Alexandra Potter
Chapter 9
Scene 4/4
Being only five hundred years old, Hogwarts' workshop was a relatively new addition to the castle. The British school had always been famous for the quality of its Transfiguration instruction; it was Britain's specialty. Headmaster Herbert Cassell, seeking to maintain that advantage, had ordered the workshop's construction in 1586.
The workshop was not a pretty building. It was squat and made of utterly plain, grey stone, hiding near the Forbidden forest as if ashamed of its ugliness. A stranger would be forgiven for thinking it a small prison before anything else, and the small, barred, windows did little to dissuade this notion.
Alex headed there as soon as the match was over. Normally she preferred to work in Hufflepuff - she liked listening with half an ear to the sounds of the House - but today was different. Today she wanted quiet. She needed some time alone. Time to think, and relax.
And, if she was honest, time to avoid Susan. In the heat of the moment she'd completely forgotten that her best friend fancied Draco. It's not like she has some sort of claim on him, though. Still, she knew Susan would be upset, and she didn't know how to deal with it. She wasn't going to break up with Draco. What could she possibly say that would make Susan feel better?
So she decided to avoid the whole thing. Maybe it won't be such a big deal, she thought as she approached the workshop. The giant man who had taken them across the lake - Hagrid, she thought - was outside, chopping a felled tree with an axe not much smaller than Alex.
"All righ', Alex?" he said, looking up from his work. It was a strangely familiar greeting.
"Fine, thank you," she said, "just coming to use the workshop. Is it open?"
"Never locked, tha' un," said Hagrid. "Not tha' many use it, nowadays."
"Okay, thanks," said Alex, her hand on the door. "Well, I'll see you later."
"Just shout if yeh need me," said Hagrid, and she went in.
It was dark inside, and cold. The tiny windows, covered with a thick layer of grime, barely let in any light, limiting her sight to shades of grey. At first glance, it looked like the room was full of tree stumps. Alex moved slowly through the room, her shoes clacking against the stone floor, and wondered what light charms they used in the 16th century. Maybe the same as the Common Room.
"Lumos," she said, but nothing happened. Candles it is, then. She drew her wand and incanted the Light Charm once more. The tip lit up with the tell-tale silver of wandlight, bringing the room into colour and clarity.
The workshop was surprisingly tidy – empty, really – but dirty. She could see the dust in the air wherever she pointed the wand. The stone tables clinging to the walls were covered in dust too. The walls were populated by cabinets with glass windows, but the glass was so dirty that the contents were a mystery. And looking up, Alex saw that the low ceiling was completely overtaken by a small colony of spider webs.
Now that she had light, she saw that it wasn't tree trunks in the centre of the room, but great cylinders of wood and stone and metal and glass; with several metres of empty space between them, each cylinder was given a wide berth. Perfect for Transfiguration practice.
"Incendio," Alex said, jabbing her wand carefully at a candle on the wall. She wanted to light it, not immolate it. Her wand flashed orange, and the candle lit like flipping a switch. And then, to Alex's great surprise, all the other candles – of which there were a great many, situated all around the room – lit in tandem with the first.
Neat, thought Alex. Probably a heat to heat sympathetic charm. On the brackets – too much waste to put them on the candles, and wax doesn't take Charms well. It would've worn off by now if it was the candles.
The room was now filled with a much warmer, even light, and Alex extinguished her wand. She regretted not paying much attention to the household Charms at the back of her Charms book. She'd read it, of course – several times – but never practiced them much. She could make her bed, sure, or clean up a spilled drink, but this was on a completely different scale. Now's not the time for experimental Charms, she thought. I'd probably just end up with a face full of dust.
And so, resigned to the dirt, she pulled three books out of her bag and put them down on a desk. There was a reason why she had come, after all. She wasn't just there to explore: she wanted to finally get a handle on shaping metals.
She'd done everything the wrong way around, so far. She had started with her Transfiguration book, trying to Transfigure metal with a theory focused on wood. And then, when she failed, she'd turned to Iron Will to learn all about metals. But even there, enlightening as it was, she ran into problems. So, finally, she'd read The Arithmancer's Atlas, which filled in the final piece of the puzzle. With it, she could make sense of Iron Will, which she needed to perform the Transfiguration.
She opened Iron Will to her bookmark, reviewing the information one last time.
… The metals in the Iron Family are known as the Dead Metals because, unlike the Silver and Copper families, they lack any kind of intrinsic magical powers. However, in many ways the phrase "Dead Metals" is a misnomer, and for that reason it has fallen out of use in philosophical circles. The phrase has its origin in the writings of the great Roman philosopher Agrippa. While the importance of Agrippa's work is not to be underestimated, it is now known that several metals identified by Agrippa as Dead are not, in fact, part of the Iron Family. It is for this reason that the two classification systems are not to be confused, though the layman continues to conflate them...
