The next morning, I had a plan.
Not another floor plan. I already had three of those, and none explained why half the corridors led to rooms the earlier versions seemed unwilling to acknowledge.
This one concerned the metal ring.
I opened my notebook to the sketch of the device I'd found the day before. Beneath it, I'd recorded a few observations: loss of stability, one layer briefly weakened, original state restored without intervention.
Yesterday, I'd thought I'd learned something useful. Reading it again this morning, I was mostly struck by how little I could explain.
I'd examined the spell's structure with my right eye, chosen what seemed the most promising part, and imposed my intent on it. The ring had shuddered, the magic had briefly weakened, and then everything had returned to normal.
Why had it reacted that way?
And what would I need to do differently to get another result?
I ran a finger over the sketch. I could go back and try again, but there was someone at the house who'd spent years working with Will. I ought to at least ask him first.
I closed the notebook and slipped it into my bag.
Hedwig's windowsill was still empty. I glanced at it out of habit, though I knew perfectly well where she was. She was probably asleep in the tower Anunu had all but handed over for her exclusive use. By now, he might even have prepared a separate room for entertaining visiting owls.
My watch read nine when a crack sounded beside the desk.
"Good morning, Master Oliver."
"Morning, Anunu."
The elf wore a clean, dark waistcoat. His ears twitched when he noticed my bag was packed.
"Is Master Oliver ready?"
"Yes. I'd like to get some practice in today."
"Anunu will prepare the room."
My hand paused over the strap.
"We have a practice room?"
"Yes, sir."
I should have guessed. Someone in this house had once tried to keep a dragon in the garden. It seemed unlikely that, in all those years, no one had thought to set aside somewhere to cast spells.
"Is it properly warded?"
Anunu considered the question.
"Master Oliver should not destroy the walls."
"Is that reassurance or a request?"
The elf gave me an innocent smile.
I decided to inspect those wards before trying anything interesting.
Once we reached the house, I went straight to the dining room. Anunu had breakfast ready, and I had no desire to find out how he'd react to the suggestion that studying was more important than eating.
Hedwig was perched on the terrace's stone balustrade, basking in the morning sun as though she'd never had a worry in her life.
I opened the window.
"Morning. How was your first night?"
She hooted, stretched out a wing, and settled back down.
"I can see you missed me terribly."
She went back to sunbathing.
At least one of us was finding the move easy.
After breakfast, I found Frederick in the gallery. He was sitting in his armchair with a book on his lap, while Edmund spoke to a woman in the neighbouring painting. I still couldn't remember her name. Unless I started keeping a separate record of the portraits, sooner or later I was going to offend someone entirely by accident.
"Oliver!" Frederick put his book aside. "Excellent. I was going to ask how you were getting on with my notes."
"I haven't finished them yet. But I do have something to show you."
I took out my notebook and opened it to the sketch of the ring. I explained where I'd found the device and described the magic holding it in place. Frederick stopped smiling when I mentioned using Will.
"Did you damage it?"
"It was working when I left."
"I asked whether you damaged it."
I glanced at the drawing.
"I didn't notice any lasting changes."
"That's a more precise answer. Show me what you did."
I held the notebook closer to the portrait. For the next few minutes, I described the layers, the section I'd chosen, and the intent I'd tried to impose on it. Frederick listened without interrupting, occasionally asking me to turn the page or point out a particular connection.
"And you thought this part was keeping it stable?" he asked at last.
"It ran between the other layers. It looked as though it connected them."
"And when you disrupted it, the ring shuddered."
"Exactly."
Frederick rested an elbow on the arm of his chair.
"You may have been right. But suppose you disturbed the part that directs the flow of magic. The supply continues, only for a moment it's going to the wrong place. That could destabilise the device too."
I studied the sketch again.
"So you think I chose the wrong part?"
"I think we don't have enough information yet. Your drawing is useful, but it's no substitute for examining the device or knowing what it's meant to do."
I'd been hoping for rather more than that. Ideally, an explanation followed by advice on where to try next.
Frederick seemed to read it on my face.
"I'm not going to guess just to impress you."
"From what I've heard, you like impressing people."
"Very much. That's why I prefer to be right when I do it."
I turned the page and made a note to find out what each layer did. Frederick waited until I'd finished.
"Before we return to the ring, I'd like to see how you handle ordinary magic."
I looked up.
"Without my eyes?"
"To begin with. I want to see how you maintain a spell, adjust it, correct mistakes. It'll be easier to discuss Will once I've seen you work."
