CHAPTER 43

This chapter is an apology for the delay.

"Then step away from it before you detonate half the class. And by the next lesson, Mr. Finnigan, I expect to see on my desk one standard large scroll detailing all the stages of preparation for today's potion, including the nuances of heat treatment."

Snape moved on, leaving behind disgruntled murmurs from the students. However, no one noticed that not a single point had been deducted yet. Now Snape approached us again, leaned over the cauldron, sniffed, and scrutinized.

"It seems, Miss Greengrass, that even an assistant who only yesterday encountered the cauldron along with the ingredients is capable of elevating the standard of your final product."

Nodding in satisfaction, the professor continued his rounds in search of further faults, leaving us to "suffer" over the nearly completed potion.

"No, Greengrass, there is undoubtedly a conflict here."

The girl attempted to bore a hole through me with a stern look from her blue eyes, which should have dissuaded me from bothering her, yet it did not achieve its intended effect.

"What leads you to that conclusion?"

"There are two interpretations of his statement," I replied with a slight smile, beginning to clean the knives and other tools. "I do not believe that a person capable of subtle jabs and well-considered phrases would allow for an accidental double interpretation in his speech."

"And what do you believe he meant?" Daphne inquired with interest, overseeing the process of completing the potion.

"His statement is laden with the question: 'What have you been doing, miss, these past years, that the assistance of an absolute novice can significantly enhance the quality of your work? Perhaps you are not as talented as you claim?'"

"Hmm," Daphne lifted her nose with pride. "You are not simply going to leave me in peace, are you?"

"I did not intend to trouble you. It was merely a topic to sustain the conversation. However, I would not object to listening should you choose to share."

"There is no secret or intrigue here. While a teacher is employed at Hogwarts—particularly one of masterful status—they may take on a personal student, entirely free of charge. This is compensated by the school and the Ministry, as it is said that a young talent enhances the prestige, rating, and international standing of the school, all of which are significant. The country housing the best school at the end of the year, along with the school itself, receives subsidies from the International Confederation of Wizards."

The conversation was conducted in hushed tones, bordering on whispers—those seated nearby would scarcely comprehend a word. Daphne glanced at me momentarily, but upon perceiving no particular understanding, she returned her focus to the cauldron, adjusting the fire beneath it according to signs known only to her.

"Personal apprenticeship is a means to acquire rich practice, experience, and knowledge from the master. However, masters do not require monetary compensation; otherwise, it would not pose a challenge. In return, they establish various contracts to expand connections, influence, or acquire items that are invaluable in monetary terms."

"That is quite logical," I nodded, nearly finished cleaning the instruments and arranging them on a designated cloth.

"My family has no interest in potion-making or anything related. However, I find it intriguing."

"I understand. They will not invest on a whim, but this presents an opportunity for you."

Turning to observe the professor's stern and displeased countenance, I addressed Daphne.

"He does not strike me as the type who enjoys students or teaching. It seems to me that he would only accept someone slightly inferior to himself as a student, impart a few subtleties and nuances, and then dismiss them, securely barricading the door against intruders."

Daphne smiled, extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron, took her wand in hand, and tapped the cauldron a couple of times. Inside, the translucent purple liquid began to form circles from the walls to the center and back. This process repeated a few times, after which the potion became transparent yet retained its purple hue—as it should.

"You have quickly grasped Professor Snape's character," Daphne acknowledged. "At times, it seems as though he is not present of his own volition."

"That is entirely plausible…"

"The inability to comprehend at once…" the professor reappeared at our side, "…the meaning of words leads me to doubt that you possess the rudiments of intelligence, Mr. Granger. Once again, I am reminded that first impressions can be misleading."

He did not deduct any points, leaned over our cauldron once more, sniffed, scrutinized, nodded, and continued his patrol around the classroom.

"Mr. Finnigan, step away from the cauldron. And no, do not fret; I am not disappointed by the depth of your obstinacy. If you are hoping that your cauldron's explosion will be sufficiently powerful to confine you to the hospital wing for a week, remember that losing your limbs is no excuse. You will also require the standard large scroll detailing the ingredients you have studied today and the nuances of their preparation."

The Gryffindors expressed quiet indignation, while the Slytherins remained muted in their gloating. Snape reached his desk and abruptly turned to face us.

"It is time," he announced dryly to the entire class, eliciting waves of discontent. "Submit your potion samples and pack your belongings. The lesson is concluded."

No one needed to be asked twice, and soon the entire third year was briskly making their way toward the Transfiguration classroom. Almost all of them—the Gryffindors are rather hyperactive, in my opinion. In their exuberant throng, they quickly bolted in an unknown direction. The Ravenclaws, almost at a sporty pace, surged far ahead, while the Slytherins ambled leisurely behind.

"Snape is surprisingly composed today," Justin observed thoughtfully. "He did not even deduct points from the ratings."

"Does he often do so?"

"If the rumors are to be believed, it was once standard practice to deduct points for any reason," Zacharias replied on Justin's behalf, his expression one of universal boredom. "You should have noticed this during the first lesson."

"That is indeed true…"

The Transfiguration lesson proceeded without incident, yet also without excitement—a dry lecture, formulas, and a practical component. Having recalled once more the material from the textbooks I had read and the recommended additional literature, I pondered—why does virtually all practical work in every subject yield so little tangible benefit? However, before I could contemplate this matter thoroughly, I made associations and reached conclusions. It is simple—we are not being taught specific magic, for the most part, but rather magic in general.

