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[Hydrargyrum] Chapter 16
🕑 Added 2025-02-03 14:59:41 +0000 UTC"Rictusempra!"
"Expelliarmus!"
"Incarcero!"
"Finite."
From the outside, it looked almost like a fireworks display. Multicolored beams of magic, especially vivid against the white expanse of snow, shot from three directions toward a single target. They ricocheted off translucent shields that flickered into existence midair, dissipated when colliding with scarlet sparks, or streaked past only to send snow flying in dramatic bursts. Tonks moved with ease, almost dancing in place on a small patch of ground a few feet across, stepping back and forth in fluid, calculated motions. It seemed she was more concerned about getting tangled in her heavy winter cloak than being struck by any of the spells flying her way.
The Auror trainee had declared beforehand that she would only use three spells during this "duel": Impervius, a charm against elemental forces, was applied to her cloak, deflecting the snow kicked up by missed or rebounding spells and shielding her from sharp gusts of wind; Finite, a counter-spell, she occasionally cast to dispel slower incoming attacks midair; and Protego, a standard magical shield, which she maintained wordlessly, weaving together three or four small barriers or combining them into one solid wall.
Kayneth, observing from the sidelines, watched with scientific curiosity. He was seated under a near-transparent shield conjured by Tonks herself to protect him from stray spells. Before the "lesson" began, they had melted a couple of snowdrifts and, mostly thanks to Granger's efforts, shaped the resulting water into a small ice pavilion to shield themselves from the falling snow. Tonks had even transfigured a few remaining chunks of ice into sturdy wooden stools, joking that they'd hold for about an hour. Thus, he could comfortably observe the training without worrying about an errant spell hitting him.
The session itself began with a practical assessment. Tonks had asked the three students to attack her with everything they had, giving her a clear picture of their current skill levels. For several minutes now, the trio had been giving it their all—though their efforts were proving futile.
Not that they posed any real threat. Potter, wearing an oversized and heavily patched jacket, focused almost entirely on Expelliarmus, occasionally tossing in light-hearted spells meant to induce tickling or make legs wobble. While such spells had their uses in specific situations, they were far from effective here. Weasley, clad in an ancient, faded coat that looked like something from the 18th century, fared slightly better but still showcased little more than first-year proficiency. For variety, he sometimes tried to lift Tonks into the air using Wingardium Leviosa, forcing her to create a broad, semi-circular shield since the spell lacked the visible beams or flashes of other incantations.
Granger, the only one dressed appropriately for the season in a neat, well-fitted coat, demonstrated more advanced skills. She alternated between various paralyzing and stunning spells, some nearing fourth- or even fifth-year difficulty, and attempted to obscure Tonks' vision with a fog conjured from melted snow. But even her efforts weren't enough to land a hit.
"Time," Tonks called out after the allotted five minutes. She swiftly reshaped her shields, letting Granger’s Petrificus Totalus rebound and hit Weasley, paralyzing him, while Potter’s latest Expelliarmus ricocheted back, disarming Granger. "Two of you are down, and the third is offered a chance to surrender. That’s it." With a flick of her wand, she added, "Finite Incantatem," dispelling her barriers and unfreezing Weasley. "I’d say five points to Gryffindor, but no more than that. Decent for second-years, but nowhere near enough for your situation."
"Not even Hermione?" Potter asked, rubbing his wrist and shoulder, sore from repeatedly brandishing his wand. His voice was hoarse from shouting spells without pause—a skill he clearly hadn’t practiced much before.
"Not even her. With all due respect to your knowledge, Miss Granger," Tonks replied firmly.
"I’m not claiming otherwise," Granger said modestly, standing up and brushing snow off her coat and hat. Kayneth suspected she might not have been entirely truthful—she had likely hoped to impress the trainee Auror with her skills during the first lesson. However, he was seated too far away to read her expression clearly.
"Accio, Hermione Granger’s wand," Tonks called. She caught the wand midair and tossed it back to Granger before resuming her explanation. "Knowledge alone isn’t enough," she said seriously, adopting a tone that mirrored her senior Aurors. Even her phrasing seemed borrowed from one of her mentors. "You need experience and skill as well. That’s what you’re all lacking.
