The morning was early, the bed was warm, and I had absolutely no desire to move. Magic... Energies... I need to better recall these aspects by scouring the elf's memory. Or at least compile some summary from that heap of images. Undoubtedly, familiar magic might not find practical application in this world at all, but even a small fraction of understanding could contribute to the quality of my existence here in the role of a wizard.
Having finally woken up, dressed, and washed, I went down to breakfast. What is the date today? Hmm, there is nothing to even look at, except perhaps the newspaper. But it is definitely the end of July.
At breakfast, I was pensive, but quickly decided not to dive so deep into thoughts; my parents got worried that I would start "staring into space" again.
"Just thinking," I smiled modestly in response to the concerned looks. "So much different information to realize."
My parents smiled timidly with obvious relief. I should treat them more attentively; even though I had no children, more than once or twice I dealt with parents saddened by the state of their child's health.
After breakfast, I headed to my room to think calmly.
Magic is multifaceted and all-encompassing, but upon closer examination, one can draw several conclusions about its essence, if not its mechanics. A wizard, elf, some other creature, or artifact; everything takes magic either from external sources or from internal ones. For example, fire energy from a bonfire, or air from the air. Internal sources come from the connection of the soul or a simple spiritual-material construction with the energetic dimensions of the world. Yes, strictly technically, energy from a connection with dimensions is also not internal, for its source is external. But I did not invent this classification, especially since the methods of application differ significantly.
External energy is completely unyielding for use in strong-willed manipulations. Non-sentient magical creatures use it to fuel themselves, because for some, like fire salamanders, the body itself converts energy into an effect. For this reason, the overwhelming majority of mages and wizards encountered in the memory of the shards use various seals, circles, runic chains, and other products of jaw-dropping calculations to direct the necessary energy into them and create a spell. Of course, one could power some fireball with any energy, and not necessarily fire, but it is the energy of fire that will pour into the structure almost without resisting, its consumption will be lower, and the result better.
Internal energy is energy that a being scoops from another dimension. The gradation by subtypes is the same for it, but there are a number of conditions. Initially, only a few creatures are capable of such a thing, and if wizards had not met them, they would not even know about other energetic dimensions, but that is not the point. A wizard must first be "connected" to the dimension; initiation. But this can be done in two cases: in the presence of the ability to project the energy of dimensions into the world, and in the presence of an affinity with this energy. If one ignores these conditions, the consequences can be terrible both for the young or not-so-young talent, and for those around them. But if it so happens that the wizard fits the conditions and undergoes initiation, then he receives a number of undeniable advantages.
Unlike external energy, which is taken from a phenomenon already embodied in reality, whatever it may be, internal energy has no embodiment at the moment of projection into the world. Because of this, it easily yields to strong-willed manipulations and is suitable for sorcery on bare will and imagination. True, the type of such sorcery is quite rigidly tied to the type of energy; fire to fire, water to water. But using them in seals, runes, and other constructs, one can achieve universality. And there is no need to explain what advantage a bottomless source of energy in the form of another dimension gives, the ability to scoop from which is limited only by will and imagination. However, there are also downsides.
Due to the pliability of internal energy to strong-willed messages and the fairly easy embodiment of aspects of reality based on desire and mind, the use of internal energy is fraught with certain difficulties. Lose mental stability, get an energy outburst. Go haywire emotionally, get an energy outburst. Use substances that affect the nervous system and lead to overexcitation, get an outburst. Why is this dangerous?
Internal energy absolutely mandatorily requires embodiment. Like any other energy, it follows the path of least resistance, and in the case of a magical outburst, such a path is the conscious or subconscious desire of the magical creature. One cannot count how many times it happened that small wizard children with access to internal energy burned or drowned houses or entire streets out of resentment; fire, water, wind, and earth are the most frequently encountered energies, and their visual manifestations are the most easily accessible to the consciousness and subconscious. And there were cases with the energy of life, light, darkness, death; now that is scary. Life is far from just healing. Such an outburst is capable of turning organics around into terrible chimeras, a cross between living and non-living, covering everything around with some incredible crap grown right on the fly from people and other handy materials, simultaneously devouring the wizard himself, mutating and changing him. Afterward, such places can only be burned out, and the young talent often can no longer be saved. Light is capable of literally reducing everything around to quarks and photons, leaving behind bubbles of empty space; order leaves lifeless deserts of quartz sand. Darkness is unpredictable and universal, but most accurately follows the thought of the carrier, while death sometimes leaves crowds of half-dead human vegetables around the wizard, driven mad by unbearable pain and suffering.
