The castle was noisy again. Just like at the beginning of every semester.
Students filled the corridors once more, conversations echoing from every staircase and classroom as though Christmas had merely been a pleasant dream. Hogwarts had resumed its usual rhythm overnight.
I walked toward the library, my usual refuge. My home away from home.
A familiar Ravenclaw from my year spotted me and offered a wave. I returned it with a serious nod before continuing on. We'd spent a pleasant hour before the holidays discussing everything from wand woods to whether dragons could be considered magically intelligent. Today, however, I simply wasn't in the mood for conversation and the deeper corners of the library promised silence instead of company.
I pushed my spectacles a little higher up my nose and wandered deeper between the towering shelves until I found one of the quieter corners near a tall window overlooking the snow-covered grounds.
Perfect.
Setting my books down, I brushed an unruly strand of deep wine-red hair from my eyes with mild annoyance. It never seemed content to remain where it belonged.
Using the window as a mirror, I retrieved a small comb from my pocket and spent a few moments restoring some measure of order to it.
Better.
I thought, critically assessing the reflection staring back at me.
Deep wine-red hair and moss-green eyes. Perfectly ordinary features, though apparently people had taken the forgettable part somewhat too far.
People somehow still struggled to remember me. They constantly asked my name despite having met me several times before. After the second occasion I generally stopped reminding them. There had to be some consequence for poor manners.
Satisfied, I settled onto the bench and opened the book I'd borrowed the previous afternoon.
The Nonsense of Divination and the Reality of Divining.
It was certainly confident enough in its title.
With course selections for next year approaching, I intended to determine whether Divination deserved its reputation as a useless course or if there was something to it, other than tradition and wishful thinking.
I'd barely finished the first page when a polite voice interrupted my reading.
"Excuse me. Would you mind if I sit here? The other secluded tables nearby appear to be occupied, and I'd rather not venture much farther into the library."
I looked up.
An older student in Gryffindor robes, stood beside the table, one hand resting lightly upon the empty chair opposite me.
He looked perhaps sixth or seventh year, with neatly combed auburn hair, a pleasant face and curious blue eyes that somehow invited conversation without demanding it.
"Not at all," I replied simply. "Go ahead."
"Thank you."
The older student thanked me with a small nod before sitting down.
I adjusted my glasses once more and returned my attention to the book.
He lowered himself into the chair with an appreciative sigh and placed three rather formidable-looking books upon the table. I glanced curiously at their titles. One seemed to concern Transfiguration, another appeared to be on general Magical Theory, while the third's title had long since faded beyond recognition.
Before opening any of them, he reached into the breast pocket of his robes and withdrew a pair of half-moon spectacles.
I blinked.
"Those look rather similar to the ones Headmaster Dumbledore has" I said, surprisingly enough out loud.
The older student glanced at me smiling as he settled them upon his nose.
"They ought to."
There was unmistakable satisfaction in his smile.
"They're identical, in fact."
"…Identical?" I repeated
"The same craftsman." He said as he adjusted them with one finger before opening his book. "I commissioned this pair after trying the Headmaster's for a few minutes. Splendid workmanship."
I tilted my head.
"You tried the Headmaster's spectacles?" I repeated, bewildered.
"With permission, naturally." He nodded, still searching for the page he wanted with a pleasant smile. "I should probably add that before rumours begin"He added and that earned a quiet chuckle from me.
"I was just wondering," I clarified.
"They are excellent for reading." He tapped one of the lenses lightly. "Strictly speaking, I don't actually require spectacles for reading"
"You don't?" I asked, once more confused.
"No." He turned a page almost absent-mindedly.
"I simply enjoy experimenting with charms. A very modest enchantment. Nothing that improves vision beyond what nature intended." He tapped the frame again. "Rather, they reduce fatigue during long periods of reading. Quite useful if one has an unfortunate habit of spending entire afternoons surrounded by books."
"…That sounds remarkably useful." I said looking at his spectacles with more greed than was perhaps suitable.
"I have found it so."
There was something quietly infectious about the older student's enthusiasm. He spoke of enchanted spectacles with the same satisfaction another student might reserve for a new broomstick.
Realising we had neglected introductions, I closed my book properly.
"You may call me Ronan."
I extended my hand.
"Ronan Moretti."
He accepted it with a surprisingly firm handshake.
"A pleasure."
There was the faintest hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.
"I'm Brian."
A brief pause.
"Brian Percival."
"A pleasure to meet you."
"And you, Ronan."
With that, the conversation naturally faded. Brian returned to his reading, occasionally making tiny notes in the margin of one of his books.
I reopened The Nonsense of Divination and the Reality of Divining.
For several comfortable minutes the only sounds between us were turning pages, the scratching of Brian's quill and the distant murmur drifting through the library.
I found myself doing much the same, sans the scribbling on the book. Madam Pince would execute me if I defamed library books.
The silence proved unexpectedly pleasant.
Then something gently vibrated against my right hip. Three soft pulses of my wand resting in my pocket.
Without looking away from the page, I slipped a hand into my right robe pocket, gripped the wand and pulsed my magic through it. The vibration ceased immediately
One of my more successful little enchantments.
Rather than producing an audible alarm for everyone nearby, it simply caused my wand to vibrate after a predetermined amount of time. Discreet, reliable, and considerably less irritating than bells and whistles.
I marked my place with a scrap of parchment as a bookmark before closing the book.
"I ought to be going."
Brian looked up over the rim of his spectacles.
"So soon?"
After returning from the holidays, I was contacted by someone who requested a private meeting, and I would rather not keep this particular person waiting," I said, allowing just enough mystery and pride into my voice that I hoped he would ask.
