Chapter 298 - 298
Luck!
That's the only word for finding a clearing with a small barrow, in which something or someone powerful, magically speaking, had been laid to rest a long, long time ago! Granted, I'd had to reveal quite a bit of what I know about "tracking," but there was no way I was letting an ingredient that rare and potent slip past me.
"Easy now, easy, my inquisitive friend," I smirked at Potter, gesturing that it was time we cleared off. "It's just magic, Harry."
I set off through the forest at an unhurried pace, savouring the satisfaction of having gathered so many of the ingredients I needed. And on top of that, I'd chopped up a fair few Acromantulas, stretched my legs, let a few skills off the leash, even used magic in combat, if not exactly in a format the local wizards are used to. A lovely night!
"So what was that? And how long have you known I was there?"
"Since Hagrid's place," I answered Potter calmly, once he'd caught up to me. "As for 'what was that'... what specifically?"
"That whole massacre you pulled on the Acromantulas. Was that really necessary?"
"You disapprove?"
"Er... it's just their leader, I mean, the spiders... He's Hagrid's friend."
"Every animal is Hagrid's friend, and the more dangerous, the better. Acromantulas were the scourge of ancient Greece. You know, nearly every animal, parasites aside, provides some benefit one way or another, living within an ecosystem. These lot only destroy. They try to devour any animal going, wreck whole biomes — even the ground doesn't grow anything after they've passed through, like after an atomic bomb."
"And... and? You're clearly building up to something."
"Acromantulas have been wiped out practically everywhere," clasping my hands behind my back, I set about explaining, catching myself thinking that this was precisely how the elf used to pace about lecture halls, back when he taught at the Academy. "The few places where they still exist are farms producing their not-especially-useful spider silk. There've long been alternatives to that silk, both animal and plant-based — I read about it recently."
"Really?"
"Precisely. Acromantula silk is only used in England, in Italy — as a nod to tradition — China, and Japan. Though Japan's a rather remarkable breeding ground for all sorts of creatures, including their own equivalents of Acromantulas. But even there, they've only got a couple of farms, more for market variety than anything. In the wild, Acromantulas exist almost nowhere, and where they do, those places aren't generally known. Like this nest in the Forbidden Forest, for instance. I'm sure that if the local Centaurs didn't destroy Acromantulas by the thousand, these creatures would have devoured half the forest by now. Mind you, in the end the Ministry's special services would've had to step in, they'd have had to deploy the DMLE and the Auror Office, seeing as those departments are staffed by about one and a half clumsy wizards, only good for signing paperwork and drafting absurd bills."
A stroll through the forest, even if not in the most desirable company, was nevertheless excellent entertainment after such "magical" adventures. And the fact that it was the dead of night was hardly a problem at all.
"Fine... let's say that's true. But Aragog is still Hagrid's friend..."
"Even if I made friends with a Dementor, that wouldn't make it a good creature. Although... I've got a feeling Ekrizdis didn't create them for no reason, oh, not for no reason at all..."
"Ekrizdis?"
"Have you ever actually tried reading books on the history of the wizarding world? Give it a go, you might like it."
"You sound just like Hermione."
"Does that surprise you?" I glanced at Potter with a smirk.
"Fair enough," now he smirked too, shaking his head. "Daft thing to say."
"Watch where you're stepping, or you'll kill yourself tripping over a tree root. Then again, such a ridiculous death might just make the Dark Lord die laughing."
"Not the worst outcome, honestly. Anyway, how can you joke about that sort of thing in times like these? Have you heard that the Dark Lord's pushing through mandatory registration for Muggle-borns? He wants to know everyone he calls a Mudblood, so he can turn up at their doors and kill them."
"Magnificent disinformation, in its own way. What's actually being introduced is a mass census of the entire population, regardless of blood status. Straight from the source, mind you. The main thing is to keep fanatics and morons well away from the process — they have a remarkable talent for ruining any good initiative."
"I don't believe you."
