Two weeks is no small amount of time.
No, honestly, it is a lot of time, especially if you are busy with complex but fascinating work. I had shouldered three such projects, the most fruitless of which turned out to be the attempt to find information about what happens in the world on Halloween. Of course, there was information about the traditional holidays of ordinary people and wizards, their history, and so on, but there was not a single word about any magical component.
Empty. Dead silence. Like being in a tank! And I hate tanks...
The second project I undertook was an attempt to grow Elven universal fabric from plants. This idea was born back when I bought my dress robes and suit—which, by the way, was a magical interpretation of a tuxedo. Sure, it had its own stylistic decisions, but it was still a tuxedo. However, I abandoned the idea of creating a purely Elven formal suit—it just wouldn't fit in... it wouldn't fit any norms at all! No, it would be decent, fully covered, and all that, but no one had ever seen or made such stylistic choices—they simply wouldn't understand them.
And what about the mandatory accessories required to show the wearer's status? I don't have the moral right to wear those accessories, as I am not an elf, nor am I a Master of several magical disciplines, or anything else. Without those accessories, formal Elven suits are like wearing a bow tie on a bare torso. No one else would understand that, but I would know.
So, I decided that if I grew the fabric, I would simply make a tuxedo out of it, slightly stylized with smoother lines. And of course, I don't know the exact methods, I don't remember them, and I can't recreate them authentically. But I have a brain, and like all locals, I operate with internal energy that allows me to cast spells on sheer will and imagination, which means I can make a very close semblance of Elven fabric. Yes, Smetwyck forbade me from operating with large volumes of energy and burdening my brain, but he didn't know the scale of these manipulations—I don't need anywhere near that much.
First thing Tuesday morning, right after breakfast and before classes, I hurried to Hagrid's hut, near which the Beauxbatons carriage was "parked." The carriage, by the way, wasn't much smaller than Hagrid's hut, which meant it was of considerable size—how had I not compared their dimensions before?
Smoke was pouring from the chimney of this monstrous one-story stone house—he was heating the stove; it was getting colder. I knocked on the door and immediately received a low, loud bark in response.
"Quiet, Fang," Hagrid grumbled from behind the door. "You're only good for scaring guests, but when it comes to protection, you're under the bench..."
The door swung open, revealing a surprisingly tidy-looking giant. His bushy hair was combed and gathered in a bun at the back of his head, his beard was combed out—everything was excellent.
"Ah, Hector. Morning is good, then," Hagrid boomed. "Why are you here so early? You've got classes soon."
"I'm just here for a minute, just to ask."
"Well, ask away then."
"Do you have a bit of unicorn hair?"
"I do, how could I not? How much do you need?"
"Um..." I held my hands out like I was bragging about a fishing catch, albeit a poor one. "Well, about this much, I guess..."
"Got it. I won't invite you in, it's... a terrible mess in there. Can you wait?"
"Whatever is convenient for you."
Less than a minute later, Hagrid peeked out from behind the door again and handed me a decent-sized bundle of hair. Thanking the giant, I hurried to class, and only after dinner was I able to return to the practical part of my project.
Essentially, it was simple—I needed any bush or small tree, but a very young one, literally a sapling. For this, I had to run around the undergrowth near the Forbidden Forest, wrapping myself in magic for invisibility.
Finding the right sapling in a secluded, never-visited, completely unremarkable spot, I quickly and carefully used magic to hang the unicorn hair on the twigs, having first sprinkled it with my blood. Then I began to gradually wrap the sapling in neutral energy and life energy in equal proportions. I had experience with this kind of work in this world; I just needed the correct and clear mental image. And I had that image—I had spent several hours constructing it, running comprehensive checks, setting limitations, and defining the functions and properties I required to avoid any accidents.
Fifteen minutes of work, and there was the first result—the unicorn hair wrapped itself around the twigs, fusing with them, penetrating inside. Visually, nothing changed.