That made sense, though practising school spells hadn't been high on my list for the day.
"Anunu!" Frederick called.
The elf appeared almost at once.
"Prepare the practice room. We'll need a table, a few objects, and my portrait."
"The room is ready, Master Frederick."
Frederick looked at me.
"I mentioned I wanted to practise."
"Excellent! We won't even have to wait."
Edmund broke off his conversation in the neighbouring painting.
"Frederick, the boy's only just arrived."
"And he's already eaten."
"That wasn't a comment on his diet."
"Then I'm afraid I don't see the objection."
Edmund sighed, and I put my notebook away. Some family conversations must have been going on here for well over a century.
The room was on the ground floor of the south wing, which I hadn't explored yet. Larger than an ordinary drawing room, it had a high ceiling and broad windows. Concentric lines and unfamiliar symbols had been carved into the stone floor.
Cupboards lined the walls. Anunu opened two, revealing wooden dummies, stands, and shelves full of small objects.
The crystal spheres hanging from the ceiling caught my attention.
"What do those do?"
"Provide light, sir."
"Oh."
A pity. They looked capable of something far more interesting.
Anunu moved Frederick's portrait onto a side wall. While the elf adjusted it, I examined the markings on the floor.
"Are these at least part of the wards?"
"Yes. They help contain the effects of spells that go wrong. Anunu checks them regularly, but don't take that as an invitation to try bringing the house down."
"I've already been warned about the walls."
"Good."
I set my bag on a bench and drew my wand. Frederick pointed to a wooden block on the table.
"Lift it."
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The block rose easily. At his next instructions, I sent it higher, lowered it almost to the tabletop, and held it still in mid-air. Frederick watched for a moment, then told me to put it down.
I'd been able to do that for ages.
Then Anunu brought out three metal hoops.
He arranged them on stands to form a short course. The first two were fairly wide; the third was noticeably smaller.
"Now take it through all three."
I raised the block again. It passed through the first hoop without trouble, then the second. At the third, wood tapped against metal.
I drew it back and adjusted its path.
"Again, only faster," Frederick said.
This time, I hit the second hoop.
Not hard. Enough to make the stand ring, though.
"It's a small mistake."
"I didn't say it was a large one. Again."
I guided the block through the course, carefully judging the distance from each rim. Frederick waited until I'd set it on the table.
"You slowed down."
"So I wouldn't hit anything."
"And I wanted to see whether you could keep that accuracy at a higher speed."
"You can hardly expect me to manage that without practice—"
I stopped.
Frederick smiled with unmistakable satisfaction.
"Precisely."
For the next fifteen minutes or so, I guided the block through the hoops. Once I began to get the hang of it, Anunu rearranged them, raising one, lowering another, and tilting the third.
I managed that too.
The real difficulty began when Frederick started giving instructions halfway through.
"Left. Now higher. Stop… through the middle one."
The block brushed the rim.
I tightened my grip on my wand and brought it back to the start.
The next attempt went better, but the sudden changes of direction still took too much concentration. The block faltered before moving where I wanted it to go.
"I'm beginning to think you're enjoying this."
"A little," Frederick admitted. "But I've noticed something useful. When I tell you to change direction, you finish the movement you're already making before starting the next one."
"I have to decide what to do."
"Of course. But you needn't handle the spell as though you're casting it afresh each time. Watch for it on your next attempt."
I lifted the block.
This time, I caught myself doing it. Frederick told me to turn, and I almost brought the block to a halt before changing its course. At low speed, it hardly mattered. Moving faster, I suddenly ran out of room.
I tried again, keeping the spell steady and changing direction sooner instead of waiting for the previous movement to end.
The block trembled. But it cleared the hoop.
"There," Frederick said. "That's it. Again."
After a few more attempts, I set it on the table. I couldn't do it every time, but at least I knew what needed work.
"That'll do for today," Frederick said.
I gave him an appreciative look.
"We'll move on to Transfiguration."
Too soon.
Anunu replaced the block with matches, pins, scraps of fabric, and wooden figurines. I knew the first task from Hogwarts: turn a match into a needle.
I cast the spell. Metal gleamed in the light from the window.
Frederick asked me to show him the result.
"Not bad. Now examine it yourself."
I picked up the needle. It was straight and slender, with a sharp point. Only when I turned it towards the light did I notice that the eye was uneven.
"The eye," I muttered.
"It might catch on the thread."
"I can fix that."
"Try."
