SUMMER WITH THE SHAFIQS
Oddi's Land was a world apart. Stepping through the threshold was like entering a dream, a stark contrast to the sombre grandeur of Shadowfell Hall or the oppressive weight of Grimmauld Place. An inexplicable charm permeated the air, a blend of wild magic and meticulous care.
The house itself was a sprawling expanse, a testament to the Shafiq family's unique tastes. It was less a building and more an extension of Zara Shafiq's extraordinary garden. Magical plants, their leaves shimmering with iridescent hues and their blossoms pulsing with inner light, filled every available space. It was a riot of colour and scent, a living tapestry that wound its way through the house, creating a labyrinth of verdant wonder. Zara herself, with her striking beauty and an aura of noiseless strength, moved through her garden like a queen in her domain. Hermione had never seen such a stunning woman, a vision of elegance and power.
The interior spaces were vast and open, suggesting a love for both nature and performance. It was easy to imagine duels taking place within these expansive rooms, the air crackling with magical energy. This impression was likely due to Rafah, Azza and Salim's father, a retired duelling champion whose presence lingered in the very architecture. He seemed youthful, almost eternally so, with a quick wit and a sharp eye. The house had a different kind of extravagance, a blend of natural beauty and practiced skill, not a show of wealth but an expression of passion. It was a place where magic bloomed and skill was honed, a world that was both enchanting and slightly unsettling, but undeniably captivating.
Hermione was greeted by a whirlwind of warmth and laughter. Zara Shafiq approached with a knowing smile. "Ah, Hermione," she said, her voice a melodic lilt, "so you're the one who stole my Azza last night. She looked completely spent this morning.”
Hermione blushed, a sheepish grin spreading across her face. "We… we talked a bit late," she admitted. "But we made sure to come at the agreed time!"
Rafah, Azza and Salim's father, emerged from a doorway; his youthful face creased with amusement. "Knowing my daughter," he said, his eyes twinkling, "I'm surprised you managed to get a breath in all night. Did she let you speak at all, or was it a non-stop barrage of Shafiq secrets?"
Azza, looking slightly dishevelled but utterly content, draped an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "It was worth it," she declared, yawning theatrically. "We solved all the world's problems. And a few of our own."
Salim, lounging on a plush, plant-covered sofa, chuckled softly. "More like created a few new ones," he muttered, but his tone was affectionate. "You two looked like you had been hit with a sleeping charm when I saw you this morning."
Zara offered Hermione a warm, reassuring smile. "Don't worry, dear," she said, her eyes filled with understanding. "Teenage girls need their secrets. And their late-night chats. Come, let's get you some breakfast. You both look like you could use a good, hearty meal."
As they moved towards a sun-drenched dining area, Hermione couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. The Shafiq household was so different from the stifling atmosphere of Shadowfell Hall. There was a lightness here, a sense of acceptance and warmth that was both refreshing and comforting. Despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin, she felt a genuine sense of belonging, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time.
Amidst the warm chatter of getting to know Azza and Salim's parents, Azza casually turned to her father. "Dad, could I borrow some of your duelling books? Hermione and I were thinking we might need them."
Hermione nodded, adding, "With the inconsistent Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum at Hogwarts, we thought it would be wise to supplement our studies."
Salim, who had been idly flipping through a magical plant identification guide, paused, a light frown creasing his brow. "I thought being in the Slytherin dueling club was enough," he muttered, his voice low. He immediately seemed to realize what he had said, his eyes widening slightly.
Rafah's face lit up with surprise and joy. "You're in the Slytherin duelling club?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with pride. "Azza, that's wonderful!"
Azza, who clearly hadn't intended for her father to find out, rolled her eyes and shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not that big of a deal," she said, her voice dismissive. "Just a bit of practice."
Despite Azza's attempt to downplay it, Rafah's enthusiasm was palpable. "Not a big deal?" he repeated, his eyes sparkling. "My daughter, following in my footsteps! This is fantastic!" He beamed at Hermione and Azza. "Of course, you can borrow any of my books. Anything you need. I'll even give you some pointers, if you'd like."
Azza, though slightly embarrassed by her father's exuberance, couldn't suppress a small smile. "Thanks, Dad," she said, her voice softening. "We'd appreciate that." She was not actually wanting to follow his steps, she just loved the adrenaline of the fight, the high of the magical exchange.