Brian looked faintly intrigued.
"How mysterious. And who might be important enough to summon you away?"
I took a surreptitious look around before leaning slightly closer.
"Well, I suspect even upperclassmen like yourself have heard of the Exchange—and its proprietor?"
His eyes widened slightly.
"Oh, I have indeed. The curious Mr Hawthorn, yes?"
I nodded importantly.
"He asked to meet you privately?" Brian's expression grew more solemn. "Is that entirely safe? He is a Slytherin, after all. A first-year he may be, but from what I hear he is terribly knowledgeable—and in our world, knowledge is power, as any Ravenclaw ought to know. So do be careful."
The warning was solemn enough, though accompanied by a reassuring smile.
I nodded importantly as I gathered my books into my satchel and stood up.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Brian."
"And you, Ronan."
He inclined his head politely before returning to his reading almost immediately.
I gave him one last nod before making my way from the library.
Within moments, the quiet rustle of turning pages had faded behind me, replaced once more by the bustle of Hogwarts' corridors. I pulled a scrap of paper from my pocket that listed the room for the meeting.
The room was quite close to the library, so it took me no time at all to find it.
I knocked and, after receiving no answer, stuck my head inside..
"Anyone here?" I asked and closed the classroom door behind me.
"Welcome, you can quit the act master, you don't have a tail today."
I relaxed my shoulders, and dropped the act.
Tweak," I said in my normal voice, dropping Ronan's slightly pompous scholarly tone along with the act.
She nodded.
"Master Alexander sir. The twins have delivered the notebook."
"Excellent."
I drew my wand from the pocket where Ronan Moretti kept his, like most students did.
"Revelio." I whispered and passed the wand over my face.
The spell washed over me like cool water.
In the reflection of the classroom's glass window, my deep wine-red hair dissolved first, returning strand by strand to its familiar dirty blond while steadily shortening back to its usual length.
I'd eventually managed to adapt the same principles behind the colour-changing spell to the hair-lengthening curse Mr Malfoy was so fond of. After a fair amount of trial and error, I'd even figured out how to make it stop at a precise length. Altering the spell enough had also changed its nature. It no longer behaved quite like a proper curse, which meant Revelio could unravel it cleanly along with the rest of the disguise. I'd learned to think of all the little alterations as parts of a single whole, and apparently my magic agreed.
That alone had made it a permanent part of my routine. Even in the magical world, hair simply didn't grow or shrink by several inches in an instant, making it an excellent disguise.
I removed the plain spectacles and tucked them carefully into their case, clearly labelled with the character's name. Once the spectacles were safely away, the moss-green eyes faded back to grey-blue.
The eye-colour enchantment had been one of my better additions to the disguises. Rather than changing my eyes themselves, the runes worked through the lenses, altering how they appeared to anyone looking through them. With enough practice, I'd eventually managed to make the effect cling directly to the eyes while the spectacles were worn, rather than merely colouring the image seen through the glass.
The faint freckles I'd made vanished as well. At first I'd relied on Tweak's cosmetics she procured from London for details that were fine and delicate. With enough practice I found the colour-changing charm capable of handling even those delicate alterations.
Finally, the subtle changes to my face quietly unwound until Alexander Hawthorn's familiar face looked back at me from the window once more.
Much better
The Ravenclaw robes followed, though I first retrieved The Nonsense of Divination and the Reality of Divining from an inner pocket and slipped it into my own satchel. The title still seemed promising enough to warrant a proper read.
A moment later, Slytherin green and silver once more rested around my neck.
I handed the trunk bearing the Ravenclaw crest to Tweak. She accepted it without comment. Ever since she'd taken responsibility for storing my various disguises, she'd forbidden me from carrying them around myself, insisting that if I were ever searched, there should be nothing linking one persona to another.
"Naturally," she said, producing my familiar pointed hat from somewhere beneath her coat, "Master Alexander cannot very well go about bareheaded."
I accepted it with a smile and settled it comfortably atop my head.
Strange. It was only a hat. Yet the moment it settled atop my head, its wide brim shadowing my eyes, I felt rather more like myself once more.
Tweak regarded me critically for a moment, then gave a satisfied nod.
"Much better, Master Alexander."
"I agree." I adjusted the brim slightly and looked once more at my reflection.
Ronan Moretti was gone. Not merely the red hair and green eyes, but the little habits that accompanied him—the slightly straighter posture, the habit of pushing spectacles up my nose, the carefully cultivated air of a Ravenclaw who considered forgetting his name a personal failing on everyone else's part.
Well, forgetting wasn't really the proper term. You couldn't forget what you'd never known in the first place, after all.
I rolled my shoulders. It was surprisingly pleasant to stop pretending and to stand in my own skin once more.
"So," I said, turning away from the window. "You mentioned the twins delivered something?"
Tweak's ears perked immediately.
"Yes, Master Alexander sir. They finished the notebook for those who wished to ask you specific things with the Magician cards."
She reached into her coat.
Then continued reaching.
I watched with growing suspicion as her entire arm disappeared past the elbow into a pocket that absolutely did not possess enough physical space to contain it.
"Tweak." I started.
"Yes, master?"
"One day you're going to explain your pockets to me, and how you made such an expensive purchase."
"No." She said simply
I stared at her.
She stared back"Funds are from the operational budget, to the highest level agents only" She added with a self-satisfied nod.
"…Fair enough." I relented.
Not like I minded. She was far too competent at her job for me to complain about such small stuff.
Let's not ever figure out how much such modifications cost, so I can keep thinking it's just small stuff.
I thought firmly as she finally withdrew a rather battered-looking notebook and placed it on the table.