Adjusting an existing transfiguration proved harder than performing it from scratch. I smoothed out the eye, but thickened the point in the process. I had to focus on the whole object again, rather than just the part I wanted to change.
The second attempt was better.
Frederick told me to put the needle beside a fresh match.
"With the next one, think about what it's for. You know what a needle looks like, so you reproduced its appearance well enough. Now make one you'd be willing to give someone to sew with."
"Professor McGonagall says something similar."
"Good. I won't have to begin by convincing you that details matter."
With the second match, I paid closer attention to the proportions. Rather than trying to keep track of every part separately, I held a particular object in mind: a fine needle with a smooth eye and a point that would actually pass through fabric.
The result wasn't perfect, but I didn't need anyone to point out the improvement.
I set the two needles side by side.
"Keep them," Frederick said. "You can compare them with your next attempts."
For the following half hour, we worked through a series of simple transformations. Frederick didn't make me repeat them endlessly. He was more interested in how I approached each task and what, exactly, I was trying to achieve.
When I turned a wooden figurine into a metal one, we began discussing the difference between changing a material and changing a shape. One question led to another. Eventually, I had to put down my wand and reach for my notebook.
McGonagall explained similar things at Hogwarts, but she had an entire class to teach. Here, I could stop Frederick and ask about any detail I liked. He was equally happy to stop me.
By midday, we had several topics that needed further investigation and a table covered in small objects I was beginning to regard rather less casually.
Only when Anunu appeared with a tray did I realise how long I'd been on my feet.
"Master Oliver should eat."
"Already?" Frederick glanced towards the windows.
"Master Oliver has been practising all morning."
"I'm not even—"
My stomach chose that moment to growl.
Frederick burst out laughing.
"Go on. A hungry pupil is harder to teach. After lunch, we could still—"
"Frederick."
The voice came from the doorway. Anunu had hung Evelyn's portrait there. She stood in her painted room with her hands clasped in front of her.
I hadn't even noticed him bring it in.
"The boy wanted to practise," Frederick pointed out.
"I know. And I'd like him to feel the same way tomorrow."
She turned to me.
"How are you getting on, dear?"
"I've discovered I have more to work on than I thought."
"This seems a much nicer way to find that out than in the middle of something dangerous."
"I'm learning a lot," I added before Frederick could begin defending his methods.
Evelyn smiled.
"I'm glad. Come and see me when you have a moment, too. I'd still like to hear more about your first year."
"We've already talked about it."
"About a few carefully selected events."
I heard Frederick chuckle behind me.
"I told you quite a lot."
"Enough for me to notice what you were leaving out."
I couldn't think of an answer that sounded remotely convincing. Evelyn seemed content to take my silence as one.
"Enjoy your lunch. We'll talk later."
She walked out of the frame, leaving the room empty.
Frederick waited a moment before speaking.
"She's always been observant."
"I'd rather not start with the troll."
He immediately perked up.
"Ah, yes! You still haven't told me exactly how—"
"I'm going to eat."
This time, he saved the question for later.
After lunch, Anunu led me further into the gallery.
Nathaniel Peverell occupied one of the less ornate portraits. He had a lean face, dark hair tied back, and the same black eyes I saw in my own reflection. He sat at a desk in a study with a tall window. His plain, dark blue coat looked modest beside some of the other ancestors' clothes.
He was writing.
"Nathaniel?"
He finished the sentence before looking up.
"Oliver, I take it."
"Frederick said I ought to speak to you about Traces."
He laid down his quill and moved the sheet aside.
"Then sit down. What would you like to know?"
I pulled a chair up to the small table in front of his portrait.
"I've heard you could read much older Traces than the others. How old?"
"I sometimes examined remnants that were centuries old. Others I couldn't reliably date. Age is only part of the difficulty, though."
He asked me to describe what I could see.
I began with the strands of magic, the overlapping layers, and the differences between an active spell and the remnants of something that had ended long ago. Nathaniel didn't interrupt every answer with another question. He let me speak, then returned to some detail I'd barely thought worth mentioning.
Did the angle I viewed it from affect what I could see?
Could I distinguish the magic of an object from magic acting on it from outside?
How did I tell apart two layers left by similar spells?
For some of those questions, I had no answer. I'd simply never checked.
"And the oldest Trace you've seen?"
I thought of the stone in the Forbidden Forest.
"I couldn't tell you how old it was. I have notes, but it's a longer story."
"There's no need to rely on memory. We can come back to it when you have them to hand."
