Effects

Effects

The nonverbal levicorpus lifted the first student before he had the time to fully understand what was going on, a friend of his appeared from another alcove while I twirled on myself and my wrist moved with a corkscrew pattern: "Expelliarmus!"

The red bolt of the spell streaked across the corridor and shone upon the surprised face of my target just before impacting against his mid-section.

Caught on the backfoot, the remaining two students floundered for a reaction, and for a second, I left the here and now behind: I remembered the thrumming exaltation that rang through me when I lit a golden flame to attract the werewolves in the french countryside, and the deep need for the shield I had transfigured out of wood while my heart hammered in my chest.

Powered by my need and underlying understanding of the magic involved, my shield charm took shape in a bubble around me: it stood like a translucent outline, separating me from the rest of the corridor. Ineffective spells impacted against my shield without managing to even make it waver: I felt each of them almost like sparks of unexpected tastes on my tongue, like minute needles impacting my skin without causing any damage.

Behind my protection, I ignored a plethora of jinxes and standard dueling charms while I rose my wand once again: three silent levicorpus and a stunning charm later, I was left facing the last of this quartet of idiots, who had long since fallen into a frenzied panic in witnessing a defense that allowed me complete freedom of movement. In my mind, the sturdiness of the shield didn't waver: the principle behind it had been used against werewolves, it was the same push without name that I had used to tear one of those off my back. How could a mere student hope to overwhelm it?

I stunned the first student I had upended and the one I had disarmed without bothering focusing on their features: I had recognized the little leader of this group. Smarter than the other, he was the last one standing, not that it was going to help him any. I was so beyond any regular student that it wasn't even funny: how could they, who limited themselves to waving wands and shouting nonsense, prevail upon a half-giant that constantly challenged any preconception, who had delved deeper and deeper into the underlying, implicit principles of magic?

My expelliarmus impacted the hastily erected shield of my remaining opponent just as I stabbed forward with my wand in the final movement of the stunning charm: the red bolt of magic shattered the defense of my opponent in time for me to slip the always useful non-verbal levicorpus.

I left the bubble-shaped shield charm behind as I approached the only conscious attacker that remained, and I was about to stun him too, excitement bubbling in my veins, when I stopped.

I didn't even try to get out of this with words. I grimaced inwardly as I observed the scared kid that flailed aimlessly in the hold of my levicorpus and I knelt to retrieve the wands of the idiots that thought coming after me was a good idea. Hadn't I proved in my first year that I should be left alone? Slytherin students were the most likely to have a bone to pick with me, being so massively different from them, it was only to be expected that my uncaring attitude would engineer resentment. One Slytherin, one Griffindor, two Hufflepuffs: it'd be a good example of inter-house collaboration if not for the context.

"Why would you think that attacking me could end in any way but this?" in class, I never bothered hiding my skill in the practical execution of spells, besides, performing them to the best of my ability more often than not prevented me from having to deal with the more intense homework that the professor felt would help those struggling with achieving success.

Given that I was still pissed, and partly at myself, I stared in the eyes of the upside-down kid in front of me: I had almost religiously practiced Occlumency exercises since I awoke in Hagrid's body, to the point that clearing my mind was the first step for any magic that I tried to execute without incantation or wand movement. But this particular branch of magic was simply one side of the coin: it boiled down to awareness of the self, versus awareness of another.

Once again, the there and then were left behind for an instant of nothingness while the feeling of reaching forward was matched with the quiet stealth of the shadows that I was so familiar with: and for a brief instant, I was the breath drawing into the boy's lungs, the light entering the scared wide pupil of his eyes.

"Stupefy." the kid hung limply in the air after my stunning charm impacted him, my excitement for the fight, which had turned into partial disbelief at my actions, was souring into a stab of deep-seethed annoyance.

I freed the two students levitating in the air and dragged them all against one side of the corridor without thinking about it: my mind was focused on the image of dark hair, smooth hair, and fair features of one Tom Riddle. Of course, he'd be involved.

Noticing the hour, I strode purposefully towards my meeting with Black, a quiet rage simmering in my chest as I loosened my tie and shed my outer robes: maybe my previous warming charm had been a bit too strong, maybe the brief fight caused it, but deep down I knew that it was indecision that bit at me.

