Creativity is a complex but addictive process.
As soon as I told Daphne and Miss Delacour that I would be wearing dark blue dress robes and a black suit with blue elements, I immediately went to put this into practice. Okay, not immediately, since these were working days, studying was not canceled, and on the contrary, the professors increased the load even more, and there was a little more than a week left until Christmas.
In general, having found an excuse to break out of the schedule—and the Yule Ball, in my opinion, is an excellent excuse—I began to spend free evening time preparing the suit. This was done quite simply, but not very quickly. In my personal unused classroom, strange as it may sound, I simply transfigured a full-size mannequin, completely replicating myself. Taking the dress suit and robes I was supposed to wear, I literally ripped them apart completely, as I simply didn't quite imagine the nuances of such a difficult task as sewing a suit, cutting, and so on. No, of course I have my thoughts on this, but one can also use the experience of many generations expressed in this suit, right?
It took me a day to figure out all the nuances of tailoring suits—whether that's a lot or a little is not for me to judge. On the second day, I began directly creating the suit itself and all its attributes. Laying out around myself and the mannequin all the available cocoons of the finest gray thread, like a spider web, I waved my wand, enveloping the whole thing in streams of life and neutral energies, and held the necessary images in my head, precise, clear, distinct.
An hour—that's how much time it took to turn the mannequin into a kind of triangular feather duster. Countless threads stretched from the neck to the very floor, gradually diverging slightly to the sides, filling the space with an opaque gray mass, light and airy. But this is only a small part of the work, and the most difficult part is ahead.
The thing is that neither I nor the shards possess the skills necessary for all this. Someone to whom the memory shards once belonged most likely possessed the skills, but they were not reflected in these shards. But there is an understanding of the principles of how magic works, and that is already very, very much. Focusing as much as possible on control, I began like a scanner, millimeter by millimeter, to go through the mannequin with energy from top to bottom, and for each such pass, several dozen threads would weave together now and then. Progress from one such pass is almost impossible to see, but if you look closely after a dozen passes, something changes in this feather duster. Elusively, subtly...
The results of the first day of work on creating the suit prompted the thought that I might not make it in time this way, and this is already a cause for concern. But, pulling myself together, I decided to spend even more time creating the suit, allocating an additional two or three hours a day, even after curfew—this is not a problem. But to be sure, I started humming various positive or epic tunes during work, tying thought-forms for sorcery to them. Is this strange? Not at all!
People have long noticed, especially girls engaged in household chores in villages, that with a song, and with soul, everything turns out much better. Elves, if the practically absent memories on this topic form the correct associations in my head, also have something similar, and this is such an ancient and indisputable truth that it is not even questioned. This is all not surprising, because magic, miracles, all this comes from the thought of a sentient being, if we are generally considering specifically somehow controlled, and not spontaneous sorcery, when energy of a certain type simply supports or directs this or that effect. And a melody, a song, all this allows structuring thought in a rather peculiar way, directing it, building the necessary associations deep in the subconscious, which means it helps in sorcery one way or another.
Undoubtedly, a wizard with a developed consciousness can achieve the desired result without such means, but this requires truly phenomenal and complete control of both consciousness and the subconscious, and everything in general. So why refuse a small bonus?
Did my brazen violation of my own schedule go unnoticed by my housemates? Naturally not! One day I was asked about this when we were doing homework in the common room, as before settling in our nook. Justin started the conversation:
"Where do you disappear to, Hector?"
"Disappear?"
"Well yeah," the guy nodded, and the guys literally turned into ears, looking up from work.
"Preparing for the ball."
"Hmm... Probably walking with Delacour," Ernie nodded understandingly.
"Actually no. Miss Delacour and I practiced dancing on Fridays."
"Practiced dancing?" Zacharias looked at me slightly shocked. "Is there really something you can't do?"
"In fairness," I leaned back in the armchair, settling more comfortably. "A year and a half ago I couldn't do anything at all. I mean, at all. So yes, Zacharias, there are things I still can't do, and there are very many of them."
"Sorry," the guy nodded. "It's just, looking at you sometimes it seems that you can do absolutely everything."
"I learn fast."
"Okay, guys," Hannah waved her hand, as if declaring a timeout. "Hector, what exactly were you doing, if it's not a secret? I mean, preparing for the ball sounds vague, but at the same time I can't imagine what such a thing could be."
