Suaviter in modo, fortiter in re
Gently in manner, firmly in action.
The first time Harry meets Aleksia Romanova, he had just landed himself in Russia after Death guided him to Gringotts to get himself an international portkey. Of course, the Goblins demanded a rather high price but apparently, the Peverell vaults were more than abundant for it. Apparently Death was more inclined to have him inherit his heirships rather than immediately taking him away from the country.
Well, he recalls it almost perfectly considering how he had fumbled so badly with his landing, dropping on his arse right in front of the witch while she was shopping for books. She had been startled, whipping out her wand and immediately perceived him as a threat. The first thought in his head was to run but Death had stopped him, whispering to him that this was the woman he was looking for.
“Wait—wait! I'm not—”
“Harry Potter…” She had muttered, confused and concerned before she slowly lowered her wand.
Fear had devoured him whole that day, thinking that she would ship him back to Britain and back into Ministry arms. With his relatives dead, he would either fall into ministry custody or be a burden to some poor family who'd have to foster him. The Weasleys were included in this and all he could think of was being a financial burden to them even when they welcomed him with open arms.
His instincts were already telling him to run and hide, but Aleksia had disabled his fight or flight instinct by grabbing hold of his arm and apparating them somewhere. He remembers landing on an intricately decorated foyer, with brown walls and a door that Harry immediately tried to go to. But the woman of the house had grabbed him, triggering his instincts again. The first thought in his head was to curse but he was quickly disarmed, barred from his wand that fell into Aleksia’s hand.
“Apologies, but I would not appreciate being cursed in my own home.” She had said, narrowed eyes looking down at him.
“Oh little Death, be calm—”
But there was nothing to be calm about. Not when his wand was in another person's hand. With his heart pounding in his chest, all he could do was stare at his holly wand, tuning out Aleksia's words. He hadn't noticed that she'd gone silent, observing him carefully as if he were a rabid animal about to pounce. And yet, in such a situation, she felt like a predator taking his child as hostage and him reacting accordingly.
Mercifully, the witch outstretched her hand and offered him his wand. “Swear that you will not attack me.” She said and he swore up and down, from heaven to hell that he wouldn't. He needed his wand.
Moving to grab it, Aleksia yelped and promptly dropped the wand, making Harry fumble as he caught it with trembling hands. His eyes snapped up to her, watching as she nursed a burn mark on her palm, seeing her warily stare at his wand.
“That's not normal, little lion. Wands don't tend to burn others.” Aleksia laughed, humourless. “I suppose there is a reason as to why you landed in front of me instead of anyone else, hm? Come now, Молодой человек(young man), I'll entertain your explanations in my study.”
The entire ordeal was a gruelling one from what Harry remembers. Having dropped to his knees at one point and begging her to not send him back to Britain after some international issues. Of course, all his head was filled was Death's exasperated sighs and telling him to calm down but who was he to calm down after what happened just hours ago? No. Harry downright sobbed until Aleksia was clumsily comforting him with Russian that he couldn't understand, trying her damn hardest to keep him conscious.
Now, what kind of responsible adult wouldn't feel protective of a scared, shaking, and weeping fifteen year old who had acted on instinct and somehow managed to get himself into a different country? Dumbledore wasn't, but Aleksia Romanova was. Maybe that's why Death brought him to her specifically.
And that's how Harry remembers convincing the headmistress of Durmstrang to let him enrol at her school.
(Aleksia remembers that day very differently.)
The first thing that happened when he entered Hogwarts was a flurry of gasps at the sight of him. Resolutely, Harry had refused to look at anyone until he caught sight of Ron. Mind you, he felt extremely guilty when he saw the tears running down Ron's face and all he could do was enthusiastically wave until Aurelia mercilessly jabbed her elbow into his side. Apparently Ron saw that because he ended up laughing at him for it. The little shit, but oh did he miss said little shit.
“Ron Weasley?” Aurelia whispers, keeping herself close to him.
His arm was protectively wrapped around her waist, making sure that no one would pull another stunt like the one in the ministry. One of the aurors who had come to welcome them was a cousin of Aurelia's, a staunchly light Fawley who practically pounced on her the moment she realised who Aurelia was. If not for Katerina hissing at him to heel, he'd have cursed the bitch’s arm off the moment she even looked at Aurelia with such loathing.
“The one and only.” Harry chuckles, pulling her close. He spies a girl younger than them, eyes drilling into Aurelia as if she were a stain she desperately wanted to remove. “Your half-sister?” He whispers, glancing at the brown haired Hufflepuff glaring at her.
