I am Voldemort's friend

 Chapter Sixteen. The Rescue Room

My former curator, Sid Formick, received a good offer from South America...

 "They invited me to Tenochtitlan," said a dark-haired teenager who looked more like a Spaniard, squinting.

 "Will you accept the invitation?" I asked my older friend, just for form's sake. In response, I heard a snort — Sid was purebred, but he wasn't an heir and didn't have his own manor. He didn't have a family business either, so he had no particular interest in the Island. An invitation to study at such a prestigious educational institution is a chance for a secure future for himself and, if things go really well, possibly for the Junior Branch of the Formic family.

 "And for whom?

 "To the General Faculty for now," the former curator replies eagerly, stretching his legs in front of the fireplace in the living room, "and we'll see from there. 

 "Why are you getting all this attention?" seventh-year student Dave Bishop jealously interjected.

 "Oh... my aunt got married for the second time and started dating in Mexico. And it seems that our family's Power imprint is quite interesting.

Dave sighed enviously — the Formiks' Force wasn't the most outstanding, but it was very malleable, easily adaptable to the most unusual Directions. Not that it was any great advantage, but in some cases (such as now) it was very convenient. Most likely, Sid would get a profession or even Mastery in some very rare Direction. And most importantly (Sid didn't hide this), the invitation allowed him to leave Europe, where the fighting was taking place. 

To fight... But for whom? Against Grindelwald, that's clear (but not to everyone; even among the pure-bloods, many were tempted by the murky ideas of the "common good"), but for whom? The Slavs had always stood apart, and they didn't really need foreign wizards. And their own European magicians preferred to unite around some Clans — and these Clans had grievances not only against Grindelwald, but also against each other. A magician from outside, "leaning" on one of the Clans, risked becoming "lubricant for the sword." Well, strictly speaking, it wasn't so much a risk... it was more of a guarantee, as outsiders were always seen as expendable.

Only the lucky owners of sufficiently protected manors could stay out of it, and the Formics were not among them. And if the other members of the Clan were non-combatants for various reasons, then Sida could be "appointed a volunteer." No one had abolished the right of force, and the same Dipet or a magician of comparable level could, without any mentalism, with just the pressure of his Force, force a weaker magician to swear allegiance to him in just a few "sessions". This was not encouraged, but... "war will write off everything," and it was already obvious that the war would be fierce and that a great deal would be "written off." So Sid's unwillingness to fight was not cowardice, but... who wants to "pull chestnuts out of the fire" for someone else? 

I feel attention... I look away and see a shy first-year student whom I mentor. I approach him...

 "Well...

 "It's me," says Ernie Smith from Devonshire, a Muggle-born wizard, desperately embarrassed, " we were given this, and I don't understand it. 

I sigh slightly...

 "Come on. I bet you've gathered the whole audience again, haven't you?

Ernie smiles sheepishly... Well, yes, that's exactly what happened — all the Ravenclaw freshers gathered in my dorm. 

I'm not a brilliant teacher, but I have life experience, and my knowledge hasn't gone anywhere. The main thing is that I simply remember the problems my classmates had in their first year and... No, the teachers will explain it just as well — probably even better, but differently. Plus, there's the usual childhood shyness — it's easier to ask a "silly" question to someone who's almost your age, but for some reason it's "awkward" to ask a teacher.

The seventh-floor corridor, "Phlox" on the portraits, "freezing" time on them and walking, walking... Suddenly, a door appeared in the wall and... Yes, this is the famous "Get Out of Trouble Room." 

However, it was famous only among a very small circle of people, and even then... Hogwarts is, after all, partly alive, a kind of giant golem. The castle is capable of many things, including rebuilding itself. Hence the fluctuating number of floors, the "games" with gravity and space, and, of course, the "Room of Requirement." In the sixteenth century, everyone knew about its existence, but later, with the introduction of the Statute of Secrecy, the teachers preferred to "forget" about it, and later the students forgot too.

This was dangerous because many rituals were declared forbidden, making it more difficult to keep it under control, and explaining this to the students... It was possible, but then the inevitable questions followed: "Why were the simplest rituals of the Founders forbidden?" So, gradually, the existence of the room was forgotten, and finding its location... I worked on it for almost two years before I figured out the algorithm — and that was only because in my previous life, an inexpressive person from the Department of Secrets had composed the most complex equations for fun, which later accidentally fell into my hands.

