[September 15, 1973. Geneva.]
I found myself in this beautiful Swiss city on business. Today was the day of the Artificer Mastery exam — the one my teacher had signed me up for. You can't just walk in and take it; you need at least three Masters to confirm your qualification, and they don't gather for just one person.
There have to be at least five candidates. In theory, anyone can achieve Mastery; in practice, it's rare for anyone to pass. And each candidate pays a non-refundable fee of three thousand galleons. Whether you pass or not — nobody cares. You pay the examiners, essentially.
That's why, if you become a Master, you can rake in money even by doing nothing — teaching students or examining them. And since Masters often do both, getting the rank without studying under a real Master is… let's just say, not easy. Especially if you're Muggle-born and don't have a family library or training from the cradle. Just like in the non-magical world, if you're not lucky enough to stumble on some treasure — as I did — then money, knowledge, and connections decide everything.
The Masters' Guild itself was a building in Roman style, with marble columns and sculptures on the roof, right in the center of Geneva, not far from the UN Headquarters and the ICW. Ordinary people didn't notice it — they'd be shocked to see statues of ancient mages: healers, artificers, necromancers, battle mages, herbologists, illusionists, and other Masters of schools, most of which are now forbidden.
Inside, I found myself in a vast hall lined with more sculptures and living portraits.
"Good day," a man in a black business suit greeted me at the entrance. "Are you one of the applicants?"
"Yes, Arthur Marlow," I replied.
"Hmm. Follow me — it's easy to get lost here." And indeed, the inside was not only vastly expanded, but also a spatial-illusory labyrinth. "You've noticed, right? This is Daedalus's work."
"The same Daedalus who built the Minotaur's labyrinth?" I asked, surprised.
"Exactly. You didn't think he was just a Muggle, did you? And Ariadne, according to our records, created a guiding artifact for Theseus — but that's beside the point." I was already used to the idea that legends like King Arthur and Merlin weren't just legends in the magical world. But I'd never thought about Greek and Roman mythology that way — I had other things on my mind.
Soon we reached a set of large double doors, where six people were already waiting. "You'll be called."
"Thank you for showing me the way."
"Not at all, it's my job," the man said, bowing and leaving almost soundlessly. I wouldn't be surprised if he was some kind of guard, ready to plant any troublemaker into the floor.
Speaking of the other candidates: they were all much older than me — the youngest looked about twenty-five or thirty, the rest over forty. There was even an old man of about sixty who kept glancing at me with open hostility.
Well, yes, he's been waiting his whole life for this, and here I am, a kid, waltzing in. Of the seven people, six were men, only one woman — in an expensive boho dress, thick eyebrows, probably Italian or Spanish. Or maybe Brazilian. I didn't ask, and they didn't say. All adults here — what's the point? Maybe they'd gossip about me later, but what did I care?
Near the doors were small sofas and armchairs. I sat on one; most preferred to stand — good manners kept them from pacing, nerves kept them from sitting. Fortunately, I could calm myself with mental and love magic, or I'd have been a bundle of nerves myself.
"Marcella Royalini!" a male voice called, and the woman entered with dignity. She came out an hour later, head high, but I could sense her disappointment and frustration.
The applicants went in one by one. Some came out in shame after ten minutes — like the young guy. Some sat for two hours — like the old man, but apparently only one had passed so far: a middle-aged man with a beard. The funniest thing was, he didn't react to me or the others at all. He came in confident, left with a Master Artificer's ring — a crossed wand and chisel on the Odal rune, symbol of wisdom.
I was the very last, and had already dozed off when, for the seventh time, a voice rang out: "Arthur Marlow."
Inside, I saw a long table with four Masters: Fleamont Potter, whom I already knew; Master Gautier Girard from France — a balding, heavyset man in a brown tweed jacket; Master Ernst Fog from Denmark — an imposing man of about fifty with a thin mustache and a blue doublet embroidered with golden runes; and an old man I didn't know, with a stern gaze and thick beard. The fifth should have been my Master, but he was considered missing.
"Good evening, gentlemen Masters," I bowed.
"Yes, yes," the old man said sourly. "Let's hurry up, my back's killing me."
"Bogdan, we're all tired, but that's no reason to treat applicants without respect," Ernst reproached him. Hearing the name, I realized who the old man was — Bogdan Gregorovitch, the Bulgarian master wandmaker. I'd just never seen him in person.
"I'm only here because Master Phineas asked me, and that old rascal didn't show up himself," he grumbled. "You're supposedly his student?"
"Exactly, Master."
"Hm, magocogitator," Gregorovitch muttered, flipping through parchment. "And I thought Phineas invented it. Boy, you're not trying to pass off his invention as your own, are you? Aren't you a bit young?"