That was how the creation of the special tree went. It would grow quickly and yield special "apples" at any time of the year. I just needed to come back every day for a month or month and a half—however it went—and repeat the procedure of infusing energy with the corresponding mental image. And so I did, day after day.
Project three: spy spiders.
Everything turned out to be quite simple with them. By the end of the first full week of October, I had correctly adjusted the arithmancy formula for the Transfiguration spell, yielding a small spider with medium-length legs, two eyes, and keen hearing. Well, I hope it's keen—the runes will help me with that. The spider, in essence, isn't organic at all, but Transfiguration forgives many inconsistencies; you could make it out of stone or iron, and it would still be as mobile as a living thing.
The runic chains are still in development—that's a complicated business, and I don't think I'll finish before the end of November. The issue is creating a system to capture visual and auditory information and transmit it via Protean Charms to a receiving artifact. I haven't decided on the artifact yet, and its design will depend on many factors. For example, on how the artifact will transmit information to my brain or consciousness. To solve this question, I planned to approach Professor Moody, but...
Moody is too extraordinary—and that puts it mildly. By the way, during classes in the first full week of October, he decided to teach us to resist the Imperio. Well, according to him, he didn't decide it, and generally, he has mixed feelings about the idea—on one hand, one needs to demonstrate and help develop resistance to this spell, but on the other, one has to cast this spell on a child first. But it seems he decided to settle it simply for himself—it's management's fault. He conveyed this thought to us: if we have complaints, and if we don't want to learn such a useful skill absolutely painlessly and without consequences, we can get lost.
In the end, everyone agreed. The lesson went quite adequately. Moody called us "to the blackboard" one by one, cast Imperio, and voiced his command. Naturally, everyone executed it exactly, or almost exactly, showing minimal resistance. The commands themselves were simple and not at all offensive. Do squats, jump around, make funny faces. Moody managed to select commands individually so that a specific student wouldn't just do it voluntarily. For example, he ordered Malfoy to praise Potter and Dumbledore, sincerely and with feeling—everyone chuckled at the unnaturalness of it! Weasley—to extol Malfoy. Daphne, who always held an aristocratic, icy expression, had to make faces and grimace. Many were shocked by how rich the girl's facial expressions actually were. And so on.
Potter did pretty well. Moody forced him to jump onto a chair. He resisted, gradually giving in, but eventually jumped. Not high enough, he tripped on the chair and fell. But Moody praised him.
Naturally, my turn came.
Imperio is a truly powerful and interesting spell. It sends your consciousness far away to experience bliss and total indifference to everything. Moody seemed to appreciate my physical fitness—likely with the help of his magical eye, which, to be honest, is somewhat disconcerting. Anyway, he ordered me to walk on my hands.
Resist? At first, I didn't see the point. But, to my own surprise, I regained my ability to think quite quickly, stopping halfway—just as I leaned my hands on the floor. I pushed up and stood. Twenty points to Hufflepuff for the first successful resistance to Imperio in the year.
After class ended, I stayed behind.
"Need something, rookie?" Moody grunted, groaning as he sprawled in the chair behind the teacher's desk.
"Yes, sir. I'm working on a project that interests me, and I've hit a dead end."
"Happens, what can I say," the Professor tapped his wand on a teapot standing among various knick-knacks on the desk, and it boiled almost immediately.
"I need some charms, runes, or another method that will allow me to transmit visual and auditory information from an artifact directly to my brain or consciousness."
"Hmm..." Moody poured himself a cup of tea and took a sip, grimacing from the scalding heat—the scars on his face distorted terrifyingly from the movement. "Why? Spying? Given your age, I wouldn't be surprised if you plan to plant them in the girls' showers."
"Not for that," I smiled.
"Pity. I would have done exactly that at fourteen. Why come to me? There's Flitwick, Babbling. Hell, you could go to Dumbledore. The old man is always complaining that he misses teaching. Let him suffer a bit; maybe he'll stop being bored and finally start working properly where he sits."
"Are you still angry at him about the Dementors last year?"