Consider potion-making, for instance. The potions presented for study are predominantly useless and extremely specialized. It is evident that potions are inherently narrow in focus, yet in everyday life, they are seldom required. What is the underlying issue? Ingredients, the process of working with them, the peculiarities of preparing these components… And they are rarely repeated; if they are, the subsequent or preceding ingredient in the recipe will be entirely different, with distinct conditions for their "combination" in the cauldron. This becomes apparent when one reads the first-year textbook, then the second; however, when even in the third-year textbook an ingredient previously covered does not appear in the usual sequence with any other, one can draw certain conclusions.

A similar narrative unfolds with Charms—gestures and incantations are the focus of study there, rather than specific spells and charms. Transfiguration follows a path of increasingly complex formulas and types of transformation—the further one progresses, the more "unknown" the object to be produced becomes. It seems that additional complications will arise, involving the incorporation of behavioral matrices and the creation of something "living."

Herbology—there is not a single truly useful plant among those studied thus far, only those applicable to potions, yet each requires a completely unique approach. One might assume that, in principle, every plant necessitates a similar approach, but this is far from the truth. The conclusion remains consistent with respect to other subjects.

It becomes increasingly logical and comprehensible that after the fifth year, students transition to a much more applied study of disciplines—by that time, they should possess the necessary foundation, and if not, there is little point in delving into them in depth.

After the lesson, we proceeded to lunch.

The Great Hall, as always, buzzed with conversation and the clinking of cutlery against dishes—such a typical, familiar sound that I only now noticed. It evoked a humorous memory of when a fragment of a military pilot from the voidwalker was transferred to the newest battleship and sought the wardroom of the flight wing. It was this sound, the endless trill of metal and the clinking of dishes, that revealed the wardroom through the open doors of one of the rooms. True, there was a shift in the sound spectrum toward synthetic materials, but the essence remained unchanged.

Following lunch, there was another Herbology lesson; however, to be frank, the last thing I desired to engage in after a hearty meal was plants and soil. As one possessing meager elven memories, such gardening does not captivate me.

Having sorted through the barbaric yet effective methods of dealing with magical vegetation, we began… Free time, as I do not attend Muggle Studies. Oh, Hermione is delighted with the linear schedule. I hope to find something to occupy my time when clubs and societies are permitted to be active. The only class scheduled for today is Astronomy, nearly at night. However, there are only seven days in the week, seven courses; the program should vary, and herein lies the question—will there be one class per day, or several?

As the boys made their way back to the castle from the courtyard with the greenhouses, I quietly—as only elves can—stepped aside, blending with the terrain, and, once everyone had departed, swiftly reached the gate and exited the grounds. Hogwarts itself is situated on a hill that culminates in a cliff near the lake on one side. On the nearly flat portion of the hill adjacent to the castle lies the Quidditch pitch, while on the opposite, steeper side, there is a bridge over the cliff, leading to the descent toward Hagrid's hut. It was along this descent that a sparse forest and a well-trodden path—no longer a path, yet not quite a road—could be found. It was into this forest, characterized by rare tall trees and good visibility, that I ventured.

Having traversed a few dozen meters deeper, I soon discovered the trunk of a fallen tree, thoroughly overgrown with various vegetation and surrounded by ferns. I sat down, inspired by the rare rays of the sun leaning toward the west, breaking through the clouds. There, at the foot of the slope, a view unfolded of that very hut, from the chimney of which a thin stream of gray smoke emanated, and behind it, the dense coniferous crowns of the Forbidden Forest.

Silence, tranquility, the distant sound of birdsong.

"Herbology, indeed…"

Sliding down from the log, I crouched and touched the ground with my palm, sending forth a wave of life energy. A second, two, three, and then I felt the echo of this energy. My mind immediately interpreted the signal, akin to a radar, and I stood up, beginning to descend, following a sort of magical compass. Not far away—merely twenty meters distant—nestled within the tangled roots of a massive tree, whose branches soared high above the ground, I discovered what I sought—a small sprout. It responded vibrantly to the wave of life energy, capturing my attention.

Bending over the roots, I extended my hand toward the sprout and, with a concerted effort of will, separated the life energy from the neutral energy, concentrating as much as possible, initiating the process of feeding it into the sprout. For a few seconds, nothing transpired, but soon it began to grow, swell, and transform.

"Herbology… Runda…"

Not entirely comprehending what precisely should occur, as the memory of the elven fragment remained silent, I nevertheless grasped how to execute this "something." When the sprout expanded fivefold, taking on the appearance of a skein of vines, I made a cut on my finger with a single effort of will and magic. The drop of blood swelled for an extended period, and throughout this time, I saturated it with neutral magic, ensuring that spontaneous magical reactions did not commence.

The drop fell.

Before it could touch the plant, this vine-like marvel immediately seized it from the air, absorbing it. I promptly severed the thin thread of magic connecting me to this droplet, relinquishing control over the magic. The plant swelled further and began to droop, as if drying out, yet not withering. However, I had no doubt that everything would proceed as intended. A substantial supply of neutral magic would facilitate the changes that only the plant's consciousness could comprehend—even if this phrase is not entirely applicable to them.

The plant coiled into a ball among its roots, calming down, and merely swelled and deflated intermittently, as if pulsating.

"Now you shall have Herbology…"

Despite my uncertainty regarding the miracle that should result, I instinctively understood the necessity and correctness of creating something akin to this. Simultaneously, the elven fragment would cease its quiet resentment—one cannot harbor tension within one's soul.

Having risen, I took a few steps away from the tree—at such a distance, it was not even apparent that any peculiar activity was occurring among the roots. Nodding with satisfaction, I deemed it time to conclude my day; I had had my fill of walking. Suddenly, a chill enveloped me. Exhaling, I noticed steam, and the sensations of magic became both familiar and unpleasant—familiar from the life of the elven shard, and recently, from this life. Turning sharply toward the perceived threat and drawing my wand, I found myself nearly face-to-face with a Dementor hovering half a meter above the ground.