The mind exerts Will, the body has Strength, magic holds Power, and the soul is a reflection of them all. I didn't know if Tom had divined it on his own, had already managed to access some forbidden knowledge, or even found the Chamber. With that thought, my free hand distractedly touched the thumb-sized, transfigured wooden rooster that remained quiet in my pocket: I had a contingency more or less ready for that situation, but that wasn't my main problem.

Riddle is dangerous. I did not know if casual camaraderie that I engineered to exploit him was only skin-deep, I didn't know if he simply pretended in all of his interactions with me, or if I had managed to get to him before Voldemort rooted itself in his soul. I had allowed myself to forget just what he could become: maybe blinded by the regular, insightful help that I extracted from him, I hadn't yet attempted to kill him.

And now I had just been attacked by four students, four children, that thought their only way to feel adequate was by putting down someone different than them. Hadn't I noticed the absolute cleverness of Tom when we discussed the history of the Magical World? Didn't I worry about how powerful he could become if I left him alone?

Now we have it: four kids turned unreasonably violent because they cannot hope to be anything but shadows in the service of a higher being. Riddle had carefully avoided to be directly linked with those students, I knew that there would be no proof whatsoever linking the attack on me with Tom, Hell, maybe he didn't even intend for them to target me.

I ducked under a tapestry and kept power-walking, hoping to calm down before reaching my destination: "He's just so fucking useful."

The real problem wasn't his growing influence or power, the problem wasn't my casual decision to resort to violence: the problem was that even now, the only thing that came to mind when I imagined a world without Riddle -ignoring the issue of how I'd actually go about killing him- was that I'd lose his insight, and I could only focus on how that would stymie my own growth.

I abandoned my musings only once I reached the door of the empty classroom where I was to meet with the student I was meant to tutor, and I resorted to Occlumency to push aside my self-doubt and recrimination: I wouldn't cater to the whims of the Black Heir, but Slughorn hadn't been wrong in pointing out how helpful a friendship with him could be, and the prefect-to-be hadn't erred in underlying the eventual need for money of many of my projects.

I had some ideas to make that money: simple knowledge of Microsoft and Apple's existence, as well as the economic mess that 2008 would turn out to be, was enough to guarantee me a massive amount of capital, eventually. The problem was that I'd need the money sooner rather than later, and of course, every minute spent on making that money would be a minute stolen from my higher pursuit of Magic.

I entered the small classroom and immediately took notice of the potion equipment arrayed against one wall, and the multitude of ingredients that Slughorn had gracefully made available strewn in organized sections over a white cloth on a few rows of desks.

"You're late." the startlingly blue eyes of Orion Black were narrowed in distaste as I turned my attention towards him.

He was dressed properly: his outer robes buttoned up, his tie properly secured around his neck, and six meters of unyelding, thorny wood up his ass: "A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to."

When my words were met with the unimpressed expression Orion Black was so adept at, I shrugged: "I've been delayed." I dropped my outer robes and satchel over an empty desk and strode forward, thinking about how to actually teach something that had made sense to me since the first time Slughorn had shown us the very basics.

However, my eyes had been on the Black Heir when I spoke, and I didn't miss the knowing expression that briefly painted itself across his features: "You know something." I accused him, receiving a mocking tilt of the head in turn.

"Of course, I heard that there was something afoot, but it wasn't about me." Orion shrugged uncaringly, "I didn't know you'd be the target, of course, and I refrained from taking part, as it is beneath me, I'm a Black, not some kind of monkey."

"You're Orion, and not a mere Black." I added mockingly, turning my attention back towards the ingredients, the many standard combinations jumping to my eyes like well lit signs.

"Perhaps." the Black Heir slid across the floor with a grace he had clearly been trained foor, and soon enough he was hovering next to me, "So? How did you plan to proceed?"

I turned towards him with a raised eyebrow: "It depends."

"On what?"

I grabbed a pair of cauldrons and filled them with water readily available from a barrel placed against one wall before settling them both over unlit burners: "On if you want a to merely achieve an Exceed Expectations, or to actually learn the subtle and complex art of Potion Making."

The face of the older Slytherin was impassible as he fought himself: his distaste for the subject was clear to see every time his eyes landed upon the ingredients, which he'd have to touch with is bare hands, and were oftentimes quite disgusting, and the deep seethed need of all Slytherins to aim for the stars.

Cautious as he had undoubtedly been taught to be, he offered a question in turn: "What would the two paths differ in?"

