Nodding to myself, I went into the room and disappeared into my nook. Sitting on the bed, I took out my wand and concentrated the air around me, choosing it as a target for transfiguration. Well, so what? The problem with exceptions to Gamp's laws, namely the fact that it is impossible to transfigure an innumerable object like air, lies precisely in consciousness and perception of the world—it is difficult for a person to imagine, visualize, feel a certain volume of air separately from the rest of the atmosphere. I am not an exception, but I get around this point by increasing the density of air in a certain volume and precisely controlling the outgoing flow of magic from the wand, which envelops this volume, without trying to dissipate throughout the air.
A wave of the wand, holding the necessary transfiguration formulas in my head and fixing them, and a wide and flat metal bracelet of mirror-like purity fell onto the bed. Having climbed down from the bed onto the floor, I rolled out my improvised anvil on wheels from under it, put the bracelet on it, picked up the sledgehammer and… put it aside. I need to make a new one, and then think about a universal one, on which I can replace the striking plane with the imprints of the runes or contours I need. In the meantime, I will have to create a new hammer.
The outline that I will "drive" into the bracelet, I decided to pull out of the elf's memory, or rather, to use a simplified version of the Lesser Purification, combining it with the warding off of evil eyes and warming. It's not particularly difficult; you just need to visualize them, connect the necessary figures and runes, as I did to create my own modified Lesser Purification, and introduce them into the striking part of the hammer. On the other side of the hammer, there will be the same dwarven runic ligature that passes energy through it during the hammer strike, "driving" the effect embedded in the imprint into the workpiece. It is interesting, by the way, that during such work with artifacts, the workpiece is covered with a kind of laser engraving, only deep—hence the sparks flying from under the hammer. And what is even more interesting is that the more beautiful, correct, and high-quality the engraving, the higher the quality of the artifact and the spell.
Having looked at the resulting hammer, I tried it on the bracelet blank. A swing, a blow—sparks and a ringing sound, and a strong vibration passed through my hand. It seemed that even the walls were ringing. After all, the gnomes knew a lot about construction, and the vibrations from their activity and magic never moved along the walls.
Taking the bracelet in my hands, I couldn't help but nod in satisfaction, although the gnome's fragment was also dissatisfied with minor flaws—not ideal, you see! But for the ideal, a very precise recalculation of the contours is needed specifically for this manufacturing method, and I don't know how to do this—I don't remember it. No, that's all. And I don't know yet how to come to this either.
Having checked the bracelet, I realized where the flaw lies—not particularly good energy efficiency. But here it is worth understanding what to compare it with. For the locals, it generally works, as they say, on the Holy Spirit, but for an elf or a gnome, it would seem a bit gluttonous. What can you say? Other realities, other needs, other standards.
Putting the bracelet in the inside pocket of my robe, I hid everything under the bed and left the room. The first stage was completed.
---
On Sunday morning, September 19th, I was full of enthusiasm to find Professor Flitwick and show him the bracelet. There was nothing suspicious about it, but knowing Hermione, she would definitely be happy if an adult, and a wizard, and a professor, approved of her gift. And she needed a cake… Was it my sister's birthday or a sweet dessert for breakfast?
"Justin. Where can I get a cake?"
"Cake?" The boy looked up from his dessert, unexpectedly served at breakfast in the Great Hall.
"Yes, cake."
"Um… Order from the house-elves in the kitchen."
"How come I didn't think of it myself!"
I didn't drag it out. Cedric showed me the kitchen on the first day, but we "badgers" don't need to look for it—we pass by every day. So I got to the big still-life painting without any problems and tickled the painted pear. It giggled in a real way, jumped around in the painted plate, and the painting opened inwards, letting me in.
The Hogwarts kitchen was amazing. But not in any way amazing, but in a completely "last century" way. It seemed to be the only place in the castle that was not touched by progress at all. A large stone hall with extremely old-fashioned and simple wooden furniture, many stoves with a magical smokeless fire, large tables that stood exactly the same as in the Great Hall, and other small things… And these small things included a huge number of small and disproportionate humanoids, very thin, with caricatured faces and large pointed ears. They were dressed in various pillowcases, towels, and other rags of varying degrees of wear.
Upon seeing me, these creatures immediately showed joy and hurriedly approached. Such a reaction even caused apprehension. The crumbs of magic that my body emits simply by existing began to be absorbed by these dwarfs, and this surprised me—I thought that all magical creatures in this world were natural users of internal energy, but no. It seems that these little ones have no connection with any energy dimensions.
"Does the young wizard need something?" one of them, who had come closest, looked at me with hope.
The others expressed exactly the same hope.
"We need it," I nodded, and this caused even more enthusiasm in the little creatures. "We need a cake. A tasty one, for four people. The theme is a girl's birthday. But not too much."
The shorties nodded frantically, completely satisfied with the assignment.
"By the way, who are you anyway?"
One of those who was older, more reserved, was in no hurry to joyfully run and fulfill the request, and in his gaze at the others, one could read an old man's joy for the younger generation.
"House-elves, young wizard," the short man croaked, looking at me. "House-elves."
"P-f-f… cough…" I choked on my own saliva. "Elves?"
"Exactly, young wizard."
The elf's fragment was burning with righteous anger, and I wanted to be sincerely indignant, but, strangely enough, the grains of experience of this same fragment forced me to cool my ardor, sit down, and think. I didn't go far, and sat down on a stool at one of the tables, and one of these "elves" brought me cool orange juice. And where did he get it? Although, what difference does it make—there was nothing in the juice except juice, and that's the main thing.
Elf… Elf is a verbal association of my personality base. It was superimposed on the memories of the elf fragment, which led to this incident. In local realities, the word "elf" is not associated with that people at all, but with small mischievous fae, imps, pixies, and other magical creatures. Those same "correct" elves, if you dig deeper into your memories, have completely different self-names—minnonar, quendi, eledrim, depending on the languages.
In the local mythology, there are also references to similar people, but, if you believe even the magical literature, this is a mossy myth of ancient times even for them, reworked and embellished more than once or twice. Tuatha Dé, if my memory serves me right about those texts that were not at all interesting to me and about those that I saw briefly. Just wonderful tales, strikingly different between the ordinary and magical worlds.