THE BURDEN OF ETIQUETTE
CHAPTER 16: THE BURDEN OF ETIQUETTE
The next four years of my life began with a regimented schedule that left little room for anything but study, discipline, and the occasional stolen moment of leisure. Aunt Amelia, true to her word, set up a rigorous tutoring schedule that would have made any seasoned wizard’s head spin. Every day was divided into two sessions: one before lunch and one after, each dedicated to different subjects. The afternoons, however, were reserved for my cousin Susan, who, despite being a handful at times, showed remarkable restraint whenever my tutors were around.
"Susan," I would say, ruffling her hair as we prepared to head out after a long day of lessons, "If you behave during my studies, I’ll take you to Florean Fortescue’s. How does that sound?"
Her eyes would light up every time, a beaming smile spreading across her face. "You promise?"
"Of course," I’d reply with a wink, knowing that the promise of ice cream was often all it took to keep her on her best behavior.
Our trips to Diagon Alley became a cherished routine, with Tilly, our trusted house-elf, accompanying us as a chaperone. We’d step through the Floo Network and emerge in the bustling alley, the scent of fresh parchment mingling with the sweet aroma of Fortescue’s famed ice cream. While Susan delighted in her sundae, I would often browse through Flourish and Blotts, occasionally receiving permission to pick up a book or two beyond my required reading.
"Another book, Ares?" Susan would tease, her face smeared with chocolate. "You’ll run out of space in your room soon!"
I’d chuckle, shrugging as I tucked the latest tome under my arm. "You can never have too many books, Susan. There’s always something new to learn."
When it came to my studies, I took great pride in the progress I made. From Potions to Herbology, and eventually Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, the breadth of magical knowledge I was exposed to was staggering. The satisfaction of successfully brewing a complex potion or nurturing a rare magical plant was exhilarating. However, not all of my lessons were as enjoyable.
"Etiquette and penmanship," Aunt Amelia had insisted, "are just as important as your magical studies. You must learn to present yourself properly in wizarding society."
At first, I’d scoffed at the idea. How difficult could it be to learn a few social niceties and write in a neat script? I soon realized how wrong I was. Hours upon hours were spent mastering the proper way to address different members of wizarding society, memorizing endless rules about table manners, and perfecting the correct posture for every situation. The writing lessons, though, were the worst of all.
"Hold your quill correctly, Ares," my tutor would remind me for the hundredth time as I struggled to maintain the elegant, flowing script demanded of me. "Your handwriting must be impeccable."
My hand would cramp, my wrist aching as I forced myself to continue. "I’ve faced Cruciatus curses that were less painful than this," I’d mutter under my breath, earning a stern look from the tutor.
It took an entire year to complete both the etiquette and penmanship courses. When I finally finished, I felt as if I’d emerged from a warzone, victorious but battered. True to her word, Aunt Amelia allowed me to take on more advanced subjects, starting with Arithmancy.
"I’m not sure about this, Ares," Aunt Amelia had said, a note of concern in her voice as she reviewed the Arithmancy syllabus. "You’re only eight years old. This is third-year level material."
"I can handle it," I assured her, determination in my voice. "I want to learn everything I can."
She’d watched me closely as I tackled the new material, her worry slowly giving way to reluctant pride as I took to the subject with enthusiasm. Arithmancy was a challenge, but it was one I relished. The real test, however, came when I added Ancient Runes to my studies. The intricate symbols and their meanings slowed my pace, but I pushed through, determined to master them.
As the years passed, my efforts bore fruit. My tutors, initially skeptical of such a young student taking on so much, gradually came to see my potential. By the end of my tutoring, some were nearly in tears, overwhelmed by the progress I’d made.
"You’ve surpassed all our expectations, Ares," one of them remarked, her voice tinged with awe. "I’ve never seen a student advance so quickly."
Others, realizing they were running out of time to impart their knowledge, tried to cram in as much as they could in our remaining sessions.
"You’ve been an exceptional student," another tutor admitted, handing me a stack of advanced reading materials. "I have no doubt you’ll go on to do great things."
As I looked back on those years, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t just the knowledge I’d gained or the skills I’d honed; it was the realization that I had the strength to persevere, to push through even the most difficult of challenges.
With the foundation laid and the path ahead becoming clearer each day, I found myself standing on the precipice of a future brimming with both potential and uncertainty. Yet, for the first time in what felt like ages, I felt prepared to face whatever challenges lay ahead, armed with the knowledge and skills I had painstakingly acquired.
