The morning greeted with a gnawing pain in my left arm. That, and a wave of nausea.
Rolling onto my side, I began cycling life energy through my body, setting a ntal command for healing. Casting Tempus, I realized it was still too early, even for my usual training regin. So I lay in the dark, healing myself, fighting back the nausea, and thinking.
Thinking about just how flawed these mory shards really were.
The cause of my malaise, as well as the minor but extensive damage to my left arm, had beco clear. Indulging my whims, I had grown a top-tier Elven bow. That was all well and good, but it was only tonight, after using it, that pain had seeped into my dreams. Based on my actions and these sensations, my brain managed to dig up corners of the elf's mory during sleep that my conscious mind couldn't access, no matter how many associative chains it pulled.
The problem turned out to be expected, yet unexpected.
Bows like this are designed for elves, and like the elves themselves, they are connected to a shared magical—or rather, energetic—system: the forest, the Mallorns, and other specific flora and fauna. These are the bows used by Guardians who keep the peace on the borders. Every shot from such a weapon amplifies the effect of the arrow or its head, boosting any imbued spells or constructs.
But everything has a price.
In normal, correct conditions, the bow takes its "paynt" from the entire elven collective, from the forest, from nature itself. Even hundreds of thousands of shots wouldn't cause a speck of harm to the system.
Here, however, there was only and the bow.
Simply put, it's a good thing I decided to shoot only a dozen Dentors and not all of them. Even if I hadn't felt the harm in the heat of the mont, I could have woken up today without an arm, or with other severe injuries.
There it is, the downside of the mory shard: much knowledge, even general concepts, only surfaces when external conditions trigger it. And that's assuming the knowledge is in the shard at all.
Having managed to heal my arm, I couldn't suppress the nausea any longer. Rolling off the bed, I hobbled to the bathroom and gave in to the urge to vomit. But my stomach was empty; I got nothing but sharp muscle spasms that sent pain shooting through my chest.
"Blast..."
Pulling my wand from its holster, I Transfigured a large glass and filled it with water using Aguanti. I drank with difficulty and tried to rinse my mouth again. That worked.
After washing away the traces of my ordeal, I reached the sink and tidied myself up.
"Haven't felt like this in a long ti," I told my pale reflection in the mirror. "And I'd be happy not to feel it again for just as long..."
I ruffled my black hair, which made the pallor of my face look fantastic—in a bad way—accentuating the faint blue circles under my blue eyes. I looked closer, searching for other visual signs of health problems.
"Blockhead," I smirked at myself. "There's a diagnostic for this..."
With a couple of willful efforts, I created an elven diagnostic circuit based on life energy. A stream of information about my health flooded my consciousness—nothing critical, I had restored a lot while lying in bed. I ford a sphere of the Minor Healing construct over my palm and sank it into my chest.
In just a couple of seconds, I felt the full spectrum of sensations: temperature fluctuations, my skin turning pink, and breaking into a sweat.
And I was ravenously hungry. Magic is magic, but spells like this heal by using the body's resources, and my reserves weren't exactly vast. I'd say they were nonexistent—everything had gone into the fuel tank.
Returning to the room, I wanted to lie down and do nothing, but having fully woken up, I simply couldn't force myself to be idle. So, I headed to one of the empty classrooms to do physical exercises... In short, the standard morning schedule.
. . . . . .
A typical Thursday breakfast in the Great Hall proceeded as usual—oatal, buns, a bit of at and vegetables. The mood among my housemates wasn't the best, as our first class was Potions. Thanks to Snape, nobody liked that subject.
"You're not looking too great," Justin noted gloomily, picking at his oatal without much enthusiasm.
"Yeah, looks like I overexerted myself..." I scratched the back of my head with a guilty look. "What's with all the suspicious bustling around here?"
"Hmm," Justin hesitated. "Usually you're more attentive to details and rumors."
"Long story short," Hannah leaned forward, clearly already in the know. "Rumor has it Sirius Black was on Hogwarts grounds last night."