“Hm… My father's little bastard.” She cruelly laughs, “Little Pippa Fawley. I never understood why my sperm donor thought it was a good idea to name his child Philippa, nicknaming her Pippa of all things. His mistress—oh! I mean my stepmother thought it was a pretty name.”
“What does it mean?”
Aurelia snorts, “Love for Horses… perhaps it's referring to her mother.”
Harry chuckles, “Names have power, Aurea Mea(My golden). Hence why your mother was smart enough to give you such a name.” He snickers, glancing back at their teachers who were masterfully keeping the attention of the other adults from him. “I'll officially introduce you to Ron later. Theo has most likely set aside past issues and befriended him.”
“And your sister?”
Harry smirks, “I wrote to her last night. If possible, Aleksia might be able to hold her off before she comes barging into Britain to slap me.”
“Hermione always seemed to be a strict person. I heard she's been terrorising the blood supremacists of Beauxbatons with a set of insults that seems to come from you.” Aurelia sighs, dramatically leaning her body backwards, only for Harry to steady her and keep her walking. “I still can't believe that you managed to make the word mudblood a death omen. A girl said it just a week ago and your little halfblood friends rained down on her.”
Ah yes, he can't quite forget his own siege upon the Halfbloods of Durmstrang. They were consistent victims to the slur due to a quarter of the purebloods being supremacists. But Harry had come into play, rallying every single halfblood and the next he knew, he was friends with all of them. A good network to be honest.
With a soft hum, Harry glances at the other three Durmstrang students, carefully watching their demeanors. Morganach seemed perfectly fine, occasionally scowling back at some people. Rowle was as jittery as usual, clinging to Morganach’s side. While Vance was amicably chatting with Flitwick about enchantments and her mother.
“Yes… we'll… fight fire with fire, I say.”
(It's hard to forget how much he's changed.)
“Psst…”
They whipped their heads around to the voice's direction. Harry stared, before a grin split across his face as he beckoned his former roommate to their side.
Theodore Nott wore house Slytherin’s robes the same way he used to. He was more relaxed here, unlike Durmstrang’s strict rules that triggered them to immediately fix their posture. “You've caught the eye of every person here. How's that feel?” Theo chuckles, falling into step with them as he tilts his head to the side to observe their reactions.
Harry simply sighs, “Oh dear. Such horrendous gazes. It feels like I'm part of a scandal.” He mockingly swoons, momentarily removing his arm from Aurelia to drape his other arm over Theo's shoulders. “How've you been? Have you been good to Ron? How did the baby snakes react to your return?”
“One question at a time, Harry.” Theo sighs, reluctantly smiling.
Harry almost wanted to drag him into a corner and interrogate him. Whatever happened in the month he's been here, Hogwarts had taken a toll on Theo. The Nott heir was a highly skilled dark wizard that excelled greatly in warding. The best Hogwarts could offer when it came to warding was Ancient Runes and Dark studies itself, as no other subject delved deeper into the branch of magic. A shame really.
“Let's start with Ron.”
That alone had Theo laughing, grinning like a maniac as they followed along their teachers to the classroom they would be shoved into. “The Weasleys have caused quite the stir in Gryffindor. Apparently, since the repeal of Dark Magic, the twins basically outed themselves as Dark wizards once they started using dark spells for their pranks. Even their little Joke shop advocates for it. Ronald is as brash and loyal as ever. Blaise said he kicked someone on the crotch for talking shit about you and almost beat the shit out of the bastard.”
That sounded just like Ron.
“Anyways, he's basically been on the lookout for dark wixens being sorted into Gryffindor. He takes them in almost immediately and starts cussing out anyone who goes after the little urchins. The sister, on the other hand, is no different. She's been enthusiastic in Dark Studies. Roksana likes her… a lot.” Theo glances at the Dark Studies professor, before smiling back at Harry.
As expected, Ginevra of all her brothers took to the dark like a fish to water. The Weasleys' alignment was not always light, from what he's understood. Septimus Weasley was the one who declared them light for some strange reason, practically deviating the entire family from the manifestation of their magical core. He's suspected long enough that the twins and Ginny were dark. Ron was more grey than he was dark but he wasn't light, not that Harry could completel confirm without properly speaking to him.
Gods, he should really sneak away from the group at some point to drag Ron to the forbidden forest. So many good memories—especially that horrific incident back in fourth year where they trudged through the forest and found Mr. Weasley’s car practically killing some creatures by running them over. Its sentience was already strange and he wonders if he can take it back to their manor in Germany to dissect it for its strange enchantment.