"In a fight, you can’t stand still—whether attacking or defending. The three of you could have coordinated, surrounded me, or tried to get behind me instead of forming a semicircle. And you should never neglect defense. If a spell is flying at you and dodging isn’t an option, at least try to conjure a shield—any shield, no matter how weak. It might not fully block the spell, but it could soften the blow."
"We… we froze. I know I did," Weasley admitted, looking sheepish.
"I understand, and I don’t blame you," Tonks replied, tucking her wand back into her cloak. Her voice softened as she added, "I just want you to understand what you’re lacking. Some wizards like to claim that Stupefy is the be-all and end-all of dueling magic, the alpha and omega of battle. But in truth, the most important spell has always been, and likely always will be, the magical shield. Protego, Protego Duo, Protego Totalum, and half a dozen other variations—you don’t need to know them all, not on the second year. But you must master the simplest shield spell, be able to cast it as quickly as possible. Ideally, it should be the second incantation you learn to cast without speaking."
"And the first?" Granger asked with interest, likely mentally reviewing the spells she already knew.
"Finite. You won't be able to cast spells normally if you're hit with a silencing charm or anything that affects your teeth, tongue, or throat," Tonks explained. To illustrate her point, she paused and shifted her appearance using her metamorphmagus abilities. She sprouted large, snake-like fangs, a forked tongue, and scales covering her neck. The children instinctively leaned back; the transformation was more unsettling than amusing, unlike her usual harmless tricks like changing her hair color or giving herself a beak for a nose. Hissing unintelligibly to demonstrate her inability to speak clearly in this form, she quickly returned to her usual appearance and continued, touching her throat for emphasis.
"You wouldn't be able to dispel something like that without knowing how to cast counter-spells silently, and without that ability, you can't cast anything at all. It’s as simple as that."
Returning to the topic of shields, Tonks added, "Now, about Protego—I know it’s not in your second-year textbooks, but there’s an important point you should know. The smaller the shield, the easier and faster it is to create. Beginners are taught to conjure shields about two feet by three feet, like a knight’s shield. But a skilled duelist can create one the size of their palm almost instantly, with just a flick of their fingers," she explained, demonstrating by conjuring several translucent barriers of decreasing size in the air.
"With practice, you’ll learn not just to keep a shield floating in front of you but also to deflect spells to the side or even redirect them toward your opponent. And keep in mind, your opponent might try the same. At advanced levels, duelists can ‘bounce’ a spell like Stupefy back and forth between their shields multiple times before it either hits someone or veers off course. Professor Flitwick once told us he managed 28 ricochets in a single duel, though I suspect he exaggerated a bit."
"Can’t the shield be broken, though?" Potter asked, slowly mimicking the wand movement for Protego before rubbing his forehead with his free hand.
"Of course, it can," Tonks confirmed. "A particularly powerful spell might ignore a weak shield entirely or simply shatter it. In those cases, it’s better to dodge than to try to, let’s say, stop a charging erumpent with a blanket. If your opponent is far stronger than you and casts something like Reducto or Confringo, any shield you conjure won’t help. Also, an unattended Protego—one you cast and then forget about—lasts less than half a second. Several weaker spells hitting it in quick succession can break it before you have time to conjure another.
"This is why, in close combat, wizards often use non-lethal or even harmless spells like levitation or sticking charms. These are fast, simple, and can distract or destabilize your opponent, giving you a chance to strike while they’re off balance or unable to shield themselves. I remember hearing about one of You-Know-Who’s followers—some outsider from the Continent—who was a master of this. In duels, he didn’t try to incinerate or explode his opponents outright. Instead, he would use basic school-level spells to make them trip, dance, or stumble, then finish them off while they struggled to dispel the charms. I’m not saying you should emulate him, but you should be aware of what you might face. Clear so far?"
"Yes, absolutely," Granger answered for the group.
"Good. Then let’s try again, but this time, work as a team. Coordinate your attacks—focus on one shield together instead of scattering your efforts. And don’t neglect your defense—I’ll occasionally send spells your way to deflect, but I promise they’ll be harmless. This isn’t Auror training, and I’m not Mad-Eye Moody."
"Won’t you teach us to defend ourselves properly?" Potter asked, adjusting his glasses.
"I will," Tonks replied, her tone softening. "But you need to understand how defense works before you can effectively use it yourself. Watching from the outside can teach you a lot. Don’t just try to hit me—observe what I do and how I do it. Now, no more standing around in the cold. You have one minute to prepare."
