CHAPTER 27: THE INVITATION
Two days had passed since Daphné's return to school, and just like her, Harry had resumed his journey to the academy to begin his third year of training. Well, he had resumed his studies long before, and unlike his fiancée who was currently suffocating in a classroom, Harry was enjoying the last days of summer by strolling through the bustling streets of Metz. However, one should not think he was playing hooky: Lily and Marie-Louise would have strongly discouraged him, and he feared the wrath of both.
But by a fortunate coincidence, the first class on this Wednesday afternoon was a French class, a subject that had long become useless to him. Copying lines to memorize the spelling and grammar of words or the various conjugation tenses of this language had been one of the many exercises he had faced even before joining the academy. If French held no mysteries for him for a long time, the same could not be said for most of his classmates, some of whom were unable to read a line in a textbook without stumbling over a word or a sound.
Juliette and Nicolas were among those, which explained why he roamed alone along the banks of the Moselle, but their absence did not bother him much. These moments of solitude and peace, away from the troubles of his school and the difficulties he could encounter there, were what he cherished most when he could leisurely enjoy his free time. Walking worked in him like an effective remedy for all the negative thoughts that could pass through his mind, and his obligations as the heir to a powerful and wealthy family were overshadowed by the tranquility that inhabited him on these rare occasions.
Breathing the fresh air of Lorraine, smelling the delicious scents of the stalls of street vendors, listening to the sweet song of birds, the lively conversations of the streets he crossed, or the arms of the Moselle whose water hit the stone edges lining it, all helped him clear his mind and appreciate the small things in life that could brighten our existence for an entire day. In fact, Harry could have easily pictured himself lying under a tree on this day, doing nothing but looking at the blue sky and enjoying the shapes the clouds could take. However, one hour wouldn't have been enough to indulge in such an activity, and he still preferred to use this free time for something instructive; laziness was truly not in his habits.
Instead, he wandered through the various streets of the city, examining its architecture, layout, and the growing animation as the day unfolded. He took advantage of the fruit stalls that came his way when, by chance, he arrived at the market square facing the church.
"For a moment, I almost think I'm on vacation..." he thought to himself while biting into his newly purchased apple.
Having his stomach filled, even with just a simple fruit, gave him enough time to no longer worry about the hunger that could strike him at any moment and, conversely, enough energy to find himself surprised admiring the facades of hundreds of houses in Metz—a pastime that most people would find rather strange. Timber-framed houses largely made up the city's architecture, and while the municipality had been trying to introduce more solid houses in recent years to address potential fires, wood and thatched roofs remained the specific characteristics of French houses.
The high triangular gables and facades with large windows punctuated by simple framework uprights were thus part of the surrounding scenery. While architects greatly favored openings to combat the darkening of rooms due to the narrowness of the streets and successive projections, French houses also stood out for their towering height. Unlike perfectly ordered English houses that never exceeded two stories, it was not uncommon to see a multitude of French houses with at least three floors, not to mention the mansard roofs establishing themselves in the attics. Closely packed together, they provided a living environment conducive to the establishment and creation of small businesses multiplying on all axes of the city. With its 35,000 inhabitants, Metz could be considered one of the most populated cities in the country, although far from the 500,000 Parisians or the 100,000 residents of Lille living in their respective cities at the same time. However, the proximity to the countryside just a few kilometers from the central square gave this city a rural setting that could not be easily found in other larger cities, and that's what Harry appreciated most here.
However, good things had an end, and he was now committed to returning as quickly as possible to the academy to attend Madame Riva's spell class. As he had quickly discovered during his first year, his teacher was among the most illustrious figures in this subject, holding a master's degree in advanced spells and an aggregation in higher education in magical establishments. Therefore, attending one of her classes was considered by many as a true privilege. It was indeed a stroke of luck that she decided one day to become a professor at their academy after having familiarized herself with its military aspect for a few years. Moreover, she was one of the preferred teachers among students, perhaps simply because she was the only female presence outside of Juliette in the academy. In addition to being a woman who was quite delightful and pleasant to see and hear, she knew how to handle humanism and rigor in her classes, making her much more likable to everyone than any other teacher at the academy.
Next to that, the women of the "lace makers' hall," an old establishment where the worst debauchery in the entire region gathered, paled in comparison to her. Even today, these harlots, huddled at the entrance of their workplace waiting for a client, stood out for their extravagance and vulgarity. Unfortunately, Harry had caught the eye of the owner of this disreputable place, and as soon as they saw him, her employees did not hesitate to try to lure him into their nets:
"But isn't it our little prince?" said one of them, sipping a pint of liqueur.
"Do you want to come have a good time, my darling?" another proposed, slightly arching to reveal her generous chest tightened by a corset. "I'm in need of affection, darling, come comfort me..."
"Hm... Maybe another day, madam," he replied with a strained smile on his face.
"It's not right to want to play with the matron's food!" then said a third, looking knowingly at her colleague. "But I wouldn't mind tasting it too when that old hag is done with her young stallion! Fresh flesh is what's lacking in this hole, and it will be a change from the drunks who come to visit us!" All her friends agreed with her words, and while giggling loudly without caring about the disapproving looks from the few women also walking in the street, they never took their eyes off poor Harry, occasionally throwing him a remark full of innuendo. If Daphné had been there... those girls would have seen all the colors, even facing an eleven-year-old girl.
But it had to be admitted that with his slender and finely sculpted silhouette, his lively gaze giving him a mysterious air, his magnificent green eyes that received endless praise, and the nobility that could be read like an open book in every gesture, Harry easily attracted the attention of all the young girls in the city—an interest he tried to put an end to as courteously as possible. Fidelity remained the cornerstone of his principles, and in friendship as in love, he would never violate it. Cheating on this would be questioning everything he believed in and intended to defend, and a man unable to respect his own decisions was not someone to be trusted, recommended, or worthy of esteem.
His thoughts drifted to the absence of a letter from his fiancée, but Harry didn't pay much attention to it. Metz and Beauxbatons were located at two ends of the country, and it probably took a few days for a bird to deliver a letter to its recipient. Nevertheless, he hoped that this letter would arrive soon because he was eagerly awaiting Daphné's impressions of her new school. Was she enjoying it? Had she already made some new friends? Was she interested in her classes? Was the absence of her loved ones not too burdensome for her? So many questions to which he hoped for an answer, and to be completely honest with himself, he already missed her presence. The two full months of July and August seemed so little to share moments with her that he bitterly thought Beauxbatons should have been close enough for him to occasionally pay a visit to his fiancée and enjoy her company for a longer time.
