I was on my way to the Owlery again. Every week, Vespera and I exchanged messages with a routine update. My assumptions regarding Aegis Aurum had been confirmed. More demanding and powerful spells required longer training. It hadn't been precisely confirmed why—theoreticians couldn't agree on it at all—but the prevailing theory was that the magic of a spell must soak into one's consciousness and one's own magical essence. The essence gradually grows accustomed to the spell, and only through diligent practice can it be truly mastered. Aegis Aurum was definitely one of those.
According to Vespera, it was exactly the same with Expecto Patronum or Avada Kedavra. Simply put, almost no one could cast such powerful spells successfully on the first attempt. One had to have an incredible affinity for the specific spell. While an affinity for White or Dark magic helped, it was too general. But a thought, concentration, and power focused precisely on a single spell? That was something else.
Hating someone wasn't enough. Wishing them dead wasn't enough. How much did you have to crave their end for them to actually die? Even concentration and the mind had to be "primed" for the spell, which was why many wizards revolved around only a few powerful spells in their repertoire. They could conjure many different things, but to truly master a spell at a masterful level? There weren't many of those.
I was completely immersed in this magical theory, so I didn't even notice that someone was already in the Owlery. Only a soft sob snapped me out of my thoughts. I immediately looked in that direction. It was a tearful girl, currently scratching an owl on a perch.
On her robes, I noticed the blue eagle crest. She seemed familiar; only after a moment did I realize she was in the same year as I was. Her name was Sal... something, I wasn't entirely sure. Out of basic decency, it was proper to ask if she was alright, so I made my way toward her. Everyone needed someone to ask how they were doing once in a while... and it certainly wasn't anything demanding. As soon as I stepped forward, my favourite owl noticed me and immediately landed on my shoulder. She was used to bribes in the form of premium treats, so whenever I appeared, she claimed me as her own.
"As always, little owl. To Vespera Rosier," I whispered to her. She puffed out her chest proudly and waited for me to attach the envelope with the letter.
As soon as the envelope was in place, the owl didn't wait and flew out of the Owlery. I suppose I wasn't quiet enough, though, because the girl noticed me and looked at me with tear-filled eyes. When I headed toward her, she shyly looked down, though tears still streamed down her cheeks and fell with a loud plop onto the hay-covered floor.
"Hi, are you alright?" I asked.
"Yes, I am," she replied unconvincingly.
I wanted to point out that it didn't look that way, but I realized just in time that it would be stupid and tactless. The basic thing would be to at least introduce myself.
"What's your name? I'm Patrik Rosier."
She was silent for a moment, but then she decided to answer after all: "Sally-Anne Perks. I know who you are, Rosier."
"Oh? How's that? I thought I was uninteresting compared to Potter or Malfoy," I began with a smirk and offered my hand.
As soon as she noticed my gesture, she looked up in surprise. After a short hesitation, she decided to take my hand. I squeezed it gently and then let go, but since she still hadn't answered my previous question, I prompted her: "So, how do you know who I am?"
"A better question would be, who doesn't? Almost the whole Hall saw your wandless magic. And those who didn't see it heard that it wasn't just an ordinary flame, but more like a dragon. You're that kind of Slytherin prince, just like Malfoy," she replied matter-of-factly. She was no longer sobbing, and no new tears were forming in her eyes.
"Oh, and which of us is more popular?" I asked amusedly.
"You. They say you're a mysterious prince, while Malfoy insults almost everyone he meets and constantly talks about his father," she replied disdainfully.
"Mhm, good to know," I concluded with a smile.
Honestly, I didn't care at all how they perceived me, but I was glad she had stopped crying and that I had diverted her attention elsewhere. Talking to children was sometimes truly demanding, even though Sally looked more mature than the others.
"Why are you talking to me, Rosier? I have nothing you could want," she asked after a moment of silence.
"Why would I have to want something right away?" I asked.
She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "It costs me nothing to speak up and ask if you're alright," I added.
"Hm, hm," she shook her head, still not believing me. She wiped her eyes with the hem of her robes and attempted a joyful smile. "I'm fine. Yes. Thank you for asking."
Her smile was completely fake, but I knew she wanted to be left alone, so I respected that. I nodded and turned to leave. Before I did, however, I didn't forget to end our conversation: "It was nice to meet you, Sally."
I headed for the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor. At this time, I was sure the others were already in their common rooms, so I finally had time to explore the Room of Hidden Things. As I walked to the seventh floor, only one question troubled me: "What is Sally-Anne Perks afraid of?"
