Chapter 19: The Prototype of the Secret Workshop, Whispers in the Third-Floor Corridor (Patreon)

Saturday morning, Hogwarts lay wrapped in a thin veil of white mist.

In a long-abandoned old Charms classroom on the fifth floor, the air carried a mix of lime dust, melted beeswax, and a faint tang of copper shavings.

Several lit spirit lamps stood on the long table, along with a dozen brass engraving knives cut with different grooves, a small box of unpolished crushed obsidian, and a few rolls of tough red-copper foil.

"Zzt—crack!"

A faint arc of magic snapped, and the brass knife in Fred's hand jerked violently, scraping a harsh spark across the surface of the copper ring.

"Damn it, the flow channel on the fourth rune node cracked again."

Fred wiped a smear of dust from the tip of his nose, slapped the knife down on the table in frustration, and turned to the black-haired boy beside him, who was watching intently. "Boss Capet, are you sure this 'Reverse Spiral Wind Pattern' can really bleed off the impact? I swear, not even the best Cleansweep engineers in all of Britain would dare cram three high-level Runes onto a metal ring less than two inches wide!"

"Not cram, Fred. Overlap."

Raven stood on the other side of the long table, the sleeves of his ebony robe rolled neatly to the forearm, exposing slender, fluid wrists.

In his eyes, [Magic Circuit Analysis Vision] gave off a very faint, cold glow.

In his sight, several tangled blue-and-red threads of magic were scattering outward from the copper ring Fred had just ruined, like snapped harp strings.

Raven extended his right hand and pinched a very fine obsidian stylus as steadily as a surgeon holds a scalpel.

He didn't even use a ruler or compass. He simply flicked his wrist, perfectly steady, across the surface of a fresh, intact copper ring.

"Hum…"

The obsidian tip glided over the copper in an arc as smooth as water wearing through stone. The sluggish magical particles, the instant they touched the turning point of the rune, obediently turned into a thread of gentle pale cyan light and sank seamlessly into the depths of the ring!

George, watching from the side, sucked in a sharp breath and tugged hard at Fred's arm. "Merlin's beard… Fred, did you see that? His hand didn't even shake!"

"Absolutely masterful, George. That ironwork we welded together in the Burrow's backyard looks like trolls playing in the mud next to Boss Capet."

Raven dipped the finished "Wind Spirit Shock-Absorbing Ring" into a dish of chilled belladonna oil.

With a crisp hiss of quenching, a metal clip-on ring lay quietly on the cork pad, its whole surface a dark cyan and engraved with three concealed wind-element Runes.

"Fasten it three inches behind the center of gravity on the handle of any broomstick."

Raven wiped his fingers with a towel, his tone calm and certain. "Monday morning, take it to the low air at the edge of the Forbidden Forest and run an overload sharp-turn test. If the data holds steady, we can use this batch of rings as our first limited custom components and quietly test the waters with the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Quidditch reserves."

The twins' eyes lit up like torches.

"Limited custom!"

"Sold only to discerning high-end riders!"

"Capet, you really are a born Slytherin businessman!"

Fred grinned from ear to ear and carefully tucked the ring into a buckskin pouch. Then, as if remembering something, his expression turned oddly secretive.

"Oh, right, big investor. Since you brought up testing grounds… if you ever leave your dorm at night, you'd better steer clear of the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor."

Raven paused for a moment, and his deep black eyes swept lightly over the twins' faces. "The 'place of most painful death' Dumbledore mentioned at the opening feast?"

"That's the one." George lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially. "Last night Fred and I slipped out looking for secret passages. Even through three doors, we could hear some kind of horrible, heavy panting from the end of that corridor… It sounded like several enormous beasts grinding their teeth at the same time. And Filch's dead-eyed cat has been lying outside that door like a sentry almost every night lately."

"Understood." Raven nodded, unruffled. "Until our workshop turns a profit, I have no plans to become a magical creature's midnight snack."

…

Leaving the abandoned classroom on the fifth floor, Raven crossed the sunlit courtyard in the bright noon light. He had barely stepped down the marble stairs when he ran straight into a trio hugging a stack of parchment.

"Raven!"

The slightly anxious look on Harry's face blossomed the moment he saw Raven.

He hurried over, green eyes brimming with barely contained excitement and the urge to tell everything. "Professor McGonagall found me this morning! She said… she said Captain Wood agreed to make an exception and let me join the Gryffindor Quidditch team as the starting Seeker! They're even going to ask Dumbledore for special permission to buy me a broomstick of my own!"

"Only to be expected, Harry."