Oh yes, he missed her, and not a day went by without him thinking about her and what she might be doing without him. Knowing her, he suspected that she must be feeling the same on her end, and somewhere in his masculine ego, he thanked the heavens for the total absence of male presence in her school: the last thing he needed was to worry about that! But fortunately, and just like him, Daphné was not the type to frolic with other boys, even of her age, and most of the time, she remained continuously attached to his arm possessively, thus informing everyone not only that she was not available for anyone else but also that Harry himself was not available either.
A smile crept onto his face at this memory, but he did his best to contain it so as not to appear as a blissful fool to the passersby coming from the opposite direction.
"We'll see each other soon," he said, almost melancholically examining the storefront of a jeweler. "We'll see each other, and I already know what I'll give you at that time," he added before continuing on his way.
Around a corner, he finally saw the academy, unmistakable among a thousand by its roof as black as coal and the few towers ending in points. A few students in uniform appeared peacefully in front of its entrance, and as usual, the traffic at this point in the city was dense and continuous. Gaston, with his stooped silhouette and grumpy air, also observed the comings and goings of the passersby walking near the entrance that he fiercely guarded, a broomstick in hand. To those unfortunate enough to give him a sideways glance, the irascible janitor berated them abruptly and sharply, not hesitating to emphasize his reproaches with copious spitting at the feet of the concerned. His provocations never went further, but when he saw Harry approaching him, Gaston's grumpy expression tightened even more to give him the nastiest look he was capable of:
"Still hanging around outside, eh Bourbon?" he muttered maliciously, gripping his broom so hard that it crackled. "You're nothing but bad seed! I'd bet my salary that you're still scheming something, and it will all fall on this damned academy sooner or later!"
"What I do on my outings is none of your concern," he replied calmly, passing by him without stopping. "But it seems interesting to note that I am the only student whose city walks seem to cause you so much concern that you stoop to spying on each of my returns... Are you worried about me, Gaston? Your concern surprises me as much as it touches me, be sure of that!"
"Scoundrel!" the janitor shouted behind him. "Brigand! Rascal! Let my body be eaten by worms the day I worry about you! You can die with your mouth open; it would fill me with joy!"
Harry didn't respond, but with a quick hand gesture, he pulled his magic wand out of his sleeve, pointing it in the direction of the janitor, and swiftly twirled it in the air before quickly stowing it away.
Nothing happened at first, but suddenly, Gaston let out a cry of pain, hopping in place, while his pants, held up until then by a leather belt, slid down to his ankles, making him wobble dangerously in place. Harry didn't need to turn around to check for himself that he would eventually fall to the ground because a few seconds later, a loud thud was heard behind him, quickly accompanied by a stream of insults and curses that could easily have been heard by the entire academy. Fortunately for him, the headmaster was not there; otherwise, Gaston would have had a very bad time. Fortunately for him? Yes, but unfortunately for the students, especially for Harry, who missed an opportunity to see this irascible old man scolded in front of the entire school.
"Maybe next time," he sighed, heading towards the entrance of the spell building.
On the way, he exchanged a few brief greetings with some students who, instead of being friends to him, served more as acquaintances or comrades, but to whom he did not refuse the opportunity to chat with him. But his only real friends were still in the French class for now, probably either bored to death or diligently following the grammar lesson, to the point that it inevitably ended in a new dispute between the two.
A small smile crossed Harry's face as he imagined Nicolas slumped over his desk, cheek glued to his parchment, and without realizing that the ink he had used to note his lesson had not yet dried, thus allowing everyone to admire the result of his work directly on his face. It had happened in the past, and Harry and Juliette had a lot of fun that day at the expense of their friend: Nick, on his part, had once again been the center of attention and amusement for the entire school, including the instructors. Even Gaston had openly laughed at his misfortune, but no one ever told him the origin of all the fingers pointing at him and the giggles he encountered on his way... Let's say that when he finally discovered it for himself that evening, Nick felt strongly ridiculous, and if his revenge was to hit Harry and Juliette with a few pillow blows, his little game quickly turned into a widespread battle soon spreading to all the dormitories in the school. The punishment was severe, especially since, in the absence of the headmaster, who had left for the battlefields, discipline had been entrusted to Mr. Bourlot. But the pillow fight would remain in the memories of the school for a long time.
The progress to the classroom was easy, although too calm for his liking, but almost all the students were still in class, and Harry was one of the few students who could boast a bit of free time. He still had ten minutes when he arrived at the door behind which the spell classes usually took place, and it was already open, giving him a good reason to enter already.
The classroom was currently empty, at least empty of students because Miss Riva was indeed there, already seated behind her desk, casually flipping through a stack of papers she had in her hands. Out of politeness, Harry alerted her to his presence by gently knocking on the door, hoping she would be willing to let him already settle in while waiting for the rest of the students to arrive. She immediately raised her eyes, and when they landed on him, she answered his silent question by inviting him to enter with a slight nod before immersing herself again in reading the notes she was diligently reading.
"Don't forget to close the door behind you, Mr. Bourbon," she nevertheless said as soon as he crossed the threshold.
Harry immediately obeyed, then, looking for the best seat for him and his two friends, he opted for the third row of desks and preferably as close to the windows of the class as possible. The classroom was indeed arranged like an amphitheater, and while each row of seats rose only a few centimeters higher than the previous one, everyone could still have a perfect view of the part reserved for their teacher and the immense slate board on which the title of the lesson of the day was already written:
"Evolutionary Strategy or When a Harmless Spell Allows You to Defeat an Enemy... This lesson promises to be exciting, Professor Riva!" he couldn't help but declare without the slightest hint of sarcasm.
"Thank you, Bourbon," she said, showing a very slight smile. "Perhaps now your classmates will realize that any spell can be deadly if used under certain conditions and thoughtfully. Perhaps it could even save their lives, but we're not there yet..."
"It's true that using 'Colloshoo' in a duel, for example, is probably not the first idea that comes to a duelist's mind. Yet sticking an opponent's shoes to the floor could pay off if he doesn't think to remove them quickly."
