While the shock of the second human petrification faded slowly over the course of December, the air of fear had still been thick enough that when the Heads of Houses asked their students about who would be staying in the castle over the holidays, a majority of the Hogwarts population elected to go home, but surprisingly enough, Malfoy and his goons had chosen to stay behind.
It didn't matter much to Flynn, especially with how Malfoy had actually learned to keep his mouth shut ever since the incident in the duelling club, but it did mean that he didn't have free reign over the Slytherin common rooms like he'd had last Christmas, though he didn't mind the loss all too much.
For the first time in a while, with no annoying Hufflepuff girls glueing them to his side, Flynn finally had the freedom to roam the halls to try find a place to practise his newly forming spell after working on the theory for the first half of the year.
As soon as the first day of the break hit, Flynn set out to find an abandoned classroom to practise in, and though he was delayed by about an hour, when he went to his first usual spot only to find it occupied by a pair of older Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students making out so intensely that neither of them noticed Flynn opening the door and giving them both a disgusted glare, he managed to find an another abandoned room at the other end of the castle.
Though he had used the spell at a small scale to some degree of success, this was the first time he would be attempting to use the spell without holding back.
Placing the cushion that he'd stolen from the Slytherin common room on the floor, he took a healthy distance from it and readied his wand, running through the different steps of spellcasting in his mind.
Three components to a traditional spell. Intent, Motion, and Chant.
The Intent wasn't anything that he'd had a problem with, in his spellcrafting process. Like the book suggested, Flynn had kept his first spell simple. He was creating a "pulling" spell to complement the knockback spell he was so familiar with. The intent behind his spell was that anything his spell hit would have a force applied to them that pulled them directly towards Flynn from the point of contact that the spell hit.
Using the Intent as a base, the idea that Flynn had for the Motion of his wand was based on a similar idea. While his first ideas involved pulling his wand back to mirror the Intent of the spell, he found rather quickly that the motion made it difficult to aim his spell. Unlike some spells that simply affected their target, Flynn still had to hit his target, after all. After some thought, he landed on a simple flick of his wrist in a motion not too dissimilar to the casting of an invisible fishing line.
Out of all the three components, the Chant that Flynn would attribute to the spell proved to be the most annoying one to determine.
According to the notes he'd taken on the Spellcrafting guide, the Chant of a spell was often one that was the most troublesome for a new spellcrafter to think of, not because of any inherent rules for what a Chant should be for any given spell, but the exact opposite.
A Chant for any given spell could technically be anything. While many novice spellcrafters in the modern age would be tempted to think that the language of a spell determines its outcome, the fact of the matter is that there is no relation, other than the fact that the creator of the original spell chose an arbitrary set of sounds to form their chant.
When deciding on a Chant, the most important thing to consider was the specificity of it. It was important to choose a chant that wouldn't otherwise be used in casual language. Not only will this reduce the possibility of accidentally casting a spell in a casual setting, but it will also make it easier to keep the Intent firm when casting a spell. When the chant that it uses is specific, it is easier for the caster to focus on the one and only Intent that is associated with the spell, rather than having to introduce another unnecessary layer of interpretation if more casual language is used.
While Latin is often used as a base in modern spells in the European wizarding world, this is done more for the marketability of the spell across Europe, by using an ancestor shared by many of the languages in the continent. While there is merit in attributing a spell to a vaguely familiar translation of a word, which in turn makes it easier to memorise, the truth is that it does not affect the spell itself in the slightest.
Though Flynn agonised somewhat over what he could use, he eventually decided that there was no reason to go against something that already worked. Even though he didn't really have much intention to market his spell, using a base of Latin wasn't a bad idea in and of itself, and though he had no trouble with breaking tradition, he didn't see much point in breaking it here.
After spending an evening in the library, he had settled on a simple enough word.
"Retraho," he shouted.
A beam of light erupted from his wand. Crude and unrefined, it arced chaotically in the air, but miraculously landed on the cushion, sending it flying directly towards Flynn's face.
Though he was confident that he would be able to catch it, Flynn didn't want to get into the habit of trying to catch anything he hit with his pulling spell, in case he hit something dangerous. Ducking under the pillow, it sailed far behind him, hitting the wall with a solid thumping sound and fell to the floor, kicking up a large cloud of dust.
Flynn felt a surge of satisfaction course through him at the sight. While it certainly wasn't perfect, with the spell lacking any sort of precision or control, it was still a fully functioning spell that had the effect that he'd intended.
So just to make sure that it hadn't been a fluke, Flynn spent the rest of his afternoon casting the pulling spell over and over, even abandoning the cushion once he'd gotten confident that he could dodge whatever came his way.
For the sake of testing it out and nothing else. If he was having fun with it, it was a pure coincidence.
- - - - -
Last year, after cleaning the trees out of the Great Hall after the Christmas feast, Hagrid had left Hogwarts to take a much needed vacation. Even though he insisted that it was the best place in the world, and there was nowhere else he would rather work, he admitted that after spending a large majority of his life there, being hired as a groundskeeper almost immediately after he'd been expelled, it could get a little stale if he didn't take the occasional break.
