So here's the second chapter of MMM. Took me and Deimos a little longer than we expected.
Do join us on our discord if you like this fic and would like to have some more in depth discussions about the world of Harry Potter.
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10th November, 1968
Practice Hall 7, 4th Floor
Hogwarts
Sweat dripped down his brow, pooling over his lips, which he chewed nervously. His muscles, tight with concentration. His eyes narrowed in focus and a snarl of frustration escaped his lips as Steven struggled to maintain the spell. All around Steven was a scene of beautiful destruction. Hundreds of gallons of water were held in the air around the fifth year Ravenclaw, a veritable ocean, colourless and cascading in various shapes, animate, yet unfocused.
Unfocused, for Steven had yet to truly master the spell. Unfocused, because it was taking all of Steven's concentration to just manifest and hold the Water in check. As Flitwick explained, "It is not in Water's nature to remain constrained. It always flows, whether as a torrent of a river, the tides and waves of an ocean or even as the current in a lake or the ripples on a pond. Water will always flow, my young student. All we can do is guide it."
A part of Steven yearned to yield control and let the Water flow. Just so he could see what it would do before the spell ran out of power, but Flitwick had compared it to Fiendfyre, running amok without the user's control and will, causing mindless destruction. But here, it was infinitely more dangerous. Whereas Fiendfyre gained power by consuming the material in its path, when dealing with the Ancient Arts, that was not the case. Power was drawn from the caster and if one ceded too much control, the spell would continue drawing power even if the caster sought to end it. Eventually, the drain of power would be catastrophic to the caster, inevitably resulting in death.
One did not practice the Ancient Arts lightly. It took incredible control, an iron will and immense discipline to grasp their basics.
And so Steven persevered.
Before him, was a simple construct of Water. Seven cups and seven jugs. The cups were empty and the jugs were not. His task, to pour the "Water" from the jugs into the cups. Simultaneously. This was to be done without any spillage and with each pair of cups and jugs, arrayed across the room in different locations, with no more than two ever being in Steven's line of sight.
Off to the side, Flitwick stood calmly, wand in hand, in case Steven lost control. He had assigned Steven this exercise over a month ago after Steven had mastered summoning and manifesting sufficient volumes of Water.
Initially, the objective of the exercise was to build his stamina, control, and sharpen his focus. They'd started with just one jug and cup and slowly progressed to the seven pairs he was managing today. But as Steven progressed, he realised that the true objective of the exercise was to improve his immersion in the spell. His understanding of the concept of Water and his knowledge of its elemental applications.
The best metaphor would be floating on one's back in a swimming pool. You had to strike the perfect balance. Float at that perfect point where only your face remains above water, while the rest of your body floats just parallel to the surface. It had sounded easy enough to Steven when Flitwick had explained it to him. In reality, though, it was more akin to floating in such a calm yet serene manner, not in a pool though, but in a raging ocean.
But that's what it felt like to Steven as he concentrated on the seven jugs and seven cups, even as hundreds of gallons of water circled around him. He ignored the water constructs that had formed as a byproduct of his focus, some animals, some objects and what even seemed to be a bizarre-looking automobile being driven by Xeno of all people, and narrowed his eyes once more.
Even though he could not physically see the jugs and cups, Steven was one with the Water that he had summoned. Water that had manifested into being at his command. In his mind's eye, it was as though all that was Water, within this room, was but an extension of his physical body. With a flex of his Will, the jugs rose simultaneously, another flex and they tilted themselves over the cups, perfectly aligned.
And voila. Water flowed. And the cups were filled. Not a single drop spilt.
The sound of soft claps reached Steven's ears.
"It took me six months to complete this exercise. And I was three years older than you when I attempted it. You have completed it in just under 3 months. A remarkable achievement young man. You should be proud," said Flitwick as he walked forward towards Steven.
Straightening up slightly, with a flick of his wand, Steven cancelled the spell, the Water dispelling and vapourising almost immediately.
"Thank you, Professor," replied Steven, huffing slightly, the toll of the spell visible on his features.
"You are still struggling with immersion Steven, but it is something that will come to you with time, practice and experience. Your biggest challenge, however, in the short term at least will be to impress your Will upon your constructs. Water, by nature, does not like being restrained or constrained in any form, and the more complex the constructs that you create, the greater will be the difficulty to retain control of them."
Steven could only nod, as he collapsed onto the nearest chair, a Pepper Up Potion summoned into his hands from which he took a large sip.
"I'm still not sure how I am supposed to harness my Will well enough that I may impose it on the entirety of the manifestation."
"This is not a race, but a marathon," replied Flitwick, "Even now, your subconscious mind creates imprints on the constructs that you do not control directly. I'm sure you also noticed that remarkable construct of Mr Lovegood in that muggle automobile that was zooming around the room less than a minute ago."
A sheepish chuckle escaped his lips at that. Xeno in a damned car. God only knows where that had come from.