I simply shrugged, as I walked among the desks covered with leftover ingredients, making a mental inventory of what we had to work with: "The only way for a moderately intelligent wizard to not achieve at least an Exceed Expectations with potions calibrated for people with no idea of what they're doing is if you don't treat the ingredients properly before adding them to the brew." I glanced at him to let him know that I had already spotted a possible problem, revealing that I was more insightful than what my frame would suggest -I had never seen him brew anything after all- "On the other hand, truly understanding what Potions are opens a veritable universe of possibilities, it'd merely require more time for you to learn it."

"And of course, more of your effort..." the Slytherin fourth year crossed his hands behind the small of his back, straightening it even more, "In exchange for what, I wonder?"

"We'll get squared on that later." I dismissed his concern: "I've never had to teach this stuff, so I can simply hammer into you the techniques to handle the ingredients despite your disgust for them, and maybe I'll succeed in making you a mediocre potioneer, or I can attempt to open your eyes, and make you witness the beauty you're now so blind to."

"I hardly think that it'd be proper for me to enjoy such menial tasks." Orion was unimpressed with my words, but despite myself, I found myself curious about what I could turn this more or less bratty kid into: if what Minerva said was true, the Charms Professor wanted a fourth year to get started on the NEWT curriculum, and that was pretty extraordinary, as far as normal wizards and witches went.

When will it happen again? I grinned while I started to unashamedly quote a man that wasn't yet born: "If we succeed in making you see, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses." I crossed my arms and minutely tilted back my chin, "I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stop to death."

Despite himself, I spotted the faintest gleam of interest in the eyes of the Black Heir as his arms came to rest at his sides, only for his expression to close off once more: "It sounds like a lot of work, and I won't make deals without knowing all that they entail."

I sighed in annoyance, rolling my eyes at the unnatural adult-ness of the 14 years old wizard in front of me: "I hadn't thought that far ahead... I don't know, you made up some good points when I mentioned my hazy plans to cross-breed what I'd need for new potions, I might ask for some help in setting up something that'd allow me to research without wasting my time on making money."

"Economic counsel?" Orion tilted his head as he considered the implications, "Maybe some patronage, or introductions to someone in a position of helping you?"

I sighed in annoyance, a grimace naturally appearing on my face: "My ambitions are what landed me in our House, but I have no patience for politicking, as you've noticed, the word games constantly feel like a waste of time."

Now that we were essentially bargaining, my mind returned to my previous problem: what was I going to do about Riddle? At the same time, hoping to nudge the kid toward considering learning actual Potion-Making as something even more valuable than what he thought of it at the moment, my hands started to pilifer the needed ingredients while I lit the fire under one of the cauldrons.

Petals were taken from the flowers and a silver of a shed Unicorn's horn was reduced into powder with a stone pestle, I took three thorns from one stem and dropped them whole between one counterclockwise stirring and the three clockwise ones that followed.

Strike back against the teenagers that got off on fighting those that they perceived as beneath them? What was the point? I could see that their sudden willfullness came from a fire stoked by Riddle's words. Of course, the best end-solution would be something to rein in Riddle without alienating him... but how? I didn't know if Tom had deliberately directed those fools against me, and I wouldn't even bother looking for proof. Why would Riddle start playing games with me now of all times?

"Have you considered that your beasts could provide the money needed to maintain them?" Orion asked idly, his eyes eagerly observing on my working hands.

"It'd take time to reach a stable creature, even longer to figure out a balanced ecosystem, and as you've pointed out, it'd take money that I'd have yet to produce to prepare for herds of whatever I'd end up creating." I more or less shot down his solution while my mind returned to my problem.

As I started pouring the powdered horn into my brew, shifting from a silver ladle to a wooden one to add a single snail in the gently bubbling cauldron, yy memory, almost without my consent, went back to the changed Rùnda and to the recent meeting held with the Slug Club, and I had my answer. For all of his undeniable cleverness, Tom was simple enough to read. But had so little managed to unsettle him so much as to resort to some sort of third-degree bullying? The answer was clear enough.

How Petty. But I could be petty too, in fact, I could do so without Riddle being even aware of it, if I was careful enough. One of the Horcruxes he'd build one day was going to be a ring with the Resurrection Stone wasn't it?