I nodded. The notes were somewhere near the beginning of my notebook, among the pages from Hogwarts. I wanted to read them first rather than give a hurried account.
Meanwhile, Nathaniel asked Anunu to fetch a box.
The elf set it before me: rectangular, made of dark wood, with brass fittings and the Peverell crest on the lid.
"I used it when I was alive," Nathaniel explained. "For notes and small instruments. Tell me what remains of the enchantments."
I let my right eye pick out the Traces.
A clear pattern of magic appeared along the lid and lock. Fainter strands ran deeper, around the joints in the wood. Between them, I could make out a third layer, partly obscured by the others.
Nathaniel let me examine the box from several angles.
"The layer by the lock is the clearest," I said. "It might be the strongest. Or the newest."
"And the others?"
I tilted the box towards the light, though I wasn't sure ordinary lighting helped at all.
"The one around the wood is faintest. I'd assume that was the oldest spell."
Nathaniel shook his head.
"The oldest structure is by the lock. It's been renewed many times."
I examined it again.
"So I'm not just looking at magic from your lifetime."
"Exactly. Later witches and wizards reinforced what was already there. Look for connections beneath that clearer layer."
It took more concentration. After a moment, I picked out a fainter pattern underneath. It wasn't entirely separate; parts of it joined the newer strands.
I turned the box, following one of those connections.
"I see it now."
"Describe it."
I reached for my notebook. I crossed out my first sentence when Nathaniel pointed out that I was already explaining how the spell had been renewed. I was supposed to be recording what it looked like.
I tried again.
The strands by the lock were clear. Beneath them was a fainter pattern, connected to the outer one in several places. Some of the lines followed the same edges.
It sounded less impressive than my first explanation.
But I could point to everything I'd written down.
Anunu went to fetch a book containing records of the repairs. While we waited, I examined the other layers.
Nathaniel said little. Usually, he spoke when I started assigning an origin to a strand before I'd finished studying it.
"Can you see a repair, or a trace you associate with one?"
I sighed and crossed out another sentence.
"This is starting to feel like writing a report for the Ministry."
"Have you ever worked for the Ministry?"
"No, but I suspect they're fond of paperwork."
"On that particular point, I can confirm your suspicions."
I returned to my notes with a smile.
By the time Anunu brought the slim, brown-bound book, I had a full sketch and several questions. The entries recorded the renewal of the enchantment on the lock, repairs to the wood around the hinges, a replaced fitting, and the reapplication of a charm against damp.
Decades separated the dates.
Some entries matched my observations. For others, I couldn't identify a corresponding Trace. One strand had no apparent explanation in the records at all.
"Perhaps something wasn't written down," I said.
"Perhaps. Note that you found no matching entry."
"You could at least tell me what else might explain it."
Nathaniel offered several possibilities: a later intervention, magic unrelated to the repairs, a remnant left by something stored inside.
All of them sounded plausible.
I couldn't confirm any of them.
So I wrote them to one side, separate from the description.
"That will be more useful," Nathaniel said. "If you discover something else later, you'll still know what you actually saw today."
I read over the page. Now I understood why he'd made me start again so many times.
In plenty of my earlier notes, I'd mixed observation and explanation so thoroughly that even I would struggle to tell where one ended and the other began.
I told him about the ring.
Anunu fetched the device from the small library and set it on the table. It looked just as it had the day before. The familiar strands appeared almost as soon as I focused my right eye.
This time, I examined the base as well.
Some of the connections I'd taken for part of the stabilising layer ran towards it. They didn't end at the ring.
I described them to Nathaniel, then compared what I saw with yesterday's sketch.
"I didn't mark those."
"Didn't you see them, or did you leave them out?"
"I didn't pay attention. I was focused on the ring itself."
I followed one of the strands to where it vanished into the base.
"If the spell is being sustained from here, that might explain why it recovered."
"It might."
I looked at the device with renewed interest.
"I'd like to try again. At least now I'd know what to watch."
"And do you know what it's for yet?"
I didn't.
Nathaniel didn't need to say anything else, which was mildly irritating.
I added a note to find out the ring's purpose. I wasn't abandoning another attempt. I just wanted to establish first whether I might damage something I wouldn't know how to repair.
After a few minutes, I let the magic fade from view. My eye felt tired enough that I pushed the device away and closed my notebook.
"I'd like to see what the really old Traces look like."
"First, learn to distinguish what's in front of you. They don't get clearer with age."
"Frederick started me on the basics too."