I enter with trepidation... The room is a mixture of a huge warehouse and a huge library containing ALL the books, scrolls and documents that have ever been in Hogwarts. Well, except for the specially protected Family Grimoires and Family Codices, of course. 

The library is structured and catalogued, which makes my hands shake. Knowledge, much of which has been lost or is now so precious... I gently stroke the huge folios, some of which almost purr under my hands. I open one... yes, the information is indeed priceless...

 "The Works of Uric the Lightning," and several thick handwritten books obediently fly out of the depths of the library. Despite his "lightning" name, Uric was a renowned malefic, an art now almost forgotten. For defending manors... and for attacking... useful, in general. 

Taking a hundred thick volumes with blank parchment pages, inkwells and enchanted quill pens out of my bag with its endless space, I spend the next hour setting up complex spells designed to replace several dozen copyists. Well, really — I can't dictate to quills, because there are at least ten thousand volumes to copy, and I won't have enough time before I finish my studies at Hogwarts!

I managed, although the downside of this solution was that I had to be in the Room of Requirement at the time, otherwise the spells would "freeze". Well, let's try rummaging around in the storeroom... 

"Treasure hunting" was pure masochism — only someone with the blood of the Founders could take someone else's things (and not copied books) from here. Hmm... Tom... No, it's too early for the boy. First, I'll sort things out here and copy the necessary information, because who knows, he might suddenly decide that with a resource like the Rescue Room, he doesn't need me... who knows.

There were... many artefacts. True, few of them were of any real value, mostly junk like enchanted inkwells that could hold a whole barrel of ink. But there were also some quite serious ones — protective against the evil eye and accidental emissions, shields, portals. There was money, clothing, weapons, magic wands — thousands of them!

 "Where did all this come from?" I muttered aloud and answered myself, "How many could have been lost or hidden by enemies over several centuries? A hell of a lot, that's how many... 

The wands turned out to be perhaps the most valuable resource — now the craftsmen who make them are severely restricted in the "dark" ingredients they can use... By the way, here's a striking example of hypocrisy and meanness: a stick with the blood of its owner is banned as "dark," but one with the "heart vein of a werewolf" is allowed... In addition to the ban on "dark" ingredients, craftsmen are required to register their products, and later, buyers must register as well. It is possible to circumvent this law, but it is problematic, so such "free" wands are a very, very significant advantage in any confrontation. 

There is also a lot of money, but rather by weight — there are twelve thousand galleons, while bronze and copper sickles and knuts can be measured in buckets. This is also logical, since even the children of aristocrats rarely have galleons in their pockets.

I came to my senses in the Room of Requirement in the evening, after dinner was over. 

 "Merlin and Morgana," I blurt out. I gather the rewritten volumes — fortunately, self-writing pens work dozens of times faster than a human. All right, off to the faculty tower...

 "Para-ra-ra-rapa!" I sang, dancing in the living room. Dean Aver Malfoy, who teaches the basics of artefactology and runes, allowed me to attend classes. It sounds funny — I could give him a run for his money on those same artefacts... But now I have an ironclad excuse — I'm the dean's assistant, helping him teach classes and prepare materials. This means that I now have official access to the Forbidden Section... and the opportunity to disappear on my own business instead of sitting through all the lessons. If anything, I'm doing the dean's work!

"Well done," says the portly Formik approvingly, who has calmed down noticeably since the invitation and now walks around with a permanent smile on his face, "you'll pass Runes early.

 "Pff! He can hand in Runes for an S.O.A. now!

Sid is surprised, but not envious — every other Ravenclaw is a "genius," and some even manage to pass Mastery while still studying at Hogwarts.

 "Well done," the curator approves, "are you going to study artefactology too?

 "Of course. You know I'm not very good at charms and transfiguration..."