"You must understand Steven, that this is not as when you cast a Charm or when you perform Transfiguration, where you must control every aspect of the spell. The Old Magics cannot be controlled. Nor can you surrender yourself to the currents of magics, for that way lies only death. No, you must find a balance. For only in that balance will you be able to find true mastery?"
"And how must I find balance when the pressure of the spell threatens to overwhelm me? When it feels like at any time my constructs may turn on me, or that I may lose control and drown in the very Water that I have manifested. It is not easy Professor," grumbled Steven even as he took another sip of the potion.
"If it were easy, everyone would be a Master of the Ancient Arts, Steven," rebutted the Charms Master, "and yet, most struggle to even master Charms, which are for all intents and purposes, backdoors and shortcuts derived from the Arts themselves. Magic is a lifelong pursuit Steven. Even I am a student yet. You are young. Exercise patience. Mastery will come in time."
Steven nodded at that. Words failed him as exhaustion set in.
"The mastery of this exercise means that you have enough aptitude and control over this spell that you may practise it further on your own. You must make this spell your own now. Develop your own constructs, explore its other applications and improve your focus and Will. You may have use of Classroom No. 341 on the 3rd Floor for practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays after classes are over," said Flitwick as he flicked his wand and the classroom was set back in order.
"We will spend the next few sessions before Winter Break fine-tuning previous lessons and then it is my objective that in the next term we can focus on the Art of Levitation."
Art of Levitation.
Those words rang like a bell in Steven's mind. He'd been reading about it for years now, tales of how the great Mages of the Ancient World had used the Art of Levitation to construct the pyramids, the Etemenanki in modern day Iraq, The Great Lighthouse of Alexandria and many other great wonders of the Ancient World.
This was not the basic levitation one practised when casting Wingardium Leviosa. Most Charms were in fact bastardizations of Old Magic practices, shortcuts and crude spells that butchered the ancient practices, but made it possible for the average wizard to imitate the effects of the spell. Over time, and with the influence of the Roman Empire in Europe and similar monarchies over the world however, Charms had become the norm, and the old ways had fallen out of favour.
But the true Art of Levitation, something so rarely seen today, was one that could be used to reshape the landscape and redraw maps.
"Is it true that Moses used a combination of Arts of Water and Levitation to split the Red Sea?" asked Steven.
A wry smile spread across Flitwick's features, "And where did you learn that?"
"It was mentioned in Ancient Accomplishments: Myth or Magic. The author speculated that Moses was in fact an ancient mage and much of his feats were accomplishments of magic."
"There is actually much debate about that. The Mages of Egypt were undoubtedly some of the most powerful practitioners of the Old Arts that ever lived. It is speculated that Moses was trained in their ways and rebelled against the Pharaohs who enslaved him and his people. The Muggles believe him to be a Prophet, but they don't have as good historical records as we do. The Axum Tablets have record of a great mage, a former slave, walking his followers across the ocean to freedom."
The man paused for a minute and flicked his wand. A thick tome flew across the room from his personal library and settled on the desk and opened to a particular page. Flitwick gestured for him to lean forward and pointed to a portion of the page that the book had opened to.
"On the other hand as you can see here, the Scrolls of Aswan record that an Egyptian Mage fell in love with a slave woman and escaped with her people, forging his way across the Red Sea by splitting it in half. The records are vague, and conflicting, but they all point to the fact that the man the muggles call Moses, did in fact exist, although his abilities, his history and his actions, are still the subject of much debate."
"Fascinating," was all that Steven could muster even as he processed the information.
"May I borrow this book?" he asked eventually.
"Of course, but do take good care of it. It was a rather arduous task to procure a copy. Few were ever printed in Europe. It is lamentable how little our European brethren care for the accomplishments of 'barbaric civilisations' like the Egyptians," the disdain in his voice as he said those words was palpable.
"Thank you sir. Same time on Wednesday?" said Steven as he carefully picked up the tome and placed it in his bag.
"Yes of course. 8pm. Wednesday. I'll see you then lad."
Steven nodded and moved to leave as Flitwick called out.
"If you have an interest in the Mages of Ancient Egypt, you should speak with Professor Diggory."
"The Junior Professor for Ancient Runes?" questioned Steven as he turned and raised an eyebrow.
"Indeed. He studied for his Mastery under Professor Ahmed Rafiqui in Alexandria and his thesis was on the Derivatives of Ancient Warding practices in modern warding principles. Quite fascinating work. He had undertaken extensive research into the Mages of Ancient Egypt to compile his thesis."
That was interesting. Professor Alfred Diggory was in fact a rather competent professor. He knew his concepts and communicated them rather well. But Steven had never really paid him much attention, as the man was fairly nondescript and tended not to have a very overt presence. He tended to sort of fade into the background especially when compared to Professor Alastair McLaggen, the Head of the Ancient Runes department. Now that was a man with charisma and charm in spades.
"I'll keep that in mind, professor. Thank you."
