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[Hydrargyrum] Chapter 22
🕑 Added 2025-03-04 00:57:20 +0000 UTC"How do you think we should translate ‘le principe’? Should it be ‘rule,’ ‘cause,’ ‘origin,’ or ‘foundation’?" Granger asked, looking up from a thick dictionary. Despite all the preservation and cleaning spells, the book looked as though the last person to use it had lived during Napoleon’s time.
"In the original textbook, it’s closer to ‘principle,’ but in translation, I think ‘origin’ fits better," Kayneth replied as he approached the table, setting down another stack of reference books. It was already the third guide on French magical terminology, along with several books on wand creation and selection. He had even found an old, early 19th-century Ministry pamphlet detailing common issues with wand compatibility and methods to resolve them.
Stuffed into the pocket of his cloak was a simple notebook where he jotted down the titles of books that had caught his interest along the way—volumes he planned to study later. That list was growing alarmingly fast.
"You think so?" Granger hesitated, pulling her rough draft closer. "To me, ‘rule’ fits better. Like ‘the rule you act by.’ Or maybe ‘principle’ as in ‘he has principles.’"
"Principles exist today and disappear tomorrow. But this ‘le principe’ stays with you for your entire life. ‘Rule’ is closer, but it’s more of a moral or legal category—it dictates what you can or cannot do, whether you follow the rules or break them. ‘Origin,’ on the other hand, is what shapes your actions, your decisions, and even the way your magic manifests. It’s the starting point of everything you do. You might not even be aware of it—most wizards don’t realize it exists—but it constantly influences you nonetheless."
"That sounds a little terrifying," she murmured, turning her wand over in both hands, studying it as if seeing it for the first time. It might have seemed odd to an outsider, but in the near-empty library, there was no one around to notice.
It was a quiet Saturday morning, and no more than half a dozen students occupied the vast library, their presence swallowed by the towering bookshelves. The time for frantic exam cramming and last-minute essay revisions hadn’t arrived yet, and even the most dedicated Ravenclaw bookworms had opted to sleep in. But, as always, there were exceptions.
During breakfast, which was pleasantly unhurried now that the initial chaos of the school year had settled, Kayneth had approached Granger, who was sitting alone, and proposed they start working on the translation they had discussed on the train. She had agreed immediately, adding that the sooner they finished, the better—soon, coursework would pile up, and time for personal projects would become scarce.
He had noticed a few curious and surprised glances from other students—perhaps it was strange to see a Ravenclaw first-year casually chatting with a Gryffindor third-year, or maybe it was simply Granger’s reputation at play. The know-it-all, insufferable, overly ambitious bookworm—someone most people were hesitant to approach.
Once they reached the library, Kayneth quickly skimmed through the draft translation, marking the most pressing issues. Overall, the quality was decent—Granger had clearly received some help in structuring her sentences—but there was still plenty of room for refinement. However, had he started correcting it right away, inevitable questions would have arisen about how he was so familiar with such an obscure topic.
Instead, he spent the first hour retrieving various reference materials: books on French magical terminology, tomes on wand crafting, and even texts on magical artifacts. That way, he could justify his knowledge while also adapting the translation to a terminology he was more comfortable with.
The work had turned out to be more involved than expected. Every time they adjusted a passage, another concept required further clarification, leading to more searches among the towering bookshelves. Three hours in, their table was buried under a mountain of books, many of which hadn't been touched for decades. The thick clouds of dust illuminated by the slivers of morning sunlight filtering through the tall windows made that abundantly clear. They had even needed to disperse the dust a few times with spells.
Strangely enough, Kayneth found himself in a rather pleasant mood. It had been a long time since he had unrestricted access to such a wealth of information—without hitting dead ends due to lack of sources or being forced to rely on the single ‘officially approved’ textbook favored by the Ministry.
Of course, the library here wasn’t limitless, and he was certain that Beauxbatons, with its own specialized terminology, would offer far more in this particular field. Still, even in the open market, he wouldn’t have found a fraction of what was available in Hogwarts’ library. Unpopular and outdated texts weren’t in demand, so they were rarely reprinted. And public magical libraries? A fantasy. Wizards saw no need for them.
Even the magi of the Clock Tower didn’t make their archives publicly accessible, though, in their case, they had far more compelling reasons.
"And what exactly about this scares you?" Kayneth asked, settling into the seat across from Granger. She was still staring at her wand as if expecting it to answer her questions. "Your actions are already shaped by upbringing, heritage, genetics, magical ability, and countless other factors. Why does this particular one unsettle you?"
"Things like family or social status are at least understandable. But this... I don’t even know what it is at its core. This ‘le principe,’ or if you prefer, ‘origin.’ Wands are chosen based on a wizard’s characteristics. Mine is made of vine wood with a dragon heartstring core. According to the books, dragons—being among the most powerful magical creatures—can wield all five elements, so their materials work well for any wizard."
"Correction," Kayneth interrupted, his tone more instructive now. "They can work for any wizard, but they’re typically used for those who exhibit a strong affinity for at least three or more elements. If a wizard’s affinity was clear-cut, selecting a resonator would be much easier. Take me, for example—I only align with Water. Giving me a dragon core would be a waste of resources. You, on the other hand, are a different matter."
"You mean to say I have an affinity for all elements at once?"
"No. You're not an exemplary witch."
"I'm not even trying to be," she muttered, turning away, slightly offended. "There are plenty of people better than me."