… While the Iron Family lacks magical powers, it is far from magically inert. It has a number of interesting interactions, which are traditionally represented by the table below (figure four). This useful table was designed by Newton, and arranges the various metals of the Iron Family according to their magical properties. Arithmetical Stability and Alchemical Potential are represented by the horizontal placement of the metals, as they exist in an inverse relationship. The vertical placement represents Corrosive Power and Transformative Resistance, which are also inversely related. As can be seen, iron is the root of the table, with the highest Alchemical Potential and lowest Arithmetical Stability (though overall, the Iron Family is generally stable). It can also be easily seen why Lead is considered the most challenging base for alchemical processes, situated as it is in the bottom right.
The book then went into a chapter by chapter description of each of the Iron metals, which Alex had already read. That wasn't what she was interested in today. She turned to The Arithmancer's Atlas and flipped it open to chapter nine - Arithmetical Stability.
It has long been understood that certain arithmetical values are more powerful than others. The numbers five, seven and thirteen are highly magical numbers. The arithmetical value of Gold is seven - widely considered the most powerful number - and it is no coincidence that Gold is able to resist all but the most potent magics. The feared Cruciatus curse has the value of thirteen, and is the most powerful normal curse in existence. And the Patronus Charm has a value of five.
What is recent knowledge, however, is where these values come from, and why some should be more powerful than others. For a long time they were considered basic constituents of the universe and arithmancers busied themselves with the task of description: investigating and arguing over the values of things, and drawing up tables of their interactions. And indeed, this work was - and is - very important. However, at the turn of the 19th century a whole new branch of Arithmancy came into being, pioneered by James Sephen. This was when true Arithmancy was born: the studies of those before are now properly classified as Numerology.
Sephen's new arithmancy looked deeper than Numerology. It started asking 'why': why is it that some numbers are more powerful than others, and how do things come to possess these values? These questions continue to be studied today, but we have gained enough knowledge to attempt to sketch a general picture.
Arithmetical values are far from basic. If anything, the Numerologists were standing on their heads: it is not that arithmetical values dictate the complex behaviour of entities, but rather that entities exhibit complex behaviour, and arithmetical values describe, or summarise, this behaviour. Beneath every arithmetical value exists a complex series of relations which produce the value.
To understand why some numbers are more magical than others depends on these relations. A new concept was developed: arithmetical stability. Some entities are volatile: they react to magic easily, or possess powerful magical properties of their own. It is in their nature to change, and this often makes them harder to predict. They possess connections and interrelations with many other entities. These entities are described as having low arithmetical stability. Silver is an example a substance with low arithmetical stability; wizards and witches also have low arithmetical stability. Highly stable arithmetical entities, on the other hand, often resist magic, or corrode it. They might be described as willful: they try to remain as they are, and resist external influence.
The stability of an entity has a significant effect on its arithmetical value (though it is not the only factor). Recent research suggests that the most stable entities will always possess prime values, whereas the most volatile entities will have many factors. This, finally, partly explains the power of numbers such as seven, which are...
Alex put the book down, thinking. Everything she'd read about iron began to fall into place. Iron resisted her spell because it had high arithmetical stability: it wanted to remain itself. That's why increasing the power of the spell allowed her to force it: her power overcame the iron's resistance. But the key question remained: how could she get around the iron's resistance without overpowering it?
She flipped back through Iron Will as she thought, not really reading - just skimming over the words, searching for inspiration. A paragraph caught her eye:
...as noted, the arithmetical value of pure iron is nine. Figure twenty eight is a partial table of substances with which iron readily alloys. As can be seen, Distilled Air reacts the most willingly with iron: its arithmetical value is 3. Carbon is the next on the list, and has an arithmetical value of ninety nine. In fact, all substances which readily alloy with iron will have a complementary arithmetical value. The ease of alloy is described by the following formula...
That was it, Alex thought. Though it was arithmetically stable, iron didn't always try to remain itself. There were some substances which could change it - those substances which had a complementary value. So to transfigure iron, all she had to do was make sure her spell also had a complementary arithmetical value!
She took the idea further: she didn't want to make an alloy, like in the book. She didn't need a complementary value - using the exact same value as iron would be best.
Excited, Alex hurried over to one of the wood cylinders. It wasn't fresh, she noticed, but covered with the evidence of previous students' efforts. Malformed animals decorated the wood like tiny gargoyles, sticking out of the sides. And on the top, right in the centre, the wood was shaped into a mug. That'll do.
"Ferro Verto," said Alex, her hand going through the familiar spell automatically. She cast it as she had done a hundred times before: same incantation, same wand motions. But this time, she understood the spell differently.
This time, the wood in front of her turned a dark, metallic grey. Iron.