"You quickly understand where the very principle of this lesson is located," her teacher informed him. "However, keep this example for the class: It would be interesting to give it back later to better explain to your classmates the subject I want to address."
"Understood," he agreed before quickly pulling out a course manual from his bag, which he hastened to read.
They didn't have to wait long because the first students were already making their presence known in the same way Harry did earlier. Professor Riva quickly admitted defeat against the continuous interruptions from her students and no longer bothered to ask the last one to enter to close the door. That's how Harry didn't even need to turn his head towards the entrance to recognize Nicolas's tired and dragging steps or to hear Juliette scold him once again for the evident lethargy he displayed. The tipping point was when their teacher told Nicolas that it was not proper for a student to enter the classroom dragging his feet: Harry's best friend, undoubtedly troubled by her words, lost his balance and tangled his legs, falling headfirst behind the first row of desks. The whole class burst into laughter, and even Miss Riva forgot to wear her usual serious expression to participate in the general amusement.
Such blunders were not uncommon for Nicolas, and everyone had long been accustomed to his legendary clumsiness. Still, his often spectacular and ridiculous falls remained unpredictable and generally a harbinger of a day filled with good-naturedness. Moreover, considering his good humor and his extroverted and impetuous personality, Nick had an excellent reputation among the students who praised him very frequently.
On a different note, Juliette was known for her seriousness and the diligence she put into her work, making her one of the best students in their year. Her cold demeanor scared off more than one, but Harry and Nicolas could boast of knowing their friend's true hidden face for three years now: that of a sweet, sensitive, loyal girl who didn't lack the courage to defy students older and stronger than her. Her true identity was still a mystery known only to a few privileged individuals, especially among the faculty. However, with the onset of the first constraints related to adolescence, their friend had to become a little more ingenious every day in the multiple subterfuges she used to keep her little secret hidden. Fortunately for her, Harry and Nick had taken it upon themselves for the past two years to help her, and the pranks orchestrated by the latter throughout the school most of the time had the sole purpose of being that support, for which Juliette was sincerely grateful.
The three of them had formed a recognized trio for their intellectual and moral qualities since their first year, even serving as a source of inspiration for some students. They saw in Harry, in particular, the perfect image of an educated, studious student who would become an excellent element in the French army's cavalry through his efforts. Many thus envied the privileged places his two friends had at his side, but everyone knew that those same places would never be accessible to them. They could always orbit around this hardcore nucleus they formed, but integrating it was like digging a breach in an enemy battalion alone and with only perseverance as a weapon: in other words, impossible.
"So, how was the French class?" Harry immediately asked while closing his book.
"Tedious..." sighed Nicolas, slumping onto the desk right next to Harry. "I still can't connect some words well, and strangely it annoys our 'wonderful' teacher a lot. She doesn't hesitate to reproach me in front of the whole class... As if she doesn't even see my efforts!"
"What nonsense," chuckled Juliette, shaking her head. "You don't even listen! You prefer to spend your time drawing on your parchment! Should I remind you that the school has a budget not to exceed, even for paper and ink? At the rate you're finishing the inkwells, you'll soon put us all in difficulty!"
"I don't listen!? In two years, I've learned to read and write!" he persisted, raising his arms to the sky in a mood. "Even my mother now admits that the academy might make something out of me, and that's saying something coming from a woman who constantly drummed into my ears the stupidity that she believed was my main asset!"
The mere mention of this woman elicited a slight snort from Harry. Far from the portrait Nicolas painted of his mother all the time, she turned out to be a very endearing woman whose only flaw in his eyes was her rustic upbringing, making her a somewhat rough person. He had only met her twice during visits to his friend's small family farm, but Harry was taken aback when he got to know Madame Fleury's personality. Thoughtful, kind, very welcoming, and protective of her children, it was precisely this last trait in her that displeased her son and seemed more like abuse of authority to him, restricting his freedom. Nicolas didn't seem to understand that the hardness with which Madame Fleury had raised him had the sole purpose of instilling in him a straight line based on moral principles that would allow him to live a healthy life away from all dishonest temptations. On that count, one could say she succeeded, as despite his outspokenness and tendency to never hold back, Nicolas had never had serious problems since his arrival at the academy. His hours of detention and multiple punishments, on the other hand, were another matter, and Nicolas refrained from telling his mother about his 'exploits' in the few letters he deigned to write.
"At least now we'll finally have an interesting class," he continued, scanning Professor Riva. "I love the spell class!"
"I wonder why," Juliette said ironically, following the same direction as her friend. "Oh, really, seeing you undress Madame Riva with your eyes, no one would suspect that you like this class only for your teacher..."
"Hey!" he protested immediately, although a slight blush appeared on his cheeks. "I... I don't like her! Well, yes, but not like a boy likes a girl... And she's older than me, what idea do you have!"
"An idea?" she said thoughtfully, rolling her eyes. "I would rather say an affirmation or a certainty, like the certainty that I have heard you at least twice since the beginning of this new school year say in your sleep, I quote: 'Hmm... Madame Riva... If your beauty pleases my eyes, your sweetness charms my soul...'. Oh, so much sentimentality, I faint!"
"What made me give you that book by Voltaire?" teased Harry as Juliette pretended to faint to the dismayed eyes of Nicolas. "Now you're getting into beautiful phrases, my friend!"
"Did I really say that?" he stammered, looking at his teacher with horror. "My God, if I utter such nonsense in my sleep, then I'll never try to sleep in class again, let alone in this one!"
His two friends chuckled slightly under the watchful eye of their teacher, but she, not knowing that the topic of conversation concerned her, simply thought it was probably a perfectly innocent conversation. What a mistake...
"And you, then, this little trip to town?" Juliette asked while getting her things.
"Old Bertha gave you the sweet eyes again, huh?" Nicolas teased with a mischievous smile. "It would make her so happy to have a little young one, especially a rich one!"
"Stop it with that," grumbled Harry, repressing a shiver at the thought of that toothless old woman and her detestable establishment. "What possessed you to give her my last name! Now everyone in town says that she dreams of deflowering me, and her employees never stop teasing me on every occasion! Fortunately, this has not yet reached my mother's ears..."
"We could arrange that," argued Nicolas with the same suggestive smile.