I felt an immense fear of the future radiating from her. Not of me or of the present. Why was she crying in the Owlery? What was it about? I wasn't a "good guy." I could admit to myself that I was far from a saint... but I was sure of one thing. If I could stand opposite an innocent person, see their pain, and not even ask if they were okay, I could never look at myself again. I might as well stand on the edge of a cliff and take a step forward.
***
I found myself again opposite the painting of the madman trying to teach trolls to dance ballet. It reminded me again that I should study those paintings properly sometime. Do they have consciousness? Do they remember their lives and powerful spells? Have they mastered magical theory? But I always had something more important to do, just like now...
I walked past the blank wall three times, focusing on the thought that I wanted to hide my robes. After a moment, a massive door appeared, which I slipped into without hesitation.
It was better and at the same time worse than I had expected. There were significantly more things here than I had thought—huge piles on shelves, which were not just mindlessly crammed together. It seemed the room itself saw to it that objects didn't touch unnecessarily. I saw old furniture, various armours, weapons, textbooks, and books. Even a wig, unused potions, and old historical broomsticks. Of course, I didn't see the Horcrux at first... but this room could be an excellent answer to my financial problems.
Sort through the room, pick out the valuable items, sort them for sale, and either keep the rest or leave it be. Or burn the remaining junk to ashes. I could vividly imagine how frustrated I would be after finishing the sorting. It was an almost endless chaos—like the one my girlfriend used to have in her car.
If I move something or relocate it, will it be in the same order I left it in during my next visit? Or will it shuffle? I wasn't sure, and that was precisely the basic fact I had to test. I also didn't know if anyone else knew about this room. It would be very unfortunate if I started sorting things here and someone swiped a valuable pile in the meantime. That would honestly piss me off.
The key was to find out if the room shuffled things. So, I grabbed a wig that stood out most in this pile and moved it to the very beginning. Of course, before I touched it, I focused intensely on my magical sensitivity. I felt nothing from it, but it took me quite a while to be sure that what I was sensing was the room and not the wig.
I stepped outside, turned to leave, and when I was sure the door had disappeared, I returned and opened the room again. The wig was exactly where I had left it. It was time, then, to start sorting things properly. In any case, I didn't feel like it at all—it was boring and grueling work. And so, I procrastinated and began to look more closely at what was actually in here.
Right away, the first thing I discovered was a book in Old English. I already had some basics of the language, so I immediately understood that it was a copy of some ritual book. As inspiration, it was a relatively valuable piece, but to actually perform a ritual according to it? Probably not... I noticed that people in this world were quite mad, but I remembered Muggle experiments with passing information. Just put a few people in a line, let the first one say a sentence, and at the end of the line, that sentence has a completely different meaning.
I shuddered at the thought of exploding because of some stupid mistake by the author while transcribing. I set it aside and continued.
Various new and old magic textbooks that looked like original works I set aside. Who knows how the curriculum had changed over the years? Perhaps some forgotten, interesting spell could be found in them. I passed the robes quickly. I also came across a dagger that made my sensitivity flash a warning, so I preferred to avoid it. I definitely didn't plan on touching it—who knows what it would do if I grasped it. Here I realized I would need dragon-hide gloves, properly resistant ones, to be able to safely transport that dagger to Borgin's.
Ordinary steel weapons and armours I put aside. I didn't feel a hint of magic from them; they had no runes on them, and many were rusted to boot. So far, it was, honestly, a bit of a disappointment, though I was only at the beginning. According to my watch, I had already spent an entire hour here.
I decided I'd rather continue my training. I needed those gloves anyway, and I wouldn't finish this room in even a few days... So, I tried to change the Room of Hidden Things into a training room. Nothing happened, however. I went outside, waited again for the door to disappear, and then focused on a training room with dummies and targets for my destructive spells.
After a moment, the door appeared again, and I entered without hesitation. I immediately took off my robes, ready for hard training. I decided to start with my classic repertoire.
"Everte Statum!" An orange bolt slammed into the dummy with an audible thud. Its chest turned red, and it was violently thrown across half the room until it hit the wall with a tremendous crack. Of course, it wasn't the only one, so I happily continued.
"Expelliarmus!" "Flipendo!" "Os Frangere!" "Aculeus!" "Furnunculus!"
I enjoyed the destructive spells. Without fear of hurting anyone, I poured more and more power into them. "Levioso! Descendo!" Immediately, a destructive combination was created that lifted the dummy into the air and slammed it into the ground with the force of immense gravity. Only a crack was heard; the lower limbs it landed on shattered to pieces. After a while, however, the debris began to disappear, and the dummies constantly restored themselves.
