Scanning the reading room, I spotted Daphne in the far corner, surrounded by books and scribbling away enthusiastically in a notebook. We went and sat down at her table.
"Hello," I said, greeting her, taking the seat beside her, while Pansy and Draco sat across from us.
Daphne hardly even registered our arrival at first, and looked up with a hint of surprise in her eyes.
"Hello," and she smiled. "I got a bit carried away here. Turns out our project is remarkably interesting."
"Working on it without me, are you?"
"Only a little. I knew you'd turn up here before long. There's nowhere else worth going today, anyway."
"True enough. We're going to chat a bit about terrifying dark magic."
"Of course. But afterwards, you're entirely and completely mine."
"How charming," Pansy pulled a sardonic little face.
Daphne went back to her work, and I turned to the others.
"So, going back to the 'philosophy.' It isn't philosophy at all. Magic genuinely does become warped in spells like that. Along the same lines as how it grows more aggressive and powerful under the influence of negative emotions. Only here, it's death and pain specifically. The magic grows stronger still, and more aggressive with it."
"Speculation," Malfoy waved it off.
"Have I ever claimed something false?"
"Hector's right, though," Pansy nodded. "He really is always right about matters of magic."
"So," I looked over at a now thoughtful Draco. "Here's the question that's occurred to me — why bother with spells like that at all? I mean, I'm fairly certain there are equivalents to the Cruciatus, say, that wouldn't create that sort of distortion and would be perfectly safe for the caster. With the Killing Curse, I'm less sure, but there are ways, and they wouldn't involve such harsh, forcibly-summoned emanations either. So what's the actual point?"
In truth, I have some fairly concrete thoughts on the matter. After all, that elf whose memory shards are rather extensive did have some understanding of using death-energy, among various others. May even have used it himself — the specifics haven't survived, unfortunately, any more than the knowledge has. But even so. The mere fact that this particular energy is more powerful and more aggressive already finds its own uses. And, obviously enough — creating effects built on that energy. Pain for pain, death for death. The associations could go on indefinitely, and every one of them would be true and workable to some degree.
"Maybe by accident?" Draco shrugged. "They were creating a spell, and, well, that's what came out. Not everything has some grand meaning behind it. What came out is what came out."
"That's a possibility too," Pansy nodded. "But what if there is a meaning? If the magic's stronger and more aggressive, maybe the meaning's the same as with dark magic in general? I mean the part of the Dark Arts where you need negative emotions for the power and the result."
"That's an important distinction to make. The Dark Arts have a great many facets, after all, and genuine Dark Magic is something rather different."
"Says the great expert and connoisseur of the Dark Arts," Draco couldn't keep from smirking again. "Not an insult, mind, just a fact — Muggle-born, knowledge, skills. You know what I mean."
"Doubting my skills, are you?" now it was my turn to smirk. "You know, my better judgement tells me not to prove or demonstrate anything, but sometimes one just wants to."
"Go on then, tell me my doubts are baseless."
"Fair enough," I shrugged. "Anyway, the question stands open. What the devil would anyone need it for? Maybe there are certain rituals that call for a particular kind of magic, or simply enormous quantities of magic? After all, there's no such thing here as a 'circle of mages,' and a single wizard's abilities are limited."
"A circle of mages?" Pansy looked puzzled. "What sort of creature is that, and how does one eat it?"
"Just something Muggle writers made up. They're terribly fond of fantasising about all sorts of subjects, magic included."
"Well, describe it, then — perhaps it does exist."
"Doubtful," I shook my head, perfectly aware that such a thing didn't merely not exist, but couldn't exist, given the realities of this world. "In their stories, wizards combine their strength in various ways — every writer's got their own version — to work a single, powerful spell together."
"Definitely doesn't exist," Draco shook his head. "Honestly, Muggles, always making things up. Talking all sorts of nonsense."
"Well, well," I smiled. "They haven't got magic, so all that's left to them is dreaming and imagining how it might work."