But two small taps behind his head convinced him otherwise, and while massaging his now painful neck, he watched new students enter. Boulanger brought up the rear, slightly late as usual, but Professor Riva didn't seem to mind and didn't hold it against him. The one who had declared himself Harry's first rival chose to settle in the row behind him, his desk only a few centimeters behind his head, and in the company of his two dedicated bodyguards, Berliot and Marlet, who, with their arms as big as hams and their intelligence approaching that of a troll, were perfectly suited for the job.
"Didn't you miss me too much, Bourbon?" he threw out as he passed near him, giving Nicolas a shoulder bump along the way. "I would have accompanied you for your little weekly outing to town, but you see, I had other things to do than parade in front of all the virgins in Metz..."
"Like tormenting the newcomers?" Harry rightly supposed, briefly recalling the scene he witnessed yesterday. "It's not surprising to see that the headmaster doesn't trust you when we see the pitiful behavior you drag behind you. Don't consider yourself biased when he doesn't award you the school's congratulations and the hierarchical elevation within the army corps you so aspire to..."
Furious, Auguste didn't utter another word and crossed his arms in a sulky manner, under the amused eyes of some classmates and the victorious smile of Nicolas. The remark had hit its mark perfectly, and Harry never hesitated to throw it at Boulanger every time he provoked him. Pressing on his failures might be considered harsh, but Auguste deserved it, especially since his own behavior kept him confined to the simple rank of a light cavalry soldier.
Harry had been promoted not only because of his spectacular academic results, his involvement in the school life, his attitude towards his superiors and his peers but also due to the influence of Lieutenant Colonel Pajol Brigadier, the second-to-last rank before moving into the category of non-commissioned officers. Never before in living memory had such a young boy risen through the military ranks so quickly, except perhaps under the old regime where officer positions could be bought at any age. However, when merit and hard work eventually paid off, the reward had to be commensurate with the results and the consensus of all, and Harry deserved it.
The three chevrons proudly displayed on his sleeves served as proof of his worth in the eyes of his superiors, and the idea of him soon beginning to lead a small troop to judge his ability to lead and coordinate soldiers was slowly taking root in the mind of Lieutenant Colonel Pajol. This was certainly better than sitting quietly and waiting for a new international conflict to start. The war between the European coalition led by Austria and England against France had indeed ended with the Treaty of Amiens a few months earlier, and even though this peace seemed fragile, Harry still had to wait some time before considering accompanying units much more trained for combat. In any case, Pajol considered him still too young to bear the difficulties and horrors of the battlefields. This possibility, however, was not definitively taken away from him, but a few more years of training would be necessary to allow him to acquire the essential basics that would make him a good asset in the eyes of his director.
Harry was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts by the small explosions from his teacher's wand as she calmly but unequivocally demanded everyone's attention. The last students, hearing the noise from the corridor, entered the room like cannonballs, the last one narrowly avoiding hitting the door frame when Madame Riva closed it. However, no one noticed since everyone was more focused on quickly taking out their class materials.
"A bit of silence, please," she asked again once she had closed the door with a wave of her wand. "As you can see on the board, today we are covering a somewhat special lesson that will give you a new insight into the spells we have studied so far. Could someone give me their opinion on today's lesson title?"
As expected when it came to a new lesson, no hand was raised immediately, and most students even adopted a technique that had often proved successful until now: keeping their eyes lowered on their desks, avoiding eye contact with their teacher at all costs. Harry, who usually allowed his classmates to shine during this class by remaining silent, thought it wise to spare one of them the displeasure of being designated by Professor Riva by raising his hand to answer her question.
"Yes, Mr. Bourbon?" she asked after a few seconds when she realized that no one else would attempt an answer.
"I may be wrong, but it seems obvious to me that today we will witness a lesson demonstrating that the simplest of spells can allow us to fight against an opponent in a duel and possibly defeat them."
"A response that any of you could have easily found by reading the title of this lesson," their teacher replied in a severe tone. "I do not commend you, gentlemen, for your lack of courage and the total absence of spontaneity that you so sorely lack."
Madame Riva paused, giving the others time to feel the disappointment in her voice, making them feel ashamed of their cowardice, but she quickly continued speaking:
"As your classmate clearly said, I will show you in this lesson that it is not necessary to use offensive spells like the ones we taught you in the second year to eliminate an opponent. Tactics are, of course, crucial to achieving such a result, but in a real combat situation, you will have only a fraction of a second to establish it, taking into account five essential questions: Who? The type of opponent you will face. Understand that the appearance of your target plays an important role in your analysis of the fight and its reaction capabilities. Where? The place where your duel will take place: A thorough analysis of the terrain allows you to have an advantage over your enemy and to use spells in line with the relief of the environment around you. When? A question that obviously takes into account the precise moment when you face your opponent: The time of year can influence the outcome of a duel, so I don't need to remind you once again that in summer, it is preferable to..."
"...Use spells and curses related to fire because the high air temperature can increase their power," the students finished in unison with a slightly bored voice.
"I see that you have finally remembered this lesson," Professor Riva argued with a satisfied air. "Indeed, and this rule applies in all circumstances. The last two points, 'What' and 'How,' refer to one determining the object of your duel to determine the degree of power to use in the spells and curses you will use, and the other to evaluate the means at your disposal in terms of resources and weapons to overcome your opponent. Mr. Bourbon?"
"When you say that it is necessary to determine the degree of power to use in our spells based on the object of the duel, would you imply that, in the worst case, we must definitively eliminate our opponent?"
"I affirm it, yes," she replied straightforwardly. "Each of you must understand that in times of war, good feelings must be set aside. An enemy remains an enemy, and from the moment that person weakens the integrity of a person or a country, you must ensure that this threat is rendered incapable of harm. Understand that the opponent you will probably encounter on your path will have no qualms about eliminating you, and by sparing his life, you take the risk that this individual will sooner or later take up arms against you or another person. However, as I said, you just have to assess the cause of your disagreement to determine whether or not your opponent deserves death: If his intentions are not murderous, there is no need to think about it for a moment. You must adapt to him and never underestimate or overestimate him."
Her words nonetheless cast a chill in the room, and most looked at each other with a somber air, as if the prospect of taking someone's life had not yet deeply rooted in their minds. Professor Riva may have noticed it, at least that's what Harry supposed, because she proposed to give a small demonstration by using the spell of laughter to show everyone that such a simple spell could allow you to overcome an opponent.