And just like that, I knew what I was going to do during the Winter Holidays that Tom spent at Hogwarts: I didn't know what I'd use it for, or if I'd even get to use it, after all, I had no idea how much Death was an actual thing in this reality, but I was going to take away Gaunt's ring before Tom could discover of its existence. Only because his actions had caused a minor annoyance to me.

"The solution would be in turning a single creature, one that you don't necessarily need to be able to replicate, nor one that you'd need to further your research, into something valuable." Orion's voice buzzed in my ear, but while he wasn't wrong, after all, I'd obviously stumble upon many creatures that would be a dead-end, both magically and genetically speaking, I still wasn't hearing a solution that'd allow me to be independent while keeping up with my research.

Orion kept offering bland insights into my problem while I kept up with my demonstrative brewing, keeping track of the changing smells and colours contained by the cauldron that almost sang in delight under my care. I had added the whole snail applying to it the same reversing-of-properties that had allowed me to turn the reflection of the moon into something that opposed the cursed nature of werewolf bites: in a matter of minutes, the concept of 'sluggishy slow' that the slug exemplified was turned into a catalyst.

"There we are." the brew turned into a silvery white mixture that let blue sparks in the air, and without hesitation, I transfigured two silver knives that I hadn't used for my demonstration in two glasses, one opportunely sized for my hand. I filled them both and handed the smaller one to the wide eyed Orion.

He took it while his eyebrows rose towards his scalp: "I hope you don't think that I'm going to drink this... whatever it is."

"Reasonable help in exchange for reasonable help." I spoke as I swirled my larger glass, the brew freeing blue sparks in the air that I knew should feel like sparkled water on my tongue, but my dark eyes never left the deep blue ones of the Black Heir.

"I first brewed the Moonshine months ago, but back then it took me a whole night, this is far less powerful, but it took me less than an hour." I grinned above the edge of the silver cup, "Spectacular what changes can be wrought when one knows what he's doing, no?"

"Who'd decide what 'reasonable' means?" Orion kept the stick up his ass without even noticing, and I downed my drink with three deep gulps.

Sparks danced on my tongue while the warmth of the brew betrayed the crisp freshness synthesized from the ingredients, and a I after placing the empty cup on the nearest table, I turned once more towards Orion, who was looking at me like he had just noticed how absolutely mad I could go: "We shall both agree on a case by case basis, for now, I'd like to try and teach you properly, if we succeed, well, we'll see what comes after won't we?"

The Black Heir found himself nodding in agreement despite his previous reticence: it was hard to not be impressed after the spectacle that I had just provided, and I nodded back just in time for a witch to enter without knocking: I was about to caustically remark on her presence when I noticed the badge on her breast.

"Rubeus Hagrid?" the Ravenclaw prefect that entered the room was a blonde girl with a smattering of freckles cast across her nose: "Professor Dumbledore is waiting you in his office."

What for? I raised an eyebrow and made to ask before the memory of my most recent scuffle flashed before my eyes, "Of course, I'll be there immediately."

Seeing that her message had been delivered, the prefect turned on her heel and left the room without even looking at Orion, who had tilted his head curiously: "Of course, if you're expelled, nothing of what we agreed upon ill ever come to pass."

I scoffed in his direction as I grabbed my stuff: "Don't be a smartass, Orion."

While I left the room, my mind was already started to work on how I'd go about stealing the Resurrection Stone for myself.

The office of Albus Dumbledore was a small rectangular study located off of the first-floor corridor, to the right of a staircase ascending directly to the third floor. A single, imposing desk dominated the whole space, illuminated by tall, leaded windows overlooking the green expanse of the Hogwarts Ground, while against the walls on either side of the room there were tall shelves filled to the brim with books and uncountable knick-knacks.

Albus let his blue eyes jump from place to place as he entered his office, and he had to smother a smile: as always, the room was characterized, at least in his eyes, by a barely contained merriment. The enchanted shelves contained more trinkets than what they should have been able to, his selection of tomes described an arabesque of possibilities that folded one into another, all the while the sun entered boldly from the windows only to dance across the feathers of a gold and red phoenix, who was resting on the back of the Transfiguration Professor's favorite chair.

"Fawkes," he greeted the fire bird, "I see you've returned from your wandering: a pity that you missed the chance of meeting young Minerva, I think you'd like her."

The phoenix lifted his regal head from under his wing, regarding the wizard with an understanding that defied description, and trilled a reassuring note that brought a chuckle on Albus' lips: "Ah, well, there will be other chances... the student about to arrive is another upon which I'd appreciate your insight, my friend."