"Age is a flaw that passes with time. And isn't that what we're here to find out — whether I'm lying or not?"
"Haha," Gautier laughed. "The boy's got spirit! That's right, lad, don't justify yourself to old farts like us."
"Speak for yourself," Gregorovitch grumbled.
"Well then, let's proceed. First, show us how you create your device using our ingredients and tools." This was the delicate part, but I had my secrets.
The artificers' tables were set up to the side. I'd already submitted a list of what I'd need for a demonstration. First, I created a universal summoning circle on the enchanting table — nothing secret there. The secret was in the summoning itself, which I performed with a spell delayed in the aura when I inserted the crystal into the circle's recess.
"Wait," Gregorovitch protested. "How did you do that? Did you have an artifact with you?"
"Did you see me use one? Or is wandless magic forbidden?" I conjured a fireball in my hand.
"No, but we must understand—"
"You must determine whether I can create what I claim to have invented. That's what Mastery is about, isn't it, sir? Or should I hand you the entire artifact's design on a silver platter? Maybe you'll share your secrets with me, sir?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Continue," Ernst nodded, shooting a stern look at his colleague. Attempts to steal secrets often ended in duels.
I pulled out the crystal with the spirit, then took a silver crowbar, melted it with charms, and wound it like a hoop around the crystal, inscribing the necessary runic chain. I'd done this so many times it was automatic. I explained my actions, but didn't say the charms aloud. I finished by creating the mental hoop. Speed and precision — those are signs of Mastery.
"Mr. Potter, would you test it for me?" I asked, handing the finished artifact to Fleamont. "Only one owner can activate and use it."
"What a rascal — sells me an artifact and now uses me for his own purposes," he said, but smiled. "I hope for a discount."
"I'll knock off five hundred," I replied. Potter nodded, put the hoop on his head, and took the crystal in his hands. After a short white flash and a couple minutes of mental communication, he said:
"This is amazing. I really feel like I'm communicating with myself!" he said, genuinely impressed. "Your method of mental matrix removal alone could earn you Mastery."
"We can't be sure the boy invented this himself. Without that, what's the point of awarding Mastery? Anyone could show up with their Master's project," Gregorovitch protested.
"And what do you want as proof?" I asked. "Legilimency? Veritaserum? Or should I challenge you to a duel for insult and slander?"
"What can you do to me, boy?" Bogdan stood up, shouting, spittle flying.
"Seems I came at the right time," my battle magic teacher said, kicking the door open. I'd been right to ask him to come — I had a feeling I wouldn't get Mastery without a fight. "Who here doubts the lad?"
"Richard von Mayer…" Gregorovitch paled. I never get tired of seeing how people's faces change when they hear his name. "So he's your student?"
"Student?" He looked at me skeptically. "Nah, not ready yet. More like I trained him a bit. When I heard he was up for Mastery, I decided to drop by. So, what do you think of him?"
"Hahaha, amazing, simply amazing," Girard wiped away tears of laughter. "Bringing a Battle Magic Magister — that's bold. But it wasn't necessary. The skill level, especially the wandless magic, leaves no doubt about your Mastery, Mr. Marlow. Unless Master Gregorovitch has gone blind or just fears competition."
"Then let's vote," Ernst said. "I vote for."
"I'm for," Potter raised his hand.
"After that performance, I'd vote with both hands," Girard said, raising his.
"I can't argue with my colleagues' authority," Gregorovitch said, pretending to be forced.
"See? And you were worried. Now, what you promised," Richard clapped me on the shoulder, and I reluctantly pulled another magocogitator from my bag with the invisible extension.
"Here, extortionist," I handed it over, to the dropped jaws of the others. Richard is a simple guy — he doesn't take offense at friendly teasing. He took the artifact and left, waving.
That's how I became the youngest Master of Artifactory — if not in history, then certainly in the last five hundred years.
***
Remus still avoided me. Well, big deal — died a few times, it happens. But he was cured! The virus turned out to be a tough nut, refusing to be expelled. A serum based on silver and aconite helped, as did a curse suppression amulet.
Only this way could I delay the virus long enough to change the astral and physical body, and then cleanse the virus. The work was too labor-intensive, so for other werewolves I decided to use only the first option — a controlled werewolf form. Just one small ritual — and done.
On Sunday, we celebrated my Mastery with the whole family. On Monday, I woke up famous: even the Daily Prophet devoted a small column to me — or rather, most of the text was about how even Masters study at Hogwarts, with hints that only thanks to this great school did I become one, despite it being only my third week here. But I understood — that's politics, and nothing could be done about it.
For a whole day, I was a celebrity. Students kept coming up to me, asking how I'd achieved all this. I answered honestly: I worked like hell from childhood. Gryffindors were disappointed, Slytherins didn't believe me, but Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws nodded in understanding.
