Popularity is a funny thing.
The very next day after the Goblet chose the Champions, Cedric was drowning in attention, especially from the female half of the school. He had never exactly been part of the furniture before, but this was the peak of his fa. Girls were flocking to him in the common room, asking him to sign their bags or wizarding photos. The younger boys were at it too, though they just thought Cedric was cool.
Among the older students, Herbert surprised . He hauled in a massive stack of photos and posters—rlin knows when he made them—and asked Cedric to sign them all. When the sixth and seventh-year girls gave him bewildered looks, he just waved them off.
"When Cedric wins the Tournant, I'll have a pile of items signed personally by him. They'll sell like hot cakes! I'll be able to jack up the price—ooh, the galleons!"
Our Keeper's rcenary motives were imdiately transparent, but did anyone judge him? No. They smiled at his resourcefulness and even recomnded he keep so of the signed rchandise for thirty or forty years, just in case it beca a vintage rarity.
At breakfast in the Great Hall, a shift in priorities beca obvious. So of the girls who had been chasing Krum for autographs—and whom Krum had been magically evading for three weeks—decided to switch targets. Now, hunting Cedric was their civic duty.
"Popularity," Ernie noted with a tinge of envy, twirling a smoked sausage on his fork.
"Jealous?"
"You're pretty popular yourself, you know. Or you will be soon."
"Why would I be?"
Ernie, and the rest of the group, looked at with silent disbelief.
"You're smart, figure it out."
I looked around. I noticed how many students from different houses and ages imdiately averted their eyes, suddenly finding their breakfast porridge fascinating.
"For an entire broomstick manufacturing company, you are the face of the brand in England," Justin started counting on his fingers. "You're a highly successful Quidditch player—and who knows what results you'll show next year. You bypassed the Goblet's defenses, which were set by Dumbledore himself."
"And you're just handso," Hannah added. Susan blushed slightly.
"Hmm. That makes sense," I nodded.
I hadn't looked at it from that angle. Or rather, I hadn't given it any weight.
"There was so much talk yesterday," Susan said, nervously trying to spear a bean on her plate. "People are saying that if you had thrown your na in, the Goblet would have chosen you, not Cedric. And that's just in our House. I think others are wondering the sa thing."
"Ah, well. As long as they don't stop from living and studying."
"Our kind of guy," Justin smiled, and breakfast continued as usual.
It was Saturday, which ant I could dedicate the day to self-study, the library, and practicing with the guys. They went to the library too, but usually just for howork. I went for the subjects themselves. We had a silent agreent: they didn't disturb , and I helped them when we studied the curriculum together.
After breakfast, I headed to the library. Madam Pince didn't even notice ; I had beco part of the scenery.
Without any fuss, I grabbed a stack of books for "light reading" and found a comfortable spot between the rows of shelves, at a table by the window. The library wasn't busy at the start of the year. Only the fifth and seventh years would start haunting this place in a week or two, once the professors started tightening the screws regarding the upcoming O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. I rembered the stress of exams from my past life and the elf's mories. It's funny how, in hindsight, you smirk at your own naivety, dismissing exams as "nonsense," but in the mont, it feels like the end of the world.
I opened the first book on Charms and began flipping through it at my own pace—which was very fast. I spent about twenty seconds fully processing each page. If I understood the fragnts of the elf's mories correctly, even in his pri, he couldn't boast such brain productivity without magical doping or potions. The fact that Stwyck's recomnded potion course had stabilized my condition was a godsend.
I sat, flipped pages, and morized.
As always, there was a lot of theory and nuance, with actual spells making up maybe three percent of the text. But the text was useful. It described the chanics of arithtic formulas and how ntal images influenced the final effect. One book spent fifty pages proving that wizards who rely on imagination and visualization are heavily dependent on their general knowledge of the world (physics, chanics), while those who rely strictly on academic rote morization can be thick as a plank and still cast a working spell, provided they follow the instructions exactly.
Occasionally, students flickered between the shelves. The funniest sight was Krum, efficiently hiding from his tail of obsessive fangirls. It turned out that enthusiastic, flighty girls were generally allergic to libraries. The Bulgarian had found his sanctuary.
. . .
Page after page, I devoured the knowledge.
Perhaps my success in witchcraft wasn't just due to understanding the neutral energy that powered local magic, but also my life experience? Everything written in these books, even in archaic languages, made sense to . It didn't cause the stupor it might in a child.
