Troll: 39. Morally Questionable Training Montage

Chapter 39: Morally Questionable Training Montage

Blaise Zabini
Zabini Manor, Great Britain

Valencia showed me the wand motions for legilimens. It was a counter-clockwise circle starting from the six o’clock position into an upward, vertical slash towards the subject’s forehead. Committing it to memory didn’t take long.

A part of me felt like it should have. This was the spell that allowed a wizard to violate someone in the most intimate way possible. This should have been more difficult, should have had more… gravitas…

But no. Magic didn’t work like that.

Magic didn’t give a damn about morals or feelings or how much we as a society valued the sanctity of the human mind. In the end, magic was magic. This spell was no different than the levitation charm. It had an incantation, a wand motion, and an arithmantic spell matrix someone more educated than me could pick apart if they were so inclined.

I stared at the man somberly. This had to be done. It was a part of my magical education, a way to reinforce my occlumency as well as a valuable tool for me to use in the future. I’d be a fool to not take the chance now that it had been so readily fallen into my lap.

I scoffed. That made me sound like one of those “hard men making hard choices,” but that wasn’t right. I wasn’t delusional; that wasn’t what was happening here. I was a Slytherin. There was an opportunity and I was siezing it, even if it was morally fucked up.

With a final slash of the wand aimed up towards his forehead, I crossed the line. “Legilimens.”

I knew more or less what to expect, but it still caught me off guard. Digging in someone’s mind was weird, at once chaotic and yet oddly intimate.

Of course, being a competent occlumens, this was all something I’d experienced before, but from the other side of the aisle. The main difference was that I was the instigator for this strange contact, and so the one with the initiative.

It was nothing like mind reading in most fictions, because the mind wasn’t a book to be read nor a TV with channels I could surf at my leisure. I doubted anyone’s mind was that organized, much less this muggle. 

No, the mind was dynamic, as dynamic as life itself. It was a chaotic, ever-shifting cloud of rationalizations, memories, and emotions, all vying for prominence in an at once finite yet infinite space. Seemingly unrelated thoughts brought entire mental schemas to the fore in dizzying patterns that I could not make sense of.

Everyone was unique. This man’s experiences formed a stream of consciousness that would only ever truly make sense to him. Just being in his mind was a constant reminder that I was an alien, a foreign invader who did not speak the language nor shared his history.

And then there was the emotional component. Having brushed the surface of his mind, I now had access to the most poignant and recent of his thoughts. Which was, of course, a massive bombardment of terror directed at myself and mother. It struck me like a physical force, nearly pushing me out of his mind from its intensity alone.

I retreated until I maintained only the most delicate of tethers to his mind. It was like touching the surface of a lake, just enough for my finger to bend the surface tension, but not truly break through.

“That… That was uncomfortable,” I muttered, panting. Sweat beaded down my brow. I hadn’t realized I’d been sweating at all. A glance at the nearby clock told me I’d been “diving” for only a few minutes.

“The first time is always rather rough,” Valencia said. She reclined on a chair, book open on her lap. “Were you able to glean anything from this?”

“No, not really. I was overwhelmed by the strength of his emotions.”

“I suppose even you cannot be a prodigy at everything, my little warrior. Simply casting the spell on your first attempt is an accomplishment. Now, back in you go.” At my hesitation, she clicked her tongue with a frown. “Get used to the fear, Blaise. Get used to the discomfort. For your first time, your goal is to learn his name, his occupation, and his most recent hours.”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, mother.”

X

Our little lesson took almost four hours. I’d returned in the evening and it was now nearing midnight. We stopped only briefly for a snack. It took that long just for me to find out some basic information about him.

He was Henry Stuart, thirty-four years old. He was unmarried, but otherwise lived a mundane life as a cabbie. He drove his cab in the morning and afternoon and had run into a particularly annoying foreigner coming in from Heathrow. That caused him to head to the bar for happy hour as soon as he clocked off, where he was approached by my mother.

He was suspicious at first, a suspicion born more of poor self-esteem than anything she’d done. Women like “Valerie Ravini” did not approach losers in dead-end jobs like him. For that matter, they didn’t frequent moldy dive bars like the one they’d been in, either. He’d been sure he was being punked.

Then, they talked and that suspicion melted away like an ice cube in the desert. It wasn’t even because she compelled him magically, either. She was just her usual, charming self. It was a masterclass on seduction, viewed from the perspective of the victim.

She listened, doe eyes wide as he talked about his favorite sports team. She pretended to sympathize when he complained about all the entitled people he had to ferry around. She flashed her perfect teeth, showing off a magnetic smile she’d honed over a lifetime as a socialite. Within the hour, he was in love. 

