Chapter 22
"Damn it—so Quirrell really did snap by the end of the year," Draco Malfoy grumbled in his trademark exaggerated, pompous drawl. "And I even wrote to my father in the middle of the year, telling him to come inspect Hogwarts. As Head of the Board of Governors, he could've thrown that stutterer out of the castle long before he finally lost it!"
"Yes, yes, Malfoy. As always, you knew everything in advance and could've saved everyone if only anyone had listened to you," Daphne Greengrass sniffed haughtily, hissing at the blond boy with irritation, then sending me a slightly apologetic look.
"What are you trying to say!?" Draco immediately narrowed his eyes angrily, still not having learned over the past year how to take a hit from our prickly friend with dignity… Though Daphne was only prickly now and then, and usually toward Malfoy and his squires. She almost never hissed at me or Pansy.
"Only this: if you came to visit an injured person in the hospital wing just to make noise and pick a fight, you'd better stop embarrassing yourself and leave immediately," the Greengrass heiress was especially wound up today, showing Malfoy no mercy. "Harry, are you really all right? We were terrified when we heard your scream for help the day before yesterday…"
"The worst didn't happen," I shrugged, not hiding the irritation in my voice… Just a couple hours before my friends arrived, the Headmaster had visited me with Snape and Flitwick. And if the half-goblin mostly stayed silent and sometimes even tried to protect me, the two seasoned Legilimens put me through a real interrogation.
I wasn't sure whether they were pretending to be competent or had truly managed to miss the Dark Lord right under their noses… which was entirely possible. At the start of the year, I hadn't sensed anything strange from that stutterer either. I only began to feel the Dark Lord's nasty magic toward the end of the year—when other professors likely weren't doing routine checks on their colleague anymore…
"I genuinely don't know what to think about all this," I had to admit. In the end… I was simply glad I'd survived, and I glanced gratefully at McGonagall, the one who had become the hero that fought the Dark Lord herself.
The battle between the possessed bastard and our brave animagus-cat happened not far from the corridors where Snape and I had been sprawled, but… the Transfiguration master dealt with her former colleague faster than you'd expect. Rumor said she even managed to take him alive, but once the Dark Lord realized his position, he apparently killed his host and fled.
I didn't have exact information. Witness accounts contradicted each other and got distorted beyond recognition before reaching me… But it didn't matter. The details didn't lessen my gratitude to the Gryffindor Head of House.
Unlike Snape, who lost in a single moment because of his Mark, or Dumbledore, who wasn't even in the school at the time but later wore me down with questions, Minerva did exactly what the situation required—and what every other wizard in the ancient castle somehow failed to do.
"By the way, what about the Defense exam? Are they even going to hold it this year?" I asked the Slytherins, pulling myself away from unpleasant memories and back to practical matters.
"No one knows yet. They're supposed to announce something by Wednesday, and they might schedule the exam on Friday," Pansy answered simply, glaring at Daphne for once again picking on her beloved Draco.
"Seventh and fifth years will have Ministry examiners no matter what. But for us… there are rumors Snape might take over. Or Dumbledore might do it—good for restoring his reputation, but hardly anyone believes that," Daphne added, crossing her arms over her not-yet-there chest.
"Yeah… and they're keeping me here until Thursday. Just to make sure I'm psychologically and magically fine. In case Quirrell threw something at me during the chase…" I grimaced, less worried about the exam than about staying in the hospital wing that long.
A hospital is still a hospital—even inside a school, even magical. And after the Headmaster talked to me, and students were allowed to visit me most of the day… far too many acquaintances came with the same questions, desperate to know what happened and why Quirrell had chased me.
It was unpleasant. Telling Draco and our little circle the shortened version of my escape was one thing. Repeating it over and over was another. I got sick of it quickly. Luckily, Madam Pomfrey started driving away unnecessary visitors at some point.
And Daphne Greengrass, being a proper girl and a good friend, brought me a few thick, genuinely interesting books… Not only magical literature and extra material for the Defense exam—which Snape did end up taking over—but actual fiction. Good old English classics, with the occasional French and Italian volume.
