Chapter 1 - Gerdnyaram
Great, another night here; this is starting to get a bit too weird, Ron thought as the wave made a soft contact with his feet.
As he looked around, the redhead found himself at the same beach which had haunted his dreams for the past three nights. It didn't matter how tired he was before going to sleep; as soon as the boy closed his eyes, he always ended up at the very same spot, on the very same shore, of the very same beach.
That being said, this beach was not a very welcoming place, precisely.
The sky was full of thick clouds which did not allow for any light to seep through; since neither the moon nor the sun could be seen, Ron had no idea whether it was day or night. Nevertheless, the entire place was illuminated by a greyish light that emphasised the lack of colour; everywhere he looked, it was a mix of grey on its different tonalities, let it be water, sand or trees, and only his pyjamas, of a bright orange, and his red locks seemed to be alive. Ron almost jumped out of fear when another wave touched his feet; it wasn't cold, but neither was it warm.
The Weird Beach—that was the temporary name he'd given to the place. For much he tried, there was no way out, at least, no other but wait until the dawn came in the real world. Then he would just wake up in his bed, all sweaty and with a ragged breath; too freaked out to do anything but stare at the wall for a few minutes. Needless was to say Ron had spent so many hours sitting in the cold sand without doing anything; far too many to count them.
I can't spend another night here. There has to be something I can do; something that will get me out of here! It was a very hopeful thought, the one which filled his mind, but he didn't know if it was possible to accomplish. Ron forced himself to walk towards a distant tower that stood at some far cliff at the end of the beach. Judging by what could be seen from his spot, the tower seemed to be made of stone, yet the large distance which separated them and the world's lack of colour could have influenced his appreciation. Who cares? It ain't as if I had another thing to do.
Ron walked through the cold sand; with each step his nude feet were buried to the ankle's height. To his left, the calm water of the sea sent wave after wave against the shore, while to his right, some nonexistent wind moved the leaves of the wall of trees which marked the end of the beach. The shady whistles they made put him in a constant state of alarm. Even so, there was no time to be scared. That night Ron needed to get out of the Weird Beach all by himself, just like Bill or Charlie would do if it was them who were trapped there.
The whistles got louder and more frequent, just as the waves' reach augmented. Come on, I am true Gryffindor, just like my entire family. Those thoughts helped him to fight the fear away. What would George and Fred say if they could see him in such a pathetic state? And what about Ginny? They would all laugh at him for being such a coward! To be so scared one couldn't think or move was proper of a Hufflepuff, not of a lion. Gryffindors were brave and awesome! Ron wanted to be brave and awesome, too.
Finally, after what felt like hours of walking under the cloudy sky—and maybe they were—Ron reached the high structure; his feet and legs ached a lot, mainly because the last part of the way had been uphill. The tower itself was not a very impressive sight, even though it had something around it that made him unable to look away. A bit crooked to the right and with loads of big chunks of rock missing from its walls—which had fallen around the tower, all over the grassy ground—gave it the appearance of one of those holed cheeses his father liked to eat on special occasions.
Even though it looked like a forgotten ruin, Ron had the impression there were very few things that could tumble the tower for good.
Well, the first part of the plan is done. Now, it's time to get inside. Ron reminded himself how brave Gryffindors were once again, and so, he strode into the tower through a large hole before the intelligent part of his brain could make his body to change the decision. The first thought which crossed his mind was how well illuminated the inside was; there were no torches, but the greyish light that seeped through the many holes was enough to brighten the place. There were cracks all around; some were so thin the redhead had to squint his eyes to notice them, but others were so large he started to fear for the integrity of the structure.
"Now, who are you?" a voice asked out of nowhere.
The sound of her voice made Ron jump out of surprise and fear as soon as he heard it. Still, he managed to regain his composure after a few seconds of quick breathing. The boy looked around in a frenzy, but there was no one in the tower. "Who's there?" he asked back, trying to sound way braver than he actually felt. "Show yourself right now!" His hands trembled and his voice had quivered a bit.
"Who's there, you say?" the mysterious voice mimicked his voice. Bloody hell, had he sounded so scared? "That is what I should be asking you, dumbass. Just in case you missed it, it was you who broke into my house, not the other way around. Can't you use your brain from time to time?"
The sudden surprise hearing another voice had brought him was replaced by embarrassment.
Ron knew he wasn't as clever as Percy or Bill were, but in no way he was stupid as the twins often said him to be! Also, he felt really curious about the voice, and most importantly, to whom it belonged. "This tower here is your home?" Ron asked. He wanted answers about everything; the voice, the Weird Beach, about how to get out of it...
"Of course," the voice replied with a humorous tone. "Where do you expect me to live if not here? Have you looked around? There is nothing else but a dark forest and some endless mass of water!"
She had her point, he reckoned. "Well, maybe you are right," Ron sighed in defeat. Second by second he started to feel less and less scared about the non-visible woman. "Changing the topic, in case you haven't realised, I can't see you. Why are you hiding from me?"
"Please, do not make me laugh," the woman snickered. It sounded way closer to him now. "I was studying you, and also, having a laugh at your expense. You should have seen the way you jumped away when I first talked! Anyhow, I guess it is pretty ill mannered on my behalf, so, why don't you turn around, dummy?"
Ron did as told, and what he found was no ordinary person. The voice belonged to a woman, yes, to a woman-like spirit who shone with an ethereal-blue gleam. She couldn't have been bigger than his forearm, yet she carried herself like some very important person; like a queen or a princess. The spirit wore a moonlight dress which reached up to his knees; below it, there were some kind of black trousers that reached all the way down to her feet. Her hair, long and straight, was of darker shade of blue.
"And here I am," the spirit said as she opened her arms in a smug gesture.
Ron was almost speechless. "Wow," the redhead muttered after a few seconds of silence. "What kind of creature are you?" A little part of him was scared like he had never been, but the little woman didn't seem to be hostile. In fact, now that she had shown herself, Ron felt way more at ease.
Her smirk was instantly replaced by a furrowed brow. "Did you just call me a creature?" she repeated very slowly. "I will just pretend I did not hear such crude comments. And also, I will pretend you are not as stupid as I think you are."
Now, it was Ron's turn to furrow his brow. "Eh, there is no need to be like that," the boy sent her a sour look. "It was the first word that came to my mind. I've never seen someone like you, and it freaked me out a bit. Well, okay, it freaked me out a lot. I'm sorry if it bothered you so much."
"Well, people like you should not be here, so I understand your point," the woman nodded her head. Her face and posture looked way more relaxed now. "I guess I will have to introduce myself. My name is Gerdnyaram, and I am an Essentia—a creature made of magic in its purest form. And I mean pure, not like the kind of curses and spells your people produce with those wooden sticks of yours. Honestly, don't you feel a bit stupid waving those wands around luke some buffons?"
