We entered the castle and headed towards the Main Tower.
"Ah, the joys of a linear timetable. By the way, since you've got a free period, perhaps you could fetch the first-years?"
"All right."
Rounding a corner, we met other students from other years — a crowded corridor.
"This is better than the muddle there was in the first years."
"Probably."
"I sometimes forget you weren't with us back then," Hannah said apologetically, though it was purely out of politeness. "Right, see you at DADA…"
Hannah was about to turn off into one of the corridors, but I hurried to remind her:
"There's no such subject anymore!"
There were quite a lot of students around, so the noise was considerable. Hannah heard me, turned, and rolled her eyes, pulling a face that was meant to express but one thought: "You really are tiresome!"
Climbing to the castle's upper floors, I met Daphne on the way with a mixed group of Slytherins, mostly girls.
"Good morning," I greeted them all, though my appearance did not provoke a positive reaction in everyone. "Daphne."
"Hector," she smiled and walked beside me, taking my hand. "Off to Runes?"
"Of course."
"You've got rather… varied company."
"The Head of House's recommendation — to move in groups where possible. And we were simply heading the same way."
A couple of people peeled off on the third floor, two more on the fourth. The staircases and corridors emptied rapidly — there were mere minutes until lessons began, and no one was keen to be late on the very first day. It was just us, the super-conscientious Hannah and I, who had brought our charges along a little earlier than necessary. But the youngsters didn't seem to mind.
"How did the first day start?" I enquired as we'd nearly reached the right floor and the Runes classroom.
"You know, not badly. Pansy managed to gather a great deal of useful information in just one evening."
"Gossip-scout," I smiled, picturing her now creeping about invisibly, now eavesdropping, now drawing word by word something useful out of an interlocutor.
"Well, it's a convenient moment," Daphne smiled faintly. "Many hadn't seen each other in a while, a fair number of things have happened, people want to share and to muddy the waters, but no one tells outright lies — when the lie comes out, you might come to regret it."
"And what's the mood in the House?"
"Same as ever. Some claim the new professors were appointed by the Dark Lord himself, the Headmaster too. And they're counting on being able to 'teach the Muggle-borns a lesson' and the rest of it."
"And when should we expect action?"
"Honestly?" Daphne sighed sadly as we stopped at the last turn in the corridor, literally a few metres from the Runes classroom. "They're choosing who'll be the one to test the limits of permissiveness."
"How lovely."
"It's sad, is what it is."
We entered the classroom. Bathsheda Babbling, our professor, as always favoured dark red in her clothing, and her hair remained black, though presently plaited into a braid. At the desks sat the same Ravenclaws as ever, headed by their prefect, Goldstein. At the front desk directly before the teacher's table sat Hermione, examining a book as usual and making notes. Daphne and I sat down at a single desk in the left row and began getting out our writing materials and books. Of course, Daphne again had some inscrutable, clearly rare tomes from the family library.
She glanced at me, noticed my gaze, and her lips stretched into a smile.
"Don't you have a sense of déjà vu?" There was a minute, maybe a minute and a half, until the lesson began, so we could exchange a couple of phrases before the professor started.
"I do. Everything's just as it was in third year, only we've grown up."
Since the others were silent, busy with their own affairs, our conversation was overheard and received favourably — quiet chuckles.
"And your sister, as always, at the front desk."
Hermione heard us, sharply turned her head, but looked at us not with reproach but with a smile.
"Good morning to you too. Your desk, incidentally, is also the first in its row."
"And my books," Daphne demonstratively stroked one by its cover, "have no doubt caught your interest."
"And, as last time, will you make me a copy?"
"And what exactly will I get for it?"
At that point Goldstein turned to us.
"Oy vey, my dears, that's my privilege, asking questions in that manner."
Satisfied that his remark had been received favourably, he smiled and returned to tracing something on his parchment.
"And what does the young lady want?" I smiled at Daphne, but she didn't have time to answer.
"To begin the lesson, at the very least," Professor Babbling rose from her seat, smiling sparingly and wearily. "So… I see no additions to our valiant ranks are forthcoming. But that's all to the good. So…"
The professor now surveyed everyone, saw attention and understanding in our eyes, which meant she could continue.
"Welcome to the advanced course in Ancient Runes. I want to congratulate you all on successfully passing your OWLs — to begin with."
We all nodded or smiled — each reacted in their own way.
"Now then, as concerns the advanced course in Ancient Runes. Here, from sixth year to the very end, graduation in seventh, we will no longer study Ancient Runes in isolation from the other magical disciplines."
The incomprehension in some eyes would have been visible even to the blind.
"Let me explain. At present you possess knowledge concerning all the runes of the various peoples. Within reasonable limits, of course, since knowing absolutely everything is impossible. You know their meaning, both as a standalone unit and within a text or runic bindings. Further study of this direction holds no real point, for in this direction the difficulty merely increases incrementally, as does the number of other discrete runes, entirely optional. That, let us say, is specialisation towards mastery."
