Disclaimer: JK Rowling is worth equal to some really ridiculous amount of bronze. Sadly, I am not she.

A/N: If anybody has a better alternative to the Bubble-Head Charm that Harry could realistically cast as a fourth-year, I would like to hear it.

Chapter 76

The only notable event of the remainder of Hermione's holidays, aside from a very pleasant time with her family, was a visit to Ollivander's. One of her side projects that she still devoted an hour a week to was wandcraft. Wands with plant-derived magical cores similar to the toy wands sold to children under eleven didn't set off the Trace and thus allowed her to practice magic on holidays, like many of the purebloods did, since the Ministry would look the other way. Mr. Ollivander had been delighted to see her taking an interest in the subject last summer, although he had warned her against being too brazen about it.

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," she called when she entered the shop. However, she surprised to find a much younger man, albeit one who still looked like the old wandmaker, standing at the counter.

"Hello, miss, may I help you?" the man asked.

"Um…I'm sorry, are you new here?" Hermione asked. She didn't know Ollivander had any assistants.

"Oh, no, miss, I've worked here since I finished school," he answered, "although I suspect you've only seen my father here before. He always insists on manning the counter when the new students buy their wands."

"Your father?" she said. What was it about Ollivander that made her surprised to learn he had actual family in his family business? And yet, he certainly presented himself as a solo worker.

"Of course," the man said. "Gerald Ollivander, at your service."

"Pleased to meet you, sir. I'm Hermione Granger."

"Likewise, Miss Granger. How may I help you today?"

"Well, I told your father last summer I was trying my hand at some basic wandcraft—"

"Did I hear Hermione Granger?" She was interrupted as the elder Mr. Ollivander, clad in a work apron and with his wild hair flying, came out of the workshop to see her. Behind him was a young man who looked about Bill Weasley's age—his grandson, she could guess.

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander, er, Senior," she said.

"Hermione Granger. Vine wood and dragon heart string, ten and three quarter inches—and an interest in wandcraft," the old man said. "Excellent combination. I heard about your contribution to the Triwizard Tournament. Very impressive."

Hermione blushed at the compliment.

"Wait, you mean she's that Hermione Granger?" the youngest Ollivander said.

"I'm surprised I'm this well known," she said. "I thought most of the attention was on Harry."

"Well, you are Harry Potter's girlfriend, aren't you?"

"What?" both her parents said in shock.

"Oh, that." She rubbed her forehead in frustration. "No, I'm not his girlfriend, and I never was. Some gossip columnist got that into her head and never got it out again."

"Oh, lovely," Dad said.

"Anyway, I had a couple of new homemade wands that I'd like you to take a look at, if you don't mind."

"Ah! Most definitely," old Mr. Ollivander said. "It's been years since I've seen a new original style." He considered and said, "Garrett, why don't you take a look at them?"

The youngest Ollivander stepped forward and held out his hand. Hermione pulled one of her prototypes from her handbag and handed it to him. He examined the wood closely. "Hmm…beech wood," he identified correctly. He measured it with the span of his hand and said, "Nine and a half inches." He hummed and held it in his hands, running his fingers along its length. Hermione frowned when he held it to his nose and sniffed it. "The core is dittany, I believe."

"Yes, very good," his grandfather said.

Garrett examined the shaft closely. "No compensatory runes," he said. "No runes at all, in fact, but the wood is good quality. And the potions treatment is better than anything you'll find in the toy store. This is surprisingly good work for your age and for not having any training, Miss Granger."

"Indeed," his grandfather agreed. "I do believe I have never seen anyone pick up the craft so quickly who wasn't raised with it."

"How much use do you think I could get out of it?" Hermione asked. Her goal was to produce something that could stand up to an entire summer of casting like she did at school without it burning out. It was a tall order compared with the toys, but if she could produce something that was a hundredth as tough as an Ollivander wand, it would be plenty.