The twins had considerably more experience than I did with making enchantments survive being folded, thrown, stepped on, accidentally washed and, according to George, "subjected to normal experimental conditions to ascertain if the product is foolproof. Literally."
The notebook itself was deliberately unimpressive. Brown leather, slightly scuffed corners and a simple clasp holding it shut.
I reached for the clasp and tried to open the book but nothing happened. I looked at Tweak.
"they said you should already have a key to open it" she said with an eager expression on her face.
Great. Riddles from Tweedledee and Tweedledum.
Oh, I'm definitely calling them that later. Might as well stay thematic with the Hatter joke.
I thought gleefully as I went through in my mind what they have given me that I could construe as a key. Then I noticed the square indentation in the centre of the cover.
About the size of a card, I'd bet.
"Tweak, could you please fetch the first, The Magician card the twins gave me before Christmas. I believe it's in the trophy case?"
She nodded eagerly and disappeared with a sharp crack, only to return almost immediately—with a whistle, of all things
I raised my eyebrow and she grinned and shrugged her shoulders
"I'm experimenting master"
I chuckled and placed the card on the indentation, The Magician's smile widened. He lifted the brim of his hat just enough for a familiar pair of grey-blue eyes to gleam at me from beneath its shadow.
Then he vanished.
Click.
The clasp opened.
Just behind the cover there were several separate pages covered in two different kinds of handwriting, frequently overlapping one another. Notes had been added sideways in the margins, arrows pointed toward corrections, and at least one argument appeared to have taken place entirely through written annotations.
Test 1
George: This works?
Fred: It worked ONCE.
Test 2
George: Which establishes that it works.
Fred: That establishes that it worked.
Underneath, in a third hand I didn't recognise:
Guest 1
Both of you stop testing these near the kitchens. You left six of these cards here!!
I stared at that for a moment.
"Tweak?" I asked and showed the page in question.
She glanced at the page and giggled " that's an Oddment's handwriting, they were apparently testing with elves in the kitchens" she said with a warm smile.
The pages documented their entire process: how they'd modified my original concept, the materials they'd tried, enchantments attempted, failures, successful variations, and observations on how much magic each card could safely hold before it began degrading.
"Those two are geniuses," I said quietly.
Then I glanced at Tweak.
"I never said that. Where are the cards?"
"I heard nothing. Unless the Master pokes his nose into my clothing budget. Then I hear every word." she said with a menacing smirk.
I pretended that I heard nothing and focused on the box, this one I opened more easily with no locks whatsoever.
Several cards rested inside, separated into neat little stacks of duplicates of themselves for me to give out as needed.
The first showed a familiar figure.
A Magician stood front and center with one hand holding the brim of his hat and a clever smile on his lips, clothes rippling in an invisible wind, and every once in a while grey blue light flashed from the shadows underneath the brim of the hat.
I picked it up. Even without opening my mage sight, I could feel the enchantment sleeping inside it.
This close to the notebook, I could feel the unrealised connection between them. It was extraordinarily strange. I'd never felt anything quite like it, not even in my original proof-of-concept model.
Like a song you somehow knew but had never actually sung?
No. Not quite, but something like that.
"The Magician." I murmured and smiled at it then lowered it back to its place.
"Look master Twins have made changes"
She pointed toward the second stack and I picked one up.
"The Fool card apparently has several different artworks," she added helpfully.
On this particular card The Fool walked cheerfully toward the edge of a cliff, a little bundle over one shoulder, apparently unconcerned by either gravity or common sense. Once again, the Fool bore an uncanny resemblance to the twins, just as the Magician did to me.
I chuckled at that " at least they're consistent." I smiled at the card then returned it to its place. Next one depicted a hooded figure holding a lantern.
""The Hermit? Did they say whose card this is? Or what sort of things they help with?"
I asked and placed the Hermit carefully inside the box on top of the stack of its copies.
She shook her head" No they actually said it's more fun this way,"she huffed" like I couldn't find out in an hour if I really wanted to know " She said with a haughty tone.
I wanted to laugh, but instead nodded solemnly, keeping my face carefully blank.
"Yes. If even that."
Honestly I wasn't at all sure what my spymistress was truly capable of if sufficiently motivated. So I had decided long ago not to find out until I truly have to. So I turned my attention to the last card in the box.
The final card had a wheel dominating its face, surrounded by strange little figures turning with its animated picture.
"Wheel of Fortune."
Tweak immediately reached across the table and took it from my hand.
"No."
I blinked " What do you mean, no?" I asked confused.
"Old batty charlatan is on the other side of that one. Master needs no introduction to bad ways of using Divination, not now Master has the perfect book for learning the proper way."
she nodded firmly to herself.
She went so far as to take every single Wheel of Fortune card from the box and stuff them into her breast pocket.
I blinked owlishly at her, but eventually just nodded.
Hmm. So the book really was a good one? The preface certainly suggested as much, but if even Tweak approved…
Later that evening, when I returned to the Slytherin common room, I had mostly forgotten about Tweak's Christmas preparations on my behalf.
This proved to be a mistake.
I was wholly unprepared for the fallout.
The common room had returned to its usual state of controlled chaos. Students occupied nearly every sofa and armchair, conversations overlapped beneath the greenish light filtering through the Black Lake.
After two weeks of relative solitude, the last two days had made the school feel almost unbearably crowded.
I had barely made it five steps inside when someone called my name.
"Mr.Hawthorn."
I stopped and focused on the fourth-year boy I vaguely recognised. He detached himself from a group near the fireplace and approached me with a small happy smile.
"Good Yuletide?" I asked politely as if I knew full well who he was and pushed my hat on the back of my head so he could see me properly in the flickering low light.
