Chapter 292 - 292
Lately, with the twins having taken up trying to be maximally identical, you can only tell them apart by riling them up — that's when the difference in temperament shows.
The twins led me to an office on the third floor. Here there were floor-to-ceiling glass windows instead of a wall, so sitting at the desk, in the armchairs, or on the little sofas by the coffee table, you could watch what was happening down in the shop. There was a window looking outward too, of course. Though was that safe?
"Not a chance you'll see through it!" George rapped his knuckles on the glass, as if he'd read my mind.
"Are my thoughts really so obvious?" I said, surprised, settling into an armchair, while the twins took the neighbouring ones, summoning ornate mugs of some clearly invigorating drink with a flick of magic.
"Of course," Fred nodded. "We were certain that would be one of the first things on your mind, should you turn up here."
"Though there was a chance," George went on, "that you'd start with the charms, spells, or runes applied — or that need applying — for security."
"Mm…" I shook my head, meanwhile starting to unload boxes from my rucksack's undetectable extension, where I'd packed everything I'd made.
"Aren't you glad you have such perceptive friends?" George picked up one of the boxes, read the label with all its details, nodded, and set it aside without checking it.
"I'm becoming predictable," I gave the mug and its contents a quick magical check out of habit, and only then took a sip of the curious brew. "Mm, rather good."
For half an hour we went through the artefacts I'd prepared, both the minor trinkets and the significant ones, and only then moved on to idle conversation, occasionally touching on more important matters — like the safety of working on Diagon Alley in these uncertain times, any events that had occurred, and just about everything in general.
"Listen," I glanced through the glass at what was happening in the shop. "I wanted to ask — does turnover drop much when the kids go off to Hogwarts?"
"Ooh, good question," Fred smirked, sipping from his mug, while George put the artefacts away in their special wall safe. "Doesn't look like you keep much track of what turns up at Hogwarts?"
"I only track things that are dangerous or important," settling more comfortably in the chair, I turned the half-empty mug in my hands. "So no, I don't."
"Well, the thing is, we've got a special order delivery system. The mark-up's minimal. So turnover does dip, but not significantly. It's offset by a bigger influx of adult wizards wanting something more serious than a joke item. So, more or less, everything stays fairly stable."
"I see…"
I gazed thoughtfully at all the colourful things filling the shop floor, whose effects were clearly meant to be bright and interesting, sometimes even useful. Take those sticky trainers over there, letting you walk up walls, though not very high.
"What's got you down in the dumps, brother-Creator?"
"Hm…" I kept looking thoughtfully out at the shop floor, at the delighted children and astonished adults. "Nothing much."
"Go on, spill it. Might be able to help."
Turning to look at Fred, I didn't see his usual mischief in his eyes — he looked as if he were trying to be a grown, responsible wizard.
"Well… look, this spell," I drew my wand and conjured the glove with the note in front of Fred — George looked over too, pausing from putting the artefacts away. "What do you think?"
"Ooh, that's so cool!" Fred was delighted at once, snatching the note out of the glove appearing in front of him. "That's brilliant! Out of smoke! Poof!"
George approached rather more calmly, but looked impressed all the same. For a good minute the twins marvelled at the flair of it, drifting smoothly into their usual discussion of possible uses for pranks, or more serious matters.
"Right, hold on," Fred cut off the endless stream of discussion with George. "You didn't show us this for no reason, did you, mate?"
"No, not for no reason," I nodded, watching their reaction with a faint smile. "Our new professor sent me a note like this at breakfast. Everyone around reacted more or less the same way, marvelling at the beauty and flair of the spellwork."
The twins nodded understandingly.
"Well, it is pretty, and if the smoke can be changed…"
"…of course it can, silly brother…"
"…then you could add other effects too…"
"…sound…"
"…visual… Right, off again. Go on, Hector."
"When I saw the spell, I thought about the interesting combination of Transfiguration, Charms, name-magic, anchoring an exit point relative to the recipient, the well-thought-out interplay of magical effects, and immediately sketched out a template of the spell in my head, without even noticing I'd done the calculations. And when I needed to recreate the spell, it took me a few seconds to produce this — an exact reproduction of the effect."
"Well, you're a genius, that's not news," Fred smirked and exchanged looks with an equally smirking George. "So what's the problem?"
"I didn't notice at all that the spell was beautiful. Everyone else does nothing but talk about it, and I completely failed to see it. Yet I broke it down into its components almost in passing, out of mere curiosity. How is it that you two, having created whole trainloads of every kind of gag and gadget, never stop being amazed by something new visually?"
The twins exchanged glances again, but kept listening, clearly expecting more.
"I've got a heap of ideas and projects in my head that until recently I thought were interesting, both to work on and in terms of the result. Believe me, it was supposed to be brilliant…" I took a sip of the brew and sighed. "But now, when my brain, more or less, has practically subconsciously worked out roughly how it'll all function, the interest has all but vanished. Yes, that's it exactly. I get bored, and the beauty of the spellwork that everyone around me sees — I don't see it. And… in my heart I'm a loner, but I don't like that I'm drifting away from everyone else."
"Oh, brother Fred…"
"Yes, brother George…"
"Our dear Badger's finally developed a herd instinct."
Watching the smirking twins, I found myself agreeing with them inwardly. Somewhere at the very edge of my mind, I understood that I was gradually becoming uncomfortable because of how my views on magic, taking root in my head, were diverging from those of the people around me. Not critically, but it needed addressing.
