The Prestigahatitator didn't output a physical Dark Sword or Shadow Armor for Kane. Instead, it produced... blueprints for them.
"Have so common sense, will you? Don't go around telling people you're from the Constant if you're trying to craft shadow gear using a Prestigahatitator," Maxwell said, appearing behind Kane and speaking without a shred of politeness.
"???"
Kane, clutching the two blueprints, stood in stunned silence. For a brief mont, he considered trying to stuff himself into the giant hat machine to make himself disappear.
"So, the Prestigahatitator can't make Shadow Armor? This piece of junk didn't give a single prompt, it just wasted my materials on blueprints?"
Feeling defeated by his own stupidity, Kane instinctively moved to kick the machine, but pulled back at the last second, unable to bring himself to damage his hard work.
He turned a helpless gaze toward Maxwell. "You couldn't have reminded ?"
"The materials are cheap anyway; I figured I'd let you be happy for a few days," Maxwell sneered.
"Besides, would reminding you help? It's not like you can find a Purple Gem just lying around here to build a Shadow Manipulator, can you?"
Maxwell's lecture successfully drove Kane back under his covers. It was a long ti before he crawled out again to examine the blueprints.
No Shadow Manipulator, but I have the blueprints. Maybe there's a 'clever' way... like hand-crafting them by following the drawings?
After staring at them for a while, he realized the blueprints were exactly like recipes: useful in theory, useless without the proper equipnt. He had the ingredients, he had the recipe, but he didn't have the stove.
"Fine..." Kane sighed, tossing them into a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. At least I'll save on materials once I finally build the Manipulator.
Up in the air, Harry and Ron—still hovering on the Nimbus 2000—watched Kane's erratic behavior, clicking their tongues and shaking their heads. To them, poor Kane was clearly being tornted by his "ntal illness" again.
By afternoon, Harry had headed off to Quidditch practice, and Kane found his way to the library. He wanted to research where one might find—or buy—a purple gemstone the size of a fist.
Shortly after he sat down, another student took the seat next to him. He looked up.
"Hmm? Not sitting with your roommates?" Kane asked Hermione. He glanced toward the other Gryffindor girls she usually associated with.
"They still think I'm the one who snitched. They're too proud to apologize, so it's been a cold war for a week," Hermione said, her eyes fixed on her book, her voice barely a whisper.
"Haven't you noticed I only sit with you or Neville in class? If they see sitting alone, the rumors start again. And being alone... It's just awkward."
"I suggest you find so new friends then, or try to patch up that flimsy friendship," Kane said. "Halloween is coming up. It's a lonely holiday to spend by yourself."
With that, Kane put down a book titled How to Get Beautiful Seniors to Buy You Anything Without Selling Your Soul and picked up a manual on Swamp Magic.
He had Defense Against the Dark Arts next; if he didn't finish it now, he'd read it in class. Professor Quirrell's lectures were usually about as exciting as chewing flavorless gum.
He also reminded himself to ask Dumbledore about Quirrell later. Maxwell's judgnt was usually cynical, but generally accurate... right?
Focus on the swamp. This spell, combined with his unique properties, could create a marsh filled with Tentacles. Any enemy brave enough to step inside would get thrashed so hard they wouldn't even have ti to scream a safe word.
While Kane's mind jumped between shadows and tentacles, Hermione was staring at a ntal whiteboard.
She had a "Friendship Consolidation Plan" written on it, and at that mont, she ntally crossed out Kane's na.
He told to go find 'a' friend... without even realizing we're already supposed to be friends. I thought we had a sincere bond, but to him, I'm just an acquaintance he's being polite to.
Internally, Hermione began shedding "little pearls" of sorrow, though her face remained a mask of scholarly indifference. She packed her books and left without another word.
They t again in the afternoon DADA class. Kane, Harry, and Ron huddled in the back corner to stay away from the garlic-and-death sll wafting off Quirrell. Hermione sat alone near the front; there were simply no other seats left.
"Tsk..." Ron looked at Hermione's lonely back. "She looks like a—"
Kane and Harry imdiately muffled Ron's mouth. They knew exactly what kind of "ivory" was about to co out of that mouth.
Professor Quirrell entered. He rembered Voldemort's instructions: show so real skill and bait Kane into seeking private help. He caught sight of Kane in the back, a book on Swamp Magic open on his desk.
Perfect. I shall demonstrate true expertise.
He began to speak. To the students' shock, the voice was still stuttering, but the content was suddenly rich, complex, and incredibly academic. It was actual "dry goods" knowledge.
Quirrell spoke for forty minutes straight before pausing. "V-very well, students. N-now, who would like to c-co up and d-demonstrate... the Swamp Spell?"
He moved the podium aside to create a stage. Hermione was the first to raise her hand. The applause she received was ager.
As she cast the spell, the floor of the stage softened and changed color slightly, but the effect was weak. Hermione turned red with embarrassnt.
Quirrell—the "kind" personality currently in control—led the applause. "L-let's hear it for Miss G-granger. The Swamp Spell is t-typically taught to f-fourth-years. Miss Granger's attempt was... v-very impressive."
He awarded Gryffindor one point and looked over the class. "Mr. K-kane Heath, please... s-step up and d-demonstrate for us!"
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