Flitwick only nodded at that and turned his attention back to some or the other book that he seemed to be reading.
A clear dismissal, if there ever was one. And Steven did not need to be told twice. He'd skipped dinner today to prepare for Flitwick's lesson. If he rushed, he may be able to convince the house elves to give him some of the leftovers from dinner.
Maybe they have some treacle tart remaining.
4th December 1968.
The Great Library
Hogwarts
"Steve?" said Amelia as she looked up from One Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi, the Herbology textbook that was also a reference guide for Potions that she was reading.
Steven hummed in response, deeply engaged in his own reading. It was nearing curfew and their study session had been going on for nearly two hours and he had been struggling with Potions himself. Slughorn had seemingly taken a shine to Steven in his First Year, the man had an eye for talent, and although Steven had little to no talent in Art of Potioneering, Slughorn continued to maintain high expectations from him.
"Have you had your meeting with Fawley yet?"
Steven paused slightly at that.
"Meeting?" he said, slightly confused.
"Yes, our mandated meeting with our Head of House every term. Did you meet with Fawley yet?" replied Amelia.
"Ahh. Well, Flitwick generally handles that for me. And Fawley seems to prefer to let Flitwick take the lead when it comes to me."
Understanding dawned on her face at that. But a hint of confusion still lingered.
"Yes, but we are in our Fifth Year now. Which means mandatory career counselling with your Head of House. Regardless of your special relationship with Flitwick, you will have to meet with Fawley himself this year."
Steven tensed slightly at that. Partly because of the way she had stressed the word special, but mainly because of the sheer dislike he had for his bigoted Head of House. The less time he spent with him, the better.
"First of all, Flitwick just helps me out from time to time with some coursework. He'd do that same for any other student should they approach him for help. And secondly, as far as Fawley goes," he paused for a moment, "well fuck Fawley, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."
An exasperated expression crossed Amelia's face at that. She'd never really believed him when he claimed that Fawley was a pureblood supremacist. The bastard hid it well. He had most of the student body deceived, and most of the faculty as well.
"Yes, I'm sure that Flitwick goes around teaching advanced battle magic to just any random student that approaches him," she drawled as she rolled her eyes at him.
Amelia had no idea of Steven's interest in the Ancient Arts, nor the fact that Flitwick was tutoring him in that field. She had formed her hypothesis that Flitwick was teaching him to duel last year, and since then had fixated on that idea.
"For the last time Amelia, Flitwick is not teaching me how to duel."
"Yes, he's just helping you out with the levitation charm," her voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Yes. It's something I've been struggling with since First Year. Try and keep it a secret though. If anyone finds out I'll never hear the end of it," deadpanned Steven as he looked her straight in the eyes.
Amelia snorted at that. Restraining her laughter. They were, after all, sitting in the library.
"You know how many students would kill to be in your position, learning how to duel from THE Filius Flitwick."
'Oh Boy, here we go,' thought Steven as Amelia began a familiar rant.
"The man is a legend, Steven. He won the Europa League in '58, when he was just thirty six years old. Successfully defended his title in '59 and reached the Top 32 in the World Championship in '60. And you're getting private lessons from him," she practically hissed out that last portion as the librarian crossed them as she was speaking.
"Well maybe if others asked him as well, he'd help them out too. Maybe if you stop asking him how to use the Cheering Charm in a duel, he'd teach you privately as well once. At least once he's sure that you won't use his teachings to brutally maim the next firstie who pisses you off."
In his experience, deflecting with humour was generally a good way to get Amelia to change the topic.
"He's never taken an apprentice, even though dozens of families have requested him. By Merlin's beard, I heard from my parents that Lord Nott offered him ten thousand galleons to take on his son as an apprentice. And the man refused!" countered the redhead.
"Maybe he's just picky about who he teaches. He made a lot of gold in the duelling circuit and Hogwarts pays its teachers very well," deflected Steven, desperately thinking of ways to change the topic.
"I doubt Hogwarts pays him that much. With ten-thousand galleons, he could buy himself a mansion in London and still have plenty left over."
"He told me last year that he lives out in the country, east of Dartmouth, maybe he doesn't like living in the city."
A low growl sounded from Amelia's throat as she glared at Steven. It seemed that pithy humour was not the correct route to have followed in this conversation.
"Teach me!" she almost shouted, her face turning an impressive shade of red that almost matched her hair.
"Huh?" was all a flabbergasted Steven could muster.
"Teach me whatever he's teaching you!" repeated Amelia even as she somehow held an expression between embarrassed and indignant.
Well this was new. Amelia and he studied together. They gave each other company as the other studied subjects that they were weak in. They'd even discuss recent developments in fields of magic that they both held interest in. But neither had ever asked the other to actually teach them.
"Why? I'm sure that if you wanted duelling instruction, your parents could hire the best duellists on the continent."
A flash of resentment briefly crossed her face before she quickly masked it.