"Quite."He nodded, then continued" I wanted to thank you for the ink, I know it's not easy to acquire."
I wanted to stare at him stupidly, but my skills in subterfuge had come too far for such an amateur mistake. Instead, I nodded pleasantly, though my smile felt distinctly wooden.
"Aah the ink, so you found it agreeable, yes?" I channeled my inner professor and tried my best to not look guilty.
"Yes."
He seemed very pleased.
"The waterproof archival ink you sent me." He started a bit more excitedly than ink, in my opinion deserved,"I've been trying to find some since October. My father's supplier stopped carrying it. Where did you get it?"
I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He smiled eagerly, which somehow made matters worse.
There were several possible answers to his inquiry. Unfortunately, I knew none of them. So I went as honestly as possible.
"Through an acquaintance of mine."
Technically true.
"Would you mind asking if they have more?" He asked in a tone that went as close to begging as any proper Slythering was willing to ever go.
"I'll inquire." I nodded finally feeling like I was getting my proverbial feet underneath me in this strange conversation.
"Much appreciated." He gave me a respectful nod and returned to his friends.
I remained where I was for a moment after he was gone.
Tweak, you're going to be the death of me! You bet your cinnamon cigarettes I'm going to make and send my own presents next year!
I promised myself and continued walking.
Perhaps eight steps later—
"Mr Alexander Hawthorn!"
Oh no.
A third-year witch intercepted me beside one of the pillars,spawning out of its shadows like a vampire apprehending its prey. I almost pulled my wand at her.
"Thank you for the hairpins." She beamed with an unnaturally perky smile for a Slytherin student, who to my experience most often glowered at the world at best and brooded at worst.
"I'm glad you liked them." I said as warmly as I managed, and even if I let out a tiny squeak she did not mention it, so I decidedly deluded myself into thinking she did not hear it.
That seemed safe and she seemed far more interested in herself since she immediately touched her hair and made sure light caught the silver jewelry.
I noticed three small silver pins nestled among the dark curls.
"They're wonderful. I've never seen ones that hold themselves in place through self Transfiguration practice."
Neither had I. "They seemed appropriate." I lied like it was my second language, which in truth it might be after si.
"They were! My grandmother has been looking for something similar for years."
Wonderful.
"I'll have to ask where you found them."
"An acquaintance of mine has friends who have friends. You know how it is."
I waved my hand airily as I once more pulled out my favorite excuse.
Her eyebrows rose slightly. Either she was surprised, or impressed that I had managed to say so much without actually saying anything.
"You have very useful acquaintances." She said finally with a slight pout.
"You have no idea." I muttered to myself but she heard and laughed merrily, apparently taking that as a joke, thanked me again and walked away.
I took another step.
"Mr Hawthorn."
I'm going to kill that elf
I cursed in my mind and closed my eyes only for a moment. Just briefly to suppress the despair, then I turned.
"Yes?"
A fifth-year stood there holding a small leather case.
"I wished to express my appreciation for your Yuletide gift."
"You're very welcome." I smiled and pulled my hat lower since his smile was somehow dazzling to look at and hurt my eyes.
"The compass is extraordinary."
Compass?Fine, a compass was normal. Tweak may live.
"I am glad you found it useful." I said to him with a smile
"It points toward whichever ingredient I name."
Shit. Not normal. Not normal at all!
Tweak, you little shit. You've turned me into some sort of Muggle-born Santa Claus!
He opened the case.
Inside rested a small brass compass whose needle was currently spinning lazily as if tasting the air for interesting ingredients.
I could feel its magic and it felt..like a curious puppy. Eagerly looking around.
"I tested it over the holidays. It found my mother's dried asphodel from three floors away."
"That is…excellent." I muttered
"Where did you find it?"
I already knew the answer to this one.
"An acquaintance." He studied me as if trying to crack a puzzle.
I smiled pleasantly, eyes closed. Eventually he said "Of course, it makes sense.."
I opened my eyes and saw his retreating back, back which I glowered at.
If it makes sense, please explain so all of the class gets it!
I thought slightly venomously but then as I watched him walk away, I began moving considerably faster. Determined to not be drawn into another weird conversation that was constantly trying to keep up.
I made it all the way to the staircase.
"Oh Mr.Hawthorn!"
I stopped with one foot on the first step.
What followed became increasingly difficult to explain.
A second-year student thanked me for a self-heating quill case.
Followed by a sixth-year student, who thanked me for what she described as "the only sensible bookmark I had ever owned," apparently because it bit anyone other than its owner who attempted to remove it from her book.
Someone else received gloves that prevented potion ingredients from staining the fingers.
Another had been given a tiny wooden box that maintained whatever humidity was present when the lid was closed.
A seventh-year whom I had spoken to perhaps twice approached me with genuine gratitude for a replacement clasp for an antique travelling cloak.
That one disturbed me enough to ask.
"You found the clasp was enough? honestly I was a bit hesitant about it"
He looked confused.
"Yes."
"For that specific cloak?"
"Yes."
"How did I know that?"
His confusion deepened.
""I assumed I mentioned it."
"You must have," I agreed.
He was looking at me rather strangely now.
I was increasingly certain he had never mentioned it to me at all.
He thanked me once more and left. I stood motionless at the bottom of the stairs.
I slowly turned my head toward the common-room entrance as though Tweak might somehow be standing there smoking her ever present cinnamon stick.
She wasn't, of course she wasn't. The little menace was probably somewhere congratulating herself about one magnificent job done or another.
I got upstairs and turned left to enter my dormitory when I heard my name once more.
"Mr Hawthorn."
I nearly flinched.