Last year he'd visited the Netherlands, Russia in the previous year, and Italy the year before that. He didn't have a particular place that he liked to return to, but the most important thing was to take a healthy step away from Hogwarts, so he could always be awed by the sight of it whenever he returned.
That being said, this year, for the first time in decades, Hagrid had decided to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas break, though it didn't mean that he was forgoing his vacation.
For the first time that year, Hagrid invited Flynn to go with him on a multi-day expedition into the Forbidden Forest, and Flynn was quick to jump on the opportunity, not even bothering to ask what they were going to do before helping Hagrid pack their supplies.
It was on their second night in the Forest, as they sat around the small fire that Flynn had started, when he decided to ask what they were even doing there.
"I didn't even tell ye what we were doin?" Hagrid asked, seeming shocked by the question. "Sorry, bout that Flynn. I never realised."
Flynn shrugged as he poked the fire with a long stick, causing a small spray of sparks to erupt from the burning logs as they crumbled under the pressure.
"If I wanted to know, I would've asked," he grunted. "Don't be sorry."
Hagrid frowned, looking like he wanted to apologise anyways, but bit it back.
"We're going te visit Norberta," Hagrid said, his frown quickly fading into a smile as he poked the fire as well.
"She lives in the forest?" Flynn asked, realising for the first time that he actually hadn't seen any trace of the ugly dragon since last year.
"She grew too big over the summer," Hagrid said, with a sniffle. "Had to relocate her to a mountain deep into the forest. Lots of room to play around. I'm sure she's happier there."
Hagrid sniffled again.
"I'm sure she's happy," Hagrid said again. "But I haven't seen her since the summer. Her mountain's too far te visit her over the weekend, and I can't be away from Hogwarts for too long, especially with all that trouble going on in the castle with the Chamber of Secrets and all. I know she's a grown lady, and she can take care of herself, but I just can't help but worry."
Flynn looked down at the fire, not wanting to see what expression Hagrid might have on his face, even if it was easy to guess from the way that he blew his nose.
"How long until we get there, then?" Flynn asked.
"Bout two more days," Hagrid responded.
"Then you'll see her soon," Flynn said.
Hagrid didn't respond with anything other than a hum.
"Sorry fer dragging you out here with me," Hagrid said, poking the fire.
"I needed to stretch my legs anyways," Flynn said, poking the fire back. "And I told you not to be sorry."
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"Sorry."
They arrived at Norberta's mountain range on the evening of their third day of travel, but instead of climbing up the mountain, they stopped at the base and set up camp. Familiar enough with the rhythm of camping by now, Flynn and Hagrid worked silently together as Hagrid set up both of their tents, and Flynn started a fire and took out the cooking utensils.
They cooked their meals together, simply heating up the food that they had packed over the fire, but unlike the last few meals they had, Hagrid pulled out a large bottle of brandy from his backpack and poured a small amount of it into a pot.
The steam of the brandy rose into the air with a sharp stench of alcohol as it boiled away, and Flynn couldn't help but flinch against spray of snow that hit his face as gusts of cold air that buffeted him, accompanied by the sound of wing flaps.
"Norberta, honey!" Hagrid said, with a smile, standing up and spreading his arms wide, as if he was expecting a hug from the quickly approaching dragon. "Mummy's home! And your Uncy Flynn is here to visit too!"
Flynn didn't know how to react to the implication that he was somehow related to the deformed bag of leather that landed beside Hagrid, but from the way that Norberta hissed at Flynn, he was sure that she felt the same way.
Just from looking at it, he was surprised that he'd managed to keep himself from running away immediately. Though Norberta was just as ugly as he remembered her, looking like a wrinkly garbage bag that had been vacuum sealed around a skeleton, now that she was almost as tall as Hagrid while on all fours, he was confident that if she decided that he looked nutritious enough to eat, there was no way that he could fight her off.
Thankfully, rather than trying to eat him, she seemed more interested in wrapping her body around Hagrid while keeping a narrowed glare fixed onto Flynn, almost like she expected Flynn to attack him.
Hagrid just laughed loudly, cooing over Norberta as he ran his hands along her spine, entirely oblivious to the clash of glares happening behind him.
For the next hour, Hagrid continued to fuss over Norberta as she continued to glare at Flynn, refusing to break eye contact even for a second as she pointedly ignored Hagrid except to grab him with her tail or wrap her body around him whenever he got too far away from her. Hagrid seemed surprised by the sudden affection that Norberta was giving him, but despite his suggestions for Flynn to come closer to say hello, he ignored him too, refusing to move from the spot as he kept a firm grip on his wand, and a deadly glare into Norberta's eyes.
Hagrid stopped pushing the issue when Norberta lifted her leg high to step on Hagrid's head, and pushed him face first into the snow. Flynn gripped his wand tighter, ready to try and rescue Hagrid if necessary, but Hagrid let out a loud laugh.
"Norberta, ye silly girl," he said, grunting in exertion when Norberta shifted around to sit directly on his back. "I'm not an egg. Get offa me."