A scary picture, but such a magical outburst can occur only in small children with a fragile psyche, rich imagination, and huge potential, while driving an adult to such a state is extremely problematic, though not impossible. True, the same thing happens when ignoring the presence of affinity with energy or the presence of the ability to project it into the world.
And what do we have in the end? I need to conduct a diagnostic of myself using universal constructs and find out the features of the physical body. Based on the available information, it will be possible to plan what to do next. Only I need to restore these constructs via associative chains. I know for sure that the elf applied them repeatedly, which means they are there, in the depths of memory.
"Hector," father entered the room. "Mom and I are going to town. Will you go with us?"
Yes, exactly. We live in the suburbs.
"To be honest, I wanted to finish some notes," I pointed with my hand to the notebook in which I recorded some recalled theses on magic. "But one of these days, I think, we can go. There is still so much here I need to get used to..."
"Okay, as you wish," father smiled. "We will buy something tasty then. Though... What do you like?"
"Everything that isn't oatmeal."
"Ha-ha-ha," father laughed sincerely. "Got it, got it. In this matter, you are exactly like me. I hate oatmeal. Then I'll buy something meaty, more of it."
Only fools think that just because elves live in the forest, honor nature, and in these matters are similar to crazy vegetarians, they do not eat meat. They eat it, and how! It is just that the process of hunting, extraction, and processing is not so... Not so ruthless. And the dwarf shards make themselves known at the word "Meat." If you add "Ale" to it, that's it, the end; there will be a glorious feast, a noble fight, and in the morning, a bill for the devastation in the tavern and the taste of a vile anti-hangover cure made from special underground mushrooms.
I actually shuddered from these memories, and father left the room. Well, let us continue to tie crumbs of fragmentary knowledge into something more coherent. Although, the diagnostic method is ingrained in the subcortex, as they say.
In silence and solitude, I concentrated on the feeling of energy in myself and around, pulled it outward with a volitional effort familiar from memories; it was pulled. As I thought, my body is connected to some dimension from birth and has a predisposition to it. I do not think that my parents, being ordinary people, contributed to this somehow, which means this is a feature of this world. Alright, moving on.
I projected a circular elven seal onto my chest and directed energy into it. The seal filled quite easily and simply, glowing dimly green. It required waiting about a minute, after which detailed information about the body appeared in my head literally out of nowhere. The physical state was already known, so nothing new. Magic; that is what is interesting. I turned out to be a wizard with internal energetics, as I assumed. That means all roads are open.
I failed to recognize the type of energy, but out of their infinite number, I am familiar with only a dozen and a half, and due to the fragmentary nature of memories, this acquaintance is not particularly multifaceted, so it is not surprising; in this matter, the main thing is to calculate the properties so as not to establish a connection with dimensions of incompatible energy. My energy was very, very flexible, mobile, I would even say, neutral-universal. This is familiar to me, and elves called it "Creation." Neither fish nor fowl, nor bird nor mushroom; one can say something like that about it. With its help, everything is possible, but worse than with specialized energy. A universalist. Although, a skew can be created at the expense of the mind and specifics of thinking, but this has no relation to the energy itself.
The neutrality of energy is good news. This means that in predispositions there is no skew in any direction. True, this also means that I will not become an archmage of the directions familiar to me, because predisposition affects the efficiency of "scooping" energy from dimensions. But with neutral energy, with which there is already a connection, I will be able to pull as much as I can, however strange that may sound. But it is possible that in local realities, initiation will turn out to be a rather useless thing; one can cast spells quite well on neutral energy anyway. But there is at least one direction, the very essence of which will help me undeniably.
Life. Elven knowledge and memories are strong, useful, and the energetics itself will allow influencing the body without any abstruse contours and constructs, improving, healing myself and others. Or maiming with terrifying efficiency. A plus will be the improvement of interaction with plants and animals of not opposite energetic direction, but meeting crystalline or other inorganic forms of life with a leaning toward the energy of order is practically impossible. Yes, yes, the energy of death is not at all the antagonist of life. Order is rigid structuring and ordering of chaos, part of which is life. And even if everything around teemed with such life forms, that does not mean they would kill me just because of the energy spectrum, that is one. And two, the energy of life is useful in any case for carbon and nitrogen-phosphorus organic beings.