"It's not an insult, just a term," the magus replied, smirking inwardly but keeping a serious expression. He gestured to the pile of old tomes around them and explained, "It appears in some books. An 'Exemplary' or 'Balanced' wizard is someone who can use all elements at once, and such individuals are exceedingly rare. From what I’ve read, you definitely lack affinity with Ether, and there are doubts about Fire as well. So at most, you have three elements, maybe four. But even that is a lot."
"Fine," Hermione replied, though not entirely convinced, slightly ashamed of her earlier reaction. "But I was talking about something else. A wand consists of both wood and core, each meant to match one’s Origin and elements. If my dragon heartstring was chosen for my elements, then my vine wood must correspond to my Origin. And I’ve checked a few reference books—what vine represents isn’t exactly… flattering."
"I’d say the interpretations are fairly positive—fertility, passion, joy, youthful exuberance…" Kayneth listed offhandedly.
"James!" she interrupted sharply, nearly tossing her wand aside as if it had burned her. "Why would you say that out loud?! Do you have any sense of tact? If we finish this translation and distribute it to other students, do you even realize what they'll start thinking about me just by looking at my wand?!"
"That depends—was your vine wild or cultivated?" he responded expressionlessly.
"Oh, great choices—treachery or promiscuity! Mr. Ollivander said my wand came from domesticated vine wood… Listen, maybe we should just destroy the draft while we still can? Or place a copying and reading restriction on it? I came across a rather fitting curse just recently."
"And what about scientific progress? Surely, it’s worth some sacrifices?" he teased. "But seriously, as always, my dear teacher, you’re too fixated on predefined ideas. You think too rigidly, too straightforwardly, always defaulting to the obvious conclusions. I’ve said this many times, and I’ll say it many more—your narrow-mindedness will be your downfall if you don’t fix it."
Since reaching the book would be too much of a stretch at his current height, Kayneth simply extended his right hand and traced a smooth arc with his wand. "Accio worn green book on the corner of the table."
"Here, look," he said, flipping open the medieval wand-making guide, written in archaic English. He swiftly scanned the section on wood selection and pointed to a paragraph. "Vine represents more than just what you found—it also symbolizes prosperity, hospitality, and even immortality in some interpretations. It’s also a religious symbol, even one of divinity. And, most importantly, it denotes chosen status. Not to mention, there are far fewer types of suitable wand wood than there are abstract concepts, so the priority is that the wood’s attributes don’t contradict one’s Origin. Only in rare cases do they perfectly align and enhance it."
"So, you think ‘chosen status’ motivates me? I’m not Harry, I wasn’t paraded around as the savior of the world in my first year."
"And yet again, you’re thinking too narrowly," he sighed, shaking his head. "‘Chosen status’ can be interpreted in many ways—uniqueness, distinction, destiny. In your case, I’d say it best translates as stand alone. Outstanding, independent…"
"…Lonely," she finished softly. "I scored an 'Outstanding' in English and Literature at my old school, I know exactly what that phrase implies. And I can’t say I find it comforting."
"In any case, that’s just my opinion in a field where I’m no expert. It will take a lot of tests and verification to get a definitive answer."
"Sounds like you’re trying to cheer me up…"
"Excuse me."
They turned toward the voice, spotting a first-year Gryffindor emerging from behind a bookshelf. A second later, Kayneth recognized him—Nort, the boy he'd shared a compartment with on the train.
"Miss Granger, you were asked to come to our common room. I was told to let you know someone needed your help with Defense Against the Dark Arts homework."
"‘Miss Granger’?" the magus noted, arching a brow. "You must have quite the reputation among the first-years." Then, greeting him properly, he added, "Good morning, Dale. Any success in merging technology with magic?"
"Oh, hey, Jim," Dale greeted casually. "No luck yet. Anything with a microchip just dies instantly. But I haven’t given up. By the way, what are you doing here?"
"We have a joint project."
"A...?"
"Dale, right?" Hermione asked, shooting him a wary look. "Who exactly sent you?"
"Weasley, m—"
"If you add ma'am to that sentence, I’ll have a reason to test a new hex on a live subject," she threatened. "What exactly did they tell you about me? And Ron, seriously—have they already started acting like upper-years, sending first-years running across the castle on errands? Fine, tell him… Actually, no, wait here. I’ll be done in ten minutes, and we’ll go together. I’m not letting a first-year get lost because of me."
"But I can go by—"
"This isn’t up for debate. There's an empty table over there. Sit tight while I finish."
"I take it that means we’re stopping for today?" Kayneth asked once Nort reluctantly obeyed, picking a random book off the shelf.
"Unfortunately," she admitted with a sigh, beginning to gather up the scattered books and notes. She hesitated before picking up her wand again. "I really did promise to help, but I miscalculated the time. I thought we’d get further, but I suppose this is a good start."
"Can I take your draft in the meantime? I’d like to give it a thorough read when I have time, maybe suggest some refinements."
"Of course."
"By the way, are you free tomorrow?" he asked. An idea had just come to him. "Something rather interesting is coming up, and I think you’d enjoy it."
"Oh? And what exactly?"
"Let’s just say it concerns wizards and the Inquisition."
"No, no, and NO! This is absolutely impossible!"
Granger's outrage was entirely genuine. She even leapt to her feet, cutting off any potential counterarguments with a sharp wave of her hand.
"What exactly?" Kayneth asked, sitting casually on a fallen tree trunk. They were at the very edge of the forest—far enough to be discreet, but still relatively safe for testing a not-so-approved spell. Lovegood sat cross-legged on the grass beside a tree, still wearing her school robes, which was unusual for her outside of class. "The existence of the Inquisition? Witch hunts? Or the fact that inquisitors used magic themselves?"
