8 Chapter 8: Dealings

Salim held a distinct fascination for magic—potions, spells, transfiguration, and all that fell within the realm of the mystical. This interest had been ingrained in him since childhood, leading to an accumulation of knowledge over the years. However, there were aspects of the magical world that held less allure for him, flying being a prime example.

In Salim's view, perched on a broom, cushion charm or not, felt utterly awkward. This sentiment had nothing to do with gender; it was entirely his lack of enthusiasm for flying—presumably.

That afternoon marked the Slytherin house's inaugural flying lesson with the Gryffindor house, an event Salim intended to skip. An excuse was needed to explain his absence. Time was scarce at the moment, given his involvement in Sierna's affairs and his ongoing efforts to persuade Snape to collaborate—an owl had brought troubling news the previous day. Besides, his personal studies of magic couldn't be neglected. He still had a small lesson to impart to Neville and Hermione later that evening, not to mention an extensive list of magical texts awaiting his perusal. The anticipation of constructing a time-turner only heightened Salim's eagerness.

After hastily filling his stomach during lunch, Salim made his way to the Gryffindor table. With the afternoon's flying lessons out of the question, he needed to clarify matters with Neville and the others.

As he passed by, Salim spotted Neville clutching a peculiar ball.

"This is a memory ball," Neville explained to his peers, back turned to Salim. "Grandma knows I'm forgetful, so this ball reminds you if you've forgotten something. Hold it like this, and if it turns red..." Neville's ball promptly turned red. "That means you've forgotten something."

"Indeed, Neville," Salim's soft voice came from behind him, "you seem to have forgotten our discussion, haven't you?"

Startled, Neville swiftly turned his head, a motion akin to a dislocated cervical spine. "Salim, oh my goodness, I remember now!" The memory ball turned white again.

Observing the unfolding scene, Salim knew the next voice without needing to glance: Ronald. "What are the Slytherin snakes doing in Gryffindor?"

"Now that you've recollected, be prepared, and I'll check tonight. Don't disappoint your grandmother, Neville." Salim brushed off Ronald's presence, giving Neville a reassuring pat before nodding at Hermione and taking his leave. He trusted the intelligent young witch to maintain Neville's newfound commitment.

Hermione's brows furrowed as Ronald continued muttering, leading Neville away. As of late, Hermione and Neville had been frequenting the quieter corners of Hogwarts, avoiding the bustling Gryffindor common room. Hermione's thirst for knowledge was apparent, and her determination to catch up with Salim's teachings was evident in every lesson.

Flying lessons held the same significance for first-year wizards as a computer class for elementary students. The novices exchanged exaggerated tales of their flying experiences, unwittingly portraying themselves as accomplished Quidditch champions.

Neville, however, remained silent. Having never mounted a broom before, his only prior experience with flight involved a tumble courtesy of Uncle Argyle. Hermione's approach was characteristically her own—absorbed in a flying guide, her nose buried in its pages.

"Hermione, Salim maintains that flying is a matter of innate talent. What's written in the book may not be of assistance." Neville's transformation was evident; his nerves no longer caused a stutter, except, of course, in Salim's presence.

"So what? I'm Muggle-born and have never flown before," Hermione fretted, the impending flying lesson causing her anxiety.

"I suppose that's true. Salim mentioned he's never flown and has no fondness for brooms." Neville and Hermione followed the group to the flying lesson's location. "That's why he doesn't attend; he despises flying," Neville whispered to Hermione.

Hermione found this aspect of Salim irksome. He valued charms, potions, and transfiguration above all else, relegating other subjects to a secondary status. Hermione believed that any Hogwarts course warranted serious study, without bias.

Flying lessons soon stirred tensions between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Neville's mishap resulted in a visit to the infirmary, while Harry and Draco engaged in a dispute over Neville's memory ball. Amidst the chaos, Hermione made a bold declaration: "If you tamper with Neville's belongings, I'll report it to Salim."

Harry, prompted by Hermione's assertion, seized the memory ball. Draco's discomfort was evident; a "Mudblood" had dared to threaten the young master of the Malfoy family.

"You insolent 'Mudblood,' dare you threaten me!" Draco's retort, void of forethought, only deepened the divide.

When Professor McGonagall intervened, a skirmish had already erupted. The aftermath was a collective deduction of 100 points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Draco, summoned by Snape's stern reprimand, departed with the memory of his ear being tugged by Professor McGonagall.

Salim regarded Professor McGonagall's retreating form, his contemplation interrupted by the entrance of Snape and Draco. In his memory, it was Professor McGonagall who had taken Harry to Wood, not Draco to Snape for flying lessons. Annoyance brewed within Salim, frustration at the interruption of his conversation with Snape.

"Professor Snape, Mr Malfoy insulted a Gryffindor student during the flying lesson, triggering a brawl between Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years. I've never witnessed such behaviour in all my years of teaching. I implore you to ensure Mr Malfoy acknowledges his mistake." Professor McGonagall concluded before noticing Salim's presence.

"Mr Selwyn, what brings you here? Weren't you attending the flying lesson? Skipping class is uncharacteristic of you." Professor McGonagall had a favourable impression of Salim, recognizing his diligence both in class and after hours.

"My apologies, Professor McGonagall. I had an urgent matter to discuss with Professor Snape. It won't happen again." Salim's admission was swift and sincere, a recognition that, when elders offer counsel, acquiescence is often the prudent course. He had no intention of complicating matters by challenging or evading explanations.

As Professor McGonagall exited, Snape's gaze settled on Draco.

"No repetitions."

With a deliberate pivot, Snape returned to his desk and closed the door.

In the confines of the office, Salim addressed Snape, "As I mentioned earlier, Professor, I require your assistance."

