and dark spells can be deflected. For many, a purposeful desire to cause harm is needed, and this purposefulness is transmitted to the spell."
"That is, only defend. And here is the first problem."
"Let's go, I'll show."
We headed to the far dummy, free, and there was no one around particularly.
"Look. Simple, but harmful curse," Romanova took out her wand and pointed at the dummy.
With a tiny and quick movement, more like an accidental hand tremor, Romanova made a flourish with her wand.
"Sectus," she said quietly so that only I heard, and a small dark sickle broke from the tip of her wand, instantly hitting the dummy and making a shallow cut on it.
"Doesn't look like protection."
"I show what you will defend against."
"That is, decided to cut me after all?"
"By no means," she smiled. "The spell is dark and its strength directly depends on the invested negativity. Now you see the result of a practically neutral spell. Strong, on the verge of distorting magic, makes a cut three or four centimeters deep. Although..."
Romanova thought for a second.
"Cut—is not quite correct. Curses do not cut literally. They force the body to do something. Here it simply forced the tissues of the dummy to separate along the line. Lose connection with each other. Due to the shape and smoothness of the cut, it is customary to call it a cut. And the name has roots from this meaning."
"And won't you teach the spell itself?"
"There is its ordinary analogue, Seco. Rough, difficult, stable, and the cut is the most real, physical."
"Well, but still?"
Romanova didn't think long.
"Memorize..."
Five minutes went to show me the movement and formula. No, the formula is not that long, just one thing is to write it, and another—to put into words, and in an understandable form. And here five minutes later I am creating this spell, leaving a new cut on the healed dummy.
"And they say that dark magic wounds heal poorly."
"Well not on a soulless dummy?" Romanova was indignant. "On living beings with their... what is it... energy, let it be. By the way, another plus of dark spells—they interact very well with the living, with their energy, breaking through it. But only those in which magic is distorted."
"Precisely because of distortion."
"Most likely. These questions are already closer to the healing nuances of the dark arts. And now, the shield. Its essence is simple and complex at the same time. You need to curse the space in front of you."
"Hm? Curse space? How lovely."
A couple of students passed us, trying to listen to what we were gossiping about there. But, it seems, heard nothing and went on their way.
"Exactly. Here is the gesture, and the key—Clipsis."
Romanova waved her wand, and a dark film of the shield appeared in front of her for a brief moment, immediately disappearing.
"The difficulty is that the shield quickly disappears. Well, and that you need to curse space, and direct a drop of negativity at the flying curse."
"Flying? Not set in advance?"
"No."
Five minutes of detailed explanations, ten for practice, and here I am already stably and qualitatively making this shield.
"The trick of the Dark Arts, and in this case, maleficism, is in the careful play with crumbs of emotions."
Professor Flitwick crept up unnoticed.
"Young people," he nodded to us, looking attentively and strictly.
"Professor," of course, we answered.
"I hope I don't need to worry, and you use standard restrictions when studying such magic?" he looked more at Romanova than at me.
"Of course, Professor."
"Good. Very good!" Flitwick smiled, and scurried further, to another group of students discussing something with a smile on their faces.
"Standard restrictions?"
"Nothing special," Romanova waved off my question. "Not to put wizards who hate each other as partners for practice, not to use spells not worked out on a dummy and not reached a controlled stage of emotional layout, and the like."
"In short, so as not to break loose inadvertently."
"Exactly. So, ready?" Romanova was going to head to the platform, which was just empty.
"Think it's worth using publicly?" I was interested in her opinion, even if I have my own anyway.
"And why not? Not Unforgivables, and such a level of Dark Arts is mandatory for possession for you too, only in the seventh year."
We approached the professor and informed that we would like to work out a spell and protection. Of course, said what spells we would work out. The professor happily gave the go-ahead, but again, for confidence, asked us:
"You don't feel any dislike for each other?"
"By no means," I smiled.
"Good. Go onto the platform."
We went out and immediately dispersed to the required distance. The professor waved his wand, the site was covered with protection, and its shade slightly differed from the usual.
"Start when ready," Flitwick nodded.
Everyone thought that we would arrange another spectacular duel, but when we began simply, methodically and without moving from the spot to throw dark sickles at each other, defending ourselves with dark shields, many lost interest in the duel itself, but clearly waited for one of us to screw up and get injured. What kind? Doesn't matter, the main thing—injury. Moreover, I know from myself that it is not necessary to be bloodthirsty to wait for such an outcome. This expectation itself, the unknown, anxiety and other mixture of emotions—is already very much, and this in itself brings liveliness.
Of course, we did not give anyone such pleasure, ending the duel.
"Not bad, not bad," Flitwick nodded when we went down from the platform. "I was especially pleased with your restraint in emotions. Miss Romanova, do you study the Dark Arts in depth?"
"No, Professor Flitwick," she stood as if at attention. Still, the drill there is tough, that habits work even before foreign teachers. "Basic level, theory mainly."
"Still, praiseworthy control of emotions. Surprisingly stable spells of amazingly identical power time after time. Studying Occlumency?"
"A little."
"And you, Mr. Granger."
"No, sir," I shook my head negatively. "Just control myself and magic."
"Ah, yes, indeed, somehow lost sight of this. But along with praise, I consider myself obliged to warn, and at the same time ask," Flitwick looked at us from bottom to top with an extremely serious look. "Do not chase the power of the dark arts. This is not some prejudice of mine—this is the result of observations. I don't know a single wizard whom this path led to a good end, and believe me, I know very, very many wizards."
After that Romanova and I practiced ordinary spells for some time, showing some nuances and tricks to each other, and, oddly enough, both had something to show, and evening was already approaching.
