Chapter 54
"Hmm… what unusual magic," I murmured thoughtfully, feeling the pull of the Veela's influence washing over me. These magical creatures — something in their nature reminded me of succubi — were serving as a kind of cheer squad and mascot for the Bulgarian team.
"You have surprisingly good control of yourself," Daphna Greengrass observed, casting a rather telling glance at Sirius, who had gone somewhat glassy-eyed, and at Jacques, who had drifted even further — to the point where Lady Greengrass was physically holding him by the arm to keep him in his seat.
Unexpected. I would have thought a master of magic — even Potions — would hold up better.
I caught my future mother-in-law's look of surprised approval. She managed a small encouraging nod before I turned my attention back to the dancing Veela.
Their enchantment produced a genuinely interesting effect on my mental defenses. It didn't touch the mind or the mental shields directly — it reached straight for the emotions through some other channel entirely. And resisting it even with standard Occlumency was harder than I'd anticipated.
Sirius could attest to that. His time in Azkaban had, through sheer brutal experience, made him something of an expert in certain branches of mental magic — and even his gaze had gone slightly unfocused.
I, on the other hand, could hold myself together fairly easily by acting on my emotions directly. Or rather — more precisely — I was simply not allowing the external influence to reach my emotional state at all. Which made me curious. What if I…
"Oh," I said — actually flinching slightly — deliberately relaxing my mental shields and simply letting go, stopping my constant self-regulation and control, which allowed the Veela's enchantment to finally reach what some books from the Black library described as the sensory spirit.
"Harry?" Daphna gripped my arm with a flicker of concern, though I was in no real danger of losing control. The strength of the external influence surprised me somewhat — but it was more interesting than genuinely overwhelming. And I thought I'd gained a partial understanding of exactly how Veela affected other people's emotions.
"I'm fine. I just wanted to ease off my mental constraints for a moment and experience the Veela's effect properly," I said honestly, with a slightly sheepish note of explanation toward my fiancée.
"Oh? And why would you want to do that?" Daphna asked, with genuine surprise and real curiosity — no particular anger in her voice, and certainly no offense taken at my momentary lapse.
"Curiosity, mostly. And I think it may have actually been useful." I kept my voice low, sharing the quiet satisfaction with the friend who already knew a great deal about my progress in mental magic — simply from spending so much time around me and seeing what I tended to read during any free moment between assignments. "I think I may have partially understood how Veela influence someone's emotions. Which means I need to run a few experiments."
"You're not saying you think you could reproduce a Veela's aura artificially?" Daphna stared at me with something close to disbelief, completely ignoring the Leprechauns — Ireland's mascots — who had just started their own performance.
"Not certain yet. I'd lean toward no rather than yes, for now. But it might give me a foothold toward developing a more specific kind of Legilimency." I answered simply, not bothering to hide my excitement or the familiar itch to research something new. I'd already developed a working familiarity with ordinary Legilimency. I'd done a little quiet experimentation the previous summer during walks around the city.
Nothing serious had come of it — no significant mishaps — though I had no particular desire to repeat the experience of wading through the thoughts and memories of various unsavory or simply inebriated individuals. Practicing on wizards, however, was something I would eventually want to do. And the opportunity would come, one way or another.
Lady Greengrass thought too highly of my progress in mental magic to neglect that area of my development. And Sirius — I was fairly confident — if I brought the question to him, would find ways to give me practice opportunities. He'd either offer his own head as a test subject — which I genuinely didn't want. Black was no master Mentalist, and without that title there was simply no way to guarantee full safety. Or he'd hire someone for instruction in active Legilimency, which was also less than ideal. Word of hiring that particular kind of specialist tended to travel.
So I wasn't rushing. With ordinary people, everything was straightforward — harming someone without actively intending to was nearly impossible with basic mental magic, and the minds of non-magical people were almost embarrassingly easy to work with. Correcting any unintended interference was far simpler as well. The worst London's less sober residents had faced was a bout of migraine, some mild disruption to long-term memory that would have sorted itself out within a month or two, or the simple absence of two or three days from their recollection.
Unpleasant in principle — but we were talking about people who, I was reasonably certain, routinely lost days from their memory without any magical assistance whatsoever. So no, practicing mental magic on ordinary people hadn't troubled me particularly. Legilimency worked on them far too easily to be genuinely challenging.
Wizards were another matter. They had natural mental shields. And their own magic could react to intrusion into their minds, potentially punishing the aggressor — and scrambling the target's mind in the process.
The heightened magical activity of children, incidentally, was exactly why mental magic was generally avoided on young wizards. The risk was too high for both the Legilimens and the subject. But that was somewhat beside the point. Emotions and influencing them weren't quite the same as Legilimency — the Veela's aura was entirely safe for children, and was even said to have a gently calming effect on young boys.
So attempting something new in that direction wasn't something I was opposed to. The main challenge would be finding suitable subjects. Ideally — fully willing adult wizard Mentalists. Though how that would be arranged remained to be seen. Perhaps before the end of the holidays, a simple walk through one of London's less comfortable neighborhoods would provide enough for initial testing.
I wasn't looking to take unnecessary risks. With ordinary mental magic everything was clear — harming a non-magical person required active intent. Without it, their minds were simply too easy to influence, and the techniques for doing so had been known for centuries and were largely in the public domain. But working with someone's sensory spirit was still something I approached with caution. My reference material on the subject was minimal, and I would almost certainly be working largely through trial and error.