The "crows" listening to the conversation nod — it's not the biggest secret. I complete the school programme from start to finish, and I can even perform some wandless/non-verbal tricks. I could show more, but my magic is becoming less and less human. Even my version of "Hellfire" looks more like a fire golem, taking the form of a flaming bird. It's strong, powerful... and gives away my secret. So I have to pretend that I'm not very good at spells, transfiguration and runes. "Not very good" for a pureblood — any Muggle-born and most half-bloods would bite off their own hands for such abilities. To be honest, some of my Weaves do indeed "fail" — some sid are simply beyond my control, while others need to be performed differently. In general, this is problematic, and I have to constantly check my school Weaves — am I performing them as a mage or as a sid?

I'm busy with correspondence in the Help Room until New Year's Eve. Of course, I don't write the letters myself, but I need to at least glance over the information before giving the scribes their assignments. As a result, I picked up some "top-level" knowledge in the most unexpected areas and got an idea of some forgotten branches of magic. 

But most of my time was taken up by looking through documents — after all, the Room also stored the students' personal correspondence. Most of it was rubbish, but a few times I came across some "gems" that more than paid for the very expensive parchment, which cost more than seventeen thousand galleons. 

"... I remember our hot nights and cannot sleep — your perfect body is before my eyes. In my mind, I shower every inch of it with kisses, every fold. 

When I imagine that you are not with me now, I want to tear the sheets with my teeth. I feel terrible..."

It seems like nothing, just ordinary love letters... But no, when it comes to the heads of two families who had a romance in their youth... And because of this romance and broken marriage vows, Rosa Bear's firstborn was born with a squint... 

Yes, blackmail... So what? No, my conscience doesn't bother me: young (at the time) people not only indulged their natural desires, but also broke a number of vows. As a result, a chain of unfortunate events unfolded and several dozen people were killed. Didn't they know that their debauchery would lead to such a result? They knew... but they didn't care. So I don't care about people like that, but I do care about seventy thousand galleons.

Am I not afraid of becoming a target of blackmail myself? Of course I am. Am I not afraid of "going downhill" and becoming a "certified" scoundrel? Come on, blackmail and contract killings are normal in aristocratic circles...

In addition to reviewing the documentation, I also worked on artefacts. There were a couple of moments that I wanted to revisit, so I ended up using the Memory Vortex I found in the Room. Then I came across the Through Mirror, and the idea of a magical television was born.

I agree, the Memory Vortex is much better — after all, there you can not only view events, but also be one of the participants, even if in a weakened form. It's very convenient, especially for learning the basics of certain professions — you can "dive" into the memories of a blacksmith, and the hammer and anvil feel... Well, not exactly like your own, but as if you've been working in a smithy for three or four months. Even if you can't go beyond the basics with Omut, it's still a great help!

But what about... news, for example? Many will want to know about a fair in Hogsmeade or the fighting in Europe. Going through it all every time... no, thank you — not everyone likes to get so emotional over such trivial matters. 

But if you put the image on the screen... Even if you're not "participating" in the action, just a spectator, so what? The Whomping Willow is very expensive and is only kept by wealthy or old families. And at the School, of course. The rest have to make do with Koldoradio and illusions at fairs. 

The idea was grandiose, and according to my estimates, buyers should have literally clung to the Product. I expected difficulties... and did everything in a week. 

The idea was, as they say, literally "in the air," and it wasn't entirely clear why...

 "Maybe," I wondered aloud, sitting on the floor in the Room and looking at the working prototype, "it's all about the mentality of magicians? If you were skilled enough to come up with an idea like this, then you were probably skilled enough to make a "normal" Memory Vortex, and therefore probably came from a fairly significant family. And in such families, not only are Vortexes rare, but the notorious closed nature of the families also plays a role. Old families very rarely buy anything from outside — almost everything has long been in family vaults or is produced by members of the family. Hence the peculiar attitude towards money and profit. As someone raised by Muggles, I approached this from a new angle, but a "normal" pure-blood wizard would simply never come up with such an idea. 

I sold the idea of the television* to the Welsh Artifact Guild for a one-time payment of five thousand galleons and ten percent of sales to the inventor. Cheap? Well, I couldn't protect the patent on my own, but the Guild could.

I sold the idea during the winter holidays and immediately rushed back to my wives. Yule is family time...

Television*" a mixture of Greek and Latin meaning "to see far," so for mages who are knowledgeable in ancient languages, there is no analogy with Muggles.

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