"Oh! dical..."
I couldn't suppress a quiet exclamation of joy. Specific dical texts were technically restricted to —the ones I could freely access required sixth-year knowledge. I could have just grabbed them and started learning, but experience told that rushing usually backfired.
"Hm..." Thoughtfully, I transfigured a wooden block into a wand and began practicing the movent.
Episkey. A spell for the forced repositioning of damaged bones. It was universally applicable to any creature; the magic itself determined where the bones should be. However, it didn't treat complex fractures or shatters. It was strictly for resetting. A broken nose, a simple fracture—perfect.
an hour and two thick books later, I stumbled upon another dical spell. These were rare in standard literature.
Brackium Endo. Removal of bones from a limb or specific area. It sounded terrifying, but it only removed damaged bones (and perhaps a few connected ones if you tried hard). Why use it? Simple. Sotis it's easier to regrow a bone than to assemble a jigsaw puzzle of splinters using Episkey. Remove the shattered bone and the periosteum, eliminate the pain, drink so Skele-Gro, suffer through a night of regrowth, and voilà—brand new bones.
Of course, spells that deleted matter from a living wizard were complex. If the patient resisted with their magic, it wouldn't work. Hence, not a combat spell.
Thoughts of combat led to muse on dueling.
To understand the local dueling pace, imagine two fencers with rapiers, but standing ten ters apart. Attack, block, thrust, parry. The speed is dictated by how fast you can clearly enunciate a generic incantation.
But that changes with non-verbal magic. The speed increases, leaving only the gesture. And masters could minimize or discard the gesture entirely. My "overclocked" brain helped here; I could visualize the intent and simulate the incantation and gesture ntally in a fraction of a second. I noticed Romanova doing sothing similar; her facial micro-expressions changed during our duel, suggesting she was reciting spells in her head.
But what if you skip words and gestures? You need spells with instant effects. Being a Healer didn't an I could ignore the "firearms" of this world.
"What are you thinking about?"
I hadn't noticed Daphne approaching. She was holding a large potioneer's reference book.
"Hi. The combat aspects of magic."
"Oh, your thoughts will be sorrowful, and most importantly," Daphne placed her book on the table and sat next to , "completely futile."
"Is it that bad?"
She looked at , blinked, and a dawn of understanding crossed her eyes.
"I forget sotis that you're Muggle-born. You know," she opened her book to a bookmark, setting the marker aside, "you live in your Muggle world and don't think about certain things. But if asked, you'd know the answer."
"Assu so."
"It's the sa with us and magic. A lot of things... you just understand how they work, what to look for. You draw conclusions sotis that make forget your background."
"So, what about combat magic?"
"It depends on the situation," Daphne tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. It fell back imdiately, so she produced a couple of hairpins and pinned her hair back to clear her view. "Let's assu a clash between two wizards."
. . .
"If I am to believe my father..." Daphne paused for a mont, taking out a notebook and an enchanted quill. "Then everything, one way or another, revolves around Stupefy."
"Boring..."
"I disagree. I may not like that we are forced to use wands, but I've stopped ignoring this magic. It was a joy to realize..." She smiled briefly at her own thoughts before looking back at . "It is fast. Very fast. The effect is instantaneous—a powerful impact, shock, paralysis, or unconsciousness. It depends on many factors, but Stupefy is capable of taking an opponent out of the fight."
"I hadn't really thought about that."
"A Stupefy perford by an experienced and powerful wizard is almost an instant spell. According to Father, in a one-on-one duel, the task is to disable the other wizard as quickly as possible. You can use anything to distract him, but it all boils down to one thing—creating an opening to land one strong, lightning-fast strike."
"But there are heaps of other spells," I wanted to list various combinations.
"Don't complicate it," Daphne smiled. "Parkinson let read her notes on your duel with Romanova."
"Parkinson? Was she there?"
"She is almost always where Malfoy is, even if Malfoy doesn't know it."
"That is... vaguely creeping out." I shuddered involuntarily.
"A little," Daphne agreed. "But that's not the point. Pansy recorded everything down to the millisecond. As a duel, it was excellent. Distractions, counterattacks, spell combinations. Romanova acted like a soldier—she applied pressure. You acted like a duelist—you adapted. The finale was beautiful for a duel, but for a real fight? No. A quick Stupefy Duo instead of Flagellavertum—and I'm sure you're capable of that—and Romanova would have been out of the fight. And once that happens, it's over."