"I haven't heard of anything like that either. Though there are stories about various ancient rituals," Pansy paused, thinking. "All sorts of dancing round bonfires, chanting, that sort of thing. Apparently there's even some effect to it, but I'd guess the mechanism there is something else entirely."
"Yes," I nodded. "That's just mass surges of magic producing more or less random effects. Though collective will plays a part too. If, as you say, they're dancing in honour of their ancestors, praising them, there's a chance it reaches through to… well, I'd love to know exactly where. Beyond the veil."
Pansy shivered, as if a chill had run across her skin, and even Daphne stopped writing for a moment, glancing at me. Had she remembered that business by the lake? But she didn't ask any questions, going back to her work instead. No doubt she'd drawn her own conclusions.
"That's a bit unsettling," Pansy frowned.
"One could try arranging something along those lines for Samhain," my smile widened. "Something's bound to come of it."
"Honouring one's ancestors is a fine thing to do," Malfoy nodded. "But it wants approaching with proper knowledge. I wouldn't be in any hurry to go disturbing the dead."
"Well, I'm going to do it. It's simply too interesting not to."
Besides, it's about time I got some answers to a few old questions. And since the conversation had turned to magic and various energies, however obliquely, I ought to decide once and for all whether I'll be making that storm-hammer purely for the fun of it, or not. And I still need to pick out the next energy for the affinity ritual. As for tomorrow… tomorrow I'll burn the whole day making artefacts for the Weasleys. After all, I've still got a fair number of unfulfilled obligations outstanding.
"You're mad," Malfoy shook his head. "I do hope you don't die out there. Though I won't grieve much if you do."
Draco got up from the table. Pansy, smiling at me, got up too. Madam Pince was leading the first-years back — only about half of the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs had decided the library was worth their time, taking books and settling in at the tables. Hannah noticed too, glanced at me, spotted Daphne, smiled, and let me know with a single look that she'd handle the first-years, but that once they finished up, the remaining ones were mine.
"Are you going to do something odd for Samhain?" Daphne stopped working through her rune calculations in her notebook and looked at me.
"Yes. I think, given what happened at the lake last time, it's worth doing."
"You know what I'm about to say, don't you?"
"You're coming with me?"
"Exactly that."
"I'm entirely in favour."
Daphne smiled and shifted closer to me, sliding her notebook in front of me as she did.
"Look what I've worked out…"
We spent several hours puzzling over some runes that were new to us, from yet another ancient book Daphne had got her hands on. That sort of cooperation turned out to be genuinely useful, even though I hadn't expected much from the collaboration going in. Gradually, the first-years from our two houses drifted over to sit closer to us, clearly done with their reading and waiting for us.
Drawing my wand, I conjured a Tempus.
"Hm. Lunchtime."
Daphne was a little worn out from all that diligent work, and packed her things away rather slowly.
"Let's sort out the homework after lunch, then. Though we'll need to invite Pansy along."
"Fine. But after that — we're going for a walk. We might not be allowed into Hogsmeade yet, but even I've no desire to stay cooped up in the castle without a break. I feel like some Ministry clerk who lives, eats, sleeps at his job, and does nothing else besides."
"Agreed," the girl smiled, standing up from the table with me and slinging her school bag's strap over her shoulder. "And the weather's lovely today, too."
The first-years rose from their tables along with us, immediately clustering into two groups — green linings and yellow linings.
"And who's leading you lot?" I looked over at the Slytherins.
"Going by the situation," one of the boys spoke up, his manner reminding me of Malfoy back in third year, when he could hold his nose that high in the air. "No one."
"In that case, follow me."
The walk to the Great Hall passed without any trouble or delay, save that as we neared it there was rather too much of a crowd milling about, and Daphne dropped back to the rear of our little column, to make sure no mindless idiots went shoving the little ones about — it happens, sometimes.