Daphne Greengrass was sitting in one of the beds near the staircase with Tracy Davies beside her. They were playing cards with the door open clearly waiting to ambush me.
Both were watching me with similar smirks
That was dangerous.
"Ms Greengrass. Ms Davies, how has your Yuletide gone? Has the new year been kind to you?"
I asked politely, doing my very best to not sound resentful, as my escape into my room's safety was forfeit at the very last moment.
Ms Greengrass's mouth twitched in a way that made me suspect I was not as successful as I thought.
"Enjoying yourself?" She asked with a rare teasing lilt to her voice
"Immensely." I said deadpan.
Tracy failed to hide a smile.
"We wanted to thank you for our gifts." She said and pointed at her friend.
"I'm glad you both liked them." I said with great familiarity by now.
Ms Greengrass lifted one eyebrow " Question is, how would one such as you get your hands on something like that, especially something we specifically were in need of or would find useful hmm?
Ms Greengrass and Ms.Davies stared at me waiting to hear my explanation and probably to pick it apart to see what made me tick, as she threatened at Halloween.
I sighed.
"In my defence, I didn't know people exchanged gifts at Hogwarts until Christmas morning." Complete truth" So I had to scramble a bit with the gifts and such so I reached out to a few acquaintances and with the help of Hogwarts elves managed to get the gifts in time to their recipients.
That softened Ms.Greengrass' expression somewhat.
"We suspected something like that." She said and looked at Ms.Davies
"Our gifts were rather…" Ms.Davies searched for the proper word.
"Specific," Ms.Greengrass supplied.
I felt an unpleasant premonition.
"Well I had to ask about you see, I know things of course as well as you know but elves know much more" I tried my best to explain away my Spy's knowledge about things she had no business to know.
Ms.Greengrass reached into her satchel and withdrew a slim wooden case, much too big to fit into her satchel.
She opened it and Inside rested a pair of delicate silver gardening shears scarcely longer than my hand. Silvery vines and flowers were carved all over its surface, except its blades looked to be made for actual work,no flowers or wine carvings.
I stared.
Ms.Greengrass expression had become gentler as she petted the Shears.
"They prune magical plants without damaging their active channels."
Oh sounds handy.
"I mentioned it once and only to you and Tracy," she continued, "My mother and I maintain a small garden together. So you have no idea what kind of misunderstanding this made in my home when I opened it Christmas morning "
She said partly amused, partly exasperated.
"Both of my parents were certain someone was proposing marriage to their daughter, neither was sure how mad it was appropriate to be in the face of such a proposition."
I went pale and shook my head " No,no that was definitely not my intention" I hastily replied.
I remembered that conversation. Vaguely from months ago.
Ms.Greengrass waved her hand " I know that, and told as much to my parents. They were thankful for the thoughtful gift but mother asked to meet you if possible in the summer."
sighed but nodded nonetheless.
"I can meet them at the train station, at least. I haven't exactly planned my summer yet, so if your mother wants a longer meeting, we'll have to arrange that later."
"That should be fine," Daphne said.
I nodded, though the whole situation had made one thing painfully clear. I needed to be considerably more careful with gifts in the future.
Her parents might not be the only ones who had gotten the wrong idea.
Phew. At least it hadn't been anything truly secret. Better yet, it was something I'd actually been there to hear.
I thought as Ms.Davies produced a small spool wound with a faintly shimmering thread.
"And mine,its very special magical thread, that repairs seams without leaving visible stitching. Including magically treated cloth." She beamed at me
"My mom and I will restore so many of her favorite dresses that has gotten broken and she simply refuse to magically fix them, says its ruins the fabric"
"Glad to be able to help" I muttered " No intention of marriage here either " I added just incase
Ms.Davies burst out laughing " oh don't worry, my mother is Slytherin to the core but has zero interest in the whole tradition about betrothal gifts"
My eyes widened
Betrothal gifts? That's a thing here? Oh, shit.
Tweak is definitely never sending gifts on my behalf again. I don't care how terrible mine are compared to hers.
I thought furiously as the girls giggled at my expense. I looked at the thread then from Ms.Davies to Ms.Greengrass who was repacking her gardening shears and giggling along with Ms.Davies.
"Mr Hawthorn may we call you Alexander? you can use our first names as well" Daphne said as she got the box back in her satchel.
"By all means Daphne, Tracy. You can also call me Alex if you like. Most of my friends do" I said almost automatically.
What friends? A few Hufflepuffs call you that, and that's mostly because they're Hufflepuffs and apparently consider proper etiquette an optional inconvenience.
Well. With a few special exceptions.
I lampooned myself,all the while smiling at them.
"Well, I think I shall retire before the rest of the House comes looking for me. I have a book to read, and it looked like a good one."
I said and took a glance down the stairs that were blessedly empty.
" Goodnight Alex, we will talk more later on" Said Tracy and Daphne nodded along and picked up the discarded hand of cards they were playing before I walked by.
" Have a good one Alexander, it is indeed a bit late isn't it?" She said, focusing on her cards so I smiled and took my leave.
I returned to my room post haste.
"Finally alone" I muttered aloud to myself, I was pretty sure someone like Professor Dumbledore would take it as a sign of brilliance.
In truth, in my case at least,sometimes thoughts spoken aloud were just more real and soothing than ones held in my heart.
I thought back to the accident that had brought Tweak into my service. I had offered to take her as my elf almost by mistake, only properly understanding what I was offering after she explained it to me.
At the time, my reasoning had been simple enough. A trustworthy native guide seemed an extraordinarily useful thing to have when stranded in an unfamiliar world.
And she was.
Perhaps a little too useful.