After dinner I, as Snape asked, went down to the Potions classroom, where I told the professor my thoughts on Dark Magic, as well as expressed questions, even if they were partially closed by information from Romanova. But it should be understood that information from a student, even one of the best, is one thing, and from a professor is another.
"Do not confuse Dark Magic with the Dark Arts," Snape began to speak, getting up from his table and making it clear that the conversation would be short, and after it the professor expects my immediate disappearance from his office. "Dark Magic, as you say yourself, is crutches for wizards, a tool for overcoming the limit of one's own capabilities. But many grab these crutches without reading the instructions, stumbling and smashing their heads at the first turn. For others, it is dangerous even to give a crutch in hands—will kill themselves on the spot."
"And the Dark Arts?"
"The Dark Arts—is a comprehensive direction of research of Dark Magic. Comprehensive research, the type and forms of which can differ like water and Veritaserum. Both have one color, density, smell, but the only thing in common between them is that both are liquid."
"Professor," I decided to clarify another important point. "At the World Cup Final I saw some wizards killing others."
"Not the best experience at your age," Snape looked at me neutrally and strictly, unblinking.
"Agree, but the point is different. I felt strange magic. Professor Moody showed Avada and Crucio—from them I felt the same strange magic."
"You have high sensitivity, which can greatly help you in development as a wizard. This 'strange magic' is that same distorted one you learned about from Romanova."
"But I don't understand... We, wizards, have completely identical magic. It is different for various creatures, the same house-elves and others. How does one magic become another?"
"When you become a master of the Dark Arts, Mr. Granger," Snape smirked, and this whole smirk said only one thing: "Yeah, right!", "and answer this question for the entire Magical World, since there is no answer yet."
"But Professor... When the guys and I studied Patronus, and even when learned it... Why can negative emotions distort magic, and positive ones—no?"
"Goal?" Snape seemed to ask a rhetorical question, which I did not quite understand and, it seems, this was reflected in my look. "Negative emotions often have a quite specific object at which they are directed, have an ultimate goal, the embodiment of which will bring satisfaction to the wizard. Does the emotion of happiness for Patronus have such a goal?"
"Think it depends on the person," I shrugged...
Daphne and Pansy entered the office.
"Professor," they nodded simultaneously.
"Put your works on the table and you may be free," he nodded to the girls. "As you are, Mr. Granger. Wizards have been looking for the answer to your questions for many centuries, so this is beyond my competence."
"Pity. The picture of the world does not want to add up."
"And will not add up, Mr. Granger," Snape chuckled, glancing briefly at two voluminous scrolls of parchment from the girls, who, leaving the scrolls on the table, continued to stand in the doorway. "The more you know, the more questions to the world and the stronger the picture of this world bursts at the seams. Good evening."
Snape turned around, throwing up the hems of his robe, took the parchments and instantly found himself at the door, pointing us all to the exit.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, please show consciousness and deprive me of your company on these holidays."
We quickly left the office, and the door immediately slammed behind us. What to do? Walk around the castle—this is what we did, even if Pansy walked nearby. Like a duenna, she watched to unobtrusively exclude moments of intimacy. At the same time, she can calmly stand "on guard" while we do stupid things. All this is strange.
"What did you ask the professor about?" Daphne inquired.
"About Dark Magic and Dark Arts, and why negativity distorts magic, and positivity—doesn't."
"Oh how..." Daphne clearly thought, and Pansy looked at me with a slight mockery in her gaze.
"Well yeah, well yeah," Parkinson nodded. "Where can all sorts of Muggle-borns reach such high magical matters..."
"Then maybe you will tell?"
"Pfft, will I tell such things to all sorts of rogues..."
"Pans," Daphne looked at her friend with feigned reproach.
"Don't know anything, this is my opinion, and I am free to express it where and when I want."
"Well-well, Parkinson," I smirked, looking at this viper. "In your room your actions spoke louder than any words and opinions."
The girl's cheeks began to turn red, but the expression on her face did not change.
"...will remember until the grave now..." she grumbled quietly, which caused our chuckles.
"By the way, Daphne, Hogsmeade tomorrow."
"Oh, by the way. The girls and I wanted to walk purely in a female company. So it won't work out."
"Yes? No big deal," I smiled, and meanwhile we approached the turn of the dungeon corridors, behind which lay the common room of their house. "I'll find something to occupy myself. In extreme cases, can always replay everything directly in the village."
"That is so," Daphne nodded with a light smile.
We said goodbye and dispersed to the common rooms.
As soon as I stepped through the round passage in the barrel and found myself in the house common room, immediately I heard sounds of joy, celebration and fun. Inside, as it turned out, a party was arranged with various snacks, food, drinks and a drop of alcohol.
"What are they celebrating?" I reached our place with the guys and sat in the armchair.
My classmates, like everyone else, were also relaxed, communicating with younger or older guys who decided to join us in our nook.
"Ah, just so," Justin handed me a mug with fragrant semblance of mulled wine. "Decided to celebrate three birthdays at once, and Castle, from the sixth year, is also happy that he was preliminarily approved as an apprentice to a famous German enchanter."
"We have Flitwick," I looked at the guys with bewilderment.
"Well, these are questions for his family."
So the evening passed, in fun, conversations, with tasty food and snacks, and with various drinks. To the credit of all guys, I can say that there were no drunks, and generally, behaved quite culturally, albeit maximally relaxed. For example, everyone knows that there are several couples in the house who are dating and are not shy to show it publicly. Within reasonable propriety, of course. But even in such a friendly atmosphere nothing special happened. Everyone dispersed to beds in the second hour, and I thought—what to do in Hogsmeade alone? Tomorrow will invent an adventure for myself. For a change.
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