Salim, still slightly annoyed at his slip-up, muttered, "Just be careful. Those books are advanced. You don't want to accidentally set something on fire."
Undeterred, Hermione and Azza eagerly gathered the dueling texts Rafah had generously lent them. They found a spacious, plant-free section of the garden, a makeshift dueling arena, and began to practice. The pages were filled with intricate wand movements, complex spell combinations, and tactical diagrams. As they delved deeper, however, a disturbing pattern emerged.
"Did you see this?" Hermione whispered, pointing to a section on disarming techniques. "They're not just disarming. They're aiming to shatter the wand hand."
Azza frowned, flipping through another page. "And this one," she said, indicating a passage on sound-based spells, "it's not just a simple Sonorus. They're talking about using it to pierce someone's eardrums."
Hermione's eyes widened. "And look at this," she said, pointing to a transfiguration exercise using the Avis spell. "They're suggesting using it to conjure birds with razor-sharp talons, aimed at the opponent's eyes."
These aren't just dueling tricks," Hermione said, her voice low. "They're… they're vicious."
"They're dark," Azza agreed feelingly. "Even if they're not officially 'Dark Magic'. Marvelous."
Just then, Salim wandered over, drawn by their hushed conversation and the sight of the open duelling books. "What are you two whispering about?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity. "I'm bored, and you two seem to be having all the fun."
"We were just looking at some of these techniques," Hermione said, indicating the open books. "They're… surprisingly brutal."
Salim leaned over, scanning the pages. His expression shifted from curiosity to a thoughtful frown. "Yeah," he said, his voice quiet. "A lot of duelling techniques are like that. They're about exploiting weaknesses, finding the most efficient way to disable your opponent. From what they said about you last year, I assumed you already knew. "
"But they're not just disabling," Hermione argued. "They're maiming."
Salim shrugged. "It's duelling," he said. "It's not supposed to be gentle." He looked at them, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. "Knowledge is power. Knowing how to use these techniques, even if you never intend to, gives you an advantage."
Hermione shifted uneasily, a mix of apprehension and reluctant fascination swirling within her. "I have to admit it's… creative," she admitted, her voice hesitant. "They've found ways to weaponize almost every spell. It's almost impressive." She shuddered slightly. "But still… unsettling."
Azza, however, was practically vibrating with excitement. "This is brilliant!" she exclaimed, her eyes animated. "Imagine the possibilities! You could turn a simple Lumos into a blinding flash, or use Wingardium Leviosa to drop a chandelier on someone!"
"Azza!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice laced with a mix of shock and exasperation. "That's… that's excessive!"
"But effective!" Azza countered, her grin widening. "Think of the chaos! The sheer… artistry of it all!" She grabbed a nearby twig, twirling it between her fingers like a wand. "A simple Herbivicus could become a thorny, vine-like trap. Reparo could be used to shatter something even further! They are using every spell in a way it was not intended to be used!"
Salim watched them, a thoughtful expression on his face. "She has a point," he said, his voice quiet. "Duelling is about improvisation, about finding unexpected ways to use magic. These techniques are… efficient."
Hermione frowned, her mind racing. "But it's… it's almost cruel," she argued. "It's not just about winning, it's about inflicting pain."
"That's the point," Azza said, her voice laced with a hint of impatience. "Duelling isn't a game in this times, Hermione. It is a fight. And in a fight, you do whatever it takes to survive." She looked at Hermione, her eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. "Besides," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "think of the advantage we'd have if we knew how to use these techniques. No one would expect it."
Azza's enthusiasm was infectious, her arguments disturbingly persuasive. Hermione, despite her initial nervousness, found herself swayed by a strange sense of responsibility. It had started innocently enough, a desire to emulate Narcissa's poise and perfection, to be the ideal pureblood lady. But as the shadow of war lengthened, the motivation shifted, becoming something darker, more urgent. The world felt precarious, existence itself a dangerous gamble. Hermione found herself obsessed with the idea of protecting Sirius and Regulus, a compulsion she couldn't quite explain. It was as if a primal instinct had awakened within her, a need to shield them from the encroaching darkness. She imagined herself standing between them and danger, her wand a bulwark against the forces that threatened to tear them apart.