Who but the smart and the hard-working would know that talent and ancient tomes alone won't get you far? Yes, they help, but without effort, they're just dead weight. I remembered the famous quote: "What could be worse than burning books? Not reading them."
On Tuesday, two things happened at once: Pandora brought me her design for a future familiar, and Narcissa and Lucius approached with a very interesting proposal — but let's take things in order.
***
"So this is the little monster you want to make?" I said, scrolling through the illusory schematic, reading what she and Hal had come up with. "Combining not just bodies but souls, like Salazar did — interesting, but what kind of mutant will this be?"
"With your forced image techniques, it should work," she replied lightly, swinging her leg.
"Alright, though my method isn't perfect either, as my true appearance shows," I said, waving my wing, which I'd already decided to use not just for flying, but as magical foci and armor. Lerach's research turned out to be quite useful. "But here's the real question — unicorn, fine, Abraxan winged horse, fine, dragon, fine, but where will I get you a phoenix? They cost—"
"Here," she pulled a bright orange phoenix egg from her pocket. I rubbed my eyes, but the hallucination didn't disappear.
"Where did you get that?" I goggled.
"Hagrid gave it to me. Said he found it in the Forbidden Forest, abandoned by its parents. It was very weak and wouldn't have survived on its own." Yes, even though phoenixes are reborn, they're not truly immortal. Before "death," they shed their shell, renewing their physical, astral body and prana, but keeping their memory and magic. But that takes a lot of energy, so weak phoenixes just die after the first shedding.
"Hagrid, huh?" I was surprised. "Maybe I've underestimated him."
"He's good! And animals love him!" Pandora nodded, and I made a mental note to get to know him better.
"Well, then, we have everything we need." Unicorns and Abraxan winged horses are easy to buy — the first are bred for potions, horns, and hair, the second are used as flying draft animals. I already had them all, either bought or, well, "acquired" — Hal was quietly releasing them into biomes and monitoring their acclimatization. They're incredibly strong.
Pandora's future familiar was a fire-breathing, scaly black unicorn with flaming wings and horn. I was curious myself to see what would come out. "Let's go to the ritual hall."
Pandora did everything herself. I only corrected her if she made a mistake out of inexperience. So I got to watch the surreal sight of a girl cheerfully drawing a bloody circle. Hal told me she'd wanted to add a basilisk, but, fortunately or unfortunately, it was completely incompatible with the phoenix.
I'd heard they were natural enemies, but I hadn't realized it was so magical as well. In any case, it was already clear the resulting creature would have incredibly healing blood, while basilisk blood is toxic. Mine too, but I'm immune.
We didn't try to "devolve" the phoenix — who knows what it was originally, maybe just a chicken, and there was only one egg. But healing it and strengthening it with fire mana — that was fine. For the same reason, we didn't do anything with the unicorn or pegasus. The black dragon was from a Hungarian Horntail. All the animals were female, since the phoenix egg was female.
Pandora quickly finished the ritual circle with five empty places — four at the cardinal points for the animals, and one in the center for the finished familiar.
"Ready?" I asked.
"Yep!" she nodded, and began chanting a spell in a mix of Latin and Sumerian. First, the magical lines from Hal glowed blue, then the lines and runes of the circle itself, and finally, light enveloped the four magical animals.
First, their souls were drawn out — orange phoenix, red dragon, silver unicorn, and white pegasus. Meeting in the center, they resisted merging, but the pressure of the charms forced them together, fusing them into an orange-silver sphere. Then came the turn of flesh, which dissolved and flowed to the center, forming a sphere of the same color that merged with the soul.
Then Hal's matrix was embedded into this amorphous mass, turning the sphere into an egg. Pandora did everything right, but exhausted herself at the end, and I helped her finish — it would have been a shame to lose so many rare creatures. After that, the hardest part was over, and the egg was left to ripen under Hal's supervision, so the familiar wouldn't suddenly mutate. The bonding ritual was left for tomorrow, and I, picking up the unconscious student, carried her to her room in Availon to sleep it off.
***
Over the past week, Lucius's world had changed. Before, everything was simple and clear, and the future promised endless benefits for his family and himself. His father was healthy and not going anywhere, Narcissa — though not loved — was the perfect bride in terms of blood and character, and he enjoyed both peer respect and the Lord's favor. But all that went to hell because of one person.
First, he dared to get close to Narcissa and started giving her expensive gifts. Rumors spread that his bride was cheating. For the first time, Lucius looked at her not as a "family asset," but with jealousy. He realized that, despite the engagement, he could lose her. What good was it if she was his in name, but slept with other men? For the first time, he felt burning rage and jealousy.
