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Hogwarts : Black family bloodline...
Hogwarts, my partner is Tom…
Hogwarts : He Starts by Deconstructing Avada Kedavra...
Laurent was safely transported back to the great hall by Luster, his hands still clutching the copy of SwiftSpeak tightly.
He sat back down at the judges' table, seemingly unaware that the demonstration was over. His fingertips lingered on the edges of the pages and the unique patterns on the cover, his pale blue eyes shimmering with a look of unsatisfied craving.
"Hey, Laurent!"
The alchemist sitting next to him—the one wearing a crystal monocle—nudged him with an elbow. His tone was half-teasing, half-envious.
"Come on, let me see that treasure! You've been hogging it for ages, and you even got a free international trip out of it..."
This alchemist, evidently an old acquaintance of Laurent's, didn't wait for him to finish. His hand was already reaching impatiently for the notebook in Laurent's grasp.
Laurent agilely tucked SwiftSpeak into his robes, leaning his body away to shield it. He muttered under his breath, "Lance, what's the rush... look at your age. Acting like this in front of everyone... have some dignity..."
Hearing this, the monocle on Lance's face trembled with indignation. Judging by his posture, if it weren't for the setting, a minor hex would probably have already been flying Laurent's way.
Seeing the commotion, Lucien quickly tapped the pocket of his robes.
A stack of brand-new SwiftSpeak notebooks rose into the air as if lifted by invisible hands. They floated over to the judges' table, landing precisely in front of every judge and professor—except Laurent, who already had one.
Lucien then picked up his own demonstration copy and displayed the back cover to the crowd.
"Everyone, please allow me to briefly demonstrate how to use SwiftSpeak to add a contact... or, to use a phrase from my design philosophy: 'Add a Friend.'"
Hearing this novel yet fitting Muggle term, Madame Maxime and the others picked up the slim notebooks in front of them and flipped them over.
In the bottom left corner of the back cover was a string of special characters forming a code. It emitted a faint magical fluorescence, like a unique magical signature.
"This code consists of magical characters I designed. The code on every copy of SwiftSpeak is unique; it represents the book's 'identity'," Lucien explained.
He waved his wand gently in the air. A stream of golden magic flowed from the tip, condensing in the blink of an eye into dozens of clear, floating examples of the characters.
"Next, please open the book to the first page," Lucien guided them. "Use the tip of your wand to write down the information you wish to be known by, such as an alias or nickname."
He paused, then added pointedly, "You are not required to fill in everything truthfully. Whether or not you use your real name is entirely voluntary."
After all, the wizarding world was never short of curses targeting real names and specific identities. Prudence was an instinct for any mature wizard.
The famous "curse" on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts was the most widely known example of such targeted magic.
The judges moved quickly, their wand tips tapping and gliding across the blank title pages.
"Finally," Lucien's voice drew everyone's attention back, "write down the unique code found on the back of another SwiftSpeak to send a request to that specific book."
"Once the request is approved, the connection is officially established. After that, as long as you have enough magical energy, you can communicate with your 'Friend' anytime, just as demonstrated earlier."
The steps were unimaginably simple. Almost immediately, the quiet scratching of wands against paper filled the judges' table, followed by soft gasps of surprise or low chuckles as the first experimental messages were successfully sent.
These highly respected, usually stern and old-fashioned Alchemy Masters now wore expressions of curiosity and excitement, looking like children who had just received a brand-new toy.
They buried their heads in their SwiftSpeak notebooks, scribbling away. Occasionally, they exchanged glances, trying to send a simple greeting or a meaningless doodle, completely immersed in the joy of exploring this novel method of communication.
As for scoring?
No one mentioned it again.
The result was tacitly understood.
SwiftSpeak was no longer just an "excellent student alchemy project." It was a creation capable of changing how wizarding society communicated, perhaps even defining a new era.
In the face of such an invention, discussing scores and rankings had lost all meaning.
While the masters at the judges' table satisfied their curiosity, the competitors waiting on stage and the student audience were suffering.
They could only watch with eager eyes, craning their necks. Their hearts scratched with an itch they couldn't scratch, wishing they could rush up and try it themselves.
But in front of Headmistress Maxime and so many masters, no student dared to step out of line.
Just then, a new line of writing surfaced on the SwiftSpeak held by Madame Maxime.
Antoine Faure: [So, how is my student doing?] (Smiley Face)
Maxime instinctively turned her head to look at Nicolas beside her, only to see him wearing a smile that perfectly matched the little drawing in the message.