"Couldn't care less," I shrugged. "Back to the Acromantulas though — that was just a warm-up. I didn't expect it to go quite that far. I needed Acromantula venom, but in the young ones it's too watery, not the right magical concentration and lacking the properties I need. Had to work my way up to older specimens. Acromantulas are hardly friendly types, no brains to speak of until they grow to about the size of a minibus."
"All right, all right, I get it, Acromantulas are evil, may they all burn. Speaking of burning... and swords. And in general," out of the corner of my eye I could see Potter trying to study my face closely, while still keeping half an eye on his footing. "When did you learn all this? And that kind of magic?"
"Haven't you noticed I train with a great big pole-arm every day? Spinning it round and round?"
"Er..."
"No?"
"I think I've seen you sometimes, near the Quidditch pitch, or around there..."
"Phenomenal observational skills," I simply couldn't help another smirk. "Anyone who wakes up a bit earlier than everyone else has seen me training."
"Well, forgive me, my good sir," Potter gave a mock bow mid-stride, stepping over another root sticking out of the ground. "Didn't notice, didn't think much of it. The question came up because you're... well..."
Potter was plainly struggling to phrase the thought.
"...like, you only 'came to life,' so to speak, in third year, no offence meant. Where do all these skills, this knowledge, this understanding come from?"
"They just are."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the best answer I've got. They're just there, and that's that."
"Fine, then, the swords?"
"What's wrong with them?"
"You Transfigured magical objects without a wand."
"What phenomenal powers of observation..."
"Stop doing Snape impressions. Please."
"Fine," I nodded. "You did listen carefully to McGonagall, then."
"Sometimes," Potter scratched the back of his head, modestly, even with a touch of guilt. "Her way of presenting material sends me to sleep only slightly less than Binns does."
"Ha, fair point," I couldn't disagree with that assessment, if it could even be called an assessment. "Right, so, on the matter of Transfiguring magical objects."
"It's impossible to create magical objects through Transfiguration. That's why I'm asking. Those swords of yours were plainly magical."
"Yes. Magical. But there are nuances. Take, for instance, you'd never be able to Transfigure goblin-forged steel, though there, admittedly, one would probably need to work through some more specific details... Right, before I get carried away into theory, let's stay on topic. You can't Transfigure something magical, but!"
"But?"
"But," I nodded, "you can Transfigure an object that already has runes engraved on it. The only remaining question is charging those engraved runes with magic. And there you go — a magical object. I believe I've mentioned this before."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Seriously?"
"I don't remember."
"Not conclusive," I shook my head. "Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I Transfigured the swords already bearing runes, and charged them with magic. That's all there is to it."
"That sounds... that sounds like you've broken over your knee whatever it is McGonagall teaches."
"Well, Transfiguration is a complex science. And the more complex a science, the more loopholes it has."
"No, seriously, you really are just like Hermione."
"My sister puts more emphasis on academic knowledge and various postulates, which is also correct, in its way. I'm a creator, myself. Found a loophole — and buggered..."
"I get it," Harry cut me off, earning himself a surprised look. "If I want a lecture in various swear words, I can go back to the Dursleys."
"Tragic."
"You have no idea. So what was that blue fire?"
"Blue?"
"Fine, azure..." Potter cast his eyes heavenward, clearly demonstrating just how minor he considered my remark, though the distinction genuinely does matter.
"Protego Diabolica."
"Come again?"
"With a B. Seriously, Harry, have you ever taken an interest in genuinely interesting and sophisticated magical workings? It's as if you're drifting downstream somewhere, no idea where, why, or what for."
"Oh, brilliant. It's like being a child again, with Hermione scolding me for not liking books."
"All right, all right, hero of all England. Protego Diabolica is, in essence, considered a shield-type restrictive spell. But it doesn't work like a shield in the literal sense."
"It was on your swords too, that blue fire, I saw it."
