Sometimes you live your life in blissful ignorance, not seeing something right under your nose. Then one fine day, someone literally points a finger at it, and realization dawns: "Yes, this thing is everywhere! At every turn!"
This happened to me more than once in my past life—for instance, when buying a car in a rare color. You get behind the wheel, drive through the city, and as if by magic, you start noticing the same model everywhere. Worse, it turns out that even more cars are painted in that same "rare" color.
Why all this talk?
Thanks to Hannah, I had started noticing the increased attention directed at my person. Naturally, it wasn't all positive. Far from everyone looked at me with varying degrees of interest; there were those whose gazes expressed anything but joy.
Such looks came most frequently from the radically-minded purebloods. Radical not in the sense of terrorism, but in their intense antipathy, rejection, and near-hatred, coupled with an obvious unwillingness to recognize Muggle-borns as equals—or even as sentient beings of the same species. Simply put, whatever anyone says, local-brand racism is alive and kicking in the ranks of young wizards. And I suspect the adults hold exactly the same views, only they control their emotions better, feigning something close to neutrality.
Ah, sometimes it's so good to know little, see nothing, and understand nothing. You pick a problem to solve, pretend to be a freight train, and that's it: I see the goal, I see no obstacles. You just smash your way through life. And if you aren't lacking in ability, everything becomes much simpler—just apply hard work, effort, and persistence.
They say correctly: "The more you know, the worse you sleep." Or any other variation of that phrase. You just get lost in the knowledge, in understanding the world around you, the intrigues, the social movements... The more of this knowledge you have, the harder it is to make the right choice. And everyone wants to choose the best option, whatever that choice may be.
Be that as it may, at the moment, I didn't have that many choices or goals.
For example, Sunday, October 2nd—the day after the Champions were chosen—I spent not relaxing or socializing as I would have liked (and as would be customary), but in deep thought, brainstorming, and experimentation. For this purpose, I even found another unused classroom, not near our common room but almost on the other side of the castle. Thankfully, there were plenty of such rooms.
The essence of my brainstorming was the need to create a surveillance system for the castle. Yes, elves used animals, but I have a very clear understanding that I am, after all, not an elf, not a dwarf, and not whatever other unknown entity whose shards are in my "assortment." I am a human. The memories of the shards don't carry useful information on this specific issue anyway. The whole "shard" theme has almost completely smoothed over; desires and habits characteristic of those species no longer bubble up from the depths of my consciousness. Now, their fragmented memories really are just like watching a movie to me.
So, I racked my brain over the implementation and arrived at a logical and seemingly obvious solution: Transfiguration!
Yes, yes, Transfiguration again and again.
I simply assessed my needs and concluded: why use real animals? First, they have a whole range of their own needs, which is highly undesirable from a practical standpoint. Second, I don't have a precise methodology for creating a biological spy-animal, which would mean experiments. I have no desire to cripple little birds and critters. I possess tiny shards that once belonged to various living things, and I, of all people, have no doubt that even the most primitive animals have a soul and a basic mind, however peculiar. No, I haven't become some animal rights activist, but causing harm unnecessarily just because I can... well, that's nonsense.
So I arrived at the obvious: Transfiguration.
It has a huge section dedicated to turning inanimate objects into animate ones, and living into living. The nuances and subtleties there, even within the school curriculum, are an endless ocean. But there are a few simple postulates.
Turning the inanimate into the animate is a form of golem-making. An inanimate object is turned into a semblance of life, possessing form and mobility. The degree of similarity to the original depends on the wizard's desire and depth of understanding of anatomy and biology, though in pre-set spells, this similarity depends mostly on formulas. The behavioral model, however, is embedded by the wizard's consciousness and subconscious. It's no problem to turn something into a rat, a cat, or another creature whose behavior is familiar to us. But if you need to turn something into a "six-naveled tail-walker," then externally, thanks to formulas, you'll get your monster, but its behavior will be entirely arbitrary—whatever the wizard's imagination suggests. If it suggests anything at all.