"Diffindo!" A red flash hit the dummy's throat. The wooden head immediately flew backward, and the torso fell motionless to the ground. That, too, began to regenerate instantly.
"Aguamenti!" Water appeared immediately in the air, transforming into a mobile and massive whip during flight. With a sharp ripple, it lashed into the dummy, which it slammed against the wall with a crack. I managed to notice that my enhancement of the spell was visible. While the whip still had brute force, it began to slice into the dummy slightly. I saw an open gash in the wood before it could regenerate, so I continued.
"Aguamenti!" "Aguamenti!" "Aguamenti!"
I felt that elemental magic would be my most powerful weapon. Water had crushing power, but it could also be remarkably detailed and precise. I promised myself that when my whip began to actually cut the target, I would try to turn the water into ice, which would take my power to a new level. And so, I continued tirelessly.
"Aguamenti!" "Aguamenti!" "Aguamenti!"
I was starting to get quite tired. The improvements to the whip were minimal—in fact, I couldn't even see them anymore—and curfew was approaching. I had one last half-hour to finally try a more destructive spell from the Dark Arts category.
While Blanár threw a Confringo at me, which was explosive and dangerous especially for multiple targets at once, I chose something more detailed from Vespera's book—Reducto. For an area effect, I still had water available, but Reducto was something else.
Reducto was essentially a deadly curse. Depending on the amount of power invested, it could literally erase a target, whether it was an object or a living organism. It was strictly forbidden to use it on a human outside of self-defence. It wasn't among the Unforgivable Curses because it could be blocked, but it was definitely Dark magic. Although some theoreticians claimed it was neutral (because you might want to erase an inanimate object too), according to Vespera's notes, the spell was significantly amplified by negative emotions. And that made perfect sense.
It was my first attempt. I focused on the complete erasure of the object and fixed my gaze on the target so as not to miss even the smallest detail of the effect.
"Reducto!"
A blue spell with a dark, black trim flew from my yew wand. Without a single sound, it hit the dummy. It didn't even move, but the point of impact immediately turned red. I watched as a hole appeared in the wood—several centimetres deep and at least ten wide. It looked as if someone had simply erased that piece of the dummy from existence.
I immediately had to exhale from fatigue. This spell required a good deal of power. And I hadn't even pushed anything extra into it; I let the magic flow naturally from the wand. I had to continue training, though. I needed to master this spell so that it would be lethal.
"Reducto!" "Reducto!" "Reducto!"
My progress was minimal—maybe a few extra centimetres in diameter. But it was progress, and I knew that nothing comes for free. If I wanted to truly master this spell, I had to drill it to exhaustion.
After training, I headed to the Slytherin common room with a head full of thoughts on magical theory. I remembered the legendary duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. How was it possible that Dumbledore transfigured without a single word, while Grindelwald spoke the spells? How exactly did the relationship between verbal and non-verbal spellcasting work? I understood that in a fight, it didn't really matter whether you heard the name "Confringo" or not—you either dodge, protect yourself with a shield, or, of course, you die.
But what about me? How was it possible that I could conjure a flame on my palm without a word, but not water? Why was that? After all, I had an affinity for water, not fire. Was it a matter of repeated training of a specific spell until it soaked into the consciousness? But here my logic failed—it was said that even Voldemort couldn't cast Avada without a word, and yet it was a fundamental pillar of his repertoire.
***
Author's note:
In this chapter, we dive a bit deeper into magical theory and the expanded use of spells. You simply can't be a master of every spell; the more complex ones truly require a massive grind and a significant amount of power.
We also introduced a Sally-Anne Perks who will have her own story arc. I'd like to emphasize something here... a person can be genuinely selfish, combative, and power-hungry, yet still be capable of helping others or caring for someone in tears. I've trained and competed in combat sports myself—I've had my share of conflicts outside the gym and had no problem landing a high kick on some guy looking for trouble and spitting on him afterward... but if I see someone suffering, I can still offer a hand. That should be common and natural!
The world isn't just black and white; there's also the grey area, which is where our MC lives.
And finally, we have Reducto and some more theory. Enjoy!
***
Step into the Restricted Section
The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
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Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:
41. A Potter's Ambition
42. Pain as a Teacher
43. Blood and Runes
44. Blood, Sweat, and Special Editions
45. Precision of Water, Chaos of Rage
46. The Unseen Blade
47. The Blood Connection
48. The Ghost of a Friend
49. Hypothetical Questions
50. Ancient Crimes and Modern Recipes
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