Sunday ran its course in the usual way.
After Hogsmeade and my pensive wandering about the castle, I simply went to the library so as not to waste the time.
Even today — a fine Sunday, with lovely weather outside and half the students not yet back from Hogsmeade — even on such a day the library was well attended. Easily explained, of course: the clock was ticking steadily, exams drawing ever closer, barely a month left. But even so, given that it was still Sunday, finding a free table and settling down with books was no great difficulty, which is precisely what I did.
About an hour in — an hour before supper — Hermione came into the library among the other students. Serious expression, purposeful stride, bag crammed with books — I cannot fathom why she doesn't put an Undetectable Extension Charm on her school bag; she knows how to, I'm certain of it. Carrying another book for light reading, she was clearly about to return it to its shelf — Hermione, as I understood it, was one of the few people Madam Pince allowed to take away the books that were, shall we say, not quite for lending. "Not quite for lending" meant there were few copies or just the one. An important distinction, because there were books one genuinely could not remove under any circumstances whatsoever.
Seeing me, Hermione changed her mind about returning the book immediately and came over to my table instead.
— Hello. How's the studying going? — she sat down opposite me, placing the book on the table.
— Slowly but surely. Are you back from Hogsmeade already?
— Yes, — Hermione dismissed it with a wave. — The girls decided to stay in the Three Broomsticks until thrown out. I mostly dashed about for a few small things, sat for a bit, and that was that. Exams are almost upon us, barely a month left. I need to revise everything properly.
— Right you are. I've got a few gaps myself. Questions from the more obscure depths of the extended curriculum — the sort aimed at those who want not just "Outstanding" but a perfect score without a single mistake.
— Oh, yes, I know the kind, — my sister smiled in recognition. — Do you need help with anything?
— Not really, I've already tracked down all the information I need — a list of two or three books, and a few days' reading to cover them. But we could read together if you haven't gone through this one yet…
I lifted the book, showing her the cover — an interesting author's work, something of a monograph on Charms.
— I was actually looking for something on Charms that covered advanced topics.
Hermione moved around to my side of the table; we spent a minute working out which part of the book would be interesting to both of us, and then settled in to read, taking notes in our respective notebooks now and then.
When the time came to head to supper, Hermione had already gathered her things and was about to stand.
— Hold on, — I stopped her, taking the box with her protective set from my bag. — Here. There's an instruction note inside.
Female curiosity did not permit deferring inspection of the gift until later, and Hermione opened the box. I had deliberately not made the artefacts into anything particularly ornate — practical, with a small pattern, attractive, but entirely understated. Otherwise Hermione might easily have "taken a stand" and refused to accept them, and one would have to talk her through the practical value of the pieces before she would relent. I had no patience for that sort of thing.
Hermione gave the bracelet and ring the attention they deserved, then turned to the instruction note.
— These must be extraordinarily valuable artefacts, — she announced, closing the box. — I've never heard of anything with even remotely similar functionality.
— Given the way things are in Britain right now, and in general — I think it necessary that you wear them. And practise using them, so that you act by reflex rather than find yourself torn between your wand and the bracelets, or standing there in the middle of an attack trying to decide what to do.
— Thank you so much, — Hermione, visibly mixed in her feelings but clearly pleased, hugged me rather tightly, which was somewhat awkward given that we were sitting at a table. — And what about the others?
— No idea. I'm not concerned with "the others." Spreading oneself thin trying to protect everyone, trying to please everyone, is something one could theoretically do…
— All right, all right, — she interrupted me with a smile. — I know your position. I was simply asking.
— Just in case, you mean?
— Something like that.
— Put them on now, by the way. And do you know the concealment charms for jewellery and small personal items?
— Yes, I've read about them, — Hermione nodded, at which her unruly hair made another bid for freedom from the grip of two clips. Unsuccessfully, of course. — I've just never actually used them. I don't quite understand why you'd put something on only to hide it. As far as jewellery goes, I mean.
— I understand. But jewellery isn't always merely jewellery. One shouldn't go about openly displaying protective amulets and that sort of thing. A potential opponent might work out what you're protected against and how, and start using something considerably more difficult to counter. Whereas in ignorance, they'll use something you can actually defend against — which reveals them and their intentions.
— You've clearly thought about this.
— Of course, — I said, beginning to pack up my things. — If you can count to ten, stop at five — and tell people in confidence that you go to seven.
— Do they teach you that in Hufflepuff?
— No. It's a rule of life.
Hermione put on the bracelet and ring, concealed them with a charm, packed her things, and went at last to return her book for light reading to its proper place among the other substantial volumes. We headed to supper in what amounted to a crowd of other library enthusiasts.
