The grass in front of Altair's wand began to grow. Not just longer, it changed entirely, ordinary lawn giving way to thorned vines covered in sharp barbs that spread outward across the ground for more than ten meters before slowing. Even then they kept moving, curling and reaching as though looking for something to close around. Every few seconds a pulse of emerald light ran through them.
"These vines can bind a target, then inject a paralyzing toxin. The person loses control of their body completely. At the same time the vines drain their life force and return it to the caster." Altair watched them shift across the grass. "Ordinary spells and weapons can't damage them. It's a very effective spell."
He let the silence sit for a moment.
Hermione's brow creased. She was already working through it. "It needs plants," she said. "That's the limitation."
"Exactly."
She hadn't needed the hint. He hadn't expected her to.
"Any plant will do, but there are places with none at all. Although—" He paused. "There's a solution. Think about it."
She frowned at the ground for a moment, then looked up with some uncertainty. "Transfiguration?"
Altair raised his wand. A small pebble near his foot became a single blade of grass. Another motion, and the blade became a vine that began spreading immediately, thorns rising from it as it went.
"Exactly. Try it. The incantation is Entangling Thorns. The important thing is—"
She listened without interrupting. After a few attempts she had it, one vine climbing out from the grass and stretching to about five meters before her magic ran thin.
"That's already very good," Altair said. "If it were Neville, it might take him a year just to make a single blade grow an inch."
Hermione put her wand away and gave him a reproachful look. "You're not allowed to make fun of people behind their backs."
She turned the parchment of the conversation over in her mind. "The wizard who created this spell, you said his name was Saruman? I don't think I've ever come across that name. I should look for it in the library."
Altair swept his wand across the lawn. The vines pulled back into grass.
They stretched out on the lawn for a while after that, talking without much purpose, until Hermione concluded that lying around was an inexcusable waste of an afternoon and pulled Altair up by the sleeve toward the library.
...
After dinner, Altair said goodbye to Hermione and walked back to the dormitory alone.
Malfoy and the others were in the middle of a conversation when he came in. The room went quiet the moment the door opened. Malfoy looked at his two companions, and without a word the three of them gathered themselves and drifted out to the common room.
Altair didn't watch them go.
He slept well.
In the morning, dressed and washed, he took out his wand, cast a spell on Goyle, and left.
Malfoy and Crabbe stood frozen until the door shut behind him. Then they crossed to Goyle's bed and started shaking him.
Goyle stretched, blinked, and looked around pleasantly. "That was a wonderful night's sleep. Morning, Malfoy. Morning, Crabbe."
Malfoy's expression didn't recover quickly. "Do you know what happened? Altair cast a spell on you. He said your snoring was too loud, pointed his wand at you, and then you just stopped moving. You looked like a corpse."
Crabbe nodded. "We were terrified. We didn't dare go get anyone."
He left out the part where they hadn't dared move at all.
Goyle checked himself over carefully and found nothing wrong. If anything he felt better rested than usual. "Maybe it was a Silencing Charm. I've heard my father mention those."
It was a reasonable explanation, and Malfoy's breathing steadied a little. But his eyes went to the door and stayed there.
"How dare he cast spells on students whenever he likes. Dumbledore only just warned him yesterday." He straightened up. "I'm telling my father. He's a governor. I'll have Altair expelled."
"Don't forget the Dementor," Goyle said.
Malfoy's face went still. He didn't answer for a moment. The memory of that night came back to him and he looked briefly like someone standing in a cold room.
"Forget it," he said at last, quieter than before. "A Malfoy doesn't stoop. Get ready. We've got Charms this morning."
...
Altair was already at breakfast when Hermione arrived. She was easier today than yesterday, something settled in her that hadn't been there before. She even gave Pansy a small dismissive sound as she passed.
Pansy said nothing. The anger was in her eyes, but she kept her mouth shut.
Being looked down on by someone she looked down on was not something Pansy had worked out how to handle yet. Altair had genuinely frightened her the day before, and that sat beneath everything else like a stone she couldn't shift. And somewhere alongside the anger there was something she didn't quite have a name for, a feeling that the seat Hermione had taken should have been hers. Altair was a Slytherin. So was she. Hermione was Muggle-born, a Gryffindor, and somehow she was the one sitting beside him.
Altair noticed Pansy glancing at him and paid it no further thought. She could look if she wanted to.
After breakfast he and Hermione went early to the Charms classroom.
Professor Flitwick was a small, elderly man with goblin ancestry and greying hair who had to stand on a stack of books to address the class properly. He was precise, cheerful, and clearly at home in front of a room of first-years.
The first lesson covered theoretical groundwork and one spell. Simple, foundational, the kind of thing that felt almost too small to bother with until you understood what it was the beginning of.
The incantation was Lumos.