"All of it!" she huffed. "Professor Binns’ lectures might be a nightmare to follow, but I have read history books myself while doing essays. They clearly outline the names and dates of what actually happened!”
“Sometimes, they did manage to catch a wizard, but Muggles didn’t know that wizards weren’t afraid of fire. They knew how to freeze the flames and pretend they were in great pain. In reality, they didn’t feel pain at all, only a pleasant tingling sensation throughout their bodies and a warm breath of air. Wendelin the Weird, for instance, loved ‘burning’ at the stake so much that she changed her appearance forty-seven times just to experience that incomparable pleasure, surrendering herself to Muggles each time,” Luna quoted A History of Magic from memory. Then, with her usual dreamy and distracted expression, she continued:
“It sounds beautiful and very modern—wise wizards and foolish, clueless Muggles. But the textbook doesn’t say anything about the witches who were drowned, hanged, or stoned to death. Or about the fact that someone burning at the stake would suffocate from the smoke long before dying from the flames. Or that many witches and sorcerers were ‘mercifully’ strangled while still tied to the post. Or how exactly those who supposedly ‘gave themselves up to Muggles for entertainment’ endured days of torture to extract confessions of witchcraft and heresy from them.
“All of this is even recorded in Muggle history books about the Middle Ages, which I bought to compare with ours. Haven’t you read them?”
“Of course, I have, but—”
“But you decided that since school never told you the truth about dragons and trolls, they must have been lying about witches in books as well,” Kayneth finished for her. “Or do you just like the Ministry’s version better? I seem to recall you saying you outgrew fairy tales when you were five.”
“But why even do this?” Granger asked, a question that seemed completely logical from her perspective. “Why teach us from incorrect textbooks and make up things that never happened? It’s all ancient history anyway.”
“Because this version is more convenient and paints us in a much better light. It wasn’t us who ran away from the ordinary world in fear, hiding behind the Statute and afraid to show ourselves to Muggles. No, we simply got tired of noisy, ill-mannered neighbors, so we fenced ourselves off from them. And they—well, let them scurry about with their petty problems, ignorant of the truth.”
“And that’s exactly why, despite it supposedly not being us who hid from people, a third, possibly even half, of the Ministry’s work is dedicated to maintaining the Statute. And if a child exposes the wizarding world, they are immediately expelled from school, while an adult would most likely be sent straight to Azkaban for many years,” Luna added.
“Alright. Alright…” It was hard for Granger to argue with facts and logic. Losing to Luna on “her own” field was especially frustrating. “Let’s assume you’re right—wizards fled from Muggles because they were afraid of hunts and stakes. That’s still no reason to lie about it. I’m sure wizards would accept the truth and adhere to the Statute even more strictly if they understood the situation completely.”
“Do you think wizards invented something new here?” Archibald asked rhetorically, standing up as well. He walked across the clearing before continuing:
“Teacher, have you ever heard of the ‘Home Children’ program? The relocation of orphans, street children, and poor children from the metropolis to the colonies—Canada, Australia, Africa—as free labor. They took kids like me, ten or eleven years old, from orphanages or straight from poor families, lied to them that their parents had died or abandoned them, crammed them into a steamship’s hold, and months later, those who survived found themselves on the Australian shore or somewhere in Rhodesia. No money, no documents, no education, no rights at all. And there, you either worked for food or starved to death.
“A double benefit for the Crown—they didn’t have to spend money on upkeep, and there were plenty of hands to settle the colonies. But somehow, I doubt you’ll find this little tidbit in school history books,” the magus concluded. After all, he had received an excellent home education, not only in magical arts but also in practical ‘academic’ subjects, including history. His teacher often cited this case as an example of a waste of human resources—one from which, however, certain magi of the Clock Tower managed to extract some benefit.
“B-but that was a long time ago, back in the eighteenth century…”
“As far as I remember, the last batch of children was sent about ten years before you were born.”
“This is reflected in magical history as well,” Lovegood noted. “Many of those children had already been recorded in Hogwarts’ Book of Admittance, only to suddenly disappear right around the age when they should have received their letters. And while in North America, Ilvermorny was founded in the seventeenth century, and Uagadou in Africa has stood since long before our era, a proper magical school in Australia wasn’t established until less than two hundred years ago. Before that, there were many debates about whether those children sent to Sydney should be taken from Muggles and kept at Hogwarts until they turned eleven, as they do in Japan.”
“Alright…” Granger had clearly surrendered under such pressure. “Let’s assume you’ve convinced me. But let’s get back to the question—what does the Inquisition have to do with this, and why did you just shatter my faith in my own country?”
“We started with the fact that both Muggles and wizards like to conceal or gloss over unpleasant historical truths,” Kayneth reminded her. “In our case, we’re talking about how the Statute wasn’t enacted solely out of fear of pitchfork-wielding peasants and crazed village priests. There was also the Holy Church.
“Yes, it sounds tautological—a church within a church—but that’s what they called themselves. Among other things, they had a branch known as Executors—priests who were allowed to break commandments and even use ‘heretical’ magic if it served a righteous cause. Over the centuries, they created many of their own spells—they had no interest in household or culinary magic. Instead, they focused on exorcism and the extermination of monsters.”
“Monsters?”
“At the time, there were no serious prohibitions against dark magic anywhere, nor against the crossbreeding of magical and non-magical beings or plants. Nor against the creation of homunculi and cadavers, among many other things that would make even You-Know-Who turn pale,” Luna added simply.
