Chapter 26
"Reparo!"
With a well-practiced voice and not a shred of doubt in the result, his wand performed a sharp pirouette.
The reaction was instantaneous.
The glass, previously shattered into dozens—perhaps hundreds—of shards, began to assemble itself, as if someone had hit the rewind button on time itself.
"Hmm..." Simon bit his lip. "Intriguing..."
The wild burst of euphoria that had accompanied every successful spell in the beginning had long since faded. All that remained was a clinical interest and a quiet satisfaction in his chest.
To become a master in any craft, one needs a solid foundation upon which to build.
First: the spells.
Why do they work exactly like this?
Why is it that young wizards don't even need to understand the effect to successfully cast a spell, simply by memorizing a specific word and a wand gesture?
Did wizards in ancient times just wave their wands at random and holler arbitrary sounds in the hope of discovering something new?
And the fact that the spell "Lumos" is derived from the word "lumen"—is that also a coincidence?
In truth, some small part of him allowed for the possibility that it was just a fluke. Perhaps magic just looked at the universe and decided that for an effect like this, you needed exactly this movement and exactly this word, and nothing else. He only entertained this because everything in the wizarding world was insane; logic was a notoriously unreliable compass here.
Yet the rational part of his mind—still the dominant force—refused to accept such a flimsy explanation.
Everything had to have a meaning. The wand movement, the semantics of the incantation, and the fact that a wizard didn't even need to KNOW what the spell was. All they needed was the word and the motion.
It felt like the math wasn't adding up.
This question had been gnawing at him for a long time.
During his monotonous labor as a slave, his thoughts were occupied by nothing else. At breakfast, at lunch, and even during yet another defeat to Ron at chess. His mind was fixed on one thing: where was the "essence"? Where was the "base" that would allow him to pivot his attention toward more advanced development?
Theoretically, Simon could have done what the vast majority of wizards did: just spit on the theory and follow the crowd. Just stop worrying and memorize the words and gestures. It sounded so easy, didn't it?
But the very core of his being strangled that idea at the root. Since childhood, Simon had been driven to find answers, to dig down to the lowest depths just so he could sleep better at night.
It wasn't for nothing that his idols were the greatest scientists of their time—men who didn't just "accept," but "dug."
From that moment, Simon began his search.
Firstly, he became a permanent fixture in the library. He took out one book after another, immediately hitting the limit for the maximum number of personal loans. He would read one, or deem it useless, return it, and take another. Madam Pince actually began to warm to him. And why wouldn't she? He returned books in pristine condition, showed an unfeigned interest in knowledge, and even gifted her the occasional bit of chocolate. After all, he was destined to forge a bond with the librarian, unlike his teachers. Besides, it was much harder to start a fight in the library; the clientele was of a different sort.
Secondly, he began to pester his "favorite" teacher.
Snape. Yes, fucking Severus Snape—his favorite goddamn teacher. In parentheses, naturally.
Thinking with a cold head, Snape's help in "clarifying" the matter of his "Squib-ness" had been invaluable. Although the professor loved to humiliate others and mock their failures, he had one undeniable virtue: an eye for talent and a profound depth of knowledge.
And Simon was a talent! And quite the arrogant prick, of course...
In any case, after his numerous questions, Snape only had enough patience for two rather incomplete answers.
First: the reason such information isn't in the first-year textbooks is the same as with Potions—it's too complex for someone of that age to grasp.
The second answer concluded with a rough list of textbooks, every single one of which was located in the Restricted Section of the library.
When he made a logical and totally-not-cheeky request for a permission slip to visit, the response was as follows:
"Laplace, even if a mountain troll were to possess my body, I would never issue such a thing to someone like you. Besides, why bother with a permit when, in nine cases out of ten, your permanent residence after graduating Hogwarts will be Azkaban?"
Yes, the teacher actually told his eleven-year-old student to his face that his place was in prison. Typical Snape.
Both "favorite" and "hated" professor!
He took the same request to Professor McGonagall.
It costs nothing to ask, right? Even if you know you'll be rejected...
"Laplace, perhaps you might consider your own behavior before seeking out subjects that are, as of yet, far beyond a student of your age and competence?" Professor McGonagall told him to get lost with absolute composure. "It was quite a concession on my part to allow you to attend flying lessons, and yet you demand more? Do you mistake kindness for weakness? How many days of detention do you have left—two? Do you wish to provoke me into another week? Let us do this..." The professor paused. "I shall observe your future conduct and make a decision based upon that."
But in the professor's eyes, he could read:
"I will drop dead before I give you a permit for the Restricted Section!"
Basically, the teacher tried to pull a fast one on her student, forcing him to follow her conditions without any guarantee of payment. Simon would bet anything that even if he were a cherub with a holy motor up his ass, the professor wouldn't give him the permit after the trouble he'd already caused.