"Find me someone who isn't, rookie," Moody grunted, taking another sip of tea. "So, why me?"
"If rumors about you are true, you're paranoid, sir. No offense."
"Even if you're paranoid, it doesn't mean they aren't after you."
"Agreed, but that's not the point. I would never believe that you, being paranoid, would allow someone to put an artifact on your head without knowing its operating principles thoroughly and being able to replicate it yourself."
"Ha, you think correctly, rookie," Moody swiveled his artificial eye in its socket. "I know perfectly well how to make this thing. But the question remains open—why?"
"And what is a device capable of seeing and hearing, transmitting to the brain, needed for? Information gathering."
"Still the showers," Moody grinned, making his face truly frightening.
"No, well, maybe there too, but not for those purposes."
"Uh-huh, not for those. You want to become a Healer, if I heard the talk correctly? So you'll be in the showers, studying anatomy. Ha. Alright then. I'll tell you how to make runic chains for transmitting information directly into consciousness and explain what's what in that chain. In return, rookie, as soon as you become a qualified Healer, you patch me up for free."
"Patch you up? I thought such things were possible at St. Mungo's..."
"Ah..." Moody waved his hand dismissively. "I simply don't have the money. You serve and serve the country, and then you're thrown to Mordred, just so your disfigured appearance doesn't remind them of failures. I'm sure many at the top wish I had croaked. But when it comes to training rookies, they come running to the veterans. Maintaining myself in my current state costs a lot; I don't even think about a cure. And some things can't be cured, they just eat money. That's why I say patch up, not cure. I don't think the latter is even possible."
"Deal."
"Then somewhere in late October, after the First Task. Before then—no way. Busy with security."
"Understood, sir, thank you. All the best."
"Don't mention it yet, rookie."
So, in principle, I solved another problem for Project Spider in the long run. The result: I have the spider transfiguration formula; the runic chain for the "sensors" is in development; soon I'll learn the runic chain for transmitting information to consciousness. All that remains is to figure out the limitations of this transmission and similar features, but that won't happen before getting the info from Moody.
Basically, time passed like that. For two weeks, every evening I ran to the magic bush in the undergrowth of the Forbidden Forest, cast spells over it, and returned to work on projects in my free time or attend to other matters according to the schedule.
Why do I speak of two weeks? Because right now, I am standing in the dark Forbidden Forest, all invisible and silent. It is October 17th, and my whole life almost flashed before my eyes, and I am in shock.
My shock is caused by the spectacle revealed to me and the huge iron rebar that whistled right past my nose, worse than a cannonball. That's what curiosity leads to—triggered by the noise and flashes of fire heard in the woods.
Here, in the Forbidden Forest, on a specially cleared clearing, a large camp of wizards was set up. But that wasn't what confused me. What confused me were the three giant iron cages, inside which real dragons were raging!
Well, not quite real, just wyverns, and they don't compare to the dragons from the shard memories, but... But who cares! These truly enormous winged reptiles were raging so hard they would tear Hogwarts apart if someone let them inside. Their cages seemed to be heavily enchanted, but even so, the iron bar that flew past my head had clearly been knocked out by one of the beasts. And the streams of fire they spewed were no less impressive! Approximate range—fifteen to seventeen meters!
Three dragons, three champions—the logic is obvious even to an idiot.
I ran back from the Forbidden Forest to the castle, and I didn't even notice how I ended up in the House common room. Here, as always, it was nice, a bit noisy, and friendly. Ideally, my schedule said I should be doing homework with the guys right now, but there was a higher priority task.
Spotting Cedric among the students, cheerfully discussing something with his year-mates on one of the sofas, I quickly walked up to them.
"Hey everyone," I nodded, keeping a serious expression. "Cedric, a word."
The Prefect, being no fool, realized I wouldn't hold a serious face without reason, so he quickly nodded, and we stepped aside, casting a privacy charm around us.
"Did something happen?"
"We are in deep shit!"
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