Kayneth, sitting under the pavilion, regretted not bringing a notebook. While Tonks wasn’t saying anything groundbreaking—most of it was covered in dueling manuals or even the books by the current Defense professor—it was different hearing it from someone who had been professionally trained to apply these techniques. Her insights came with real-world experience, highlighting practical nuances that textbooks often overlooked.
Beyond the standard wand-based offensive and defensive spells, Kayneth knew there were many other elements to magical combat—apparition, potions, environmental transfiguration, enchanted items, familiars, animagus transformations, silent spellcasting, and even wandless magic. But this training session provided a clear understanding of the basics and how wizard duels differed from the magus combat he was familiar with. The emphasis here was on defense against magic rather than resilience against physical attacks or elemental strikes. After all, a magical shield couldn’t stop a spear or a mercury whip…
"Aren’t you tempted to try your hand at the noble art of magical dueling? Or do you prefer being a spectator?"
"I’m more of an observer, really. Besides, this lesson is for them, not me. Please, take the best seat in the house," Kayneth replied, gesturing politely toward the second stool in the pavilion.
"It’s convenient when there’s only one row, and every seat is the best," quipped the blonde witch as she sat down.
Luna Lovegood, whose house was nearby and who had graciously allowed the lesson to take place on her family’s property, was dressed in her characteristically eccentric fashion. She wore a white hooded cloak made of thick, coarse fabric, adorned with black splotches that made it resemble a soldier’s winter camouflage from a bygone war. Where she had found such a garment in the wizarding world—or why she chose it—was anyone’s guess. Instead of a rifle, however, she held two steaming mugs.
"Hot chocolate?" she offered calmly, unfazed by the Fulgari spell that rebounded off a barrier and vanished into the sky.
"No, thank you. I’m not cold. You’ve already been more than generous, Miss Lovegood," Kayneth replied.
"Luna," she corrected.
"Excuse me?"
"Luna. Moon. Selene. Diana," she listed, her gaze fixed intently on him. "Take your pick. Call me by my name. I don’t want to feel like a stranger, especially when there’s hardly a year’s difference between us."
"Luna, thank you for agreeing to let us use your property for this lesson. You understand how important this is, right?"
In truth, it was Hermione who had suggested asking for Luna's help. In her letters, she had mentioned how poorly magical history was taught at Hogwarts, and how Muggle history wasn't taught at all. As a result, any serious understanding of the subject required either secluding oneself in the library or seeking help from someone knowledgeable. When Hermione needed to trace the origins of a specific spell and found no help in books, she eventually turned to Luna. Likely, she remembered their summer conversation in the bookstore, when Luna had quoted from memory an almost 300-year-old dueling code.
Though Luna had been sorted into Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor, she readily agreed to help with historical research. This led to a kind of academic collaboration between the two girls, if not outright friendship. Their interests differed sharply: Hermione was more focused on practical disciplines like potion-making and transfiguration, while Luna preferred history, magical legends, rare mythical creatures, and unique artifacts of the past.
It also turned out that Ron knew Luna fairly well since their families were practically neighbors. Four nearby wizarding households—those of the Lovegoods, the Weasleys, the Diggorys, and the Fossets—formed a small, secluded community, protected by shared and individual magical barriers. While Ron and Luna weren't childhood friends, they could at least find common topics of conversation. Luna had no objections to the "tutoring" plan—in fact, she welcomed it. Her father, a staunch fan of "hero-Potter," was delighted to have Harry and his friends as guests.
To outside observers, the visit seemed entirely ordinary: Ron and Harry, who was staying with the Weasleys for the holidays, simply went to visit a neighbor, while Hermione and the "tagalong" Murphy had escorted Tonks over from Diagon Alley. Conveniently, one of the Auror training requirements was for trainees to visit all of Britain's magical settlements so they could Apparate there in emergencies.
"I understand," Luna said seriously, her usual dreamy tone absent as her gaze returned to the field where the second-years were struggling to outmaneuver Tonks. "I’ve been to Hogwarts too. I’ve seen how Harry Potter always ends up at the center of trouble. I’ve heard the things people say in the corridors. I know very well that people are often afraid of what they don’t understand."
"Even wizards?" Kayneth asked, intrigued.