"Yeah, like my parents are going to encourage their daughter's impropriety as my grandmother keeps saying," she said bitterly.
Immediate concern was evident in Steven's eyes as he leaned forward slightly. Amelia rarely spoke of her family life. He'd always assumed it was because she did not wish to flaunt her pureblood heritage and obvious wealth in front of Steven, who came from a more modest background.
"But why? You're one of the best duellists in Hogwarts despite just being in Fifth Year, and let's be honest, now that Moody's graduated, you're a shoe-in to win the Duelling Tournament this year."
"First of all, you're forgetting Dolohov, that fucker is a mean fighter. Moody barely beat him last year," she said with a pointed look at Steven.
"Secondly, you don't understand how it works for old pureblood families. Daughters aren't supposed to be good duelists. No pureblood lord wants a wife who can kick his arse in a duel. We're supposed to be dainty little princesses with academic accomplishments. Men fight in duels and compete in championships. The women, well we're supposed to be Enchantresses or Herbalists or Potions Mistresses. That's the only acceptable career option for women from pureblood families. Even ones from progressive ones like mine," she said as she looked anywhere else but at Steven.
"Damn," said Steven as he processed her words, "I never thought of it like that."
"Yeah well you couldn't have known. I don't like talking about it. I'm just frustrated after my meeting with McGonagall," she replied softly.
"What happened?"
"Mum and Dad came down to Hogwarts for the meeting. When McGonagall asked what career options I'm looking at, I said I wanted to be an Auror. My parents were not happy with my choice, to say the least."
"An Auror! I always thought you wanted to be a duellist?" asked Steven, surprise tinging his tone.
"That was just a childhood fantasy. Sure duelling is fun, but the women's circuit is segregated from men's and is very poorly funded. Also, to be honest, I was always more enamoured by the glitz and fame associated with the circuit. As an Auror, I can actually do so much more. I could be so much more."
"Well I can tell you one thing. I'm sure that the day you become an Auror, Dark Wizards across Britain will be crying rivers of tears. They'll be shaking in their boots thinking of how Auror Bones is going to hunt them down and throw them in Azkaban," joked Steven as he smiled at her widely.
A shaky smile greeted him at that, "It's not that easy Steven. Do you know that across Europe, only one in a hundred Aurors are women? No woman has ever served as Head of Auror Office of any Ministry of Magic. Women don't become Aurors Steven. It's just how society is."
"Well, fuck society. I'm the muggleborn son of a fucking factory worker, and if society has any say, all I'd ever amount to is a clerk in some backwater Ministry office or a retainer in some pureblood business. And I'll be damned before I let that happen," said Steven hotly even as his voice was raised slightly. His own career prospects had always been a sore point for him.
Amelia looked a little guilty at that. Perhaps realising that she'd been bitching about her career prospects to someone who undoubtedly had it far worse. Feeling a bit guilty himself at that, for he never wanted to diminish her own problems with his own, Steven continued.
"Amelia, fuck what society says, if you want to be an Auror, no one can stop you, not even your parents. I stand by what I said about you being a shoe-in for the Duelling Tournament this year. Dolohov won't know what hit him."
"Thanks, Steven. That actually means a lot to me. My parents will come around eventually, but that's why I'm working so hard on Potions this year. I need a NEWT in Potions to be accepted into the Auror program. And for that I need an EE in my Potions OWL," she replied as she glared at the stack of Potions books beside her.
Steven could not help but nod in commiseration. Steven only managed to scrape an EE in Potions last year through sheer hard work and what he suspected was favouritism from Slughorn. Amelia was just barely better than him. Barely.
"What else is required?" said Steven, at this point curious about the profession.
"NEWTs in Defence, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology and Potions. Having NEWTs in Ancient Runes as well would be a bonus as Aurors are always looking to hire recruits with experience in Warding," she replied in a matter of fact tone.
"And you are planning to apply straight out of Hogwarts? What about your Masters? I thought you wanted to work on your Mastery in Transfiguration under McGonagall after you'd graduated?" asked Steven.
"The Auror Training Program is one year long followed by another year of probation. I can work on my Mastery simultaneously. In fact that's what most Mastery students do. The Hogwarts Mastery program is expensive. Most people can't afford it unless they're from one of the richer pureblood families. Having income on the side, or working for a company that agrees to shoulder a part of the cost is the only way to finance it. Well it's either that or going to Gringotts for a loan. Remember Alan Beesbury?"
"Yeah, isn't he one of Professor Farseer's Mastery students?" said Steven, referring to the Head of the Astronomy department.
"He actually got a job from Nimbus and they agreed to finance his Mastery studies provided he works for them for a minimum of five years after completing his course. It's pretty standard practice."
Steven's eyebrows nearly shot up across his brow at hearing that. All these years in the wizarding world, and yet there was so much he didn't know. It was at times like this that he truly felt like an outsider.
Amelia must have sensed that as she changed the topic immediately.