She hadn't bought twenty-five generic presents and she hadn't even made twenty-five nice presents.
She hadn't bought twenty-five generic presents.
She hadn't even made twenty-five nice presents.
Oh no.
She had spent months compiling information about everyone who might conceivably send me something, worked out what each of them actually wanted or needed, recruited Hogwarts house-elves where necessary, searched the Room of Requirement for things she couldn't make, and then arranged the entire exchange without telling me.
My Christmas gifts had apparently been a highly coordinated intelligence operation.
"Well, there's nothing to do but learn from it. No point dwelling on mistakes that only nearly became disasters, right?"
The empty room offered no objections.
Then I removed my hat and outer robes, and pulled the book out, determined to re-read the preface to see if it truly was as promising as I seemed.
PrefaceThere comes a point in every old witch's life when she must either accept that her students have begun faithfully repeating mistakes instead of lessons, or sit down and write a book.
This is mine.
Before continuing, propriety demands that I state my qualifications, not because I find titles especially impressive, but because every other volume on Divination begins by informing the reader that its author possesses "remarkable gifts." I have always preferred evidence over adjectives.
My name is Agatha Blackbriar.
I serve as Head of the Blackbriar Coven, one of the last surviving covens in Europe still devoted to the study and preservation of Divinatory Magic in all its forms.
Should that name mean little to you, I shall not take offence. Covens have never sought fame. We have generally preferred to be left alone.
Within our halls reside practitioners of Farseeing, Seeking, Dreamwalking, Echo Reading, and the rarer prophetic disciplines. The last prophet widely acknowledged to have understood both the burden and proper use of genuine prophecy counts herself among our sisters.
If there exists a body of living knowledge concerning Divination still preserved in Britain, I am confident that some part of it has passed through our hands.
I have practiced the art for sixty-three years.
I have taught it for forty-one.
I have watched three successive generations declare the discipline dead while continuing to misunderstand what it is they have buried.
It is therefore my intention to commit to parchment not merely the practices of Divination, but the principles beneath them, lest another century pass before someone remembers that magic, when properly asked, is perfectly capable of answering.
Should you seek a method of predicting tomorrow's Quidditch scores, I fear this book will disappoint you.
Should you wish to understand why your crystal sphere has stubbornly remained nothing more than an expensive ornament…
…then perhaps we may begin.
— Agatha Blackbriar
Head of the Blackbriar Coven
I smiled to myself, the book seemed exactly what I needed. Well only if it delivered on the promises it made in the beginning. So I squirmed to a better position in the armchair Tweak had brought here after Christmas for this specific goal in mind. Apparently it was too risky to get too focused on a book outside my own room.
I settled to read on till I got too tired for it.
It was a few weeks into the new semester before I finally found enough time to make my way down to Hagrid's hut.
I had intended to visit sooner, if only to thank him properly for the journal he had made for me for Christmas, but the beginning of term had proven considerably more troublesome than expected.
Apparently giving people thoughtful gifts had consequences.
Who knew?
The walk across the grounds was pleasant enough. Snow still covered most of the grounds in a thick white blanket, although countless footprints had already transformed the paths between the castle, greenhouses and Hagrid's hut into muddy trenches.
I also took the opportunity to try the Snow-Walking Charm from the ridiculously useful book Tom had given me before the school year began.
"Nix Gradior" I said, tapping my boots and sweeping the wand towards the snow. and walked steadily over the snow,ice and occasional slush without leaving much tracks or slipping at all.
It was one of the more useful but specific spells I picked up on my wanderings during the break. Far too soon I was at Hagrid's hut so I canceled the spell by simply willing it, I had noticed that counter-charms were usually unnecessary for my own sustained magic. If I had created the effect, I could often end it simply by withdrawing the intent sustaining it.
I got the idea from my trusty Predatory stalking charm. I had started limiting my use of the Predatory Stalking Charm as well. It was useful, but I wanted to improve my own ability to move unnoticed rather than rely on magic to solve every problem for me.
I knocked twice firmly and waited there was a tremendous amount of movement from inside and fang was barking happily.
Something fell over and Hagrid swore, and as if to answer Fang barked back.
Then the door opened.
"Alex! There yeh are. Come in, come in."
"Good afternoon, Hagrid." I said happily
I had barely stepped over the threshold before Hagrid shut the door behind me, pointed an enormous finger toward the fireplace and announced proudly,
"Look what I won playin' poker!"
I followed his finger. then stopped. There was an egg sitting in the fire.
Definitely not a chicken egg. Not anything even remotely resembling a chicken egg.
It was enormous, black and leathery, nestled among the glowing coals Hagrid had piled inside the fireplace. Firelight crawled across its uneven surface, catching on ridges and strange overlapping textures that looked almost like scales.
Whatever had laid that egg, I was fairly certain I didn't want to meet its mother unprepared.
I stared at it amazed,then at Hagrid. Then back at the egg.
"Hagrid." I asked carefully
"Yeah?"
"Is that a dragon egg?"
His beard split into an enormous grin.
"Knew you'd recognise it!"
I walked closer.
"Recognising it wasn't particularly difficult. It's approximately the size of my head."
"Beautiful, innit?"
I crouched beside it without touching it.
It was. More importantly, it was magical.
No—more than that. It seemed almost made of magic.
Even without deliberately opening my Mage Sight, there was something about the egg that tugged faintly against my senses. A little presence buried beneath the shell and membrane.
Something alive and something very magical.
I opened my Mage Sight carefully. I had learned my lesson with the Mirror. Looking too deeply at something overwhelmingly magical was an excellent way to give myself a headache—or worse.
"Oh." I whispered in wonder.