Ron barely paid any attention to her self-presentation. It had been her first sentence, the one to capture his focus. "What do you mean when you say this is no place for me to be?" the boy asked her. "If so, why do I end up here every single night? I don't want to be here!"
The Essentia sent him a curious look. "Well, to be honest, I have no idea. I was here, minding my own business, when you stormed into my tower out of nowhere. For a moment, I thought you were one of my brothers or sisters, who had finally found me. Yet what I found was nothing but a scared kid, so I decided to make myself visible so we could chat a bit."
Those words hit him like a bludger. In the end, there wouldn't be a way out before dawn. "I see," Ron grunted in a low voice. "Just in case, you won't happen to know a way out of here, right?" As the twins said, it was better to take all of your shots before giving up.
"No, I don't."
With that, Ron let himself down one the cold and hard floor, totally defeated. This is just a waste of time! If she has no idea, what the hell am I supposed to do? I'm not Bill or Percy. Even though he had tried to keep his hopes up, this revelation shattered his resolve with ease. Was he cursed to spend all the nights here? Why had it even started?
After a minute of total silence, the Essentia walked through the air until she stood, floating, in front of his eyes. "What is your name, boy?" Gerdnyaram asked, curious. "We all have a name, don't we? Otherwise, no one would remember us!"
"My name is Ronald Weasley, but everyone calls me Ron."
"Oh, I see," she hummed in response, quite happy with the answer. "Then you can call me Gerd. Gerdnyaram is a very beautiful name, but a rather long one, right? Well, at least I think that is my name. To be honest, I cannot really remember it."
"You can't remember your name? How is that possible?"
"Well, there are things I have trouble remembering," Gerdnyaram answered with a furrowed brow. This time she didn't look to be angry, it was more of a confused one. "My name just happens to be one of those. However, I am pretty sure that is my real name. I kind of feel it, you know what I mean?"
Ron sent her a quizzical look; he had no idea about what she was saying. He decided it was a good time to change the topic of the conversation. However, it was Gerdnyaram the one to take the word first. "Those clothes you are wearing are quite funny. Is it a common attire to wear in this age?"
Ron looked down at his orange pyjamas; he liked them quite a lot, but it wasn't a proper attire to talk with some stranger. With a woman, on top of that. "I only wear these when I go to sleep," the redhead defended himself, a bit embarrassed. Then he realised something she had just said. "Wait a moment, how old are you?" She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out of her. "You can't remember?" he guessed.
"Seems like it," Gerdnyaram sighed. She finally descended from the air and took a seat on the ground, right in front of Ron. "I think I'm quite old, of that I'm almost sure. There are glimpses of specific images; times when people used to wear these kinds of things." Suddenly, her white dress disappeared, replaced by some full armour of a dull, grey tonality. "Like this, too." A new dress made an act of presence, this time some sleeveless one of the same colour as the first she wore. "Many faces I can't recognise; some I feel I should, and others don't matter enough for me to care." Finally, her initial attire came back.
Woah. I know this is just a dream, but woah, that was amazing! However, it looked like there was no way out of the Weird Beach before dawn. Ron leaned his back on the wall; almost instantly, Gerdnyaram mimicked him, and so, they both found themselves in a comfortable silence.
"Why don't you tell me more about you, Ronald Weasley?" the Essentia asked out of the blue. "If we can't find a way for you to get out of this place, we might as well have a bit of fun rather than being down; don't you think so? Besides, it has been a while since I last spoke to anyone else."
"I can do that," the redhead hummed in agreement. "Say, what do you want to know?" This had not been the night he had expected to live. No, it was much better. The greyish light of that dream world still freaked him out, but at that moment, with Gerdnyaram sat by his side, he felt good enough to relax a bit.
"How's the world out there? Do you live in a nice place?"
"Well, I don't know how to answer your first question. In my opinion, it is a very nice world, not gonna lie. Now, about the second one, that's one I can easily answer. I live with my parents, three of my brothers and Ginny, my little sister, in The Burrow; it is a bit packed, but we don't really care. It is our home. It has its bad parts, of course; for example, we need to kick the gnomes out of the garden twice or thrice a month, and trust me, those little bastards sure know how to run!"
"Tell me about your brothers, please."
"Mhm, let me think where I should start," Ron muttered, lost deep in thought. "Three of my older brothers are geniuses—Bill has a perfect academic record, while Percy is on the way to surpass him, and Charlie is one of the country's best Quidditch players. Oh, if you don't know what Quidditch is, let me tell you there is no better thing in our world! Anyhow, then you have Fred and George, the twins—they always do everything together, no matter what, and they are the best prankster in the world. The thing is they always end up pranking me, but I usually put up with it because, that way, they let me play with them." The redhead paused for a moment to breathe; had he ever talked so much to a stranger? "And finally, there is my sister, Ginny, who's mum's favourite—oh, but don't ever say that to her face; trust me, she gets very nasty!"
It could be just a product of his tired mind, but Ron swore the ethereal gleam Gerdnyaram emitted had become stronger.
"It certainly sounds like a very nice family," the Essentia commented, fondly. "I wish I could say the same about mine. They all are a bunch of serious gits! One loves to preach about honour and justice, whereas the other, the only thing he has in his mind is this vengeance he swore to fulfil long ago. Hell, the last thing I remember about another one of them is the fact he left us all because he wanted to become stronger! Can you believe it? We are supposed to be a family, yet no one but me tries to live as such!"
Certainly they all sounded like a bunch of serious folks; even though the way she talked about them and their personalities reminded him a bit of his brother Percy. However, Percy would never abandon the family for such a stupid reason. Honestly, what was that silly idea about leaving everyone behind just for the sake of becoming more powerful?
"Is that the reason why you live alone?" Ron asked her. Those words surprised him; surely, had she been there, his mother would have nagged him about how crude he was. "I mean, when you first talked to me, you said something about thinking your family had found you. To me, it sounded like you wanted to be left alone, at least, to not be with them."
"It could be as you say," Gerdnyaram whispered. Suddenly, as the words flowed out of her, the world around Ron started to lose its sombre brightness. "I know there is a good reason which explains why we are not together, as a family should. Maybe, the blame is not on my shoulders and only mine, and they also have their own problems to solve and fates to fulfil. I would love to say it will get better one day, but I cannot…"
Whatever came next, Ron wouldn't hear it.
The next time he blinked, the boy found himself staring at the orange ceiling of his bedroom. This time, neither his breath nor his heartbeat were accelerated. Ron felt completely at ease. The sun's light seeped through the window as some crook shouted to the skies. I'm back at home. That was pretty clear, but so was another realisation.
For the first time, Ron had not been wishing for the dawn to come as soon as possible. That little woman, the talk they had… He's had a really good time—so much the redhead found the idea of visiting the Weird Beach for another night quite exciting. Maybe, after knowing a bit more about her, they could play some games of chess!