"Oh, probably a week or two if you use it the same as most people your age," the elder Ollivander said. "Less if you keep experimenting like you have been."

"Which I'm sure she will," Mum said. "And we expect to have our house still in one piece at the end of the summer, dear."

"Don't worry, Mum, I've been very careful about my experiments. Now, here's the other one I wanted you to look at." She handed over another wand to the young man.

"Well, this is a…wait a minute—"

SQUAWK!

The wand turned into a tin parrot.

"Sorry! Sorry! That was one of Fred and George's stupid trick wands. One of these days, they're really gonna get it."

"You mean the Weasley Twins? Those troublemakers?" Garrett asked. She nodded. "I'm surprised they haven't been expelled yet. They were in first year when I was in seventh. Convincing wand, though. Nearly fooled me."

"That's good for them, I suppose." She inspected the next wand, just to be sure. "Here's the right one."

The second wand was very similar to the first—made from the same batch of materials. The difference was that she had added some runes. Nothing complicated—the number of malfunctions and failures had skyrocketed when she started adding runes, so at this point, she was only adding a few simple clusters for durability and resilience to magic. She wouldn't be surprised if that was the most difficult part of wandmaking—the part that really had to be passed down from generation to generation to become world-class wandmakers like the Ollivanders.

"Beech wood again," old Ollivander said. "A good choice. It makes a good match for a witch of wisdom and learning."

"Really? I was just using what was at hand. I tried ash and hazel, but the ash didn't work very well, and the hazel backfired and shattered."

"I'm not surprised. Hazel is emotional and temperamental; it is difficult to make it bind well to a core. And while you could probably find a piece of ash that agrees with your personality, ash is stubborn and resists working with anyone but its chosen master."

"Huh. You know, it's odd; when I used nonmagical wood, it barely made a difference what kind I used, but it seems like the more magical it is, the more finicky it is with failing."

"Well, of course," Garrett said. "The more magic you put into a wand the harder it is to make it bind together well. Multiple magical components interfere with one another. This is good craftsmanship, but you'll definitely want to work up to a N.E.W.T. in runes if you want to pursue this professionally."

"I don't know about professionally. This is more of a hobby thing for me. But how strong would you say the wand is?"

"Oh, strong enough for fourth-year spells," he replied. "You could probably get a few months out of it with light use."

"Thank you. That's good to hear." She wasn't restricting herself to light use or fourth-year spells, but that meant her next-generation prototype would probably be good enough for her purposes.

"Happy to help, Miss Granger. Was there anything else?"

"Um…actually, there was. Fleur Delacour."

"Yes?" old Ollivander said.

"She said that her wand has one of her grandmother's hairs for its core. I didn't know that was even possible. How does that work?"

"Ah, now that's a tricky one. I was actually surprised it would work for her. Hairs from any sentient creature are temperamental to work with because they don't like to work with anyone but their owner—at the very least being kept in the family—and they're harder to bind to the wood. They can make very strong heirloom wands, but more often, they simply don't work at all."

"Hmm." Now that was the kind of new world of possibilities that Hermione loved. She'd only heard snippets about heirloom wands, binding the core to the wood, or hairs from "sentient creatures". And for that matter…"Wait, any sentient creature?" she asked. "So would it be possible to use my own hair?"

Even her parents' eyebrows shot up at that. It was an intriguing possibility for personalised wands, and they were all surprised they hadn't heard of it before, if it was possible. But they got some hint about the root of the matter when all three Ollivander men started looking at her nervously.

It was Gerald, the middle one, who answered her: "That is even more difficult, Miss Granger. Human hair—from witches and wizards, that is—is, er, similar, but not as magical as veela hair—not powerful enough to make a professional quality wand. It also at least as difficult to bond to the wood, and…well, the way it works, it's no good as an heirloom wand. It will only work for its owner."

