The work of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is the safety of Magical Britain's residents, oversight of law enforcement, and the protection of rights and freedoms — including the enforcement of duties.
The D.M.L.E. is the Ministry's primary enforcement body, and its officers represent the military strength of Magical Britain. They are considered military personnel and are subject to mandatory, priority conscription into the Magical Britain Army.
***
I had thought all these issues were just lingering after-effects and that everything had settled down long ago, but now I see the assimilation is still ongoing. In this chaos, only a few memories — like Grandmother Walburga's final words — shone clearly, like nails pinning one part of me to a solid wall. That's what had helped hold my personality together all this time.
Basically, I'm betting my life that all those nails are driven in deep enough. Otherwise, I'll lose my mind. I had to do something about this, but telling my parents wasn't an option. Any external intervention was complicated by the ritual's effects, but that would be a minor issue compared to an outright mental intrusion. Using a spell and a wand to enter a mind is a far cry from just reading surface thoughts.
The real problem is that the other part of my personality would be exposed, and it's not even certain some mind-healer from Italy could fix it. There's an elite, specialized magical psychiatric facility in Italy, you know — a place where they dig around in your head and try to patch it up.
I've already decided this secret stays with me forever. Not to mention the potential fallout from my family if they found out... I won't even list all the reasons — it's clearly a foolish idea, and I have no patience for foolishness.
That left only the long, arduous path of self-healing. I feared this wasn't the wisest course either — rummaging through one's own psyche and trying to repair the very thing that makes you you... It sounds like a tautology, but I can't explain it any other way.
For now, feeling rather shaken, I decided to leave the matter for tomorrow. First, I needed to study how to actually do anything within my own consciousness. As I understood it, Occlumency, like all mental magic, was a highly theoretical field. So, my task was to find at least some warnings or general advice that could help with my specific problem. For now, all that remained was to try and sleep.
Sleep, of course, wouldn't come. I was literally tormented, I was scared, I even almost shed a tear. I hoped at least I wouldn't have a panic attack; I'd lived all these years without them and had been perfectly fine.
After lying there for about an hour, I finally remembered that I didn't necessarily have to practice destructive spell chains. I could try something I'd wanted to experiment with for a long time... Yes... Only remembering it now. See? Things really are bad...
As for magic... I wanted to figure out if it was possible to learn telekinesis... In essence, Wingardium Leviosa is a limited version of telekinesis in my understanding. But I wasn't about to start with wandless Levitation. Instead, I attempted to master telekinesis as seen in fantasy novels. From there, maybe I could move on to Force pushes, or even Sith lightning! Bwahahaha, am I an evil Sith or a Jedi... It's unclear...
Alright, enough jokes. The subject of my experiment became a small piece of paper crumpled into a ball. Attempt after attempt, but even ridiculous poses and straining my mind and hands didn't help. I repeated the mantra that it's all in the head, but even that was useless. In the end, I decided to approach the problem from the perspective of manipulating magical energy itself.
I can feel magic inside my body and around me, so if I concentrate hard enough, I should be able to influence magic without a wand. Easier said than done. But I had the whole night and insomnia on my side, and I wasn't afraid to use them. That meant I had a sea of attempts ahead of me.
I tried hundreds of times to move that crumpled leaf. I could have just blown on it or sneezed. Okay, one more time...
...I closed my eyes, clenched my fist as if the pathetic paper ball was already in it, and tried to "pull" it toward me with an internal effort. I opened my eyes and... nothing. The leaf lay on the table, mocking me with its papery indifference.
Inhale. Exhale. Focus. It's all in the head, Art, all in the head...
I tried to "see" the magic: imagine streams of force, like air you breathe in...
I could feel it — a faint burning in my fingertips, a heaviness somewhere behind my breastbone, a barely perceptible pressure around me. Magic is always nearby, always here. But how to make it move an object, not just power a familiar spell through a wand? How to deliver magic from my fingertips to the target?
The wand is a crutch, a thought flashed. A wizard is not a piece of wood, but the source. Which means the power should obey directly. I just needed to forget the limitations; it really is all in the head!
I focused again: inside myself, I visualized a thread, like a thin stream of smoothly flowing water. It stretches from my chest — over there, to the paper ball. It passes through my fingertips, gradually thinning as it mixes with the surrounding "water," but I compensated with volume. The farther it went, the harder it was to extend, and finally, the fine threads of my magic touched the crumpled paper, then firmly attached to it, as if weaving into the paper fibers. The ball was absorbing some of the magic.
But with every centimeter, my control worsened, and that was considering that initially, I controlled my magical "strands" like a cat controls its tail. That is, I could sort of direct them, but they weren't yet the tentacles of an octopus.
