Monday of the new school week began with a slight surprise—it had snowed during the night. Stupid weather; it wouldn't last even a couple of days. But there was so much of it! It had drifted over the common room windows. Even though the common room is technically a basent level, the windows are quite large, so burying them in snow isn't exactly easy. It seems this weather will hold for all of January—periodic snowfall, temperatures fluctuating around freezing, and so on.
After the standard morning routine, I hurried to the library. Madam Pince was already sitting at her desk, clearly not expecting to see anyone, as breakfast was about to start.
"Mr. Granger?" Her tone contained both a greeting and a question.
"Good morning, Madam. Not to waste either of our ti... I need the third volu of 'Advanced Charms' by Miranda Sayre."
A second later, Madam Pince had her answer ready.
"Follow ," the librarian stood up from behind her desk and headed deeper into the abode of knowledge.
As always, I quickly followed Madam Pince, and after passing a couple of rows of shelves, we reached the right spot. Without any wand or anything, the librarian levitated the book from the upper shelves and handed it to .
"Reading only within the library; removal is prohibited," she announced dryly, heading back to her workplace.
I didn't spend long looking for a spot, sitting down at the nearest table—there are many throughout the library, found both between rows of shelves and at the ends of corridors ford by those sa shelves. Quickly opening the page Professor Snape had ntioned, I found the spell for anchoring masking and other illusion charms. The spells were simple, but just in case, I didn't just morize them clearly but also copied them down.
Returning the book to its place, I hurried to the Great Hall for breakfast, and honestly, I was glad the al hadn't even reached the halfway point.
"Yo, Hector," Justin waved at , as did the other guys, while I was still approaching the table. "Where've you been hiding?"
"In the library."
"Hmm? Sothing for school?"
"No," I shook my head, piling bacon and beans onto my plate and starting on the fried eggs. "For personal use."
"Ah, okay. I thought maybe I missed sothing."
After breakfast, we went to Charms, where under the keen guidance of Professor Flitwick, we practiced another complex of magical influence on reality. Its practical use was questionable, but one way or another, it was a contribution, a brick in the foundation of the house called "Wizard."
After Charms, we moved to Care of Magical Creatures, outside, in winter cloaks and other warm gear. What pleased personally was that everyone had my warming amulets one way or another. Everyone except Weasley, judging by his disgruntled and slightly envious face. And generally, the guy was slightly angry at the whole world, and the further it went, the more so.
"Right then, kiddies," Hagrid rubbed his hands contentedly, standing at the threshold of his hut, dressed in various garnts of tanned leather and fur. "Today you have a completely safe introduction to curious, but... strange creatures, yeah. Follow ."
The students, not particularly brave but anticipating sothing, moved in a crowd behind the shaggy giant. Contrary to fears, we didn't have to trudge through the loose snow for long—just behind Hagrid's hut to a clearly recently built wooden pen, large and spacious. At the very entrance stood many crates without lids, but covered with warm blankets.
"Here we are, then," Hagrid led us to these crates and threw the cover off one of them. "Blast-Ended Skrewts..."
We peered into the box not without apprehension. Pretty strange creatures were crawling and lazily moving around in there. They were pinkish, clearly arthropods, and resembled a scorpion... And a crab. Yes, more like a crab, but the body was scorpion-like, and instead of claws, scorpion tails grew. Although, if you looked closely, there were rudintary claws too.
A light wind blew in our direction, and I slled a sharp odor of rotten fish.
"Oh... mother..." one of the guys couldn't hold back, covering his nose with his hand. The others did the exact sa, trying to hide from the sll clearly emanating from the strange beasts.
"What's wrong, guys?" Hagrid was surprised. "Cute little critters. Look..."
Hagrid reached into the crate, but one of the critters managed to turn its rear toward Hagrid and shoot a small jet of fire.
"Little rascal," Hagrid lanted with amusent.
"rlin!" so Slytherin was indignant. "Besides being ugly and slly, they spit fire too! Lovely!"
"Oh, they can do that," Hagrid nodded joyfully, continuing his attempts to grab the creature while covering his beard—which could flare up like a haystack—with his other hand. "They have poisonous stingers too, imagine how great that is?"