“Those bans were only introduced later, after the Statute was enacted. But in the Middle Ages, chimera studies and necromancy flourished. Almost all of the most important books on these subjects, now, of course, banned, were written in that era. I’d wager that half of the carnivorous shrubs and trees Professor Sprout loves to show us were bred around the fourteenth or fifteenth century. Not to mention the many chimeras that were stitched together from just about anything, the risen dead, and all sorts of half-humans.
“And it was the Holy Church’s job to destroy this entire menagerie—while also hunting down the authors of its best works. They didn’t kill all wizards and witches indiscriminately, but people like Francesco Prelati or Peter Niers were hunted relentlessly.
“You do recognize those names, don’t you?”
===
“Yes. One was a necromancer from the time of the Hundred Years' War, the other a German dark sorcerer who lived about a century later. Both were executed.”
“Well, and along with them, the Church usually wiped out everyone associated with them or even just acquainted with them, to prevent the spread of knowledge about dark magic. Of course, they always had their own opinion on what should be considered dangerous or dark magic. As a result, wizards and witches were often killed for experiments that seemed completely harmless to them and even to the Council.
“This, in turn, bred revenge and counterattacks against the Church. It was called vendetta or fehde, blood feud—some say it's still quite respected among the Irish. By the seventeenth century, in certain parts of Europe, it had almost turned into an all-out war.
“But in the end, the wizards accepted the Statute and faded into the shadows, while the Holy Church was officially disbanded about forty years later—although some believe it wasn’t entirely…”
“Luna, has anyone ever told you that you get a little too carried away at times?” Granger asked. Then, after receiving two almost astonished stares, she added, “What?”
“Well, I certainly didn’t expect to hear that from you.”
“Was that… disrespect toward your teacher?”
“No, of course not. You just misheard very loudly.”
“For the record, I was almost at the end of my story,” Lovegood replied before concluding, “In any case, after all of this, nearly all information about the Church was erased—both among wizards and Muggles. But fortunately, some old books managed to escape censorship. And if you’re very lucky, you might even stumble upon some of the Church’s spells.
Which, I believe, is precisely why we’re here. Once, in a medieval text, I came across the spell Exaphanistei, meant for banishing dark creatures and dangerous spirits. James wants to learn it, and I’m willing to help.”
“Alright, let’s assume all of this is true. But why do you need me?”
“But, teacher, aren’t you at all interested in an exceptionally rare magic that you won’t find in any ordinary books? Not to mention that our school is surrounded by hundreds of spirits, any of whom could literally devour your soul. A means to fight them could be quite useful.”
“This is illegal. Studying spells of unknown origin, especially those that, by your own admission, were created by the enemies of wizards—there’s no way that’s legal. It definitely violates school rules. You could be expelled or even held accountable for something like this. And if all information about these spells was erased, there must have been a reason for it,” Granger noted.
However, she didn’t seem eager to run to the Heads and report such a blatant violation of school discipline either.
“New knowledge or Ministry regulations—what should we choose?” the magus asked, almost rhetorically.
“Knowledge,” Lovegood answered without hesitation.
“Knowledge,” Kayneth agreed.
“Do they only recruit lunatics in Ravenclaw?” Granger muttered. “I… I’m not going to take part in this. But I’ll stay and watch what exactly you’re studying. I’ll supervise the process. The last thing we need is for you to accidentally cast something Unforgivable and get expelled.
“But when we get back to the castle, I am going to check the reference books and find out whether this magic is forbidden—and what the punishment for it is.”
On Monday and Tuesday, the first-year Ravenclaws attended mostly familiar subjects. After introductory lessons, the professors gradually settled into a working rhythm, starting with simple concepts before moving on to more complex ones.
Except, of course, for the ghostly lecturer, Binns. He continued to drone monotonously, seemingly unaware of which course or House he was addressing—or even what season it was. As a result, most of his lectures began somewhere in the middle of a topic and ended abruptly without conclusion.
Students either had to fill in the gaps themselves or resign themselves to cramming all of wizarding history from scratch in the final week before exams.
Astronomy was also added to their schedule, though it was purely practical. They were taught to track celestial bodies and the movement of constellations in case a spell or potion required a specific moon phase or a particular zodiac sign for Saturn during a full moon.
One practical session on Monday evening and one theoretical class on Tuesday—just two lessons a week.
Of course, there was also the first flying lesson, but Kayneth wasn’t particularly interested in it. Even in this world, the mystery of broom levitation was too impractical, riddled with limitations.
So, he simply completed the assignment, received his Exceeds Expectations, and forgot about the subject.
Although, according to some sources, even the much-feared Voldemort had supposedly mastered true flight without any devices or mystic codes.
If that was possible, then such magic was worth investigating someday. But for now, there was too little information about it.
Wednesday, however, turned out to be an exhausting day.
After yet another endless History lecture—where many students managed to squeeze in an extra forty-five minutes of sleep—they had Herbology, where they studied common and magical ferns along with their blooming cycles.
Then came two back-to-back Potions lessons.
And after a short break, they were scheduled for a double session of Defense Against the Dark Arts.
As he calmly sipped his soup, trying to ignore the chatter from all four House tables, the magus reflected on his first impression of one of the most interesting subjects in his opinion—and its instructor, the last of the four Heads of House.
If anything, the only flaw he saw in Professor Snape was his relative youth for teaching such an important discipline.
On the other hand, Kayneth had been even younger when he became a master alchemist—and about the same age when he began teaching.
In any case, he found this professor’s approach the most reasonable, free of unnecessary theatrics.
