The sitting room was quiet and cosy, the kind of place that gave an impression of pleasant comfort. A fireplace, its flame casting a soft light over everything, made the shadows dance in a fairy-tale sort of way. The silence was broken only by the crackle of that fire. Thick curtains drawn across the windows let through not a single ray of outside light. A barely perceptible scent of old books and parchment mingled with the fragrance of bergamot and black tea. Along the walls stood cabinets filled with books or other small objects, though some intangible sixth sense suggested that no one had touched those cabinets in a very long time. And there was something else — no superfluous visual decoration. Only what the room's furnishings themselves implied, nothing more.
In an armchair beside the fireplace sat a red-haired woman dressed entirely in black. A long dress, nearly to the floor, a robe, gloves. Only her neck and head were exposed — and even then not entirely, for a black band bearing the finest, barely perceptible runic stitching covered her eyes, though I recalled it did nothing to impede her sight. In her bearing, in the way she sat, in how she held the saucer, in how she raised the small teacup to her lips — everything spoke not only of upbringing, but of a certain restraint. No — more precisely, a containedness.
The girl who had accompanied me approached Amber, and I followed.
"I've brought Mr Granger," she said drily.
"I see," Amber nodded, and indicated the armchair opposite with a tilt of her head. "Do sit down, Mr Granger."
So I sat.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet and discuss certain matters."
"I'll confess," the red-haired witch began, her voice quiet and composed, "your request for assistance in studying Fiendfyre surprised me somewhat. Have you truly no other questions regarding Dark Magic?"
"I have rather few sources of knowledge about Dark Magic at my disposal. There's the Restricted Section at Hogwarts, but I read only what I've been given clearance to access."
"Indeed?" Amber smiled faintly, just at the corners of her lips. "Wizards who seek knowledge and power are not usually so restrained in such matters."
"It's a question of trust. One can forfeit that trust through greed and short-term gain in the form of a couple of books, or one can make use of that trust for years and ultimately receive considerably more."
"Are you quite certain Hufflepuff is your house?" Amber's smile widened slightly. "Green and silver would suit your image rather well."
"You're not the first to say so. The Hat was prepared to send me anywhere, but I chose Hufflepuff myself. In the end, one can be as talented as one likes, can possess exceptional aptitude, qualities of character, and all other such advantages — but work is the foundation of everything. I decided that industriousness would be the cornerstone of my growth and development."
"Indeed. No amount of talent can compensate for idleness."
Amber took a sip of tea. Interestingly, only now did I notice a second saucer and small cup of the fragrant drink, set out apparently for me. Its place on the side table had previously been concealed by magic, and I couldn't make out precisely what was there — though the mere fact that something concealed existed hadn't been a secret from me. Taking the saucer and cup, I checked with magic for anything that had no business being in tea, and took a careful sip. Hot.
"It seems," Amber said again, "you are eager to move directly to the substance of our conversation, although out of politeness you are prepared to endure small talk for as long as necessary. Is that right?"
"As the saying goes — the host sets the pace."
"Tell me, Mr Granger — what is behind your wish to learn the Fiendfyre spell? And can you even manage it without killing yourself and everyone around you should you lose control? I would be most reluctant to place such a weapon in the hands of a youngster."
"The spell interests me solely for its ability to destroy an object of both physical and spiritual nature, thoroughly and completely. As for control — I have nothing to offer on that point. What I can say is that I don't need this spell for the purpose of incinerating everyone who says a word against me."
"You have both answered and not answered at the same time. I want to know the specific target. And if there isn't one…" Amber gave an unambiguous shrug.
"I need to put to rest a wizard whose spirit is too powerful to simply pass on."
"Interesting," the witch smiled, taking a sip of tea. "If this wizard is so powerful in spirit, then as a wizard he is doubtless far from weak. One of the most powerful, perhaps. Do you truly think you'll be able to get close enough to him? Fiendfyre is not a long-range spell by any means. And even if you do get close, even if you are permitted to conjure it, Fiendfyre still requires time to gather strength and reach him. And there are means of protection against it, however powerful it may be."