"Just wonderful..." similar phrases were heard from all sides, as no one felt enthusiastic about these strange creatures.
"Your task for today is to feed them. They're carnivorous, see, and I've prepared at," with these words, Hagrid threw the cover off another crate, in which, despite the cold, lay quite soft, almost warm, small pieces of at. "But be careful, don't feed them from your hand—throw it. And observe, see."
Still feeling no enthusiasm, the students approached the at box one or two at a ti, took pieces, and went to feed the little monsters. I had no problems with this, so I managed quickly and started sketching, standing next to our giant teacher.
"Listen, Hagrid," I addressed him without looking up from my sketches. "Where did you get these critters?"
"Well, what d'yeh an 'where'?" Hagrid chuckled, carefully watching whether the children were following instructions and not trying to do sothing rash. "Bred 'em myself, didn't I. Got painfully curious if sothin' would work... Erm... If a toad hatched Fire Crab eggs, see, on Manticore venom, yeah..."
Hearing that, I even stopped sketching and writing for a mont, blinked a couple of tis, and then realized what I'd heard. Hagrid is a cunning and quick-witted beetle when it cos to animals. The developnt of a Fire Crab egg depends heavily on the environnt, and unlike ordinary crabs, Fire Crabs don't "carry" them; they lay them in suitable conditions. The eggs absorb substances and energy around them, and if conditions suit them, larvae form. But Hagrid, as I noted, is a cunning beetle—he substituted the conditions. And to prevent the eggs from dying due to unsuitable conditions, he used a toad—a magical one, naturally. When toads incubate eggs, they make any conditions suitable, but the result might not be what nature intended.
"Longbottom!" Hagrid raised his voice, and I think half the students will have to change their underwear now. Well, Neville certainly will. "I told yeh, lad, don't stick yer hands in there. What if they bit yeh?"
"But..."
"No 'buts'."
"Understood..."
"Oh, it's hard work, watchin' over kiddies," Hagrid rumbled quietly, but you can't keep secrets with a voice like his.
In the second half of the day, after lunch and Ancient Runes—where I used copies of Daphne's textbooks not without pleasure—I quickly returned to the common room. There weren't many people there—classes were still going on. To my joy, I spotted Cedric, who had clearly run in on business, but while he hadn't spoken to anyone yet and was busy with so papers, I approached him.
"Hi."
"Huh? Hector, hi. I'm a bit busy, and if it's not important, maybe it can wait until evening?"
"Yes and no. Do you know anyone I can discuss the concept of Dueling with right now, and what the minimum knowledge required is?"
"Hmm..." Cedric looked up from his papers and quickly scanned the Common Room. "Herbert!"
Cedric called out to a guy, but two turned around—an older one, our Keeper, and a younger one, just a second-year.
"The one who's Fleet," added Cedric, and our Keeper imdiately jumped up from his seat and was beside us.
"Yeah? What happened?" he asked briskly, shifting his gaze from to Cedric.
"You're not busy with anything, are you?"
"Nope," Herbert shook his head.
"Here's Hector for you; tell him about Dueling, show him, I don't know, the classic gentleman's set..."
"Say no more," Herbert held up a hand in a stopping gesture with a self-important face. "Duels are my forte."
"Theoretical," Cedric chuckled.
"Well, not only, but in theory I have no equals in the castle, I'll say without undue modesty."
"Flitwick."
"Oh, don't start," Herbert feigned offense. "Comparing a Hogwarts student, whoever he may be, with a Charms Master and master of everything-with-a-wand, and a five-ti champion of the European Dueling Club... That's like... A flea and a manticore, there!"
"Alright, flea, show Hector how to jump. I think with Hector's reaction and perception, he'll out-jump a manticore one day."
"Not very flattering," I smiled. "But to so extent fair."
"Right, mate," Herbert clapped on the shoulder. "Let's go. Our Prefect is too busy, as you can see."
Herbert and I left the common room and went into the first empty classroom we found. It was as empty as possible in Hogwarts—walls, windows, a chandelier on chains, that's it. No dust, nothing like that. Herbert noticed my look and guessed the reasons.
