Kapitel 69: CH69 - The Ball
"Ossio Dispersimus," Edmund muttered as the hyper-realistic dummy in front of him collapsed into a puddle of jelly. The spell was intended for healing, removing the bones from the targeted body part. The affected area would then be left with a rubbery feel, effectively alleviating the patient's discomfort and allowing for proper regrowing of the bone.
What any skilled dueller was aware of, however, was that even the most well-meaning medical charms could be reappropriated to inflict pain instead of resolving it. A spell that allowed internal dissection without breaking the skin could be used for silent assassinations. A spell meant to infuse oxygen into the bloodstream could lead to a violent death from oxygen toxicity when applied to a healthy individual.
In Edmund's case, Ossio Dispersimus could act similarly to a bone breaker or shatterer while still being recognized as a "light" form of magic if Prior Incantato was ever performed on his wand.
'Loopholes make victory taste so much sweeter,' Edmund thought wryly as he panted from exertion.
A flick of his wrist restored the mannequin to pristine condition, showing no evidence of the abuse Edmund had put it through for the past several hours. Walking over to the corner of the tile-lined floor, he picked up a bottle enchanted to keep its contents at a constant temperature, guzzling down the cool water within it greedily. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Edmund scrunched his face in disgust at the slight taste of sweat that found its way onto his tongue.
'To be or not to be lazy. That is the question,' he debated in his head. 'Ah fuck it.'
Silently and without any motion, the sweat vanished from his body, a Scourgify leaving no trace of its presence other than the supremely uncomfortable feeling it left with Edmund. It was another one of the spells he had recently managed to add to his fully mastered repertoire.
Why was he using the charm so much that it had become second nature to him within a year?
...Well, he had his reasons.
Toeing off his silenced sneakers and socks, he padded over to the wall where the light was streaming into the room. The entire barrier was glass, revealing a magnificent view. Tempestuous waters churned on the horizon, preceded by green moors and luxurious royal gardens fit for a king.
A young man in a black robe stood in their very center, a thin piece of wood in his right hand acting like a conductor's baton as he expertly manipulated his magic to perform multiple tasks at once. A singular sculpting charm simultaneously chiselled tens of limestone boulders into tall bar counters, carved snake motifs into a multitude of wooden dining tables and chairs, and clipped bushes into ornamental forms more skillfully than ever possible through traditional topiary. A mass Wingardium Leviosa levitated all the completed objects into the air as they rapidly flew to their correct positions before descending slowly, none of the mobile elements colliding with each other in midair.
The dark lord spent several moments scrutinizing his efforts before he nodded in satisfaction. Upon turning around, Marvolo's eyes met Edmund's, both nodding in acknowledgement of the other.
Slytherin Manor had quickly become Edmund's safe space for his magic practice. It was isolated, secure, and available virtually all to himself. Living with the Todds and working on the Knight Bus was fun, but he found himself craving privacy more often than not, which the island offered him in spades.
His regular frequenting of the location was the only reason Edmund could even remotely believe that it had been nothing more than a small isolated rock in the middle of the sea a few months ago. The speed at which Marvolo was developing the area was inhuman, more efficient than a hundred experienced goblin builders working together. Not that the dark lord had even entertained the idea of hiring external help. He trusted no one with the island's protections and design other than himself and cared little about the increased work his distrust meant he would have to put in.
In the last week alone, Edmund had watched as soil, gravel, and stone were excavated from the middle of the island. 10 metres, 20 metres, 30 metres, 40 metres, and finally up to 50 metres deep; Marvolo had kept digging relentlessly. Only when he reached the bowels of the earth was he satisfied. A massive cube, over ten metres cubed, was then gently placed into the cavity. The uniform chunk of rock was utterly flat, except for the runes that seemed to litter every inch of it.
A wardstone.
Its creation was not the awe-inspiring part, however. It was how it was grounded.
Grounding was a simple enough concept. After a ward scheme was triggered, its magical burden would fall upon those that had activated it. Of course, the energy source could be diverted to the ley lines under the crust, but the process varied in length depending on the number and complexity of the wards in question. For this reason, grounding was typically performed by many people labouring together.
That was not what Voldemort had done.
Instead, the man had unhesitatingly initiated the wards as soon as the wardstone was stowed away again, taking the entire strain on himself. If it were anyone else, Edmund would have thought them a madman.
'Scratch that. Voldemort's mad too,' he clarified in his head. 'He's just annoyingly capable of backing up his ridiculousness.'
As expected, when the protections settled almost a full day later, the only effect Marvolo was left with was a light sweat. Since then, he had been hard at work perfecting the island's functionality and aesthetics.
The reckless abandon with which he had thrown himself into the task was not without reason.
Slytherin Island would soon be needed.
Every year, the traditionalists and the progressives of the Wizengamot would host a ball during the winter. It was a celebration of all the party had accomplished in the year, and a not-so-subtle way of flaunting their influence and wealth.
The light faction usually pawned off the duty to the Bones family, one of the last remaining affluent families in their league. The dark family did the same with the Malfoys, who were more than happy to have an annual excuse to show off.
There was one slight problem with that.
Lord Malfoy was in Azkaban, and had been for the past two years. Narcissa Malfoy nee Black certainly commanded a fair bit of power herself. But politically, it seemed insensitive to continue supporting the family whose Lord had been convicted of endangering the future of the wizarding world because of his actions involving Hogwarts.
As such, the event had not been nearly as much of a spectacle in recent history for the traditionalists.
This year that would change.
A new Lord Slytherin was here after all.
'And what a Lord he is,' Edmund idly thought.
AUTORENGEDANKEN 
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Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
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