"But what about you? Your counselling session is coming up soon as well. Have you thought of what career you want to pursue?"
"Well-" Steven said before he was interrupted.
"Amelia! There you are. We've been looking for you for AGES!"
He suppressed a groan as he turned to see who'd interrupted him.
Cecilia MacMillan, Bethany Smith and Elphias Rowle stood behind him. Steven did not like them. The three were friends and housemates of Amelia from Gryffindor, with Elphias being Amelia's co-prefect for Fifth Year. The three weren't bad people per se. But they were privileged purebloods and unlike Amelia, not cognizant of their privilege. And while they weren't pureblood supremacists, they were still rather condescending in their approach to muggleborns. A fact that became immediately evident as they started speaking.
"It's time for our patrol Mel," said Elphias, speaking to her with a level of familiarity that Steven knew made Amelia slightly uncomfortable, "we really should get started before we are late."
"Oh come on El," said MacMillan as she put her hand on his arm, "since when did you become so serious? I was thinking we could head up down to the grounds and grab a few drinks at that spot near Greenhouse 3."
"Yeah. My elf snuck me a couple of bottles of firewhiskey from my dad's collection. And it's the good stuff, not the swill that the Prewett twins sell," simpered Smith.
"Firewhiskey?" whispered Rowle, with a gleam in his eyes. Why McGonagall had made this moron prefect would forever remain a mystery. The Gryffindor was completely irresponsible and had a tendency to bully his juniors. And not the light ragging that was the norm in boarding school. Rowle tended to get creative in his hazing, always playing it off as harmless fun that built character. But then again he was the Heir of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and would one day sit on his family's seat in the Wizengamot. People tended to ignore minor character flaws like sadistic behaviour when one was rich and influential.
"How about you ladies head down to the spot with the firewhiskey and get started? Mel and I will complete our patrol and join in an hour. I'll even make sure that the other Prefects don't patrol anywhere near us," replied Rowle with a cocky grin.
Steven barely suppressed an eye roll at that and turned back to the book that was before him. As usual, the airheads had failed to notice his presence.
"You'll join us won't you Amelia?" asked MacMillan as she turned to face the redhead.
He could see the rising discomfort in Amelia at that. She seemed torn. And I could understand why. She'd always been fairly responsible and while she'd confided in me that she'd had a few sips of firewhiskey here and there, she'd only ever done so at home with her elder brother. Drinking on Hogwarts grounds was fairly common, this was after all a school filled with hormonal teenagers. Rich ones too, considering that seven in ten students were from pureblood families.
But drinking on the grounds was punished rather severely by the faculty. And if Amelia were caught, she'd definitely lose her prefect badge.
And yet, those three were Amelia's closest friends from her House, and she obviously didn't want to lose face in front of them. Steven decided to help her out.
"Don't you have duelling practice early tomorrow morning?" He chimed in.
Seizing the lifeline that was presented before her, she said, "Oh yeah, I'd forgotten completely," she turned to her three friends, "I'm sorry guys, but Dunbar will kill me if I turn up for practice hungover. Maybe next time."
"Alright then," replied Smith in a rather morose tone, "Maybe next time then?"
Even the usually carefree girl knew that pissing off Hadrian Dunbar, the Captain of the Gryffindor Duelling Team, was not a good idea.
"Next time for sure," promised Amelia.
"Wilson didn't notice you there mate. How you holding up?" said Rowle, as he finally noticed his presence.
"Same old same old," said Steven politely, if a bit curtly.
"We'd invite you to join us down by the greenhouse as well, but it's Bethany's father's stuff and I doubt you'd be up for the contribution."
What went unsaid was the fact that it was too expensive for Steven to partake in. It stung a bit, but it wasn't untrue. His allowance for the entire term probably would be barely enough to cover even a couple of drinks. The wealth disparity between Steven and his peers had never been more evident.
"Actually, I've got some assignments pending for McGonagall, if you complete them, maybe you could join us," said Smith innocently.
And it truly was an innocent suggestion. Unlike the rest, she was a genuinely nice person. And while from anyone else, Steven would have perceived such a statement as conniving, Smith was utterly incapable of that. She truly thought that it was a good way to include him in their plan and get some homework done at the same time.
Of course, it was still rather demeaning to be thought of and addressed in such a manner. Like as though he should be grateful that they were letting him join their little binge session, provided he did her homework as well.
"Sorry Smith, but I've got an Arithmancy project due this week that's taking up all my time," he replied smoothly, careful not to betray his irritation. Purebloods, even the progressive ones, who favoured muggleborn rights, did not react well to what they perceived as disrespect.
And while generally, Steven had few qualms in pissing off such arseholes, these were Amelia's friends, and not as bad as most purebloods generally were.
"Same time Thursday?" asked Amelia as she gathered up her book to leave for patrol.
