Surprisingly, I began to feel "in my element," or something to that effect. Easily and naturally, and most importantly with enthusiasm, I answered the questions, interspersing my answers with explanations I felt were necessary in each case. The illusion of the skeleton gradually gained layers of detail and before long had become a skinless human figure. The girls had lost interest in the proceedings back at the bones and set about their own business — Daphne activated one of my gifts, working with a three-dimensional illusion of some complex runic structure, while Pansy had produced a novel from somewhere and buried herself entirely in reading.
"Alright, that's all clear," Smetwick made his final notes on the stack of papers, dispelled the illusion and looked at me, simultaneously putting his papers away. "I can see, Mr. Granger, that you actually enjoy this sort of thing."
"A bit, yes. I feel somehow in my element, as it were."
"Splendid, splendid. I can see you know your anatomy. That is an excellent foundation for studying magical medicine. You even touched somewhat on the principles of how organs function."
"Should I study chemistry and such?"
"A good question, actually..."
At these words of Smetwick's, the girls briefly looked up from their activities and listened in. Anything beginning with "a good question" was usually at least somewhat interesting.
"...In the current realities of magical medicine, the study of chemistry, biochemistry, and whatever other Muggle disciplines dealing with matter there may be — in any case, in the current realities, knowledge of those subjects plays no significant role. Even in Transfiguration, wizards use not precise knowledge and understanding, but abstraction."
"Chemistry, physics and other disciplines are also abstract to some degree."
"Yes, I understand, but here it's even more image-based. In many healing practices, the primary emphasis is on localization of the problem, diagnosis, understanding the principles by which a magical problem damages the organism, elimination of the problem, and restoration. Magical medicine is, of course, gradually moving in the direction of greater detail in understanding the principles of how the body functions, how cells work and so on, but..."
"But?"
"But, Mr. Granger, purely physical traumas and injuries are restored very easily. The main burdens of a Healer concern the interaction of body, mind, magic, the energetic body, the soul, in the end. Some simple Dark curse might sever an arm, for example. What do we see if we look only at the body? Well, it's been severed — if it was specifically a cutting curse, nothing about the body itself would hint at any complications with restoration. One could reattach it, one could regrow it, one could do anything... or so it would seem. But the 'Darkness' of the curse damages the energy body. It may even affect the soul — research is ongoing, one cannot say definitively."
"Understood. What's been reattached — will fall off. What's been regrown — will wither."
"Yes, roughly speaking. That's why the deepening of knowledge in the domain of the material structure of matter doesn't greatly concern wizards in general, or Healers in particular. But that doesn't mean such knowledge is useless. A French colleague and good acquaintance of mine maintains that years of studying Muggle disciplines marginally ease the process of a Healer's daily work. Quite marginally, yes, but they do make it easier. So there is some sense to it. Or, Mr. Granger, if you wish to advance the science of magical healing, such knowledge may prove useful."
"Understood. Thank you for your view."
"Yes, let's move on to more magical disciplines. We'll run through the theory..."
"Are you going to cast anything at all?" Daphne decided to inquire, drawing our attention to both herself and the three-dimensional projection of the complex runic complexes. "Will we get to see something, or only boring speeches?"
"Of course we'll cast some spells, my princess," Smetwick smiled. "You're not terribly bored as it is."
"That's all well and good, but we could settle somewhere more comfortable if you're not going to be casting."
"You're very clear," Smetwick nodded. "Truly, bread and circuses. So then, Mr. Granger. On magic..."
A new round of questioning began, on completely random topics. Smetwick deliberately jumped from one to another — from basic Dark magic to something entirely non-Dark but mind-bending in its abstract imagery: Chimaerism.
I don't know how much time passed, but the girls had by this point finished their own affairs, gone somewhere into the house, left us alone in the hall, returned with food, eaten the food, left again, changed clothes, and returned again with food and books, which they were now reading together on the sofa, whispering and giggling. Smetwick by this point was literally buried in various papers and notes, looked somewhat tired but satisfied.
"Right then, Mr. Granger," Smetwick quickly gathered his papers and put them in the folder. "Let's go and cast some spells."
These words — or rather, the fact that Smetwick rose from the armchair and walked with me to another corner of the spacious stone hall — compelled Daphne and Pansy to look up from their reading with curiosity to see what we were about to do.
"Where did they put them, now," Smetwick muttered, scanning the hall attentively.
"Do we need something?"
"Mannequins," Smetwick answered without looking at me. "I'm not going to cast spells on living people, am I?"
"You? I thought it was me being examined."
"Without extensive experience in defending yourself and your mind, it's inadvisable to use Dark Magic unnecessarily."
"My mind is protected, if that matters."
"Is it?" Smetwick finally turned toward me and looked with a smile and an almost imperceptible squint.
"I have grounds to think so."
"That's your business," he shrugged. "But I would still prefer an adequate student. When I can say with certainty myself that your mind is protected — then you may cast freely."
"That's fair."
"Ah, I remember now!"
Smetwick briskly headed toward one of the walls of the hall, tapped his wand against a couple of large stones, thereby opening a niche containing mannequins. There were mannequins on wheels, lively and mobile, somewhat reminiscent of the ones at Hogwarts, and also stationary, immobile ones, resembling logs with targets. These latter ones Smetwick pulled out from the niche with magic, positioning them just a couple of meters away, against the wall.
"So then, Mr. Granger. You know the theory, but I'd like to understand whether you can turn that theory into comprehension when you actually see a spell or its effect."
"What's the purpose of all this?"