A soft warble accompanied the phoenix's sudden flaring of wings, and after a single flap, the swan-sized rapacious bird glided over another chair placed next to an open window, his dark eyes never leaving the deep blue ones of the Transfiguration Professor.

A loud knocking on the door made Albus complete his walk towards his desk, behind which he sat while calling out: "Come in!"

The unnaturally tall Slytherin that sported his usual mane of unruly, shaggy black hair walked in with his head held high, robes folded over his left arm to reveal the slightly loosened green and silver tie around his neck, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows: immediately, his dark eyes landed on Fawkes, and for an instant, his feet stopped moving.

Albus looked interestedly as sheer wonder painted itself across the student's face: it was easy to see in the slightly open mouth, in the breath catching in his throat, in the twitch of his hands as if he wanted to jump forward to touch the majestic firebird.

After a split second, a wide smile opened on his features, his walk resuming at a much more subdued pace until he came to a stop at a respectful distance from the phoenix: "I hope you know what you're doing, buddy."

How interesting. The Transfiguration Professor leaned back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap as he decided to wait before reprimanding the student for not dressing properly and not addressing the member of the faculty that had summoned him.

Fawkes instead simply remained still as it observed the unnaturally tall Slytherin with the same intensity that characterized all of its serious moments. Long seconds passed with the young wizard staring in the eyes of the immortal magical creature, a challenging grin taking the place of the awed smile that appeared at the beginning of the confrontation when Fawkes limited itself to ruffling his feathers.

Wide-eyed and with just a hint of trepidation in his stance, Hagrid used his right hand to bring to bear his wand: instead of holding it as if he was going to cast a spell, however, he simply let it rest flat on his large palm, as if in offering, and Albus' mind, after he noticed the knowing glint in the phoenix's black eyes, connected the dots faster than it was reasonable.

The Transfiguration Professor had personally cajoled Fawkes into offering two of his feathers to Garric at the wandmaker's request, years before, but he hadn't heard of them since. After all, a wand could reveal much of its wielder, and Ollivander's had a strict policy of confidentiality. For the life of his, Albus couldn't divine a situation in which Garric would freely reveal that information.

The wheel turns. Apparently Rubeus Hagrid had been chosen by one of the wands crafted with Fawkes' feathers as a core. But how would he know? And what is his purpose now?

Fawkes trilled a single high and determined note, which was answered with a shrugging motion by the Slytherin student: "I'm working on it... there's more than one way to skin a cat."

What a horrible saying. "I hope you didn't use such sayings around young Minerva, Mr. Hagrid, have a seat."

Reluctantly, and exchanging one last longing glance with Fawkes, the unnaturally tall student walked towards the chair placed in front of Albus' desk, enlarging it silently with a tap of his wand before returning it to a pocket in his trousers.

The Transfiguration Professor held back both an apology for not having enlarged the seat himself, a reprimand for using magic without permission, and a praise for the precise non-verbal casting. His interaction with Fawkes distracted me.

"Several students reported that," and Dumbledore peered at the much younger wizard from above his half-moon glasses when he spoke those words, his tone peremptory, "you attacked them and left them without their wands afterwards, also, I can confirm that you didn't alert any member of the faculty of what had occurred."

"I'm sure that those several idiots didn't mention how they cornered me to engineer a confrontation that they were too incompetent to win." Hagrid fished out of one of his pockets the wands of those he had defeated and safely placed them on the desk of the Transfiguration Professor.

"There will none of that language, here, Mr. Hagrid," Albus chided firmly, his eyes briefly darting to the wands in order to reassure himself of their unblemished state, "and you claim that they were the instigators?"

"I have no interest, need, or gain from fighting with mediocre nobodies that I'll forget about in a few days." the shrug was so casually dismissive, so painfully arrogant, that Dumbeldore couldn't help but frown.

Yes, I can see how he manages to get along with Tom Riddle. His stern visage still in place, the Transfiguration professor simply shook his head, and matching the cadence of the words he had just listened to, hoping that it would help to get the message across, he spoke: "Nevertheless, you understand why it isn't acceptable for students to perform unsanctioned, unregulated, unsupervised duels in the corridors?"

