19 Volatile rivalry

Hermione's question weighed heavily in the air, her tone tinged with a hint of sadness. "Do I have the lowest results?" she asked, her voice laced with disappointment. "I'm sure I can do more magic than the rest of the year, except for you."

I couldn't ignore the despair in her words, and with a heavy heart, I decided to be bluntly honest. "Yes," I replied, my tone gentle yet firm. "I agree with you. We're talking about magical reserves here, which can be improved with hard work, much like building a muscle. But families with generations of wizarding history have adaptations to magic ingrained into their DNA. It's the reason why all of them," I gestured towards Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and even Neville, "have higher reserves."

I could see the realization dawning on Hermione's face, a mixture of understanding and disappointment. The Pureblood theory, while flawed, had persisted for generations precisely because of this genetic predisposition to magic.

"That's not to say that first-generation wizards can't match them," I continued, hoping to offer some semblance of encouragement. "You yourself are a prime example of that. But when it comes to magical reserves, it's a matter of adaptation. The more you cast magic, the more your body adapts, and your reserves will increase over time."

I paused, considering whether to share a recent example that illustrated this point vividly. Ultimately, I decided to do so, hoping it might provide Hermione with some hope.

"Take Lily Potter, for instance," I began, watching as Hermione's eyes widened with interest. "She came from a Muggle background, but through sheer determination and hard work, she became a Charms and Potions mistress, surpassing 99.999% of the wizarding population. She was even in the process of applying for Rituals and Alchemy studies before her untimely death."

As I revealed information about Harry's deceased mother, a sense of wonder flickered across his features, his eyes alight with curiosity. But any semblance of tranquility was shattered by the callous words of my less-than-tactful companion.

"Even she died at the hands of the Dark Lord at the end," Draco blurted out, his tone lacking any semblance of sensitivity. Harry's reaction was immediate, his expression darkening with a storm of emotions as he struggled to contain his anger. It was as if the mere mention of the Dark Lord, the source of all the misery in his life, had ignited a raging inferno within him.

Draco, while showing a hint of guilt at his own words, couldn't quite conceal the gleam of excitement in his eyes. It was clear that getting under Harry's skin was a source of twisted amusement for him. Meanwhile, Ron, ever the purveyor of sarcasm, couldn't resist adding fuel to the fire with his own comment.

"Yeah, so much for that," Ron quipped sarcastically, "He died at the hands of Harry back then."

Harry's response was swift and heated. "Your Voldemort died back then too," he snapped, his wand springing up in a reflexive gesture of defiance. Ron and Draco mirrored his movement, their wands at the ready as tensions reached a boiling point.

As the situation threatened to spiral out of control, I knew I had to intervene. I am drawing a line at invoking the Dark Lord's name while he lurked within the castle, I stepped forward, my voice firm and commanding.

"Actually, all three of you are wrong."

Their attention turned to me, surprised by my interruption but willing to listen. Drawing upon the knowledge I had gleaned from my past experiences, I sought to impart some wisdom in the midst of the chaos.

"Draco, your lack of tact is evident," I began, my gaze unwavering. "Even your Manners tutor would agree with him."

Draco averted his eyes, perhaps feeling a twinge of remorse but refusing to acknowledge it.

"Ron, your assumption is incorrect," I continued, addressing the red-headed Gryffindor. "Lily Potter was a formidable witch, and it's entirely possible that her skill played a role in protecting Harry from the Killing Curse that day."

Turning to Harry, I met his defiant gaze with a solemn expression. "And you, Harry, are wrong to utter his name so freely."

Harry bristled at my words, his resolve shining through his defiance. "I'm not afraid of him," he retorted, his voice tinged with determination.

"Perhaps not," I conceded, "But his name carries a dangerous taboo, a global enchantment from a ritual that alerts him to the location and identity of anyone who speaks it. By uttering his name, you may have unwittingly provoked him."

The weight of my revelation settled over them like a heavy cloak, casting a pall of fear over the room. Even Draco and his cohorts, who prided themselves on their connection to the Dark Lord, couldn't hide their unease at the thought of drawing his attention.

As the tension between us simmered until the atmosphere suddenly shifted as Peeves, Hogwarts' mischievous poltergeist, made his presence known with a cacophony of noise and chaos.