"Especially wizards." Her tone grew firmer. "They think they know everything about the world, unlike Muggles. That’s why the things they can’t explain frighten them even more. They can’t just blame it on ghosts, gremlins, imps, or witches. Don’t you think so?"
"I’m a wizard—albeit a new one—but I’m well aware that I don’t know everything about this world. Still, I strive to learn more. I believe that’s what being a wizard is about. Even so, I don’t think a single generation is enough to become a true master of magic, let alone understand the whole world."
"Some think it’s possible. But to know absolutely everything, there’s only one way."
"And what would that be?"
"The Origin."
"What?!" Kayneth turned to her in shock, momentarily forgetting the training session.
"The Origin. The Root of the world. The beginning of all beginnings," Luna explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She took turns sipping from the two steaming mugs she held. "It’s a very old wizarding legend, older than the Celts, older than Rome. It might have come from Egypt or even Babylon. It’s the story of a place where magic enters the world and where all knowledge is stored. It’s a beautiful tale, but it’s not one of my favorites, and hardly anyone remembers it now. I’m not even sure how much of it is true—it sounds far too fantastical."
"Why isn’t it your favorite?" the magus managed to ask. To him, and to all magi in the Association, the existence of the Origin was a scientifically proven fact, the subject of countless theses and experiments. Here, however, it seemed to be relegated to the status of a half-forgotten myth.
"Don’t you want limitless power and all the knowledge of the past and future?" he added.
"No. It would be far too boring," Luna replied serenely, as if she weren’t dismissing the ultimate goal of every magus. "If you already know absolutely everything, there’s nothing left to discover. You couldn’t even imagine anything new, because you’d already know everything—what exists in the world and what doesn’t. Take, for instance, the Wrackspurts."
"The what?"
"Wrackspurts," she repeated in a tone suggesting it was shameful not to know. "They have seven eyes and eight legs, can breathe underwater, turn invisible, and love stealing cheese off shelves. Their shells are red, white, and green, with a lovely shimmer. They nest underground near wizards’ homes and bring good luck if you spot one at sunset. They live for 300 years but rarely stay in one place, migrating from one house to another. There must be at least three dozen under our feet right now. And yet, no wizard or Muggle has ever seen one."
"Wait, what?" Kayneth was utterly lost. On one hand, Luna was easier to talk to than Granger because she had grown up in the magical world. On the other hand, her logic was incomprehensible at times.
"They’re not something that is, but something that could be. They might be exactly as I described, or completely different. There are millions of possibilities for what they might look like and how they live. Wizards lack this kind of imagination. Take the kelpie in that Scottish lake—long ago, a Squib must have told Muggles about it. Since then, thousands of people have searched for it, writing books and forming theories about what it could be—from a surviving dinosaur to a dragon from another realm, or even an alien from the stars. Muggles want to believe there’s something near them they don’t yet understand. They invent possibilities, imagining what it might be and how it might live. So why can’t we do the same? Why don’t we, as wizards, want to see something extraordinary or unbelievable in our world anymore?"
Kayneth stayed silent, unable to formulate a response. As a scholar, he valued rationality and the pursuit of knowledge through mystical sciences, but there was something captivating about Luna’s perspective, even if it was entirely alien to his worldview.
He also silently vowed never to mention the Mirror of the Soul or its workings in her presence. That particular mystic code was one of the most powerful, but it required absolute, almost fanatical belief or conviction—strong enough to defy the laws of reality. Someone with Luna’s mindset might actually succeed in creating it. And without the Mage’s Association or its enforcers in this world to keep such a person in check, that could be disastrous.
"Looks like they’ve lost again."
"Who?" he asked, turning his gaze back to the field. There, Tonks was unbinding the second-years from various restraining and slowing spells, shaking the snow off them with a flick of her wand, and leading them toward the pavilion. "Ah, I see. But they never had a chance to begin with."
"Let’s head inside," said Nymphadora as she approached them. "We need to warm up and dry off, then I’ll start explaining magical defense theory. No objections, I hope?"
"For simplicity’s sake, think of Protego as similar to the counter-spell Finite in its abbreviated form. It cancels spells that have just been cast or breaks them apart before they can take effect," explained Tonks. She stood by the window in the Lovegoods’ whimsically decorated sitting room. Harry and Ron, seated on a sofa before her, were trying for the second time to grasp the finer points of this crucial defensive charm. Luna, curled up in an armchair with her feet tucked beneath her, also appeared to be listening, though Kayneth suspected she might be lost in some fantastical thought instead.
