The room deep in the castle's basement served as both Elrond's laboratory and his bedroom. Selwyn Castle was nothing like Hogwarts—it lacked that warm, magical light. Here, whether underground or above ground, sunlight never reached the rooms. The air was cool, still, and faintly metallic.
Elrond had chosen this place not only for its privacy but also to stay far from "those annoying people"—his relatives.
"Why is your hair so long?" Elrond's sharp eyes immediately noticed his grandson's hair. "Cut it off, quickly."
Huh? Solim froze. Wait—does the wizarding world also have some kind of 'no hair covering the ears' rule?
"Grandpa, come on, I've never had long hair before. Let me try it out. I'll cut it later," Solim pleaded, trying to save his hard-earned hairstyle.
"What long hair? It's messy and impractical! Whether you're brewing potions or dueling, long hair just gets in the way! Cut it off!" Elrond lectured, running a hand over his own cropped hair. "Look at mine—neat, clean, full of energy! You could have a sharp look like your grandpa if you wanted."
Sloppy for decades in my past life, Solim thought bitterly. Do I have to live sloppy again in this one? No way! Never! Even if I die, even if I go bald—I'm not cutting it!
He'd fight his grandfather to the end for his hair. But he wasn't stupid—charging straight in wouldn't work. He needed strategy.
"Uh… Grandpa," Solim began carefully, "I just came back, right? Shouldn't you tell me about my sister first?"
Elrond's expression softened slightly. "I did find one," he said. "By coincidence, really. You know how most families hide it when they have a Squib? It wasn't easy to ask around." He motioned for Solim to follow him into the inner room.
"I'll skip the long story. There's a boy from the Orvis family—same age as Sirna—same condition."
At his workbench, Elrond opened a massive book and turned to a page. He tapped it and said, "Reply to me—now."
Solim watched, fascinated.
"Don't get any ideas," Elrond said, catching his grandson's gaze. "You're too young to use this thing yet."
Solim sighed and nodded. The book was something like a double-sided mirror, but far more advanced. Double-sided mirrors could only connect two people. This book, though—it could connect everyone who owned one, as long as they added each other's moving portraits to their pages.
Of course, it consumed mana to use—something Solim didn't have enough of yet.
"So," Elrond said, sitting casually in his armchair, "how's life at Hogwarts?"
"You don't need to guess—it's better than Biskule," Solim said, finding a chair for himself.
"Hmph! If you hadn't been so stubborn, you'd be doing even better now," Elrond grumbled. He still hadn't forgiven Solim for leaving Schuyler Academy. In his mind, if Solim had stayed there, he'd be well on his way to becoming a great wizard by now.
"I couldn't stand it," Solim said coldly. "The Cruciatus and Imperius Curses, fine—I could endure those since they were supposed to make me stronger. But once they marked me, I had to give it back."
"Oh, I heard they plan to deal with you right after you graduate," Elrond said after a pause. "You'd better work hard. And if you need anything, you tell me—understand?"
"Actually, Grandpa," Solim straightened up, his expression serious, "I really do need something from you. This holiday, you're coming with me—no, you'll be taking me somewhere."
Elrond raised an eyebrow.
"Little Hangleton," Solim said gravely. He couldn't afford to sound anything less than serious. "There's something I have to retrieve."
He was referring, of course, to the Resurrection Stone—the Horcrux that had led to Dumbledore's death. And since Elrond was a professional curse-breaker, the dark enchantment on it was exactly his field.
Although Solim had returned home mainly because of Sirna, he wanted to fulfill his promise to Snape as soon as possible. Elrond would be leaving on duty after March, and it would be hard to reach him then.
Just as Solim was about to continue, a loud voice burst out from the workbench.
"Old man! Where are you!"
Both of them looked toward the open book.
"Hmph, you're as impatient as ever," Elrond muttered. "When I first found you, you were still a brat. Now I've got grandchildren." He turned the book upright, revealing a moving portrait on the page.
"Speaking of your grandson," the old man in the portrait said, "didn't you say he's coming back today? How's he doing?"
"Come on, Solim, say hello," Elrond said, waving him over. "This here is my proud grandson, Solim."
"I've heard of his 'brilliant deeds,'" the old man sneered. "Tell me, kid—how sure are you about this?"
"You impatient old coot," Elrond snapped. "Let him talk first." Then he said to Solim, "This old bastard is Gilvez. His grandson's in the same condition as Sirna. He's here to beg for your help." He emphasized the last word.