So, the energy of life will go first, decided. Plus, it will also help prepare the body for other energies and wizardry in general. But the others; here the question is open. The thing is that the presence of energy does not make me super-capable or super-strong at all. The presence of energy can only strengthen sorcery. The trouble here is that the developments from the shards will not suffice for much; mostly there are only general, superficial theoretical speculations there. And I am not sure that these layers of knowledge are possible to restore at all. Which means I need to get comfortable in the local world first, and only then build some plans. Especially since after binding life, I will need to wait half a year to a year.
And of course, physical training. Precisely at the expense of it, the improvement of the physical state will proceed, largely reinforced by the energy of life. Unfortunately, there is no such magic that would turn a wizard into a healthy individual with an ideally correct body; any result will be only a temporary panacea. In this matter, there is only one correct direction of action; hard work and training, while magic will support, accelerate, and protect from injuries and mistakes.
As for physical training, only elven ones are available to me. The fact is that in the memories of the shards, only elven complexes for physical self-improvement were the most complete, while dwarven or human ones represented a simple idea: "Need to lift iron! More iron! Lift more often! And then you grab whatever is heavier and hit the adversary!"
Practically the whole day went to reflecting on magic and trying to dig down to the depths of memory. I pursued only one goal; to restore as many specific bits of knowledge and spells as possible, but I managed to pull out no more than a dozen. The saddest part is that this was the limit; I knew for sure that I could not get anything else. Everything else is too blurred, with huge gaps in both theory and practice, and something tells me that filling them in this life will not work out.
Dinner time arrived, so I sat at the table with my parents.
"Hector," father spoke, having finished eating. "Tomorrow, July twenty-eighth, Professor McGonagall will come. You remember her?"
"Yes. I remember."
"She will accompany you for school shopping."
"Good."
"We agreed with Headmaster Dumbledore that you will be enrolled immediately in the third year of Hogwarts, but with one condition. In half a year, you will need to catch up on what you missed."
Father looked not very pleased with such an arrangement.
"Not a problem, father," I nodded, and my parents immediately stared at me in surprise. "I have a perfect memory. If I don't understand, I'll simply memorize."
"Amazing," mom smiled. "Hermione, your sister, also has a perfect memory. True, only for books..."
"But, however," father again showed slight dissatisfaction.
"Is something wrong?" I asked to understand what they didn't like.
"How to tell you... You understand, son, one can say you just barely recovered. You have seen so little, know little. Haven't really communicated with peers..."
"Robert," mom looked at father with slight reproach.
"What?" he glanced at mom in return. "I know what a boarding school is like."
"No need to worry," smiling slightly, I interrupted this faded indignation. "I will learn the nuances of social interaction very quickly."
Parents blinked in surprise. My statement obviously brought them to this state. But I declare with all responsibility that although I know the meaning of these words perfectly well myself, as well as many others in the language, in this life I honestly heard them, honestly read much, realized it, and with a clear conscience can use complex formulations for communication. In the end, even being in a vegetative state all those years, I somehow saw or heard very, very much, and the brain processed it.
"I will manage," I nodded.
Dinner was finished, and I went to my room; I still need to read a lot. The only thing that really saddens me is the antediluvian computer without the internet. Were it otherwise, I could find a bunch of literature and refresh knowledge at least for the sake of checking what remained in my head from what is relevant for the end of the twentieth century.
Closer to the night, I wanted to work on life energy without prying eyes, but changed my mind. The process might drag on, and according to my parents, tomorrow I have a trip with McGonagall to the shops. Haste can only harm, and I need to deal with the memory of the shards better. Yes, it exists, it is ordered, but memory is a strange thing. Even with elven mental techniques, one cannot simply take and view it. One needs to launch chains of associations in the mind and get somewhere along them. If there is anywhere to get to at all. Or a dream. Yes, precisely a dream can help sort out all these piles.
In the hall of the Granger house, Robert and Emma sat on the sofa. The TV was on, but the sound was at a minimum. Almost midnight; that is what the hands of the wall clock showed.
"I doubt," Robert spoke, hugging Emma, "that this idea with the school is a good one."
"Don't worry so much."
"Are you really not worried?"