If I tugged the strands, the object should move. I strained, as if preparing to lift a heavy weight. My head buzzed, my neck was clearly straining too much, goosebumps ran down my spine. My forehead broke out in a sweat. The leaf... twitched. Or did I imagine it?
I pulled harder. Inside, everything seemed to cramp up. Pull — click! — the ball rolled across the table. A couple of centimeters. But it ROLLED!
I grinned like an idiot. "Ha! It worked!" I exhaled, and immediately almost collapsed back onto the floor.
It was laughter and delight, and simultaneously emptiness: something inside me seemed to have burned through my reserves, as if I'd cast a dozen Flipendos at once.
But at the same time — it was proof. The magic had responded. A tiny gesture, ridiculous, but it was the first step towards wandless magic, towards something most wizards never even attempt to master. And towards full-fledged telekinesis as well.
I picked up the crumpled paper ball and looked at it. "You will be the start of something much bigger than just another piece of trash in the bin," I muttered and smirked.
A strange heat stirred deep in my chest. As if someone — or something — approved of my audacity. Or rather, it was my EGO; I had finally convinced myself of something.
Meanwhile, sunlight began trying to break through the heavy, dark curtains. I was in high spirits after my small victory, so I helped the light along. The dawn was unusually beautiful, and I was proud of myself.
Though still weak, I was, after all, a real wizard. The wand had severely devalued my own efforts in my eyes. There was always a feeling that full-fledged magic wouldn't work, that without crutches I was nothing, but now I knew — I could perform true magic without anything!
***
"Mother," I said in the calmest yet firmest tone I could muster, "this way, I'm unlikely to manage to find gifts for my friends, and you won't have time to complete all your errands either. I suggest we split up for a while: I'll take a walk and pick out a few gifts myself."
Narcissa turned her head towards me. I could see anxiety and doubt in her gaze. "Arcturus..." her voice was soft, but it carried a clear 'no'. "I can't let you go alone. It's far too crowded today, and you've never been to Diagon Alley by yourself before."
"I can handle it," I cut in, leaning forward slightly. "Since I can perform magic, nothing will happen to me, believe me," I said, looking at the witches and wizards hurrying about their business, scurrying back and forth.
At least during the holidays, D.M.L.E. patrols were very frequent, not to mention the Aurors, always vigilant and ready for emergencies. Besides, we were in Diagon Alley, not Knockturn Alley.
"Mother, I'll buy what's needed and then wait for you at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor."
"But... I think it's too early for you—" Mother pursed her lips, her hand resting on Draco's shoulder. "I'll worry!"
I allowed myself a brief smile. "Mother, if I can't handle buying a couple of things, how did I manage to study at Hogwarts for six months and, might I add, achieve Outstanding grades? When you're near Fortescue's, you'll be able to see me with a mug of hot cocoa. I can even wave to you if you like, but in my humble opinion, that would be rather foolish and vulgar."
Narcissa held my gaze for a long moment, then sighed quietly. "Very well. I must allow you to be independent... just shop on the main street, in the proper shops."
"I am a Malfoy. Haggling is in my blood; I know the value of money. Thank you for your concern, but..." I interrupted her gently, "...I promise I can take care of myself."
Draco smirked and immediately chimed in, "Mother, can I go alone too?"
"No!" Mother hissed sharply.
"What about with my brother?"
"NO," Mother and I said in unison.
I smirked. "You'll have your time to bargain for freedom. Start small — persuade Mother to let you have an extra cup of cocoa."
When they disappeared around the corner, I was left alone, and the noise of Diagon Alley pressed in more heavily.
The magical marketplace was a strange place. Its strangeness wasn't just that a cauldron shop could be neighbors with a broomstick shop and another broomstick shop opposite. It was something else: the entire alley was built in a unique style, peculiar to the magical parts of Europe.
The houses were crooked, as if twisted into knots and stretched diagonally. The stones they were built from were multi-colored, as if someone had been mixing mosaics until they got bored. The windows were narrow, long, with tiny balconies, often tilted at strange angles. The roofs seemed to be dancing in a half-asleep state, one higher than the other, with spires leading the eye sideways.
But it wasn't chaos. It was order — a style. And it had a name.
If the Muggle world had Gothic, Baroque, Classicism, and other attempts to channel creative impulse into a system, the magical world had all of the above plus a couple of completely unique architectural solutions that were simply inaccessible or pointless in the ordinary world. A signature style, so to speak.
