Bab 24: Quillian Scrivner
I trudged back toward the castle, my dignity thoroughly shattered after what had to be the most embarrassing flying lesson in Hogwarts history.
Bits of grass stuck out from my hair at odd angles, and my body ached in places I didn't know could ache. That practice broom had it out for me, I was sure of it. Above, through the afternoon sky, I could still see that persistent star twinkling away, I wondered if it would ever go away.
Bell couldn't stop her silent giggling while Drake put on an admirable but ultimately failed attempt at keeping a straight face. Some friends they were, taking such delight in my aerial disasters.
"You know," I signed to Bell, picking another blade of grass from behind my ear, "friends are supposed to be supportive."
Her response was a grin and quick signing: "Friends are also supposed to be honest. And honestly, that was hilarious."
"I'd like to see you do better," I grumbled, though we all knew she already had. While I'd been flopping around in the air like a confused flobberworm with vertigo, she'd been gliding through the sky with natural grace.
Still, I consoled myself with the knowledge that I had her thoroughly beat in Charms class, ha take that Bell.
Drake cleared his throat, clearly trying to change the subject. "So what do you guys want to do now?"
Bell's hands moved excitedly. "I heard."
Both Drake and me stared at her, unblinking.
She rolled her eyes. "Well, not heard exactly, but I was able to lip read that there are secret chambers all around Hogwarts. Wouldn't it be awesome to find one?"
While finding secret chambers sounded awesome, since I had to figure out where the Stairwell Gargoyle was usually located I had more something else to look into, and just as I though of this we passed by the Hogwarts Library entrance.
"Well, as cool as that sounds, I have some research to do," I announced, stopping at the massive doors. The library stretched beyond, rows upon rows of books visible through the entrance, each one potentially holding the answer I sought.
Drake looked at me. "Research? It's the first day of classes!"
"Exactly, I'm a Ravenclaw - I'm already behind schedule," I said with a grin, enjoying their bewildered expressions. "Besides, there's something I need to look up."
Bell's hands moved quickly. "What are you researching?"
"Just some magical theory," I said vaguely, not ready to share my questions about the Sorting Hat's cryptic comment. After all, how could I explain something I didn't understand myself? "Nothing important."
"Well then, how about we all go in?" Drake suggested, supportive as always. He really didn't feel like a Slytherin sometimes, well all the times actually, too kind for his own good.
"Sorry, this is kind of a personal project," I shrugged, trying to look innocent and probably failing miserably. "I'll catch up with you both at dinner?"
They exchanged a knowing look but didn't press further. As I watched them head off toward together, with Bell probably continuing Drake's lesson plan on sign language. I turned to the library.
The library's massive were ahead of me, and I checked my watch - 4:57. Just over three hours until closing time. Perfect. The smell of old parchment and leather bindings wafted out, mixed with that peculiar dusty sweetness that all libraries seem to share, though I wondered if they had also made the smell greater through a charm of some kind.
The library's resident guardian sat at her desk - a witch who bore an uncanny resemblance to an underfed vulture. Her skin was parchment-like, her cheeks sunken, and her face shriveled, complete with an unflattering hooked nose that seemed to twitch at every sound.
She was reading what appeared a book on Arithmancy, her thin fingers turning the pages with exaggerated care, as if each one might crumble at the slightest pressure.
"Good afternoon," I began politely, approaching her desk. "I'm Felix, and I was wondering if you had any books on scribes?"
"NO BREAKING THE BOOKS!" she screeched, making me jump back a step. Her voice echoed off the high ceiling, earning disapproving looks from the few students scattered among the tables.
Well, that was a weird reaction if I'd ever seen one. "Miss, I won't break anything, I promise. I just wondered if there was a book that mentioned scribes or something similar."
The witch fixed me with a stink-eye that seemed to actually have stink, I know weird. Her gaze felt like it was trying to bore straight through my skull, searching for any hint of potential book-destroying tendencies. After what felt like an eternity, she spoke.
"Row 34, shelf 28, 3rd level, Magic of Wonder by Quillian Scrivner."
"Thank you," I said, already turning to go.
"A warning," she called after me, her voice sharp as a razor. "If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, deface, disfigure, smear, smudge, throw, drop, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards the books, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them. Do you understand, student?"