Hagrid chuckled behind me.
"Knew you'd like 'im."
I barely heard him. The egg was extraordinary.
Magic didn't merely surround it. Tiny currents seemed to move inward through the shell, disappearing somewhere inside where my sight couldn't properly follow them. The structure was too dense and unfamiliar to interpret, but there was unquestionably something happening.
"It's drawing in ambient mana through the coals and flame," I murmured. "And I think the heat is changing it somehow—giving it a fire aspect before the egg absorbs it." I said to Hagrid
"Is it?"
"I think so." I nodded and leaned slightly closer.
The movement was faint enough that I might have mistaken it for the ambient currents around Hogwarts if I hadn't been specifically looking for it.
"Either that or the shell itself is collecting it. I can't see deeply enough to tell for sure."
"Don't go pokin' it." Hagrid warned as if I were a toddler and could feel the heat of the fire.
"I wasn't going to poke it." I said innocently
Hagrid gave me a look.
"I wasn't." I repeated
The look continued.
"…I was considering touching it very briefly. With my magic. Through one finger." I admitted sheepishly
"Don't." Hagrid said hastily putting his hand in his pocket
"Fine." I said suspiciously looking at the hand in his pocket, that may have held a slightly burned finger, I just couldn't prove it.
I reluctantly straightened.
"Where did you get a dragon egg anyway?" I asked
"Won it off a bloke down the pub."
A dragon egg," I repeated slowly. "You won a dragon egg in a poker game?"
"Yep." He nodded proudly again.
I stared at him. Apparently Hagrid played for considerably higher stakes than I had imagined.
His attention returned almost tenderly to the egg, like a proud parent admiring a newborn. I waited and stared at him deadpan
Hagrid's smile became slightly sheepish as he looked back at me and admitted.
"Which is illegal ter possess, buy, sell, hatch or raise in Great Britain."
"There it is." I chuckled
"Yeh don't seem terribly bothered about the matter." he pointed out
I shrugged and looked at the egg again. "Should I be?" I said almost flippantly.
Hagrid barked out a laugh.
"Well, most students'd probably start worryin' about Ministry regulations."
"Hagrid, if the Ministry doesn't want eleven-year-olds encountering illegally acquired dragon eggs, it should perhaps make dragon eggs less available."
He stared at me.
"That ain't how laws work."
Hagrid's shoulders began shaking in suppressed laughter.
I ignored him and crouched beside the egg again, focusing on what appeared to be ambient mana passing through the coals and flame before reaching the shell. Somewhere in that process, its nature seemed to shift toward something distinctly fire-aspected.
"What species is it?" I asked
"Norwegian Ridgeback."
My head snapped around.
"You're certain?"
"O'Course I'm certain!"
I looked back at the egg with considerably greater interest.
A Norwegian Ridgeback.
I had seen diagrams and descriptions, but this was far too interesting to pass by.
"How long until it hatches?" I asked
"Shouldn't be too long. A few weeks, maybe."
"Can I watch?"
Hagrid blinked.
"When it hatches."
"Yes."
He scratched his beard.
"I suppose."
I immediately reached into my satchel for Hagrid's journal.
He noticed.
"Yeh brought it."
"Of course I brought it."
The leather journal was already considerably less pristine than it had been on Christmas morning. Several pages contained notes, sketches and observations from my wanderings around Hogwarts.
I opened the first unused page.
At the top I carefully wrote:
Norwegian Ridgeback — Incubation
Hagrid leaned over my shoulder.
"Didn't think yeh'd actually use it fer dragons."
I looked up.
"You named it Observations of the Deep Wilds. You invited this upon yourself."
He considered that.
"Fair."
I began noting the date, approximate temperature of the hut and what little I could distinguish through Mage Sight.
Then I remembered why I had originally intended to visit.
"Oh. Before I forget—thank you."
"For what?"
I tapped the journal with my pen.
"This."
Hagrid's expression softened immediately.
"Ah, tis nothin'."
"It wasn't nothing to me."
I closed the journal for a moment.
"I've already used nearly twelve pages."
His eyes dropped toward the journal.
Really?"
He sounded genuinely impressed, and a pleased expression disappeared somewhere into his beard.
"Good. That's what it's fer."
I smiled and reopened it.
For several minutes Hagrid answered questions while I examined the egg from every angle he permitted. He knew considerably more about dragons than I had expected, although separating information learned from books from information Hagrid merely felt ought to be true about dragons proved occasionally difficult.
Eventually he seemed to remember something.
"Oh!"
He stood so suddenly that I nearly dropped my fountain pen.
"Almost forgot."
Hagrid crossed toward one of his cupboards.
"Yer commission's finished."
That immediately stole my attention from the dragon.
"It is?"
"Got it done yesterday."
He rummaged around inside the cupboard before producing something comically tiny between his enormous fingers.
A wooden box.
It was scarcely larger than his palm—which meant it was still reasonably substantial by normal standards.
He handed it to me.
"There yeh go."
I accepted it carefully.
The box itself was simple. Dark wood, smooth beneath my fingers, with a tiny brass clasp holding it shut.
For a moment I merely held it.
The dragon egg was fascinating. This, however, was something I had been waiting considerably longer to see.
I took a steadying breath and flicked open the clasp.
Inside, nestled against dark cloth, rested the ring I had commissioned.
It looked remarkably ordinary, a simple wooden band.
No precious metals or gemstones. No elaborate runes covering every available surface. No glowing lines announcing to the world that it was magical.
The wood had been polished smooth, although enough of the grain remained visible to make it unmistakably natural. On one side was the only decoration I could see.
A tiny eight-pointed star had been carefully carved into the wood.