"There is an inherent risk in every act of violence that an actual tragedy might unfold." Rubeus started counting on his fingers, his eyes gleaming with cleverness as he spoke between lips tilted in a wry smile: "People shouldn't get used to resorting to violence as a first answer because on the long term it generates a populace of brutes. And wizards like to pretend that they're not animals heavily influenced by the most basic of instincts, resorting to violence shakes that belief, which in turn causes tensions that few are equipped to handle properly."

A part of Albus' mind started immediately to dissect what he had just been told, while the minor fraction of his focus remained on the conversation going on: "Also, it's against the rules."

The Slytherin student seemed to actually startle at that addiction, only to nod with another faint upwards twitch of his lips: "Well, yes, there is that: those I listed are some of the reasons why those rules are in place."

The Albus held back a sigh: "I think you'll have to write some lines..."

"Uh, so you actually make people write lines for detention?" the surprised tone of the Slytherin student managed to summon a sparkle of curiosity in Dumbeldore.

Ignoring the rude interruption, even if he frowned at the much younger wizard in what was a bland reprimand, the Transfiguration professor asked: "Are you disappointed?"

The unnaturally tall Slytherin rose his hand and made a pinching motion with his fingers, keeping them apart by a narrow margin: "A bit: writing the same thing, again and again, is tedious and doesn't really do anything but make my mind wander while my hands go on until they cramp."

"Maybe that'd teach you the consequences of your actions." Dumbeldore rose an unimpressed eyebrow, "Also, I'm rescinding your Hogsmeade Privileges for the rest of the year, as apparently you cannot be trusted to act in a civil manner when unsupervised around your peers in the school, nevermind the village."

The unnaturally tall Slythering accepted the stated punishment without even a twitch, hunching forward on his seat after exchanging another glance with Fawkes, who stared back impassively. "Ah, but the mechanism of forcing a child to associate 'detention' with 'bad behavior' doesn't quite work on me, not in this case I'm afraid." Hagrid grinned openly, an odd light shining in his eyes: "For one, I'd consider detention for the rest of the year an acceptable price for outshining those lackluster people even in an ambush they implemented on me." Albus narrowed his eyes at the ironic tone the student had used to refer to his peers, but let it go, as he had refrained from calling them 'idiots' once more.

"Secondly," the unnaturally tall Slytherin rose two fingers of his right hand," given that of course it's clear to you what were the correct actions to take, I think it'd be more effective, in terms of me learning my lesson, of course, for you to explain what you'd have done, to convince me that my choices were flawed: this is how a lesson sticks, I think."

"I'm not required to explain myself to you, young man," a displeased frown etched itself on the Transfiguration Professor's features then, "and disrespecting your elders isn't doing you any favors, do not think that the staff hasn't noticed your barely acceptable behavior: you'll do as your told because we are the staff, and you're a student, it's that simple."

"I'm sorry professor, and I want to make clear that I have the utmost respect for you and admire your accomplishments," Hagrid sounded almost genuine when he spoke, "but I can't truly bear to play the part of a child caught misbehaving when I think I'm in the right."

"Mr. Hagrid, you're thirteen." Albus stressed out as he sat straighter in his chair: how could it be that a boy as brilliant as Rubeus undoubtedly was, couldn't see how unacceptable his behavior was?

"Bah, age is just a number, wisdom can be found in the oddest of places..." Hagrid gestured dismissively with his hands while his eyes darted again towards the phoenix perched nearby: "Maybe I was just born with an old soul."

Fawkes gave an amused squawk right there and then, only to proceed to fly out of the window immediately after. Shaking his head minutely, Albus tried another way to reach out to the boy: "What would you expect a detention to entail?"

"Well, for starters, to talk about what has happened and what I did wrong." Hagrid had the audacity of outright grinning as he spoke, "And then to underline what a proper, acceptable reaction would have been like. Even if I'm not sure we can manage that without a little bit of hypocrisy showering us on the way."

Intrigued despite himself, the older wizard rose an eyebrow, inviting the student to go ahead, and silently indicating that expected Hagrid to elaborate on what he meant by Hypocrisy.

"Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus." the Slytherin positively oozed smugness as he rolled his massive shoulders, "It's the school's motto, isn't it? If we are honest about it, I acted exactly as a Hogwarts' student should, and showed those barely average wizards that actions have consequences that may go beyond their expectations: the idea of tickling a sleeping dragon might be funny, but they'll think twice before a repeat performance."