"Joly, to the board, please," she suddenly said, looking at the named student.
Thomas, sitting a few rows behind Harry, couldn't help but sigh loudly upon hearing his name. Harry didn't need to turn around to imagine, correctly, that once again, Thomas wore his eternal blasé expression—the same one he displayed every time physical effort was required. Joly was certainly the most slack and lazy student in their entire class, always the last to arrive or the first to fall asleep on his desk, or simply skipping lessons given by his teachers. Yet, his average results on final exams allowed him to pass another year in the academy with flying colors, an achievement that surprised both his classmates and his teachers. This student remained, ultimately, an enigma to many, but most agreed that Thomas was an intelligent student whose intellectual abilities were limited by the lethargy that characterized him.
The fact that Professor Riva chose him to serve as a guinea pig for a very probable demonstration could only mean one thing in the eyes of the others: Thomas had, once again, apparently dozed off in class, and their teacher usually found nothing better to disrupt his naps than by pushing him to participate in exercises. Hearing him dragging his feet and grumbling made more than one person snicker, but Madame Riva remained perfectly composed. She patiently waited for Thomas to finally stand in front of her before speaking again, her wand finally drawn.
"What enthusiasm," she noted ironically, evaluating her student with a glance. "This manifest eagerness to join me here is a pleasure to see!"
"You are very welcome," he replied without thinking.
A few chuckles were heard again, but the sarcasm did not seem to bother Professor Riva.
"Take out your wand, Mr. Joly," she said, assuming the basic duel posture. "Consider yourself in a real combat situation..."
Her student, intrigued to the point of raising his eyebrows to his hairline, immediately obeyed her, not without showing once again a certain nonchalance in his movements.
"The spacing between your legs is still not in accordance with the recommendations you have been given many times, it seems," she noted with a slightly accusatory tone. "But let's move on. I will now cast a spell at you that you will be entitled to mentally combat, but we are not here to fight, so I will ask you to refrain from retaliating."
Thomas just nodded, his attention fully and entirely focused on what his teacher was about to do. The next events unfolded so quickly that he didn't even have time to react, and Madame Riva's wrist movements were so fast that he wouldn't have been able to distinguish the spell she was using if she hadn't taken the trouble to pronounce it loudly:
"Rictusempra!"
The spell hit him head-on, and as soon as he was hit, Thomas began clutching his sides, seized by a sudden but loud fit of laughter. His hilarity soon became contagious, and far from the image of the eternal lethargic slacker that he carried with him, this change in attitude, though involuntary, gave some the opportunity to share his good humor by giggling as well. Madame Riva, however, remained impassive. While keeping her wand pointed at her student, she began to walk lightly but with the sound of her heels echoing loudly in the classroom.
"The victim of this spell, if they do not fight its effects, is as helpless as if they were under the influence of the Cruciatus Curse. It is impossible for them to articulate a spell correctly, especially if it is excessively long, just as they would be unable to draw on their emotions when the spell requires it. Their mobility is greatly reduced, and their perception of the world around them compromised. I could at my leisure make your comrade fall to the ground without him being able to react..."
Which she promptly did with an unspoken spell: Thomas immediately collapsed on the floor without even trying to avoid the spell, but the fall didn't seem to have hurt him more than that, as he now began to writhe on the floor, laughing.
"I could immobilize him permanently by securely tying him up with ropes," she continued, sliding small ropes from the tip of her wand that tied his wrists and ankles together. "I could slash his limbs and cut his tendons..."
A threat she did not, however, put into action. But while continuing to walk around Thomas, she listed for long seconds the multiple possibilities available to her to neutralize her student, and as time passed, these examples became increasingly violent. Everyone remained captivated by her demonstration, and even the most reluctant showed some interest in what was happening before their eyes. At least, except for the three students sitting behind Harry, who took advantage of the commotion caused by Thomas to chat merrily.
"I had never thought that a simple spell like Rictusempra could be so useful in combat," Juliette declared, looking curiously at Thomas's contorted form. "In fact, I had never thought it could be used for anything other than making your opponent laugh."
"Imagine during a battle? You aim at an enemy hussar, and poof! He falls off his horse!" Nicolas added cheerfully.
"A certain alternative for those who are reluctant to take someone's life or who are unable to draw on their anger and hatred to make a lethal spell efficient," Harry mumbled.
Thomas was incapable of pondering such things, and while continuing to roll on the ground, he now begged his teacher to free him from the constraints of the spell she had cast:
"S-st-stop it!" he said between laughter. "I... I surrender!"
"So quickly?" argued Madame Riva, walking around him again. "You don't even want to fight the effects of this spell?"
"N-no!" he exclaimed before laughing again. "Lift this spell or... or I'll end up wetting myself!"
Laughter in the class redoubled, but Thomas remained the one who was heard the most in this game. Perhaps out of pity but mostly to avoid seeing her student urinate in her class, his teacher finally agreed to lift the spell with a simple wave of her wand before freeing him from his bonds. Immediately he regained his composure, and upon seeing that he was lying at the feet of his teacher, Thomas immediately stood up, blushing profusely in the process.
"Thank you for your participation, Mr. Joly," Madame Riva said, nodding slightly. "I won't forget to mention in my course report your unexpected help in the successful implementation of it."
Then, with a wave of her hand, she cordially invited him to return to his seat. Things could have ended there if, by a curious impulse, a student had not decided to applaud his comrade's performance loudly, quickly joined by the entire class. Whistles and applause mixed in a joyful cacophony that only stopped when Thomas, still red with embarrassment and shame, sat back in his chair.
"As you have seen for yourselves, a spell is not limited to the basic use you make of it or the reason for which you used it. Here, two possible uses must be distinguished: the primary and the secondary. For example, the primary use of the laughing spell I just used here is simply to make the opponent laugh. The secondary use, which very few people think about, is to immobilize the opponent to no longer give them the means to react and fight against you. This spell remains relatively ineffective against people insensitive to tickling or strong-minded enough to resist it, but facing a weak opponent or a Muggle, you will have no trouble casting it and neutralizing them as I have just shown you. Who can give me another example?"
Several hands went up, but to the general astonishment, the one that surprised the entire class the most was Nicolas's. Perhaps for this reason, Madame Riva singled him out, as Juliette and Harry thought:
"The Levitation Charm?" he proposed nervously. "Until now, we've only made more or less light objects fly, but if we were to do that with something heavier and make it levitate above a door until the moment someone enters, the impact of the object with their head could knock them out or worse..."