"Similarly, Protego deflects magical beams or effects caused by spells, but it cannot block physical objects or pre-enchanted items whose magic is already integrated into their structure," Tonks continued. "For instance, if a wizard is silenced and then uses Finite, the silence spell will end, but their wand, enchanted cloak, expandable bag, self-winding clock, or any magical amulets or talismans won’t be affected. Likewise, Protego will stop a jet of water from Aguamenti, but self-writing quills or a flying broom will pass right through it without harm."
"If Professor Lockhart explained things like that, I wouldn’t need to read upper-year textbooks during his lessons," Hermione said wistfully. She had already grasped the material on her first try and taken meticulous notes, now sitting in a chair slightly apart so as not to distract the others.
"Are all subjects this tricky for them, or is Defense particularly challenging?" asked Kayneth, gesturing subtly toward her friends with a nod. He made an effort to ensure no sarcasm laced his tone—at least, not too obviously.
"It depends," Hermione admitted. "They can learn if they want to. And when they want to. And when there’s no Quidditch match in the next two weeks. One word: boys. Oh, sorry."
"No offense taken," he replied evenly. "I’m just amazed that two heirs to such ancient wizarding families approach magic—the very legacy of their ancestors—with such... superficiality."
"Ron hasn’t found his focus yet—he’s not sure which subject to truly dedicate himself to," Hermione said, defending her friends. "And Harry grew up in the Muggle world without knowing anything about magic until he was eleven."
"As did I. And as did you," Kayneth countered easily. Half of what he said was true. "That didn’t stop us, did it?"
"I don’t know what to tell you. I guess it depends on the person—what interests them. Anyway, what do you think, since you were watching? Do I have a chance against Tonks in the next session if she’s only on defense again?"
"No. You’ll lose a third time," he said bluntly.
"That’s... awfully definitive. No faith in your teacher, young apprentice? None at all?"
"This isn’t about faith—it’s about approach," Kayneth corrected, mildly puzzled by her overly poetic phrasing. "You lack imagination. You rely only on standard spells, direct attacks, and a variety of arsenal that doesn’t matter against a universal magical shield. You didn’t even try enchanting the ground near her, the snow, or the air. She didn’t bother checking for traps on the field because she knew there wouldn’t be any. What if one of your ‘misses’ had laid a slipping or bogging charm on the ground?"
"But what about an elemental shield?" Hermione countered, showing her notebook with the two-layered protection diagram Tonks had demonstrated. "It blocks water, wind, and fire."
"It might stop ice spikes or boiling water formed from snow, but it wouldn’t prevent a slippery surface. Charms like Glisseo or Slide don’t create ice—they impose the concept of slipperiness onto the ground, unrelated to water or frost. And you’re ignoring air entirely."
"Wind spells won’t go through Protego."
"No, but a shockwave will. It’s just compressed air moving at high speed. Create a powerful enough explosion nearby, and the resulting wave will pass through since it’s not magical."
"And Impervius?"
"It can be overpowered or drained, just like Protego, as Tonks explained earlier. A strong explosion or multiple weaker ones nearby could do the trick. But even this is all wand-work. You didn’t prepare for the duel in advance, despite knowing the time and place." Shaking his head, he added with mock disappointment, "Teacher, you disappoint me. I was hoping for at least a draw."
"A wand is a wizard’s primary tool," Hermione argued, voicing an axiom known to every wizard.
"But it’s not the only tool. A knight doesn’t go into battle with just a sword or spear. He has a dagger, a shield, armor, a mace, a horse, and squires. Why should a wizard be any different? Many simple spells can be used on objects. A fall-prevention charm is just a modified Immobulus cast on the floor. Lumos can be fixed in the air, on the ceiling, or carried on your wand. A magical lockpick is an advanced version of Alohomora that’s difficult to perform on the fly. The possibilities are endless, as illustrated right here." He gestured toward a printing press in the corner.
As it turned out, Mr. Lovegood, Luna’s father, was the editor of a small wizarding newspaper and had set up an improvised printing press in their home. The machine worked entirely on its own, powered neither by electricity nor a motor but by expertly applied enchantments.