"Ronnie, it's time to wake up!" his mother said from the other side of the door. "I'm about to serve breakfast, so you better be there to eat it before it gets cold!"
A certain smell grabbed his attention. Wait, is that bacon that I smell? Indeed, today looked like a good morning; the first of the week. Just before Ron could reach the door's knob, the boy felt something at his back. He turned around, ready to find Scabbers eating one of his socks, but there was nothing there; not one of his socks and certainly not that old rat which only liked to sleep and annoy people.
The hell was that? In the end, Ron snapped out of it rather quickly. After all, it wasn't every day when bacon was served for breakfast.
Alexander Shawn was tired; that was an understatement.
He had just finished today's lesson; the one he hated the most. For the last two hours, all the boy had done was to sit down on the cold floor of the training room, as he tried to put his mind blank; to build mental walls around it and secure his thoughts from those who, one day, would try to steal them from him. At least, that was all his father had told him. Who on earth would try to steal his thoughts? That was some silly idea. However, his opinion did not matter the slightest; it was both his father and uncle who decided which technique Alex would practise each day.
The theory was easy enough, but Alex did not have the motivation, or the focus, needed to execute the said technique. It needed to be that, because, otherwise, it would mean he lacked the talent. For the first thirty minutes, he always tried his best, but then his focus decayed at an alarming speed. Although it was true this activity helped him to get calm and relaxed, the boy felt nothing of what he should have according to the books his father made him read—nothing of that void which allowed a wizard to perform at his highest level.
It was pointless. Some days, Alex just wondered if he wasn't cut for it.
The boy walked out of the training room as he pushed those thoughts away. Today, almost everyone of the pureblood children he socialised with were at some ball organised by lord Lewis Grace—one of the wealthiest wizards in North America, and probably, also in the entire world—in the honour of his son, Luke, whose birthday took place on this day. Luke was two years older than Alex, and he would attend Ilvermorny this next fall. Because of that, he needed to make some worthy friends and allies for the new stage of his life. Obviously, Alex had been invited to that party, just out of courtesy. Fortunately—because he really hated these pureblood events—his father had a bad relationship with lord Lewis, and so he had been given permission to refuse the invitation.
The Great House of Shawn might not have the same power and influence its name had in Europe in the past, but nothing could change the fact they still were one of the noblest and most ancient Houses to be part of the Ancestral Council. Even if those American purebloods lords acted as if they owned the world, just because of their enormous wealth and political influence, their lineage was far poorer than Alex's.
As he walked through the dark corridors of the manor, the boy was reminded by one of the house-elves he needed to rest. On that, he agreed, but there were things he wanted to do before it. For example, reading a chapter of his favourite book, The Way of Kings—it was a very ancient book which talked about his ancestors, those wizards from the Alazthi Empire, and how they managed to become the most important and feared wizards back during the Ancient Times. The book addressed some of the greatest kings this world had ever seen, like Dalingrar Khol, who led the Alazthi during the war against the Nightmares, or some of the greatest warriors to ever live, like Goran the Dragonlord, whose might in combat was said to be unparalleled.
As soon as the boy stepped into his bedroom, a dozen candles came to life; their warm light brightened the place in a matter of seconds. It was a very large stance with a very little bed fixed to the blue wall, enough for him to sleep, and many bookshelves filled to the brim. Covering the stone floor there was a very beautiful carpet, of red details over a black background, which showed sewed pictures of Alex's hero, Goran the Dragonlord, as he fought an army of magical beasts. The boy made it to the end of the room and opened the large window that granted him a very nice view of the manor's lake and the forest of dark trees behind it; a cool breeze poured into the room.
Then he realised there was a candle over his desktop. "Incendio," Alex said as his hand was pointed at it. The candle was lit in less than a second; it was a weak fire, but such was the extent of his magical mastery. Just as fast as the spell worked, the exhaustion hit him with the force of a bludger, so hard his body urged him to sit down. Yet Alex endured it, as he should.
At the age of nine, Alexander did not have a wand yet. However, his father started to train him three years ago, when the idea of Ilvermorny and his education was nothing but a far dream to the boy. This being said, there were very few things he could accomplish, no matter how hard he tried, and despite how great his talent was in the adults' opinion—one of those being any magic which had anything to do with fire, like the rather pathetic Fire-Making Spell he had just performed.
His stomach roared in protest. Yes, a good meal is what he needed at that moment. "Shadow!" Alex said, summoning his favourite elf. In less than five seconds, a loud 'pop' was heard behind him.
"Master, how can I serve you?" Shadow asked in that high-pitched voice of his. The main reason he was Alex's favourite elf was because of how extravagant and outgoing he was. Sadly, elves, no matter how their character was, would always express extreme servitude, and so, the boy needed to hear the word 'master' a hundred times each week.
"First of all, I need you to deliver this letter to my uncle Nalar," Alex began. "He'll know what to do when he reads it. Oh, and I want you to tell the cooks that I will be eating alone tonight. Once again, my father won't get out of work in time."
"As the little Master says!" Another 'pop' announced the elf's departure.
The boy sighed before stepping in front of the large mirror embedded into the wall, between two of the largest bookshelves.
His most prominent feature, and the proudest he was of, were his eyes, of an azure-blue that almost shone in the darkness; just as it was expected of a true descendant of the old Alazthi blood. His hair, which fell all over his forehead, sweaty and dirty due to the training, was a mix between his father's blonde and his mother's raven-black curls; the first shade being the more prominent one. For a nine year old boy, he wasn't the tallest nor the strongest, but neither was he scrawny or fat.
Alexander didn't even bother to hang his robes from the rack, so he just dropped them onto the floor. He felt tired, but overall, he felt angry—angry with his father, who, for another night, would not show up.
Lord Elend Shawn was an Unspeakable who worked for the American Ministry; not for the money and neither for the relationships he could gain there, but because of the mysterious experiments the job allowed him to do. Not even his own family knew what he was up to; all Alex was aware of is the fact they worked with the objective to discover new things about magic.
From the little he knew, his father had worked there since the family left England after the war. In theory, the American Unspeakables were no different from their British counterparts—in fact, it was the later ones which fomented the creation of the former. It was said the British Ministry was built around some very strange artefact of past eras, but about that, Alex had no idea.
All that mattered to him was the fact his father would not come home for another night.
The sun finally fell down, replaced by a full, white moon. As he ate dinner, a plate of smoked salmon and baked potatoes, his peace was disturbed by another elf apparating right outside his bedroom. The creature knocked on the door and waited for permission. Once Alex allowed his entrance, the familiar face of Jiru, his father's personal elf and the one who held the highest rank among the servants, came to view.
"Master," the elf bowed, much more reverential than Shadow. "Jiru has just received a letter for you. It comes from your mother, lady Athena."