Such thoughts came to an abrupt end as they finally arrived in the room. Harry was unaware of this space as it looked more like a common room rather than a classroom. Comfortable chairs and sofas prepared, along with refreshments and some snacks they could grab anytime they want. Katerina came to them, whispering how they should immediately take their seats.
Harry quickly reacts, pulling Genevieve close. “Stay with the kids.” he whispers, satisfied when she nods and ushers Vance and Rowle to one sofa. He took a seat on the other sofa with Theo, while Aurelia sat between them. Their teachers took their own seats beside each sofa, while those that would be interviewing them were quickly taking out identical files.
Harry watches as the head of the DIMC—Moon as he remembers—summon a clipboard and a quill. It eerily reminded him of Rita Skeeter’s horrid interview three years ago, making him grimace as he crossed his arms over his chest.
One of the ministry officials cleared his throat, Abbott? He's not quite sure but he observes the man quietly, scrutinising him. “Julius Abbott, head of the DOE.” Theo helpfully whispers into his ear, “Roksana likes him… well… as much as she can like a British ministry official.”
If Roksana had no problem with the man then he was a decent individual. He'll have to give him a chance… somehow.
“Well then… the questions we ask are approved by the ministry and wizengamot… However, with your permission, the teachers of Hogwarts would like to ask their own questions in order to better their teaching styles.” Abbott explains, making a show of presenting the file that was in the hands of Roksana and Deputy Szekeres.
“That is up to our students. Do you consent?”
The six children looked each other in the eye before quietly nodding.
“Very well then… Our first question… Why attend Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts?”
Oh…. Oh, that was hilarious. The stupidest question they could choose to be the first one amongst many. It quickly soured the mood of the Durmstrang students, excluding Harry and Theo who were greatly amused by such a dumb question. Of course, it was valid, but to outright ask for their reasoning? It was funny—highly insensitive considering the mere implications of such a choice, but funny indeed.
Roksana was fond of the man but her judgement seemed to be… well… concerning.
He glanced at the other three, seeing how Morganacht was already on guard, with Rowle palming, and Vance already frowning at the question. Beside him, Aurelia was staring intently at Maximus Fawley. The Lord was already fidgeting nervously, avoiding his daughter's gaze as he looked down at the floor.
Discreetly, he glanced at Theo before turning back to Abbott, who looked quite troubled at their silence.
“Well, Mister Abbott…” he gently starts, promptly crossing his legs before smiling at the man. Abbott seemed to relax at his words, smiling back as if he was going to give good feedback.
“That's quite the insensitive and stupid question.”
To hell with being nice.
He watched as everyone stiffened at his response, his expression not even faltering as he tilted his head. Without even hiding it, he nods towards Theo who quickly took advantage of their shock to convey his own reasons. “As a Dark wizard and an heir to a house that declared for the dark, I must admit that I felt quite ashamed at my own ignorance. Books did little to educate me on magic that resonated with the classification of my own core. After the Triwizard Tournament three years ago, I was convinced that Durmstrang would be beneficial for me as heir. So to put it simply, my transfer was for the sake of education that aligned to my magic.”
Abbott visibly swallowed, “I see…”
Next was Morganach, who cleared her throat and sternly addressed the officials who were present to listen to them. “My reasons are similar to heir Nott. As you know, my mother is the current head of House Morganach. However, outside of proper education that aligned with my magic, my mother sent me to Durmstrang after her own horrible experience with Hogwarts.”
One of the officials—Harry thinks she's a Selwyn from what he remembers—sputtered at her words. “Excuse me? I—Please elaborate, Heiress Morganach.”
Genevieve sighs, looking quite irritated. “My mother was part of the batch of 1957-1965. My family has a bad history with Hogwarts due to my ancestor, Isidora Morganach. Some families, specifically those of light families and some who declared for the grey, ruthlessly bullied and outcasted my mother. She did not wish such a fate upon me and immediately rejected the invitation to Hogwarts and opted for Durmstrang.” She dismisses Selwyn’s concerns before quietly placing her hands back on her lap.
“Bigotry, bad blood, prejudices—bullying and harassment. My mother was a Ravenclaw and was not given proper justice as she continued to be bullied until her graduation. Knowing that such things still exist makes me quite inclined with my mother's decision to send me to Durmstrang.” She spat, narrowing her eyes at Dumbledore and then Fawley, as if knowing that these two were the culprits of such issues.