The rest of the day passed without any particular incident. Daphne and I found Pansy and hauled her off, more or less by force, to do homework — the green-eyed girl put up a fight and hunted for arguments, but found none, and submitted to our combined will. And afterwards, declaring, "You dragged me off yourselves, so now you can enjoy the pleasure of my company," she came along with us for a walk about the castle grounds, through the little groves, along the lake shore, and clearly didn't come out the worse for it. The weather really was lovely — sunny, with a cool breeze.
Before dinner, I decided to pay the Headmaster a visit.
The gargoyle in its alcove stood guard over the quarters of this school's chief wizard. And what was I to say to it?
"Is the Headmaster in?"
The stone gargoyle's eyes shifted, fixing on me.
"What are you staring at? I don't know the password, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's something along the lines of: 'Mindless flock of sheep.'"
To my surprise, something like a smirk seemed to cross the gargoyle's stone face, and the statue slid aside, revealing the spiral staircase up. Climbing it, I passed through the open door.
The office had changed only in that the countless artefacts and trinkets of dubious usefulness had vanished, and the furniture had been rearranged slightly. That was about the extent of it. Oh, and the curtains on the enormous windows were now heavy fabric, rather than sheer white.
Snape, in black as always, sat at the Headmaster's desk, his face composed but his eyes full of obvious loathing, fixed on the pile of parchment and papers before him. Judging by the smaller stack off to one side of the desk, he'd already dealt with a portion of it.
"I have no idea how you got in here, Mr Granger," Snape raised his eyes to me. "But unlike Dumbledore, I take no extraordinary delight in unscheduled visits."
"No delight in visits of any kind, isn't that so?" I smirked. "Good evening to you too."
"What brings you here?" Snape leaned back in the Headmaster's chair and steepled his fingers.
"I wanted to check one thing. Is my access to the Restricted Section still valid?"
"The Restricted Section…" Snape held a brief, dramatic pause, and I noticed I'd actually started to miss our little exchanges. "Are you quite certain there's any point in your visiting that place at all?"
"Of course, Headmaster…" at my words he grimaced slightly, only for an instant, but it was there all the same. "There's still an enormous number of books there I haven't read yet. And the access itself could be arranged rather more… freely."
"And how, in your opinion, am I meant to manage that, given you're in your sixth year, not your seventh?"
"There's no need to take such a sceptical view of your own abilities. One takes a piece of parchment, a quill, and writes, in smooth and elegant handwriting…"
"I'm decidedly not in the mood for jokes just now, Mr Granger," Snape cut me off.
"A research project, on the subject of… Runes, say?"
"Let's say that's the case."
Snape summoned a piece of parchment from somewhere with a gesture and began writing on it rapidly. As simple as that? So all that had been needed was for me to voice a pretext out loud? Was the office of Headmaster genuinely bound by such formalities? Though, what was I thinking — it's a magical school, after all, and that sort of quirk could well be exactly how things worked here.
"Take your unrestricted access to the Restricted Section, Mr Granger," Snape held out the parchment, and I hurried to take it, tucking it away into an inner pocket of my robes. "Anything else?"
"No. Thank you, Headmaster. I won't keep you any longer."
"I should hope not."
In good spirits, I made my way down to the Great Hall for dinner. Good food, chatter about this and that, all sorts of rumours both from school life and from the Ministry — the usual atmosphere.
After dinner, I told my year-mates, with a touch of regret, that I wouldn't be able to join them for our usual sit-down by the fire, since I had my healing apprenticeship to attend to. The news was met with understanding and full approval, so I set off for the infirmary with a clear conscience.
"Ah, Mr Granger!" Smethwyck was the first to greet me there, which surprised me a little. "Are you ready to head off for night duty?"
"What a… pleasant surprise, Master," I smirked, nodding in greeting. "No, but does that actually matter?"
"Of course not," Smethwyck nodded cheerfully. "We'll be leaving by Floo from Poppy's office."
And so my peaceful Saturday drew to a close, transforming into a rather less peaceful Saturday night. Well — nothing to be done about that.
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