Supper passed in a pleasant, easy atmosphere — the students were in good spirits after their outing. Only from the Slytherin table did a couple of the alternatively gifted cast hostile looks in my direction. Curiously, they constituted a small and clearly not especially popular group among the students. I didn't even know them — they had never distinguished themselves in any way, were not in my year, had not been seen in Quidditch, had never joined the Duelling Club. In truth there were very many such students, and not only from Slytherin — with plenty of them I had never crossed paths anywhere except the Great Hall, and I didn't know their names. Even within my own House I only knew many students at all through my prefect duties: dealing with documents, names and individuals; the occasional minor request for help; and so on.
From my little spiders I had received nothing of particular importance — not even anything merely curious — about the internal machinations of Slytherin House. But they weren't everywhere, and one could hide in Hogwarts if one was determined enough. The spiders — I'd need to make another dozen. The "stamina" of the mental faculties was apparently strengthened by sustained work with the spiders, and I could manage a little more of it yet. Make another dozen, and put them to use searching for Ravenclaw's diadem. Yes — decided. Straight after supper, down to the Hogwarts kitchens to shake down a house-elf for information. Only I'd need to ask about it without asking about it directly.
As planned, I walked with the others toward the common room after supper, then stopped by the still life nearby.
— Did you not get enough to eat, or what? — Justin grinned.
— No, I just need to have a word with the house-elves.
— Fair enough. Don't eat Hogwarts out of house and home — Monday breakfast is grim enough as it is, and if there's no meat, it'll be an absolute catastrophe.
Those within earshot laughed at the remark — it was not once or twice but practically three times a day that they had observed my rather relentless appetite, combined with the complete and utter absence of any resulting weight. In fact, I now understood where all those limitless sweets and other food that Daphne consumed disappeared to. Mostly in secret, of course. It meant the body was no longer changing as constantly and vigorously under the influence of the elven circuits and Life energy applied nearly three years ago. I refreshed them periodically, admittedly, but that was beside the point — the upshot was that the body would, in another three or four years — perhaps a little more — reach its optimal state.
Hmm. Interesting, how long would it take Daphne and her bracelet of my manufacture to bring her body to an optimal state? I rather thought the process would take perhaps half again as long, simply because Daphne lacked access to a limitless source of Life energy.
All these thoughts had run through my head in approximately the time it took me to open the door to the Hogwarts kitchens by that absurd and entirely indispensable method — tickling the pear in the still life.
The door opened. I stepped inside, immediately drawing the collective attention of the local house-elf community. The kitchen had not changed in the slightest — though something told me — the ancient stoves, for instance — that nothing here changed as a rule, and if it did, only under the most dire necessity.
The fires in the stoves and a dozen wall-lanterns were the only light sources in that enormous space, comparable to the Great Hall in size. The ceilings were noticeably lower, admittedly, but even so.
One of the house-elves burned itself and began hopping about with a yelp, clutching its hand — it had been staring at the visitor. The unfortunate creature immediately received a rap on the head from another, older house-elf's walking stick. Charming.
— The young wizard is wanting something? — one of the longer-standing members of the community deigned, at last, to enquire. The rest were gradually returning to their work or passing their duties on, retreating to the far corner where they lived.
— Yes. You, — I scattered a little magic around me, as though tossing titbits to fish — see, here's something tasty — you work all over Hogwarts, you know everything, you've seen everything, you've been everywhere.
— Yes, indeed, young wizard, — the old house-elf nodded, while another dozen of the creatures drifted closer, hoping to catch a little of the magic and perhaps to carry out whatever request had not yet been stated. — That is our work, young wizard.
— Then tell me, — I released a little more magic into the air, and from the look in the house-elves' eyes it was plain they would tell me anything if it meant they'd receive still more. — Is there a place in Hogwarts where one could hide anything, and nobody would ever find it?
It must be difficult, being a magical creature whose very nature is rooted in magic, yet having no way of receiving it without limit, as nearly every other magical creature can.
The old house-elf pondered this, while two of the younger ones were straining to speak but would not interrupt. Noticing their eagerness, I gave them an encouraging look.
— Do you know of such a place?
— Yes, yes, young wizard! — they immediately began bouncing on the spot and hurried closer, taking care not to intrude on one's personal space. — We know!
— You, tell me, — I nodded to one of them.
— I know! On the eighth floor there is a strange room. When Skippy was thinking that he needed to put down his buckets and mops very quickly, a door appeared. There were lots and lots of different things inside, all in a muddle, but one could put down the buckets and mops there.
— And Bucky was looking for…
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