"Worn out completely" — that's the only way to describe my state after that aerial dogfight version of tag. Shower, stretching after the workout, another shower, breakfast — everything passed in a blur.
However, establishing a connection with the dimension of life energy was not in vain. Besides the fact that its presence and the connection itself passively affect the body extremely positively, by willfully intensifying its flow through the body, one can achieve heightened regeneration and recovery. The main thing in this matter is resources. That's why food around me at breakfast disappeared much faster and in larger quantities than around the others. But the other guys on the team weren't particularly shy either; they ate heartily.
Occasionally, owls flew in during breakfast and dropped correspondence directly onto the students. They approached their bombing runs with wondrous professionalism. I couldn't help but notice the large owl I had recently sent with a letter to my parents. This miracle bird dropped a letter to me, then went for a second pass, dropping a letter to Hermione. It amused me that my sister wasn't looking at the owls at all and wasn't expecting mail in principle. As a result, the letter literally stuck its sharp corner right into the top of her head, making her grab her head in surprise — unlikely to be painful, but definitely a shock.
I was tired of eating, and there was still enough time, so I checked the letter for various magical traces, and finding none, opened it.
"Who's writing?" Justin, sitting next to me, stretched his neck, trying to peek into my letter.
"That's impolite, at the very least. Well, who do you think?"
"Ah, right, we sent a letter to your parents. Taking a while."
"We're about to find out why."
The letter was quite long, but I read it quickly. It turned out my parents had safely flown to some medical conference in Greece. According to them, they hadn't even thought I would write, since Hermione usually didn't, but instead talked incessantly during holidays. Anyway, the owl had reached them exhausted and had no intention of flying anywhere for two days, sheltering in their hotel room under the air conditioning. They fed and watered it properly, wrote two letters, and sent it back. Everything was great with them, and they were very glad that things were going no worse for me, that I was making friends and succeeding in my studies. Sweet.
Glancing at the Gryffindor table, I couldn't suppress a smirk again, seeing my sister's face red with embarrassment and shame as she read her letter. On one hand, if she got scolded, she deserved it. But on the other, as a girl of nearly fourteen, she would easily harbor a grudge, and that grudge would be against me. Do I need that? I don't think so.
"Everything is fine with them, and they are happy for me," I informed the curious Justin of the letter's summary. "They flew to a conference in Greece."
"Aaaah, I see. I was starting to worry because it took so long."
"What if the letter came when no one was around and I didn't say anything?"
"Well, if you had your own owl, then yes," the boy nodded. "But school owls, or other postal ones bringing magazines and stuff, always stage a morning bombardment during breakfast. So that's ruled out."
"Alright, Mr. Postal Expert. Time to head to class."
Charms class passed completely unnoticed by me. I was more focused on myself and my recovery. Cedric said he'd think about endurance training for me. I'll need to talk him out of it, and instead add endurance training to my own schedule. And for matches, I'll deactivate the bracelet — that will remove a significant portion of the load. Not that I'll become stronger or particularly faster, no, not at this stage of development. But it will take much longer to wear me out like this.
The second Charms lesson was practice. We covered the Glacius spell, the purpose of which is to freeze an object, externally manifesting as a stream of cold, hovering air from the wand. It has several modifications, mentioned in the textbook, but apart from mentions, there is no other information. We practiced this spell on glasses of water, and I must say that for the first twenty minutes, anything but freezing happened to those glasses. Poor Professor Flitwick probably got tired of restoring everything, but looking at the tiny wizard's face, one could assume the exact opposite — he was happy with any result of our clumsy magic at all.
After two Charms lessons, lunch was on the schedule, and after that, for me personally, free periods until curfew. Why? Well, I'm not signed up for Divination or Arithmancy. Cedric, by the way, asked me to stay with the guys in the Great Hall or the common room during free periods, blaming the Dementors — the school administration is interested in students spending as much time as possible in large groups, but apparently hasn't figured out how to incentivize it. Well, besides punishments.
So, in proud solitude, I headed to the common room — the others who didn't have classes for one reason or another remained in the Great Hall. Reaching the common room without any problems, I went into our dormitory, climbed onto my bed, drew the curtains of my nook, and began to think deep thoughts under the light of the magical lamp on the wall. The thought was simple — how to make artifacts.