And so, she found herself drawn into the brutal logic of the duelling techniques, the unsettling creativity of their application. She rationalized it as necessary knowledge, a means to an end. But deep down, a flicker of something she refused to acknowledge stirred within her. The thrill of mastering these dark arts, the raw power they offered, was undeniable. She wouldn't admit it, not even to herself, but she found a strange, exhilarating satisfaction in the idea of wielding such potent magic. It was a forbidden pleasure, a dangerous secret she kept locked away, even as she practiced the deadly techniques with a growing sense of proficiency.
Rafah, seeing their focused intensity, couldn't resist the urge to share his expertise. He approached them, a gleam in his eyes. "You know," he began, his voice filled with enthusiasm, "you're approaching this with a good mindset, but there are a few nuances you might be missing."
He picked up one of the duelling manuals, flipping to a page detailing a complex wand movement. "Take this disarming technique, for example. It's not just about the wand movement itself; it's about the timing. You have to anticipate your opponent's next move, create a moment of hesitation, and then strike." He demonstrated the movement, his wand slicing through the air with practiced precision. "And this," he said, pointing to a section on transfiguration spells, "it's not just about conjuring the object, it's about controlling it. You have to visualize the object's movement, anticipate its trajectory, and use your magic to guide it."
He then showed them how to use a simple shielding charm to deflect an attack, emphasizing the importance of anticipating the attacker's direction and speed. "These are the kinds of things that separate a good duellist from a great one," he said, his voice filled with pride. "It's not just about knowing the spells; it's about understanding how to use them effectively." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the three of them. "I'm so impressed with you all," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You have such talented minds, and such a keen interest in magic. It fills me with joy to see my own children, and a friend that is as talented, pursuing this path." His smile widened. "I can't wait to see what you accomplish." He then proceeded to give them tips on specific spells, pointing out the most effective ways to use them in duelling.
While Rafah was engrossed in sharing his duelling expertise, Zara, with her characteristic bouncy elegance, took a different approach. She observed the trio from a nearby, plant-draped chaise lounge, an impish twinkle in her eyes.
"My, my," she drawled, her voice a melodious tease, "look at you all, so serious. Are we planning a midnight raid on Gringotts, perhaps?"
Azza rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips. "Just practicing, Mum," she said, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation. "Dad's been giving us some tips."
Zara raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Tips?" she echoed, her gaze sweeping over the duelling manuals scattered across the garden. "Or are we learning how to turn innocent house plants into deadly weapons?"
Hermione blushed slightly, while Salim offered a polite, if somewhat strained, smile. "Just some advanced techniques," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
Zara chuckled, a low, melodic sound. "Advanced techniques," she repeated, her eyes sparkling. "How very… Slytherin of you all." She paused, then added, her voice laced with mock concern, "Just promise me you won't turn my prize-winning Venus flytrap into a carnivorous monster. It's quite sensitive."
Zara, with her innate ability to read the subtle shifts in atmosphere, decided to add a dash of romantic teasing to her repertoire. "So," she began, her voice laced with a humorous cadence, "all this duelling practice… is it to impress someone special, perhaps?"
Azza groaned, rolling her eyes. "Mum, please," she muttered, her cheeks flushing slightly. "We're just learning."
"Oh, is it?" Zara echoed, her eyes twinkling. "Or are we hoping to sweep someone off their feet with a perfectly executed disarming charm? Or perhaps a well-placed Petrificus Totalus to keep them from running away?"
Salim, usually the picture of composure, shifted uncomfortably, his ears turning a distinct shade of crimson. He avoided his mother's gaze, pretending to be intensely interested in the intricate patterns of a nearby climbing vine.
"And you, Hermione," Zara continued, her attention shifting to the slightly flustered witch, "are you practicing for a particular… charming young wizard?" She paused, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Perhaps someone who catches your eye at Hogwarts?"
Hermione's blush deepened, and she stammered, "No, Mrs. Shafiq. I'm just… trying to learn."
"Of course, dear," Zara said, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "Just trying to learn. But a young lady as bright and lovely as yourself must have some admirers." She then looked at Salim, who was still trying to look anywhere but at her. " And what about you, Salim? Are you practicing to dazzle someone? You told me something about some Fawley Hufflepuff, or perhaps that Fortescue's daughter."
Salim's face turned even redder, and he mumbled something unintelligible.
Zara then turned her attention to Azza, her eyes narrowing playfully. "And you, my dear," she said, her voice laced with a hint of amusement, " do you want to make an impact on your dear friend here? You do seem rather… possessive of her attention."