"You bet I'm worried," Emma laid her head on her husband's shoulder. "But I also see with what absurd speed he learns everything new. Not even a month has passed, and from barely speaking, barely holding a fork in his hands, and understanding nothing around, Hector turned into a boy calmly orienting himself in everything."
"That is true."
"He mastered your computer in twenty-four hours. From awkward study of the keyboard and these, what are they..."
"I got it. I got it."
They were silent for a minute, watching some night show on TV.
"The doctor from Hogwarts, Madam Pomfrey," Emma spoke. "Passed a note with Hector. She also notes our son's very high learnability. And very high brain activity."
"By what percentage?"
Emma turned her head slightly, looking into her husband's eyes with reproach.
"What percentages? You are a doctor."
"Yes, yes," Robert waved it off. "I know that the brain is one hundred percent active, and one needs to consider areas of simultaneous activity. Just all these stereotypes... Just like with the tongue."
"You mean that different areas on the tongue sense different tastes?"
"Exactly. Stupidity from an incorrectly formulated but correct thought in an ancient study. But we got distracted. What did their doctor write?"
"That right now, while brain activity is high, the best solution would be to load Hector with various activities. Right now, diving into a social environment will be exactly the best thing for him."
"But..."
"No 'buts'," Emma looked strictly at her husband, consolidating her point of view by lightly tapping his chest with her palm. "After so many years... I myself would very much like to watch my son, who has finally begun development, every day. But for his own good, we should hold back our selfish impulses. Especially since the professor said that according to the laws of the magical world, a Muggle-born wizard is obliged to undergo training. And he will undergo it."
"Yes, yes, and otherwise, judging by the hints, a completely legal spell will be applied, and we ourselves will happily run to give our son to Hogwarts. I don't like such coercion and hopelessness. And where is the government looking?"
"As if something is different with us. And, darling, do you really think the government is not aware of wizards?"
"I just wouldn't want to force Hector into something."
"So let's ask him tomorrow?"
The rays of the morning sun persistently broke through the gaps between the curtains, shining right into my eye; my day began precisely with this. Getting out of bed, I glanced for the umpteenth time at the boards with my notes that I made in the vegetable state; nothing is clear. Having dressed and reached the bathroom on the second floor, I washed and went down to breakfast; everything was just ready here.
Of course, it did not go without standard conversations about the weather, but the feast and tea drinking ended with not at all the question I expected to hear.
"Hector, son," spoke father, who was already ready for the trip to work. "Do you want to go to Hogwarts yourself? To learn magic?"
Reflecting on the answer for a fraction of a second, I decided to resort to a visual demonstration and took one of the buns remaining on the table into my hands.
"As I understood, magic is not only beautiful miracles," I spoke, shifting my gaze from mother to father, who continued to sit at the table and listened to me with interest. "It is subject to emotions, mood, excitation of the nervous system."
"Even so?" father was surprised once again, hearing a phrase that you won't hear from every adult.
"Read it in biology books."
Such an answer, it seems, both surprised and simultaneously touched my parents.
"So. Imagine that I was not taught to control this. Emotions, resentment, stimulation of the nervous system, some person..." I demonstratively shook the bun in the air. "...offended me greatly. Just for a brief moment, in a fit of resentment, bitterness, and teenage hatred, I wished for him to disappear."
The neutral magic of my new body responded easily, and the bun crumbled into ash on the table.
"And he is no more. And I didn't want to, no. Gave in to emotions."
Volitional magic is not what the elf from the memory shards practiced. Not at all. And therefore my maneuver did not come easily to me, although the concept itself was known to him, and now to me too.
Parents, judging by their slightly paled faces, beheld the other side of magic.
"One needs to learn this. Learn control. I am obliged."
Of course, this is not quite so, for I have basic control of magic, or rather, there is an understanding of how to come to it. Right now my control is merely echoes of the past. Like these shards of memory...
The doorbell distracted us from a topic so important to my parents. As if returning in consciousness to this world, they unfroze, and father went to open the door. I understand them. In the memory of the elf, and indeed in the memory of other wizards from whom I got almost nothing except their strongest experiences, there are plenty of moments where parents said goodbye to children who had training ahead. Unwillingness to let go, grief, misunderstanding, and fear bordered on joy, for fully removing children sometimes had to be done from such families that could not always feed themselves. Those people feared and rejoiced simultaneously. Feared what they did not understand, but rejoiced that the child would have a chance to get out from the bottom.