"These magical conveniences are so commonplace among wizards that they go unnoticed—self-stirring cauldrons, self-fanning fans, and the like. What stopped you from, say, enchanting a coin with Lumos Maxima to trigger on impact or seconds after a spell was cast, then sending it toward your opponent with a kinetic spell? It would pass through both magical and elemental shields without issue. There are countless possibilities, yet you brought nothing to aid in defense, offense, distraction, or creating cover. And you mentioned in your letter that Ron’s brothers craft similar contraptions from random junk in their dormitory just for fun."
"But wizards don’t fight like that. You’re supposed to duel with spells."
"Who cares?" Kaineth countered. "Neither you nor I currently have the strength to break through a shield with a single Stupefy or Expulso, like an adult wizard might, to take down an opponent. If you come across the person attacking others at school, what will you choose—stop them by any means necessary or insist on 'dueling by the rules' only to lose if they turn out to be a fifth- or sixth-year? Magic is still a matter of your skill versus theirs. I’m not suggesting you carry a gun or a rifle."
"Ugh, disgusting," Hermione grimaced.
"Exactly. Are we wizards or not? A wizard should use their mind first, and their wand only second."
"I’d go so far as to say that if you use your head well enough, you might not even need a wand at all," added Tonks, having just finished explaining the material for a second time. "But before we return to practice, I’d like to discuss this whole situation in more detail. First, tell me everything that happened after Halloween—about the ‘curse’ and the attacks. Letters are one thing, but hearing it directly from someone involved is another."
"…So, to sum it up, you spent an entire week secretly following Malfoy everywhere, waiting for him to confess to someone that, yes, he was behind it all? And you learned absolutely nothing except that he ‘acts suspicious,’ ‘is clearly hiding something,’ and ‘might be looking for something in the school’? Can I finally ask why exactly he was your first suspect?"
"He hates and despises all non-purebloods, ma’am," Ron answered after their group account concluded, and Tonks began asking questions. "He even called Hermione... well, you know what word. He laughed when Harry ended up in the hospital wing. He even said outright when the attacks started that ‘it serves them right,’ because only Muggle-borns and half-bloods were being targeted."
"And that’s enough?" Tonks asked, genuinely surprised. "When I was at school, a third of Slytherin and a quarter of Ravenclaw might have acted like that. Luna, no offense. It’s been over ten years since the war, and yet all this nonsense about ‘pure’ and ‘dirty’ blood hasn’t gone anywhere and likely won’t. So what makes Draco any worse—or better—than the rest?"
"When Harry asked him outright last week if he was involved, Malfoy panicked—almost lost his cool completely. That’s not like him. Even if he isn’t the one doing it, he definitely knows something," Hermione reasoned.
"Given the atmosphere in the school right now, anyone would panic at an accusation like that. The real culprit could remain uncaught for who knows how long, and if other students start believing you’re involved, you’d have to constantly look over your shoulder. Haven’t you already learned that yourselves?"
"But it’s Malfoy," Harry insisted, as if this were a decisive argument.
"So?" Tonks said, puzzled.
"How can he not be bad?" Harry asked, genuinely baffled, oblivious to Hermione elbowing him discreetly.
"Why?"
"His father worked for Voldemort!" Harry almost shouted, ignoring similar nudges from Ron on his other side.
From his position as a quiet observer, Kaineth noticed both Luna and Ron flinch at the mention of the name. It seemed Tonks hadn’t been exaggerating when she said that even the name itself had become a source of prejudice, at least among pure-blood wizards. He also thought to himself how odd it was that "the hero of the wizarding world" not only disregarded societal norms but also neglected something as basic as genealogy. For someone like Harry, unlike Hermione or himself, such knowledge should have been deeply personal. This only confirmed Kaineth’s theory: Harry might have been turned into a modern legend, but as a person, he was left neglected, his education and life in the wizarding world dismissed by nearly everyone.
"My uncle worked for You-Know-Who," Tonks said calmly, as if she hadn’t noticed Harry’s friends trying to get him to stop. "Lucius Malfoy is married to my mother’s sister, which makes him my uncle, and Draco my cousin. So what? Or do you propose suspecting every single wizard related to the Malfoys of being a dark wizard?"
"I-I... I didn’t know, sorry," Harry stammered, clearly flustered. "I don’t think you can judge everyone like that. But family ties are family ties…"
"In that case, you’ll have to suspect a huge chunk of the wizarding population—about a quarter of magical Britain, including yourself."