I nodded understandingly, as did Daphne. Hermione, whom I could see out of the corner of my eye, seemed to be biding her time, waiting for the moment when she could fling her hand up to the heavens, eager to ask a question.
"In the advanced course of Ancient Runes we will study methods of combining them with other directions of magic — charms and runes, spells and runes, potions and runes, all together, and so on. Naturally, basic knowledge of Arithmancy will be required… Although, if I remember the marks correctly, you are all perfectly in order on that score."
"Yes," Goldstein couldn't restrain himself from the assertion. "Sorry."
"Not at all," the professor smiled sparingly, running a hand along the sleeve of her dark red robe, which looked very heavy, velvet. "To grasp the essence of the material we'll be studying, I'll give a couple of examples."
The professor drew her wand and pointed its tip at a quill lying on the table. A circular motion, no words, and the quill turned into a large branching candelabrum, for seven candles, which drew a smirk from Goldstein.
"As you can see, I performed a transfiguration, but I did not use fixing formulae, since I don't know them for this particular form, proportion, and material of the object. I did not prepare the spell in advance — the motif of the transfiguration was inspired by your conversation, with its leaning towards Jewish culture. As you know, pure transfiguration, without admixtures of other directions, is a teeth-grindingly precise, exacting magical discipline. However… Who would like to apply Finite?"
Hermione immediately raised her hand, restrained, but as one of her detractors might say, inevitably.
"Please, Miss Granger."
"Yes, Professor," Hermione drew her wand and, with an honed, measured motion, made a short flick, pronouncing perfectly precisely and on time: "Finite," pointing at the candelabrum.
Nothing happened.
"You already know the reason, Miss Granger, don't you?"
"Yes, Professor. You used runes to fix the transfiguration, and now not only will it not lapse over time, but its result is irreversible simply because the quill is now a candelabrum. In every sense."
"Correct, but not the whole of it."
"Ah… Yes, I missed something. Judging by your words, you used a series of runes instead of formulae to ease the visualisation of the material and form."
"Those are the right conclusions. Five points to Gryffindor."
Hermione nodded and made a couple of quick notes in her notebook.
"Indeed," the professor continued, "I eased the magical manipulation by applying several runes and their binding, creating them in my mind and weaving into the formula one of the basic transfiguration formulae. You yourselves have no doubt more than once used charms or spells enhanced or altered in one way or another by runes."
"Yes, Professor," Goldstein was clearly struck by some realisation, so again he couldn't restrain himself. "We were given a couple. Even in your lessons."
"Precisely," the professor smiled a touch wider. "Now we shall set about studying the principles by which the runes we need can be woven into a given spell that hasn't yet been prepared for such 'weaving.' This allows us to assign strictly defined properties to spellwork — for example, in transfiguration, where with any manipulation, regardless of type, a definite form of the end product will be set — and likewise in charms, or in something else."
The professor tucked her wand into the inner pocket of her robe and drew several different objects from the desk, among them some wands.
"As an example of combining charms, potion-making, and artificing…"
Hermione raised her hand.
"…Yes, Miss Granger?"
"Professor, isn't artificing on the list of especially advanced magical disciplines under strict Ministry control?"
"It is, and so?"
"Erm…"
This drew a smile from me, Daphne, and Goldstein, while the rest of the "ravens" listened intently.
"Of course," the professor continued, "if you go scattering runic artefacts left and right, people will come from the Ministry and ask: 'And where is your academic degree? And your licence? And why are you scattering such things about, risking the Statute?' But that doesn't negate basic education in this direction, and whether or not to develop in it is your affair. But let us get to the point."
The professor took one of the wands and, turning it in her hands, examining it, continued.
"On this wand a series of magical runes is inscribed. The final effect is based on the interaction of charms with the ready-made runes. Cover your ears…"
There was no reason not to follow the recommendation, so we all covered our ears. The professor flicked this wand, pointing at the wall to her side, and loudly pronounced:
"Lumos Solem."
The wand's tip flared, and a narrow cone of light struck the wall. Only for an instant, not even a second. But it was enough that, with a very loud crack, almost an explosion, part of the wall was badly scorched.
"There you have it," the professor nodded, speaking rather loudly. "And so that it's clear…"
She pointed the wand at the candelabrum, making the correct flick and pronouncing:
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The candelabrum rose, no argument there, except that as it did so it began to melt with a crackle, to smoke, to blacken, and within a couple of seconds it had collapsed in a molten stream onto the teacher's table, burning through it. The professor made sure we'd all seen and drawn some conclusions, and only then cleared away the remains of the candelabrum, mending the table in the process.
"That was a demonstration of merely a wand with a runic binding, and into the spells themselves a single simple rune was woven. What can you tell me? Anyone besides Miss Granger?"
Daphne raised her hand.
"Yes, Miss Greengrass?"
"Any spell passing through such a wand takes on the effect embedded in the runes. Applying a special rune within a spell or charm allows the effect to be more controlled rather than spontaneous."