Shaking my head and driving away thoughts that surged at the wrong time, I met the gaze of Professor McGonagall who had entered the house. Just like in a couple of vague memories from the time when I was in a vegetative state, this lady looked slightly over fifty, wore a black strict floor-length dress, and an emerald robe over it. A strict gaze, neat glasses.
"Mr. Granger. Glad to see you in good health," she spoke dryly, smiling almost imperceptibly. "I fear we have not been introduced. Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"A pleasure, ma'am," I stood up and, putting my hands behind my back, nodded decorously.
Seeing slight misunderstanding, yet acceptance of the gesture, I checked myself. The stiffness of this madam pulled out elven reflexes regarding etiquette, while the gesture itself demonstrated a lack of trust, yet politeness and the inevitability of acquaintance and further cooperation.
"I suppose you are ready to go shopping for school?"
"Undoubtedly, Professor."
I had clothes, so now, in simple jeans, sneakers, a T-shirt, and a gray thick windbreaker, I rode together with the professor on a very strange magical bus, in which I was mercilessly tossed around the entire cabin. They gave me money in excess, and I would need, as I understood, to exchange it at the goblin bank.
We reached the Leaky Cauldron in literally half a minute. Inside, just like last time, were not the most pleasant people. The professor led me to the backyard of the establishment, straight to a dead end in the form of a brick wall painted with white paint. Taking out a magic wand, the professor tapped on specific bricks, opening a passage. Amusing. This is not folded space; this is a transition to another plane. Wonder if there are many such islands in other dimensions, or is it a stable passage to the nearest material world? That could well be. Elves dabbled in such things, although they preferred to unfold spatial anomalies and grow their Forests there. To the eye, a grove of a couple of dozen trees, but inside, half a continent.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr. Granger."
"Thank you, Professor."
The street was indeed crooked. A winding cobblestone road, crooked wooden and stone houses with multicolored cladding. On the first floors of the houses, various shops or stalls next to the house were located. Here and there wizards scurried in various baggy clothes, robes, cloaks, dressing gowns, and dresses. It was hard to find a common style of clothing, but one obvious feature traced in everyone; often only the face and hands are open, and skirts are necessarily long, as are dresses. Men were also dressed variously, and people in business suits of different cuts and colors were often encountered.
First thing, the professor led me to a large white building at the end of the street. It divided the street in two, like a ship parting the waves. Outside stood typical goblins in cuirasses and with halberds; small, awkward, with long pointed ears and hooked noses.
The hall of the bank was spacious, high, and monumental. Rich and seeming solid, but dwarves make it many times better, and the richness of the decoration of bearded underground smiths is not pretentious, and looks very harmonious. Here everything simply literally "stank" of superficial importance. Small goblins scurried back and forth with carts or folders of papers. On the sides of the hall stood towering wooden counters, behind which goblins simulated extremely useful activity.
"Tell me, Professor," I spoke while we stood in the shortest line to the counters. "Why do goblins manage the financial system of the magical world?"
Several wizards in long but light clothes, despite the slight noise in the hall, paid attention to the budding dialogue.
"Because, Mr. Granger, after numerous rebellions, finances are one of the few things that, under peace treaties, are available for goblins to engage in."
"I studied Hermione's books for the first and second years. Now a question consumes me. What prompted wizards not only to leave alive a race of intelligent and bloodthirsty predators but also to hand over the management of financial flows into their hands?"
McGonagall looked at me clearly studying. It seems she did not expect such thoughts and phrases from someone who, as recently as a month ago, came out of a vegetative state for the first time in his life.
"You ask very serious questions that not every wizard is capable of answering. Since you approached this question from a cruel, albeit pragmatic side, allow me to answer in a similar vein. Since the time of the last rebellion, as far as I know, the conditions of their capitulation were revised very harshly. Not in favor of the goblins, as you understand, Mr. Granger."
I nodded understandingly, while a goblin in a tailcoat passing to the side of us grinned predatorily. Involuntarily, I reached with my hand for a dagger on my belt, which, naturally, I did not have; memory of shards, reflexes not biological, but mental. My gesture did not remain unnoticed by the goblin, and he grinned even more strongly. If one is to believe the elf's memory, there is a solution regarding this evil race, and it is the only correct one; genocide. For the greater good, of course.