"Might be a little late. Have something else I need to work on," responded Steven referring to his training sessions in Practice Hall 7 that Flitwick had arranged for him. He was pretty close to finally mastering the Jugs and Cups exercise and could now effectively control twelve constructs simultaneously. He was still struggling with passive control of the remaining Water that he summoned, but he was getting there slowly.
"No problem. See you Thursday," said Amelia as she left with her housemates, the rest smiling or waving at him politely as they left.
And so once again, Steven found himself in solitude with nought but Potions texts for company.
He looked down at the text before him and cursed lightly.
Fuck Potions.
12th January, 1968
The Great Library
Hogwarts
Books had always been a sanctuary for the young Ravenclaw. To lose yourself in the pages, forgetting your worries and embracing whatever could be learned from them was an ultimate form of betterment, he thought.
Steven entered the library, towering shelves filled with volumes both old and new surrounding polished oak tables. He didn't often spend time in the main library, Ravenclaw House having its own private one, often sufficient for his needs. Yet on occasion, mostly due to his lessons with Flitwick, he needed the books here that couldn't be found anywhere else.
The Hogwarts Library was one of the oldest collections of knowledge in the world, dating back to the times of the Founders. Aside from the Five Ancient Archives, few libraries in the world had a more extensive collection. Within its walls were texts and tomes that contained knowledge that couldn't even be found in the most expansive libraries of pureblood houses that hoarded knowledge like rats in a monsoon.
Tens of thousands of books lay stacked along the shelves, with thousands more being contained in the Restricted Section. There were even rumours of a fabled Headmaster's Library, exclusive to the Headmasters of Hogwarts and containing tomes so rare and fantastic that they were practically myths. But that was a thought for another day.
On this particular day, Professor Flitwick had written him a note. A note that filled him with excitement. His gaze fell on metal railings protecting the more interesting shelves in the library's arrangement.
There were many books said to be possessed by Hogwarts that couldn't be found through normal means. The school was a thousand years old and certain topics had only become less favourable in the more recent years as sweeping ministry restrictions became normality.
It was one such book that he sought to find.
Approaching the main desk he fought a smile as the librarian glared at him. He gave her the note and she raised an eyebrow, presumably in question of the type of magic he was looking for, the Ancient Arts were not well known nor commonly sought, after all.
"Appears to be in order, wait a minute whilst I fetch it for you."
Steven smiled and took a moment to appreciate the sight of what was undoubtedly the finest collection of tomes one was likely to find as she disappeared through the door to the restricted section.
A few minutes later and the librarian returned with his prize, the book was somewhat unassuming at first glance. Black leather, the title on the spine worn away somewhat with age. There were no visible giveaways to the importance of the content within.
As he took hold of the book, he gave the librarian a smile, "Thank you."
"You can thank me by returning it in the same condition you received it in," with that said it was clear he had been dismissed and he lurched to one of the tables ready to dive into the book.
He opened the cover, the promise of knowledge banishing all other thoughts. Large quantities of the text were somewhat opaque to his comprehension, but he was sure that as he progressed the terms would become more familiar.
He sat there reading long past the point a regular student would have grown bored, working his way through the first few chapters, also accumulating a small pile of books he used for reference. Hours passed and the light shining through the window dimmed down, revealing the beautiful sight of the sun setting across the black lake.
A throat cleared in front of him and he looked up, expecting that he had run out of time in the library. Instead, he was faced with the frowning face of Antonin Dolohov. The Slytherin was staring at the book on the table with barely concealed envy, a second later and his gaze shot up to meet his own, an easy smile finding its way across his features.
"I hear you were causing trouble with Rosier," the seventh year student said softly, as was his manner.
The muggleborn raised a brow, "It appears you are misinformed, though with scum like him it doesn't surprise me."
To his surprise, the comment received a grin, the seventh year pressed on, "It wouldn't surprise me if certain points of his tale were somewhat exaggerated. But you should be careful how you speak Wilson. Others less tolerant than me may be angered by one of lesser status speaking so disrespectfully of someone of higher rank."
Steven fought to keep his composure against the stubborn dogma. There was little in the world capable of provoking an indignant reaction from Steven, but then again, that had been Dolohov's intent.
"I'm sure he views me as his lesser but our aptitudes would beg to differ, I will never know how purebloods can manage to hold on to their notions of false superiority in the face of indomitable facts," Steven complimented the retort with a smug grin.
"Then perhaps I might enlighten you. This status quo is the result of your people's crusade against ours.
The fifth year scoffed, "What crusade?"
"Mud-Muggleborn's resist integration into wizarding culture, instead preferring to import their own traditions. The last century alone has seen Samhain almost entirely replaced with or integrated with Halloween. Can you even imagine, Wizards of noble heritage, traipsing around in muggle villages with their children, begging muggles for candy," replied Dolohov with a practised sneer on his face.
"Samhain is still by far more prevalent. If people wish to change their religious or traditional practices, then that is their choice. Or are the days of the Inquisition when religion and tradition were imposed on wizardkind back in fashion?" countered Steven.