I summarized all of this quickly for Daphna, and then we both turned our attention back to the match that had begun. Not that either of us was particularly invested in Quidditch — but watching actual professionals at work was interesting in its own right. I paid fairly close attention to the individual feats of skill and aerial acrobatics on display.
I had developed something of an obsession with extreme broom flying, if I was being honest. Sirius had given me a specialized artifact the previous Christmas — designed to protect reckless individuals like myself from a guaranteed-fatal fall from a broom. An expensive item, as it happened. But once it was in my hands, and once I'd tested that it worked, my sense of self-preservation had effectively taken its leave and aerobatic maneuvers had become an increasingly regular part of my recreational program.
So watching genuine professionals now, I was already mentally rehearsing which of their techniques I would try on my own broom at the first opportunity. Flying had become very nearly my primary hobby in this life. Which meant watching other people fly was, for once, actually interesting.
"Well. That was slightly unexpected," I said, as the match concluded.
The outcome didn't concern me in the least. Ireland had overwhelmed their opponents on points despite Bulgaria's Seeker catching the Snitch — a rare result in Quidditch, but irrelevant to me. I'd half-expected something like it, having a vague recollection of the fourth film.
"Mm. Unusual ending for a championship." Daphna was in complete agreement with my general attitude toward the proceedings, which meant that relatively soon, we were on our way home. It all wrapped up within a couple of hours — during which we managed to navigate toward the Floo Network exits. Apparating in the midst of that many wizards simultaneously was simply not advisable.
"Damn it… I was hoping to properly enjoy the celebrations afterward… Jacques, what if we went to Diagon Alley? The festivities there must be something right now."
The elder men in our group were the only ones genuinely disappointed by how quickly it all ended.
Devoted Quidditch enthusiasts had no desire to let the evening conclude. And while Sirius was the primary instigator on this occasion, Daphna's father wasn't far behind. Until this moment, basic propriety had kept both of them from suggesting they simply abandon the women and younger members of the group — but now that we were making our way out…
Well. At least neither of them is suggesting we go back to the stadium — or wherever the evening celebrations are being held.
I made my mental peace with their enthusiasm, and focused mainly on hoping that the people I cared about wouldn't end up in the path of what I knew was coming. The Death Eater attack.
I didn't need to worry about most of my other acquaintances. The Weasleys hadn't been able to afford tickets — I'd confirmed that with Ginny specifically. Luna had no interest in Quidditch and was at this moment spending the afternoon with Ginny, waiting for Daphna and me to free up so we could all go on the planned excursion through Muggle London.
As for the Slytherins — their parents would almost certainly ensure their safety, given that the same parents would likely be the ones organizing the chaos to begin with. Everyone else, I genuinely didn't spend much thought on. I saw no real point in worrying about casual acquaintances. I was simply too unsentimental a person for that.
Or rather — if I had some actual means of helping people I knew without putting myself in danger or risking very uncomfortable questions from a very large number of very interested parties, then yes, I'd have helped everyone I could. Gladly, without hesitation.
But throwing myself into the thick of it, or getting entangled in some unnecessary adventure — that was something else. I wasn't a Gryffindor. I was a thoroughly representative member of Ravenclaw House, with all the associated habits of mind and behavior.
Even the next day's news — and the absolutely spectacular levels of scandal and outrage in the papers — didn't particularly disturb me. I didn't even break from my training, already mentally counting down the days until I would be rid of the glasses I had come to loathe so thoroughly. I planned to throw them away the moment I walked out of St. Mungo's. Whatever impression that made, whatever fresh attention it drew from Dumbledore — I didn't particularly care.
Experience had shown that the Headmaster wasn't watching his chosen hero quite as closely as one might expect. I had spent my entire third year at Hogwarts without any notable incidents, which meant nothing by itself — but I had also long since stopped pretending to be anything less than I was. And the Horcrux in my forehead was, almost certainly, no longer there.
The examinations at St. Mungo's had revealed no particular problems, and the scar itself had faded nearly to nothing. A barely visible white line in the shape of a lightning bolt — that was all that remained. And even that, I suspected, might eventually fade entirely. I at least very much hoped it would.
I'd disliked that particular feature on my own forehead since childhood. Not to the same degree as the glasses — but still. Good riddance. If it didn't fade on its own, perhaps after school I'd pay St. Mungo's another visit. A simple cosmetic procedure to remove the scar entirely.
"Hmm… actually, there's no reason to wait on that." I murmured to myself, the thought arriving somewhat unexpectedly. If I already wanted this done, and had more than sufficient means to arrange it, there was no reason to delay. I made a quiet mental note to ask Mrs. Greengrass about scheduling another appointment with a Healer.
House Greengrass had connections at the hospital — they specialized in producing the enchanted instruments St. Mungo's depended on. And Agatha herself, if Astoria's rather proud remarks were anything to go by, had recently been involved in designing — or helping to design — some specialized runic system for the hospital.
Those connections hadn't gone anywhere. And if I asked, she could almost certainly get me seen ahead of the standard queue. Just enough to ensure everything was sorted before I had to return to Hogwarts.
If You Like The Story Drop a Review
~Read Advanced Chapters on: p@treon/Amiii_
~Every 150 PS = Bonus Chapter!
~Push the Story forward with your [Power Stones]