"Closest classroom. People often practice magic here so they don't have to go far from the common room. We have everything close at hand, really—kitchen, common room, classrooms. What else does a dashing life need?" the guy smiled, gesturing toward the objects of conversation. "So, what do you know about dueling?"
"Nothing."
"Excellent!"
Herbert practically ran to the other side of the room, to the wall, turned around, and pointed to the spot opposite him at the other wall—I stood there.
"A little brief theory. Excluding misunderstandings right away—never compare a duel and combat magic, a fight. A fight is using everything, even a dirty sock suddenly found in your pocket, to destroy the enemy in any manifestation. A duel is art! True, strictly regulated."
"That's clear," I nodded.
"Great. Duels can be classic and sport. Dueling in the form it exists now is a rather fresh tradition in the magical world; it ford definitively only about three hundred years ago, having co a very, very long way. A classic duel is, first and foremost, a strictly regulated procedure for settling scores between two wizards... Listen to spin it!" Herbert struck a pose importantly. "So..."
Herbert beca more serious.
"mory good? Because you'll need to morize verbatim."
"I'll manage."
"Excellent. A classic duel goes through several stages. Challenge of the opponent, acceptance or refusal by the challenged party, announcent of place and ti by the challenging party, acceptance or refusal by the challenged party, designation of victory conditions by the challenged party, acceptance or refusal by the challenging party. For each stage, there are strictly defined phrases, and this is important, because in the heat of emotion you could blurt out sothing, and blast magic too, so you won't know where to hide afterwards. And the phrases are chosen to be as neutral as possible, so that even if your own magic goes berserk on emotions, it won't find an outlet in words and the images they evoke in the head."
"Logical, nothing to add really," I shrugged.
"So. Challenge of the opponent: I, state your full na, challenge you, state the full or known na of the opponent, to a wizard's duel."
"Got it."
"Acceptance or refusal: I, state your na as the opponent called you, accept your challenge to a duel. Or: do not accept your challenge to a duel."
"Also clear."
"Wonderful. The challenger announces the place of the duel in the form of a question: shall the place of our duel be, na the place, and shall it begin at, state the ti according to the place of the duel."
"morized."
"The challenged party answers, either: nas the place, shall be the place of our duel, and we shall begin at, says the ti. If they disagree, they say 'by no ans,' and repeat the form of announcing the place and ti exactly, and now the challenger must either confirm or choose the place again. After all this, first the challenging party announces a second using the form: my second shall be, and nas the full na. The challenged party does likewise. The duel itself takes place under the direction of the seconds, but their role is simple—organize the bow, the separation, the bow of the duelists, and give the countdown to start. Upon completion of the duel, they announce the winner, and carry out the defeated if necessary."
"Creepy song and dance."
"Those are the habits of ancient wizarding families," Herbert smirked. "Let's continue. After agreeing on the place, the challenged party announces the victory conditions: the duel is conducted until, and conditions are specified. If the challenging party disagrees, everything goes as with the place, until agreent. For information—you can announce a duel to the death, but public censure is guaranteed."
"Why?"
"Well, there are few wizards," Herbert smiled. "The opponent can be as much of a jerk as he wants, but a live wizard is better for society than a dead one. But generally, you rarely et such a duel. After all, the results of an official classic duel are an obvious reason for society to place the loser below the winner. To avoid an awkward situation, they even ca up with a number of restrictions, due to which just anyone can't challenge just anyone."
"For example?"
"Well, for example, a Muggle-born cannot challenge a pureblood to an official duel. Without a very compelling reason. Often such a reason is sothing related to relatives—damage to honor, and very weighty at that, murder of a wizard relative, and all sorts of other harsh stuff. You understand yourself, Muggle-borns usually don't have wizard relatives, and everything else is dust. Therefore, a Muggle-born can technically challenge, but there won't be a reason. Easier to just beat them up, and in principle, no one will say anything. But that's here, at school. With the onset of adulthood cos responsibility for one's actions, and you can't just arrange magical battles—breach of public order, fines, and sanctions."
"Nothing unusual, I must note."