After an opening speech, Snape conducted a brief quiz to assess the students’ knowledge level (which, according to him, was alarmingly low).
Then, they moved on to practical work.
Unlike the first Transfiguration lesson, Snape didn’t demand the impossible.
Still, he did expect at least some basic competence.
The assigned potion was fairly simple. The brewing process had a few steps—nothing requiring precise evaporation, pH measurement, or boiling at exactly 1,368.5 seconds on low heat.
===
By the end of the lesson, at least half the class had managed to produce a more or less acceptable result. The rest, however, received clear and detailed explanations of their mistakes—along with some rather scathing remarks about their intelligence and their likelihood of making it through their first year.
With particular enthusiasm and flair, the professor tore into Ryan Willin, who had decided that a simple cough balm was too easy for his level. Instead, he had attempted—unsuccessfully—to brew an improved version of a cold remedy, a potion only studied at the end of the third year.
Kayneth, on the other hand, submitted a vial of balm prepared exactly according to the recipe. The professor merely shrugged indifferently in response, as if completing such an elementary task was to be expected, and he was genuinely baffled by those who managed to mess up something so basic.
Archibald agreed with the professor's assessment, though he was willing to make some allowance for eleven-year-olds, especially Muggle-born wizards, many of whom had likely never set foot in an alchemy lab before. At most, he would adjust the grading by a single point.
By the end of lunch, as Kayneth waited for the others, lost in thought, a nearby conversation caught his attention.
A group of second-year girls from their House were discussing young Malfoy, noting that he hadn’t appeared in the Great Hall or attended classes for almost a week.
Apparently, after a dangerous incident during Care of Magical Creatures, he had sustained a serious injury and had remained in the infirmary ever since. No one knew when he would recover.
Kayneth was curious—what kind of creature had these thirteen-year-olds encountered that could inflict wounds resistant to magical healing even after a full week?
Surely, that half-giant hadn’t been foolish enough to bring a Palug’s Cat to class—one whose claws inflicted wounds that never healed, capable of shredding even iron armor? Or something similar, perhaps?
After lunch, the first-years, still under the prefect’s supervision, headed to their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, where Professor Lupin was already waiting for them.
The furniture had been pushed against the walls, leaving an open space in the middle of the room. In the center stood the professor, surrounded by four small chests.
Since there were no chairs, the students placed their book bags in the corner and gathered in a semicircle before him.
While the professor checked the attendance list and gave a brief introduction—explaining, unsurprisingly, that they would be studying defense against various dangerous creatures and spells—Archibald found his thoughts drifting elsewhere.
Still, when the time came, he reflexively responded to the name Murphy, as he had already become accustomed to doing.
In the file he had reviewed in July on Sirius Black, a certain Remus Lupin had been mentioned as the fourth member of their group—the only one still alive and free.
According to the records, he should have been just over thirty years old, yet the man standing before them looked at least forty, with wrinkles and prematurely graying hair.
That, of course, could have an explanation.
Besides, there was hardly another person in all of magical Britain with the same name—unless someone was deliberately impersonating him.
Unfortunately, the materials he had read contained no photos or portraits of anyone in the group except Black.
There was also very little information about Lupin.
He was listed as a half-blood (Albert had been mistaken in calling the Marauders a band of purebloods—clearly, he was just repeating rumors from unreliable sources).
His father had been a Ministry official, and Lupin himself had been a top student and prefect at Hogwarts.
However, after the incident with Black, he had never stayed in one place for long, eventually vanishing from public view altogether.
Had he been in hiding? Fled to another country?
And now, coincidentally, he had reappeared here, taking up a teaching position despite having zero prior experience.
What were the possible explanations?
A random coincidence? Unlikely—the wizarding world was too small for that, and the story of the so-called Marauders was too well known.
Another possessed individual or a follower of Voldemort? Possibly even a third, considering the strange history of the last Defense professor?
The Headmaster, for all his eccentricities, hardly seemed like a complete fool. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice—let alone three times. Otherwise, he simply wouldn’t have lived this long.
Could it be that Lupin had taken the job as part of a personal vendetta—to confront Black where he knew he would appear?
That theory made sense… except for the risk it posed to students should a fight break out.
Then again, was the situation with this position so dire that the Headmaster was willing to hire just anyone without credentials or recommendations?
Perhaps it was that bad, considering the previous year’s professor had been a self-proclaimed author and amateur monster hunter with no teaching ability whatsoever…
Meanwhile, Lupin had finished his introduction and got straight to the point.
“All right. Before we begin our first practical lesson, I want to talk about the recent incident on the train.
“I understand that for some of you, recalling it may be unpleasant. However, there are valuable lessons we can learn from what happened.
“For demonstration purposes, I will now show you a dementor. But don’t be alarmed—this is merely an illusion, conjured at my request by Professor McGonagall.
“It’s just mist, light, and smoke. Nothing dangerous.”
He pulled a small piece of rock crystal from his pocket and placed it on the floor. Then, silently, he waved his wand over it.
Within seconds, black smoke swirled into the shape of a dementor—though its edges remained somewhat blurred and hazy.
Kayneth suspected that this had been done deliberately, to avoid terrifying the students with a too realistic illusion.
Even so, many flinched or cried out, and he himself barely restrained the reflex to grab his wand.
After all, those creatures had caused him far too many problems—and, to put it mildly, deeply unpleasant experiences.
“Just mist,” Lupin reminded them, passing his hand through the slightly distorted illusion.
“No aura of fear, and it can’t touch anyone.
“As the Headmaster told you on September 1st, these creatures are extremely dangerous. They feel neither pity nor mercy.