So. The idea: creating golems. Small ones, capable of crawling anywhere, hiding, and if spotted, causing no suspicion or surprise.
Naturally, the spider model suggested itself. Something unassuming, small, ubiquitous, non-poisonous. In short—something utterly ordinary.
The behavioral model could be derived by strictly controlling my consciousness during the transfiguration process. But "sensors"—that's a separate and complex topic. Well, maybe not complex, but I don't know the necessary charms or runic chains. Which means I'll likely have to create the runic chains myself.
As for data transmission—I don't know the specifics there either. However, a couple of times in supplementary literature, I came across mentions of certain charms that allow two enchanted objects to exchange information. The charms themselves, nor their names, were listed, but that doesn't mean I can't find them. The method I used to find mentions of the Malfoys is still valid.
In the end, I spent almost all of Sunday trying to adjust the formula of a transfiguration spell so that the output would be a spider. Sure, I could have discarded these attempts and taken the easy path, simply using my willpower-based sorcery, but would that bring me closer to understanding local magic? To gaining experience? No.
So, I kept breaking my head over it.
. . .
The beginning of the first school week of October didn't differ from the established trend. At least, as far as I was concerned.
Calisthenics, a run (now outside rather than on the Grand Staircase, exchanging polite nods with the Durmstrang guys exercising in the fresh air), a shower, and there I was—fresh and alert—sitting at breakfast in the Great Hall with the Hufflepuffs, devouring everything I could reach with great pleasure. Even the oatmeal didn't escape its fate.
"How can you eat so much?" Justin picked glumly at his fried eggs, having finished the meat portion of his breakfast without much enthusiasm. "And in such dreary weather..."
"The weather is the same as always," I stated the fact, picking up a mug of juice. "And I'm not picky about food. After all, I'm a young, growing organism; I need a lot of energy and building materials. The body isn't built on the Holy Spirit."
"Sigh..."
"Guys. Do any of you know a charm that can link one object to another? To transmit information, text..."
"Like," Zacharias perked up at the topic, "you write on one piece of paper, and it appears on another?"
"Yeah."
"Protean Charms. Everyone knows that."
"And does anyone know the charm itself?"
"Nah, doubtful," Zacharias waved it off. "I think that's way outside the school curriculum."
"Got it. Thanks."
Noting that I needed to search the library for the schematic of these charms and all their nuances after class, I went to my lessons with a clear conscience.
The schedule, by the way, had been slightly adjusted for the convenience of the guests from other schools. Nothing terrible or critical—they just swapped some subjects. Right now, for example, we were all marching to Herbology, though it used to be on Friday; now English and Literature took its place. There were quite a few such trifles, but it hardly affected our studies—in a week, we wouldn't even notice the difference.
Classes were saturated with material, and the professors didn't skimp on homework, which finally confirmed my thought that they intended to leave us not a single minute of free time for idle wandering within the school walls.
Only in the evening, at dinner, did many breathe freely, enjoying food and passing on the rumors that had appeared during the day.
There weren't many rumors, and they revolved around two themes: who screwed up in class and ended up in the Hospital Wing (and in what condition), and what was happening around the Tournament Champions.
The first was simple: students make mistakes or play pranks on each other, and each event usually ends in the infirmary with the patient looking funny and horrifying at the same time. It's quickly cured.
The second was also clear—the topic of Champions and their popularity would be an eyesore for a long time.
However, both I and the other students could look closely and note a significant difference between the popularity of Krum or Diggory and that of Fleur Delacour.
If girls just blindly chased the boys in flocks, then with Miss Delacour, it was both easier and harder. Our girls perceived the French Veela with hostility, while the guys didn't run after her—no, they just glitched hard when she appeared. Considering Delacour was clearly holding back her allure, it was a testament to the power of Veela influence at close range—or a testament to the inability of teenage boys to control themselves. No one was drooling, let's be honest, but Delacour drew attention powerfully. There were numerous cases where a guy walking with his girlfriend would watch Delacour pass by. Technically not his fault, but such incidents didn't bring harmony to relationships.