"Yes!" said Alex, doing a little jig on the spot. She touched the now-metal cup. It was definitely iron. Awesome! Now all she had to do was to transfer the same process to the rest of the Iron Family and she'd be able to Transfigure any Iron metal.
The cup reverted to wood.
Well, that was quick, Alex thought, but she wasn't too surprised. She wasn't so arrogant as to think her first attempt would be a true Transfiguration. It did little to dampen her mood. She'd crossed the hurdle now - she'd been able to make the metal, properly. Now she just had to get better at it.
I can't wait to show Susan, Alex thought, before remembering. She sighed. She couldn't avoid Hufflepuff forever. Now's a good a time as ever.
She gathered her books and managed to extinguish the candles as she'd lit them: by putting one of them out. She left the workshop to find Hagrid gone. The setting sun filled the sky with an orange glow, and she walked slowly back towards the castle, enjoying the view. She entered through the Astronomy Tower before heading for Hufflepuff. The corridors were deserted, and Alex wondered where everyone was - surely it wasn't dinner time yet? She checked her watch - no, she still had an hour before food.
A group of 5th years were loitering by the Hufflepuff entrance, each of them holding a bottle of Butterbeer. Where did they get it from? One of them spotted her and laughed.
"Hey Potter!" called a dark haired boy. She didn't know his name, but he was a lot taller than her, and heavily built too. "How's the yeast?"
For a moment Alex was completely confused, before realising: it must've been something she said that morning. Her face heated up and her jaw clenched. Daphne was going to pay. Next week, next month, next year - eventually, she'd regret it.
She stroked the banana and went in. Jaunty music met her ears, and more people were in the entrance room, also holding Butterbeer. A party! For the Quidditch, she supposed. I'll find Susan first, then the Butterbeer. She has to be around here somewhere.
The Winter room was full, but Susan wasn't there - nor was she in the dancing hall, where the main party was. There were tables of food and drinks, and an enchanted gramophone playing the music. Some people were even dancing, though it wasn't catching on. Alex resisted the urge to grab a Butterbeer.
She found Susan in the stone garden, standing alone by the railing, looking out over the lake. With the sun reflecting off the water it was a truly beautiful sight.
"Hi," said Alex, standing next to her. She didn't have a drink either, Alex noticed. And her eyes were suspiciously red.
Susan glanced at her, before looking back to the lake.
"Where've you been?" she said to the lake. "Off with your new boyfriend, I suppose."
"No!" Alex said - she hadn't even thought of that. "Draco went back to Slytherin with Nott. I went to check out the workshop - it's pretty cool, I don't know why no-one uses it..."
"Maybe because they're spending time with their friends," said Susan, still not looking at Alex.
Alex bit her lip. This wasn't going right.
"Susan," she said, "I - er - if I've done something bad, I, well, I'm sorry."
Alex wasn't very good with 'sorry'. She always had to say sorry for things other people were doing and it wasn't fair. But Susan was her best friend.
"If?" said Susan, and now she did look at Alex. Alex immediately wished she hadn't - it wasn't until now that she realised just how angry, how hurt, Susan was. The look she was giving Alex was one of pure betrayal. "If? You know exactly what you did."
Alex swallowed. They'd never spoken of Draco. How could Susan know that she knew?
"I don't know what you-"
"You said yes to Draco! Even though you knew I liked him. Don't even try to deny it - I know you knew. You never said it, but it was obvious. I'm not stupid."
"I never said you were stupid," said Alex.
"No, you just thought it, didn't you?" said Susan. "You think it about everyone. I saw how you treated Hermione. You were a complete bitch."
If anyone else had said it, Alex might have brushed it off. She might have traded insults, and enjoyed it. But this was Susan. Her best friend. Alex blinked back the beginning of tears. Why was Susan being so mean? They weren't even talking about Draco anymore. She tried to get back to the important point.
"But Susan... okay, suppose I did know that you like Draco. What was I supposed to do - not go out with him? Then this would just be the other way around - we can't both have him."
"You don't even like him!" said Susan, her voice slightly wail-like. "That's the worst part! You're just with him to get at Hermione!"
"I do like him!" said Alex. "He's my Herbology partner."
"Your Herbology partner?" said Susan, "Alex, I love him!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Alex said, "you barely speak to him!"
The moment she said it Alex knew she'd messed up. Susan gasped, and stepped back.
"I didn't mean that!" Alex said quickly, but it was too late.
"You're a complete bitch, you know that?" said Susan.
"Susan-"
"Just go away, Alex."
Alex bit her lip. She wouldn't get anywhere like this. She'd say sorry again in the morning, after they'd slept on it. But for now, talking more would just make things worse.
"Okay," she said, and turned back to the party.
Only now, Butterbeer didn't seem so important.