"I simply need to understand the real limits of your thinking speed, and the limits of your sensitivity to and understanding of magic. The duel with Mr. Nott was quite telling, but I need to understand more. Understand me correctly — I have absolutely no desire to get involved in a long, drawn-out process of teaching you or anyone else. Especially since you're still studying at Hogwarts. I need to understand whether you and I can devise a good training program, and how demanding that will personally be for me."
Smetwick stole a glance at Daphne.
"I am, naturally, invested in a good education for you. But I am no less invested in my own peace and quiet life."
"Indeed, no one wants to exert themselves unnecessarily."
"Exactly so, Mr. Granger. So, let's begin."
From here things were simple for me. Smetwick conjured privacy charms around his head so I couldn't hear the verbal incantations. His wand hand he wrapped in some complex charms that took a while to apply, which prevented anyone from seeing his wand movements. This would have been useful in a fight, if the effect didn't wear off after a single spell. And personally, even if I couldn't see the movements, I could sense them. So I simply named the spells and described their mechanism of action — the mannequin, it turned out, was shielded; it was barely affected by the magic itself, merely holding the curse or charm on itself before it all faded. Yet another piece of "unique" craftsmanship, no doubt.
In general, Smetwick didn't conjure a single spell or curse that he hadn't asked about during the theory examination. Only magic whose theoretical knowledge I had already demonstrated. Logical, really, as this portly Healer wanted to understand how well I could translate my own knowledge into practical comprehension.
Spell after spell flew toward the mannequin, subjecting it to unimaginable torments and inflicting dreadful injuries... A joke. Nothing of the sort happened. The mannequin was barely changed by the spells, though had a living person — or not very living one — been in its place, they would have gotten what was coming to them in no uncertain terms. I, for my part, successfully identified everything and described each spell Smetwick had cast.
"Well, quite excellent, Mr. Granger," Smetwick concluded, clearly tired both mentally and physically.
"Thank you, sir."
"Phew," the Healer produced a small handkerchief from an inner pocket of his robe and dabbed the sweat on his brow. "A taxing business, I'll tell you, using Dark Magic safely."
"That depends on the method one uses to ensure one's own safety, I imagine."
"Oh, Mr. Granger, with your level of mental activity and willpower, defending yourself would be no great challenge. But not everyone can boast of such things."
"So it seems."
"Now then..." Smetwick decided not to keep notes in his head, and with a wave of his wand summoned a couple of sheets and a quill, beginning to write something in mid-air. "I can say that you didn't make a single mistake, even in the details. Conducting a practical examination in Chimaerism is quite difficult. But I'm certain you would have managed the basic techniques of tissue fusion in living creatures, substitution and the rest. At minimum, you would quickly have found the right approach. You did confirm the theory, after all."
"Only at the entry level, as you, Healer, requested. That's indeed the level of books I was granted access to in the Restricted Section."
"And you made no attempt to read anything beyond that?" Smetwick glanced at me with a grin, looking up from making his notes.
"No. I had no desire to fail to live up to the trust placed in me."
Smetwick simply nodded in understanding and quickly jotted a couple of notes, sending the papers and quill floating back to the small table with a gesture of his wand. With another gesture, the Healer returned the mannequin to the niche and rapped his wand against the wall stones — the niche closed.
The girls, settled on the sofa, had by this point grown quite tired of watching us, and I understood them — it hadn't been all that interesting from the outside. The Healer and I headed toward them, conversing as we walked.
"Well, I believe I've learned everything I wanted to know, and more. Are you still intending to become an apprentice to a Master Healer, Mr. Granger?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"In that case, we'll now go upstairs, take advantage of William's hospitality, and draw up a contract."
"When do we begin the training?"
"Don't rush the Abraxans, Mr. Granger," Smetwick smiled. "We'll begin once you've rested with your family, in August. I'll use the time to put together a good program that suits everyone."
Daphne, blinking tiredly a couple of times, looked at us with a question in her eyes.
"Are you done now?"
"Yes," we answered simultaneously.
"Wonderful. I didn't think your examinations could be so exhausting. Pansy... Pans!"
"Huh? What?" She turned her head, simultaneously adjusting the strands of her practically unchanging bob that came to her shoulders. "I was lost in thought."
"Let's go upstairs," Daphne pulled her friend by the hand. "We'll have cake."
"I can't eat any more cake..."
The girls quickly vacated the hall. I would even say — instantly. While I still had to wait for Smetwick to gather all his papers into the folder.
I didn't have to wait long — less than a minute — and we were already walking through the corridors of the ground floor. Outside it had long since grown dark. The somewhat dim, muted light of the wall sconces created a pleasant atmosphere and made it impossible to see anything beyond the windows — they only reflected this corridor back.
"Do you feel you're one step closer to your goal?"
"Not yet, if I'm honest. For the moment I only feel I've spent my time in an interesting, amusing and productive way," I smiled to demonstrate the goodwill that now reigned within me.
"Amusing?" Smetwick was surprised.
We stopped by a set of double pale-colored doors.
"You consider all that contempt amusing?"
"I'm not encountering such an attitude from wizards for the first time — those who in their absurd drive to judge everyone and everything solely on a scale of blood purity see nothing at all beyond it. If I reacted sharply to every such episode — I would have my own private cemetery by now. A large one."
"Incidentally, on that subject..."
Smetwick opened the door, and we entered. A spacious, bright study. A massive carved rosewood desk — on which order prevailed: documents, writing implements, various small items, everything in its place. Dark sofas, lamps, some tall potted ficus plants in the corners, wooden wall paneling — everything looked pleasant, faintly dark, and calming.
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