"Drop it on the desk," Alex answered with an annoyed sigh. The old elf bowed his head one last time as a farewell, and so, he apparated out of the room. To Alex, house-elves were one of the most interesting creatures to ever live. All they could do was to serve a wizard, yet their magic was so special, and often powerful, no one could replicate it. Jiru could probably set ablaze the whole manor, yet he acted as a mere errand elf, delivering letters from one wizard to another.
That last thought made him look at the letter Jiru had just brought; it rested atop of the table, with a red seal over the blank envelope. It was from his mother, the elf had said. The woman who left them three years ago as she moved back to England.
The first few years after arriving in North America had been incredible, or so Alex could tell from the little he remembered. They've been a happy family that tried to forget a war which almost broke them. Hell, the boy even had memories of his father smiling at them. However, it all changed when he turned six; when his father started to spend more and more time in the Ministry, working until the same late hours as he did in the present.
It came out of nowhere, but it was all life needed to break the family's peace. The first arguments started, and just like that, one day, his mother left them. And the worst of it, she took Alex's little sister, Sophie, with her. That was what hurt him the most. As time passed and months became years, Alex became gloomier and more silent as his days passed with the house-elves as his only company. Up to the present, the situation had not changed in the slightest.
With a tired sigh, Alex finally clutched the letter in his hands. Just to throw it in the bin. Why would he ever read it when he could guess what had been written on it? Once a month, Alexander travelled to England to visit his sister. Those were, by far, the best days of each month. Stop it. You have things to do before going to sleep, the thought prevented his mind from fuelling his anger.
Alex sat in his bed and grabbed the book which was over the pillow. The Way of Kings, a book focused, mainly, in the figure of Dalingrar Khol and the Code, a way of living he instaured so his people could survive the War for the Dawn against the Nightmares, one of the darkest ages in history. The ancient king of the Alazthi united the entire kingdom under one flag, and those scattered witches and wizards, who used to act on their own, stood together to face the great threat. In the end, humanity prevailed, but not without a huge cost. Alex's ancestors, the Alazthi, had almost been wiped out from earth after the conflict.
Reading about those past eras was one of his favourite activities, in part, because, even if House Shawn was not a very prominent family in the Ancient Times, his ancestors had been part of all those many tales. It was a bit ironic if someone was to think about it. Whereas all the great lords and warriors had been wiped out, those who had survived were the ones to have a secondary role in the War. Like them, who had served the Khols for generations.
However, those were things of a far past; details which nobody cared about in the present, just like they did not care about their lineage.
In the present times, the Great House of Shawn was just another pureblood family among the many which had enough gold to be considered important within their circle of influence. Just another House which took part in the stupid game of power that rigged their world. Whatever, it ain't my job to worry about these things for now. If I'm lucky enough, I won't be lord until my hair turns white.
With a tired sigh, Alexander decided he wasn't in the mood to read; how could his father frustrate him so much? He should already be used to it, but, instead, all he did was to whimper like a baby. The boy laid back on his bed and closed his eyes, however, someone didn't share that thought. With a loud sound, Shadow appeared once again inside the room; it scared Alex so much he almost jumped out of the bed.
"Master!" the elf exclaimed with a smile on his face. "I got great news to deliver! A new letter was received, and this one belongs to Russel Bryant, master's friend!"
To say he was Alex's friend was to put it short—Russel was his best friend, and maybe, his only one. Perhaps because he was a half-blood—although his maternal side belonged to the Great House of Scamander, another prominent House part of the Ancestral Council—and he did not care about all that ally or not-ally nonsense pureblood kids believed. A breeze of fresh air, indeed.
"What does the letter say?"
"Mr Bryant says he will accompany the little Master to England on his next visit!"
"It was about damn time!" Alex said with evident relief. He loved visiting the European country to see his sister, but in that brief stance, he also needed to show up at some pureblood events in representation of his House. To remind those British lords we still exist, his father used to say when asked about the reason. At least, this time he wouldn't be alone! "I swear I would just throw myself out of the window if I needed to stand those British heirs and heiresses in solitude one more time! Specially, that prick of Malfoy—Magic knows how much I despise him!"
"Out of a window?" Shadow gasped, horrorized.
"It was just a joke. I'm not gonna do that."
"Oh, I see! The little Master's wit knows no limits!" Then, just like that, the elf apparated away.
Alex couldn't help himself but stare at the place he had just been, awestruck—how could he be so weird? Certainly, Shadow had the talent to turn those awkward moments into a funny anecdote. Finally some good news! Alex smiled to himself as he put the blankets over his body. However, I still need to control my tongue for the next ball—after all, we don't want another House to make enemies of us. At least not because of him.
A bright, warm sun shone over London; still, a cool breeze ruffled Harry's hair as the boy strode through the peaceful streets of Privet Drive.
Everywhere around, adults, children and teens alike enjoyed the nice day of summer in the outdoors, some in their gardens and others at the parks. And, for once, Harry could join them. Some send weird looks at him, of course; after all, he was that kid who lived with the Dursleys yet wasn't part of the family. He just ignored them with ease. Certainly theirs were better than those of Dudley and his friends.
The fact Harry could walk at his leisure was a very, very extraordinary thing.
Today, uncle Vernon had, kindly, invited him to get out of the house because it was Dudley's birthday party; obviously, they needed him out of the picture so he couldn't spoil little Dudder's happy day. To not get very far from home was all they told Harry, and also, to not do anything that could alter their status of a very normal and happy family. Although the boy doubted his family would care if something happened to him.
Harry had nothing to and no one to be with—who would be so crazy to befriend him in the first place? All the children of his same age feared Dudley and his gang, and so, they knew his weird cousin wasn't a person they could talk to. However, Harry was pretty used to feeling alone, so it didn't really trouble him. In the end, he decided to visit some park not far from his family's house. There, he could enjoy the warm day and even have some fun on the swings.
At least, that had been his initial plan. Instead, the boy had been convinced—more like dragged away—by some old lady named Arabela Figg to help her with the groceries. And just like that, Harry found himself in her house, right under the air conditioner and trying to eat some cake that resembled way more to a rock to a piece of food. Despite how awful it tasted, he needed to play it cool; after all, this old lady was one of the very few people who ever showed a bit of kindness to him. It didn't matter if Harry needed to listen to her old stories; he needed to play it cool.
"If that pig you have for a cousin keeps eating so much, the school will need to use two chairs to sit that fat ass of his," the old lady huffed, quite annoyed after hearing about the boy's day. "I swear he's fatter each time I see him! Oh, and I've told your aunt Petunia about it, but she ignores me as if I was a fly!"
"She says little Dudders needs to eat a lot so he can grow into a fine and strong man, just like his father," Harry said after taking a gulp of his apple juice. Unlike the cake, he really liked the drink; it was cold and tasty. "My cousin could hit another kid just for the sake of it and aunt Petunia would still consider him as the most innocent, sweet boy in the world. Trust me, I've seen it with my own eyes plenty of times."