"Me? Why?" Harry looked utterly confused.
"Dorea Potter, nee Black, married Charlus Potter, the brother of Fleamont Potter, your grandfather and James Potter’s father," Luna said serenely, gazing out the window. "In other words, she was your great-great-aunt. Dorea Potter-Black was also the sister of Pollux Black, grandfather to Andromeda Tonks, nee Black, and Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black. Harry, this is all written in the books about you—biographies with detailed family trees. There are quite a few of them."
"So Narcissa Malfoy and my mum were distant cousins, and I’m... what, a fifth cousin to Draco?" Tonks smiled as she clarified for the thoroughly shocked Harry. "Almost all old wizarding families are related to each other in some way, distant or not. That means you have plenty of relatives—some good, some bad. And believe me, Draco isn’t even the worst among them."
Harry nodded in stunned silence, then froze and slowly turned toward Ron, who was sitting next to him. Before Harry could form the question, Luna went to the bookshelf, retrieved a well-worn tome, flipped to the correct page, and announced:
"Cedrella Weasley, nee Black, was Pollux Black’s cousin and Dorea Black’s cousin. She was Arthur Weasley’s mother and Ron Weasley’s grandmother. So, you two are distant cousins as well."
"And you didn’t say anything?" Harry finally managed to ask Ron.
"Believe it or not, I didn’t know either," Ron replied honestly. "And who cares? Honestly, all this genealog—whatever stuff is only interesting to people with way too much free time," he said, shooting an exaggerated look at Luna. "Besides Percy, I don’t think anyone in our family has ever touched that book."
"So Ginny doesn’t know either?" Hermione asked flatly.
"I feel like even if they were full siblings, her obsession wouldn't have faltered," Ron remarked with a shrug.
"What does that have to do with—? You know what, never mind," Harry said, shaking his head in disbelief. "This whole 'relatives everywhere' thing is already more than enough to process for a year. Just… please tell me no one else in this room is part of my family. James?"
"I have no idea," Kayneth replied with an amused smirk. Watching the heir of an ancient magical family flounder over the realization of his own ancestry was more entertaining than he'd expected. "But nothing can be ruled out."
"H-Hermione?"
"I…" Judging by her expression, she considered joking, but realizing that jokes about family ties were likely unwelcome in Harry's state, she just waved it off. "Nope, guaranteed clean. No witches or wizards in my family for at least three generations. Maybe four, though I can’t be sure about one great-great-grandfather—we couldn’t find much about him in the family records."
"Actually, there was a notable potioneer in the late Middle Ages named Hector Dagworth-Granger," Luna chimed in without even glancing at a book. "Though there's no confirmed connection between him and the Potters."
"There are probably plenty of Grangers in Britain…"
"Luna, what about you?" Harry asked, turning to her.
"Our family's only about two hundred years old and never crossed paths with any of the noble houses," she replied with a shrug. "Almost everyone in my family was a half-blood, so we weren't important enough."
"Well, that’s a relief," Harry muttered. "I still need time to wrap my head around the fact that Draco Malfoy is my… cousin. Ugh."
"All right, let’s steer this back to the main topic," Tonks cut in, reclaiming control of the conversation. "The attacks. Considering everything we've discussed, we can dismiss the 'curse' theory. That leaves two possibilities—another wizard or wizards, or some kind of magical creature. Harry, nothing similar has happened to you during the holidays, right?"
"What? No, nothing like that. I mean, I did drop a plate on my foot once, but it was slippery, and—well, nothing magical. No explosions, no falls, no crumbling railings."
"Exactly. A ghost or spirit would have followed you here, unless its sole purpose was to drive you out of school—which doesn’t make sense for such a being. And if it was sent after you, then by who, and why? It does resemble a poltergeist’s behavior, but there’s only one of those at Hogwarts, and it always causes trouble openly, not sneakily. Besides, it doesn’t go that far, even with first-years."
"Could it have been a house-elf?" Hermione asked, raising her hand as if in class. "Harry said one visited him over the summer, muttering about some kind of danger and even stealing his letters."
"Technically, they’re capable of such magic, but a house-elf wouldn’t harm a wizard. They just can’t—they think differently. Stealing letters is one thing—annoying, but harmless. But broken bones and falling off stairs? That’s a different story entirely. No elf would dare to do such a thing; they depend on wizards too much to put themselves and all their kin at such risk."
