Harry found me at breakfast the next morning.
It was not particularly difficult. I was sitting exactly where I usually did, with tea on my left and a book on my right.
Not that book.
That one was safely back in the dormitory.
Which did not stop me from thinking about it from the moment I woke up.
Forest boundary — stronger.
I had read that line so many times the previous evening that I no longer needed the paper.
"Oliver."
I looked up.
Harry was standing on the other side of the table. Ron and Hermione were right behind him.
That never promised a short conversation.
"Potter."
"We need to tell you something."
I looked at Ron.
"Sounds serious."
"Because it is serious."
Even worse.
Hermione placed her hands on the table.
"Harry followed Snape yesterday."
"Really?"
Harry frowned.
"You don't sound surprised."
"I've known you for several months."
Ron sat opposite me without being invited.
"He overheard him."
"That sounds better."
"Oliver."
Hermione.
I sighed and set the book aside.
"Fine. I'm listening."
Harry explained.
Snape.
Quirrell.
The forest.
Threats.
Fluffy.
A way to get past him.
Everything more or less as I remembered it.
Ron leaned across the table when Harry finished.
"So now you know."
"Know what?"
"That Snape wants the Stone."
I reached for my tea.
"No."
Ron closed his eyes.
"No."
"Yes."
"Again?"
"Apparently."
"Harry literally heard him threatening Quirrell!"
"Yes."
"He asked about how to get past Fluffy."
"Yes."
"And you still don't think it's him?"
"That's right."
Ron stared at me for a moment.
Then turned to Hermione.
"He's doing this on purpose."
"Possibly," she said.
"I'm right here."
"I know."
Harry did not look irritated.
More confused.
"Then how do you understand it?"
I looked at him.
"You know Snape threatened Quirrell."
"Yes."
"You know he was asking him about the protections."
"Yes."
"You also know Snape was trying to keep you on your broom during the first match."
Ron opened his mouth.
Hermione was faster.
"We still don't know that."
"I do."
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
Oops.
"How?"
"I was watching."
"Watching what?"
"The match."
"Oliver."
"Granger."
Ron slapped his hand against the table.
"Let's not get off topic."
"That's the first sensible idea I've heard today."
"So what do you think Snape is doing?"
I shrugged.
"Maybe he doesn't trust Quirrell."
Silence.
Hermione stopped looking irritated.
Now she was thinking.
That was more dangerous.
Harry looked toward the teachers' table.
Quirrell was eating breakfast several seats away from Snape.
Both behaved as though the other did not exist.
"Why wouldn't he trust him?" Harry asked.
"It's Quirrell."
Ron snorted.
"That's not an answer."
"He's a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who faints around trolls."
Hermione grimaced.
"That still proves nothing."
"Exactly."
I looked at Ron.
"Glad we agree."
He did not look pleased.
Harry watched Quirrell for another moment.
Then looked back at me.
"You know something about him."
I did not answer.
Hermione was watching me too.
Fantastic.
"If I know something you need to know, I'll tell you."
"You already said that," she said.
"Then I'm saving time."
Ron sighed.
"I don't know why we even talk to him."
"Neither do I."
"You're awful."
"Apparently that's a popular opinion."
He stood.
Harry did too.
Hermione stayed a second longer.
She looked at the book in front of me.
Then at me.
"What are you reading?"
I looked at the cover.
Magical Herbs of Northern Europe.
I had opened it maybe once.
"Plants."
"Since when are you interested in plants?"
"Since today."
She did not believe me.
Of course.
But she left.
Only when she was several meters away did Blaise speak beside me.
"I heard about half of that."
"My condolences."
"Was the other half worse?"
"Much."
Malfoy looked up from his toast.
"Potter suspects Snape again?"
"Yes."
"Idiot."
"Don't say that too loudly. You might accidentally agree with me."
He froze with his cup halfway to his mouth.
Blaise smiled.
Malfoy slowly put the cup down.
"I take everything back."
"Too late."
I returned to my book.
Read three lines.
Remembered none of them.
Forest boundary — stronger.
I closed it.
I managed not to go to the forest until the end of classes.
I considered that an achievement.
In Transfiguration, we turned buttons into small metal discs. McGonagall corrected my second one because the edge was uneven.