"Ah, I often forget how a mother can lie to herself with so much ease." The old lady was sitting on a large couch in front of Harry, sewing some kind of blue sweater. "Anyhow, Petunia had never been a very friendly person, to say something. On the contrary, Lily, your mother, was the sweetest child I've ever met!"
That made Harry choke, to a point the juice almost came out of his nostrils. This old woman knew his mother? Why hadn't she told him about her, then? "You've never told me you knew her," the boy accused. Then he snapped out of it. "Please, could you tell me anything about her? I hardly know a thing about my parents."
"Wait a moment, haven't your uncles told you about them at all?" A nod of his head was the answer she needed to huff in disbelief. "I knew those two were as dense as they could be, but this… This is madness! Outrageous! I never thought Vernon and Petunia could lose their heads so much! Madness, I'm telling you!"
"We never talk about them, it's some unspoken rule; like a taboo," Harry went on. This was his chance, and damned be him if he didn't use it! "Every time I start, uncle Vernon's face turns all red, while aunt Petunia looks white enough to faint by the next second."
"Hmpf, typical of them. Honestly, it doesn't surprise me at all!" Arabela Figg looked quite thoughtful for a few seconds, but in the end, she continued. "Unfortunately, I didn't get to know your father. I mean, I knew who James Potter was, and from the little I heard of him, he was a great man; but that is all I can tell you. Let's just say he and your mother didn't came here very often."
"Did they have a bad relationship with my uncles back then? Even before I was born?"
"Oh, those are pretty words to describe their relationship. Vernon and Petunia couldn't stand your father since the moment their eyes fell upon him! And, given the fact you are an exact copy of James—except for your eyes, which are Lily's—I guess it only fuels their bad memories."
"Oh, I see. Then, what about my mother?"
"Lily Evans was the sweetest girl I've ever met," the old lady smiled, fondly. "A little redhead spitfire who always wore a smile on her face to anyone who needed it. You could find her anywhere at any time—Lily could spend hours after hours in the park, playing with other children, as if she couldn't get tired!" Arabela Figg suddenly came to a halt as she placed the uncompleted sweater over the table. "In fact, not even Petunia could resist her sister's charm. For years, they were inseparable. The two of them played the same games, wore the same clothes, and even shared the same group of friends. And then, out of the blue, it all changed when a new boy came into the town."
"Petunia wasn't very fond of this boy, and it went the other way around," she continued. "Don't ask me why, because I don't know about the reason, but that boy changed the sister's relationship. From one day to another, Lily started to spend more and more time with that boy, until, at some point, she barely had any relationship with Petunia."
Harry couldn't avert his focus from the story—this was the first time he had ever heard so much about his parents. "What happened next? Who was that boy? Does he still live here?"
"I'm afraid I barely know a thing about him," Arabela Figg sighed. "If my mind doesn't trick me, I believe his name started with an 'S', but that's all I can tell you. Well, that and the fact he doesn't live here anymore; of that I am sure. Now, about what happened back then, I doubt anyone but Petunia and that boy could shed some light on the matter. But whatever happened, the sister's relationship wasn't the same after that day."
"Oh, that's a pity," Harry answered. It wasn't everyday when he could meet a person who knew his mother so well. At least, his visit to Arabela's house turned out to be great.
"Don't be sad, my boy," she looked at him with soft eyes. "If those dunderheads you have for uncle and aunt allow you to visit me once again, I'll try to have some photos of Lily here. I'm sure there must be a few of those up in the loft."
"That would be lovely, indeed," Harry replied. Then he looked at the wooden clock over the television; he was late. "I need to go now, Mrs Figg. I'm afraid I won't get to see those pictures if my aunt grounds me because I spent too much time outside." He had been so focused on her story that time had flown under his nose! Hell, the sun had almost set!"
"Oh, of course. Say, do you want me to walk you home?"
"Don't worry about it, Mrs Figg," Harry said as he got up from the couch; he really needed to walk back as fast as possible. "I know the way back, and I'm pretty sure Aunt Petunia told me to be back before the sun was set, so I might need to run for it." The old lady waved him off with a happy smile on her face and promises of more rock-hard cakes, which the boy kindly accepted without looking back.
The sky gleamed with an orangish shade over the few clouds which tried to hide the sun; there still was enough light to observe the streets, but a few lampposts started to light the place. The neighbourhood was as calm as always, and none of those families that strode through Privet Drive a few hours ago seemed to be around. It was the perfect and most ordinary place one could live in—a perfect place for the Dursleys, who hated all that wasn't normal and simple.
Halfway home, Harry felt a weird sensation; someone was staring at his back. When the boy turned around, there was no one there. Did I just imagine it? But it felt so! A sudden noise made him look to his left, where a brown, old-looking cat walked over a wooden fence; its sharp, yellow eyes didn't leave the boy's frame for an instant. In fact, the animal didn't run away even when Harry got close enough to pet it. "Hey, what's up, little one? I've never seen you around. Are you lost?"
The cat did not move an inch, yet his eyes remained fixed on the boy. What's with that look? It's starting to freak me out. A bit nervous, Harry looked around—there was no one in the street. That made him sigh in relief; he didn't want to give people another reason to call him a weird kid, and much less to be known as the idiot who talked to cats. Finally, the feline blinked and moved away from the boy's hand. The animal sent him one last look—a deep one—before walking in the opposite direction, into a narrow passage between two houses.
Harry observed it, a bit freaked out due to its strange nature. I have never seen a cat behaving like that. Right over him, a lamppost was turned on; a signal from above which reminded him how important it was to make it home in time. It only took Harry five more minutes to complete his walk back—five minutes in which his body tensed in anticipation, ready for the worst. However, when he made it, the entrance door was still open. He'd made it on time!
Just in case Aunt Petunia decided he was late to sleep under her roof that night, Harry strode into the hall, so fast he almost collided with a tall figure.
"I hope it was a good afternoon out there," his aunt said as she sent him a cold look. Instantly, Harry took a few steps away from her. "Because there won't be more happy walks in a while. We don't want the neighbours thinking we allow you to spend so much time by yourself outside." Then, with just a raised brow as the only gesture, she waited for his answer.
Obviously, Harry didn't reply; he just nodded his head in agreement. It seemed Aunt Petunia was happy, and that meant Dudley's party had been a total success. "That's what I thought," she also nodded her head, quite satisfied with his behaviour. "Come on, boy, there are some leftovers you can have from Dudder's celebration. This being said, I want you to eat them in your bedroom, okay? Was I clear enough?"
"Of course, Aunt Petunia." This was the best day he's had in months! Maybe, even Dudley felt happy enough to act as if his cousin didn't exist—indeed, that would make this day the best of Harry's life.
That night, as Dudley locked himself in his bedroom so he could enjoy his gifts in solitude, Harry was allowed to roam the house—he was even allowed to take some old comics with him to the closet under the stairs! By the time uncle Vernon cut the light off, the boy had already read it thrice, even if that last one time was just a futile attempt to distract his mind from a certain matter. If he was lucky enough, he could get to see a picture of his mother! That thought made sleeping quite a difficult task, but it was worth it.