Norberta refused to listen as she settled down further on Hagrid's back, still keeping her glare trained on Flynn, watching for any movements.
As Hagrid unsuccessfully tried to wrestle his way out from underneath Norberta, laughing joyfully as he flailed around against the snow, Flynn made sure that he wasn't actually dying before he shot one last glare towards Norberta and sat back down at the fire, returning his attention to his half finished food.
It took about ten minutes for Norberta to glare angrily at Flynn and scoot closer to the fire, dragging Hagrid across the snowy floor along with her.
With his clothes full of snow, Hagrid finally decided that enough was enough and wrestled his way out from underneath Norberta. Despite her efforts to keep him underneath her, with Hagrid actually being serious in his attempts to escape, it didn't take long before he was sat down by the fire, with Norberta sulking angrily a healthy distance away.
Opening the giant bottle of brandy again, Hagrid poured a healthy portion of it out into a large metal pot, before taking out two large mugs and pouring a small amount of brandy into both, and held one of them out to Flynn.
"You don't need te actually drink it," he said, giving him a sheepish smile. "But she might like it if ye pretend at least."
Flynn stared at the offered drink, wondering whether he should call Hagrid out for offering alcohol to a twelve year old, when he decided he didn't really care. Taking the offered drink, he winced at the fumes that immediately stung his nose.
Immediately, he heard a chuffing sound and turned his gaze towards Norberta, who had her mouth in her own pot of brandy, slowly drinking from it as she stared up at him with a mocking glint in her eyes.
Glaring back at her, Flynn growled in annoyance before he tilted his mug back and downed its contents in one go, hoping that he could overcome his urge to gag at the smell through speed alone.
He woke up a few hours later, in the middle of the night. The half-moon in the cloudless sky illuminated the world around him in a soft light, reflected against the pure white snow, but for some reason, Flynn could still barely see, his vision clouded by something other than darkness.
A moment of panic struck him, as he struggled to remember where he was and how he had gotten there, but as he waded through a hazy river of memories, he quickly remembered the sequence of events that led to this point, though he could only vaguely recall anything that had happened beyond him downing the cup of brandy that Hagrid had handed him.
He fought with the haze in his head for a long moment, before he decided he would deal with it in the morning, whatever "it" was.
Resting his head back against the warm leather sofa that he was nestled into, he shifted around to get in a more comfortable position before the sofa grunted out in annoyance. Though he couldn't exactly understand why or how Norberta had gotten so close to him, he glared at her out of instinct, until she let out an amused chuff and put her head back on the floor.
Flynn glared at her, but decided to ignore the creeping suspicion that he wasn't actually lying against a leather couch as the pull of sleep called to him. He managed to find a comfortable position where Norberta's spines weren't digging into his side, before he let himself doze off once more.
The next morning, the only thing that saved Hagrid from Flynn setting him on fire was the fact that Flynn had too strong of a headache to even think about casting spells. Thankfully, Hagrid seemed to be distraught enough on his own, so Flynn decided that forcing Hagrid to carry him on his back until his headache went away would be good enough revenge until he could think of something better.
It took Flynn a few more hours to sober up completely and decided to let Hagrid go unpunished, preferring to forget about the experience entirely instead of getting vengeance for it. Unfortunately, with Hagrid breaking the silence every five minutes or so to apologise, it was difficult to ignore, until Flynn told Hagrid to shut the fuck up.
- - - - -
The rest of Christmas break passed without much incident, unless he counted the sudden curiosity that Gregory and Vincent seemed to have about him, before Malfoy called them back to his side with a nervous hiss.
On Christmas morning, he got a bright pink apron and a muggle cookbook from Lily and Sally, who had apparently met up to buy him a gift together, a set of a dozen high quality socks from Elizabeth, a pair of thick leather gloves from Hagrid, and a frying pan from the house elves that had been wrapped in so many layers of colourful patterned paper that Flynn had originally assumed it was a small bookshelf.
With the amount of personal possessions that he now owned starting to accumulate to an amount that he couldn't feasibly carry them around on his person at all times, Flynn spent the rest of his Christmas break finding new secure spots to stash away some of his possessions, and after stumbling across the same red-haired Gryffindor and the blonde Ravenclaw students from before making in out in several of the abandoned classrooms that he usually used multiple times, he decided to branch out a little bit in terms of places to keep his stuff.
When he asked the house elves to store his new frying pan away for him, he had to shout at them to stop crying before he was able to explain that he wasn't returning the gift, only keeping it safe with them. He stored his new pink apron there too, and though it might've made sense to keep his cookbook there as well, he decided to keep it on him, with it being small enough that the weight and size wouldn't bother him too much if he kept it in the bag he carried with him under his robes.
When he asked Hagrid to store away some of his extra clothes in his hut, he had to shout at him to stop crying as well, before explaining that he wasn't returning his gift and that he wasn't still mad about what had happened during their visit to Norberta, since nothing had happened in the first place.
When The Hogwarts Express returned, and students filled the castle once more, Blaise gave him a small porcelain bottle without a word, other than to explain that it was an inkwell and an apology for being unable to get a matching set for the quill he had given him the previous year.