"All correct," the professor nodded contentedly. "Five points to Slytherin. Though, if I'm not mistaken, your family, young lady, up until the year eighteen hundred and twelve actively practised runes precisely and developed in that field. Only afterwards did they retrain towards a somewhat different direction."
"Yes, Professor."
"Well, it's pleasant to know you take an interest in so complex a science. All the more so since it was precisely the works of your great-great… great-grandfather that kindled my own interest in runes. Miss Granger, do you have any remaining questions?"
"Yes, Professor. I wanted to know why such wands aren't encountered everywhere. I must admit, this is the first time I've seen one."
"It's an extremely specialised instrument, Miss Granger. And it requires particular skills to use. Moreover, such a wand is no longer capable of performing ordinary magical manipulations. And far from every wizard is prepared to sacrifice versatility for specialisation, becoming helpless in many matters. For wands don't grow on trees, paradoxical as that phrase may sound. Many, practically all, grow attached to their wand over time, and finding a replacement or alternative becomes exceedingly difficult."
"I see. Thank you, Professor."
"And I strongly advise against experimenting with your own wands," the professor said sternly. "You could simply kill yourself and those around you. As for their prevalence… The Department of Mysteries actively uses specialised wands in its research and other activities. Some of their wands are so deeply modified that they're capable of reproducing only one or two spells."
The professor put her implements back in the desk.
"This is precisely what we'll be occupied with in sixth year. And in seventh we'll move on to studying the role of runes in the process of creating new charms and spells. That, too, is a broad and complex topic, and I don't think there's any need to tell you of its importance."
After this rather drawn-out introductory speech, the lesson itself began, which I found quite interesting. For some reason, despite all my knowledge — fragmentary though it was, sometimes merely in the form of an idea or concept — I hadn't considered this application of runes. Although, in my own "dwarven forging" I use a similar principle myself, only in a slightly different order and somewhat differently. There's nothing new under the sun, after all. Oh, yes — a whole heap of homework.
After such an interesting lesson, we all set off to the first class of the year in DADA, or, to be formally correct, Combat Magic. On the way we discussed the possible prospects of studying and applying runes in various branches of magic, and, by all appearances, the others were thoroughly enjoying themselves, building theories and conjectures. Only Daphne simply walked alongside, holding my hand. She does that quite often now during our meetings, and I can't say I'm displeased or against it — quite the opposite, very pleased and very much "for." Hermione, on the other hand, cleared off from us very quickly, nearly at a run. Could Weasley be slacking off again? Or is she simply worried he'll idle about? Ah, the memories of the dwarf shard are mildly indignant at the fact of such an individual's existence in our rather small and closed society — there, beneath the mountain, that was unacceptable, and freeloaders or idlers were swiftly put to work.
At the door of the new Combat Magic classroom — the old one, for DADA, had been handed to years one through five — our year-mates already stood, though not all of them. From the others' remarks, and from the spiders, I knew that several students had decided not to attend DADA, deeming the subject not especially necessary for their future and useless for life and work going forward. Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin from Ravenclaw, for instance.
Having greeted everyone I hadn't yet crossed paths with today, Daphne and I stood beside the Huffs and Slytherins, exchanging meaningless phrases in passing. Soon Hermione joined us nearly at a run, and a little later, far more calmly, Hannah.
One of the spiders in the corridors detected Snape and the new Combat Magic professor, Helen Hunt. They were moving briskly down the corridor in our direction, but were still far off, a couple of turns away. The professor was clearly irritated, and I decided to switch over to the spider's feed:
"…unthinkable," she was saying quietly but caustically, almost hissing. "Better the Cruciatus than this… this torture."
"There's nothing dreadful about being a professor, so pull yourself together already and kindly carry out His instructions."
"Don't lecture me on life, Snape," she hissed venomously. "I know rather better than you what it means to carry out his orders with full loyalty."
"If it weren't for your failures, and those two's as well…"
"No names."
"Of course," they turned the corner, and my spider was nimbly working its little legs, fairly racing along the ceiling above their heads. "If it weren't for the failures, you wouldn't have to be doing this… Helen."
The professor's name was pronounced by Snape with some undisguised gloating.
"Since the Dark Lord needs me to teach the brats…"
"And teach them well."
"…I'll teach the brats. But if these brats start snivelling and whining, Merlin be my witness…"
"No Unforgivables. No torture. No corporal punishment. No…"
"I'll manage on my own. Now begone, Snape, your nose is blocking my marvellous view of the splendid and monotonous stone walls of this cursed corridor."
They parted at a junction. Snape went off somewhere on his own business, sweeping his robe dramatically, while our professor moved towards us at a swift stride.
"She's coming," I said, returning my focus of consciousness to reality.
"Who?"
"In we go," the professor appeared abruptly in her dark green clothing, and with a flick of her wand, no less abruptly, threw open the door.
These lessons might prove interesting after all.
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