Chapter 44: A Name and Its Power
When Hermione led Harry and Ron into the disused classroom, they found Malfoy and Neville sprawled on the floor, immobilized.
Hermione wasn't surprised; she knew they practiced defensive spells here. But for Harry and Ron, it was a revelation. They finally understood what Hermione meant by "practicing spells."
Seeing the newcomers, Solim waved his wand, lifting the Body-Bind Curse from Neville and the Leg-Locker Jinx from Draco.
"I suppose you're here about that, too," Solim said, his gaze settling on Hermione. He had expected this. Once Harry returned from the Forest, he would tell the others, and Hermione's logical mind would inevitably bring her to his door.
Hermione stepped forward. "Solim, Draco must have told you what happened in the Forbidden Forest last night."
"He did." With another flick of his wand, chairs slid across the floor to arrange themselves around the room. "Sit. Tell me why you've come." He gestured for them to sit.
"We need your help," Hermione began, cutting straight to the point. "Harry believes the shadow we saw last night was... Voldemort."
The name had an immediate, physical effect. Neville slid off his stool with a yelp. Draco's face flushed with furious indignation; among those who revered the Dark Lord, speaking his name was a profound insult. Ron merely flinched; after so many whispered conversations with Harry, he was building a tolerance.
"Before we go any further, Hermione, I have some advice," Solim said, his eyes shifting to Harry. "For all of you, but especially for you, Harry."
"Everyone knows the Dark Lord's name, but how many wizards do you think dare to speak it aloud? 'Voldemort' is not a name to be uttered lightly these days."
"Neville, sit properly!" Solim snapped as Neville wobbled on his stool.
"But Dumbledore says it!" Harry retorted.
"Ah, Dumbledore," Solim acknowledged with a slight nod. "Many powerful wizards don't fear the name. But does the word 'powerful' describe any of you?" He needed to make the danger clear. "People avoid his name not out of superstition, but out of fear of very real consequences."
He looked from Harry to Hermione. In this room, Ron and Neville, raised in the wizarding world, instinctively avoided the name. Draco, a current admirer, would never speak it. That left only Harry, who was ignorant of the culture, and Hermione, who knew the theory but not the lived terror.
"Voldemort is just a name, a title. You can say it all day if you wish," Solim continued, his voice low and serious. "Provided that name isn't tethered to the soul of a very powerful, very vengeful wizard."
He explained that when a wizard of sufficient power wove enchantments around their own name, they could sense when it was spoken in its entirety by a magical being. To speak the name without alerting its owner, one needed either the power to block such magic or to be a Muggle, devoid of the magical signature that acted as a beacon.
"When his followers were rampant, speaking his name was a death sentence. Iron-headed—or perhaps just foolish—wizards tested this theory. They were found with the Dark Mark hovering over their homes, if they were found at all."
Though Voldemort was now weak, a mere parasite, no one knew if he still retained that particular sensitivity. A decade of silence had not erased the habit of fear. That habit was a survival instinct.
"You can say his name within the walls of Hogwarts if you must. But do not make a habit of it. Do not carry that habit beyond these gates. Unless, of course, you wish to bring death to your doorstep. I've warned you." Solim's final words hung heavy in the air.
"Don't think you're earning our trust by saying that!" Ron burst out, pointing an accusatory finger at Draco. "His father was a Death Eater! And now You-Know-Who is outside the school, trying to come back with the Philosopher's Stone! How do we know you're not working with them?"
Harry, who had been about to speak, closed his mouth. He had heard the rumors in Gryffindor common room—how the Malfoys had bought their freedom with gold and lies.
"Weasley, you will duel me for that!" Draco shot to his feet, his wand drawn.
"Sit. Down." Solim's voice was calm but brooked no argument. Draco slowly retook his seat, glowering. Solim turned his impassive gaze to Harry and Ron. "I never asked for your trust. You came to me, remember?" He glanced at Hermione, who nodded reluctantly.
"Furthermore," Solim continued, his tone turning icy, "I don't believe the Weasleys are in any position to cast stones at the Malfoys. You do realize your family didn't starve and still has a roof over its head largely thanks to their... 'contributions'? To bite the hand that, however indirectly, fed you seems a rather misguided form of gratitude, doesn't it?"