"Hmm..." looking at the guys, I decided to say—the secret was so-so, poor. "Sewing myself a suit."
If I say that everyone opened their mouths in amazement, that will not convey the atmosphere completely.
"That's... Extremely unexpected," Justin looked at me, looking for something new and previously unnoticed, but apparently not finding it. "That must be very difficult, right?"
"Of course!" Susan and Hannah answered him simultaneously, not even letting me open my mouth.
"Very," only Hannah continued, while her red-haired friend was slightly embarrassed by the sharpness of her statement. "You need to know and be able to do a lot there... Hector, I'm curious..."
"Yes?"
"Do you know how and can sew suits? Or..."
"Or, Hannah," I smiled. "Used the reverse engineering method."
The guys looked with misunderstanding, and only Justin nodded, and not meeting due understanding in the eyes of the others, explained:
"Taking something apart to understand how it works, principles and so on, to then assemble something of your own based on this knowledge."
"That is," Hannah looked at me reproachfully. "You had dress robes and a suit? And you ripped them apart?"
"Uh-huh, but anticipating a possible question or reproach, I will say that I sewed them back together."
"Well okay..." Hannah continued to look at me, but now with suspicion.
"What?"
"We can't let the star of our year..."
"...of the whole house," Susan corrected her friend.
"Let's assume. For the second biggest star of the house not to appear at the ball or appear in Merlin knows what."
"Everything is fine," I hurried to reassure the girls, who were ready to go all out because of clothes. "In any case, I'll consult with you before the ball, and if something goes wrong..."
"Knowing you," Justin waved it off, "everything will go 'right'. There isn't even any intrigue."
After chewing over the topic of the ball some more and finishing homework, we all went to sleep—lately we have been staying up past midnight too often, albeit just a little.
And so day after day. Until dinner, the teachers diligently exhausted us, loading the brain to the fullest. This doesn't work with me, but many literally howled from the load, especially those who weren't used to working in a strict schedule and studied, as ordinary children are supposed to—from time to time. And only one teacher decided to stop loading us altogether in the last week, allowing the majority to do whatever they wanted in class—Professor Flitwick. Even our Head of House, Madam Sprout, famous for her kindness, sympathy, and understanding, didn't slow down in teaching, but Flitwick—that's another matter. The tiny professor preferred to gather around him a circle of those who still wish to listen to the lecture, and gave the rest the opportunity to discuss the upcoming ball.
I worked so hard that on the last school day, Friday the twenty-third, I went outside in the evening before dinner and was a little shocked. It turns out the weather held at a light minus, the castle, courtyard, and surroundings were covered with a thick layer of snow, and even the Forbidden Forest seemed not so forbidden. The huge Beauxbatons carriage looked comical—like a huge pumpkin that Hagrid likes to grow, it stuck out above the ground, and snow covered it with a huge layer. This white fluffy prankster also played a cruel joke with Hagrid's hut, giving the house a striking resemblance to a fabulous gingerbread hut, which is better not to enter—they'll devour you to hell and won't choke.
All this means that I won't be exercising outside anymore. Shrugging, like: "It happens, missed the snowfall," I returned to the castle and went to the Great Hall.
And the castle was transforming more and more for Christmas. Everywhere, on the walls and under the ceiling, one could find both ice-stylized decorations and purely Christmas things like mistletoe, which is avoided in an arc by those for whom it is completely inconvenient to end up under it.
The Great Hall was also transformed. Besides the fact that this year the theme of ice dominates the decoration, a sort of ice palace, the huge Christmas tree standing behind the teachers' table was blue. Many decorations pleased the eye, and gold-colored owls animated by magic sat in different places along the walls of the Hall, moved, looked at everyone, and ruffled their detailed feathers.
Sitting at the house table next to the guys, I listened to conversations, sometimes inserted my opinion if someone was interested in it, and this happened all too often. It turns out that from the fourth year and older, no one went home for the holidays, and in all houses, but this is not surprising. Many third-years decided to stay, but the younger guys mostly decided to celebrate the holiday with their families—you can only go to the ball from the fourth year, or if you are in the third, then only as someone's "plus one."
"And you, guys," I looked around, showing that I was addressing everyone. "Found yourself a date? Who are you going with?"
"We sort of invited each other among ourselves here," Ernie smiled. "In the end, I'm going with Hannah, Justin with Susan, and Zacharias showed intelligence, erudition, and the versatility of his knowledge..."