"Oh, alright, then," Hermione said, masking her confusion. The Ollivanders were being oddly cagey about this subject, but she assumed it had to do with the fact that she was already skirting around the Ministry rules on magic use. Maybe she could ask Fleur about it the next time she saw her.

Unlike her holiday, Hermione's first day back at Beauxbatons was surprising eventful.

"How dare she?!" These words were repeated a number of times around the Great Hall.

"How dare who what?" Hermione asked.

"The newspaper!" Hildegard said. "It's bad enough when your people upstage Fleur, but when they go after our headmistress, it's an insult to us all."

"Our headmistress? What's this about?" Hermione said. She looked at the front page of the imported Daily Prophet.

DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE

By Rita Skeeter

The article was mostly about Dumbledore's controversial staff appointments, Moody and Hagrid, and the mishaps and missteps that had occurred in their classes, like Moody turning Malfoy into a ferret and all the trouble Hagrid had caused with his Blast-Ended Skrewts, which it turned out were an illegal hybrid of fire crabs and manticores.

"EW! GROSS!" Hermione exclaimed. "Manticores are sentient!"

"Seriously? That's what you're worried about?"

"Hello? Manticores are mammals. Fire crabs are reptiles. How would you like it if someone started breeding humans with turtles?"

Most of her classmates winced, but a muggle-born first year named Phillipe nearby piped up, "Cool! It'd be like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!" Hermione slapped her hand to her forehead.

"Just read the rest of it," Adèle said.

Hagrid is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, was none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown.

"Those traitors!" Hermione yelled. "I can't believe they told! Hagrid trusted us with his secret!"

"You knew?" her classmates said in surprise.

"He let it slip at Christmas when we were getting him ready for the ball. Only Lav, Parv, and I knew. I never should've trusted those gossips."

"Send them a Howler," Hildegard suggested. "I can't believe they outed him like that. And slandering Madame Maxime, too."

Hermione hadn't got to that part yet.

If his antics with his students are any indication, Fridwulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal nature. This also leads us to worry about the children in Beauxbatons and we urge the parents of magical France to investigate the background of their school's Headmistress, Olympe Maxime. Given the woman's enormous size and close association with Hagrid (Witnesses saw them spending most of the Yule Ball together.), she may also share in his violent ancestry.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione complained. "Why should anyone care who Madame Maxime's parents were? She's a good Headmistress. She has a proven record."

"Plus, Madame Maxime doesn't have giant blood," Hildegard snapped.

"She doesn't?"

"I don't know," said Michel from Arithmancy class. "I've always wondered about her, and she's never actually said she doesn't, has she?"

"Oh, don't tell me you're buying into this," one of the older girls said.

"Hey, I'm with Hermione. I don't care as long as she's a good headmistress."

"You're being very disrespectful—"

"Why do you say it like it's such a bad thing?"

The conservation degenerated after that and turned into a rift in the school that quickly grew as bad as the divide between Slytherin and Gryffindor at Hogwarts. A narrow majority of the school refused to believe that Madame Maxime was part-giant. A minority said she was, but they didn't care, and a small fraction did care and wanted her sacked. Hermione found her caught in the middle more because she was British than anything else. It was really aggravating.

She didn't send Lavender and Parvati a Howler. With all due respect to Mrs. Weasley, she liked to think she was classy enough never to do that (except maybe as a prank on the Twins). She did, however, right a harsh letter chewing them out about blabbing Hagrid's secret. However, this only made her feel worse when their reply came back:

Dear Hermione,

You have to believe us. We didn't tell anyone about Hagrid, not even Padma. He trusted us not to get him in trouble and we wanted to prove ourselves to him. We realised you were right after we thought about it. Hagrid's lessons may be screwed up, but he's always been nice to us, and he's never intentionally hurt anyone in class. He doesn't deserve to get in trouble like that. He's taking it pretty hard, too. They had to bring in a substitute to cover his classes. (She's pretty good. She even showed us a unicorn.) But no one's seen him outside his hut this week, and Harry and Ron sound worried about him.