"So it’s definitely a wizard?" Harry concluded with a defeated sigh. "Someone from Slytherin… or one of the other two houses."
"You’re ruling out Gryffindor?" Tonks asked skeptically.
"I trust everyone in our house. They wouldn’t do that—to me or anyone else. Besides, only one half-blood from Slytherin got hurt, but three Gryffindors were attacked almost back-to-back."
"Strange logic, but let’s assume you’re right. Even then, three houses across seven years—that’s over four hundred students. You can’t investigate them all, especially the older ones. And if you keep stalking Malfoy, Nott, or whoever else you find 'suspicious,' people will notice. And when they do, they’ll start avoiding you even more. Hogwarts has hundreds of surveillance spells invented over the centuries; you’ll get caught eventually."
"So what, we do nothing? Just wait?" Ron asked, disheartened.
"Not at all. First, stop making yourselves targets—don’t wander alone after curfew, for starters. Be prepared for danger—practice your defensive spells and, as James wisely suggested, focus on being prepared. Enchant your belongings to soften falls or absorb a couple of spells. Carry a few vials of healing potions to stop bleeding or treat a concussion. It won’t hurt and might be invaluable. Professors McGonagall and Snape won’t change their curriculums for just a few students, but Professor Flitwick might teach you some useful charms if you ask—he’d probably even praise you for your enthusiasm."
"You’re not Aurors or Muggle detectives. You’re still students. Finding the culprit isn’t your job. Your priority is to keep yourselves safe and help your peers when you can. I’ll talk to my mentors and see if we can arrange an inspection of the school—maybe even assign one or two people for security. That’s only if I can convince them it’s serious enough."
"Any normal school would’ve shut down by now," Hermione muttered under her breath.
"In a normal school, students can’t turn a first-year into a tree or blow up a practice yard during a friendly duel," Kayneth replied dryly. Hermione was clearly talented for her age and background, quick to grasp new ideas, but she couldn’t yet think like a magus. First-generation wizards, no matter how gifted, always took time to adjust. "And no teacher in a normal school would bring a group of third-category magical creatures into class and set them loose on the students. If they still held interschool magical tournaments, you’d see challenges far worse, even fifth-category dangers. Miss Granger, the wizarding world doesn’t operate by the same rules as the Muggle world—you should’ve realized that by now."
He added, with a hint of irony: "A Muggle might jokingly sell their soul with a notarized contract, just for a laugh. A wizard doing the same could face life in prison—or even execution. Different values, different perspectives. You’ll need to stop thinking like a Muggle someday."
"Well, you shouldn’t entirely forget how Muggles think," Tonks interjected, correcting him. "But you do need to account for the difference in values if you don’t want to stand out. That’s part of the reason Hogwarts exists—to teach wizards and witches of different backgrounds to understand one another and view the world in similar ways."
"Wait, hold on, I don’t think I understood something," Harry said, shifting his gaze from Tonks to James, then to Hermione, who didn’t contradict them. He hesitated, placing a hand on his chest as if to steady himself. "Are you saying that the soul… that wizards can actually do something with it? Like, buy it, sell it, trade it? I mean, I didn’t go to a church school or anything, but I’ve seen sermons on TV, and talking so casually about souls like this—"
"They can," Tonks replied simply on everyone’s behalf. "The soul is absolutely real, even if some Muggles refuse to believe in it. But any attempt to manipulate it is utterly forbidden. Tampering with a soul is the most horrific dark magic imaginable. That’s why books on the subject were removed from all libraries years ago—and rightly so. You’ll learn more about it in sixth or seventh year, but for now, it’s too early. It’s an unpleasant topic, and it’s best to address it when the time comes."
She glanced out the window at the gray sky, watching the snowfall grow heavier, before changing the subject. "Anyway, it’s going to get dark soon. Let’s quickly go through another round of practice so you can show me what you’ve learned from today’s explanations. Then we’ll wrap up for now. Luna, James, will you join us?"
"Yes, it’s been fun. I enjoyed watching you all," Luna said with her usual serene smile.
"I’ll join as well," added Archibald. "It’s always fascinating to see new magic. Your lessons have been incredibly informative. There are things books alone can’t teach."