"Good thinking, Mr. Fleury," praised Madame Riva as Nicolas blushed slightly. "Indeed, that could be another functionality of the Levitation Charm, provided you have enough patience, magic, and energy to wait patiently in a room until your target comes home... Mr. Bourbon?"
"The Colloshoo?" he said, assuming the opportune moment to give his example from earlier. "Most people use this spell to stick an object to a piece of furniture, attach a candlestick to the wall, or fix a broken piece of furniture. But we could also use it to stick an opponent's shoes to the ground, thus preventing them from moving. Immobilized, they would be unable to properly dodge spells sent in their direction and would become a much easier target to hit..."
"A very good analysis that does not surprise me coming from you," approved his teacher. "Anyone else?"
The proposals followed in a cheerful atmosphere, and the most whimsical ones were well received. Laughter accompanied their suggestions, but three students did not share the general joy: Boulanger, as usual, preferred to attack his favorite target, Harry.
"Pss Bourbon!" he suddenly called, trying in vain to be discreet. "Hey Bourbon! You'll never guess what I learned about your family!"
"What is it?" replied Harry indifferently without turning around. "Teach me something I don't know yet about my mother or any other member of my two lineages; I'm all ears!"
Boulanger seemed unable to keep a straight face, if Harry judged by his uninterrupted giggles. Nevertheless, Auguste managed, although difficultly, to speak a few seconds later, his body slightly leaning over his desk as if he was trying to whisper the information Harry wasn't supposed to know:
"Your mother... She was the superintendent of the Widow Capet's house, responsible for her entertainment and little pleasures, right?"
"If you mean our late queen by her name, then yes, she was."
"Well, my father told me a good one about her! He was during the revolution the assistant to Fouquier-Tinville, who, as you probably know, was the public accuser of the revolutionary tribunal of Paris, and he was able, thanks to his position, to know all the interrogations of the royal family's close relatives during the revolution!"
"And what does that have to do with me?" argued Harry, paying more attention to what Professor Riva was saying.
"Well, apparently, your dear mother got that job in the easiest way possible: By... By spreading her legs!" Auguste said with a joyful air under the greasy chuckles of his two sidekicks. "At least that's what was written in the investigation they launched against her! And the worst part is that even the nobles suspected that she had slept with the Austrian to get that job, that's the pitiful image she had! What's it like being the son of a whore, Bourbon?"
"It's probably better than being the son of a man who enriched himself by stealing all the property that the emigrants left behind, be they royalists or moderates," replied Jules amid approving nods from Nicolas. "Marie-Madeleine was also a prostitute, and that didn't stop her from becoming a penitent in the service of Jesus. What harm would there be, therefore, in surrounding oneself with a woman of little virtue if Christ himself did it? On the other hand, as for thieves, you must know, as well as I do, the punishment these people deserve..."
"Who allowed you to speak to me?" raged Auguste, losing all trace of gaiety at the same time.
"I don't need anyone's permission to answer you when it comes to defending the honor of a friend and his family," she replied, mocking him with a smirk.
Auguste didn't have time to reply before a hex passed just a few centimeters from his face. A few strands of hair that were once firmly attached to his head fell pitifully onto his desk, while all eyes were now on him. His shocked expression and the incredulous looks of his two accomplices could easily have made the entire class burst into laughter if the situation had been different. But since the hex had been cast by their teacher, everyone refrained from openly approving Madame Riva's action towards this brute to avoid becoming the next target of their teacher's wand. Harry, Nicolas, and Juliette, however, couldn't suppress the urge to smile, all three aware that by persistently refusing to turn their heads towards Auguste, they had easily achieved their goal: Giving the illusion that he was the only one talking in the eyes of their teacher.
"To the board, Mr. Boulanger," ordered Madame Riva in such a dry tone that even Auguste didn't try to argue.
He didn't need further prompting to quickly comply, to the point that he even forgot to administer, as was his custom, a shoulder bump to Nicolas every time he crossed paths with him. He soon positioned himself in front of Madame Riva, just a few meters away from her, looking at her with clearly visible apprehension on his face. This apprehension increased when he noticed that his teacher still had her wand in hand, her eyes fixed on him with such intensity that one could believe she could see through his head.
"Since you seem to want to wag your tongue, I will give you the opportunity to do so now," she finally said in a cold tone without taking her eyes off him. "Immediately perform the recommended gestures to cast the spell I just used on me. If you are unable to do so, I think cleaning the academy's latrines will be an excellent punishment for you and will prevent you from attracting attention during this class in the future."
Madame Riva took a momentary pause, glancing sideways at the rest of the class as if to signal that the punishment could also befall them. Then, with a sly smile, she refocused her attention on Auguste, who, by now, was no longer hiding the tension he felt.
"One last thing to clarify, Mr. Boulanger: If you usually make a mistake in your spell and accidentally injure me, I regret to inform you that you'll earn an invitation to pay a little visit to the academy's deputy director, Mr. Montmorency."
At this, several gasps were heard, and even Harry felt a pang of pity for Boulanger. Being sent to the deputy director by your teacher could only mean one thing for all students: a well-deserved punishment. Discipline had to be exemplary in every circumstance and on every occasion, and Mr. Montmorency didn't hesitate to show toughness and violence to convey this message to disruptors unfortunate enough to be summoned to his office. The punishments didn't go beyond a few swats on the fingers or rear, but it had happened that defiant students had the displeasure of receiving correction in the schoolyard itself, in front of all the students. Needless to say, it left a lasting impression on many, and Boulanger, with his multiple summonses, was at risk sooner or later of suffering the same fate.
"Well then, what are you waiting for?" Madame Riva continued when she noticed that Auguste didn't dare to make a move.
"I...," he mumbled nervously, occasionally casting desperate glances at the other students. "It's just that... In fact..."
"I'm waiting, Mr. Boulanger," his teacher informed him, tapping her foot impatiently.
"I don't remember the spell you used, Professor...," he finally admitted under the laughter of his classmates.
"You're off to a good start," Madame Riva indicated, shaking her head. "Rictusempra, Mr. Boulanger, the reason your classmate was rolling on the floor laughing. What were you doing during that time? Perhaps daydreaming about your upcoming holidays at the academy? Considering your behavior and your results, there's no doubt you'll be spending the holidays with us again..."