The worst part of this was that I understood. How could I not? I felt everything Henry experienced throughout the day. Not just the lust, Valencia ticked all the boxes for him, but the emotional connection he thought they’d shared. She was, in his eyes, a work of art.

She’d picked apart his walls, the cynicism and rock-bottom self-esteem, not with spells or potions, but simply through good conversation. Words were weapons, and “Valerie Ravini” was a champion duelist. As was her wont, she wielded her words like a scalpel, cutting him open and making him believe that he’d genuinely had a shot with a woman like her.

“His name is Henry Stuart,” I told mom. “Is that right?”

She’d been reading something about the family accounts, reports from a few of our holdings. Though she was predominantly a socialite, it wasn’t as though my seven fathers had no assets. If I remembered right, we owned a few businesses in Italy, a few in Portugal, and a handful more right here in Knockturn Alley.

She looked up from her book. She eyed me, then the man she’d tied to the bed. Then, she shrugged. “How would I know, dear? I forgot.”

I saw the light in his eyes die. All this, and the witch who kidnapped him couldn’t even be assed to remember his name.

Grumbling, I dug around his pants pockets until I found his wallet. His ID confirmed what I’d already known. Henry Stuart, cabbie license, thirty-four years old.

“Well? How accurate was your legilimency?” she asked.

“Perfect. Does it normally take so long?”

“No, of course not. But as they say, slow and steady.” She stood. With a flick of her wand, she’d forced his mouth open and pulled the gag from it. Down went a sleeping draught before he could so much as utter a word. “We’ll keep him around for a few days so you can keep practicing. Oh, and look up the memory charm as well. You’ll be casting that soon.”

“A few days? We may as well keep him forever at this rate,” I replied sarcastically. “I didn’t know you were the catch-and-release type.”

“Recent memories are easier to obliviate. Any longer than a few days and there may be complications that another wizard might notice. Remember, my son, caution is just as important as ambition.”

“Of course, mother. I learned a lot today.” And, I had, despite the questionable methods.

“Besides, kidnapping a few muggles a week will give you the chance to practice on a number of different minds. Not every mind is the same, you know.”

“So I’ve read, but is there such a big difference?”

“Of course! And who knows? If you get good at this, I might even let you fabricate a memory after the obliviation.”

I nodded. That would probably be for the best. I didn’t know what excuse she’d implant into Henry’s head at the end of this, but I’d likely be kinder about it. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yes, so am I. After you get past this unit, I might even show you confondus and imperio. Oh, and potions,” she smiled, beaming. She clapped her hands excitedly. “I never went for my mastery, but I’m quite a deft hand at potions, you know.”

I smiled back even as my mind reeled.

Every time, I’d feel as if I’d gotten the measure of her. Then, she’d inevitably say something like this that threw me off kilter, reminding me just how fucked in the head Valencia Zabini actually was.

She wasn’t even trying. I could see no deceit in her eyes; her smile was downright angelic. This was her idea of mother-son bonding time. And like any mother, she was genuinely thrilled to pass down her vast knowledge. It just so happened that her fields of expertise were manipulation and murder.

We probably wouldn’t get to the unforgivables this winter, not enough time, but I had a feeling that my summer was going to be… interesting…

X

I was right. I didn’t have winter break. I had winter boot camp.

I practiced my divination in the morning before going on a jog. When I returned, I had my first mind arts session. And after lunch, I headed off to muggle fencing school so I could learn to stab people better, only to come back and have my second mind arts session of the day. It was only through the passive benefits of magic that I could maintain such a schedule.

I improved by leaps and bounds. It would have been stranger if I hadn’t under such a brutal regimen. Schoolwork had been finished long ago. Socialization didn’t even enter my mind. Truthfully, I wasn’t even sure what I would say to my peers.

“How was your break? You went abroad? Nice, hope you had fun. Me? Oh, you know, I spent it mind-raping muggles and sampling mother’s collection of drugs and potions.”

Yeah, not exactly something I could talk about.

I wondered if any of the other pureblood families did stuff like this. I knew family magic was a thing, so maybe “going abroad” or “meeting the relatives” was their way of saying they learned things they weren’t allowed to tell others.

Lowell didn’t come around often. It wasn’t as if the two spent all day everyday fucking like rabbits. If nothing else, the old fellow had limits and stamina potions could do only so much before his heart gave out. That was how one of my stepdads went, actually.

As it turned out, being a socialite and a wealthy, English gentleman meant they did have businesses to meddle in.

That was a relief. Spencer-Moon as a whole was a Light-leaning house, if not quite settled in Dumbledore’s orbit. I got the impression that Lowell tended to be more neutral than his relatives, but I doubted he would have appreciated knowing about the muggles I cycled through.