"One of his more sensible decisions."
"I'll tell him you said that."
"There's no need."
I laughed. Nathaniel put the repair records aside.
"One more thing, Oliver. Don't assume you'll see exactly what I did. We can compare experiences and look for methods that help you too. But the eyes didn't give every one of us identical abilities."
"I know. I want to find out how much of what you learned I can use."
"That gives us somewhere to begin."
Frederick was still in the practice room. He looked up from his book when I came in.
"Well?"
"Nathaniel thinks starting with the basics was a sensible decision."
"He said that about me?"
"He didn't want me to tell you."
"Ah. Nothing to worry about, then."
I sat on the bench and showed him my notes. He spent most of his time comparing the two sketches of the ring.
I would have moved straight on to discussing another attempt, but he stopped me as soon as I began.
"Not today."
"I haven't even told you what I want to do."
"Go on, then."
I explained.
"Not today," he repeated.
I rested the notebook on my knees.
"I'm not particularly tired."
"Good. You used Will yesterday, spent several hours practising today, and then examined Traces. The device will still be here tomorrow."
"I thought you'd be keener on experiments."
"I'll be very keen. I simply intend to make sure you can still conduct them a year from now. And ten years from now."
I looked at him.
He'd spoken quietly, setting his book on the little table beside his chair. I remembered the number on the plaque beneath his portrait.
Twenty-six.
"You didn't always follow that advice yourself."
"No."
He admitted it without hesitation.
"So you could save us both some time by not personally testing every mistake I've already made."
"I'm not sure that would leave me much to do."
Frederick laughed.
"Quite a lot. Most of my mistakes required considerably more elaborate preparation."
It was difficult to argue with him for long when he kept supplying the arguments against himself.
I put away the notes on the ring, though I was still thinking about the connections to the base. Next time, I wanted to examine them before using Will, then watch them throughout the attempt.
Frederick pointed to the hoops.
"Before we finish, let's check your levitation again. Briefly."
"I don't trust you when you say 'briefly'."
"This time, you'll be pleasantly surprised."
Anunu brought a small glass ball. I lifted it and guided it through the course. It was lighter than the block, so it moved faster than I intended at first. I corrected its path.
Before the third hoop, Frederick told me to stop, circle the stand, and return to the table.
I followed the instructions.
Then I waited for more.
"That's all," he said.
I eyed the ball suspiciously.
"Really?"
"You didn't hit anything. And you didn't pause the spell with every change of direction."
"I managed that earlier."
"Yes. I wanted to see whether you'd fall back into the old habit after a break."
I thought back over the ball's movement. It still took concentration, but I wasn't planning its entire route from beginning to end any more. I was watching the object and responding to the instructions.
I tried again without being asked.
At the last hoop, the ball drifted dangerously close to the rim, but I managed to steer it clear.
Frederick watched without comment.
"This is going to take a while," I admitted, putting down my wand.
"It is. But now you know what to work on."
I went over to compare the needles I'd left that morning. The difference was still visible. I wanted to make another, but my fingers were beginning to ache after a day spent holding a wand and quill.
Tomorrow.
"I'd like to learn to duel as well," I said. "And more about protective spells. Not just how to cast them, but how they work."
Frederick brightened.
"We could begin with a few basic principles. If we combine theory with practice—"
"Frederick."
He stopped.
"Not all today."
He stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing.
We spent the rest of the afternoon putting together a rough course of study.
It wasn't a school timetable. We divided it into a few areas: ordinary magic, control and precision, spell theory, Traces, and Will. Under each, Frederick listed exercises we could return to and books worth reading before we started something new.
"There's still plenty you'll learn at Hogwarts that I wouldn't think to teach you myself," he said. "Here, we have time to explore what interests you most."
"Will."
"Among other things. I'd be disappointed if, a few years from now, you could influence powerful spells with your eyes but still couldn't make a needle fit to sew with."
"One of them had an uneven eye."
"And one is quite enough to keep as a reminder."
Beside the exercises involving my eyes, he had me leave space to record fatigue and any other effects.
"After every attempt?"
"Every one. In a few weeks, you won't remember whether a particular experiment gave you a headache or you simply hadn't slept enough. That distinction may prove useful."
I also wrote down what I'd struggled with during levitation. This time, he didn't have to explain why.
He suggested a few more ways to organise my notes. I listened, occasionally adding ideas of my own, until we'd crowded two pages.
"Have you drawn up plans like this for anyone else?"