Once again, laughter echoed as Auguste took on a reddish hue as shame overcame him. Hurt in his pride, he glared at his teacher, but she was not at all unsettled. On the contrary, she responded by flashing a mocking smile that only made her student blush even more; if Auguste wanted to cast a spell, he was certainly not in a very good mood.
"I'm waiting, Mr. Boulanger," she informed him, once again adopting the traditional combat posture.
"Rictusempra!" he exclaimed, pointing his wand directly at his teacher.
A white flash immediately shot out of his wand, but instead of aiming at Madame Riva's chest, the spell headed straight for her face. Perhaps by reflex, Madame Riva slightly tilted her head to the left to avoid it, and the spell barely grazed her. A thin stream of blood was already running down her cheek as the spell completed its course, crashing into the shelf behind her, causing the multiple books on it to explode. The room suddenly became very quiet, and most students, still unaware of the consequences of what had just happened, were waiting for their teacher to speak to confirm the failure of her student. Harry, however, was more apprehensive about what she was going to say because, like her, he had noticed that the spell was completely off and dangerous.
"A new failure to add to your record in this subject," declared Madame Riva, wiping away the blood from her wound with a thumb. "However, I expected better from you than a spell that could have killed me."
Gasps of disbelief were heard throughout the class, and even Auguste widened his eyes at this announcement.
"If I hadn't dodged your spell, the right half of my head would have exploded upon impact, "she informed him in a surprisingly calm voice for someone who had narrowly escaped death. "Rictusempra is a spell we covered last year, yet you are unable to cast it correctly without endangering the life of the person in front of you. What should we conclude from this, Mr. Boulanger? That it would be better for all of us if you repeated the second year?"
"N-no...," he stammered, alarmed.
"You don't pay attention in class, and you also allow yourself to chat with your classmates while I'm speaking and to bother your classmates... Tell me, Boulanger, do you really intend to leave this academy with your diploma and join the 4th Hussar Regiment?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her, her gaze fixed on his.
"Yes!" he immediately replied, falsely thinking that this time he might be expelled from the academy.
"Can someone tell me why your classmate here completely failed his spell?"
Only one hand went up, and it wasn't Harry's.
"Rivelli?" her teacher invited her, pointing to her with a hand gesture.
"Well, I'm not sure Boulanger performed the recommended gestures correctly. You're supposed to make two turns clockwise, then a half-circle in the same direction before giving a sharp blow with your wand downward. But he only did one wand turn and performed the last gesture by raising his wand towards your face. It also seems to me that he had a moment of hesitation in the pronunciation of his spell, which is highly detrimental to conveying the intention in our spell. Thirdly, and I think everyone here noticed, Boulanger wasn't in a good mood to cast his spell: He was upset, and when emotions take over a person's concentration, it severely affects them. Needless to say, with these three reasons, this spell was destined to fail."
Madame Riva remained silent, and Juliette momentarily thought she might have forgotten some details in her explanation. However, the slight nod she received after a while and the subsequent glance at Auguste reassured her otherwise. She couldn't help but smile when she heard her teacher address Boulanger again, confirming the impending punishment:
"I don't need to remind you of what will soon happen to you, Mr. Boulanger," she told him, repairing the damages caused by his spell with a wave of her wand. "Just hope that Mr. Montmorency will be lenient with you. As for your explanation, Mr. Rivelli, I must say I expected nothing less from you. Keep it up and follow the example of your tablemate, and I can assure you an outstanding career in this regiment. Now, take your seat, Boulanger. You will come to see me at the end of the hour so that we can together explain to Mr. Montmorency the reason why you are invited to another disciplinary session…"
Auguste responded with a brisk nod, then, in a foul mood, returned to his seat, doing his best to ignore the mocking comments as he passed.
"Now, open your books to page 18 and read the entire chapter on today's lesson," Madame Riva continued, returning to her desk. "Of course, in silence."
The rest of the class proceeded much more calmly than before, thanks to the theoretical part that had now taken over. Most students still hesitated to read pages from a book, especially when they still had some difficulties like Nicolas, but everyone did so in silence, even Auguste. An unexpected event broke the silence for the first time, but it was entirely external to the class: Voices from the street next to their classroom were heard loudly, accompanied by many hoofbeats and horse neighs. At that moment, no one understood what was happening, but it was only ten minutes later when an officer in official uniform, recognized by all as Lieutenant Colonel Pajol's aide-de-camp, came to knock on their door that the truth struck them: Their director was finally back at his academy. However, no one boasted of this discovery, and the man didn't give them the time, quickly speaking:
"Excuse me for disturbing your class, Madame Riva, but Mr. Lieutenant Colonel wishes to speak with Brigadier Bourbon as soon as possible," he said to Madame Riva. "Your student must immediately gather his belongings and follow me to his office."
"Very well," she replied as all eyes turned to Harry. "Bourbon, I don't need to tell you what to do... Just hurry not to disturb this class any longer..."
"Understood, Professor," Harry acknowledged, quickly packing his papers and books into his bag.
The task was quickly completed, but before leaving, Auguste allowed himself one last comment directed at Harry:
"Teacher's pet...," he muttered low enough not to be heard.
"Loser," Harry retorted, giving him a contemptuous smirk.
Auguste immediately turned red, but Harry had already turned his back to him to join the aide-de-camp. The man simply nodded when Harry reached him, and after closing the door behind them, they quickly headed to the director's office. It took them a few minutes, the time to change buildings and climb the few floors separating them from their destination. Harry noted in passing that many soldiers in uniforms, all too old now to be students here, had taken over many rooms and corridors of the academy, chatting loudly without really caring about the disruptions for the ongoing classes.
Only the corridor where the director's office was located was empty, and after the aide-de-camp knocked twice on the door and opened it, Harry noticed that, unlike others, Pajol had already immersed himself again in his administrative work, forgetting to remove his dolman and hat this time. His eyes briefly lifted when he wanted to recognize the person who had disturbed him, but at the sight of his upright and awaiting apprentice, the cutting remark he was about to throw at his disturber remained suspended in his throat:
"At ease," he simply said, turning his head again to return to his tasks. "Please, have a seat, Brigadier Bourbon. Dubourg, you may go; I no longer need your services for the moment."