Today had been a nice day, indeed, but Harry couldn't wait to visit Arabela Figg once again—the instant his mother's picture fell into his hands, that would be the best moment of his life.
Two entire weeks had passed since Ron last visited the Weird Beach—two weeks of dreamless nights full of rest.
At first, the redhead didn't trust his luck, but then, after the third night, he started to believe. And also, the first thoughts about that little woman who went by the name of Gerdnyaram began to disturb his peace. Who was she? Or better said, what was she? An Essentia, he had been told. And most importantly, what the hell had he to do with her?
Obviously, Ron couldn't tell his parents about those dreams, and much less to his brothers; that was unthinkable! Yet he really wanted to know more about her. Just one night; that's all it took for Gerdnyaram to leave a mark on him. Why couldn't she remember anything from her past? If that happened to him, Ron would cry and shout until he couldn't anymore.
Fortunately, the redhead's wishes became true by the start of the second week, when that bloody woman appeared right in his kitchen.
That wasn't bad per se, but the fact his mother and Ginny were there almost made his heart leap out. Hell, it was a miracle they didn't hear his frenzied heartbeat! On the contrary, Gerdnyaram just observed his family from above as she circled his mother's head. At that moment, Ron couldn't do anything but to drop the plate he was carrying to the sink—how else was he supposed to react? His mother had a damn spirit gliding around her!
Yet she acted as if there was nothing there.
As he was nagged, Ron realised that, maybe, only he could see the Essentia. And when she finally looked at him—at his pale and shocked face—Gerd understood that breaking into other people's houses out of nowhere could freak them out. The shining woman apologised with some gesture on his hand, though her face shone with a mischievous smile, before going out through the open window. It was far too late, but the boy appreciated her effort.
As soon as his mother was finished nagging him, and after telling Ginny he wasn't in the mood to play hide and seek with her, Ron ran outside. He found Gerd without much trouble, near the barn. There, her amused smile still present on her face, she answered all of Ron's questions. It turned out that, when he returned home that night they first met, she had also looked forward to their next encounter. However, it was never repeated. Because of her growing curiosity, she felt some kind of pull to somewhere else; as if someone was calling her. And just like that, Gerdnyaram found herself at The Burrow.
It was a very weird answer, one which did not explain anything at all—yet Ron would not be the one to question the sanity and capacities of the little woman.
Besides, it wasn't as if he wanted her gone; it was the exact opposite. The following days passed rather quickly, and without any doubt, they were some of the best of his short life. Gerd was always there to play with Ron when the twins offered him their favourite deal, that of receiving a prank for them to include their little brother in their games, and she was also there to spend time together when his mother and Ginny went outside for one of their 'feminine escapades'.
For the first time in his life, Ron could teach many things to another person. Obviously, the Essentia's first lesson had the Chudley Cannons as the main characters. Gerdnyaram loved to learn about everything, and her questions never seemed to end. Hell, she called him intelligent—if only she could meet Percy or Bill! Although she always loved to spend time with him, there were a few times in which Gerd disappeared for a few days. When asked about it, the Essentia gave a vague answer about a sudden desire to let the winds take her whatever they pleased.
None but him could see Gerdnyaram, and that allowed Ron to act without fearing his family's questions; although they always raised a brow when he asked for permission to go for a walk around The Burrow in solitude.
"Because I only like to be seen by you, dummy. Besides, if I wanted to make myself visible for the rest of your family, that would take much more energy from me than the one I'm ready to give." That had been her explanation for his inquiry. And just like always, the boy understood nothing. Anyhow, he trusted her enough. More so, he couldn't act in a stupid way when she though of him to be intelligent!
However, her rare skill and nature did not matter at this moment—not when the two of them enjoyed a bright sun and a cool breeze under the shadow of a large oak by the creek's shore. Ron, laid back on the grass, had his eyes closed, but he could still imagine the way Gerd glided just above the water's surface as her feet scratched the clear liquid.
"If I got it right, Percy is the one who spends all the time in his bedroom reading as many books as he can, isn't he?" Gerd asked. Over all, she loved to ask the redhead about his family. Even about Charlie and Bill, the two she had yet to meet.
"Yep, only that he studies," Ron replied. "Although you need to read books for that, it ain't the same. Sometimes, I like to read, yet I hate studying. Mum says I need to be like Percy, but the twins would never let me in peace if I do that."
"I know the differences between reading and studying, dummy. However, what I do not understand is why you care so much about what Fred and George think of it—did I get their names right?"
"You did," Ron sighed as he sat up. When he opened his eyes, he found the Essentia standing right in front of him, at the eyes' height. "Do I need to remember you the reason why we came here today?" In the morning, Rond had come to the conclusion the twins were up to something, and just like always, it would be a prank with him as the victim. Needless was to say it only took him a few seconds to fly away from the house. "They love to prank me when I do something they don't like. Usually, it takes a snitch on them to make the twins furious at me, but if they are on the mood or eager to try one of their new inventions, breathing is all I need to do to put a target on my forehead." He laid back once again. "Besides, I've always found it a bit boring to spend so much time with my nose buried in a book."
"Well, that's some stupid reason if I've ever heard one," Gerd huffed, indignant. "From what I can remember about my past, I loved studying. That feeling of learning new things, of developing both your mind and magic. It was fantastic! Definitely, you should not listen to the twins. Instead, be like your brother Percy."
Ron sent her a sour look—a gesture which made the Essentia exhale a long sigh as she raised a brow at him. "Then, what about your sister Ginny?" she changed the topic. "Fred and George never prank her, right? Isn't that a bit weird? I thought they were the pure definition of pranksters."
"Ha! Now that was a nice one!" The twins would cease their pranks rather than using Ginny as the guinea pig. Their mother would make sure of that. "Ginny is the only girl born within the family in the last few generations. I don't know how many, but a lot. My mother has always dreamed of a daughter, and because of that, well, there is a reason why I have so many brothers." That last part came in the form of a mirthless snort.
There was a reason why he was the sixth brother.
Ron had those words carved into his mind—those the twins said to him when he last tattled them before they could test their newest invention. "Mother never wanted you, Ronnie." Those had been Fred's. "Yeah, she was so sure the sixth would be a girl. You cannot imagine how upset she felt after you were born." And those, George's. They had clearly regretted their words, for they treated him like a king for the next few days. However, the damage was already done—and the worst of it was the fact Ron knew they were true. If not, why did mother always buy Ginny nice things when he got all the hand-me-downs from his brothers?
To that question, he also knew the answer. Out of all the Weasley brothers, Ron was the least special.
Bill and Percy were geniuses, and so, they needed books. The twins could make anyone smile with their jokes and wit, and so, people used to treat them better. And Charlie, had he wanted, could have played for the National Team in the junior categories. Then there was Ron, who not even himself knew what he was good at.