Please believe us, Hermione. Ron's already not talking to Parv because he thinks we talked, but we didn't. We don't know how Rita Skeeter found out his secret, and we never said anything about Madame Maxime, either. (We hope that's not giving you too much trouble.)

Your friends,

Lav and Parv

That led to Hermione writing a heartfelt apology to Lavender and Parvati for suspecting them, a letter to Ron to tell him to quit being a jerk about it, and (for good measure) a letter to Hagrid asking how he was doing and promising that she hadn't told anyone, either. Meanwhile, word got back that Madame Maxime was deeply offended by the article and swore that she had no giant's blood in her, although she didn't really explain how she had got to be eleven feet, six inches, so Hermione wasn't sure she believed it. However, a letter from Harry, Ron, and Ginny revealed that Hagrid had confronted Madame Maxime about it after the Yule Ball, and she had denied it to his face.

As if things weren't bad enough, things turned weird and downright frightening on Saturday morning when about a dozen owls mobbed Hermione at breakfast, not one of them carrying a letter from anyone she knew. She opened the first one in confusion, and her heart started racing. Receiving a letter filled with word cut out from the newspaper would do that to anyone. For a wild split second before she read it, she thought her parents had been kidnapped and held for ransom. But the actual words quickly turned her fear to confusion:

Do us all a favour and stay in France, you wicked muggle girl. Harry Potter deserves better.

"What the…?" she said. She opened the second letter a little more cautiously. This one was handwritten, but read along much the same lines:

How dare you treat Harry Potter like that? He can do much better than the likes of you. Good on him for getting even where it hurts. I hope he can find a proper pureblood witch who will treat him right, now.

I'm glad to see Harry Potter got away from your clutches. Anyone who would two-time the Boy-Who-Lived with a loser like that must be a complete slag. I have never seen such a disgusting mudblood chav.

"What in Merlin's name are they talking about?" Hermione gasped.

"Mudblood?" Michel asked from across the table. "Does that mean—"

"Sang de bourbe, oui."

"Those bastards! What is all this?"

"I honestly have no idea."

It was only in one letter near the bottom of the stack, after a couple that threatened to send her curses by mail (She would be turning those over to the Deputy Head.), that one letter finally explained what the whole mess was about.

I read in Witch Weekly how you're playing Harry Potter false. He's better off without you. That boy has enough hardship in his life as it is, and I'm glad he got revenge.

In addition to the letter, an actual cutout of the Witch Weekly article in question fell out of the envelope. Hermione groaned when she saw the byline.

HARRY POTTER'S SECRET HEARTACHE

By Rita Skeeter

Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend, the brilliant muggle-born arithmancer, Hermione Granger. Even in the face of a long-distance relationship with Miss Granger transfered to Beauxbatons this year, their relationship seemed strong, as she was able to swing multiple visits back to Hogwarts to see her beau. Little did Harry know that he was about to be betrayed in the worst way possible.

Dear readers, it seems that even the Boy-Who-Lived was not enough to satisfy Hermione Granger's roving eyes. Witch Weekly can reveal exclusively that for some time, Miss Granger was nursing feelings for Harry's rival champion, Cedric Diggory. Could this be the real reason why she has been visiting Hogwarts?

Mr. Diggory eventually went to the Yule Ball with Hogwarts student Cho Chang (see page 42), but Miss Granger did not take this as a sign that she should return to Harry. Instead, she made a very public show of manipulating another boy in Diggory's year to ask her to the ball, one George Weasley, a close personal friend of Harry's. Mr. Weasley is one of the infamously troublesome Weasley Twins and a near-dropout from Hogwarts who nearly failed his O.W.L.s last spring. Yet despite the academic difference between them, anonymous sources claim that Miss Granger has also had her eye on Mr. Weasley for some time.