Then came the duel, which, as Malfoy later realized, Marlow had provoked. Everything was staged perfectly. He made Lucius lose his temper, had his little fairy spin around him, and provoked a conflict. The duel itself… Lucius could only call it noble humiliation. If Marlow had openly mocked him, Lucius could have played the victim. If he'd been softer, Lucius could have claimed he feared the Malfoys. But no — he was played like a drunk Hufflepuff.
Then came problems not even connected to Marlow. The Lord showed his true face, treating his "allies," the noble families, like slaves. He tortured Lucius's father so much that he was still in a coma, and the family healer had no hope. And they themselves had agreed to the marks, rejoicing at the slave brand! Lucius tried to tear it off, asked the healer and other knights, but no one could remove it — at least, not while alive.
Lucius knew the Lord would eventually read his doubts. Then he'd get the same punishment as other "doubters": Cruciatus torture to death, soiling himself and foaming at the mouth.
The only light in his life was, strangely, Narcissa. Always cold, she listened to his complaints, comforted him, and gently stroked his hair when he cried on her chest like a child. For the first time, Lucius showed such shameful weakness, and to his surprise, Narcissa accepted him.
And yesterday… Lucius smiled to himself. She gave herself to him, and it was wonderful. He'd heard that noble ladies just lay there like logs, thinking of England, which is why many purebloods used Imperius or love charms on Muggle-borns or Muggles for pleasure. But Narcissa… she was inexperienced, but made up for it with Black passion.
Ironically, Lucius fell in love with his bride — a rare thing for pureblood marriages of convenience, unless a marriage ritual was performed. He was already thinking of performing it, to become one with her. But first, he needed to get rid of the mark. The irony was that Bellatrix had hinted at Marlow. Lucius hadn't believed it… until he read in the paper about his opponent's Mastery. He couldn't even be angry.
He was more upset with his hangers-on, who'd tried to attack that Ravenclaw girl — Madam Pomfrey had spent ages extracting heads from their asses, admiring the creative use of head-bubble charms and spatial expansion.
And now, with the blossoming Narcissa — who was becoming more beautiful and lively every day — he knocked on Marlow's door.
"Hello, can I help you?" Arthur asked, opening the door.
"Of course," Lucius said, scratching his forearm where the mark was. "I'd like to ask for your help with a small matter."
"Well then, come in," Arthur said, letting them in and noting their feelings for each other. He offered them seats on the sofa, while he took an armchair opposite. "Tea, coffee, juice?"
"Tea, please," Lucius said. "No sugar, with milk."
"Coffee. Bella said yours is wonderful," Cissy said. "However you like it."
"With unicorn milk?" Lucius wasn't surprised by the floating drinks that appeared on the coffee table. He was more surprised by the quality — Hogwarts house-elves couldn't make drinks like this.
"Correct," Arthur replied. "But we're not here to discuss my drinks, are we?"
"You're right. First, I wanted to apologize for hitting your fairy and—"
"Stop, stop, stop. As far as I'm concerned, we settled that at the duel. I hold no grudge, and there's no need to apologize," Arthur said, feeling odd that someone he'd used for his own benefit was apologizing to him.
"Good. Then I have a question. Can you really remove curses and marks?" Lucius asked, ready to back out if needed.
"You mean your Lord's mark?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Lucius, I know what happened to your father, and I understand your desire to escape a psychopath. I can not only remove the mark, but leave its visible and signal part so it looks like it's still there."
"So Bella—?" Narcissa covered her mouth, realizing what this meant.
"That's not my secret to tell. If she wants, she'll tell you. But back to our question. I'll say more — I can try to heal your father, too. The question is price. How much do you value your freedom and the life of someone dear to you?"
Lucius thought for a long time. He wanted to say anything, but knew he wasn't ready to give his own life for his father. And his father wouldn't want that either.
"Anything, within reason," Lucius said.
"Money doesn't interest me. I need knowledge — let me read your library, and we're even," Arthur replied. "I can sign a contract not to share your knowledge with anyone else."
"There's not much point in that," Malfoy said, thinking. "Most of it's already forbidden by law… And I'd prefer an alliance agreement."
"Don't give you an inch!" Arthur laughed. "But only if each member decides for themselves how much to help in case of attack. I'm not risking my life or my family's for you."
"Agreed, I feel the same," Lucius said. He'd experienced the young Master's strength firsthand. And family knowledge was a small price for life and freedom. If he and his father died, those books would be useless.
Discussing the contract and finalizing the agreement took another two hours. Afterward, Arthur promised to prepare everything needed to remove two marks and heal the father the next day.
For the first time, Lucius saw a glimmer of hope — and thought that if Arthur kept his word, an alliance with him and other purebloods seeking protection and freedom from the Lord would be a very good thing indeed.
***
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