In Potions, Snape took five points from Gryffindor for something Gryffindor probably had not done, only a specific person in Gryffindor.
In History of Magic, Binns said something about goblin rebellions.
I was not sure what.
For most of the lesson, I saw only three words in my head.
Forest boundary - stronger.
It was not sensible.
I did not know what the note meant.
I did not know exactly what Elias had seen.
I did not know when he had written it.
I did not even know whether it referred to the same abilities I had.
I only had the Baron's words.
He had the same.
That was enough.
Unfortunately.
After the final lesson, I took my books to the dormitory.
Put on my coat.
I already had my wand.
For a moment, I looked at the old book lying on the bed.
I did not need it.
I knew what was written there.
I slipped it into my bag.
Just in case.
Blaise was sitting at a table in the common room.
He looked up.
"Where are you going?"
"Outside."
He looked at the windows.
Beyond them, the overcast sky was slowly darkening.
"Voluntarily?"
"Yes."
"Are you ill?"
"Not yet."
Apparently that was enough.
I left.
I was not going to the Forbidden Forest.
I was going to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
That was an important distinction.
The edge was not forbidden.
Probably.
I had no intention of checking the rules.
Most of the snow on the grounds had melted several days earlier, but the ground was still wet. The grass bent beneath my boots, leaving dark tracks behind.
Hagrid was somewhere away from his hut.
Good.
I did not feel like explaining why a lone first-year was walking toward a place first-years definitely should not be walking toward.
The closer I got to the trees, the quieter Hogwarts became.
Not really.
Behind me, I could still hear distant voices.
Wind.
Birds.
Doors closing.
But the castle was losing its presence.
The forest was taking over.
I stopped a dozen or so steps from the first trees.
Nothing.
I looked normally.
Dark trunks.
Wet leaves.
Roots.
Branches tangled high above the ground.
Several crows.
That was all.
I closed my left eye slightly.
Then opened it again.
Let my gaze sink deeper.
The world changed.
Not suddenly.
First came the small things.
Thin remnants of magic on the ground.
Something had passed this way recently.
An animal.
Maybe several.
The trace faded after a few meters.
Farther on, I saw more.
And more.
I frowned.
The longer I looked, the more there were.
Not like in the castle.
At Hogwarts, a trace usually belonged to a place.
Here...
Something had happened everywhere.
Fear stretched in thin streaks between roots.
An old remnant of pain clung to one trunk, almost completely faded.
Something small had died beneath a bush.
Farther away, something bigger had killed something smaller.
Farther still...
I looked away.
Too much.
Not because it was too strong.
Because it was too dense.
Like trying to listen to a hundred conversations at once.
My left eye stung.
I ignored it.
Stronger.
Yes.
It was definitely stronger.
I took a step closer.
Then another.
I was still outside the trees.
Technically.
I looked more carefully.
Most of the traces meant nothing.
Small things.
Animals.
Fear.
Blood.
Hunting.
Death.
The forest did that every day.
But among all of it, there was something else.
Thin.
Almost gone.
It did not belong to an animal.
I did not know how I knew.
It simply had a different rhythm.
The trace ran between two trees.
Deeper.
I watched it for a moment.
It could have been old.
Very old.
Or simply weak.
I could not yet tell the difference.
I moved one foot forward.
Stopped.
No.
The boundary first.
I had come to examine the boundary.
Not the trace.
Sensible.
I shifted my attention elsewhere.
Something moved on the left.
I turned my head.
Nothing.
Then again.
Lower.
Between the roots.
A small figure darted behind a tree.
I froze.
A crunch.
Another.
Something leaned its head out from behind the trunk.
Short.
Stocky.
Grayish skin.
A red cap.
It held something resembling a heavy club in its hands.
A Red Cap.
Of course.
In the books, they were small.
In person, they were too.
That did not make them look friendly.
The creature stared at me for a second.
Then bared its teeth.
"No."
It did not listen.
It moved.
Not quickly.
Quickly enough.
It raised the club.
My wand was already in my hand.
I did not use it.
I looked.
Really looked.
And pressed.
The effect was immediate.
The Red Cap stopped so abruptly that one foot slipped on the wet ground.
The club lowered.
The creature went rigid.
