Early morning.
The Room of Requirement, transformed into a laboratory, lay in half-darkness, in which only the runic chain on the mirrored table served as a source of soft, shimmering light — I'd switched everything else off the moment Daphne fell asleep. Sitting half-upright, embracing, wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, was pleasant enough, of course, but lying down was better. So, without disturbing the girl's sleep, I slowly and carefully shifted our position to horizontal and, deriving both moral and physical pleasure from the contact, closed my eyes, drew Daphne in more comfortably, and… fell asleep.
Like a blink, as though I hadn't slept at all and no time had passed — that was how it felt when I woke early in the morning. Without casting Tempus, I knew with certainty it was six o'clock. But I was in no hurry to move, since Daphne was still asleep, snuffling faintly against my shoulder. It's odd how one's attitude toward things can shift depending on how close a person is to you.
For instance, if some girl I barely knew had been sleeping on my shoulder, absurdly drooling a thin trickle of saliva from her mouth, I'd have found it off-putting — yet from Daphne it somehow seemed absurdly endearing. Nonsense? Absolutely! But that's simply how the human psyche works.
So I just lay there, idly stroking a strand of Daphne's black hair, meanwhile turning over my next project in my mind. The wand was already finished, so I simply summoned it with a gesture — it flew out of the runic formation on the mirrored table, landing precisely in my open palm.
Entirely different sensations!
It hadn't changed in appearance, hadn't changed in thickness or in the simple pattern on the handle, but the feel… Absolute freedom and pliability in the flow of energy through the wand. I'd grown so accustomed to controlling and forcing energy out into the world through myself and other instruments that I hadn't even noticed the slight, for me insignificant, resistance from the wand or my other artefacts — yet it was there.
Small wonder the local wizards are so attached to their wands. It's worse than any drug. Such ease of use, such pliancy. No need to think much, no need to strain the mind pushing magic outward, allowing one to concentrate solely on the spellcraft itself — and the absence of such demands breeds dependency. Absolute dependency. I hadn't noticed it before, since the wand had suited me, if not perfectly, and Ollivander couldn't provide another, as far as I understood. But now…
I'd have to work out a clear scheme for when to use the wand and when not to, so as not to become dependent on it. I hadn't thought that modifying the wand would both solve problems and create new ones. But these new problems were minor, at least for me personally.
Slipping the wand into the special forearm sheath, I turned my thoughts to the next project — the hammer. That one would take real effort, but I wasn't going to rush it. After all, Daphne and I were working together on the runic modification of the basilisk skeleton, and I didn't want to sink too deep into the hammer project and drift away from our joint work. She was glad to be able to help me and prove herself as a witch. I suppose that's an important psychological nuance — everyone wants to be useful, to be needed in the eyes of people who matter to them.
That didn't mean I wouldn't work on the "hammer" at all, though. I might even change the concept of the weapon — make a sword instead, or a spear entirely. But the sliver of dwarf in my soul demanded a hammer. I already had one, but that was for smithing, and what I wanted was something for driving trolls and giants into the ground, even if I'd never actually need such a thing. And, of course, a bit of pathos — an analogue to Thor's hammer, no joke there. And a sword — what's a "sword"? Who's going to be impressed by a toothpick? Though, perhaps, a war-axe? And I could grow a phenomenal haft for it…
My thoughts drifted along in a calm, even stream, in which I lost myself entirely, running through speculative experiments and calculations. I even managed to miss the moment Daphne finally woke, though she didn't move, continuing to lie there, clearly savouring my weightless stroking of her hair.
"How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough for my arm to go numb," she answered quietly, but didn't move, seeming instead to press herself closer still. "Odd that it didn't happen while I was asleep."
"Magic."
"You're going to end up like my grandmother," there was a smile audible in Daphne's quiet voice, strange as that sounds. "Pity she didn't live to see this day. She also loved explaining everything with a single word — 'magic.' Especially when she didn't know the answer."
"So what, if not magic?"
"Spare me the philosophy this early in the morning," Daphne propped herself up over me and looked straight into my eyes with a smile. "Good morning, by the way."
Drawing my wand, I cast Tempus and noted with some surprise that it was already half seven, meaning the general "reveille" would come in half an hour, since it was a school day — Tuesday.
"Is the wand finished?" Daphne stated it as fact, though her tone still carried a question. "May I?"
Still half-lying on me, though propped up now, she held out her hand, but paused, waiting for permission or refusal.
"Of course."
Handing over the wand, I watched the conflicting emotions cross Daphne's face the instant she touched it.
"Strange," she smiled. "It feels strange, not like other wands. And… you can tell straight away it's your wand."
"Well, I didn't work at it for nothing, did I," I couldn't help but smirk.
Daphne handed the wand back, gave me a quick kiss, and sprang up from the sofa with a sort of flying gait, drawing her own wand as she went and setting her school uniform and robes to rights with a couple of spells — we'd slept in our clothes. Allowing myself a few fleeting moments to admire the sight, I too left the sofa, though I grunted like an old man doing it — sleeping like that hadn't exactly been comfortable, and apparently magic hadn't seen fit to spare me the discomfort, for reasons unknown. Though, given Daphne's enthusiasm for runes, I wouldn't be surprised if a couple of simple comfort-chains turned up on her clothes before long.
Tidying ourselves up with magic, we left the Room of Requirement, emerging at once into corridors already brightening, morning light already filtering in through the windows — somewhat overcast, so there was no question of sunshine. Given the hour was rather late for returning to our respective common rooms, we set off straight for the ground floor and the Great Hall, school bags slung over our shoulders — thanks to the charms on them, both Daphne and I carried everything we needed with us at all times.