Harry highly suspects that Fawley had been involved in that bullying.
Moon was furiously scribbling on her clipboard, looking quite disturbed and disappointed. She looked older than what Genevieve explained her mother to be so maybe she was not quite present to witness such bullying.
Next was Rowle, who gulped and avoided their eyes. Vance whispered something into his ear, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. “Er… well… my magical affinity… makes it difficult for me to cast light magic.” He admits, not meeting their gazes. “Majority of Hogwarts spells that are taught are considered light or grey. There were practically no dark spells that I could properly utilise. So… Father thought it would be better if I studied at Durmstrang where we could choose between dark and light studies.”
Vance whispered something into his ear again and they shared quiet smiles. Cecilia Vance looked more comfortable than them, considering that her reasoning for going to Durmstrang was less severe than theirs, similar to Theo. “I was a Hogwarts student until my second year, however, after I spoke with my mother about my interest in different branches of magic, I had to state that Hogwarts was lacking in it. Unlike Hogwarts, Durmstrang has a subject named Principles of Magic and there is an elective in Durmstrang that I eagerly study, which is Ritual Studies.” She sucked in a deep breath, sheepishly smiling at her continuous rambling.
Harry hums, turning to Aurelia who was quietly staring at her tea. He took it from her hands, humming as he waited for his Lord ring to detect any kind of tampering—veritaserum, poison, etc…—in the tea. When there was nothing, he took one sip before noticing Aurelia had glared at him, prompting Harry to grin and return the cup.
“So… I suppose my reasoning was that Hogwarts lacked subjects. The school also does not celebrate our holidays, Durmstrang does. Ritual studies has us studying the reasons as to why we perform such rituals and sorts during holidays like Samhain, Yule, etc.” Vance explains, looking extremely enthusiastic whilst she spoke of her specialised subject.
Katerina clears her throat, startling the girl who's cheeks went as red as their uniform. Though the Dark Studies professor offered her a gentle and proud smile that had Vance chuckling quietly.
When their gazes turned to them, Aurelia was already satisfied with sipping her tea as she loudly clanked her cup on the saucer. Harry noticed the way Fawley flinched, making him looking away to avoid smiling like a maniac.
“Would you like me to be honest?” Aurelia pleasantly smiles, addressing every single official in the room. Her question was met with hesitance but Abbott nodded, looking wary. Behind him, Roksana looked stressed. “Very well then.” She says, taking one last sip before placing her tea back on the table.
“Shame.” She bluntly says and Fawley flinches again.
“My name is Aurelia Evrin Fawley.” She repeats, “I am a child of a family known to adhere to the ways of the light in the strictest of manners. I am… the firstborn child of Lord Fawley and his first wife. What do you think, does it imply that a firstborn of a light family, one who is supposed to be heiress, is sent to Durmstrang?”
There was no response so Aurelia kept going.
“Easy. My mother was divorced and I was disowned for something I could not control. My father was ashamed and decided to get rid of the stain on the lightness of his family by banishing the child that should have been his heir.” Aurelia scoffs, arms crossed as she eyed Lord Fawley’s gradually reddening face. “To summarise it, Lord Fawley is a coward who can't own up to having a dark witch for a daughter.”
Lord Fawley stood up from his seat like a springboard, already prepared to rip into Aurelia. Unfortunately for him, Hyperion Peverell was one of Aurelia's best friends and he did not take kindly to any threat to them. When Aurelia flinched, his wand was already in his hand and Katerina—who was already used to his immediate response with violence—grabbed his wrist.
“Отставить(‘Stand down’ - commonly used as a military command.)” Katerina hisses into his ear, boring her eyes into his very soul. With a magic charged hand, he almost flinched when he felt it sting him a bit.
He would have lashed out if it were anyone else, but like Aleksia, Katerina has witnessed his violence before. She knows that words alone couldn't stop him, especially when such violence was caused by his need to protect someone he cares for. Aurelia's negative reaction to her father simply standing was not a good sign for him—reminding himself of how he was quick to scurry away when his uncle stood from his seat.
“Lord Fawley, sit down.” Szekere sternly says, staring at the man with his strange hawk-like eyes. The other man glared back, before being dragged back down to his seat by Selwyn who sat beside him.
“Arschloch(Asshole (German).” Harry clicked his tongue, almost shamelessly. He doesn't mind the harsh glare Katerina sends him, not fazed as he stares daggers at Lord Fawley. “Well I don't need to tell you my reasons considering Lord Fawley just revealed it.” He snarkily spat, relaxing in his seat—or, well, appearing to relax.