"What!" she shouted. "That's impossible! How could she possibly know that?"

"You mean it's true?" her friends said, aghast.

"What? No, not the part about two-timing Harry. We were never together. But the part where I've had my eye on George for a while…" Her cheeks turned intensely pink. "The only person I told that to was George, and no one in his family would have spread it around."

"Maybe someone else suspected it and told," Adèle suggested.

"No, it couldn't be. Everyone thought it was ridiculous for the two of us to go together except Luna Lovegood, and she doesn't seem the type."

"Maybe she's just speculating," Michel said.

"Maybe, but based on what? Most of her lies came from twisting things people say." Hermione gave up and kept reading.

But take note, dear readers. Harry Potter doesn't get mad. He gets even. For at the Yule Ball, Harry himself showed up with George Weasley's younger sister, Virginia.

1,200 Miles Away

"Oh, for the love of—MY NAME IS GINEVRA!"

"Did you hear something just now?" Hermione asked.

"No," her friends said.

"Huh. I must have imagined it."

We can only hope that Miss Weasley is more honourable than her brother and is a worthier candidate for young Harry's heart than his treacherous ex-girlfriend.

"This is completely absurd! The only reason she's even saying we were together is because of what one person told her who doesn't even know us that well. And the worst part is, it's not even libel. She didn't write anything she believes is untrue. It's just tabloid journalism at its worst giving everybody the wrong idea."

"It's alright, Hermione," Michel said. "We all know the truth, and I'm sure your friends at Hogwarts do, too."

"Yes, but someone's going to get hurt. If I got hate mail here, who knows what's going to happen to George?"

1,200 Miles Away

"Ow! Is this bubotuber pus? Yeowch!"

BOOM!

"THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR STEALING HARRY POTTER'S GIRLFRIEND!"

"A booby-trap and a Howler? We can't take that lying down, George," Fred yelled.

"Oh, no, we can't. This Gladys Gudgeon is going to get it."

"Mon Dieu, what's going to happen to the people who wrote the letters?" Hermione said. "This is too far. If I ever get my hands on that Rita Skeeter woman…"

"Hermione, don't worry about it. It's not your responsibility," Michel insisted.

She took a deep breath: "I know, Michel. I just wish the wizarding world had some journalistic integrity."

"Is the muggle world any better?"

"…Not really, for a lot of it."

Dear Hermione,

Ron finally finished translating that map for the Second Task, and we worked out pretty well where it's telling Harry to go. The location points to the bottom of the Black Lake, right in the middle. We're pretty sure there's a merpeople village down there. The runes were a poem that we think explains what he's supposed to do:

Come seek us in the water,

Where we all sing and laugh and play,

For not by foot or trotter

Will you get back your prize today.

We'll take your greatest treasure,

The one that you'll most sorely miss,

And hide it at our pleasure,

Before you know what is amiss.

An hour long we offer

For you to come and get it back

Before it joins our coffers,

Forever hidden in the black.

Release will test your teamwork,

But in escape, no honour show.

The traitors first leave the murk,

Unless all make each other slow.

Will you all work with honour,

Or will you be the one who breaks?

Make your choice, but be warned, friend:

—You have not seen the stakes!

It sounds like all of the champions will have to get back one of their possessions from the merpeople in an hour, but there's some kind of trick where they have to work together, but only for part of it, or something like that. None of us really understand what to do about it, if that's even what it means. Also, Harry still needs a way to breathe underwater for an hour. Knowing a few more hexes wouldn't hurt, either. Do you have any ideas to help with any of that?

Your friends,

Harry, Ron, and Ginny

Dear Hermione,

I want to say that I am very proud of the work you've been doing in your Arithmancy Class at Beauxbatons. From what both you and M. Oppenord have said, you've done an amazing job of catching up with the faster program, and I hope you aren't overworking yourself with all of your hobbies.