Ancient Runes had quickly become one of the most intriguing subjects I'd ever encountered. Learning it was akin to deciphering a new language—one that possessed the power to make objects invisible, fireproof, or capable of other extraordinary feats. I had begun my studies in Ancient Runes about a year and a half into my tutoring, which unfortunately meant that I couldn't delve as deeply into the subject as I had hoped. I had managed to reach the O.W.L level, but the desire to explore further burned within me.
Despite the limitations of time, I found the subject genuinely fascinating. The very concept of empowering objects by engraving symbols and infusing them with magical energy was nothing short of enchanting. My tutors were both surprised and impressed when I managed to create a set of four matching expanded storage bags, each emblazoned with the Bones family coat of arms. The creation involved my own original combination of Runes, which mimicked the effects of the undetectable extension charm.
The first time I presented the bags to my family was a moment I won't soon forget. Susan's eyes lit up with pure delight as she examined her bag, the soft leather cool beneath her fingers. "This is amazing, Ares!" she exclaimed, slinging the bag over her shoulder. "It's perfect—I can carry all my books and still have room for more!"
Aunt Amelia, ever the stoic figure, allowed a rare smile to grace her features as she carefully inspected her own bag. "You've outdone yourself, Ares. This is not only practical but incredibly thoughtful," she said, her tone warm with genuine appreciation. "I'll be using this from now on."
But it was Tilly's reaction that truly caught me off guard. The moment she realized she had been gifted a bag as well, the house-elf broke down into tears of joy. "Master Ares is too kind!" she wailed, clutching the bag to her chest as if it were the most precious treasure in the world. "Tilly will serve the Bones family forever and ever!"
"Tilly, it's just a bag," I said, trying to soothe her, but she shook her head vigorously, her ears flapping with the motion.
"No, Master Ares, it is not just a bag. It is a symbol of Tilly's worth and devotion to the family!" she declared, her voice filled with fervor.
It took a considerable amount of effort to stop her from becoming overzealous in her service after that, but seeing how much it meant to her was worth the trouble.
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Arithmancy, much like Ancient Runes, was another subject where I felt the sting of lost time. I hadn’t been able to start it as early as I wanted, but having finished high school in my previous life gave me an advantage. My existing understanding of mathematics turned out to be a significant asset since Arithmancy, at its core, was the magical study of the properties and potential of numbers.
In the wizarding world, it seemed that formal education in mathematics was rare, and many only learned about Arithmancy if they chose to take it as an elective in their third year at Hogwarts. I found it fascinating to break down spells into their mathematical components, analyzing how minor adjustments could potentially alter their effects. Of course, I was cautious and didn't experiment with the spells myself—that task was left to my tutor, who guided me through the complexities of the subject.
One of the most rewarding aspects of Arithmancy was applying its principles to my other sight. By carefully mapping out the intricate calculations behind it, I believed I would be able to refine and enhance this unique ability in the future. Though I had only just passed the O.W.L level and was nearing N.E.W.T proficiency, I found myself completely absorbed in the subject, often losing track of time as I delved deeper into the equations and theories.
One evening, after a particularly intense study session, Aunt Amelia entered the room, her expression curious as she observed the piles of parchment filled with my calculations. "You’ve been at this for hours, Ares," she remarked, raising an eyebrow. "Surely it’s time for a break?"
I looked up from my work, blinking as I realized just how late it had gotten. "I just got caught up in it," I admitted with a sheepish smile. "There's so much more to discover, and I feel like I’m just scratching the surface."
She nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. "That’s the sign of a true scholar. But remember, even the most dedicated students need rest. You’ll be of no use to your studies if you exhaust yourself."
I nodded, appreciating her concern. "I’ll take a break," I promised, carefully rolling up the parchment. "But I’m getting so close to something—I can feel it."
Aunt Amelia’s gaze softened as she placed a hand on my shoulder. "And you will, in time. But for now, take care of yourself. There’s no rush."
Her words resonated with me, a reminder that while ambition was important, so was balance. And with that balance, I knew I would be able to achieve even greater things in the future.
Astronomy was a subject I approached with a mix of indifference and obligation. I couldn't quite share the fascination that others, like the centaurs, held for the stars and their intricate patterns. For them, the night sky was a living map, a guide to the future. But for me, the stars were distant, cold, and not particularly relevant to my goals. I wasn’t a seer, and with ritual magic classified as dark and thus illegal, the practical applications of Astronomy seemed limited at best.
Nevertheless, I diligently worked my way through five years of school material, uncovering some interesting tidbits along the way. One area of research that caught my attention was the influence of lunar energy on spells and potions. It turned out that the moon’s waning and waxing cycles could subtly alter the potency of certain potions or the effectiveness of spells. For example, brewing a particular potion under a full moon could enhance its magical properties, while casting a spell during a new moon might weaken it.
