Chapter 169

Chapter 169

Amelia hurried away.

She left Suer a key to the residence and instructed him to leave her a letter if he ever returned to Spinner’s End. She also warned him, repeatedly and emphatically, not to mispronounce a single word when using the Floo Network.

Suer nodded and agreed.

As he crossed the road to his own house opposite, he continued thinking. He had originally paid little attention to the old man, but Amelia’s complicated, battle-ready expression had awakened his curiosity.

Who exactly was that old man?

That night, at the mouth of an alley in Cokeworth on the outskirts of London, one neatly dressed figure after another appeared.

There were many of them, densely filling the entrance to the alley.

“According to our information, that person appeared here.”

“Send a signal the instant you find him. Under no circumstances — absolutely none — are you to attempt magic against him!” Fear flashed in the commander’s bright eyes beneath the darkness. “Do you all understand?”

“Understood,” the others answered solemnly.

On the eighth floor of Hogwarts castle, Dumbledore stood with his hands behind his back at the window of the headmaster’s office. He gazed into the deep night, his eyes solemn and distant…

At midnight, an owl finally flew in carrying a letter.

Only two words were written upon it: All normal.

…

Whatever undercurrents moved through the magical world that night had nothing to do with Suer. After playing with Angel, he lay fast asleep in bed.

He had already cast aside every question about the old man’s identity.

Over the following days, Suer diligently visited Snape’s house for training — which meant being beaten one-sidedly. He was not a masochist; genuine combat practice brought rapid improvement to his fighting skills. He still suffered defeats, but there were degrees of defeat.

He had already tasted the sweet fruit of such training during his last encounter with Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest — the day he set the fire.

The pleasure of growing stronger could become addictive.

Unfortunately, Snape took back the protective gloves once all the potion ingredients had been prepared. No matter how Suer pleaded, Snape refused to give them to him.

How petty. Snape ought to learn generosity from Hagrid, who had readily given away so much unicorn tail hair and such an enormous bicorn horn.

The family acquired a piano. It was not especially expensive — only ten thousand pounds — and would suit Angel until adulthood. Suer paid for it with the allowance Mr Ellison had given him over the years. He lived and ate at home and had little reason to spend money, so his savings had gradually accumulated.

To appeal directly to the little girl’s tastes, Suer had the shop paint a lifelike unicorn on the piano.

The shopkeeper could not understand why a wealthy customer would have a unicorn painted on an instrument worth more than ten thousand pounds, and Suer offered no explanation.

Angel adored the gift. Every evening, she played for Suer whatever piece her teacher had taught her that day. Her performance was hesitant and far from polished, but Suer still found it beautiful.

It was certainly far more pleasant than the Sorting Hat singing without accompaniment at Hogwarts.

Hermione’s letter arrived a week after she left on holiday. She was enjoying her travels immensely and sent Suer numerous postcards and photographs. Her letter filled page after page and demanded an immediate reply.

The journey exhausted Little Gray, who had only recently reached adulthood and had to fly for a very long time without rest to deliver the letter.

Judging by the photographs, Hermione had tanned considerably, but the darker colour made her look healthier.

Suer trained by day, then listened to the piano and read at night, occasionally writing replies to Hermione. As for his homework, Hermione had already completed every essay before leaving on holiday. He could use her work as a reference before she returned. There was no need to spend the whole summer dutifully writing assignments.
That routine continued until the end of July.

Suer did not know exactly how much he had improved, but although his encounters with Snape inevitably ended in defeat, he could now exchange several proper moves with him — and that was against Snape when the professor was in full form.

No other student about to enter third year could manage that.

Snape naturally refrained from using highly destructive magic against his own student, but he transformed ordinary jinxes into an art. A spell might appear to be the purest defensive magic, yet some vicious jinx always lurked beneath it.

Suer suffered beyond description. He never saw Snape speak an incantation, yet unexpected spells constantly struck him from every possible angle.

Over the course of nearly a month, Suer endured a vast collection of afflictions: hair that lengthened until it nearly strangled him, a vanished mouth that left him unable to speak, tears and mucus flowing uncontrollably, suddenly lengthened front teeth, abrupt blindness, limbs that stopped obeying him, and many others.

Whenever a spell struck, Snape mocked him several times before removing it.

For example:

“Do you imagine a young lady will cheer that pose, or do you believe it makes you more attractive?”

“If you have no use for your eyes, throw them away. If you cannot avoid such an obvious spell, I believe your feet may also be removed. I would gladly take them; a potion I know requires foot bones.”

Suer came to understand that when fighting a wizard — especially a Dark wizard — one should never rely upon the opponent’s morality. Swift casting and agile movement were far more important, and far more effective at keeping oneself alive.

This was not a formal duel conducted on a raised platform with a referee standing nearby.

Many battles between wizards began without warning. They placed enormous demands upon a wizard’s reactions and ability to cast quickly.

That meant Suer had to master nonverbal magic if he wanted to grow stronger.

Nor was the most powerful spell always the best. On the contrary, spells that were appropriate, weakened an opponent, and could be cast quickly were often the most useful in battle.

That depended upon a wizard’s familiarity with each spell.

There was no shortcut. Like nonverbal casting itself, mastery required an enormous amount of practice and a certain degree of talent.

When training ended one day, Snape pulled a book from the shelf and threw it to Suer before he could leave. His voice was as cold and hard as ever.

“You needn’t come back from tomorrow onwards.”

“Why?” Suer caught the flying book with difficulty and blinked in confusion.

“Business.” Snape’s answer was concise, and he had no intention of explaining further.

“Oh.” Suer felt a moment of disappointment, but quickly dismissed the unnecessary emotion.

There was still a month before the start of term, and Snape was not abandoning Potions instruction forever.

Suer could use the final month of the summer to review every battle with Snape and turn the experience fully to his own advantage.

From the third day onwards, he had recorded every fight with a recording crystal. The footage held an invaluable store of hard-won lessons.

Holding the book whose cover he could not make out, Suer bowed respectfully to Snape. Then he turned and disappeared into a sudden eruption of green flame.

Only the boy’s clear final words remained in the cramped sitting room: “Thank you, Teacher.”

“Teacher?” Snape murmured. “Hmph…”