CHAPTER 49

Cedric withdrew his wand and placed its tip against his throat.

"Enough!" the captain's voice resonated across the field.

The perplexed members of the Hufflepuff team began to converge around him. Cedric surveyed the group; the boys appeared content and not particularly fatigued, despite having engaged in a vigorous game of tag for nearly an hour and a half. However, Hector seemed to be in the worst condition of all.

"Very well, we shall land near the changing rooms."

The Hufflepuff team descended in a somewhat disorganized formation towards the building's entrance and dismounted. Hector stumbled, and Cedric, having been attentive and anticipating this, promptly supported him by the elbow.

"How are you feeling?"

The team's new Chaser looked just as pleased as the others—if not more so—but his sweat-soaked face and uniform, along with his slight pallor, indicated an extraordinary level of fatigue.

"It's fine. It's just… It's unusual to be so active. The exertion during maneuvers is quite taxing."

"You held up remarkably well!" Herbert exclaimed, giving Hector a friendly pat on the back, much to Cedric's mild disapproval. "However, you do need to improve your physical fitness. Matches can last all day."

"Let us proceed," Cedric urged, gently pulling Hector towards the locker room, with the others following suit. "We must not miss breakfast."

***

I felt utterly exhausted—such was the toll of the intense game. The sequence of events—shower, stretching, another shower, and breakfast—passed in a blur. However, my connection to the dimension of life energy proved beneficial. Not only does its presence and connection have a profoundly positive effect on the body, but a deliberate increase in its flow can enhance regeneration and recovery. The key to this process lies in resources. Consequently, at breakfast, the food around me vanished at a much faster rate and in larger quantities than it did for others. Nevertheless, my teammates were not particularly shy either; they consumed their fair share.

Occasionally, owls would swoop in during breakfast, delivering letters directly to the students. They seemed to navigate their aerial trajectories with remarkable precision. I couldn't help but notice the large owl I had recently dispatched with a letter to my parents. This remarkable bird dropped a letter in front of me and then made a second attempt, delivering a letter to Hermione. I found it amusing that my sister didn't even glance at the owls, seemingly unexpectant of any correspondence. Ultimately, the letter struck her on the head, causing her to grasp her head in surprise—it likely didn't hurt, but it was certainly unexpected.

Feeling fatigued, I had sufficient time to examine the letter for any magical traces. Finding none, I opened it.

"Who's writing to you?" Justin, seated beside me, craned his neck to glimpse my letter.

"It's rather impolite to pry. What do you think?"

"Oh, yes, we sent a letter to your parents. It took quite some time."

"Now we shall discover the contents."

The letter was rather lengthy, but I read it swiftly. It revealed that my parents had safely traveled to a medical conference in Greece. They expressed surprise that I had written, as Hermione typically didn't write letters but rather spoke incessantly during the holidays. In any case, the owl had arrived tired, having taken refuge in their hotel room under the air conditioning for two days, refusing to fly anywhere. They had fed her well, provided her with water, written two letters, and sent her back. They were doing well and were pleased to hear that I was thriving, making friends, and progressing in my studies. How delightful.

Glancing at the Gryffindor table, I couldn't suppress a grin upon seeing my sister's face flushed with embarrassment and shame as she read the letter. On one hand, if she was being reprimanded, it was for good reason. On the other hand, as a girl approaching fourteen, she'd likely endure the insult, which would ultimately be directed at me. Was that necessary? I thought not.

"They're well and happy for me," I summarized the letter for the inquisitive Justin. "They've traveled to a conference in Greece."

"Ah, I see. I was beginning to worry about such a lengthy absence."

"What if the letter hadn't arrived in front of everyone, and I hadn't informed you?"

"Well, if you had your own owl, then yes," the boy nodded. "But the school owls—or other postal owls that deliver magazines and such—always conduct a morning bombardment during breakfast. So that's out of the question."

"Very well, expert on mailing systems. It's time to attend class."

The Charms classes passed by unnoticed. I was more focused on my own recovery. Cedric mentioned he'd consider endurance training for me. I'd need to persuade him to incorporate endurance training into my schedule instead. Additionally, I'd deactivate the bracelet during matches, which would alleviate a significant portion of the load. It's not that I'd become stronger or particularly faster at this stage of my development; rather, it would simply take much longer to exhaust me.

The second Charms lesson involved practical application. We practiced the *Glacius** spell, which is designed to freeze an object and manifests externally as a stream of cold, steaming air from the wand. There are several modifications mentioned in the textbook, but aside from those mentions, there's little additional information. We practiced this spell on glasses of water, and I must say that for the first twenty minutes, the glasses experienced everything except freezing. Poor Professor Flitwick must have been exhausted trying to restore order, but from the expression on the tiny wizard's face, one could easily conclude the opposite—he was pleased with any result of our clumsy magic.

After two lessons in Charms, lunch was scheduled, and following that, I had free periods until curfew. Why? Well, I wasn't enrolled in Divination or Arithmancy. Cedric, by the way, requested to remain with the younger students in the Great Hall or the common room during these free periods—a precaution due to the Dementors. The school administration is keen on students spending as much time as possible in large groups, yet it seems they haven't quite figured out how to encourage this—aside from imposing punishments.

Thus, I made my way to the common room in proud solitude—those of us who weren't attending class for various reasons remained in the Great Hall. Upon reaching the common room without incident, I entered our room, climbed onto my bed, drew the curtains around my nook, and began to contemplate the process of artifact creation under the light of the magical lamp on the wall. A simple thought—how to create artifacts.

The elven method by which my bracelet was crafted is entirely unsuitable for mass production. There are several reasons for this, and they're simple to the point of absurdity. To begin with, the material for artifact amulets using this technology would be either wood or metal, but the metal must possess unique magical properties. Numerous questions would arise regarding this special metal—and subsequently about me—which I'd prefer to avoid. There'd be even more inquiries regarding the wood. While there may not be questions about the wood itself, the peculiar structure of the amulet, as if it had grown from a tree, would certainly raise eyebrows.

The contours of the warming magical constructs aren't particularly complex, and once applied to an object, they're inscribed into its structure, rendering the constituent contours unrecognizable—only the overall effect remains. In simpler terms, the final product is indistinguishable from locally enchanted items. This is an advantage.

The dwarven approach is straightforward yet equally effective. One takes metal, forges it, creates a rune chain or imprints a magical contour onto the striking surface of the hammer, and hammers it into the workpiece. This is a simplified version, of course. In reality, dwarven craftsmanship requires numerous tools, while elven craftsmanship relies solely on the earth and one's intellect. However, with dwarven work, there'll be no questions—the metal is ordinary, and engraving or imprinting contours isn't particularly novel in this world: I've seen it, felt it, and though I didn't comprehend it, it functions.

Ultimately, the optimal solution appears to be gnome craftsmanship. However, it is indeed Work—with a capital "W." A gnome, if capable, won't permit anything inferior to emerge from their hands…