Not a single student crossed our path, nor a single teacher, but as I'd expected, the inevitable occurred in the form of Pansy, standing at the doors of the Great Hall. Arms folded beneath her chest, the girl radiated expectation and indignation with her entire bearing, tapping out a rather sharp rhythm with her shoe — one that carried far down the morning quiet of the corridors.
"Well, well, well," she declared with a smirk the moment she spotted us. "And how do you intend to explain this?"
"Lovely weather, don't you think?" I smiled as Daphne and I drew up to Pansy.
"That's not going to work," Pansy positively puffed up like a hamster that had stockpiled a full-sized cabbage head, no less. "Out with it! Where were you? What were you doing?! Hm?!"
"Easy there, friend of my troubled days," Daphne answered quietly, a faint smile on her lips. "Nothing to tell. We were just working on our projects, that's all."
"Hm…" Pansy peered intently and suspiciously into Daphne's eyes. "Hmmm… I don't believe you!"
"Be that as it may," Daphne's smile widened, "that's exactly what we were doing."
"I'll find out everything eventually," Pansy declared with an air of importance, took Daphne by the arm, and led her off into the Hall towards their house table.
There was nothing left for me to do but head for the Hufflepuff table and wait for the other students, and for breakfast to begin. But no sooner had I sat down than the invisible house-elves laid out a hearty breakfast for me, along with a mug of something steaming and evidently invigorating, chocolate-based — it wasn't often one got anything besides juice, mostly pumpkin, so someone among the professors must have brought in the ingredients, our Head of House, perhaps.
While I ate, I couldn't help glancing over at Daphne and Pansy. Their portions sat before them too, but while Daphne ate calmly and steadily, clearly savouring every bite, Pansy was doing everything in her power to wheedle some detail or other out of Daphne, so that her own tasty, varied breakfast went almost entirely ignored.
I hadn't quite finished eating when students began pouring into the Great Hall. There was no order to their arrival, nor could there be. They sat wherever they pleased, and cutlery, individual portions, and shared dishes began appearing on the house tables — salads, heaps of fried sausages of various kinds, and other delicacies.
My housemates, led by Hannah, spotted me and settled in around me, not forgetting to nod a greeting or even mutter a few words, fighting off drowsiness.
"Don't you think…" Zacharias began, clearly addressing me, meanwhile heaping more food onto his plate, "that the food's better this year than in years past, eh?"
"I wouldn't know, I'm fine either way. I'm not fussy, as long as there's variety and enough of it."
Of course, as tends to happen at this strange institution — one that at times resembles a psychiatric hospital, while also somehow being a school of witchcraft and wizardry — it was right in the middle of breakfast that the post owls came flooding into the Hall, in all their diversity of species. My own little owl was conspicuously absent — he operates entirely on his own terms, appearing when needed rather than when it suited him.
The numerous owls immediately launched into a mass bombardment, dropping parcels and packages to their addressees. Trouble was, many of them had less than perfect aim, to say nothing of manners — packages didn't always land in students' hands, and sometimes their targets turned out to be plates of food instead. Only a handful of owls chose to land directly in front of their owners to deliver a message properly.
Left without any post, I carried on with breakfast, watching my housemates. Some were unfolding a fresh copy of the Prophet, others letters from home or elsewhere, and a few were delighting in a parcel of sweets.
"Anything interesting?" I asked Zacharias, who'd grown somewhat grim.
"Looks that way," he nodded, and I noticed a few other lads reading the paper had also changed countenance slightly. "The paper says the Ministry's officially launched its registration programme for Muggle-borns. But even I can tell how selectively and how narrowly the information's been presented."
"Hm?"
"You talk to the Slytherins, don't you?"
"Well, aren't you sharp-eyed, Ernie," I smirked.
"So you know this 'registration' is a mass one, not just Muggle-borns, yes?"
"Naturally."
"But look how it's presented…" Ernie passed me the paper, opened to the article in question.
Scanning quickly through the text and grasping its meaning, its tone, its underlying thrust, I could only shake my head in dismay — the whole article practically screamed that the Ministry of Magic had knowingly and deliberately allowed the persecution of Muggle-borns, forcing them into a registry, with the "enforcement" body responsible for the programme's "security" being some newly created outfit called Snatchers.
"Since when has the Prophet been so openly in opposition to the Ministry?" I couldn't help voicing the question that had arisen. "Suspicious."
"That's exactly what I'm thinking. Fine if it were Skeeter who wrote it, but no — a reporter loyal to the Ministry," Ernie looked thoughtful, casting suspicious glances toward the other house tables.
Yet despite the suspicions brewing in Ernie's mind, and in mine as well, no immediate reaction followed. At least, none especially pronounced — the pure-bloods smirked with barely concealed malice, the Muggle-borns exchanged glances, and the half-bloods didn't quite grasp what position they now found themselves in, regardless of whether the paper had told the truth or not.
And this calm, largely unchanged state of affairs persisted for an entire week. Naturally, I stepped up surveillance of various parts of the castle and of particularly active students using my little spiders — just in case some especially zealous pure-blood students decided to stage a mutiny of some kind. On the whole, though, I simply went to my lessons, where increasingly complex magic and the combination of different magical disciplines were being taught, worked on projects with Daphne, read useful or simply interesting books in the Restricted Section, practised my spellcraft, and on Wednesdays and Saturdays headed off for Healer training with Smethwyck.
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