“I regret that you had to encounter them, and I completely understand why your parents have written to the Ministry to protest such an unacceptable situation for Hogwarts students.
“However, today, we’re focusing on dementors themselves.
“Raise your hand if you had a direct encounter with them and attempted any spells against them—or witnessed someone else doing so.”
Kayneth slowly raised his hand, not entirely sure where the professor was going with this. Six other students followed his example. However, three of them, including McAvoy, had only witnessed others repelling the spirits and barely understood or remembered what had happened.
One witch, however, provided a detailed description of a silver-light puma that had chased the Dementor down the entire train corridor before sinking its teeth into the creature’s cloak and throwing it outside. After that, it was the turn of those who had actually attempted something themselves.
"I used Lumos twice," Willin admitted. "But it didn’t work at all."
"Why that particular spell?" the professor asked.
"Dementors are dark spirits—everyone knows that," Willin explained. "I was scared of the one that was… floating near us, but I managed to remember that much. And since all the lights went out before they appeared, I thought light might drive them away.
"But it didn’t do anything—he just kept hovering there until one of the older Slytherins drove him away with some kind of blue flash."
Marissa Selwyn recounted how she had unsuccessfully tried to use a Stinging Hex, which the Dementors completely ignored.
Howard Brown, one of the Muggle-born students, admitted that he had tried to immobilize the spirit using Leviosa, based on what he had read in the textbook. In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten that the creatures already floated, making his attempt useless.
When it was Kayneth’s turn, he stated that he had used Tellum Duellis. The professor raised an eyebrow in surprise, prompting Kayneth, imitating Lovegood’s manner, to explain to both Lupin and the rest of the class:
"It’s a dueling spell that was quite popular among wizards in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, before the Statute of Secrecy. The spell transforms a wand into a rapier."
He deliberately omitted the fact that it only appeared that way—the spell actually formed a weapon of magical energy around the wizard’s mystic code.
"Why that spell?" Lupin asked, a perfectly logical question.
"At the time, it seemed like the best option," Kayneth replied. "I understand, professor, that nowadays it’s practically useless—Muggles outlawed dueling a long time ago, and we’re not allowed to display magic openly. Any wizard could just raise a shield, which would immediately dispel the weapon.
"Not to mention the risk of breaking your wand with a strong strike and the fact that I don’t even know how to properly handle a rapier. But at that moment, it was the best idea I had."
In truth, he had simply covered himself in case any of the children who had been in the compartment with Lovegood remembered the blade piercing the Dementor and started asking questions about it. He had spent some time searching through spellbooks for an appropriate equivalent, but he’d had plenty of time to prepare.
"I'm more interested in why you studied such a spell in the first place," Lupin continued. "Especially since you admit it’s nearly useless now."
"It looks impressive and dangerous," Kayneth said with a shrug. "It was originally created for duels, allowing wizards to replace an actual sword with their wand in a fair fight against some Muggle nobleman.
"The funniest thing is that I actually did manage to stab the Dementor with it—I think he was just as surprised as I was, if they’re even capable of feeling surprise. But it didn’t do him any harm at all.
"Then one of the older students ran up and paralyzed the creature with some spell, but I didn’t recognize it, and he didn’t say the incantation out loud."
"I see," Lupin said. "However, I must point out that you three were taking a serious risk. Dementors could have perceived your actions as a direct threat and attacked you in earnest. You wouldn’t have been able to defend yourselves if an older wizard hadn’t intervened.
"I fully approve of your willingness to protect yourselves, but you lacked the experience and knowledge to properly assess the threat and choose the right countermeasure. That’s precisely what this course is designed to teach you."
Lupin smoothly shifted back to the lesson. "For example, there is a specific spell that can repel Dementors and keep a wizard safe from them. However, it is only taught in the upper years. For now, just watch carefully."
Expecto Patronum, he pronounced, making a circular movement with his wand.
A silvery mist seemed to drip from the tip of his wand, pooling at his feet before forming into a large wolf. The spectral animal glanced at the students, bared its fangs, and dissolved into the air within a few seconds.
Remus explained, "That is the spell you saw, Edwards. Every wizard’s Patronus takes a unique shape—mine is a wolf, that student’s was a puma. Yours might be a raccoon or a swallow if you decide to learn it.
"Before we move on to practice, does anyone have any questions?"
"Yes, professor," Kayneth said, raising his hand in a disciplined manner and waiting for a nod of approval. "Please clarify something.
"You said, 'There is a specific spell against Dementors.' However, last week, I saw them repelled by Expulso, Depulso, and a boosted Stupefy. They were also set on fire with Confringo and attacked with other spells.
"If they aren’t entirely incorporeal, but have some level of material presence, then destructive, stopping, and repelling spells should be able to affect them. Not kill them, since they can’t die, but at least force them back or disable them."
"I understand what you mean, Murphy," Lupin replied. "But you see, I believe that every magical creature—sentient or not—requires a different approach. Even those that pose a danger.
"In antiquity and the Middle Ages, countless magical species and wizarding races were wiped out—by Muggles or even by wizards themselves. Out of fear, greed, or sometimes just for sport.
"As a result, the magical world was impoverished—not only scientifically and morally, but also in purely pragmatic terms. The fur, scales, bones, and other parts of nearly every magical creature can be used in wand cores, potions, or magical artifacts.
"What if the snakes from the heads of the Medusas that once lived in Libya, exterminated before our era, or the hair of Scottish Trows wiped out in the Middle Ages could have been the key to a potion that completely cures dragon pox? We’ll never know now.