"I'll find a way. From a safe distance, quickly and effectively."
"Overconfidence has destroyed no mere dozen, or even hundred, gifted young wizards. What makes you think, Mr Granger, that you are the exception?"
"There are reasons," I answered neutrally, raising the teacup to my lips and taking a small sip.
"Well — everyone is entitled to their small secrets. In principle, I have no objection to teaching you this spell, but first I should like to satisfy myself that you won't kill yourself in the attempt. It would be a great loss to magical England — talents such as yours are not encountered every day. Not merely talent, but the sort that sets many wizards talking."
"Am I really the subject of so much rumour?" I asked, surprised, deciding to take another sip or two of genuinely fine tea.
"One might say so. Some theorise that you and your sister are not Muggle-born at all — simply that it's a cover story of sorts. There are, after all, several wizards named Granger in history. Only one truly distinguished himself, mind you, but he did so considerably."
"Hector Dagworth-Granger?"
"Precisely. I see you've looked into the matter yourself."
"I have a certain passion for Potions — I even received my Journeyman's certification recently. So it's more a professional interest than mere curiosity about a namesake."
"Nonetheless, you are talked about among wizards. Some compare, some speculate, and our lives are not exactly overflowing with events. Boredom leads one to conclusions that a drunken mind wouldn't even reach. Incidentally, Mr Granger — would you satisfy feminine curiosity by answering one question?"
"That depends on the question."
"In principle, given that you came to me with such a request, I most likely already know the answer — but all the same… Are you acquainted with a wizard known as the Plague Doctor?"
"I wouldn't say acquainted," I said, shaking my head. "More that our paths have crossed a couple of times. Is there some hidden meaning in that question that I'm not seeing?"
"Perhaps, Mr Granger. Perhaps. Word has it that this wizard keeps an eye on you."
"I'd imagine I'd know about something like that. Although…" I reflected on whether I, as the Doctor, would ever tell myself, as Hector, that I was watching over him. Unlikely. "Perhaps I wouldn't."
"Rumours of that sort also contribute to the theory of your decidedly non-Muggle origins. But these are all conjectures, and the truth — fortunately or unfortunately — is something no one will ever be able to discover."
Amber made an imperceptible gesture, and Rebecca, who had been standing behind her chair throughout, stepped forward and held out to me a sheaf of the finest parchment, nearly like paper, covered in neat handwriting.
"To begin with, I want you to master this spell," Amber said quietly. She always spoke quietly. "It is complex, difficult to hold under control, and it carries all the same drawbacks as Fiendfyre. However, it is nearly harmless, and it is exceedingly difficult to hurt anyone with it — including yourself."
Running my eyes over the text on the sheets, I understood in rough terms what the spell did. It made wind. Formulae, gestures, incantations, the required mental imagery, various formula variations, their explanations, and so forth — everything was here, dry, spare, to the point.
"I take it this is a form of control training for a spell with a very similar mechanism of use?"
"Yes," Amber smiled slightly. "Master it without employing certain… particularities of yours, and we shall speak of Fiendfyre."
"Particularities?"
"I see magic, Mr Granger. Unfortunately, there is a price to be paid for that. Your magic, Mr Granger, is not like that of other wizards. You have chosen a very unconventional path to power."
I tilted my head slightly.
"And you're not curious about what and how?"
"Other people's paths don't interest me. I am only interested in observing where a given path leads."
We each took a sip of tea.
"Well then, Mr Granger. You have a spell to master. I expect we shall meet again once you've managed it."
"Might I try right now?"
"Overconfidence," Amber smirked. "A dangerous quality in a wizard. As you wish."
Amber made another gesture, and the girl standing behind her chair touched the back of it. I was, I'll admit, genuinely surprised to see the chair undergo a light, unassuming transformation — almost imperceptible. Simply the appearance of large wheels at its sides. Now I understood why this armchair had always seemed slightly unsuited to a sitting room — the details, the design, the materials, its remarkable apparent comfort, the lumbar support, the footrest.