“This damned country has declared me the saviour of the blasted light. What happens when that saviour is a dark wizard, hm?” Harry laughs, taking immense and drunken joy from their shock. “After the tournament, I was fucking catatonic. I didn't even know where I was and the first thing you bastards do was publicly terrorise a boy. Rather than sending me a mind healer to help, the ministry decided to call me a liar through the prophet, ruining my reputation when I was already mentally unstable after getting kidnapped by fucking Pettigrew and watching him kill Cedric.”
Oh—oh he wasn't going to play nice at all. They didn't deserve it after all.
His gaze strays to Lord Gaunt, who was staring at him as if he was a strange and new species that had suddenly emerged. He felt slighted by the man's presence, horrendously irritated that he was walking around unfazed.
“Honestly now, if word got out I leaned to the dark, I'd have been accused of being the next dark lord.”
There was pin drop silence after that statement, causing every single eye in that room to dig into this strange boy with green eyes. Harry Potter—or must he say Hyperion Peverell. The green-eyed boy with a tongue sharper than a knife.
The way he looked at Marvolo was disturbing, terrifying—somewhat as he bore into his very soul.
“Honestly now, if word got out I leaned to the dark, I'd have been accused of being the next dark lord.” Peverell spat, waving at Fawley and Abbott as if they were the blights of society. Then his gaze proceeded to direct itself towards Dumbledore and such an eerie smile etched itself across his face. “Plus, Hogwarts was shit. Safest place in the world? Please. I went through near death experiences for all the four years I attended and was still expected to continue to study here.”
“Хватит. Ты сказал свое, оставь это на этом.(Enough. You've said your piece, leave it be now.)” Morozova snaps, her words heavy and stern—even when Marvolo couldn't understand what spewed from her mouth.
“Apologies for him.” She says but there is not a hint of remorse in her voice, rather, there is annoyance. “When he is told to be honest, he will be.”
Abbott nods, hesitant and weary. “Yes… yes of course. Mayhaps we can… er… move past the subject and ask more questions?”
“That would be preferred.” Szekeres hums, waving Morozova off as she quietly gestures to Peverell to keep quiet. The boy follows, and unorthodox sight from the boy known to be ever so defiant.
“Yes… well… This is a question for Heir Nott. As a student who's recently transferred back to Hogwarts, we would like your input. Any improvements or deterioration of the school? Some direct comparisons between Durmstrang and the reformed Hogwarts.” Abbott asks, turning to Heir not with a quizzical look.
Heir Nott stares at him, curious before he speaks. “There's improvement, of course. Exorcising Binns was a smart decision, then replacing him with Professor Baumer, a muggleborn, gave us good input. With the perspective of a muggleborn added to History of Magic, I suppose there's a spike in the grades. Muggleborns who are newly introduced to our world can now be properly integrated with the improved History and the addition of Etiquette and Culture classes… but Dark Studies is the issue.”
He clicks his tongue, glancing at Peverell.
Marvolo observes the two carefully. They were friends or perhaps acquaintances but they knew one another to be communicating without words.
“Not many are enthusiastic about it, some downright skipped the class.” Nott sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Most are Gryffindors, to be honest. The only one that I've known to consistently attend Dark Studies in my class of Gryffindors is Ron Weasley.”
The name easily garners Peverell’s attention, peering at the other boy with a staunch interest that does not fade for a time.
“I say this without much bias, but all of Slytherin attend the class. We don't skip it, considering we've never been told that dark magic was associated with evil.” He explains, careful with his words and glancing at those who were more aligned with the light. “I don't have much to say since I've only been here for a month, but that's what I've noticed so far.”
“Thank you, Heir Nott.” Abbott says, proceeding to the next questions.
Marvolo finds them tedious, continuous comparisons between Durmstrang and Hogwarts that makes him recoil every single time he has to hear about it. Admittedly, the interview does not go so well, with the evident annoyances of the Durmstrang students—Peverell and Fawley were especially snappy when questioned, brutally answering their questions with vicious honesty that made Abbott stutter every few times.
As he's observed, Rowle was the most jittery of the five, clearly fearful of those around him with his magic leaking out from time to time. The boy had been honest when he said that his magic was so dark that he could barely access any aspect of light magic—Marvolo could feel it. The Vance girl was quick to soothe his troubles, holding his hand and whispering into his ear before she smiles at them, pleasant and sweet. Morganach was protective of the two, often silently consulting Peverell for what to do with little glances and nods. They were a tight knit group, a subtle establishment of who was who could be noticed if one could look carefully.