For there is a controversial idea in this world:
"Some knowledge carries danger."
But in the world of magic, this idea isn't considered controversial at all. Some knowledge really is dangerous and harmful, especially knowledge regarding specific branches of magic.
And the Hogwarts Library, as the largest repository of magical knowledge—at least in Europe—couldn't help but contain such things.
For these... controversial books, a separate area was designated: the "Restricted Section."
And it was forbidden to all students, though in rare exceptions, special temporary access could be granted. Usually, such permits were given only to upper-year students who had earned a certain vote of confidence. Simon was the living antithesis of those criteria.
Only the teachers or the Headmaster could issue a permit.
In other words, he had hit an information wall, and he wasn't yet sure how to scale it.
Though...
Simon had a few ideas.
Most likely, the meaning behind incantations and their creation was also tied to intent and significance.
After all, one of the few laws he had managed to deduce was:
"Magic feeds on meaning and context."
Direct work with information, then. Though it was unclear how magic even distinguished concepts like a "name" or a "full moon."
Could magic itself be sentient? It sounded... a bit far-fetched, a shot-in-the-dark hypothesis.
Regardless, it was another failure with no clear bypass.
So, Simon decided to return to more achievable tasks.
It happened in the Gryffindor common room. Nearby, Harry and Ron were working on their homework while he, wand in hand, pointed at his other arm.
A complex flick and...
"Whoa!" Ron's jaw hit the floor. "How did you do that?!"
"Is that..." Harry was also quite surprised. "Invisibility?"
Part of Simon's wrist vanished right before their eyes. All that was visible was a bit of his sleeve and a strange shimmer where the invisibility ended.
It was a good thing the Disillusionment Charm didn't... provide a view of the internals—like blood vessels and muscles. That would have sucked all the romance out of it instantly.
"It's not exactly invisibility," Simon said, squinting at his own palm.
To demonstrate, Simon waved his invisible hand, and the air where it moved began to blur and ripple.
Ron and Harry instinctively craned their necks to get a better look.
"Then what is it?" Harry frowned. "It... disappears, but not completely."
"It's the Disillusionment Charm," Simon exhaled thoughtfully. "Actually, scientists in the Muggle world long ago concluded that absolute invisibility is impossible."
"Why?" Ron asked immediately. "I mean... magic, right?"
"Well, with magic—probably yes," Simon shrugged. "That's why I'm trying to wrap my head around it right now. My arm is currently elbow-deep in Miss Impossibility's asshole."
Harry and Ron were used to Simon letting fly with vulgar phrases, so while they blinked, they recovered quickly.
"But why is invisibility impossible?" Harry asked with interest.
"To see something, light has to reflect off the object and hit your eyes. If an object doesn't interact with light at all—doesn't reflect, absorb, or refract it—you don't see it. But do you know what happens then? There is a total lack of scattering of electromagnetic radiation by the object in all directions and for all wavelengths—a fundamentally impossible load of horseshit. Well..." Simon waved his hand again. "That's what I used to think. Although... this isn't absolute invisibility. I don't deny its existence because of fucking magic, but this definitely isn't it."
Simon suddenly had an epiphany, snapping his fingers twice. It looked odd because there was a sound, but no visible source for it.
"But it's not a 'Chameleon Charm' like the book says, either. The mechanism of a chameleon's skin doesn't involve direct interaction with light. A chameleon changes its color through chromatophores—special cells with pigments: melanophores, xanthophores, erythrophores, iridophores, and leucophores. This is..." Simon smiled, raising his hand. "Much cooler. It's something between absolute invisibility and a color-changing mechanism."
"But the book says..." Harry leaned in and read the text carefully. "'Disillusionment Charm'—the Chameleon Charm."
"That's just a fancy name," Simon rolled his eyes. "Most wizards can't tell Britain from England; what do they know about semantic accuracy?"
"Wait, what's the difference?.."
Harry and Simon ignored Ron.
"This charm..." Simon hummed thoughtfully, trying to find the right words, "doesn't make the object 'invisible.' It's more like... it forces it to transmit light as if the object isn't there. Light passes through the hand and comes out with the same intensity, at the same angle, and with the same color as if there were just air here."
"So..." Harry blinked slowly. "The light just... doesn't notice you and passes right through?"
"Almost. It's been tricked," Simon smirked. "Magic substitutes the context. To the light, my hand is nothing. A void. Just poof!"
"Then why does it... blur when you move?" Ron asked a surprisingly good question.
Simon loved answering questions.
"Because motion always ruins everything," he said.
Simon swung his arm as fast as he could—and the air rippled again, almost sparking.
