Chapter Thirty-Four: The Restored and Spotless Dungeon

Xiwen recalled Miranda’s suggested method and said, “First, we could try the Washing Up Spell.” Immediately, Ghost Xiwen took the initiative to start flipping through the book in search of the incantation.

It had to be said, this hefty notebook was incredibly comprehensive, containing an abundance of spells that Xiwen had never even heard of—far beyond the small selection covered in the standard textbooks. Finding a particular spell among so many was no easy task; it would be all too easy to inadvertently overlook it.

‘Miranda really ought to invent an automatic search spell for this—it would make looking up incantations so much more convenient,’ Xiwen mused as he thumbed through the pages. In his previous life at Kamar-Taj, the grand library of the Sanctum had kept up with the times, equipped with a retrieval system: type the book’s name into the computer at the entrance and it would display the exact location, down to the shelf, row, and position. It was extremely practical.

Helena, seeing that Xiwen still hadn’t found the spell, floated over, looped her arm through his, and began searching alongside him.

“It seems the spells get more difficult as you turn the pages—so the Washing Up Spell shouldn’t be too far back, right?” Helena eyed Xiwen, who was nearly at the book’s end, asking doubtfully.

Ghost Xiwen thought for a moment; she was right. He flipped back to the earlier section and saw that the spells were indeed grouped into life-related and combat-related categories. The Washing Up Spell was listed at the forefront among the household spells.

“So, I did miss it,” Ghost Xiwen said with an awkward smile.

“As long as you found it. Let me see how it works.” The young wizard Xiwen discreetly helped his spectral self out of the awkward situation.

As a practical household spell, the Washing Up Spell wasn’t particularly difficult. The young wizard Xiwen read over the instructions twice and was almost ready to cast it.

Watching as a stream of water, controlled by his wand, futilely washed over the floor, the young wizard Xiwen shook his head.

“It doesn’t seem very effective. What else can we try?” Helena asked.

“We can use the Severing Charm to cut the mud and grime away,” Xiwen replied. “I’ve learned that one.”

No sooner had he spoken than he realized his mistake. Since getting used to switching between himself and his ghostly counterpart, he’d just absent-mindedly spoken aloud as Ghost Xiwen...

Helena looked over at him. Ghost Xiwen’s mouth twitched, and he quickly added, “I picked it up during my travels in Britain.”

“The spell is ‘Diffindo,’” he said earnestly, resolving to never let his mind wander so carelessly when splitting his focus.

“I know it—actually, I taught myself this one a while ago,” the young wizard Xiwen replied.

He raised his wand toward the thickest patch of grime and intoned, “Diffindo!”

A sizable crack opened instantly in the floor. After several more cuts, the entire section of filthy, caked-on mud was separated.

“Scourgify!” The young wizard Xiwen then attempted the Cleaning Charm on the severed chunk, but the large mass of filth remained unchanged.

“It’s too big—the cleaning spell won’t work on something that size,” Helena pointed out. “You should use the Vanishing Spell instead.”

“But I don’t know that one...” Xiwen spread his hands helplessly, a bit frustrated. “The Vanishing Spell is covered in the O.W.L. exams, but I’m only a first-year.”

“You’re only a first-year?” Helena asked in surprise. “Term’s barely started.”

Because Xiwen had kept up a rigorous morning exercise routine, he was taller than his peers, and his mature demeanor hardly matched that of a child. Helena had always assumed he was a third- or fourth-year Slytherin.

Who would have thought he was a newcomer, in school for all of five days?

“I learned quite a bit at home,” the young wizard Xiwen said with a smile.

In truth, he was not an ordinary young wizard. His learning ability and memory were on par with a twenty-something adult. It was only the limited store of magical energy in his body—restricted by his age—that held him back. That, more than anything, was his greatest obstacle.

...

Though he didn’t know the Vanishing Spell, Xiwen soon found another solution.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

With a deft flick, he cast a flawless Levitation Charm, sending the hefty chunk of mud flying out to the far end of the corridor, where the filth was so pervasive that the new addition was barely noticeable.

He continued to use the Severing and Levitation Charms in tandem, slicing away the grime from the floor and walls and tossing it all to the corridor’s end. Soon, both the cell and the adjoining hallway were spotless—if now covered in pits and uneven patches.

“Not bad. Next, we use the Mending Charm to restore everything to its original state, right?” Helena guessed the next step instantly.

“Exactly,” the young wizard Xiwen replied, breathless, sinking down onto a relatively flat patch of floor. “But I need to rest first.”

“You’ve worked so hard,” Helena said, feeling a pang of guilt as she watched him. “Let’s leave the repairs for next time—go back and get some rest!”

This time, Ghost Xiwen was prepared; before Helena could so much as glance his way, he quickly said to the young wizard, “Thank you, Xiwen.”

Habit had become second nature—he could now thank himself by name, with a straight face. If this kept up, he suspected he’d develop a split personality.

The young wizard Xiwen checked his pocket watch—the lunch break was nearly over, and he was too exhausted to drag himself up to the Great Hall. Instead, he lay down on the uneven floor.

Helena looked at him with concern. “Honestly, you’ve already helped us so much. Why not go back and rest? Don’t catch cold lying on the floor.”

Xiwen shook his head, feeling his magical strength slowly return. He forced himself upright.

...

In the scarred chamber, he raised his wand, pointed it at the room beyond, and closed his eyes.

Despite his exhaustion, he felt a surprising clarity of mind; every wisp of magic in his body was under his total control. It was, as Dumbledore had once described, an almost omnipotent sensation—a powerful illusion.

“Reparo!” he declared, brandishing his wand.

From within the walls and beneath the floor, countless particles surged forth, coalescing to fill every crack and crevice. In moments, the room was whole again: smooth, pristine, and perfectly level.

Now, the dungeon gleamed with dark green marble walls and polished flagstones. Mysterious, intricate patterns adorned the floor, exuding the weight of centuries of history.

Drained of his last ounce of magical strength, Xiwen leaned against the wall behind him, barely managing to stay upright. Dizziness washed over him again and again, but inside, he felt deeply content.

Xiwen savored that fleeting sense of omnipotence—he had touched upon a rare mastery: the art of self-control.

It was this control, above all, that allowed him to cast such a large-scale Mending Charm using barely half the magical power it ought to have required.

...

Helena gazed at the familiar patterns on the floor—the same ones that had graced the castle in days long past—with a surge of emotion. Even after the young wizard Xiwen had staggered out, she stood in amazement.

“He’s missed his meal because of us,” she remarked to Ghost Xiwen.

Ghost Xiwen nodded; he understood that fact better than anyone.

“I’ll go to the kitchens and ask a house-elf to bring him something to eat. Will you be all right here alone?” Helena asked.

At the prospect of food, Xiwen brightened.

“I’ll be fine—go on, the young wizard needs his strength!” he replied quickly.

“I’ll thank you on Xiwen’s behalf.”

…