"Naughty, naughty! Kids outside the dorms past curfew!" Peeves exclaimed with a mischievous glint in his eyes, blowing a raspberry into the air. Ron attempted to shoo him away, but Peeves was undeterred, his voice booming through the corridors with alarming volume.

"Kids breaking curfew! Where's the stupid caretaker? Hurry up or I'll fleece your cats! All cats are a blight on the planet!" Peeves continued, his taunting laughter echoing off the walls.

With Peeves hot on our heels, we dashed through the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts, each pushing and jostling in our frantic attempt to evade the poltergeist's wrath. But no matter where we turned, Peeves seemed to follow, his relentless pursuit driving us deeper into the heart of the castle.

Amidst the chaos, Ron and Draco found themselves locked in a bitter exchange of blame, their voices raised in frustration as they sought to assign responsibility for our predicament. Meanwhile, Harry remained steadfast, offering occasional words of encouragement as we navigated the maze-like corridors.

As we raced through the corridors, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, a nagging sense of unease gnawing at the edges of my mind. The circumstances mirrored those of the canon, yet I couldn't shake the suspicion that this was no mere coincidence. Draco's lack of involvement with Filch or Peeves now, is hinting at someone's script at play.

===Forbidden Corridor===

As per my guess, we arrived at our destination: the forbidden corridor.

While my companions, true to their age, fearing school punishment remained oblivious to the significance of our surroundings. With a deft flick of her wand, Hermione opened the door with a whispered "Alohomora," revealing the show that lay beyond.

As my companions rushed into the room, their panic palpable in the air, I remained calm, my hands casually tucked into my pockets, wand at the ready. While they froze in place, I maintained my composure, observing the scene before us with a cool detachment.

Ron, always the slowest to react, questioned the cause of the commotion, but before anyone could respond, Crabbe intervened, redirecting Ron's attention to the terrifying sight that awaited us.

Before us stood a three-headed Cerberus, its menacing presence filling the chamber with an aura of dread. Saliva dripped from each of its mouths, its magical energy practically tangible, suffusing the air with a thick, oppressive force.

As I took in the sight, a wave of fear washed over me, but I pushed it aside, drawing strength from the memory of the knowledge I have on it. Fluffy, the giant three-headed dog raised by Hagrid, had lessened in danger levels in my mind. Unfortunately it is the exact opposite in case of my heart which is rapidly beating, screaming about the danger.

Attempting to break the trance of my stiff companions, I addressed the creature before us with forced nonchalance. "Hey, cute dog. Maybe this will make the perfect place for your duel, right guys?"

My attempt at levity fell flat amidst the collective terror of my companions, made them turn their heads towards me. Even the Cerebeus looked in surprise at me. Though, the situation didn't feel as funny as I am trying to project because it's 6 eyes alone are filling my entire vision.

Using this chance, I took out my wand with one hand and said, "If not, let's run."

My voice is tinged with urgency as I braced myself.

As the Cerberus unleashed a deafening roar, sending my classmates into a frenzy of screams, I sprang into action. Drawing upon my training in martial arts, I executed a series of backflips, weaving through the chaos with practiced agility.

With instinctive precision, I cast the Summoning Charm, using both my wand and wandless casting tapping into all of my reserves. The force of the charm propelled my classmates out of harm's way just as the door slammed shut behind us, sealing off the chamber and the ferocious beast within.

Exhausted but relieved, I collapsed to my knees, while my year mates continued running in fear.

In the aftermath of the chaos, I could hear Ron and Draco's voices echoing down the hall, their argument going on even now.

As the tension gradually dissipated, I straightened myself, addressing the source of courage that made me act even in presence of a Cerberus.

"You know, you can come out," I called out, my voice echoing in the now silent corridor. "While you did everything perfectly, not even using a hint of magic. The only reason I realized is pure luck, and seeing Peeves."

The air seemed to hold its breath as my words hung in the stillness. So I continued, "Peeves is the poltergeist of Hogwarts. Do I need to say more?"

But then, with a small sigh, the figure materialized before me, their presence exuding an aura of wisdom and authority. He gave me a compliment, "You truly are quite the intelligent one, Arjun."

I replied respectfully, "Thank you for the compliment, Headmaster Dumbledore."