With that in mind, I checked with the Wizarding Examinations Authority, and since you'll be at Hogwarts for the Third Task, it would be possible for you to take the N.E.W.T. examination in Arithmancy while you are here. I believe the N.E.W.T. is slightly harder than the French N.M.A. exam, but I am confident you could pass with flying colours. You may wish to take the N.E.W.T. instead of or in addition to the N.M.A. for a couple of reasons. There are others who believe, as I do, that it is a stronger qualification. You expressed your concern with your ability to complete a quality mastery at Beauxbatons, and if you choose to pursue a degree by another route in an English-speaking country, it would be more widely recognised. And finally, the exam would be in English, and while your French is very good, you would still be better off taking it in your native tongue.

I do caution that taking the N.E.W.T. would mean more work for you this term, similar to what you did last term to catch up, and I know you are still trying to help Mr. Potter with the Tournament, so if you feel you would not be able to keep up, I suggest you put it off until next year. I will of course be available to speak with you about it during your visits.

Sincerely,

Septima

Dear Harry, Ron, and Ginny,

I asked around about breathing underwater. Not many people wanted to help Harry, but my friend, Michel, said that the best way is probably the Bubble-Head Charm, but he said it's an upper-year charm, and it might be hard to cast, and Harry should test it to make sure he can make it hold for at least an hour. He said anything else he could think of, like self-transfiguration, would be even harder.

As for me, I could probably work out a spell to extract oxygen from the water pretty quickly, but it wouldn't be able to run continuously, so it would be almost impossible to use in the field. I'm sorry I don't have anything better, but I'll keep thinking about it.

The clue was confusing. I think you're right about it in broad terms, but they're definitely being vague about it. It sounds a little like the Prisoner's Dilemma to me, in which case the solution would be to work together all the way through. The fact that it talks about making a choice about it seems to support that. The last line worries me a little since they've already told you the stakes. My best guess is that they're going to try to tempt you into not working together somehow.

I wish I could be of more help. I might be able to figure out more when I get back to Hogwarts.

Love from,

Hermione

P.S. Did you know that the spell to encode secret messages with a pass phrase is surprisingly simple?

"What's a Prisoner's Dilemma?" Ron said. "Is that some muggle thing?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied. "I've never heard of it."

"Well, what good is that?"

"Hey, she told us the answer, didn't she?" Ginny said. "Working together. What's the P.S. about, though?"

"I think I know," Harry said.

Ron and Ginny knew about the Marauder's Map from Sirius, but they didn't know all the details, so Harry waited until he was alone to reveal the hidden part of the letter, just in case. He tapped his wand to the parchment and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," and more words were revealed on the page:

Dear Harry,

You should be able to figure out the riddle pretty easily. I wanted to use a bit more private means to tell you about the hexes I invented. It's probably not a big deal, and it's not so much about the Tournament in particular, but I figured you get in so much trouble that it might be good to have a few tricks up your sleeve. I'll leave it to your judgement whether to share them with the other champions. I'll send you more as I create them.

And Harry, if you happened to use one of these on Rita Skeeter the next time you see her, I wouldn't complain.

(See back side for details on casting. Write me back if you have trouble.)

Dazzling Jinx, Dasask Cohaerens. Shines a rapidly-moving green laser beam to temporarily blind the victim. It should work underwater at close range.

Iambic Pentameter Curse, Iambos Quintapodès Metronés. Forces the victim to speak in iambic pentameter.

Taser Hex, Didumosa Tacheia. Fires a jolt of electricity that causes the victim to briefly experience pain and spasms. DO NOT CAST UNDERWATER!

Love from,

Hermione

Hermione was slipping, Harry thought. None of those seemed very useful at the moment, and even he could tell that she was mixing languages, which was considered bad form for spellcrafting. They were also longer than usual: five, ten, and seven syllables. He hoped the stress wasn't getting to her.

"Divlizo Kupros. Divlizo Kupros. Divlizo Kupros."