"Exactly... A sport duel is an organized event. There are no problems with all this dancing around phrases. There is a referee and he simply calls the duelists to the platform, or whatever 'stage' is provided. The duelists, as in a classic duel, et face to face, bow, turn, walk fifteen paces apart, turn, bow, stance. On the count, the duel begins."
"Logical so far."
"That's 'so far'," Herbert smirked. "In a sport duel, the dress code is agreed upon in advance, but can be anything. But in classic—a suit appropriate to the duelist's gender, and a classic robe. And also, a man challenges a man, a lady—a lady. You can, of course, have a man challenge a lady, and vice versa, but one must understand that a classic duel is not only a process of identifying the strongest and most skillful, but also a social event. For a mixed-gender duel, a compelling reason is needed, otherwise they won't understand, and even if you win the duel—you lose in the eyes of society."
"Grim..."
"Yep," Herbert nodded joyfully. "Our little world is small, everyone knows everyone, everyone talks about everything. You sneeze in Plymouth—in Aberdeen they're already yelling that you shat yourself."
"How uncultured," I shook my head with feigned reproach.
"But factual. So... Regarding sport or training duels... Everything is simple there, as I said. Separated, referee announced conditions, gave the signal, and off it went. Now, regarding common things for all duels. You must always keep facing the opponent, on one line. You can shift, of course, or if you were thrown aside for one reason or another... The most amusing thing is that you cannot purposefully step off the line of fire, dodge."
"That's nonsense, isn't it?"
"Yes and no," Herbert nodded. "A duel is, first and foremost, a thod of ascertaining a wizard's superiority in mastery and skills specifically of magic, not running around, grimacing, and agility of jumping. That's why, by the way, avid duelists sotis lose a real fight—habits. I heard that in the Auror Academy they spend a whole year relentlessly beating duelist habits out of the young ones, if they have them. Not many do, but enough. Many try themselves in this sooner or later anyway."
"Logical. After all, it's part of life in the magical world."
"Exactly! And if you won't find a classic one by day with fire, sport and training duels are a di a dozen! I'm telling you for sure. Because it is the art of magic, sorcery, subtlety, and speed of weaving spells..." Herbert began gesturing, depicting an elegant fencing match, there's no other way to put it. "...Lunges, feints, changing spell trajectories..."
Looking at Herbert, it was impossible not to be infected by enthusiasm, although my shard experience held back a little. But the guy voiced his own actions amusingly, a sort of one-man theater.
"...you must stand facing the enemy, half-turned is acceptable, depending on the situation and leading hand. And a spell beam can be redirected behind the enemy's back, and he needs to reflect it sohow without turning around or dodging. Magic, magic, and magic again!"
"Calm down, duel fan," I interrupted the guy's monologue with a smile.
"Indeed," he brushed invisible dust motes off his robe, smoothing it out. "Got carried away. We just almost never do this here, and at ho you can't compete for long—Dad's either busy or he doesn't hold back, the rascal."
"What about spells?"
"Ah, yes, the 'gentleman's set'. Protego, Expelliarmus, Stupefy."
"Not very complicated," I mused.
"Tut-tut!" Herbert waved his hand, standing at the other end of the classroom. "That's just the tip of the iceberg. Protego, Protego Duo, Protego Trio, Protego Reflecto. Three forms of Expelliarmus, differing in gesture and effect. Stupefy, Stupefy Duo, Stupefy Pravus. That's what the 'Gentleman's Set' looks like. Let show you everything in practice..."
Herbert stuck his hand in his pocket, pulled out so ball, threw it to the wall to his right, and as soon as the ball rolled to the wall, it imdiately inflated into so parody of the Michelin mascot—a sort of white marshmallow man with caricatured eyes and a kind smile.
"What is this miracle?" I asked, looking at the thing.
"My training dummy. Need soone to practice on, and it's hard to focus on a wall."
We, together with this dummy, ford a sort of triangle—each stood by one of the walls. Herbert stood in a pose closest to a fencer, but instead of a sword he had a wand, and his second hand was behind his back.
"So. Let's start with Protego..." Herbert demonstratively made a not very fast pass with his wand, speaking in ti with the movents: "Protego."