"Uh-huh, right," Zacharias smirked. "Just approached at the right time and in the right place."
"...and invited Lisa Turpin from Ravenclaw."
"I see. Not bad."
"Hector."
Turning to Hannah, I appreciated the reproach in her gaze.
"How's the suit?"
"Finished."
"Will you show it?"
"Why not. I'll show it in the common room today. Seems dancing with Miss Delacour wasn't planned for today."
"By the way, tell us, how do you dance? Learned a lot? Seems we went to the Ballroom at different times."
"Without false modesty, I'll answer that I dance much above average, but not a professional. Movements come easily and naturally, but I simply don't know a lot. Every lesson with Miss Delacour was a revelation for me."
"Oh how he phrased it!" Justin feigned admiration, waving a fork in the air. "When are we going to eat?"
The Headmaster seemed to hear this question, stood up, briefly congratulated everyone on the end of the half-year, the upcoming holidays, and since not everyone, to his deepest regret, is allowed to such a rare event as the Yule Ball, and because of this not everyone stays for the holidays at Hogwarts, Dumbledore announced a festive feast for those going home. In general, as I understood, before sending off for the holidays, a festive feast is always held.
The tables instantly filled with the most diverse food, not inferior in abundance and quality to the feast on the occasion of the arrival of guests from other schools.
"What do you think," Justin thoughtfully, but not without enthusiasm, piled various dishes onto his plate. "Is the Headmaster sorry because if everyone stayed, he could have not spent money on the feast?"
"You think too mercantiley for a Puff," Ernie teased his comrade. "But the question is fair."
We ate really thoroughly, but this didn't stop us from getting to the common room, and the girls burning with impatience quickly pushed me into our room with the guys with the order "change quickly."
"And didn't you think that the suit might not be here and not with me?"
"You and something not with you?" Hannah, standing in front of the door to our room, raised an eyebrow. "You have absolutely everything in your backpack. It seems to me you can spit on everything at any second, take off, and dump anywhere—you won't even have to return to the room for things."
"Fair, of course, but I have things here too."
"Okay," she smiled. "Waiting in the common room."
And closed the door. Shrugging, I threw the backpack on my bed and pulled out the finished suit. Looking it over this way and that, I quickly threw off my school uniform and changed. Walking up to the full-length mirror nailed to the closet door in the room, I examined myself.
The suit turned out more than decent, and without any design madness and delving into the Elven theme. Usually, the local suit, like many others in this world, implies a vest and a jacket of this or that cut, but... I am not an expert in various clothes, and simply combined a frock coat, an overcoat, and a jacket in one, and all this with a high stand-up collar. Elven elements can only be discerned if you know what you are looking for. For example, smoother lines, lack of angularity, patterns with slightly lighter blue thread, especially on the sleeves. Naturally, such outerwear implies wearing it closed, and underneath—a shirt.
Trousers—didn't invent anything at all. Exactly the same tailored trousers that came with the suit, except that the fabric is the same dark blue, almost black, and a thin line of lighter patterns along the pant leg.
Dress robes, fitted, sitting excellently, and its color corresponds to the patterns on the suit, but the lining is almost black, shimmering dark blue only in the light.
It turns out a kind of concept of transition from black to thick rich blue, from the inside out. Looked, evaluated—not bad. Only something is missing. With a wave of the wand, I transfigured cufflinks with imitation blue topaz, quickly took the anvil and hammer out from under the bed, swiped, found the nozzle with Lumos, and "forged" the cufflinks. Two sharp, like a blow, dull ringing flashes, and that's it—the stones in the cufflinks glow dimly, and a magical pattern shows through on the cufflinks themselves, and inside the stones.
That's how I went out into the common room. My appearance did not surprise anyone at all—I wasn't the only one showing my suit for the ball, consulting on some points or just bragging. Approaching the guys who were waiting for me on the sofa and at the table in our nook, I smiled, and in movements and manners even I myself felt the Elf's influence.
"So how do you like it, ladies and gentlemen?"
For ten minutes I was critically and interestedly examined, trying to find some inconsistency. In the end, the girls nodded with burning eyes, like: "Handsome, well done," and the guys looked thoughtful, clearly mentally evaluating their suits.
"And smart," Hannah began to be snide. "And handsome, and you can cross-stitch. All the girls are yours when you come to the ball."
"Uh-huh... Just have to live until then."
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