"As long as I'm still, light follows predictable trajectories. Magic has time to 'rewrite' its path: the ray enters here, exits there, everything is neat, smooth, and logical."
Simon stopped his hand. The ripples vanished.
"But when I move, I create dynamics. The angle changes, the speed changes, millions of photons arrive where the magic didn't expect them and with slightly different parameters."
"That's kind of..." Ron shrugged noncommittally. "Magic can't keep up? Sounds weird."
"The nature of spells and their essence varies; not all spells operate on the same template," Simon snorted. "For instance, we see a 'process.' And a process isn't a 'moment' where everything happens instantly. And yet..." Simon shook his head. "How amazing magic is."
"What do you mean?"
"I doubt the creator of this spell ever read Stephen Hawking; I doubt he ever thought about the nature of light, but magic did most of the work for him simply because the creator 'really wanted it,'" Simon said quietly. "But the spell 'understands' what light is. It knows it needs to 'pass through' to achieve the masking effect. Magic... operates on concepts. Light, motion, form, context—it rules them all. And that's as terrifying as it is fascinating."
"Err..." Ron broke the dramatic moment, tentatively raising his hand. "Can you make my head invisible to scare Neville?"
"Neville would be scared by a wagging finger," Simon shook his head. "That's why trash like Malfoy falls for this... Wait. I have an idea."
---
"Well, look who wandered into our dungeons!" Malfoy drawled with a smirk. "Did you lose your brains this time, Longbottom? Because I can't explain this elaborate suicide attempt any other way!"
Neville trembled even harder. His plump cheeks turned into shaking jelly, and his hands were clenched into pathetic little fists held out in front of him. He looked utterly comical, like some sort of combat hamster.
Malfoy, as always, wasn't alone. Looming behind him were the burly Crabbe and Goyle, and further back were Nott and Zabini—all the Slytherin boys, with Malfoy acting as their ringleader.
"Longbottom," Draco smirked. "I look at you and I realize: it's because of people like you that Mudbloods dare to lift their heads. You disgrace the name of purebloods! You have a Black as a great-grandmother, and yet..." Malfoy's face contorted with loathing. "You cast spells like a Squib! And you hang around with that trash!"
"D-d-don't..." Neville's voice was shaking uncontrollably. "D-don't you d-dare call m-my f-friends that!"
The Slytherins laughed in unison.
"Or what?!" Malfoy stepped toward him.
"Or I will."
The Slytherins froze as one and slowly turned around to find that, at some point, Simon had silently appeared behind them, casually twirling his wand.
"The Squib?" Malfoy narrowed his eyes.
"Not anymore. Stupefy!"
The sudden attack didn't quite pan out. A thin stream of silver air puffed from the wand, which caused Crabbe's smile to lurch sideways as if he were having a stroke.
The Slytherins erupted into laughter.
"Dammit," Simon sighed. "I should have practiced that at least once before a fight. Got cocky and embarrassed myself. Oh well," Simon shrugged. "Plan B then."
Simon raised his wand again and pointed it at himself. The laughter cut off sharply as the spell was non-verbal, and the blurring effect over Simon's entire body manifested immediately.
The main difficulty with the Disillusionment Charm is that it has no verbal formula, meaning it is inherently difficult to master.
But Simon was a genius. That said it all.
"We can still see you, Squib!" Malfoy yelled, drawing his wand and pointing it at the blurred patch that was approaching at an incredible speed.
"How about now?"
With a panicked cry, Malfoy vanished, just as Simon had two seconds earlier.
Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle vanished with looks of utter bewilderment, followed by Nott and Zabini.
The corridor was left with only a terrified Neville and six blurred patches.
"'That which the enemy is strong in, make a burden for him'—that's Sun Tzu, you uneducated degenerates," Simon's smug voice rang out, seemingly from all directions at once. "Now the numbers aren't on your side, are they?"
"Agh!"
"Ooh, that sounded like a nose."
"Merlin—k-ha!"
"That was definitely a nose."
"G-hu!"
"Hey, that one wasn't me!"
Under the shocked gaze of the paralyzed Neville, an "invisible battle" broke out. Six blurred figures became a muddled mess, attacking one another amidst collective groans of pain.
"Stop it, you idiots! Stop fighting, you're hitting our own guys!"
"Shouldn't have opened your mouth, Malfoy."
"Sto—A-A-AH!.."
There was no telling how long the beating lasted, but it ended when only one heavily breathing figure remained on its feet. Shortly after, the Chameleon Charm faded.
"Ha," Simon smirked, wiping blood from his face and pulling a vial of Wiggenweld Potion from an inner pocket. "Ooh... Revenge, there is nothing in this world sweeter than you, no matter what anyone says!"
"Cool," Neville muttered, before giving the groaning Malfoy a cautious kick.