Gerd clasped her hands right in front of his nose. "Hey, are you okay?" Her voice sounded worried, a sentiment her eyes had no trouble expressing.
Ron wanted to smack himself hard enough to push the idiocy out of his body. This was nonsense. Molly Weasley loved her children equally and she did not favour one. "Of course," the redhead shrugged it off. Judging by the way her brow rose even more, his act had not been bought. People used to say he was a bit too easy to read; another flaw to add to the pile! "I remembered something—nothing of importance, of course, but I got distracted."
"If you say so."
Without further preamble, the Essentia glided back to the creek. There, she walked over the water. "I understand why your mother favours your sister," she began. "I think I also was someone else's favourite. Due to that, one of my friends felt very annoyed, and it created a breach among our group. Or so I remember, at least."
"I'm not annoyed because I'm not mum's favourite." The realisation hit the boy as Gerd sent him a triumphal look. Great, his mouth had failed him once again. "Well, maybe a little bit," Ron defended himself. "But it ain't as if I couldn't understand her. Hell, Ginny is my favourite Weasley, too! She is the one who always plays with me. When all the twins want to do is to prank me, or when Percy forgets he has a family, she's there to laugh and spend time with me."
"That is nice to hear," Gerd hummed in agreement. "Always keep those you love around. You'll never know when life can take a turn for the worse. Maybe, there could be a day in which you won't be able to tell your family how much you love them. It is better to live with no regrets."
Now, it was the redhead's turn to send her a weird look. "Wow, that was deep. Was it another thing about your past you should remember but you cannot?"
"I guess so," the Essentia shrugged it off. "Why don't we change the topic? This one is a bit too sad for my liking. Didn't you have some friends who lived close enough to pay them a visit? Was it The Rookery?"
"The Lovegoods, and yeah, they live close enough. If I remember correctly, mum told me we were going to visit them next weekend. But the girl who lives there, Luna, isn't really my friend—she's Ginny's."
"Oh, can't we visit them sooner?" Gerd groaned as she flew around the boy. "You, Weasleys, are quite boring! I want to meet more people!"
Ron couldn't help himself but to smile at the little woman—definitely, he was getting used to her presence.
Just like any other pureblood lord, Covan Redfield had his business, which was his greatest source of income—and just like any other person in the world, he also had a passion.
And that was the art of duelling.
Covan's late father, with the help of another pureblood lord whose family had befriended the Great House of Redfield for generations, built Nurgon Academy four decades before the War took place. What started as some recreational project became an ambition, and then it became recognition. Because the passing of time turned Nurgon into the most famous and renowned academy of Europe.
Disciples from every corner of the continent came to them in order to become great duellists—to raise those trophies every fan of the art dreamed to hold, and to honour the name of their Houses. Most of them came from rich and pureblood families; no matter how talented or dedicated they were, Nurgon accepted them all if the fees of admission were paid. However, in those rare occasions in which a half-blood or a muggle-born showed great talent in the competitions of lesser name, in those rare occasions in which Covan himself saw something special in those young prospects, Nurgon took them under its wings for free.
At that moment, lord Redfield found himself at the largest training stances of the academy, observing one of the most talented of his students.
A huge room illuminated by the light of a thousand torches, with several terraces to observe the duels, which took place at the many courts built all over the place. Courts of different elements; some of sand and others of flat stone, even some in which certain wards and curses would activate per request in order to train for a certain scenario. It was long ago when Covan lost track of how much money his House had spent in Nurgon—and of that which would be spent in the future.
Edmund Gunther, the son of lord Fabian and the second heir to one of the most prominent Houses in Germany. A boy of fifteen who Covan himself recruited. The said wizard fought against lord Nikolaj Andersen, Nurgon's second greatest investor and the son of the man who helped the former lord Redfield to build the academy. From the two of them, Nikolaj was the one who did all the paperwork, and also, the one to talk with all those pureblood lords who wanted to enlist their sons. The man was a good duellist, yet he wasn't close to Covan's level.
It was a pretty decent spectacle.
Edmund threw barrage after barrage of perfectly linked hexes and curses; some were simple stunners, but others could cause severe wounds if not death. Fortunately, Nikolaj was a master of the art. The man limited himself to dodge those curses he could, and parried those he couldn't. He had yet to attack, and Edmund wasn't in the mood to give him a chance to change it.
"He's incredible," Jakob, his son, whistled by his side. He was a twelve-year-old boy of blondish hair and green eyes. Jak also was a student in the academy—as the saying went: like father, like son. "If he continues at this level, Edmund will win the Junior League without much trouble."
It wasn't a bold affirmation. Edmund had already proved to the world he was much better than other competitors of his age and category. The many tournaments he had won were proof of it, competitions which granted access to the Junior League Finals. The boy had outclassed his rivals so much that many academies from all over the world tried to sign him. However, there was nothing they could do to poach Edmund from Nurgon and Covan Redfield himself.
"He is much better than you, Jak." This time, it was Victoria who piped in; Covan's daughter. She was a kind and calm girl three years younger than his brother. She had the same hair as Jak—which came from their mother—but her eyes were of a deep hazel instead of green, just like her father's.
Covan loved them in equal measure, of course, but if Jak was his greatest pride and a copy of his younger self, Victoria will forever be his sweet, little girl. Some people said fathers had a soft spot for their daughters, and it wouldn't be lord Redfield who told them otherwise.
"Shut up, Vic," Jak groaned as he ruffled her hair, "I know that he's much better than me right now, but you just wait a few years! When I'm his age, I'll be known worldwide thanks to all the wins I'll collect!"
Certainly, the boy didn't lack enthusiasm, and he would have his opportunity to back his words with results soon enough. "Your first tournament will be held in the second week of September," Covan reminded him. "Here, in Denmark. We still have a few months of preparation ahead of us, but that doesn't mean you can relax. Results come to those who work harder than the rest."
The minimum age required to compete under the rules of the International Duelling Federation was twelve; in the Junior category, which limited the duellists' age to fifteen. Then came the Juvenile category, in which participants could not surpass the age of nineteen; it was the one to which most of Nurgon's apprentices belonged. And finally, there was the Senior category, the most prestigious one of the three, and the one in which real glory and prestige were obtained.
Although the different categories were separated from age restrictions, they followed the same competitive scheme, with three kinds of tournaments.
The least important ones were the Opens, in which any duellist could pay the fee of entrance to participate; in those, the money and circuit points obtained were barely insignificant, though it was a good way to start for beginners. Then came the Minors; tournaments of much higher prestige and importance, but not nearly as much as the last kind of competition. The Majors were those competitions every aspirant dreamt to win at least once in their careers; only those with enough circuit points—obtained through the year in the lesser tournaments—had access to. There were only two each year, and the winner was granted direct access to the World Finals, which were held at the end of the year, in December; only eight competitors could reach so far, and only one would emerge as the best duellist of the year.