Its pupils widened.
I took half a step forward.
Pressed harder.
Not against the body.
I did not even know exactly where.
Just against something beneath it.
Beneath thought.
Beneath movement.
Where I had found instinct in the troll.
The Red Cap made a short, strangled sound.
It stepped backward.
Again.
The club fell from its hand.
It was...
Easy.
Too easy.
With the troll, I had felt resistance.
Weight.
Mass.
Something large still trying to keep doing what it had been doing.
Here, almost nothing.
I pressed slightly harder.
The creature crouched.
Its shoulders rose high.
Its head dropped.
It no longer looked aggressive.
It looked like an animal that had suddenly discovered it was only inches from the jaws of something larger.
I released it.
The Red Cap did not wait.
It turned and vanished between the trees so quickly that the branches continued trembling behind it for several seconds.
I stood still.
My left eye pulsed faintly.
Nothing more.
I looked at the club lying on the ground.
Then in the direction the creature had fled.
"That was easier than the troll."
There was no one around who could consider that sentence a problem.
Pity.
Maybe someone would have stopped me.
I looked at the old trace again.
Still there.
Thin.
Almost invisible.
Leading between the trees.
I took a step.
This time past the boundary.
The first few meters did not count.
I could still see the grounds.
Besides, nothing happened.
Ten meters.
Maybe fifteen.
The trace remained visible.
Not like a line drawn across the ground.
More like a place where all the other impressions arranged themselves slightly differently.
A cleaner direction amid the noise.
I followed it.
After twenty meters, I could still see light between the trees.
Good.
After thirty, less.
I stopped.
Looked behind me.
The grounds were there.
Probably.
Something bright was visible between the trunks.
Enough.
I kept walking.
The trace grew stronger.
Or I was getting better at seeing it.
I was not sure.
I passed a fallen tree.
Then a shallow depression in the ground.
An old bone protruded from the mud.
I did not look at it for long.
The forest did not need help distracting me.
After another few minutes, I realized I could no longer hear the castle.
That did not mean I was far away.
Trees muffled sound.
A very convenient explanation.
The trace turned.
I followed.
Then turned again.
And then the noise ended.
Not completely.
But something changed.
I stopped.
Ahead of me was a shallow hollow surrounded by thick roots.
In the middle lay a stone.
Large.
Gray.
Cracked on one side.
No runes.
No symbols.
No entrance to a secret chamber.
It was a stone.
I stared at it for several seconds.
"Wonderful."
The trace I had been following led directly here.
To the stone.
And ended.
I moved closer.
My left eye stung.
Harder this time.
I stopped.
It was not the same pain as with Quirrell.
There, something had been irritating.
Crooked.
Here...
Deeper.
As if someone were driving an extremely thin needle behind my eyeball.
I blinked.
It did not stop.
Good.
So there was something here.
Another step.
The world around the stone looked wrong.
Not the stone itself.
The space.
Layers of old traces reached the hollow but did not pass through it normally.
Some ended.
Others bent.
Several seemed to disappear directly beneath the roots.
I crouched.
Touched the stone with my hand.
Cold.
Ordinary.
Nothing.
I looked deeper.
The pain jumped.
I clenched my jaw.
Good.
A little more.
I tried to separate the layers.
Newer.
Older.
Animals.
Humans.
Something else.
One remnant was so old it barely had any shape left.
It no longer resembled a memory.
More like a burn left behind by something that had once been there.
I focused on it.
My eye ignited.
A tear ran down my cheek.
I touched it with a finger.
Red.
Blood.
I stared at it for a moment.
Then wiped my hand on my trousers.
Blood from my eye was nothing new.
Not after the troll.
Not after everything else.
It still proved nothing.
I looked again.
The trace did not react.
Good.
I pressed.
Nothing.
I frowned.
Again.
Harder.
The same thing I had done before.
With Malfoy.
With the troll.
With spells.
With the broom.
I did not have a good name for the sensation.
It was not a spell.
It was not even movement.
I simply took something I was looking at and tried to force it to yield.
To accept my direction.
To submit.
The trace did nothing.
The pain in my eye increased.
I pressed harder.
Then something came back.
I did not even have time to understand.
My knees gave out beneath me.
My hand struck the ground.