"Ah, but the victims," Dumbeldore stretched the word with a particularly stern tone, "all agree on the fact that you were the first to cast a spell."

"And since when the voice of the many was enough to swap a truth with a lie?" Hagrid seemed supremely unconcerned with what was going on, his attention returning to the window that Fawkes had just left through: "In any case, it doesn't matter much."

"I find your disinterest and dismissal of the gravity of the situation to be quite worrying," Dumbledore spoke softly but his blue eyes were like chips of ice, "we're talking about a grave offense, and you insist on thinking that it doesn't matter much?"

"Well, ultimately, without a reliable witness, and the parts involved in a scuffle are never reliable by definition, the truth of the events cannot be confirmed." the unnaturally tall Slytherin shrugged once more, as if declaring that particular topic closed.

That'd be true enough, and if this was a court, it would be relevant. It was hard to not like the rhetoric banter that the third-year student had chosen to defend himself with, but Dumbeldore had a duty to guide and direct all the children that entered Hogwarts, and despite his uncanny intelligence and maturity, Rubeus was still exactly that, a child: "Nevertheless, a student of your intellect could have contrived a way to avoid violence, couldn't you?"

"I could have used long words to confuse them and to slip away." Rubeus hummed, his eyes rising towards the ceiling as if he was considering that situation for the first time, "But that would only have delayed the problem: but I cannot explain the shades of a sunset to the blind, I needed to use a tongue they could understand, and as they sought violence, this was the fastest method to have them back off for the rest of their time in this hallowed halls."

"Well, considering your well-argumented objections," Dumbledore spoke with a barely restrained smile under his white beard when he saw an almost hopeful surprise blossom on Hagrid's face, "you'll have no issues in writing three separate essays of two feet each on 'Why violence isn't acceptable in the corridors', 'Why students are to follow the rules', and 'Why you should be respectful to the staff and other students alike'. Let's say, for the next week: and be aware that I expect an exceptional quality in each of the essays, Mr. Hagrid."

Oddly enough, the problematic younger wizard seemed outright pleased by this detention: "This sounds entirely more effective, I agree."

Still, the Slytherin student seemed too satisfied for Dumbledore's tastes, and so he added: "Of course, the banishment from visiting Hogsmeade also stands."

"Of course." Rubeus simply nodded with a quirky grin, casting another glance at the window Fawkes had flown out of before looking back at the Transfiguration Professor, "May I go now?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath at the absolutely unapologetic boy sitting in front of him. One of the feathers of Fawkes had become part of a wand that chose that boy, and while Albus was impressed that such a young man could recognize in a split second the hazy connection that the wand could hold with the phoenix, it didn't help the Transfiguration Professor in how to deal with his misbehavior.

It was interesting that he'd argue so clearly to be treated more as an adult that made an honest mistake than the misguided child he was, and Albus was willing to try his method, if only to check whether he actually believed what he said or if he simply found the mindless boredom found in writing lines a worse punishment than having to write and argument three different essays.

There was also the absolutely unconcerned reaction to his banishment from visiting Hogsmeade, which would have struck any other third-year student quite harshly. I wouldn't want to ban him from his extra-curricular studies. Albus of course knew of the classroom that the student had repurposed as a specialized potion station, and he could forbid Rubeus from it for a few months, but Hogwarts was a school, and withholding knowledge in a place of learning sat ill with the Transfiguration Professor.

"You may go." the aged wizard nodded thoughtfully, and his exceptional brain kept running on those topics a he observed the retreating back of the unnaturally tall Slytherin. Where before he had assumed the boy's quirks as a result of the difficult life one so different had to live, now he simply felt that there was something he wasn't understanding about the third-year student.

And without his conscious input, a part of his rather exceptional mind started to churn about Rubeus Hagrid: picking apart all that Albus knew about him only to analyze it under different perspectives and put it together once more. How interesting.

AN

the fight:

Of course, while I've built up to this situation for it to be this way, the main strength of this chapter was not the fighting, but the chat with Dumbledore, with only a bit of the blatant parallelism I'm keeping up with the MC and Riddle.

I know that I 'wasted' a few chapters worth of this fic on McGonagall, Riddle, Dumbledore, Black, and Slughorn: but as I have said, a first-person Pov isn't enough to build the kind of massive fic I want Meddling Giant to be, I need meaningful supporting characters that are not one-dimensional. Having said that, now that I've worked on the 'background' characters a bit, I'll be able to power through much of the remaining years at Hogwarts only with the MC's POV, this should speed up the whole thing.