"Don't interrupt, all right? Ask your questions after. Anyway, Protego Diabolica creates a kind of zone, and crossing or touching it burns the object down to nothing, provided it doesn't meet certain conditions. Those conditions can be set to more or less anything — from physical shape and state, to thoughts and intentions. In our particular case, I used a runic formula with a small adjustment via will and intent, and the condition was simple: burn anything that is Acromantula, apart from the head."
"That's absurd, and it's Dark Magic," Potter shook his head.
"Not remotely Dark, actually," I smiled, genuinely and openly. "Didn't I give you a bit of a primer on this before... Or not?"
"If you did, at one of our 'club' meetings, I don't remember it," Potter said thoughtfully, staring at his own feet.
"Well then... I'll repeat myself. If we set aside laws, politics, and the Ministry's views, and consider only the magic itself, here's what I can tell you. Dark Magic is magic distorted by negativity, by negative emotions, sensations, pain, suffering, and so on. For instance — there is no such thing as Dark Charms. None. At all. Even though there are charms that, once cast, leave the victim begging for death just to make the suffering stop. Why is that?"
"How would I know?" Potter looked at me with genuine indignation, nearly stumbling over a jutting root as a result.
"It's a property of Charms," I shrugged. "Rituals, spells, potions, and the like can be Dark. Charms cannot. What is a Charm, fundamentally? Put simply — it's an instruction, a command, which you package up in, say, a parcel, and hurl that parcel at your target. You have no connection to the parcel or to the target, you haven't drawn on negative emotions, you haven't distorted your own magic to achieve the effect. And the fact that the result of that instruction going off on the target is, let's say, rather regrettable — that's not really on you."
"But that's not right, you cast it, it's your responsibility."
"I'm speaking strictly from the standpoint of magic here, not morality, we agreed on that. Now, when you use a spell like, say, the Unforgivable, the Cruciatus, you maintain a connection with the target. The thing is, that connection can't be one-sided. Beyond the fact that you yourself have to feel hatred, malice, a genuine desire to inflict pain and suffering — and such desires distort your own magic from within — you also receive feedback from the spell working on the target. That feedback carries emanations of pain, suffering, and so on. What's more, if the target is a magical creature, it releases a great deal of magic, which is likewise distorted, 'infected' with darkness. And more importantly still — through that established connection, you can draw on the energy the target released for your own purposes, for other spellwork that demands a heavy expenditure of magic."
"Hold on... are you saying the Cruciatus can be used to gain yourself more power?"
"Naturally. There's just one problem. We — people, wizards — aren't inherently dark creatures, and we can't become such, not without altering our very nature. That's a long and tedious subject, take it as given for now. Pain, suffering, hatred, malice — these are, let's say, very vivid 'substances.' They make the magic vivid too. That distorted magic has a powerful effect on our minds, bodies, and souls, warping them. And the more often it's used, the stronger the distortion grows, which eventually turns into a dependency. You start to genuinely fall apart if you don't use Dark Magic. You need to use it, need to feel it again, those emotions, that pull of the magic. But then another mechanism kicks in — adaptation, habituation. The effect dulls. You need more."
"That is quite possibly the most repulsive thing I've ever heard."
"Agreed."
"Dark wizards are unambiguously evil."
"No."
"What do you mean, 'no'?" Potter looked surprised. "You just described, quite clearly, exactly what happens to practitioners of these Dark Arts."
"There's a nuance to it. There are various methods of protecting oneself from the effects of Dark Magic. You can start with sheer willpower, ignoring the effect by clearly understanding exactly what's acting on you. Another option is Occlumency. It's genuinely a multifaceted discipline."
"Mm... Occlumency and I are a lost cause, and that's putting it mildly."
"Oh, yes, I remember how many nerves Headmaster Snape wore through trying to teach you even the basics in that area. Some people simply aren't cut out for it, since it's magic, and magic lives in our heads. Perhaps later, once you're calmer, once you can concentrate on a task, once you can discipline your mind, you'll manage it. There are other approaches one could try, too..."
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