Conversations at dinner revealed nothing new to me, so immediately after the mandatory meal, I headed to the library. My hands were itching to find the books I needed before evening truly set in—or worse, curfew.
Greeting Madam Pince, I decided to narrow down the search area.
"Could you tell me where I might read about Protean Charms and their analogues?"
Madam Pince looked at me closely over her glasses and nodded.
"Follow me, Mr. Granger."
The librarian quickly led me through the rows of shelves, ignoring the very quiet murmur of voices discussing something. Yes, usually at this time in early October, the library becomes popular again. And considering Krum often hid here, attendance—especially female attendance—had risen tangibly. Pity they weren't here for knowledge. It surely annoyed Madam Pince, but as long as they weren't loud, she took no measures.
We approached one of the shelves, and Madam Pince pointed to a middle row at chest level.
"Here, Mr. Granger, you will find information on the topic that interests you."
Before I could nod my thanks, Madam Pince hurried away, leaving me alone with the tomes. She went, I suspect, to remind certain visitors of the need for silence and order simply by looming over them.
Picking a book at random, I looked for a table of contents—didn't find one. Literature from this century and the end of the last usually boasted such things, but older manuscripts did not. No matter. Placing the book on a nearby table, I pulled out about seven more, sat down, and began my study—simply flipping through, instantly memorizing, but also searching for the relevant sections to read and comprehend. Understanding and memorizing are two absolutely different things.
Ten minutes passed. I had memorized quite a lot of seemingly interesting information when my fascinating reading was interrupted.
"Hector?"
Tearing my eyes from the book, I noticed Hermione walking toward me.
"Yeah, hi."
"It's not often one sees you in the library."
Hiding none of my surprise, I stared at my sister as she sat down at the table. The book she put down was massive and looked extremely old.
"Every day, if you're interested. Know anything about Protean Charms?"
"About what?"
"Protean Charms."
Hermione thought for a second, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
"I read about them somewhere, I can find it if you need..."
"Don't bother," I stopped my sister's noble impulse. "I've already grabbed a pile of literature that mentions or describes them one way or another."
"That must be something really complex, N.E.W.T. level at least."
Hermione's eyes clearly expressed doubt about whether I could handle the task.
"What do you need them for?"
"For experiments, obviously," I smiled.
Shaking her head disapprovingly, Hermione opened her enormous book somewhere in the middle and began wading through the handwritten Old English text, which wasn't particularly calligraphic.
"What are you reading about?"
"House-elves, of course," my sister turned to me. "Can you imagine? Throughout their entire history among wizards, they've been treated like slaves, like toys! No wages, no vacations, no benefits relevant to the era."
"Whoa, easy there," I smiled at Hermione's intensity. "Have you read about the house-elves themselves, or just the history?"
"Does it matter..."
"Of course it matters. Alright, let's take it in order." I pushed my book slightly to the side. "Why do house-elves need money? No, let me rephrase—why do wizards need money at all?"
My sister's look expressed clear doubt about my mental faculties, but she quickly composed herself and started to answer.
"Money is the equivalent of the value of goods and labor for which they are exchanged. Naturally, it is extremely important," Hermione began to lecture with a self-important air, but I decided to interrupt her.
"Why?"
"What do you mean, 'why'? To buy food, for instance..."
"Why?"
"Hector! Don't ask stupid questions!" my sister whispered indignantly, keeping it quiet so Madam Pince wouldn't kick us out.
"It's not a stupid question. We are wizards. Focus on that. Think of any need and tell me: can a wizard provide for himself without money?"
Hermione froze, processing my words. Seizing the moment, I returned to studying my book.
For several minutes, Hermione diligently pondered what I had said. Then, suddenly, she slammed her book shut.
"I need to look for different literature."
She quickly grabbed her tome and, like a zombie, marched off into the unknown depths of the local sanctuary of knowledge.
"Funny," I scratched my head with a smirk. I hadn't expected such an immediate effect.
On the other hand, I was genuinely curious what information Hermione would dig up and what conclusions she would reach. I had no doubt there would be conclusions.
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