Copper was one of the more common elements in nature. A cubic metre of soil contained about a hundred grams of copper, which was about what Hermione needed. As she cast the spell, a cloud of ruddy dust rose from the ground, and with a swirl of her wand, she collected it into a pile in an evaporating dish.

"Hermione?" a voice called.

She looked up. "Oh, hello, Michel," she said.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Just working on one of my side projects. I'm teaching myself how to forge bronze."

"Um…why?"

"Well, mainly because I need to work up to the more refractory elements. You can do fascinating things with things like tungsten."

Michel stared at her for a minute and decided to pass on delving deeper. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure. I was just going back inside. Did you want to do some studying?"

"Er, not exactly."

Hermione set a brisk pace walking back to the castle and then down to the potions labs as they talked.

"Aren't you studying ahead, anyway?" Michel asked awkwardly.

"Yes, but I could still use practice on the experimental aspects," she answered. "You're really good at that part, you know."

"Thanks," he said, sounding a little surprised. "I can help you out with it, then…Um, why are we going to the potions lab?"

"Well I said I'm working on forging. This won't take long. I just need to put it on the heat."

The Bunsen burner, along with other gas-air burners, was easily the greatest advance in potions brewing of the nineteenth century and maybe even the twentieth. It burned reliably about two hundred degrees Celsius hotter than a wood fire, and more evenly, cutting brewing times dramatically and improving quality. It was ironic that it was a muggle invention, something few wizards knew.

A Bunsen burner flame was also hot enough to melt copper, while a wood fire usually was not. Hermione set up the burner and measured out one hundred grams of copper powder into a crucible above it. To this, she added fourteen grams of tin powder and let it sit before turning her attention to Michel.

"So what did you want to ask me?"

"Right, I was wondering—There's a visit to Baton Vert coming up on the eleventh of February. Would you like to come with me?"

Hermione stared at him in surprise. A seventh-year, and one she didn't think she knew all that well, was asking her on a date. "Um, alright, then," she said, almost without thinking.

"Great." He smiled at her. She smiled back, but she blushed and quickly turned her attention back to her work for lack of an alternative.

The metallic powder melted and began giving off green fumes. She was a about to cast a charm to disperse them, but the charms on the lab itself took care of that. Taking the crucible in fire tongs, she carefully poured the molten metal in a clay mold she had prepared—a quick and dirty setup, since magic and the purity of the source materials could make up for her lack of skill. The smallish amount of bronze cooled quickly, and she picked it up with the tongs again while it was still soft and laid it flat on the stone tabletop. She hit it with a hammer to flatten one edge into a cutting edge. She was probably making four thousand years' of bronze smiths roll over in their graves, but it was just a proof-of-concept.

"Frigideiro," she cast, cooling the blade down to room temperature. She was just about done, now. She wedged the butt of the blade into a piece of carved wood she had prepared and cast, "Epoximise," fixing it with the strongest Sticking Charm she knew. Michel just watched with bemusement, wondering how she had prepared all of this. Finally, the Sharpening Charm (got to love wizards simplifying tedious tasks): "Exacuere." A quick chopping test proved that she had produced a usable bronze knife about six inches long.

"Great," she said. "I now possess the technology of 2500 BC."

Michel had no idea how to respond to that and started to wonder what he had just got himself into.

A/N: Dasask Cohaerens: Based on the Old Norse for "to become weary" (the origin of "dazzle"), and the Latin for "coherent".

Iambos Quintapodès Metronés: Stylised from the Greek for "iamb", "five-foot", and "measure".

Didumosa Tacheia: Stylised from the Greek for "Thomas A. Swift", the original (fictional) name behind the Taser. Credit to Sultanbruno for this idea.

Divlizo Kupros: Based on the Greek for "refine copper".

Frigideiro: Based on the Latin for "cold".

Exacuere: Latin for "be sharpened".