I nodded, fighting down the urge to cast endometriosis on her. She reminded me far too much of Mrs. Grimmes, though with fewer wrinkles. "Yes, thank you."
The library seemed to stretch endlessly before me, a labyrinth of knowledge waiting to be explored. Each towering bookshelf held hundreds of volumes, their spines displaying titles in various languages and scripts.
Some books appeared to be whispering to each other, while others shifted restlessly on their shelves. I passed sections on everything from Advanced Arithmancy to Zoological Transfiguration, each one tempting me to stop and explore. But I something in mind, and for once, my usual curiosity would have to wait.
Row after row passed by as I counted: 31... 32... 33... finally, 34. Looking up, I could see my quarry on the third level, just out of reach. With a careful flick of my wrist, I cast Wingardium Leviosa, bringing the dusty tome down to my level.
The book was heavier than it looked, bound in dark leather that had faded with age, a golden spine. Blowing gently on the cover revealed cover written in gold, the same shade as my eyes if you could believe it.
"Magic of Wonder by Quillian Scrivner."
Finding a quiet corner, I settled cross-legged on the floor, carefully opening the book. The parchment pages crackled slightly as they turned, honestly I enjoyed it. The first line caught my attention immediately.
"What is magic? Why does magic use ancient languages? How does the ancient language affect the magic?"
My excitement growing, I dove into Chapter 1: What is Magic?
"Magic is reality," it began. "A wizard's magic is the way to change reality."
I flew through the pages, my peculiar memory storing every word, every diagram, every theoretical proposition. Each page seemed to take less than a minute to absorb, and everything Quillian described about the way magic moved in charms and transfiguration matched my own experiences perfectly.
His descriptions of magical theory were fascinating - the way he explained the flow of power through wand movements, the relationship between intent and effect, the way magic moved inside the body.
The more I read, the more convinced I became that Quillian must have been a someone like me himself, a Scribe, whatever that meant. His understanding of magic's inner workings were written exactly the way I felt it, something I realized none of the other students could actually do.
Then, finally, I found something promising.
"Just like a scribe putting words in a parchment so does a wizard's magic fill what space they can, though many say otherwise, words, neither ancient nor new, words themselves shape the magic for we ourselves give these words a value, though I myself haven't been able to prove this by myself as many other wizards or witches will tell you, however I believe that this holds true, just like numbers hold intrinsic magic for example the number seven so does the word a wizard say hold intrinsic value one separated from the wizard or witch."
But it was just a metaphor. I speed-read the remaining pages, finishing all 1,235 of them in record time. Checking my watch again - 6:45 - I realized I'd spent over two hours on what amounted to a dead end. My legs had gone numb from sitting on the hard floor, and I was no closer to understanding what the Sorting Hat had meant.
Standing with a groan, I carefully levitated the book back to its shelf. The librarian's suspicious glare followed me as I made my way out, and feeling petty about my fruitless search, I couldn't resist a parting gift.
"I Cast Endless Earworm," I muttered under my breath, smirking as I heard her begin to scratch at her ear. A small revenge for her earlier suspicion, I didn't even feel a bit guilty. Well, maybe a very tiny bit.
The corridors were quieter now, most students presumably at dinner or in their common rooms. My footsteps echoed off the stone walls as I walked, mulling over everything I'd read.
The book had been fascinating, certainly, but it hadn't given me what I needed. Perhaps I was approaching this wrong, I scratched my hair furiously, I really needed that hat.
As I walked, lost in thought, the strange sensation of being watched crept over me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I turned around to find nothing but empty corridor. When I turned back, I nearly jumped out of my skin - there, standing before me, was none other than Albus Dumbledore himself.
His long white beard was tucked neatly into his belt, half-moon spectacles glinting in the torchlight. His blue eyes stared deep into my own and I began to wonder if he could read my thoughts.
Given what little I'd been told about Legilimency, he probably could. Even without touching him I could feel his magic inside him, it was stronger than anything else I had ever felt, yet it wasn't only from him on his waist I felt a magic almost a strong his wand itself was radiating magic a magic that seemed deadly for some reason
"I'm sorry, Felix, I didn't mean to scare," he said calmly, well not really. "I just wanted to have a talk with you."
When he said that my head went blank. Here I was, face-to-face with the greatest wizard of our age, the man who had defeated Grindelwald, the headmaster of Hogwarts, and all I could manage was.
"Humana, humana, humana, humana."
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