"Over time, wizards became more sensible. Nowadays, we don’t exterminate dragons—we keep them in reserves. We allow vampires to live freely, whereas once they were killed on sight. We no longer hunt trolls in the forests for sport.
"Of course, one could walk around with their wand at the ready, blasting Expulso at every Doxy, Grindylow, or Bundimun they see, just to be safe. But I aim to teach you how to avoid danger without killing magical creatures.
"That requires special spells and specific approaches, which is what this course is all about."
"But as for Dementors specifically," he continued, "there’s another factor. They’re incredibly resilient—better to say stubborn creatures. They feel no pain, no fear.
"Even a direct hit from Confringo or Diffindo won’t stop them immediately. To truly disable one, you’d need to literally slice or tear its body apart. And in the time it would take one wizard to do that, the Dementor would likely reach them first.
"But the spell designed specifically to counter them works instantly, as soon as it is cast.
"Does that answer your question?"
"Yes. Thank you, sir."
"Professor Lupin," Taylor interjected. "You talk about humane treatment, but you made a student banish a Boggart. The Gryffindors were bragging about it."
"Boggarts, like Dementors and many other spirits, are immortal—or rather, 'un-dying,' since the concept of death doesn’t apply to them.
"The one that lived in our wardrobe and was banished by Neville will soon reappear—somewhere in a closet or an old cupboard, in a town or village, perhaps not even in Scotland. But it will return quickly."
"No more questions? Good, then let’s move on to today’s lesson," Lupin said, dismissing the illusion and tucking the crystal back into his pocket. Then, he pointed his wand at the chests on the floor.
===
"Are we going to deal with Boggarts too?" McAvoy asked doubtfully.
"No. Finding another one in the castle would be difficult, and it’s too early for you to face something like that," Lupin replied. "Seeing your greatest fear materialized in front of you is difficult, even when you're prepared for it. Especially when it turns out to be something completely different from what you thought your worst fear was."
Archibald remained silent and turned away. He already knew what the spirit would show him. His wounded fiancee, unconscious on the grimy floor of an abandoned factory. The dishonored mercenary of the Einzbern family standing over her, slowly, deliberately cocking his weapon. No, he didn’t need a mirror to see his worst fear—just closing his eyes was enough.
"You’re only first-years, so we’ll start with something simple before moving on to more difficult subjects," the professor continued. "Today, we’ll be dealing with the Bogeyman."
"Professor, you’re joking, right?" Kerry asked, genuinely surprised. Some of the other students, especially those from non-pureblood families, broke into laughter and murmured among themselves.
"Is the Tooth Fairy next?" someone quipped.
"I understand your skepticism," Lupin raised a finger, catching their attention, "but let me remind you that just last spring, many of you thought trolls and goblins were just stories and myths. But reality proved otherwise. Now, can anyone in the class tell me what a Bogeyman is?"
"A Bogeyman—also known as a Buka, Bogle, Torbalan, Talasam, Ou-Wu, Kuklas, and by many other names across different languages—exists all over the world, wherever there are children," Ross, standing in the back rows, answered calmly. "In Muggle folklore, it's a monster that kidnaps children at night—sometimes just the naughty ones, sometimes all of them. Parents often use it to scare little kids, saying that if they don’t eat their porridge or go to bed on time, the Bogeyman will come for them.
"But in reality, unlike Trows, which you mentioned earlier, professor, a Bogle doesn’t actually kidnap children. It simply settles in their room and feeds on their emotions until they grow old enough. Sometimes it might bite, scratch, or grab their legs to scare them more, but it can't cause serious harm. It’s very afraid of light. The Ministry classifies it as a second-category threat, meaning 'harmless.'"
"Excellent answer, Irvin. Just excellent," Lupin praised. "And that’s exactly what we’ll be dealing with today. But first, I need those of you who have used Lumos before and are confident in casting it to step forward."
Thirteen students moved to the front.
"Perfect. Now, stand evenly apart, about five to six paces away from me, so we form a square with me in the center."
While Kayneth and the others found their positions within the "perimeter," Lupin instructed the remaining nine students to take out their wands and mimic his looping motion. Then he had them repeat it while clearly pronouncing Lumos.
After that, he asked them to visualize a bright white light.
Within five minutes, every student had managed to produce at least a faint, flickering glow.
Nodding approvingly, the professor paired them up with those who had already lined up. Kayneth was paired with Edwards. The remaining students formed two extra pairs.
Then, with a wave of his wand, Lupin shut the shutters and curtains, plunging the classroom into darkness.
Archibald also felt the faint trace of another spell—likely a barrier preventing even the smallest slivers of light from leaking through gaps in the door or windows.
"Now, get ready," Lupin warned, a flickering red flame appearing in his left hand. The eerie glow cast unsettling shadows on his face—he was deliberately setting the mood.
"In a moment, I will release several Bogeymen. When they try to attack, you must create light to defend yourselves. If one person in a pair fails, the other should back them up.
"But I want all of you to at least attempt the exercise.
"Don’t be afraid to overdo it—light doesn’t harm, only repels them. You won’t hurt these creatures.
"But keep in mind that when multiple Bogeymen are together, they like to grab their victims by the legs and drag them into a corner or under a bed. I’ve prepared the classroom for this."
With another silent flick of his wand, the hard wooden floor beneath them transformed into a thick, soft carpet.
An advanced use of Transfiguration—even if Remus had calculated the spell in advance.
"You should still brace yourselves for a fall. Karin, you should take off your glasses—it’ll be safer."
