"And we managed to create such a ritual. You don't even need a magic wand to activate it, although for simplicity's sake, it's better to use one. The idea is simple. First, we create a magical seal figure with runic symbols. You can make it temporary, as it is now, or you can create a permanent seal."
Professor Flitwick listened to the student's story with undisguised interest.
"Secondly," Miss Brooks continued, "you need to place an object with a high carbon content in the center of the pentacle: graphite, coal, or even firewood. But graphite is best-it leaves no waste after use. Finally, you need to infuse the magical seal with magical power and pronounce the activating words."
Brooks turned to face the pentacle, within which a small mound of graphite had already risen. She pointed her wand at the center and spoke clearly:
- Et kluod sik de clinance graphene!
The girl's actions produced no special effects. Only in the center of the print did something astonishing occur: before the eyes of the curious onlookers, the black graphite transformed into a thin, transparent film, barely visible to the naked eye.
"Excellent! Delightful!" Richard exclaimed. "Same here, Miss Brooks. Instead of a presentation, I'm expecting," he waved the folder clutched in his hands, "a detailed description of the ritual. Your team definitely deserves a reward."
As soon as Brooks' team had removed the traces of the ritual and stepped aside, a stocky man with short black hair and a strong jaw took their place. The two men who had just fled to the bedroom handed him a folder of papers. He approached Richard and silently handed it over.
Richie glanced at the documents and barely suppressed a grin. Unlike Ms. Brooks, these papers resembled hastily assembled drafts, making the information difficult to decipher.
"Go ahead," Richie nodded, slamming the folder shut.
"I'm Adam Thornton," the stocky man began in a deep voice. "We've also developed a way to produce graphene. Cough, cough..."
Adam's throat was dry with excitement, and his voice became hoarse. He licked his lips nervously and continued:
"We decided to develop a spell based on a mixture of charms and permanent transfiguration. The principle is the same as Eliza's team. Well, graphene is carbon. We just need to take something like wood and transform it into graphene flakes, which can then be assembled and glued together using charms."
One of his comrades handed Adam a small log. He placed it on the floor and waved his wand.
- Transformatio ipsum graphenum.
A yellow beam of light struck the log from the stick, after which the piece of wood crumbled into a pile of fine dust.
Then, Thornton continued waving his wand, casting spell after spell on the dust. First, he separated the dust into two parts: gray and white. Then, using spells, he transformed the gray dust into a transparent film of graphene.
In total, Richie counted seven different and rather complex spells. But he saw a huge advantage in this method: no auxiliary objects are needed for the ritual, no need for a template. All you need is a magician, a wand, and carbon.
"Excellent, Mr. Thornton," Richard said to the excited young man. "I expect the same documentation from you. But in decent form, not rough drafts," he waved the folder. "After the team leaders bring me all the paperwork, they will receive payment orders for the guys in their group. I have decided to pay each of your three groups a grant of thirty-three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three Galleons. You have deserved it, ladies and gentlemen. But I heard you have some more guys who decided to try their luck. Don't be too upset; if I like your product, you too will be rewarded."
The students, both those promised grants and those anxiously awaiting their turn to present, cheered. Some in the audience looked disgruntled and cast envious glances at the more fortunate students.
- Quiet!
Clearwater's loud commanding tone silenced everyone.
"Thank you, Miss Clearwater," Richard nodded to the prefect. "Next, please."
Two boys rushed forward. One was about fourteen, the other sixteen. They both looked alike: blond hair, round faces, plump figures. The older one wore glasses. Both boys hurried forward.
"I'm Festus Fleming," the older man introduced himself, "and this is my younger brother, Foster. We'd like to introduce you to our development, sir."
Foster fussily unfolded the thin, iridescent fabric, so similar to Harry Potter's invisibility cloak.
"This is a cutting-edge invisibility cloak, sir," Festus commented. "Our father makes invisibility cloaks from demi-mask wool. They have a number of drawbacks: they're expensive, heavy, and very dense. Demi-mask wool is incredibly expensive, so a product made from it can't be cheap. But... If you use just a little bit of wool, everything changes!"
Foster hastily straightened the iridescent silver fabric and draped it over his shoulders. As soon as he closed the hem, his torso became invisible, only his head seemingly floating above the ground, separate from his body. The effect was so stunning that all extraneous noise suddenly vanished. The audience gazed in awe at the invisibility cloak.
"Sir," Festus continued, "we used two layers of graphene film, sandwiching a thin layer of demi-mask wool, literally the thickness of a single hair, between them. We used a total of one ounce of wool. That's one hundred and seventy times less than what it takes to make a typical invisibility cloak. At the same time, our product is incredibly strong and durable. In theory, the enchantment on such an invisibility cloak would last for centuries."
- Excellent, gentlemen.
Richard was as stunned as the rest of the audience. This fabric held significant promise. He could supply the British secret services with several hundred cloaks enchanted for invisibility, made from this material, at a price a hundred times higher than the cost. He planned to earn at least one hundred thousand pounds from a single invisibility cloak. That meant he was already making at least twenty million.
"Gentlemen, I'll need a sample of the invisibility cloak and, like the others, a full report. You've earned your thirty thousand Galleon grant."
"Woohoo!" Foster exclaimed joyfully. "Brother, did you hear that? We're rich!"
"Thank you!" Festus's eyes blazed with delight and adoration. It seemed as if he was about to start praying to Rich. "Sir, thank you so much! We'll bring everything!"
"Flemings, don't hold up the others!" Penelope Clearwater yelled at the boys.
"Yes, yes, sorry," Festus answered the prefect, "we're already leaving."
The Fleming brothers' place was taken by a thin, awkward girl of about fifteen or sixteen wearing enormous horn-rimmed glasses. She was completely alone, shuffling timidly from foot to foot. Her robe looked washed out, clearly borrowed. Her shoes were so worn it seemed a miracle she could still walk in them. Her mouse-colored hair was pulled back into a strict ponytail. Looking at her, you'd immediately assume she was a typical gray mouse and a nerd from a poor family, but Richie tried to ignore the judgement on her clothes; what mattered to him now was intelligence and talent, or more precisely, results. And who was producing those results was irrelevant.