As I had begun revealing with his first lessons of both Charms and Transfiguration, I can now confirm that incantations and wand movements are crutches more than anything else (it was the only way for me to explain accidental magic in this setting): you've seen the MC do something with his wand and a little fight that I used to showcase the main difference between how he casts magic and how all the other students do so.

The only thing that came to mind (to justify the pervasive and almost mandatory existence of incantations (that make no sense) and wand movements), besides the epidemic laziness that some authors use to justify why any SI is capable of doing stuff no other manages to, is that incantations and wand movements speed up considerably the casting of any kind of spell. That's all there is to it: with deep understanding or not, incantations 'trigger' a mental pattern in the wizard or witch (like a mnemonic device to remember a specific paragraph of a book), that immediately generates the 'spell' (relative to that mental pattern). This of course has the effect of making a large arsenal of spells a viable (and almost mandatory) necessity for any adult wizard or witch.

On the other hand, relying on the proven and true method that Minerva is starting to leave behind with her 'superior transfiguration' (but only in regards to Transfiguration) limits the flexibility of the wizard: as I've underlined in this chapter, Hagrid uses the usual, banal spells to attack, but his shield, which formes much more slowly, remains up almost independently.

What Hagrid performed in chapter 6 with his wand and the concept of fire, isn't something that could be achieved in the same way with an 'incendio'. What I am trying to say is that incantations refer to spells that (varying a bit from wizard to wizard, based upon the individual's characteristics such as ability, practice, and attitude) have always the same effect. 'Incendio' cannot be manipulated to generate a fire-whip, no matter how much one trains with it, because 'incendio' generated a burst of fire, period.

Of course, if someone hammered on it long enough, 'Incendio' could be the starting point, and practice and determination could allow the wizard to then generate a fire-whip. That is to say that the fire-whip would be a more or less unconscious application of Hagrid's method after the standard casting of a spell.

chat with Black:

The chat with Black hinted at some events that could eventually unfold, and it also addressed some of the MC's thoughts and plans about his more or less drunk ramblings at the last Slug-party.

Of course with this chapter, I confirm that the Deathly Hallows will be part of the story, because they're just too good to let them pass by without me taking a bite.

Now the MC is in the odd position of wanting to get back at Riddle, because ultimately it's obvious that the attack is Tom's fault more than that of the kids at school, and not risking his enmity, because he just confirmed just how damn useful he can be for Hagrid's main interest, which, I remind everyone, is to learn and craft Magic.

the phoenix:

I finally got around to seeing 'Secrets of Dumbledore'... my god how disgustingly low can a franchise go. The whole phoenix-appearing to a Dumbeldore because of 'reasons', the super-obscurial that changes opinion on right and wrong with 0 character development to sustain it, the building up of a relationship between scamander and Tina only for the latter to completely vanish, the magical animal that actually chooses the leader of all wizards when the first movie of Fantastical Beasts is all engineered around the idea that wizardkind dismisses all the magical animals as unimportant beyond the worth of their parts... Yeah, beyond the little references I've made to the first movie, I'm dropping that shit like it has the plague.

So, Dumbledore is actually a fantastic person, an extraordinary wizard, and whatnot, and because of his own merits instead of this shit prophecy-plotting, he has managed at some point to befriend Fawkes, and that's it.

Also, I'm more and more convinced that Ollivander told Albus about the phoenix wands only when the latter asked about Tom Riddle, revealing that he was indeed Voldemort. With that precedent, it only makes sense that Garric would keep the Headmaster posted on the fate of Fawkes' second feather.

As you've noticed, the MC has the habit of getting slightly tipsy on his own drinks from time to time, unfortunately, while the last time it passed with no consequences, this time it loosened his tongue just enough to make him mouth off at the wrong moment.

For all of his genius, this Dumbledore isn't the wisest old man to have ever lived, trying to steer Harry Potter towards martyrdom: while of course he's more likely to interact in a peculiar manner with his students, he's still a member of the faculty, and Hagrid's consistent barely concealed lacking of respect must be addressed, as all schools have the underlining purpose of getting students (adults to be) used to follow the proper hierarchy.

As always, opinions? Hopes?