Raven nodded slightly, a faint, approving smile in his eyes. "That day on the lawn, your starting balance when you dove after the Remembrall was excellent. Gryffindor needs a blade that can tear through a defense."

At Raven's praise, Harry flushed bright red with excitement and straightened his chest without thinking.

Beside him, Ron leaned in, almost worshipful. "Capet… I mean, Raven! The way you caught Malfoy fifty feet in the air has gone around the whole school! Fred and George spent all night in the dormitory practicing your dive!"

"That was just an emergency rescue after an equipment failure." Raven brushed the subject aside lightly.

Behind the two boys, Hermione Granger was biting her lip, rather stiffly.

She clutched a copy of Chronicle of Eighteenth-Century Ministry of Magic Decrees tightly to her chest. After hesitating a moment, she finally took a step forward, her brown eyes bright with intense curiosity and a thirst for knowledge.

"Mr. Capet… last night I looked up that Hogsmeade Riot Treaty of 1612 you mentioned. You were right. The Ministry of Magic back then really did use a faked magical-leak accident to seize the goblins' underground forges by force."

The little witch drew a deep breath, her expression deadly serious. "But… why would the textbooks do that? If even the official history lies, then what's the point of studying the History of Magic at all?"

"Those who control history can find legitimate footnotes for their present power, Miss Granger."

Raven stopped and looked calmly at the little witch, lost in her academic confusion. "The point of the History of Magic was never to memorize the paeans the victors wrote on paper. It's to see through those cold words and understand how magic, interests, and human nature have been tangled together over and over in the mire of time."

A faint curve lifted the corner of his mouth. "Learning to doubt books is the first step to becoming a true scholar."

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, lips slightly parted. His cold, incisive words, which cut straight to the underlying logic of how the world works, struck like a heavy hammer and smashed a deep breach in the black-and-white world of rules she had built since childhood.

She watched Raven's slender back stretch long in the autumn sun, her arms unconsciously tightening around her book, the admiration and shock in her eyes nearly spilling over.

…

Evening. The Slytherin long table.

The moment Raven sat down, Draconia, across from him, slowed her apple-slicing almost at once.

Today the young lady had pinned her usually loose platinum hair into a demure, understated princess style, and had even, for once, tied a dark green silk scarf with fine silver tassels around her neck. It happened to cover the edge of her collarbone, which might have been left a little red by the wind yesterday.

Raven had barely lifted the onion soup beside him when Draconia, across the table, couldn't help clearing her throat.

"Ahem."

Chin tilted slightly up, her misty grey-blue eyes deliberately fixed on the clouds of the enchanted ceiling, she spoke in a cold, offhand tone, as though the question had just occurred to her.

"Capet. That box the house-elf took to your room last night… that polishing cloth made from young Opaleye dragonhide. You'd better not use it to wipe your filthy boots."

Draconia gave a little sniff, her fingers awkwardly twisting the edge of her scarf. "It's made for maintaining the coating on expensive wood. If you don't know how to use it, put it in a drawer and don't waste it."

Raven set down his spoon and raised his deep black eyes, a very gentle, faint smile at the corner of his lips.

"In fact, Miss Malfoy, last night I used it to wipe down every seam of that old Cleansweep, three times over."

Raven looked straight into the young lady's flickering eyes, his voice low and clear. "The feel was superb. The wood even gave off the cold scent of white roses… Please thank Malfoy Manor for its refined taste for me."

"Boom!"

Draconia's little face flushed a deep crimson at a speed visible to the naked eye!

The cold scent of white roses… that was the essential oil she used on her hair!

Packing the parcel in a rush yesterday, she hadn't noticed that she'd tucked in that scented handkerchief as lining!

"Shameless! Who… who said you could smell it?!"

The young lady was like a kitten that had scalded its tongue. The pure silver knife in her hand clattered onto her plate. She glared at Raven, mortified and furious, her grey-blue eyes full of flustered, misty tears. "That's just… that's just the leftover smell from when the house-elf packed it! You, you vulgar egomaniac!!"

"I was merely praising the pure fragrance of the care oil your mother chose. What is Miss Malfoy thinking?" Raven raised an elegant eyebrow, his expression perfectly innocent.

"You…!!"

Draconia shook with rage. She shot to her feet, not even sparing a glance for the half-cut apple on her plate, and stamped one small leather boot hard. Then, dragging a dazed Daphne along with her, she hurried out of the Great Hall.

At the far end of the long table, Crabbe and Goyle stared at each other, completely baffled as to why their usually overbearing young mistress, these past few days, always ended up flushed and storming off whenever she spoke to Raven.