The girl wheeled Amber's chair with her in it across the room toward the exit, and there was nothing for me to do but set down my teacup, rise, and follow — alongside them, rather.
Leaving the sitting room, we entered a wide corridor with a perfectly smooth stone floor. Now I understood why the house had no thresholds or any other irregularities on the floor whatsoever.
"I see you are surprised," Amber smirked, and I could clearly see it from the corner of my eye.
"I'll be honest — I expected a great deal, but not this," I answered without concealment, as we made our way through the corridors. Dark and gloomy corridors, since absolutely every window was curtained, and only occasional lamps gave exactly as much light as was needed to avoid walking into things.
"On every path to power, one must eventually pay a price. That is precisely why I find it interesting to observe others." Amber looked at me — if that is the right way to put it, given the dense black runic band across her eyes. "Pray to whatever gods you have, Mr Granger, that the price on your path touches no one but yourself."
"I'll bear that in mind and try not to run up a debt I cannot repay."
"Everyone says that."
We walked in silence through the corridors until we reached the house's inner courtyard. The weather here was equally gloomy and overcast, though in the distance rays of sunlight were breaking through the clouds, holding out some hope of improvement.
The inner courtyard was large. One portion of it was rich with plants, trees, garden beds, perfectly smooth stone paths, small fountains, and all such pleasant things. The other half of the vast courtyard was simply an enormous stone platform, slightly overgrown with grass at its edges, with a single path leading up to it. It was toward this stone platform that we headed.
Rebecca stopped Amber's chair at the edge of the platform, and the two of them gave me an inviting nod — go on in. So I went in. A powerful protective barrier activated at once, effectively isolating me inside.
"Begin your spell work, Mr Granger," Amber's quiet voice came through clearly. "You have thirty minutes — that is precisely how long the barrier will hold."
Not wasting a moment, I set to studying the instructions and description of the spell in detail. Formulae, formulae, wand movements, adjustments for various external conditions, and all the other material required for casting the spell properly.
Reading through all the sheets and absorbing what I'd read took approximately ten minutes — rather a lot for me, but I wanted to achieve the most precise possible result, and there was no place for errors in something like this.
Having finished studying, I placed the parchment in the inner pocket of my robe, drew my wand, and using only neutral energy without any admixture of Life or storm, quickly and cleanly executed a series of intricate wand movements.
"Ventra Atelio," I said, in precise accordance with the movements, the necessary thought-forms already arranged in my mind.
I felt a tiny source of wind appear at the tip of my wand — literally a point in space. A current of air surged forward, lifting dust from the stone platform, striking the protective barrier, making it glow faintly. Without any prompting, I immediately sensed the problems that could arise when using spells of this type.
First and most notably, what appears at the tip of the wand is not simply a source of wind. The sensation is rather that of a portal. Perhaps not a portal exactly, but certainly some kind of spatial puncture. There is something similar to what one feels during Apparition, except that Apparition operates within the more or less familiar three-dimensional space we know, whereas this was something altogether strange — there was no other word for it. And from this puncture, under enormous pressure, there poured not energy but… the essence of wind, for lack of a better description. And this puncture, leech-like, attached itself through the wand to my magic, my energetic reserves. Meaning that even if I threw the wand away, the connection between us would persist — the puncture would continue feeding on magic and blowing wind. One needed to be able to forcibly shut down one's own magic so that the wand could not draw from it, and thereby starve the puncture of its energy.
Second — the wind from this puncture was self-sustaining, drawing from the air around it. Not greatly, not enough to become fully autonomous, and there was certainly no question of it building in power and strength — but it was there.
All of this I could only understand by virtue of my control over my own energy and my sensitivity to the energies around me. Attempting to bring the thing under control immediately revealed another nuance — all the wind already released remained connected by magic to the puncture, the wand, and myself. The more wind was released, the more difficult it became to control the puncture's operation, its energy supply, and the direction in which the wind would blow.
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