Already tired, Noah looked at the spoon on the table and made it levitate.
"It would be so much easier if I could just use some magic," he muttered, still hopeful that he would eventually master a spell that could actually help. But it was impossible to invent something from scratch, and none of the spells he or Nick knew were of any real use.
"Engorgio," he said, making the spoon double in size. "Too bad I can't do the same with refined silver."
He had already tried, but it never worked. The unnatural form of refined silver, when enlarged by the spell, almost completely lost its magical properties. It was as if the magic failed to properly distribute every part of the tiny drop into its larger size. As if the enlargement itself wasn't real.
Noah had thought about it a lot, but it was hard to figure out the reason why.
He remembered once asking Nick what he knew about it. The old man's answer had surprised him.
They had been in the lab when Noah posed the question. Nick smiled as he picked up a sheet of parchment from the table.
"What is this?" he asked.
Noah gave him a strange look but answered anyway. "A sheet of parchment. Already dirty, to be specific." He laughed.
Nick held one end of the sheet with his other hand and tore it in half.
"Now do I have two sheets or one?"
"Two?" Noah leaned in, sensing that he was about to hear something important.
"Right, two sheets," Nick chuckled. "But it wouldn't be wrong to say one."
He placed both halves on the table. "Use Accio with the object's name and try to summon the parchment sheet, any of them."
Noah did as told. "Accio parchment sheet." He had aimed for the one on the left.
But something odd happened: both halves moved and were pulled toward him.
"How?" he asked, confused.
"In truth, it's as if, to the world, it's still a single thing," Nick explained. "But that doesn't last forever. Especially if we do something to make each piece more distinct."
He waved casually, pulling the two sheets from Noah's hands. Then he grabbed a quill, dipped it in ink, and drew a line on one of them.
"Try again," he said, laying them back on the table.
Noah repeated the spell, but this time only one piece came.
"What changed?"
Nick answered without hesitation: "You could say that every object has a unique essence. That essence remains even if the object is divided. It varies greatly—there's no clear pattern. Some spells can bend this rule, like Reparo, which can recognize all the fragments of something broken, even if those pieces were broken again and again."
Noah nodded, saying he understood. But then another thought struck him.
Of course, in time, even that sheet would drift further from its other half. Time itself created distinction between two objects that once had been one.
"And what about when we use Transfiguration?"
Nick gave him a wide smile. "That's my favorite student. Always asking the right questions."
"I'm your only student," Noah said with a laugh.
Nick ignored the comment and answered the earlier question. "I bet you're wondering if, when we use Transfiguration, we change that 'value,' right?"
Noah nodded.
"The right answer is no."
"Even if you transfigure into a sofa, it's still you. The sofa's parts are just magic shaping that form."
"There's no way to change that?" Noah asked, his mind racing. "I mean, if that's the case, even if I tried to hide a transfigured object among thousands of identical ones, there must be ways to identify the real one."
Nick nodded. "Exactly. But there's something unnecessary in that line of thought. Very few would even know a way to find the right one. Maybe with some ancient ritual—I couldn't even say I know one. Without preparation, it's practically impossible to trace an object's essence."
He leaned back, then added: "That said, there is a middle ground. A way to actually alter that essence: the Animagus ritual."
"The ritual a wizard uses to turn into an animal? It's that powerful?" Noah tried to recall if he had ever read anything on it, but quickly realized he hadn't. His knowledge of it was shallow.
"The Animagus transformation is one of the very few magics that actually changes it—partially, at least. If a human Animagus turns into a rabbit, for example, no one could ever tell it had once been a man. Its essence is that of a rabbit, completely."
Noah raised his hand impatiently, hopping in his chair until Nick couldn't ignore him.
"Speak."
Noah blurted out: "Why does the Animagus magic change it only partially?"
Nick nodded and explained: "As I was saying, it changes it only in part. If the wizard becomes an ordinary animal, the essence is flawless—there's no way to tell it was human. But if the Animagus turns into a magical creature, say a unicorn, then the essence is only partial. Which makes sense, since even in Animagus form a wizard doesn't actually gain the magical traits of the creature."
Noah nodded. "I need to read more about that ritual later. Sounds like it holds some fascinating insights into the fundamentals of magic."
Nick chuckled. "Careful not to try it and end up as a slug."
"Noah?" Penny's voice pulled him from his memories, back to the dinner table.
He turned toward her as she said, "I saw you enlarging the spoon with Engorgio, and it gave me an idea—but I'm not sure it would work."
Noah blinked, then straightened up in his chair, eyes fixed on her. "Go on. Any attempt is worth a try."
Penny nodded and, with a snap of her fingers, a large encyclopedia of magical creatures appeared before her.
"Look at this creature and its innate ability," she said as the book opened to a specific page.
Noah leaned closer, fascinated by the moving image. It was some kind of blue, winged serpent—an Occamy.
"The Occamy is found in the Far East and India. A plumed, two-legged, winged serpent, it can grow up to four and a half meters in length. It feeds mainly on rats and birds, though it has been known to carry off monkeys."
Noah had never heard of such a creature—perhaps it was listed in a different edition of the books he owned. Without delay, he read through its description.
"The Occamy is known to be choranaptyxic, meaning it grows or shrinks to fit the available space."
Noah shot to his feet. "It can shrink and expand at will? Based on the space around it?"
His mind spun at lightning speed. If that ability could be harnessed, maybe it could be applied to his own creation.
He turned to Nick with hopeful eyes. "Do you think it's possible to extract that ability—or copy it somehow? From its blood, maybe? Or DNA?"
Nick stroked his chin, thoughtful. "Maybe, but it won't be easy. I do have some ideas, though they may take time. You should start thinking on it too."
Noah grinned. As long as he saw a direction, he knew he could carve a path forward.
He rushed over to Penny. "Thank you, Aunt Penny."
She smiled, hugging him. "Don't give me too much credit. I'm sure you would've had the same idea once you read about it."
Noah shook his head. "Not true. I might've been too blind to see it when I got there."
Penny looked puzzled.
Noah pointed toward the balcony, and a second later a book floated into his hands—the one he had been reading earlier.
"I just realized—this ability to shrink and grow… I saw it in another creature too."
He flipped to a page showing a green lizard-like animal.
It was a Moke, a green lizard native to Britain, well known for being used in purse-making. It had the very same ability as the Occamy.
Noah bowed his head slightly. "Thank you again."
Then he turned back to Nick. "Could I ask you to buy Occamy blood? And, if possible, some silver from its eggshell—that might work alongside goblin silver."
Nick nodded. "Of course. I'll order a few of those lizards too. Studying a live specimen might help."
Noah agreed with a nod.
For the unfortunate Mokes—less rare than Occamies—their fate over the next few months was bound to be grim.