For a couple of seconds, a translucent convex film of a shield appeared in front of the guy, quickly disappearing.
"Always rember that a normal Protego is a constantly active film of powerful complex distortion of space energy..." Herbert started speaking but stopped, looking at , "...am I speaking too complexly?"
"No, just right. I'm quite well-read."
"Good..." a slight doubt slipped into Herbert's gaze, but he waved it off. "Anyway, due to the peculiarities of Protego, you either have to pour a ton of magic into it, but even then a normal Protego will fall apart from the first spell anyway, or feel the mont precisely. Repeat."
I had already read about this spell, and even tried it, but didn't tell Herbert—I didn't want to interrupt his enthusiasm, or he might get offended. Repeating the wand movent and speaking the spell, I created the sa shield film for the sa couple of seconds. It's interesting how local magic works—without structuring, without building complex energy channels in space forming a figure or circuit from a multitude of them. Wave correctly, say correctly, imagine the necessary—result. And everyone has more or less the sa. Strange, thinking about this again.
"Not bad," Herbert nodded thoughtfully. "Very not bad."
It would be strange if it were "bad". Even if my knowledge applicable to the local school of magic is sparse, the fragntary experience of sorcery from different shards adds up to a weighty argunt one way or another, and most importantly, due to this experience, it is extrely easy for to repeat a spell that succeeded even once, even from the local school. I already noticed that if you add imaginary pronunciation of the word during the swing to the imaginary formula or necessary image, the effect will be the sa, but slightly more energy will be spent. I think if I try adding an imaginary swing too, and release magic through its control, sothing will work out. But that's for later.
"Let's repeat ten tis, for better morization," Herbert nodded to his thoughts.
"Okay," I started making swings. "Protego, Protego, Protego, Protego..."
Ti after ti I perford the spell, and each ti was absolutely successful, and the shield held for the sa amount of ti.
"Hmm... And on the first try... Talent!" Herbert exclaid joyfully. "It's a sin to bury such talent. Let's move on. Protego Duo..."
Protego Duo turned out to be a shield within a shield, nothing special—it just withstands two spells, not one. Trio—similarly, but three. Protego Reflecto is a much more interesting spell. It creates a smaller area shield that lasts half a second maximum, but reflects the spell according to all laws of physics—the angle of incidence equals the angle of reflection.
"Why in Mordred's na does everything work out so perfectly for you?!" Herbert feigned indignation. "Ooh, how I envy! In a good way, of course, but... Ooh, how I envy!"
Next ca demonstrations of Stupefy. The spell is a faintly glowing white clot. A Stupefy hit causes a concussive effect, and a good hit can knock one unconscious, but not due to the blow, but due to magic. The direct proportional dependence of the clot's flight speed on the speed of casting the spell is interesting. Stupefy Duo is the sa as Protego Duo. A spell within a spell. Stupefy Pravus is a spell of two series of gestures. The first is like Stupefy, but ends a bit differently, and the second gesture, on which you say "Pravus," sets the flight trajectory. It is determined by the tip of the wand during the gesture, and the gesture itself can be anything—a zigzag, a loop, whatever. The main thing is to manage to make the gesture you need while saying "Pravus," and you have to say it at the sa tempo as "Stupefy." That's the difficulty—you can't make an intricate trajectory if you're trying to say it very quickly. But, in fairness, a sharp zigzag is enough to make the opponent cross-eyed.
Expelliarmus—disarming. In the first and simplest form, it simply shoots an extrely fast dull beam, which doesn't necessarily have to hit the hand, the main thing is the person. Whatever is in their hand will be torn from it and fly in a parabola to the caster. The second form does the sa, but also pushes the opponent properly. The third, already belonging to the category of conditionally dark spells, breaks the arm in countless places, causing a powerful spasm of the extensor muscles. Technically, the person will be disard, but... Harsh, in short. At the sa ti, such a form of Expelliarmus is still considered an acceptable, normal spell, and essentially, if you don't do it for the sake of pain to the enemy, they'll just wag a finger at you, saying: "Could have done without that, but good job anyway." Why? Magical dicine makes such injuries just "hurt very, very much," but everything is cured overnight. That's how it is.
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