One evening, while I was poring over some old texts, Aunt Amelia entered the study. "I’ve noticed you’ve been spending more time with Astronomy lately," she remarked, her tone curious.
I looked up, slightly surprised. "It's not my favorite subject, but it has its moments. I’m trying to understand how the lunar cycles could affect spellcasting."
Aunt Amelia nodded thoughtfully. "That’s a rather advanced concept for someone your age. Most wizards don’t pay attention to such details until much later, if at all."
I shrugged, a small smile tugging at my lips. "I suppose I like to be thorough. Even if the subject doesn’t seem immediately useful, there’s always something to learn."
Her gaze softened, and she gave a slight nod of approval. "That’s a wise approach, Ares. Knowledge is never wasted, even if its value isn’t immediately apparent."
Herbology, on the other hand, was a subject I truly enjoyed. There was something deeply satisfying about nurturing magical plants, watching them grow and thrive under my care. The challenge of tending to plants that could move, react, and sometimes even defend themselves made it all the more rewarding.
After some convincing, Aunt Amelia allowed me to cultivate a small garden in the back of our property. I filled it with Puffapods, Leaping Toadstools, and even managed to recreate the specific environment needed to grow Aconite—also known as Monkshood or Wolfsbane. Each plant had its own unique requirements, and I took great pride in meeting those needs, ensuring that my little garden flourished.
One afternoon, while I was carefully transplanting some Puffapods, Susan wandered over, her curiosity piqued by the vibrant colors and lively movement of the plants. "Can I help?" she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Of course," I replied, handing her a pair of gloves. "Just be careful with the Leaping Toadstools—they have a habit of jumping out of their pots when you’re not looking."
Susan giggled, eagerly accepting the challenge. Together, we spent the next few hours tending to the garden. Susan quickly grew fond of the Toadstools, laughing as they bounced around, trying to evade her grasp. "This is so much fun, Ares!" she exclaimed, her face glowing with happiness.
Watching her joy made me appreciate the subject even more. It wasn’t just about growing plants—it was about sharing the experience with someone else, watching them discover the magic in something as simple as a garden.
I pushed myself beyond the O.W.L level in Herbology, driven by my passion for the subject. There was always something new to learn, some new plant to cultivate, and I relished every moment of it.
History of Magic was a different beast altogether. While the subject itself wasn’t particularly challenging—largely consisting of memorizing dates, names, and events—it required a different kind of effort. The real challenge lay in connecting the dots, in understanding how individual events shaped the broader narrative of the wizarding world.
This skill, I knew, would be invaluable. Forming my own opinions on historical events would help me avoid the pitfalls of accepting everything at face value, and it would allow me to navigate the complexities of wizarding politics with greater insight.
"I’ve been reading up on the Goblin Rebellions," I mentioned one evening during dinner. "It’s interesting how each rebellion was sparked by different issues, yet they all stemmed from the same underlying tensions."
Aunt Amelia looked up, intrigued. "And what do you think those tensions were?"
I paused, considering my answer carefully. "A combination of inequality and a lack of understanding. Wizards have historically treated goblins as lesser beings, which naturally led to resentment. But it’s also about cultural differences—goblins value different things, like their right to create and own their own artifacts, which wizards often dismiss."
Aunt Amelia nodded, her expression thoughtful. "You’re right. Understanding those differences is crucial. Too many wizards overlook the perspectives of other magical beings, which only perpetuates the cycle of conflict."
By the time I was ten, I had reached the O.W.L level in History of Magic, but I knew there was still much more to learn. History was not just about the past—it was a tool to shape the future, and I intended to wield it wisely.
Potions was a subject that I approached with a mix of anticipation and amusement. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself as I thought about the infamous Professor Snape, who would likely be my Potions Master if I attended Hogwarts. Despite his reputation as a harsh and unforgiving teacher, I respected him. His life had been marked by tragedy and regret, and he had made more than his share of mistakes. Yet, he was one of the few truly repentant individuals I had ever come across in my studies.
"Snape’s going to have his hands full with you," Aunt Amelia remarked one day, a hint of a smile on her usually stern face.
I grinned, feeling a surge of confidence. "I’m ready for him. I’ve nearly reached the N.E.W.T level in Potions, and my tutor was so impressed that she practically begged you to let me become her apprentice."
Aunt Amelia chuckled softly. "Brewing a perfect batch of Felix Felicis will do that to a Potions Master. But you’re still too young to be anyone’s apprentice just yet."
"Maybe," I admitted, "but it’s nice to know that I’ve got options."
Potions had become more than just a subject to me—it was a form of art, a delicate balance of precision and intuition. Each ingredient had to be handled with care, each step followed meticulously. And when it all came together, the results could be nothing short of magical.