Despite popular belief, even pure-bloods read some Muggle literature. In fact, many writers from the not-so-distant past who published in the Muggle world were actually wizards or at least Squibs, which surprised me a lot…
As did the fact that the spread of information in the ordinary world—even through books—was strictly controlled by wizards. It seemed obvious in hindsight, but when Draco first told me, I'd been in mild shock for days. I felt like I knew absolutely nothing about this world.
Anyway, my stay in the hospital wing became tolerable. And then it was time for the last exam of the year, which also wasn't a big problem. Snape didn't even try to fail me, though he questioned everyone with full severity, so many students' grades ended up disappointing.
I actually liked his approach. It was satisfying to show that long-nosed, gloomy bastard that outside his beloved Potions he couldn't sink me. And you could tell that, unlike Quirrell, Severus truly knew his subject—after a year of being taught by a stuttering mess, that was almost refreshing.
"Shame Snape teaches Potions. I feel like he could be a genuinely good Defense professor," I thought later, when it was finally time to leave the ancient castle…
The Hogwarts Express took us back to London, where most students—including my friends—were met by their families.
I, meanwhile, had to leave the magical side of the station with Milo hissing at everyone, then spend almost two more hours searching for and waiting on the very late Dursleys. I even started thinking they wouldn't come at all, and I'd have to get home on my own—probably on that magical bus-ride-from-hell.
But no. Vernon eventually arrived, and I felt a strange inner discomfort as I returned to the ordinary world. Not unpleasant or disorienting exactly, but I was definitely more comfortable at Hogwarts. All that magic, constant movement, lessons, private training, clubs, even long essays as homework…
It had slipped into my life so naturally and rooted itself so fast that returning to gray everyday life in a чужая family made me feel out of place… Luckily, my unregistered wand was still with me.
So, leaving my usual school wand in the trunk, I resumed training from the very first days of summer—doing real magic far away from home. Our house was under its own enchantments too, and those might not even belong to the Ministry… Even Draco and his circle didn't know all the details of magical oversight.
But I wasn't going to risk it. I practiced away from home, with my invisibility cloak always on hand, which let me train wand magic calmly and thoroughly. And I didn't stop training wandless magic either.
If anything, I did more. With a mountain of free time and no desire to hang around Dudley after a school year full of far more interesting people, I could indulge myself. As long as I had the strength, I threw myself into any magical practice.
It wasn't even structured or scheduled. In the spirit of summer break, I… did whatever I felt like. Spend a day trying to master a full Patronus—sure. Tired of Charms—then I'd play with Transfiguration, recalculating and refining forms on the fly. Sick of holding a wand—fine, I'd practice "childlike elemental" casting.
So much free time and personal motivation to surround myself with magic let me choose what I'd do each day freely… And the approach worked. Fast.
I sharpened and reinforced what I already knew, learned new things I hadn't had time for at school, and sometimes even invented new ways to cast without a wand… Inspiration and the right mood boosted my progress.
The key was beating the occasional laziness and grabbing magic with fresh force each day. And once I started casting, I'd quickly get absorbed, enjoying the process and barely thinking about ordinary-world details. Even when the Dursleys realized I could use a wand without causing disaster, they didn't bother me much—they just strictly forbade their son from getting anywhere near me.
That didn't mean Dudley and I stopped talking entirely. He still sought me out sometimes, wanting to hear about the magical world and my school, but his enthusiasm didn't last long. He didn't care about normal lessons or my new "friends." Magic itself still fascinated him, though…
He even tried to get something out of himself—begging obsessively to hold my wand. Nothing happened, but "Big D" wasn't giving up.
And because of that, when I woke up one summer morning and didn't find my wand under my pillow, my first thought was Dudley and his newly awakened kleptomaniac streak…
I didn't expect the situation to be far more serious—and that I was wrong to think a certain mad house-elf would show up only at the end of summer.
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