CHAPTER 50

"Stop!" I admonished myself.

I am not a gnome, and I do not require perfection! I don't necessarily need to forge a blank; I can transfigure it from any material and secure the transformation with either a local formula or an elven outline with a similar effect. I secured the transformation of the bracelet with such an outline. Applying runes isn't yet within my capabilities, and to be specific, at this moment, I simply cannot articulate how I created an incomprehensible chain using unknown runes. Therefore, I'll require an anvil and a hammer to create impressions and hammer them into the blank. The hammer, of course, must be enchanted with runes, but the chain itself is simple, and I won't disclose it to anyone. Well…

Taking my wand in hand, I waved it, concentrating the air at a specific point. Designating it as a target with my will, I summoned the necessary formulas for transfiguration in my thoughts and envisioned a flat, slightly convex teardrop-shaped piece of metal with a silver sheen. The magic activated, and in an instant, a blank for a medallion was suspended in the air, complete with a hole. The blank fell onto the bed before me, and I repeated the process. Again. Again and again.

Becoming engrossed in my work, I only realized the passage of time when the next blank could no longer remain atop its counterparts and rolled off the bed, landing with a loud thud on the wooden floor. Surprised by the pile of identical metal droplets on my bed, I proceeded to the next stage—the transfiguration of the anvil.

Technically speaking, a simple metal surface with the correct runic ligature would suffice; this is the foundation for gnomes, inscribed with incredible care. This is the result of repetition "ten thousand times"! Ultimately, I decided to deviate from the gnome canon, despite my slight reluctance—a metal sheet on wheels is easier to conceal under the bed than a cumbersome anvil.

I waved my wand once more, concentrated the air, and envisioned everything I required. I imagined the rune chain at the stage of transfiguration of the object—later, I'd simply need to imbue it with magic. Yes, it's not akin to the gnomes, but they aren't renowned for precision, and thus they work through conductive tools, concentrators, and other gadgets.

A minute later, I beheld a heavy, thick sheet of mirror-smooth metal, mounted on wheels with a simple locking mechanism in the form of a lowering clamp. Now, for the sledgehammer. A small one—I don't require much at present. The gnome's fragment, one might say, squeaked in indignation, and I felt a slight disappointment in my own body, as if to say, "Flimsy little man!" But this is merely background noise, a discrepancy that I'll gradually rectify over time. In a year or two, there should be no trace left of such peculiarities.

The sledgehammer turned out to be small; I'd even describe it as a mallet, albeit metal and rectangular. On one side, there was a simple rune chain that, when struck, would direct a magical construct down the sledgehammer. This construct, upon passing through the imprint, would etch the desired contour into the workpiece.

Taking the first workpiece, I placed it on the metal platform, grasped the sledgehammer, and directed a small amount of neutral energy into it before striking the workpiece.

A sharp ringing sound filled the space. A shower of sparks erupted from beneath the sledgehammer. Setting the tool aside, I picked up the resulting amulet. Its shape had barely changed, but a beautiful, ornate outline had emerged on its surface on both sides. Almost immediately after the amulet was in my hand, I felt the temperature around me stabilize to a pleasantly warm—yet not hot—degree; that's precisely how it should function.

With a creak, I recalled the diagnostic circuit from the elf's memory fragments, applied it to the workpiece, and confirmed that it was indeed what I needed—and nothing more. Alas, it's regrettable that there are too few such circuits in memory, and everything else is either incomplete or merely scraps.

Well, while no one is present, I must forge.

***

Swinging a sledgehammer isn't akin to swinging a stick. This conclusion is simple, yet not immediately obvious, oddly enough. My hand throbbed and ached. It felt as though it was still vibrating, and my hearing—what had happened to me?! A concussion, without a doubt. The ringing in my ears refused to dissipate, and even the life energy "coursing through my veins" seemed to have relinquished its powers.

Of course, I'm exaggerating, but only after ten minutes—during which I collected and stored the blanks in a backpack—did everything return to relative normalcy.

Upon exiting the room, I was slightly taken aback by the noise, and upon reaching the common room, I was even more surprised. It was already growing dark outside, and the common room was quite populated. It was peculiar that I wasn't disturbed. However, it seems Zacharias mentioned that personal nooks are well-protected from noise, and this protection is only bypassed by words intended for the owner of the nook. This only functions with tightly drawn curtains. Yet, I have a logical question—why don't the others lock themselves in at night? Surely, that would protect them from my attempts to awaken them, which, by the way, I no longer undertake. Perhaps someone opens them in the morning?

Spotting Cedric on the couch in the company of his peers, I approached them.

"Hello, everyone," I waved.

"Oh, hello, budding star," the assembled group greeted me cheerfully.

"A star?"

"Indeed," Cedric shrugged, smiling. "I'll tell you right away—it wasn't I who divulged everything to everyone, but Herbert."

"What, 'everything'?"

"That you're now on our team as a Chaser, and in the future, a Seeker."

"Ah, I see," I smiled. "Cedric, I have something to discuss with you; may I have a moment?"

"Of course," he nodded, standing and turning to his companions. "I'll be right back."

We retreated to a secluded corner of the common room, and the prefect waved his wand in the air, causing the atmosphere around him to ripple.

"So they cannot overhear. Household charms, fourth year," he explained, noting my curiosity. "There are other options, but this is simple and effective. Did something happen?"

"Here," I handed Cedric one of the amulet drops.

"What is this?" The prefect took the item in his hands without hesitation and immediately understood its significance. "Oh my! You're quite impressive."

Cedric examined the results of my labor with interest for about a minute.

"Three Galleons will suffice here, no problem. Did you create it yourself?"

"Strictly between us."

Cedric regarded me with a sly smile.

"You've noticed that I'm working diligently for my reputation? I'd make a fine authority figure if I were to gossip indiscriminately."

"Yes, I understand. Here at Hogwarts, we engage in factions, war games, alliances, and other such matters."

"That's indeed true," Cedric grinned even wider. "Both my father and his friends unanimously stated that Hogwarts is a small world, somewhat mirroring life outside. Here, even contracts and other agreements must be confirmed upon graduation, or they become invalid."

"Hmm?"

"Hogwarts possesses numerous spells and taboos that regulate the lives of its students. After all, the Founders aimed to create a school—not a branch of Hell in the Scottish Highlands. Given the historical context, the morals, and the constant strife, skirmishes, and conflicts, this is hardly surprising. Now, let's return to the matter at hand. You've shown me a functioning amulet… Um, a pendant—I believe that'd be more appropriate. What comes next?"

"It's quite simple," I smiled. "I can produce them for all the students."

"That's already more intriguing."

"We need to sell them."

"Then sell them," Cedric shrugged, though his eyes sparkled with anticipation.

"I'm a Muggle-born, Cedric. You're well aware that most of the market will be inaccessible to me due to the prejudices of others."