The air vanished from my lungs.
Not because something hit me.
There was no impact.
My own body simply...
yielded.
Like the Red Cap.
Like the troll.
For one brief second, every part of me knew it should retreat.
I did not think it.
I felt it.
Back away.
Lower your gaze.
Do not press.
My heart slammed once.
Then again.
The sound of the forest disappeared.
All I could see was the stone.
Dark roots.
And something red falling from my nose onto the ground.
I drew in a breath.
Once.
Twice.
The pain behind my left eye pulsed in time with my heartbeat.
I braced one hand against a tree trunk and stood.
I did not look deeper.
Yet.
I wiped my nose on my sleeve.
Blood.
Wonderful.
For several seconds, I stood with my eyes closed.
It was overload.
It had to be.
I had pressed too hard.
Feedback.
A reaction from my own magic.
Whatever.
Nothing special.
Very reasonable.
I opened my eyes.
The stone was still there.
Nothing moved.
The trace looked the same.
I took a step closer.
The pain returned immediately.
Weaker.
Manageable.
I did not press.
This time, I only looked.
For a long time.
Nothing.
Maybe I really had overdone it.
Maybe I was the problem.
That would be irritating, but acceptable.
I focused a little more.
Not with full force.
Just enough to touch that old remnant.
And then it moved.
I froze.
No.
It did not move.
Traces did not move.
That was the whole point of traces.
They were residue.
An echo.
Something that had already happened.
I stared.
The thin, almost dead strands around the stone...
changed direction.
Slowly.
Not all of them.
Only the oldest.
Like compass needles.
One by one.
They turned.
Toward me.
I stopped breathing.
The forest still existed.
I knew that.
Trees.
Ground.
Wind.
But suddenly all of it was far away.
It was not looking at the stone.
It was not looking into the past.
It was looking at me.
My left eye erupted with pain.
I should have let go.
I did exactly the opposite.
I pressed.
Hard.
Not because I had a plan.
I simply wanted to know.
What it was.
Why it reacted.
Whether I could break it.
For a fraction of a second, nothing happened.
Then the world bent.
Not visually.
Not really.
My body received an order again.
Stronger.
YIELD.
My hand slipped from the tree.
I dropped to one knee.
Pain shot from my left eye through the entire left side of my head.
With my right eye, I saw a flash of white.
With my left, nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Darkness.
My stomach rose into my throat.
Blood dripped from my nose.
Something warm ran down both cheeks as well.
For a moment, I did not know whether my other eye was bleeding too or if those were only tears.
It did not matter.
Because the pressure was still there.
Not against my skin.
Not inside my head.
Everywhere.
And then I understood one thing.
It was not stronger than me.
Not in that way.
It was not trying to defeat me.
It was answering with exactly what I gave it.
I pressed.
The pressure returned.
Except my body was a much worse target than a stone.
I let go.
Immediately.
The world returned.
The sound of leaves.
My breathing.
A bird somewhere high above.
Pain.
A lot of pain.
I sat down on the ground.
Not gracefully.
I simply sat.
I pressed my hand against my left eye.
It did not help.
"Wonderful," I said.
My voice sounded normal.
That was comforting.
A little.
I waited.
I did not know how long.
A minute.
Maybe three.
Vision in my left eye began returning first as gray patches.
Then shapes.
Then trees.
Good.
I was not blind.
That simplified the situation considerably.
I looked at the stone without using the eye.
Ordinary.
Ugly.
Completely innocent.
I hated it a little.
I slowly stood.
This time I really should leave.
I had an answer.
Elias had found something unusual here.
Something that reacted to the eyes.
Something that could not simply be forced down.
That was enough.
I took a step back.
Then another.
Stopped.
Looked once more.
Not deeper.
Normally.
Nothing.
Good.
I turned around.
Took four steps.
Then looked back over my shoulder.
The trace was motionless again.
Dead.
As it should be.
For a moment, I wondered whether I had really seen what I thought I had seen.
The pain behind my eye answered for me.
I headed back toward the castle.
The return took longer.
Not because I was lost.
Almost.
Several times, I stopped to find my direction.
The old trace I had followed in was still faintly visible.
Now it led me back.
Useful.
When I saw the light of the grounds between the trees, I felt relief.