"Beg, huh?!" Gilvez barked. "If this boy can really fix little Fletcher, do you think I wouldn't reward him properly? Don't make me sound stingy, you one-sided fool!"
Solim sighed inwardly. Oh great. He's just like Grandpa. No wonder they're friends.
"Go on, boy!" Gilvez barked again.
"Uh…" Solim hesitated, unsure what to call him.
"Don't worry about formality," Elrond said. "He won't care what you call him—just explain clearly."
"Well," Solim began, "Filch… he sort of succeeded. Filch, you know—"
"I know who he is!" Gilvez cut him off. "Aravito's grandson, the Squib who got kicked out of the family. What's his condition now? Can he cast spells?"
"I don't know… he doesn't have a wand yet," Solim admitted.
"You don't know? And you dare say it's a success?!" Gilvez roared.
"Hey, old man!" Elrond snapped. "Interrupt my grandson again and I'll interrupt you!"
Before the two elders could start another argument, Solim hurriedly said, "He can use magic—really. Maybe not standard spells yet, but he can control magical energy. Professor Snape and I both confirmed it."
He threw in Snape's name just in case. If anything went wrong, he could always shift the blame.
"Fine," Gilvez said gruffly. "When you two come over, bring your observation records. I've got things to handle now. Tomorrow afternoon. Don't be late." With that, the portrait faded, and the page went blank.
"This old fool…" Elrond muttered, slamming the book shut. "You heard him. We're going tomorrow afternoon. Bring your notes."
Then he glanced at Solim. "By the way, did you tell your sister you're back? Go find her. I bet those idiot sons of Keldor are bothering her again. You know what to do."
Solim didn't reply—he just turned and left.
"Take this with you!" Elrond shouted, tossing something across the room.
Solim caught it without looking and pinned it to his cloak. With that, most of the castle's magical restrictions would no longer bother him. No need to call for house-elves anymore.
Keldor was Solim's uncle—the son of Elrond's second brother, Breed. Keldor had three sons: Adelaide, Wright, and Redham. Of the three, only Redham was remotely decent. He often tried to stop his brothers from bullying Solim—but he ended up bullied himself.
As for the rest of the family? Solim couldn't even remember their names, nor did he care to.
When Solim climbed up from the basement into the grand hall, he immediately drew his wand.
"Didn't that useless brother of yours say he'd be back today? What, did he abandon you too, you little Squib?" Adelaide sneered. His sharp nose and narrow face made him look like a rat in human form.
"Brother, that's enough," Redham said nervously. "If she tells Grandpa, we'll all be in trouble."
"Trouble? What trouble? Don't we have the same grandpa?" Adelaide smirked, raising his wand. But then he froze—because Solim was standing there, eyes cold, wand already drawn.
"Oh, look who's here," Adelaide said mockingly. "Long time no see, little bastard."
Wright quickly pulled out his wand too. Redham grabbed Sirna—who had been sitting on the floor—and whispered, "Come on, go to Grandpa. You know your brother can handle this."
Sirna nodded silently. She glanced once at Solim, who had just disarmed Wright with a flick of his wand, then turned and hurried toward the basement.
Adelaide was struggling on the floor, bound by Solim's spell. His limbs were frozen, twitching helplessly.
Solim stepped on his cousin's backside, pressing his wand against his back. "Weren't you always curious about the scars on my back?" he asked coldly. "How about I give you one too?"
Adelaide whimpered, eyes wide with fear.
Ugly boys, Solim thought. Such troublesome creatures. Loud, vengeful, and stupid.
But this time, he had no reason to hold back. He was still technically a "kid," after all. No one would scold him for "fighting with children." No one would say, "Oh, you're older—be the mature one," or "Children are ignorant, don't stoop to their level."
Not anymore.
Now, he was free—free to make these pests cry until they remembered never to cross him again.
"I thought you'd learned your lesson," Solim said softly, eyes narrowing. "But I guess I overestimated you. Maybe it's not your fault. Maybe your brain just doesn't work properly. Tell me—were you born from your father and a troll?"
That did it. Adelaide and Wright both snapped, shouting spells at the same time. But Solim was faster. He'd been expecting that. He'd used that insult before, and it always started a fight.
"Idiots," he muttered.
FOR MORE CHAPTERS
patreon.com/Johnybairstow