"It's not so much people that bother me, or my relationships with them. It's my view of magic that bothers me. I used to see beauty and wonder, and that didn't stop me from delving into the details with the same enthusiasm. Now — the beauty's gone, and delving into it holds no interest, and there's not much left to delve into, really. Just building up experience, and making whatever I create more complicated."
"Sounds like this calls for the same talk our father once gave us, brother George. Adjusted for personality, of course."
"Hm?" I grew curious, and having nearly finished the brew from the gaudy mug, I even sat up a bit in my chair to listen.
"Once, ages ago, when we were young…" Fred began, but got smacked on the back of the head by George. "What was that for?!"
"Don't be an idiot. Let me tell it."
"Pff. Fine then," Fred sulked theatrically, folding his arms and turning to face the wall.
"So, once, we asked our father why he bothered with all that Muggle junk, enchanting it for all sorts of little things. You probably don't know this, but Dad's remarkably skilled in Charms. I don't know if his knowledge and skill would get him to master level, but I suspect it would."
"Suppose so."
"Right. We couldn't understand why he didn't go for a Charms apprenticeship, mastery, why he didn't find something far more lucrative and worthy to do. So he asked us why we'd been pulling pranks since we were small, and from about second year had been hunting for every conceivable way to prank people, so that it'd be funny not just for us…"
"We overdid it plenty of times back then," Fred added, still facing the wall. "We understand now how important a lot of aspects of pranking are. Pranking specifically, when it's fun for everyone, not just mischief-making."
"Yes, yes, brother Fred, don't interrupt. So we told him pranks were our whole life. That if we stopped inventing new ways to do it — bright, incredible, unthinkable ones — we'd wither and die, joining the ghoul in the attic. So Dad told us he could go and become an apprentice, maybe even a master, do something profitable, but it wouldn't last him long — the income would end up about the same as now, but Dad would be miserable and unhappy."
"I do actually understand the concept of 'do what you love.'"
"Sort of, but not quite. Look at it this way. Most of our products are potion-based. But we hate Potions, as a subject, yet we brew and calculate things with tremendous enthusiasm to achieve our main goal. The one that actually grips us. My brother and I don't love Charms, but we love it when colourful charm effects delight us and everyone else."
"Hm… Well, that's a logical point too," — one that, despite the 'wise' shards rattling around in me, I hadn't considered at all.
Dwarves do what the family and clan need, and it gradually becomes their passion — that's just how their psyche works. Elves do everything according to tradition, perfecting one thing, then another, then a third, and so on, and only afterwards, once they've advanced in many things, do they find the one thing they want to perfect endlessly. The pilot, though… a soldier. "The Party said it's needed, the soldier said, understood!" And in that future world the pilot shard had lived in, one's specialisation was determined in early childhood with near-certain probability. People there didn't even conceive of doing something that wasn't right for them, because there wasn't even a reason to think so.
"So, you," Fred finally gave up his mock sulking and turned back to me, his expression returning to something lighter but still, on the whole, serious, "when you worked out on the spot how to replicate what you'd seen, did you feel any satisfaction?"
"A bit. I liked that I managed to work it out, and quickly at that. It's just that the feeling was a little dampened by not seeing the 'beauty' of the spellwork. Hm… Well, there are a couple of other things I do like, actually."
It only took a little looking inward to see it. I like being able to use my knowledge and understanding in healing. Not directly treating people, no. "Treating diseases," so to speak. Or using my connection to my phoenix-self, neutralising the effects of using Dark Magic when I'm literally smashing curses and the like against my knee, over things other people couldn't handle. Or even the sheer sensation of storm energy coursing through and around my body, when a flick of my hand can disperse a storm, or summon one by focusing.
I couldn't care less about the effect of spellwork, in terms of what other people see. What delights me is the sensation itself — of magic, of energies, of the structure of what's happening. Probably why simple magical manipulations don't inspire me much — I often ignore visual beauty, unless it's something on a grand scale, since the felt sensation of such spellwork is usually quite simple.
Yes… That's it exactly. I don't love spellwork as an outcome — I love it as a process, as "magic" in its very essence.
With artefact creation, what I love isn't so much the process as "the path to a masterpiece." I'd drifted away from that path, into routine, and that's what killed the interest. If I loved the process, I'd happily be churning out anything and everything — which is exactly what I'm doing now, for money and stability.
Yes, it seems I've found what had been eluding me.
"Seems," George spoke up, smiling with a mix of pleasure and slyness, "you've worked something out for yourself."
"Agreed, brother George. Our friend's found something in the tangle of his own genius. Care to share?"
Leaning back in the chair, I finished off the last of my drink at my leisure and smiled contentedly.
"Magic."
"Er… No, mate, we're not clever enough to understand geniuses…"
"…though we do consider ourselves geniuses in our splendour…"
"…and splendid in our genius."
"You've missed the point," I shook my head, still smiling. "What I love most is magic, as a global phenomenon. It's hard to explain. Hm… Shall I show you, if you can keep your mouths shut?"
The twins exchanged glances, turned to me, and nodded.
"If we were blabbermouths…"
"…no one would work with us…"
"…but we can take an Oath, if you like."
"No need. Come on," I stood and held my hands out to them. "I'll Apparate us."
"We've got wards here, you know," George said doubtfully, but stood, like Fred, and took my hand.
"I know," I smiled.
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