The Elven methodology by which my bracelet was created is fundamentally unsuitable for mass distribution. There are several reasons for this, and they are mind-numbingly simple. To start, the material for artifact amulets using this technology would be either wood or metal, but a special metal, magical in its own way. Many questions would arise about special metal, and subsequently about me, and I don't need that. Even more questions about wood. I mean, maybe not about the wood itself, but why the amulet has a structure as if it grew on a tree — yes, that's weird.
The warming magical construct circuits themselves aren't that complex, and after application to an object, they simply inscribe themselves into its structure, making it impossible to recognize the component circuits — only the general effect. Simply put, the finished result is indistinguishable from local enchanted items. That's a plus.
The Dwarven variant is banal, but no less effective for it. Take metal, forge it. Compose a runic chain or make an imprint of a magical circuit on the striking face of a hammer, and drive it into the workpiece. Well, that's the simplified version. Technically, Dwarven work requires a heap of tools, while Elven work requires only earth and your own brains. But with Dwarven work, there will be no questions — ordinary metal, and engraving or imprinted circuits aren't particularly new to this world: seen it, touched it, understood nothing, but it works.
It turns out the optimum is Dwarven work. But that is truly Work — with a capital W. A very big capital W! A Dwarf, if he knows how, will not allow something worse than his capabilities to leave his hands...
"Stop!" I stopped myself.
I am not a Dwarf, and I don't need perfection! I don't necessarily have to forge the blank — I can transfigure it from anything and fix the permanent transfiguration either with a local formula or an Elven circuit with a similar effect. I fixed the bracelet's transformation with such a circuit. Inscribing runes isn't my thing yet, specifically, right now I simply wouldn't be able to explain how I composed an incomprehensible chain using unknown runes. That means I'll need an anvil and a hammer to make imprints on it and drive them into the blank. The hammer, of course, needs to be enchanted with runes, but the chain there is simple, and I won't show it to anyone. Well then...
Taking my wand in hand, I waved it, concentrating air into a point. Designating it as the target with my will, I brought up the necessary formulas for transfiguration in my mind, imagined a flat, slightly convex teardrop-shaped piece of metal with a silver sheen. Magic sprang into action, and a moment later, a medallion blank hung in the air, complete with a small hole. The blank fell onto the bed in front of me, and I repeated the process. Again. And again.
Absorbed in the task, I only came to when another blank failed to stay on the pile of its counterparts and rolled down it off the bed, clattering loudly on the wooden floor. Looking in surprise at the heap of identical metal droplets on my bed, I moved to the next stage — transfiguring the anvil.
Strictly technically, a simple metal surface with the correct runic script would suffice, nothing complex — a basis for Dwarves, inscribed into the shard of his life with incredible meticulousness. That's what repeating something "ten thousand times" leads to! In the end, I decided to actually deviate from the Dwarven canon, despite a slight reluctance — a metal sheet on wheels is easier to hide under the bed than a clumsy anvil.
Waving my wand again, I concentrated the air and imagined everything needed. I visualized the runic chain at the object transfiguration stage — I'll just need to infuse it with magic later. Yes, not very Dwarven-like, but they aren't famous for control in principle, so they work through conducting tools, concentrators, and other gizmos.
. . .
A minute later, I could behold a heavy, thick sheet of mirror-smooth metal. On wheels with a simple locking mechanism in the form of a lowering clamp. Now the sledgehammer. Small — I don't need much right now. The Dwarf shard, one might say, squeaked indignantly, and once again I felt a slight disappointment in my own body, like: "Frail little human!" But this is just background noise, a discrepancy that I will gradually eliminate over time. A year or two, and there shouldn't be a trace left of such quirks.
The sledgehammer turned out small, I'd even say a mallet, only metallic and rectangular. On one side was a simple runic chain that, upon impact, would direct a magical construct down the hammer. This construct, passing through the imprint, would etch the necessary circuit into the blank.
Taking the first blank, I placed it on the metal platform, took the hammer in hand, and directing a bit of neutral energy into it, struck the blank.
A sharp ring filled the space. A shower of sparks flew from under the hammer. Setting the tool aside, I picked up the resulting amulet. It had hardly changed shape, but a beautiful, ornate circuit appeared on its surface on both sides. Almost as soon as the amulet was in my hand, I felt the temperature around me stabilize to a slightly warm, comfortable, but not hot level — exactly how it should work.
With a creak, recalling a diagnostic circuit from the shards of the Elf's memory, I applied it to the blank and confirmed that it was exactly what was needed, and nothing more. Yeah, pity, what a pity that there are too few such circuits in memory, and everything else is either incomplete or just scraps.
Well then, while no one is here, I need to forge.
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