"Now would be a great time for Granger with her light sword," someone murmured in the darkness. Kayneth thought it was Simon.
"Begin!" Lupin commanded, clenching his fist and extinguishing the flame.
In the complete darkness, the sound of wooden crates tipping over echoed through the room.
At first, only nervous chuckles and whispers filled the air.
Then came the voices.
"Hey, I hear footsteps."
"Shit, something brushed against my leg!"
"Did you guys hear that scratching sound?"
A moment later, a witch let out a shriek, followed by a boy cursing as the muffled thud of someone falling onto the carpet reached their ears.
Archibald felt a rush of air. Edwards yelped in fear and jumped away, nearly hitting him with her cloak.
Oddly enough, that was all he experienced.
The creatures ignored him completely.
More than that—he could barely sense their astral presence at all. It was as if they were several floors away or behind a reinforced barrier.
Adults—both wizards and Muggles—couldn't see Bogeymen. So this was how selective manifestation worked in the real world.
He had never encountered a spirit with such a form before. As a spiritualist, he was fascinated—whether or not there was any practical application, the mechanics alone were worth studying.
"Lumos."
"Lumos!"
"Lumos Maxima!"
"Lumos Solem!"
Bursts of light cut through the darkness, briefly blinding their eyes, which had adjusted to the pitch black.
Kayneth joined the others, casting his own orb of light toward the ceiling.
On the floor, four small shadows darted about—distorted humanoid figures barely two feet tall. They scurried under desks and along the walls, trying to escape the glow.
At that moment, Lupin swung his wand wide, throwing open all the windows.
Sunlight flooded the classroom.
The nocturnal spirits had no choice but to flee at full speed toward the safety of the still-dark crates.
The students, some shaken, others excited, looked around. Some were on the floor, still gathering themselves. A few seemed more confused than frightened, as if they hadn’t fully processed what had just happened.
"You all did wonderfully," the professor declared, sweeping his gaze across the room.
With a flick of his wand, the wooden floor returned to normal.
"Five points to everyone who participated, and another five for those who faced Dementors. Irvin, an extra five for your excellent explanation.
"Now, tell me—who didn't see or hear the Bogeymen?"
Five students, including Kayneth, raised their hands. The others were Ross, Selwyn, and two Muggle-borns.
Looking at them, Lupin explained, "That’s natural—some people mature faster, some slower.
"You’re simply older in spirit. The Bogeymen no longer see you as children. It’s neither good nor bad—just how things turned out.
"But if you’d like to participate in another practical exercise, you can join the second-year Ravenclaws on Friday, or sign up for the junior Defense study group meeting on Thursday after the eighth lesson.
"For now, take a moment to compose yourselves. We still have ten minutes left in class.
"And don’t forget to wait for your House prefect—first-years should not wander the castle alone just yet."
Stepping away from the students who were either dusting themselves off or fixing their hair—some with their hands, others with magic—Kayneth leaned against one of the desks and closed his eyes.
Despite disagreeing with Lupin’s philosophy regarding magical creatures, he still found the lesson intriguing.
And yet, perhaps it was just his imagination, but he could have sworn that in the darkness, he had sensed not four, but five magical presences.
The fifth, weaker signal could have come from the professor himself, or, less likely, from one of the students.
However, the effect was unlike possession—something Archibald had seen plenty of in his line of work. In a way, he could even be considered possessed himself now.
Could it be the result of a powerful mystic code? Or perhaps a trace of non-human ancestry affecting his magic circuits?
There had been no mention of anything like that in the records available on Remus Lupin.
But if, for example, his great-grandfather had belonged to a magical race, was that really anything unusual by Hogwarts’ standards?
The double Defense lesson was the last class for the first-years that day.
Which meant Kayneth could now focus on reading and editing Granger’s translation. He intended to finish the task before the weekend, so they could move on by Saturday.
For now, their workload was still light, leaving him time for this, as well as magic circuit training and gradually getting to know other wizards—at least those from his own House.
The next morning, as the first owls tapped at the Ravenclaw common room windows with the day’s mail, Kayneth glanced at one of the newspapers left behind by the birds.
Between a long-winded column where the head of the Auror Office reassured worried parents about the absolute necessity of Dementor inspections on the train and a small article about a large-scale accidental magic incident near Belfast, he spotted a massive headline taking up a third of the page:
"Sirius Black Spotted by Muggles!"
According to the article, a man resembling the fugitive had been seen near Dumbarton.
However, by the time patrols arrived, he had already vanished. And there was no point even mentioning the Aurors, who had been notified far too late—after the report had dragged its way through countless police and Ministry channels.
But the real question remained—what was stopping Black, who had once studied here and knew the school's surroundings intimately, from simply Apparating somewhere beyond the protective wards?
Even if he was traveling only on foot…
"Accio map of Scotland," Kayneth muttered, making the standard motion for the spell and picturing the object in his mind.
There was a slight delay, but then a rolled-up, yellowed sheet of paper emerged from beneath a pile of books in the corner and floated into his hand.
Spreading it out on the nearest table, he examined the map, which turned out to be a Muggle edition from about fifty years ago.
He quickly found what he was looking for.
The small town was closer to Hogwarts than Glasgow. By train—even an old one—it was about an hour’s journey.
That was roughly fifty miles.
Which meant that by the weekend, the highly dangerous fugitive, mass murderer, and a man who valued personal revenge over the Statute of Secrecy…
Would be somewhere nearby.
"Of course," Kayneth muttered. "Because there was no way things could ever go smoothly and without incidents…"