"Hmm? Let's assu so," I nodded, finishing my porridge and, under their bewildered gazes, grabbing cinnamon buns and smoked sausages. "What? They're tasty..."
Hannah just shook her head.
"Anyway, they say he destroyed a dozen Dentors and vanished. And during the night..." the girl paused for dramatic effect. "There was an Auror raid in the castle searching for Black. They caught a few couples who decided to do so snogging in the dark."
"Right inside the castle?"
"What do you an?" Hannah tilted her head slightly.
"Well..."
"You really should have read the unabridged version of Hogwarts: A History," Susan lanted, blushing. "Inside the castle, since its very foundation, nothing more than kisses is possible... So..."
This sudden topic of conversation made everyone blush and feel a bit awkward. In this mood, we left breakfast for the dungeons and our Potions lesson.
The severe Professor Snape, as always, was not distinguished by the delicacy of his approach to students, but to so extent, I understood him. In my past life, I found it extrely difficult to explain things or teach anyone. I rember—even if I didn't show it—I could instantly flare up with rage when soone couldn't grasp the most obvious things with their tiny little mind.
Once again brewing potions, preparing ingredients as usual, I couldn't help but notice Daphne's slight detachnt from our joint work.
"Sothing happen?"
"What makes you think that, Granger?" she asked neutrally, asuring out drops of the plant juice I had just prepared.
"You've been behaving as neutrally as possible lately."
"You're imagining things."
"Did you not like the cakes? They looked delicious."
"They were."
"Maybe the book wasn't to your taste?"
Daphne asured the last drop of juice, and as soon as it hit the cauldron, the potion's color shifted from translucent blue to opaque navy—just as it should. Now we needed to raise the temperature and start a cycle of strictly defined stirs. That was Daphne's job; I still needed to crush the beetle shells.
"The reference guide proved very useful," Daphne nodded. "Thank you."
"As were the copies of those books," I nodded back. "Quite interesting reading with plenty of useful information, and most importantly, presented without unnecessary fluff."
"I'm glad."
The dialogue wasn't going well, so I decided not to distract Daphne from the potion. Besides, I needed to concentrate on the process myself.
At the end of the lesson, Snape asked us to stay behind.
"Miss Greengrass, Mr. Granger. In the new term, I expect you, as before, on Saturday evenings to continue your potion-making practice. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," we nodded simultaneously.
"Excellent. You are dismissed."
As soon as we left the classroom, Daphne was imdiately surrounded by her Slytherin classmates, and any further conversation was out of the question.
"Amazing, isn't it?" asked Justin, who had waited for .
"What exactly?"
"As soon as you want to talk to a girl, they imdiately flock into packs."
We quickly rged into the general stream of students climbing the stairs of the main tower, trying to get to the Transfiguration classroom.
"You can't approach them at all when they bunch up like that," Justin finished his thought.
"Well, that's only if you're a bit shy."
"And how can you not be?" Justin was surprised. "You go up to ask sothing, and the whole pack just—hop!—stares at you. Like they're waiting for you to make a mistake. And when you walk away, they giggle and pick your bones clean... Brr..."
Justin actually shivered while reasoning about this, which amused greatly.
Just before the start of Transfiguration, Potter and Weasley flew into the classroom, late as always.
"Professor McGonagall," Harry wanted to ask almost imdiately, "How is..."
"Your broom is not ready, Mr. Potter. Be so kind as to take your seats, you and Mr. Weasley. The lesson is beginning."
While the professor wrote formulas on the blackboard with a wave of her hand, I nudged Justin, who was sitting next to .
"What broom?"
"No idea. You know Potter's broom is broken?"
"Well, yeah."
"So, probably sothing to replace it."
"Talking," the professor looked sternly at us. "Your understanding of Transfiguration, Mr. Granger, certainly pleases , but it does not relieve you of the obligation to maintain discipline in class."
"Apologies, Professor..."
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