"So, everything revolves around the Stunning Spell..." I mused.
"Yes," Daphne nodded imdiately. "Stupefy is the bread and butter of any fighter. Of course, with skill and experience, you can build any combination imaginable—like your idea of transfiguring stone to water, shaping it into a shield, and freezing it to counter fire arrows and create mist. In battle, experienced wizards try to catch each other with curses, deceptions, and illusions, but all of that serves not so much to attack, but to create a 'window' in the enemy's defense. Into that window flies a Stupefy or an Expelliarmus..."
"The Disarming Charm? Isn't it rather slow?"
Daphne shook her head.
"Its speed depends directly on the execution."
"Hm... So, non-verbal and gestureless ans instant?"
"Almost. The milliseconds of flight ti can be neglected. Of course, an experienced wizard might counter without a wand. Or just Apparate away. But he will lose the tempo of the fight, lose speed, and most likely, that will be the end of it."
"You have quite a wealth of knowledge on this for soone who dislikes wand magic."
"You don't have to love wand magic, but you are obliged to know the theory and understand the concept. And you don't think I go to the Dueling Club just to drink tea with Parkinson?"
"The thought crossed my mind. I've never seen you fight."
"It doesn't interest ."
The topic of practical dueling imdiately sent Daphne back to her book.
"Ask Professor Flitwick today to demonstrate a Stupefy in its ideal execution. Better yet, have him use it on you. For understanding. And the Disarming Charm. Believe , it's a great way to get rid of misconceptions and underestimations."
"Alright. By the way, sorry to distract you, but what about curses?"
"What about them?" Daphne looked at again.
"You said they are used too."
"They are slow," she nodded. "Either they take long to cast, fly slowly, or work slowly upon impact. You know, it's not for nothing that Avada Kedavra is considered Unforgivable. You've noticed the emphasis in the na is on Instant Death?"
"I have. But I assud it was about the 'Death' part and the intent to kill. And the power."
"That too, but the main reason is that the Killing Curse requires no gesture. Ideally, it is an instantaneous beam that kills instantly. Instantly. I know of three curses that lead to death..."
"You know them?"
"I know of their existence, nothing more. Parents don't teach that. they say to grow up first and learn to think with my head, not other places... As if I don't think with my head! Anyway..." Slightly embarrassed by her outburst, which showed in a brief flash of emotion before her mask of indifference returned, Daphne continued. "I know such curses exist. But they all kill rather slowly, which allows for aid to be rendered to the victim."
"Curious. No, really."
"It is," she nodded. "Curses are a whole science. From prank hexes to absurdly destructive ones capable of... causing all sorts of nastiness on a massive scale. But all these effects are stretched over ti. And often, the stronger and more massive the effect, the longer this 'stretching' is. By the way, you want to be a Healer?"
"I do."
"Then you will have to study curses one way or another, and certainly not at a school level."
"Madam Pince said the necessary books are in the Restricted Section."
"Naturally," Daphne nodded as if stating the obvious. "Such books are not given to novices or dropouts."
. . .
"But I want them."
"We all want things," Daphne nodded, then shivered slightly. "I once 'wanted' sothing at ho, too. Of course, I received nothing but 'educational asures.' Along the way, it was explained to that everything outside the school curriculum is written for fully ford wizards. The more complex the topic, the more qualified the wizard must be. Do you know the most common reason for admission to St. Mungo's?"
"I can't even imagine," I smiled.
"Don't be snide. Nine out of ten cases are incorrectly perford magic. The causes of death, if rumors are to be believed, are in roughly the sa proportion. In peaceti, of course."
"Well," I accepted the information and turned back to my books. "Then we sit and read."
"Precisely."
Our library session lasted almost until lunch. In the Great Hall, busy with food, students continued to discuss the Champions. The Goblet itself had been hauled away sowhere—presumably to the Headmaster's office or the Ministry.
The most amusing part of the whole picture was that a portion of Krum's fangirls were slowly but surely defecting to the Diggory camp. Our Prefect, anwhile, kept glancing at the Ravenclaw table, trying to catch Cho Chang's eye. It seed the popularity flattered him, but it wasn't his goal.
---------------
Give Powerstones if you like the story.
If you want to read 60 advanced chapters, you can do so on my Patreon.
Patreon(.)com/TheRedSpell
User Comments
0 comments from readers