I did not call it that.
I simply walked faster.
The Red Cap was gone.
Its club was still lying near the forest boundary.
I looked at it.
Then at the trees.
The first part of the experiment had been a success.
That sounded much better than summarizing the second.
I stepped out onto the grass.
Cold air struck my face.
Only then did I notice what I looked like.
My sleeve smeared with blood.
Several drops on my shirt.
My cheek wet.
I touched my left eye.
My fingers came away red.
"Problem."
There was no point going to Pomfrey.
Questions.
Lots of questions.
Besides, I could see.
That meant I was functional.
Probably.
I headed toward the castle by a side path.
I managed to reach the dungeons without meeting a teacher.
That was probably the greatest achievement of the day.
Blaise saw me immediately.
Of course.
He was sitting exactly where he had been earlier, except now there was a chessboard in front of him.
Malfoy sat opposite.
Both looked up.
Malfoy frowned first.
"What happened to you?"
I looked down at myself.
"Nothing."
Blaise looked at my sleeve.
"You're bleeding."
"Not anymore."
Malfoy stood.
"From your eye."
"Yes."
"That isn't normal."
"That's very subjective."
Blaise rested his elbows on the table.
"Where were you?"
"Outside."
"Did outside bite you?"
"No."
Malfoy came closer.
"Then what happened?"
I thought.
"A branch."
Blaise looked directly into my eyes.
"A branch."
"An aggressive one."
Silence.
Malfoy looked as if he wanted to say something deeply insulting.
Blaise was faster.
"A branch hit you in the eye and the nose at the same time?"
"It's going through a difficult period in its life."
Malfoy snorted.
He had not meant to.
It showed.
He immediately became serious again.
"Go to Pomfrey."
"No."
"That wasn't a suggestion."
I looked at him.
"I didn't know you'd been promoted."
"Peverell."
"Malfoy."
We stared at each other for a moment.
Blaise sighed.
"At least wash your face."
"That I can do."
I headed toward the dormitory.
Malfoy called after me:
"If you go blind, I'm not reading to you."
I did not turn around.
"Your sacrifice moves me."
An hour later, I was in the Room of Requirement.
Alone.
Face washed.
Shirt changed.
My left eye still hurt.
It could see normally, though.
Almost.
In brighter light, the image pulsed slightly.
I did not look deeper.
Yet.
I sat at the table.
The Room had given me a bowl of cold water and a clean piece of cloth.
Very subtle criticism.
I pressed it against my eye.
Then opened my notebook.
For a while, I did not write.
Eventually, I started.
Forest boundary.
Too many overlapping traces.
Stronger than castle. Harder to separate.
Lower down:
Red Cap.
I stopped.
Added:
Immediate reaction.
Stronger than human. Easier than troll.
Instinct?
The quill remained against the paper.
That was interesting.
Very.
But not the most important thing.
Lower down, I wrote:
Old human trace.
Followed into forest.
Ended at stone / root hollow.
I crossed out ended.
Wrote:
Led to.
Better.
Next line.
Very old residual trace.
I hesitated.
Pressure caused feedback.
I looked at the sentence.
No.
It was not accurate.
I crossed it out.
Tried again.
Pressed.
It pushed back.
I read it.
Wrong too.
It had not pushed.
Not really.
It had been exactly the same sensation I imposed on others.
Only reversed.
I left it.
Continued:
Second attempt stronger.
Temporary loss of vision. Left eye.
Nosebleed.
Trace changed orientation.
The quill stopped.
That was the worst sentence on the page.
Not because it was written badly.
Because it was true.
I added:
Not passive.
I stared at those two words.
Then crossed them out.
I did not know whether it was active.
I did not know anything.
I opened my parents' book.
Found the page.
Do not follow the oldest ones alone.
I read it.
Then looked at my own notes.
The Baron.
Someone looking back.
I returned to the final line.
Wrote:
It looked back.
The ink slowly soaked into the parchment.
I sat there for a while.
Then turned the page.
I drew a very simple map.
The castle.
Hagrid's hut.
The forest boundary.
The fallen tree.
The hollow.
The stone.
I marked the route as best I could remember.
Not because I intended to go back.
Only so I would not forget.
Of course.