An honour Covan had obtained twice.
Years before the war, of course, years before the dark lord who went by the name of Lord Voldemort threatened to destroy the world's peace.
In the present, he wasn't a competitor anymore. How could he? Covan could not look at duelling the same way after all the battles he took part in during the war; not when each time his wand rose, memories of fallen comrades and dead enemies appeared all over the place. Despite this, lord Redfield still had the same passion as always to educate the younger generations. The main reason why his late father built Nurgon.
"I'm ready for it," his son's voice pulled the man out of his thoughts. "It is just a Minor. I don't think there will be any of the older competitors. If it's just me and a bunch of newbies, I can do it." True, the conversation revolved around the next tournament, Jak's first.
"You must never underestimate an opponent, son," Covan told him with a firm voice. That was a lecture every duellist needed to learn, and also, one of the main rules of the academy. "In a duel, it might save you the battle, and in the real world, it might save your life. Do not ever forget it."
"Of course! I don't care who stands in front of me, I will always treat them seriously no matter what—just as you taught me."
Covan allowed himself to smile, proudly. "Fantastic, that's all I wanted to hear." At the same time and not very far from them, the duel between Nikolaj and Edmund continued.
The apprentice raised his level of aggression, if that was even possible, and liked spell after spell in a clean and rapid succession. One of the German's specialities was the spell linking, and proof it was the way lord Andersen combined parries and dodging manoeuvres to avoid getting hit. The boy needs to cool off. Without any doubt, Edmund was one of the most aggressive duellists Covan had ever taken under his wing; just as much as he was talented, and that was something to say. It was a flaw they had tried to correct uncountable times, and for that, there was nothing better than a dose of cold reality.
Suddenly, Nikolaj casted a Protego of a faint, white shade by slamming his wand into the ground. Then, almost instantly, he aimed his left hand at the sand right below Edmund's feet, transfiguring it into a sea of blazing flames. That made the apprentice stop his barrage of spells and to change into a more defensive stance.
Nikolaj had been fast, but so was the teenager.
A strong gale was summoned around the boy after an elegant move of his wand, which extinguished the fire with no trouble at all. Then it was directed at lord Andersen. The violent wind almost raised him from the ground, but it was Edmund's next move that almost surprised him. The wind was set ablaze, and it turned into a spiralling tornado of white flames.
Unfortunately for the German wizard, he had already used that very same attack in a previous duel against another apprentice. Nikolaj saw through it with ease, and he just sent his shield forward to meet the flames, thereby the little yet violent firestorm was suffocated by a mightier magical pressure.
"The hell was that!?" Edmund let out a loud shout of lament. Though he didn't have time to lose, for lord Andersen didn't grant him a moment of rest.
The older duellist linked a rapid succession of curses and spells that kept Edmund busy on his defence. The speed of it augmented until the apprentice had no choice but to cast a powerful Protego in order to stop a Severing Charm which was directed right at his left wrist. It was done as soon as the shield was raised. Not even a second after that, it was crushed by a Blasting Curse of great power, which sent Edmund tumbling right into the sand ground.
"You got me," the apprentice grunted as he spat a considerable amount of sand out of his mouth. "Damned me, how can I be so stupid? Once again I got carried away!"
From their spot, Covan agreed. "That's why you shouldn't focus solely on the spell linking and the offencive," the lord explained to his son. "Sure, it's one of the best and most useful techniques, but do not ever forget the fact magic is everything and you can use it in many different ways. What Nikolaj did was to use the terrain in his favour and to exploit his opponent's weaknesses; a simple yet efficient way to turn the tables around by being creative."
"That was wicked!" Jak exclaimed. "How did he do that! No, how did they both do that? That Protego to stop the flames was incredible, but Edmund's trick to set the wind ablaze was even more incredible! I would have never thought of it."
"Practise and experience are the best masters," Covan smiled as he recited the words. That also was one of Nurgon's principles.
At the same time, lord Andersen helped Edmund to get up on his feet as Covan and his family walked towards them. "It was a good duel, Gunther," Nikolaj congratulated the apprentice. Then he noticed those who got closer. "My work here is done, Covan. It was fun, not gonna lie, but I need to attend a meeting with the investors to sort out the budget and how are we going to manage the cost of admission for the next tournaments. The last Major of the year is around the corner, and those bastards are quite excited about it."
"Of course, you are free to go. It is always good to see you back at it, Nikolaj. Sometimes, I forget there is a bit of talent hiding under all that bureaucratic mess you like so much."
"Ha! Someone has to be the brains of the team, my old friend. You are the one who puts up with all the nonsense those bratty heirs from notable Houses bring, and I'm the one to put up with their arrogant parents." Truer words had never been spoken, and never would. "Honestly, I don't know who has it worse—damned be the day our fathers decided to build this academy!" Then, the man walked away, towards the exit, and the group fell into a comfortable silence. The room of meetings was placed at the other end of the castle, and it wasn't wise to make those pureblood lords who financed Nurgon wait.
"For a moment, I thought I had him," Edmund broke the silence with an exasperated sigh. "I know I was over aggressive and that I put too much focus on the spell linking, but he made me believe his defence was starting to fall down. This loss is totally on me, lord Redfield." The boy might share a lot of physical resemblance to lord Tristan, his father—like the raven-black hair and those cold, grey eyes—but pride was not a trait the son inherited. That was a damn relief.
From the corner of his eye, Covan saw how Jak and Victoria ran towards one of the training areas.
"All you have said is true," the man confirmed, his eyes now set on his apprentice. "You were the one to lose the duel, and, unlike you first thought, you never were in position to win it. However, the most important skill a duellist can have is to learn from his mistakes. Do not forget this defeat, Edmund; think about it for ten straight hours if needed, but don't forget how you failed. In the past, I had some students who were as talented as you, yet none of them were humble enough to accept their mistakes. That made them mediocre duellists. Do not follow their path, boy. Nurgon does not need more of those."
Edmund Gunther nodded his head almost immediately. "So will it be, lord Covan. By the way, I need to get back home for the weekend. Even if my father first told you otherwise, it turns out there is a very important event I must attend. I would rather stay here, of course, but as the second son, I have a duty to comply towards my House."
Covan just placed a hand over his shoulder. "I know," he smiled at him. "Lord Tristan sent me a letter yesterday, and I think we already pushed his patience enough by extending your stance at Nurgon by one more day. You are free to go, Edmund. The training will resume next monday."
As the German apprentice walked away, lord Redfield was left alone in the great stance—his son and daughter were nowhere to be seen, but he was at ease since nothing could happen to them in the academy. Whatever, they must be playing somewhere else, the man thought. I should meet the investors with Nikolaj this time. It's been a while since I last attended a meeting, and those bastards need to be reminded who's in charge of their son's tutelage.