Chương 33: CH33 - Alohamora
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was the busiest it would ever be the morning after a weekend. Breakfast began a little later than usual because most students would come in late, tired from a lack of sleep the night before. Hence, the time for eating was short, making the area even more congested.
On the weekend, Edmund had snuck in his meals using the Marauder's Map to see when the hall was the least busy. There was no such chance for him to do so on a school day.
He walked in reluctantly, wincing strongly as his mind was assaulted from all sides. As he plopped into his regular spot with a grunt, he began filling up his plate slowly.
Ben and Jeremy looked on from the sides in concern.
Edmund tended to eat a lot, courtesy of the extensive physical training he put himself through on the regular. So it was incredibly odd to see him playing with his food absentmindedly, barely taking two bites before pushing his platter away.
With it being a Monday morning, the students' feelings were a mix of dread and fatigue, a cocktail of emotions that made Edmund's stomach nauseous. Forget feeding himself; he was nearly on the verge of vomiting. His gut roiled in discomfort, both demanding food and rejecting it simultaneously.
His appetite had been flip-flopping for the past day and a half, and it seemed Edmund's friends were tired of waiting for him to do something about it. Cecilia marched towards him from the high table stubbornly, a concerned Madam Pomfrey trailing behind her.
Edmund glared at Cecilia with irritation, which the girl easily ignored.
"If you actually took care of yourself, it wouldn't come to this," she huffed.
Pomfrey took one look at his face and immediately dragged him out of the Great Hall without even casting a diagnosis spell. Disregarding his assurances that he was alright, she did not let him go until he was sat upon one of the pristine white beds in the infirmary.
"Drink," she instructed, uncorking and handing him a sludge-textured potion.
Edmund recognized the concoction immediately and did not protest beyond a loud exhale before he downed it. His face scrunched up in displeasure as his mouth was filled with a foul taste. Unholstering his wand, Edmund held the tip up to his mouth before using Aguamenti to wash out the disgusting flavour.
Although he knew his symptoms were entirely psychosomatic, the stomach reliever had helped a bit anyways, even if only as a placebo.
The unhealthy pallor of his face dissipated slowly, relieving him little by little as time went by.
Almost ten minutes later, Pomfrey reemerged from her office, looking almost surprised to see him still sitting there.
"From what I have heard of you from Minerva, Mr. Cole, I was sure you would have left by now," she admitted.
"Yes, well, from what I've heard of you from Professor McGonagall, I was led to believe you would make me regret leaving without your dismissal," he gritted out grumpily.
"Oh, so you do have a bit of sense in you," she teased, sitting opposite him. A notebook hovered to her right, a quill floating directly above it. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Cole? Do not be upset with your friends for their concerns. They care about you."
"I'm not upset. They were right to tell you," Edmund sighed. "I promise, there is nothing wrong with me besides my stomach, and I'm sure whatever bug I've caught will go away soon enough."
Pomfrey scanned his face for any signs of deceit for several moments before nodding in acceptance.
"Good. It has been ten minutes since you took the potion. I will have to observe you for another five minutes for any side effects before I can let you go," she explained.
Edmund hummed, his attention drawn to the emblem on her coat. He had seen it before but had been unsure of the significance.
"The healers at St. Mungo's wear an insignia of a crossed wand and bone. You don't. Why?" he asked.
Pomfrey raised her eyebrows, surprised by his observance. She looked down at the badge on her chest before looking back up at him.
"The crossed wand and bone are the sign of an internationally recognized healer. All medi-witches and medi-wizards you see will have one displayed on them. I do as well," she explained before rotating sideways to show a much smaller set of patches on her shoulders. "The Rod of Asclepius that is embroidered on my breast pocket, on the other hand, is an age-old tradition of sorts. It signifies a sect of healers of times past that was once acclaimed throughout the entire world. Their magic is now lost, but their fame remains. The rod symbolizes a healer who has gone beyond their standard duties to specialize in a specific area of medicine."
"I'm sorry if this is rude," Edmund forewarned, "but if you're so qualified, what are you doing..."
"Wasting my time in a children's school?" Pomfrey guessed with a chuckle. Her smile soon turned melancholy, tainted by memories of the past.
"My mastery that I obtained was focused on mind-healing. In the few years I worked in the field, I encountered many different patients. Some were past prisoners of Azkaban, with their minds fractured from exposure to dementors. Others had been workers in underground goblin mines, toiling away to pay their debts without seeing the sun for years. During the dark lord's reign, there were also those who had seen their families tortured and killed before their very eyes," she recounted sadly. "It was too much for me to bear. I began working at Hogwarts in the 70s, and I have never looked back since."
Edmund looked at her wide-eyed, stunned by her tale.
She laughed bitterly, looking away from his face.
"You are strong and very admirable!" he said heatedly, refusing to let the medi-witch believe she had anything to be ashamed of.
She smiled at him fondly, patting his hands twice before standing up.
"Thank you, child," she said warmly.