Admittedly, Marvolo was quite impressed with the young man. Peverell would have transferred to Durmstrang just two years ago and yet it seems he's taken charge so quickly. Slytherin-like, he thinks and can't help but smirk when Peverell methodically dissects the workings of Hogwarts and its flaws, making the professors flinch.
“The facilities are horrid in comparison to Durmstrang's. For one,” Peverell pauses, glancing at Hooch with a pitying look. “The school's brooms are updated every five years considering not many brooms last for longer than seven years if continuously used by different people.”
The flying professor looks tearful at such a comparison, covering her face as Sprout quickly comforts her.
“Anyways!” Peverell happily chitters, “Durmstrang offers more electives than Hogwarts, plus some extracurriculars such as swordsmanship. From my own experience, the school is quite unbiased, unlike the reputation it has. Dark Studies and Light studies are electives, so many people who are aligned to either or are grey often take those classes.”
“And what,” Dumbledore carefully asks and Marvolo sees Peverell's smile tighten. “Pray tell, did you take, Harry?”
“Headmaster Dumbledore, I implore you to remain professional. Our student refers to Hyperion Peverell—” Morozova practically hisses. “It's Mister Peverell to you.”
Dumbledore's calm expression immediately looks perturbed, “Apologies. Mister Peverell…”
Peverell simply waves away his apology, before a smirk graces his lips. “Dark Studies, obviously.”
It would be a lie if Marvolo wasn't expecting that, but he's still surprised. The golden boy—the poster boy of the light—was unabashedly dark. His transfer to Durmstrang seemed to have worked well for him, especially as he seemed to come to terms with who he was. He had to admire him for that.
“I see…” Dumbledore says, looking fairly disappointed in the boy. Such a gaze welcomes a flash of pure and vicious hatred in those viridian eyes.
He assumes that he's the only one who sees it, as Peverell is quick to shift back to a more cordial expression.
“Well then,” Abbott clears his throat, turning to the Hogwarts professors. “I've gathered sufficient information, what about you, professors?”
“Ah! Yes!” Flitwick is the first to say, beaming at them as his eyes become hungry—a Ravenclaw through and through with his love for wisdom. “Majority of the spells practised in my class are light or grey. I know my fair share of dark charms, however, I've wondered what kind of spells your charms professor has taught you.”
Vance seems to perk up, “Ah, right! Well… Dark and Light magic often refer to a classification of magic.” She explains, though it was basic knowledge, Abbott was still writing on his pad. “Different countries have different classifications, to be honest. So the things often said to be dark here don't have a proper label in some places.”
“Care to elaborate.”
As if in habit, Morganach and Peverell slightly raised their hands, before their teachers gently pushed them down. “Right,” Morganach clears her throat, “Example is France. They have a different classification of magic. Light magic is magic that is elemental while dark magic is any kind of magic that involves the body and mind.”
“In the case of Britain, Light magic refers to magic fueled by intent alone. Wingardium Leviosa, Levicorpus, Alohomora.” Peverell begins to explain, “Dark Magic is emotion-fuelled spells. Fiendfyre, Expulso, a darker yet stronger version of Confringo, and then there's Seco, the cutting spell. Majority of charms itself is simply put in intent, in other words, how strong a person's will can be. But then there's charms like Cave Inimicum which are fueled by emotions like fear and caution.”
“Cave Inimicum… are you talking about the charm that keeps one's enemies away?”
“Yes.” Peverell nonchalantly replies, “It's taught in our fifth year. But I'm not quite adept in charms like my mother. Cecilia is better at this than I.”
Marvolo pauses, staring at Peverell who amicably answers questions without much issue. The classification of magic indeed felt strange. Dark and Light meant different things for others. Elemental and body for France, intent and emotion for Britain. If possible, Marvolo himself had fueled many of his spells with his anger, his euphoria. He found that the more he felt, the stronger his spells were. For someone who was declared unfeeling, Marvolo thinks that he's quite emotional if all his life he's known that dark magic suited him best.
But… if Hyperion Peverell claims to study the dark, it means that he is an emotional creature as well. Yet there is a possibility that the dark he speaks of is not the same one Marvolo knows. As said, different countries define dark and light in their own ways.
Which one did Peverell follow when he speaks of the dark?