"There is a difference between imposition and preservation. All we want is to preserve our heritage, yet with each passing week, so called progressive politicians pass laws to appease the Muggleborn vote bank, importing cheaper and inferior products from the muggle world, impacting wizarding businesses and eroding the value of the Galleon. Is that what you want Steven?"
Steven took a deep breath to consider the point, as much as he wished he could say otherwise; it wasn't completely wrong, "Then blame the politicians, or the bankers. Why blame muggleborns? The only reason muggleborns prefer buying muggle products is because they are infinitely cheaper. Most of us earn well below the national average income. And for that matter so do most New Blood families and Half Bloods. And I don't need to explain to you why these segments of society earn so little compared to the rest of you purebloods."
They'd had this argument many times before. And neither needed to reiterate the fact that the reason for the wealth disparity was because the purebloods basically owned most businesses and actively discriminated in their hiring practices blatantly favouring other purebloods over their more talented muggleborn or New Blood counterparts.
"And so what's stopping the erosion of our values? All that those dumb cunts in the Ministry are doing is lining their pockets with muggle gold and appeasing the muggleborn vote bank to keep themselves in their cushy position. And with the muggles breeding faster than rats, more and more muggleborns flood our education system, take up all the scholarship gold and look down on our traditions and values as barbaric," the Slytherin practically spat out that last word.
"It seems mightily unfair to expect small children, separated from their families, to then drop everything they'd ever known to integrate into a group of people who openly disdain them."
The Slytherin frowned slightly, "Separated? Hardly enough. Each muggleborn born who retains contact with their family is a threat to the Statute. As to our disdain, there would be no need for it if they held respect for our culture."
Steven whispered, "A threat to the fucking Statute! Are you off the rocker? What about the dozens of incidents of muggle baiting or hunting that the Obliviators have to cover up every year. Or are you saying that muggleborns are the ones who dress up in dark robes and decide to terrorise entire villages at a time? Wizards' mere existence is a threat to secrecy, you can hardly say that more breaches come about as a result of Muggleborns than to any other sect of society."
"Perhaps not, but it works in concert with muggle-loving politicians banning ancient family magics at the behest of those less educated. There is rather much to abhor," the pureblood spat before continuing, "The slow erosion of our heritage and the muddying of our institutions."
Steven had heard this all before, "Then how many of your institutions have I muddied? How much of your culture have I eroded? Since arriving at this school I have done my best to assimilate. If you didn't already know me to be muggleborn would you even be able to tell?"
His tirade caused a frown to grace the elder's face, "That is precisely why we are having this conversation."
It was Steven's turn to frown as he considered the implications.
The pureblood continued, "You have immense potential, Steven. I'd like to see that utilised for good. Not just your own, but our society's! Your talent is wasted without the backing of those better established and it's such a shame to see. Must you fight us when we could be friends? Why must you so needlessly antagonise morons like Rosier when you and I both know that you stand heads and shoulders above them?"
Dolohov was certainly articulate, with the cadence and tone of an experienced public speaker and ease of body language that almost made the younger boy consider friendship.
"So what? I should toe the invisible line? Be a good little muggleborn that listens to his superiors? And what do I get at the end of that road? At best, I live the rest of my life as a retainer to some rich pureblood, marry another muggleborn and establish my own little New Blood family? I'm sorry but I have far greater aspirations than that."
Even as he ended his little rant, Steven could see a small smile forming on the corner of Dolohov's mouth and the tension suddenly broke, the two of them breaking out in light chuckles as they laughed at the sheer ludicrosity of Steven working a nine to five job for some snooty pureblood.
"You know I don't believe that Wilson. I believe that despite your status you can rise high in the wizarding world. But to achieve that you need to stop antagonising Rosier and others like him. He's the Heir of one of the Sacred Twenty Eight for fuck's sake. And the rest of his group are also extremely well connected. If you keep this up, they can and will make life difficult for you once you graduate from Hogwarts. Hell, even next year, once they're off my leash, I guarantee that you'll be their next target," said Dolohov as he leaned back in his chair, rocking back and forth lightly.
Steven leant back in his chair, the old wood creaking its protestations, "I don't believe that's possible, Antonin. That's not me. I'd sooner return to the muggle world and work with my father in the factory than toe the line with a bunch of dumbfucks."
Antonin's smile stretched thinly, "A storm is coming Wilson. You don't want to be on the wrong side of it."
"Fuck your storm. I didn't peg you at spewing vague apocalyptic horse shit Dolohov."
The older boy gave him a sad smile, "There will come a time when our saviour makes you regret your words, Wilson. I shall be truly sad to see that day."
Saviour? What religious bullshit was he spouting now?
He didn't get a chance to ask as Antonin got up and left the library.
6th February, 1968
Ravenclaw Common Room
Hogwarts
He quietly exited his dorm, closing the door behind him silently through the use of a lesser-known charm that he'd picked up in his second year.