*-*-*-*
- (Scene Break) -
*-*-*-*
Edmund slipped into the ongoing Charms lesson sneakily. Flitwick was unquestionably the most enthusiastic teacher in all of Hogwarts, and his classes were some of the most well-loved by the Hogwarts population at large.
While most of the students seemed to be in jovial moods, Edmund could feel a cloud of misery originating from the back left corner of the classroom. A closer look told him it was where his Hufflepuff classmates were sitting, which made him frown.
He quickly handed a note explaining his lateness to the professor before trying to find a seat.
The lecture for the day had already concluded, and the class was now attempting the taught spell for themselves. Small locked chests sat on the desks as shouts of "Alohamora" rang through the room.
Ben and Jeremy were sitting together, both oddly quiet for once.
Cecilia, Chelsea, and Jennifer huddled together at a larger table. Even without his enhanced senses, Edmund could hear sounds of sniffling coming from the trio. Putting down his bag, he dropped into a seat silently, looking at Chelsea and Jennifer's teary eyes with dismay.
"What happened?" he whispered silently.
Cecilia whirled to look at him, an angry snarl on her face.
"Bletchley," she hissed. "Jennifer and Chelsea were talking about their progress in Charms before the class started, and he called them—."
"He called them mudbloods. Said that they could do as well as they wanted, and nobody of good breeding would hire them anyways," Cecilia added lowly.
Despite his anger, Edmund could not help but smile internally. This Cecilia was nothing like the one he had met on the Hogwarts Express.
'From blood purist to a supposed blood traitor,' he thought.
"When we told Professor Flitwick what happened, all the Slytherins denied it, saying that we were lying," Chelsea muttered.
"The professor said that it was a matter of 'he said, she said,' and he can't take any action," Jennifer concluded.
Edmund grimaced. It was unfortunate, but it was the norm around Hogwarts. The houses tended to stick to one another, and lying for housemates was ordinary. He did not blame Flitwick, but he still felt upset.
Looking around the classroom for the culprit, he caught Bletchley's eyes with his own. Immediately, Edmund became submerged in the boy's mind.
Kevin Bletchley. The younger brother of Miles Bletchley, the keeper on the Slytherin quidditch team. A pureblood for tens of generations. His cruelty and hatred for muggle-borns and everything muggle was like an endless well deep within him.
'The majority of his personality revolves around just being a pureblood,' Edmund scoffed disdainfully.
Perhaps ordinarily, Edmund would feel sympathy for such a young child being indoctrinated to such a degree. But Kevin was too far gone. His torment of others satisfied him and was a source of amusement for Kevin.
Edmund was no bully, but sometimes retribution was necessary.
He transfigured two handkerchiefs for his weepy housemates and finally spoke again.
"Alohamora is an interesting spell. Essentially, its purpose is to unlock an object. But that's a pretty broad explanation. What can it unlock exactly? Only something that would otherwise require a key, or other items as well?" he lectured softly.
"Edmund!" Cecilia reprimanded incredulously. "They don't need this right now!"
"This is exactly what they need," he insisted. "Let me answer my own question. Like everything else, Alohamora is a charm that relies entirely upon the user's intent. If the caster wishes, they can unlock or open anything as long as: a) they can visualize it, b) they have the power for it, and c) the object does not have protections against the unlocking spell."
By now, most students had partially succeeded at opening the secured chest in front of them. Flitwick had moved on to calling each student individually to his desk to challenge them with a more complex lock.
As Kevin's name was called, he strolled over proudly.
"Observe," Edmund commented.
With a small movement and a whisper, Kevin's zipper opened with a loud rip, and his pants fell to the ground. It seemed that the boy followed the tradition of most older purebloods who did not wear underclothes under their robes. Thankfully, his rear was protected from view by his dress shirt. His front, however...
Well, Flitwick's horrified face likely suggested he had caught an eyeful.
There was silence for one, two, three seconds... And then the room erupted with chortles and mockery. Chelsea and Jennifer choked out a wet giggle, wiping away their tears fiercely.
Kevin pulled up his pants instantly as he reddened with fury. He turned to the Hufflepuff contingent, accusations flying from his lips faster than they could form.
"Hey!"
"It wasn't us!"
"Yeah! You can't accuse us like that without proof!"
"Piss off!"
Flitwick cast a mass silencing spell, his face the perfect picture of neutrality.
"I wish to make it clear that I do not condone such behaviour. However, Mr. Bletchley, the others are correct. Without proof, I cannot punish anyone," he said calmly, before dismissing the spell.
Kevin was not happy.
"If you want proof, check their wands! My uncle's an auror! I know you can do that!" he demanded shrilly.
"I suggest you lower your voice, Mr. Bletchley," Flitwick replied coldly. "While you are correct, I am fairly certain that the spell used against you was a common unlocking charm. The same spell that everyone has been practicing for the past half hour."
Kevin looked around with wrath, his eyes finally landing on an innocently smiling Edmund.
Edmund cared little. How much more could someone like Kevin hate him? If he dared to attack him, Edmund had no issues showing the boy his place. He refused to lie down and take any abuse for a perceived moral high ground.
Those who targeted him or his friends would be hit back twice as hard.
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