"Polaris" Hagrid rumbled
I smiled.
"The First."
Hagrid grinned.
"Remember that bit, I thought it fitting."
I carefully lifted the ring from its box.
It was surprisingly warm.
Not hot, nor even noticeably warmer than my hand after a few seconds, but it lacked that first moment of coldness I expected when picking up something that had been sitting untouched in a box.
"How did you make it?"
Hagrid pulled out the chair opposite me and lowered himself into it.
"Well, yeh wanted a proper ring focus, didn't yeh? Not just a bit o' wood carved into a ring."
I nodded.
That distinction had been rather important when I commissioned it.
"Started with what yeh gave me. Hair an' blood."
I turned the ring slowly between my fingers.
I'd provided both when we first discussed the commission. Not much blood, thankfully, and several strands of hair taken directly from my head.
Hagrid pointed one enormous finger toward the ring.
"Didn't drill a hole and stuff 'em inside after. Wouldn't be right. Core ought ter belong there."
That caught my attention.
"So you grew the wood around them." I guessed
"Exactly." Hagrid seemed pleased that I'd understood immediately.
"Got a young piece growin' first. Put yer hair through the middle where I wanted the ring ter come from, worked the blood into the wood while it was still soft enough ter take it, then kept the whole thing growing around 'em. Used a few spells and potions ter hurry it along." He explained and winked a bit.
I stared at the ring again. That soudedconsiderably more elegant than what I had imagined.
"So they're not technically inside the wood."
Hagrid scratched his beard. "Suppose they are. But not like something put inside a box. They became more like a part of it."
Fascinating. I wouldn't even have thought of doing it that way if I'd tried making a ring focus myself.
I opened my Mage Sight to look at it through magic. The ring changed but not dramatically like I expected it to.
I had half expected the focus to blaze with enchantments or possess some elaborate magical structure I would spend the next several weeks attempting to understand.
Instead, the magic was extraordinarily quiet.
The wooden band possessed a faint living quality even though it had long since been cut from whatever had grown it. More interestingly, I couldn't clearly distinguish where the wood ended and the sympathetic materials began.
My hair wasn't a separate magical line running through it.
The blood wasn't some concentrated point buried inside.
They had been incorporated throughout the growth.
The entire ring recognised me.
I brought it slightly closer to my eyes.
"You actually grew the focus around my sympathetic connection." I said
"That's generally how these ought ter be made." Hagrid confirmed
"Why?" I asked
Hagrid shrugged.
"Works better."
I waited for further explanation and Hagrid merely smiled back at me.
"That is an extremely unsatisfying explanation." I said reproachfully.
"Still true." He chuckled
I sighed "How long did you grow it?"
"Long enough."
"Hagrid."
"A few weeks."
That explained why the commission had taken as long as it had.
"Had ter get enough good wood around the core first. Then cut the piece out, let it settle, carved it down until it fit yer measurements."
He reached over and tapped the tiny star with the edge of one fingernail.
"Did that last."
I ran my thumb across the little carving.
Polaris. The North Star.
Not because I intended to exploit some grand magical correspondence. Simply because it was first. The first star to emerge into the evening sky.
And this was meant to be my first ring focus. Not my best—certainly not, considering I hadn't even made it myself.
Just the first.
"The next one," I murmured, "I'm making myself."
Hagrid smiled.
"That's what yeh said."
"I'll probably make several mistakes." I muttered
"Course yeh will." He said happily
I looked up at him and he seemed completely serious.
"Thank you for the confidence."
"Didn't say yeh wouldn't make a good one." Hagrid chuckled. "Said yeh'll make mistakes. How else're yeh supposed ter learn?"
Fair enough. He had admitted to making plenty of mistakes when he first learned the craft himself, so perhaps he knew what he was talking about.
I looked back down at the ring. There was only one thing left to do.
I slipped it onto my left index finger. It fit perfectly. For perhaps half a second, nothing happened.
Then my magic noticed it and I inhaled sharply.
There was no sudden surge of power or a flash of light.
Nothing even remotely so dramatic. Instead I felt something much stranger..
The closest comparison I could find was picking up my wand, except even that wasn't quite correct. My wand felt responsive to me. Familiar. Something that had chosen me and through months of constant use had become increasingly comfortable in my hand.
The ring felt—I frowned.
Closer. More intimate. Almost like some small part of me had just returned.
Of course it did. My own blood was inside it and my hair had become part of the wood around which the entire focus had grown.
There was no separate magical creature's material at its heart waiting to respond to me.
Its core was me.
I lifted my hand and stared at the plain wooden band.
"Hagrid."
"Hmm?"
"I think it works."
He laughed.
"Would bloody well hope so."
I barely heard him.
Carefully, I allowed the smallest thread of mana to move toward the ring.
It accepted it immediately.
No resistance or hesitation.
The magic entered the wooden band almost as naturally as it moved through my fingers.
I stopped immediately, testing could wait.
Proper testing could wait—preferably until I was considerably farther away from an illegally acquired Norwegian Ridgeback egg that was already drinking in ambient magic and occasionally brushing against both mine and Hagrid's.
I was reckless on occasion but I was only very rarely stupid.
Still, I couldn't quite stop looking at it.
My first alternative focus. Proof that everything I had been reading wasn't merely some abandoned historical curiosity.
Wands weren't the only answer.
Perhaps they were the best general answer. Perhaps centuries of wandmaking had made them dominant for perfectly sensible reasons.
But they weren't the only ones.
I curled my hand slowly into a fist. The tiny Polaris disappeared against my palm.
When I opened my hand again, I turned the ring until the little star rested over my knuckle instead.
The first.
I rather liked that.