Throughout Hogwarts, Snape's favour toward Slytherins was renowned. Yet, it was a measured favour—a preference that seldom extended beyond its limits. Since receiving his grandfather's second letter, Salim had pondered strategies to enlist Snape's aid in the research and development of potions. The goal: a potion capable of rekindling the dormant magical potential within Squibs like Filch and Silna, a means to restore life to their stagnant magic.

Salim scoured through countless books, desperately seeking a potion that held the power he sought. In his desperation, he had even considered involving his grandfather, though he knew his grandfather's potion skills were limited. His grandfather had reached out to his colleagues, but their busyness left no room for assistance. With no other options, Salim reluctantly turned to Snape, knowing full well what he was up against.

The rejection didn't catch Salim off guard. He had expected Snape's initial refusal. When dealing with Snape, who wore a veneer of coldness over an inner fire, Salim knew how to navigate the situation.

"Avada Kedavra is an astounding spell, Professor Snape." Observing Snape's icy demeanour, Salim pressed on, "I'll spare you the details, but when Potter took a direct hit, he survived. It was Liliy Evans's Blood Protection that shielded him from death. Yet, that maniac..." Salim gestured toward Snape's arm, "The one who left his mark on you—let's just say, why did he survive? Professor Snape, do you know?"

"Is this of any concern to me?" Snape's gaze bore into Salim with an air of detachment, but Salim sensed the surge of Occlumency triggered by the mention of Harry's mother.

"Indeed, Professor, indeed. Are you familiar with the term 'Horcrux'?" Salim brushed off Snape's reaction and continued, "A 'Horcrux' is a concept that defies death. Its creator becomes invulnerable until the Horcrux is destroyed. So..." Salim grinned, leaving his sentence hanging.

Unconsciously, Snape clutched his left arm—the very spot where Voldemort's Dark Mark had been inflicted.

"Yes, he will return. The Headmaster probably didn't enlighten you on that." Salim surveyed the room, searching for a place to sit—aside from Snape's lap.

"Do you truly believe an ageing Dumbledore can thwart Voldemort? Protect Potter? Obliterate those Horcruxes and bring that lunatic to his end?" Salim yearned for a polymorph target, something that could transform into a chair. Alas, his search proved fruitless, and he remained standing.

"You propose a farce." Snape's voice was tinged with scepticism as he eyed Salim's fidgeting. "Do you honestly think I care whether Potter lives or dies?"

"Professor," Salim pivoted to face Snape, "I assure you, I'm not here to entertain. I approach you with sincerity." Approaching Snape's desk, Salim rested his hands upon its surface and locked eyes with Snape. "Don't mistake me for ordinary wizards; my knowledge extends far beyond your imagination."

Snape remained unmoved.

"Very well, Professor Snape, I extend one final proposition: if you assist me with the potion, I'll arrange for you to meet someone." Salim's smile was enigmatic. "Lily Evans."

In a swift motion, Snape stood, his gaze piercing Salim's.

"Professor, your lack of scruples is surprising." Salim looked away, his tone tinged with awkwardness. "Aren't you concerned your brusque Legilimency might render me an imbecile?"

"She's deceased." Snape's steady voice masked the tremor beneath, a tremor Salim felt keenly.

"Ah, indeed, she is gone," Salim gestured for Snape to resume his seat. "Surviving a blood curse is a rarity, surpassing even survival from the Killing Curse."

Summoning Snape to compose himself, Salim pressed on, "Potter's mother invoked the blood curse, though I'm uncertain how she acquired the knowledge. Regardless, she employed it. No wizard using the blood curse can remain unscathed."

"Setting magic aside, let's delve into life." Salim's eyes darted around the room, his demeanour bashful. "But before we proceed, Professor, could you conjure a chair? Your office is brimming with bottles and cans, and I'm struggling to locate a suitable target for my spell."

Salim's Transfiguration prowess was limited to altering matter, not conjuring objects from thin air as a seasoned metamorphmagus could.

Snape raised his wand.

"Ah, Professor, perhaps a chair with a backrest?" Salim figured he might as well ask, considering the circumstances. Besides, for Snape, the difference between a chair and one with a backrest was likely inconsequential.

"Thank you." Salim settled onto the conjured chair. "Now, let's delve into the topic of life."

For most wizards, the study of life remained beyond their purview. Those who did venture into this realm typically focused on the body and soul. Salim, however, had gleaned insights from the writings of a wizard named Herpo the Fouk, revealing a tripartite existence: body, soul, and consciousness. The body housed the soul, while the soul enveloped consciousness. All three components were requisite for a complete life. Hogwarts' ghosts, often perceived as spirits, were remnants of consciousness rather than true spirits, a misconception among most wizards.

In general, when the body could no longer sustain the soul, death occurred. Yet, the soul didn't instantly dissipate—it aged much like the body. When the soul reached a certain state of decay or the will waned, an individual's existence faded into nothingness.

Lily Evans had relinquished her physical form as part of the blood curse's price, safeguarding Potter from Voldemort's malevolence—an embodiment of Lily's resolute will.

Human interaction often relied on physical means—vocal cords, mouths, and tongues—superficial vessels for the deeper exchange of consciousness. Communication transcended the physical realm; writing and even eye contact facilitated profound connection. Thus, as long as Lily Evans' will endure, communication remained plausible. However, lacking a corporeal form, conventional methods couldn't bridge the gap between the living and the departed.

"Professor Snape," Salim retrieved a parchment from his trunk and placed it before him, "if you assist me in completing this potion, ensuring its efficacy, I'll grant you an audience with Lily Evans."

Salim rose, locking eyes with Snape, whose numbness had given way to intensity.

"Professor, the timing of your reunion with her hinges on your cooperation in brewing the potion."

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