In any case, I was now adept at ignoring the emotional tide that bombarded me. I found that much like a tree in a storm, it was far better to be flexible than to stand my ground. A feather-light touch that the subject wouldn’t even notice was far more efficient than a battering ram at bypassing a mind’s natural defenses.

Just one week had passed, but I was already delving into deeper memories, not just what mother had done to get them before me. Those memories along with their associated emotions, left me feeling as though I’d lived three weeks, not one.

About the only non-training thing I’d gotten done was gift shopping. I’d never been the type to enjoy shopping, but the banality of it had been a welcome break from my schedule. Work out to exhaustion, torment random strangers, and suddenly, the horrors of capitalism didn’t seem so bad.

Magical Britain being the backwards mess of manners and social obligations that it was, I had a long list of people I needed to shop for despite mostly being a friendless loner. Even with Pooky’s help, it turned into a production that took most of a day.

There was mother and Lowell, of course. I booked them a reservation to a fancy restaurant because that was easier than pretending I gave a damn about Lowell’s interests. Besides, the restaurant reservation implied I approved of their relationship, which was always something my stepdads seemed to want for some bizarre reason.

Then there was Violet, Parvati, and Padma, people I actually liked. Conveniently, they were all staying in Hogwarts for the holidays so I could plan their gifts together. Given the cookbooks I’d left with the Hogwarts elves, I had a feeling they’d indulge in a multinational feast for Christmas so I arranged for a raspberry cheesecake from a high-end bakery to be delivered that evening. I also got them a book each.

Everyone else was neither family nor friend. Lyra, Theo, Heath, and the rest received an assortment of candies from a shop in Diagon. Anything else was too much effort.

Finally, I prepared a gift for Cheryl Dupree. She was the fourth year who’d agreed to teach me dueling next semester. As an ongoing business associate, manners dictated that I provide her a gift related to our transaction on major holidays, a token of good intentions.

Then again, she was a half-blood. I had no idea to what extent her family abided by pureblood customs, if at all. I doubted I’d get anything from her, but it couldn’t hurt to be polite to the woman who’d be casting spells at me all semester. I got her a good quality wand polish.

X

For lack of a better way to put it, I leveled up. I learned skills I would have preferred not to. My body was fitter than it had ever been, in this life or the last. And now, the winter solstice approached.

The ritual was something I’d planned meticulously. I was as ready as I could be. For months, I read through every scrap of information the Hogwarts library had on the subject, which boiled down to the general advice of, “Don’t.”

I ignored it, of course. The philosopher’s stone was too important. I had to know whether the one in the third floor corridor was the real deal.

I’d gathered the materials, including the elephant tusks that had been questionably sourced from Daphne’s network. I’d cross-referenced every step to make sure there weren’t any conflicts. Hell, I’d even consulted the star charts to make sure the planets were in their proper alignment, or at least, neutral enough that the celestial bodies wouldn’t interfere.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous, far from it. Ritual magic wasn’t something even purebloods performed lightly. The ministry had a blanket ban on it, and most agreed that it was with good reason.

Many rituals weren’t “prepared spells” like in D&D. Rather, though there was an element of preparedness that went into each ritual, the defining trait of the discipline was that each spell drew magic from somewhere besides the caster. That could be animal sacrifice, some girl’s virginity, or in my case, the ley lines themselves.

This had the major advantage of allowing an individual to cast spells that were otherwise too taxing or complicated. And, because the power came from elsewhere, the ritual magic often registered as “not human” to many ward systems, which was particularly relevant in my case.

But, the disadvantage was that this connection opened up a lot of possibilities for interference from outside variables. The animal might have different connotations than you’d thought. The girl might not be a virgin, after all. Or maybe, Mars was a bit too close for what you wanted.

It was a gamble. And like any other wager, the bigger the prize, the bigger the risk. 

It was fortunate then that I was betting the equivalent of the big blind, the minimum bet. I did not want a permanent enchantment, or even any information about things to come. I wanted confirmation about something that had happened already, a relatively minor prize.

Because I was not receiving a permanent spell effect, any potential backlash would likely not be permanent, either. Which wasn’t to say I wasn’t nervous. No matter how much I hedged my bets, this was still uncharted territory, far outside the Hogwarts curriculum.

I snuck out at night, long after mother had retired for her beauty sleep. I was exhausted. Forcing myself out of bed was a herculean feat. Still, this had to be done.

To avoid being registered in the floo network, I stepped outside into muggle London before calling the knight bus. I had Stanley and Ernie take me to Diagon, where I used the public floo to pop to Hogsmeade.

The path to the castle was abandoned. This being the middle of rural Scotland, there were no street lamps, not even the magical imitations.