It had been a chore; pretending to sleep until his friends finally dropped off. Yet the boredom would be worth it. He stepped his way down the stairs, taking care to remain quiet. He remembered from previous years that the third step from the bottom had the tendency to creak exceptionally loudly, he deftly jumped over it and completed his descent.
He didn't have time for mistakes.
Curfew was an interesting thing. He was grateful for the extension on curfew that students got from Fifth Year onwards. It gave him more time in the practice halls or in the library. It had been a pain to adjust when curfew had ended at just 9PM. Now that his curfew was at 10PM, it gave him more flexibility.
Getting caught outside of curfew meant instant detention and an uncomfortable explanation of your reasons, but not getting caught was hardly all that difficult. There were patrols, for sure, but they were often by half-assed prefects that would rather be anywhere else. It was easy to bargain with them for lesser punishment, or in some cases, even outright bribe them if you were caught.
Sure the teachers patrolled as well, and they were near impossible to reason with if you were caught. But Hogwarts was massive. If you knew what you were doing, it was child's play to evade the patrol. Needless to say, this was not Steven's first rodeo.
Steven turned from side to side, observing himself in the mirror above the common room's mantelpiece. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves, before walking towards the door.
A cough startled him from his single-minded pursuit.
He turned to face the raised brow of his long-time friend, "Ah Xeno, what are you doing up?"
A laugh followed his statement, "It's Friday night mate. You always seem to disappear on Friday nights. Hell, even when Dougie gets his hands on some firewhiskey from the Prewetts you never join in if it's a Friday night. Even Abel's getting suspicious now mate."
That comment forced out a nervous chuckle. Abel was no Sherlock Holmes. Or even Watson for that matter. Doug had once joked that there were blind monks living in monasteries who were more observant than him. Steven had been tempted to agree.
"Yeah well, you know how it is. Need some time to myself."
Without missing a beat the Lovegood replied, "Off to see the missus then?"
"For the last time, we aren't together!" Steven growled, realising his little charade was over.
"But you are going to see her," stated Xeno.
Cursing himself slightly, he ground out his reply, "Yes."
"You do realise you'll quite literally be skinned alive for talking to her should her family find out?"
"Well, I guess I'll have to make sure they don't find out then."
The boy scoffed, "As if that's a minor task. House Black is rather fond of their pure reputation. Toujours Pur, after all."
Steven didn't respond, except with a heavy intake of breath.
"I can see the headline now, Muggleborn Upstart found dead in a ditch in the middle of fuck nowhere," said Xeno wryly, "And below that Black's marriage announcement to some noble who's basilisk skin shoes cost more money that you and I will make in our lifetimes."
"I like to think you and I together might make enough to match his dragon bone cane as well," joked Steven even as Xeno looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah, and Black's daddy and uncle will use that same dragon bone cane to bugger you up the arse before slitting your throat for some nasty ritual," snorted Xeno as he levelled a gaze at Steven that made him think that he might not be joking.
"They can't be that bad mate," said Steven with a nervous chuckle.
Xeno continued, "The Blacks are as nasty as it gets man. You don't wanna know the shit they do to their enemies. And they have eyes and ears everywhere. Arcturus Black is one mean fucker. Do you really think his people in Slytherin won't notice his niece sneaking out after curfew?"
There was still no reply.
"Oh, and how do you plan for your cute little courtship to continue past Hogwarts? It's more likely her dad will make a coat from your skin and give it to her as a wedding gift as she's marrying some rich pureblood."
"Well?" he pushed.
The reply was snarled, "I don't know!"
"Look mate, do you really think she'll grow up and be happy with the muggleborn son of a factory worker?"
Steven's expression was of unadulterated fury, "Is that really all you think of me?"
"Of course not, but this is what they think. What kind of conversations do you think she has with her family back home? I promise it's not discussing up-and-coming new blood."
The muggleborn knew that to be true, though he refrained from admitting it aloud.
Xeno sighed, "I'm only looking out for you mate. I'd much prefer my friend live long enough to do half the crazy shit I expect him to. I just don't see this ending any other way than you serving as a mantlepiece ornament at Black Manor."
He knew that to be true, reflecting, Steven realised that as much as it hurt to bring all this up. Xeno would be a far worse friend for staying quiet and watching him get hurt.
The mental image of him on a mantlepiece earned a half-hearted chuckle, "I like to think I'd at least be a coat rack."
Xeno, instead of laughing as expected, instead pinned his friend with a sad stare, "Is she really worth it?"
Steven frowned, he should have known Xeno would get straight to the point. The atmosphere tense, his hushed whisper set a course he would find it difficult to free himself from, "I don't know mate. But I hope so."
Xeno smiled, a tight expression conveying none of the positivity in his words, "I genuinely hope this works out for you, mate. You know I'll be there if you need me."
The dark-haired boy met his friend's eyes and struck a mutual understanding, they would speak of this no more.