Harry immediately complied, but Pajol didn't seem to want to address him right away. His attention was still captivated by the stack of papers he was quickly reading, sighing from time to time. Even the door slamming shut again in his office didn't seem to distract him. It wasn't until halfway through his reading that he gently pushed his pile to the side, redirecting his focus to his young apprentice, his features slightly drawn from fatigue:
"Administrative work is undoubtedly the most exhausting there is," he said, gesturing with his hand to the sheets he had just examined. "However, it is a tedious task to which every director must devote their time and energy."
"It's to your credit, sir," Harry replied. "I face the same difficulties myself when dealing with the financial and political affairs of our family..."
Pajol started to smile faintly, but it disappeared when he clenched an clay pipe between his lips, filled it with tobacco, and lit it with his wand. The smell soon wafted through the room, but neither of them minded; Harry knew that his director didn't pay much attention to his opinion when he was in his office.
"Have you read the books I recommended to you?" he asked, blowing into his pipe again.
"Of course," Harry replied. "Mother had a copy of each in our family library, and I didn't have to wait to buy them to read. I tackled this task throughout the summer."
"And what did you think?" he inquired, glancing distractedly at his own meticulously arranged book collection.
"I must say I never imagined that the Greek civilization was so advanced in the use and development of runes in the art of war," Harry confessed. "Reinforcing the hulls of triremes with runes powered by the one installed on the flagship is probably the second reason for the Greeks' success over their enemies, the first being forcing the battle in the narrow Strait of Salamis... I may be speculating, but with the Hellenistic influence on Roman civilization, that could explain Octavius's victory over Marc Antony at the Battle of Actium in -29... The conditions were similar, and the Roman army could very well have drawn inspiration from their former enemies to modernize their combat units..."
"An interesting analysis," Pajol replied, stroking his chin. "Indeed, magic has always played a significant role in every conflict, even more so during antiquity when it was not as scorned by Muggles as it is today. Nowadays, it is rare for a government to allow the use of magical processes on its military equipment... I think the only nation currently doing so is the United Kingdom, which would explain why its ships seem so invincible on the seas, but we have no evidence to affirm this, only speculations..."
He himself seemed lost in his own thoughts, and while absentmindedly scratching his chin, Pajol kept silent for a few seconds, staring into space.
"Hm... Mr.?" Harry timidly called.
"Sorry? Oh yes, excuse me; I almost forgot about our little weekly meeting..." he said, trying to regain composure. "So, you've read all the books I recommended... Be prepared for an examination on the subject soon."
"I am prepared," his student assured him, smiling slightly.
"I hope so because I will be uncompromising in the answers you provide. Now, let's move on to the second reason I asked you to come. I promised to resume our lessons when I returned at the beginning of this new school year. Unfortunately, I was somewhat delayed by events beyond my control that kept me away longer than I thought."
For the first time since he knew him, Harry thought he perceived a hint of sadness in his director's gaze, a look that almost seemed haunted. Had something unfortunate happened to him during his journey?
"It is always difficult for me to see comrades die, even more so when it comes to men under my command. But losing young people who were about to graduate from my school..."
"You... You mean that..." Harry began, slightly widening his eyes.
"Yes," his director simply replied, lowering his eyes to his desk. "The two students who left with me the previous year were about to graduate and become full-fledged hussars... Unfortunately, fate decided otherwise, and I didn't return two robust and combative men to their mothers but the weapons of two excellent soldiers who fell in battle."
His student couldn't help but swallow hard at the heavy image of two grieving women clutching the weapons of their sons that invaded his mind. Another image featuring Marie-Louise and Lily also appeared, and the sudden fear of dying on a battlefield and causing profound sadness to his entire family became even more pronounced. The horrors of war suddenly seemed much more dreadful than they had appeared before, and faced with this sad reality, he realized that life truly hung by a thread.
"Ho... How did they die, sir?" he couldn't help but ask.
"You don't need to know," his director replied in a stern tone, as if to command him never to ask him that question again. "Just know that the ardor of your youth must be moderated if you don't want to find yourself in dangerous situations where your life is more than endangered."
Perhaps realizing the cold tone he had just used, Pajol spoke again after a while, this time with a more friendly voice.
"I particularly wanted to meet the mothers of these two young men to pay my respects and personally return their sons' remains. I'm not used to doing this, but these men, still students in this school, were under my authority, and my mistake was to judge them fit for combat..."
At that moment, Pajol ran a hand through his hair while taking a deep breath. Obviously, he was trying to find the strength within him to address a topic that concerned Harry, but the latter did not bother to check directly through Legilimency; his director was too skilled to succumb to such a simple probe.
"Understand that with these recent events, and especially with the end of this endless war, I don't think it's intelligent of me to allow you to accompany me closely to the battles for the moment. You are not yet sufficiently prepared physically and psychologically."
"I understand perfectly, sir," Harry assured him, although deep down, he felt slightly disappointed.
"However, I won't stay here for long because I have obligations calling me to Paris. Consul Mr. Bonaparte expressly wishes to organize a meeting with all his generals to congratulate them on our victory over the Anglo-Austrian alliance and to award them all the honors they deserve."
At that moment, his gaze directly locked onto Harry's, and for a few seconds, no words were exchanged, as if the director were trying to judge with a single glance whether his student was worthy of something of which he was not aware.
"I never leave without a small escort to this kind of ceremony, and the 4th Hussar Regiment we represent has distinguished itself sufficiently in the campaigns we undertook over the last four years to have the distinguished honor of meeting the consul," he finally continued, standing up from his chair, both hands still placed on the desk.
"What does that have to do with me, sir?" Harry asked, looking surprised, although a small idea was already taking root in his mind.
As if to answer him, Pajol flashed an almost mocking smile. Eye to eye, he then threw a sentence at Harry, the consequences of which the young wizard was still unaware but which would greatly upset his future:
"I carefully choose my escort from the people I trust the most, and I think it would be interesting to present to Mr. Bonaparte the best element of this academy: you."
step into the world of PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n! Experience where tales unfold, magic ignites, and the future takes shape.
For exclusive support and early access to upcoming chapters, join us at PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n.
Note: Get the scoop a day before anyone else! Updates release on P.a.t.r.e.o.n before they hit FanFiction. Join us for free to read ahead!