That was fine by me. In the darkness, the stars shone all the brighter. And in that moment, despite the exhaustion that weighed me down like a wet blanket, I could understand why Professor Sinistra loved her subject so passionately.

So captivated was I that I barely noticed the castle’s perimeter approaching. There, my mana sight allowed me to follow the ward line and dip into the Forbidden Forest. I was close enough to the castle for the ritual to work. The same ley lines that fed the castle's wards also flowed through the forest, after all.

Then, I had an out of body experience. My consciousness ejected itself as a shooting pain pierced my heart. My night vision was nowhere near good enough to tell where the arrow had come from, but my priority was staying alive.

I hit the ground as time rubber-banded back into its proper stream. The arrow, meant for my heart, sailed overhead with an almost lyrical whistle.

Wand in hand, I rolled out of the way, avoiding another two arrows. A fourth nearly pinned me to the root of a tree, but I managed to deflect it with my cane in time.

“Lumos,” I gasped, shedding some light around the glade. I slumped against the tree, groaning in exhaustion and annoyance. Four mounted figures glared down at me. “Just my fucking luck. Centaurs.”

“Yes, centaurs, wizard. You are in our territory,” the lead centaur said. He had a squat, squarish face with a punched-in nose that was at odds with his otherwise tall, broad torso. “You trespass where you are unwanted.”

“So you shoot first? That would have killed anyone else!”

“That was the idea. Yet, you live.”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed. I’m a student here.”

“And you are trespassing, human. The forest belongs to the magical races, not to the students of your school.”

“Look, give me an hour and I’ll be out of your hair,” I groaned as I got to my feet. My body felt bruised from all that rolling in the dirt.

“No. Leave, human,” he growled, stomping his hoof in unspoken threat.

“I will take nothing. I just need an hour, I swear.”

I was soon staring down four bows. Foresight be damned, I had no hope of dodging that many at once, not this close. “You are not the only intruder in these woods. Leave or die.”

I wracked my brain but came up blank. Then, what he said registered and I suddenly knew why he was so riled up. “What do you mean I’m not the only intruder?”

“Enough. Leave.”

“No, wait! The unicorns!”

He stomped forward until he loomed over me. As close as he was, the stink of sweat and his dinner washed over me. “What did you just say?”

“The unicorns,” I repeated, keeping my voice steady. “Someone’s been killing them. The intruder. That’s what’s got you on the warpath, isn’t it?”

“And what do you, a human child, know of it?” he snarled.

“I’m a seer. It’s a part of why I’m here.”  Unlike humans, centaurs put a premium on divination. More specifically, they followed the will of the heavens above all else. “Mars has been bright for many moons now. Saturn, too. A bloody harvest is coming. I had to come. I had to make sure.”

“You… You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said, this time unsure. 

“Don’t I? As far as I know, someone’s been killing the unicorns, drinking their blood to extend his own, twisted life. Is this not what you’ve seen?”

“So what? It is nothing for a child to concern himself with. Go home, wizard, back to your safe walls.”

I took a deep breath. Of course that would be his response. He probably shot to kill at first because he thought I was Quirrell. Now that he knew I was a student, he was at least willing to let me leave. Perhaps, in his own way, he considered chasing me away a kindness.

The ritual… I needed to do it tonight, or I’d be waiting a full month for the next full moon. It might not be as effective further from the solstice, too. Unfortunately, the previous full moon was last night so I’d be waiting a while; I’d decided that the winter solstice would be more effective in this case, something I regretted now.

But… But that didn’t matter. The ritual needed to happen sometime tonight, not necessarily a specific hour. In which case, perhaps this was an opportunity…

“What if I can heal the unicorns?” I asked the centaur. “I can cast some modest healing magic. I won’t be able to fix severe wounds, but closing injuries shouldn’t be out of the question.”

“The forest is no place for a child.”

“Maybe, but I’m here anyway. I have to try, please.”

The four centaurs studied me. They gestured quietly, communicating amongst themselves. Until finally, the lead centaur motioned for me to follow.

Author’s Note

The date of the ritual is an odd coincidence. In 1991, the winter solstice was the 22nd. The full moon was the 21st. Technically, with everyone aged up three years, I suppose it should be 1994, but I’m too lazy to do additional math so author fiat says it’s 1991, lol.

Animal Fact: Most owls you see in TV commercials are not North American owls, even if the commercial was filmed in the US. This is because of the Migratory Birds Treaty Act (MBTA), a 1918 act which prohibits the commercialization of certain migratory birds. 

Of course, this was before TV commercials became widespread, but the act carried over. Nowadays, you actually need specific permits to feature an owl on a TV program. For example, barn owls you see in those country shows and westerns? Permit required.