Azza sputtered, her cheeks flushing crimson. "Mum! That's ridiculous!"
"Of course, dear, I just know you are the obsessive type of friend, love. There’s no harm.”
Zara chuckled, a low, melodic sound. "Don't worry, dears," she said, her eyes danced with mirth. "I'm just teasing. But remember," she added, her voice laced with a hint of genuine warmth, "friendship and love are just as important as magic. Perhaps even more so." She then changed the subject, asking about their favourite classes.
That summer at Oddi's Land transformed into a sanctuary for Hermione, offering a refreshing escape from the suffocating environment she knew so well. While the dueling practice was intense and occasionally unnerving, it was only one aspect of their time together. Amidst the strategic wand work and unconventional applications of everyday magic, they shared laughter, secrets, and unbridled joy, creating a sense of freedom and release.
Hermione found herself shedding the layers of rigid expectations that had always weighed her down. She could be herself, flaws and all, without fear of judgment. She no longer felt the constant pressure to be the perfect pureblood lady, the embodiment of decorum and restraint. She could be loud, she could be silly, she could even be a little bit reckless, and the Shafiqs embraced her wholeheartedly.
The family's warmth was a balm to her soul. They weren't Aimi, with her energetic, unwavering devotion, but they offered a different kind of comfort. They were boisterous, playful, and unapologetically themselves. They were a family that reveled in life's simple pleasures, a family that found joy in shared laughter and genuine connection.
Hermione felt soothed by their presence, by the easy rhythm of their lives. She was no longer just Hermione Ara Black, the cousin, the daughter, the student, the other. She was Hermione, the friend, the duellist amateur, the girl who could laugh until her sides ached and murmur secrets until dawn. She was free. And in that freedom, she found a sense of belonging she had never known before. The feeling of belonging was not the same as with Aimi, but it was just as important. The Shafiqs were not her family, but they had given her a home.
The Shafiqs had just finished a particularly boisterous lunch, the remnants of a hearty meal scattered across the table. Zara was regaling them with a hilarious anecdote about a misbehaving Mandrake, Rafah was playfully teasing Salim about his attempts to charm a particularly stubborn garden gnome, and Azza was mimicking one of their more eccentric professors, causing everyone to erupt in laughter.
Hermione watched them, a strange tightness in her chest. It was a simple scene, a family enjoying each other's company, but it felt utterly foreign to her. She saw the easy affection in their gestures, the unspoken understanding in their eyes, and a wave of longing washed over her.
"You know," Rafah said, interrupting Zara's story with a chuckle, "it reminds me of the time Salim tried to transfigure our cat into a dragon. The chaos was… memorable."
"Oh, don't remind me," Zara groaned, playfully swatting Rafah's arm. "That cat was never the same."
Azza burst into laughter. "He tried to give it wings!" she exclaimed, wiping tears from her eyes. "It looked like a plucked chicken with bat wings!"
Hermione, watching the easy banter, suddenly pictured Sirius at Potter Manor. She imagined the Potters' living room, filled with the sounds of laughter and the aroma of Mrs. Potter's cooking. She pictured Sirius, finally free from the weight of his family's expectations, laughing alongside James and his parents.
Maybe this is what he found there, she thought, a pang of something akin to envy tightening her throat. Maybe this is what he was missing.
"Hermione, you're awfully quiet," Zara said, her voice gentle, drawing Hermione back to the present. "Are you alright, dear?"
Hermione managed a weak smile. "Yes, Mrs. Shafiq," she said, her voice slightly strained. "I'm fine. I was just… thinking."
"Thinking about what?" Azza asked, her eyes filled with concern.
"About… about Sirius," Hermione said, her voice barely a whisper. "And the Potters."
Azza's expression softened. "Oh," she said, her voice understanding. "You miss him. Again."
Hermione nodded, her gaze drifting back to the laughing Shafiqs. "I think… I think I understand now," she said, her voice filled with a dawning realization. "Why he spends so much time there. Why he doesn't come home."
She looked at Zara, her eyes filled with a silent question. "Is… is this how families are supposed to be?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
Zara's smile softened, her eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and sadness. "Families are all different, dear," she said, her voice gentle. "But they should always be filled with love."
Hermione nodded slowly, the truth of Zara's words sinking in. She looked at the Shafiqs, their laughter echoing through the room, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Maybe, she thought, maybe all the other families are better than ours.