"Obscurro" — from the Italian obscurare, "to darken, to conceal." Because the whole essence of Diagon Alley lies in this: it never fully reveals itself. You look at a shop front, and it seems there's another facade behind it. You enter a store, and the space turns out to be larger than it should be. A style that lives on the border of mystery and absurdity. This 'crooked' style, as it was explained to me, aimed to show mutability and ambiguity, as well as the capabilities of local architects who couldn't care less about logic and physical laws.
The style emerged as a response to Muggles: it's not hard to build a straight wall, but a curved one, rounding in the middle and hanging halfway off... and still making it reliable and lasting for centuries... Well, it was a way to show superiority over Muggle methods. Although all this crookedness created a magical image and atmosphere, after visiting this place more than a couple of times, the tastelessness of the alley and the pointlessness of it all became nauseating. Architecture that doesn't just build a house, but deliberately hides the truth behind an illusion. I walked through the alley, breathing in this non-chaotic chaos, and thought: yes, the world of wizards is strange, but it is systematically strange. That is its peculiarity.
What followed for me was a bit of a nightmare. Hundreds of wizards scurried back and forth, and in this chaos, I felt lost. Ughh... just wait until I grow up, I'll show them all! I had a ton of shopping to do. Thankfully, my satchel was, as always, with me.
Shopping in the magical alley turned out to be an art form no less than dueling: you need to know what to buy, and in my case, for whom, so the gift doesn't look pathetic or random, but works like a social charm.
My first stop was a Self-Inking Quill for Avery. If he's too lazy to write, let him dictate. In the shop, I found the right quill in the 'Rare Magical Stationery' section. It squeaked softly, like a newborn dragonet, but the moment I picked it up, it instantly fell silent.
Naturally, I bought one of the expensive models. A three-year guarantee, high writing speed, and a long memory for dictation. Plus a special box, instructions, and ink for this artifact. I even bought some spare ink.
The bell above the door of "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." jingled, and I stepped inside. The shop smelled of wood shavings, old timber, and something indescribable that always smells like magic.
Let's not dwell on the fact that wands were invented in 382 B.C., but the Ollivanders only started selling wands a couple of hundred years ago... let's just forget that fact.
I came here for a reason. For Cassius, I bought a special wrist holster for a wand, made of dragon hide. Such holsters are used by duelists, some Aurors, and generally anyone who needs to draw their wand as quickly as possible.
I also bought a couple of high-quality wand maintenance kits here, in a presentable case of black, shiny leather, containing everything needed for wand care. One to go with Cassius's gift, and three more for other people. Such care was especially needed for finicky wands made from flexible types of wood.
Fortunately, my wand wasn't one of those, as Ollivander reminded me once again:
Ollivander, as always, was in no hurry. He glanced at me as if he could see right through me and couldn't resist:
"Ebony... thirteen inches, dragon heartstring." He uttered these words as if he were holding it in his hands again. "Rigid, unyielding... It demands strength, demands will. It will not play games. But, ah, what a wand... the rarest of the rare."
"Thank you for the kind words about my wand, but you were the one who sold me this wonder," I remarked curtly.
"Does it please you?" Ollivander smirked, moving closer. "Is that what you call what others might describe as 'obsession'? I see you take good care of it. And rightly so. Ebony can function without complications, even without meticulous care, but this wood appreciates sternness and shines when its master is strict with himself."
I allowed myself a slight smile. The wand suited my family name. Dark as night, yet the craftsmanship was so fine that the carvings seemed an integral part of the wand. Generally, any wizard could cast spells with any wand, but the better the match, the higher the efficiency. The difference in spell power and magical expenditure could be up to a third.
Remembering that not all of us are Dumbledores, even a third reduction in cost and enhancement of spell effect is noticeable enough to choose one's wand carefully. Of course, a perfect match is nearly impossible, but Ollivander's work lies not only in creating wands but also in selecting a wand that provides that crucial 'third', falling short of the maximum by only three or four percent. Roughly.
My wand not only suited me but also genuinely pleased me. Every detail, every carving inspired me to use this marvel more often, and my wand also looked dignified, which was also important.
After a few more important purchases for my friends, I moved on to the smaller items. Baskets of sweets, including Chocolate Frogs, boxes of Every Flavour Beans and Bertie Bott's. There were also normal sweets.
I didn't forget to buy a couple of pairs of woolen socks with moving patterns. I also bought cheap wand care kits from various non-specialized shops and a couple of broom maintenance kits.
I also bought various simple artifacts from a trinket shop. Essentially useless baubles, but it's precisely they that create the impression of attention: everyone likes to be thought of, even if the gift costs only a couple of Galleons or even just Sickles.
The main rule of gift-giving is that they should speak for you: showing your attitude towards people, your capabilities, the attention you've paid, and so on.