"I've taught a few members of the family."
"Successfully?"
"That depends on whom you ask."
"Edmund?"
"Definitely not Edmund."
Amused, I put down my quill. Frederick studied the pages for another moment.
"You're not the first Peverell to wonder how far he might go," he said. "But perhaps you'll take some of our ideas further than we managed."
It didn't sound like a duty being placed on the last heir. I heard the same curiosity in his voice as when he'd examined my sketch that morning.
"I intend to try."
"Then we have work to do."
Before leaving, I stopped by my room.
Hedwig was on her perch by the open window. Warm air stirred the curtain, carrying the rustle of trees and the quiet splash of the fountain.
"How was your day?"
She hooted.
"Mine wasn't bad either. Apparently, I can make a mess of a spell I thought I'd mastered."
She fluffed her feathers.
"No commentary needed."
She hopped onto the desk, interested in the notebook I'd set beside the books. I slid it out of reach of her beak.
"You had your fun yesterday."
She made a soft noise, but let me stroke her head. I stayed with her for a few minutes. After a day full of conversation, it was pleasant just to stand by the window.
I left tomorrow's books and the loose sheets of exercises on the desk. The notebook came with me. I wanted to read through it again before the day's lessons began to blur together.
Anunu was waiting in the hall.
"Shall Anunu prepare the room again tomorrow?"
"If Frederick feels like it."
"Master Frederick has already asked."
I should have known.
"Then yes."
"Anunu will prepare breakfast too."
"I'm counting on it."
The elf hesitated before his next question.
"Would Master Oliver like anything special tomorrow?"
"No. Why?"
"Anunu wanted to know."
"The usual will be fine."
He watched me for another moment, then bowed his head and held out his hand.
Back at the orphanage, I put my bag on the desk and sat on the bed.
I was tired, but not in the way I felt after overusing my eyes. It was the weariness of a day spent concentrating, standing at a table, and trying to keep track of details I'd barely noticed before.
I rested for a while, then moved to the desk.
My notebook contained more questions than answers. The hoops, Transfiguration, Nathaniel's box, the connections between the ring and its base. That morning, I'd only wanted to learn how to use Will more precisely. Now I had enough to keep me occupied for far longer than a day.
I didn't mind.
There were people at the house I could ask about all of it. Frederick knew Will, Nathaniel knew Traces, and Edmund had offered to help as well. Then there were the libraries, the workrooms, and generations of Peverells who'd spent centuries studying magic.
All I needed was a question. Usually, the answer produced three more.
At the bottom of the page, I listed a few things for tomorrow: levitation, Transfiguration without rushing, finding out what the ring was for.
Under Will, I added a reminder to examine the connections to the base before the next attempt. After a moment, I also wrote down that I should discuss it with Frederick.
He'd be insufferable if I turned up again only to describe what I'd already done.
As I turned the page, I remembered Nathaniel's question.
The oldest Trace.
Damn. I'd meant to find the notes, and then we'd got caught up in the box, the ring, and everything else.
I leafed back to the entries from Hogwarts. Past pages of spells and several failed attempts, I finally found the drawing of the stone among the roots.
I remembered the place: damp earth, a hollow beneath a tree, an ordinary grey stone that looked like nothing worth a second glance.
I also remembered the moment the oldest remnants of magic began to turn towards me.
After today's conversation, calling it an old Trace seemed even less adequate.
Traces could overlap, fade, and disappear. That one had reacted to me. When I'd tried to impose my Will on it, it had pushed back with the same pressure.
I'd ended up bleeding and temporarily blind.
I ran a finger beneath the sentence I'd written that day.
It looked at me.
That hadn't been a guess. But I still couldn't explain what I'd been looking at.
I remembered my father's warning.
Do not follow the oldest ones alone.
For a while, I sat still with the notebook open.
Nathaniel might not have an answer. Perhaps he'd never encountered anything like it. But he'd studied precisely the things I'd barely understood back then, and today he'd shown me how much I could overlook even in an ordinary wooden box.
All the more reason to tell him the whole story.
I slipped a bookmark between the pages, returned to tomorrow's list, and added a line at the very top.
The Trace in the Forbidden Forest. Show Nathaniel the notes.
This time, I wouldn't leave it until later.
I closed the notebook and set it on my bag. Tomorrow, Frederick would probably start with something deceptively simple again, Anunu would make sure I ate breakfast, and I would finally tell Nathaniel about the stone.
I lay back down on the bed.
I already wanted to go home.