Chapter 22

In January, a letter arrived from the Arithmetic Guild. The magical mathematicians evaluated the work and set the date of the commission. At least they had enclosed the portal-key. On the appointed day and hour, having taken it, I went to the continent and immediately to the hall of the representation. I passed the interrogation about my abilities without any problems. I spent four hours answering tricky questions, and another hour discussing my proposed methods of calculation.

Actually, there was no revolution, they just transferred the achievements of Muggle mathematics to the magical one. According to the echoes of their emotions, the wizards, at first neutral or not very skeptical, became benevolent by the end of the test. Which turned out to be true. A short meeting, literally five minutes, and I was handed the ring with very sincere congratulations.

Then, of course, I had to take some oaths and vows, sign papers with a bloody pen that are essentially magical contracts and pay a substantial membership fee. But it was worth it. Master is a status! If you were looking for an analogy in the ordinary world, it would be akin to achieving personal nobility or even becoming a knight. In the class world of magic, it means a great deal. Only a Master and the title of Lord, given by magic itself, carry more weight.

You have to appeal to it directly through ritual. However, anything obtained by inheritance rather than personal work is not held in high esteem by wizards. Of course, there are no fools, the rich and influential openly poke their noses at the lack of personal achievement, but everyone knows everything and understands perfectly well. So Malfoy may be a Lord, but he's not the Lord of Magic, unlike Voldemort.

Although, you'd have to look at the aura, maybe there's no characteristic crown-shaped glow around the head, just a lot of strength. In the case of Dumbledore, there is no such thing in his aura. I saw him once from a distance through the Artifact Glasses, when he went to see his brother at the Boar's Head. He's got a lot of power, a lot of amulets, and behind a stupid bright robe with animated illusions, the true essence of a tricked-out magical armor.

He could probably survive after a Bombarda maxima to the heart. So you should either hit him with an Avada or head straight for the infernal flames. You still have to hit it with the first, and the second should be able to direct it and, most importantly, keep it under control so you don't die prematurely.

In February, letters came from runologists and ritualists. They said we could not wait to see the young talent. Some bloodthirsty examiners caught up with me. First, they interrogated me thoroughly, then they demanded that I demonstrate my practical skills. They gave me a potion that required the addition of a sorcerer's blood. They gave so many tasks that each guild had to drain half a liter. When they were sure that the candidate was worthy, they turned their anger into mercy.

The defense of the principles and approaches brought from programming to these arts went off without a hitch. We had a nice conversation, some of us even enjoyed the revelations. What if I created some kind of function library and used something from the object-oriented approach? In principle, all this was already there, just in unformatted form and without a normal structure with a clear hierarchy. Two more rings adorned my fingers. Three times master, ha-ha, only dragon eggs are cooler than me.

At the beginning of spring, I became a master of charms. I wasn't tested, they just tortured me for an hour. The practical demonstration of the masters was not very interesting either. I summoned a Patronus, cast an invisible expansion spell, and cast a dozen other spells. The committee clearly wanted to discuss the work presented, and the honorable wizards were very interested in how I managed to create so many spells. But as soon as I showed them the ring of the Master of Arithmetic, their interest waned. I explained the essence of my calculations, and that was the end of it. It was basically impossible not to have a master for so many new spells. Most of the masters had not even done half of what I had created in their entire lives. The fourth ring joined its brothers, nestling on my little finger. There was no intention or diminishment of importance, it just happened.

By mid-spring, the potion makers and Artifactors had responded. There were no problems with the latter. I didn't hide the rings, and since almost all of the artifacting was based on the areas in which I was a recognized master, we had purely formal communication. In fact, we had a friendly conversation in the course of which the enthusiasts of their business discussed the presented samples as well as the difficulties of the craft. What is there, we even spent bikes with anecdotes during a break for lunch.

We parted completely and absolutely satisfied with each other. I get the master ring, they get the results of my work. At least I didn't have to pay a membership fee. At least some compensation. But I'm not offended. Anyway, I've never used anything from the demonstration except the Pensieve.

Potion masters must have a bad temper in their blood. They're imbued with the ghosts of some particularly nasty ingredients. At first, the committee greeted me with a bloodthirsty smile that looked like a grin. And the masters sat in one corner, shielded from me. In another corner was a table with a cauldron and a cupboard. During the eight-hour exam, I brewed a lucky potion while answering questions. Felix Felicis is fabulously expensive, even though the ingredients cost pennies, but to make it... few people take it.

The reason is simple: the slightest mistake and the loser will have to scrape the remains off the walls. Unless, of course, they're fortified with magic. The recipe is complex, requiring extreme concentration and precision at many points. And the skills of chopping ingredients should be fully automated. It is probably one of the most time-consuming and dangerous potions. Potionists are the only ones who have learned to artificially attract the Eye of Fortune. There is no other way to compensate for being alive during the brewing process.

As with the artifacts, the result of the practical part went to the guild, except that these criminals also made me pay a fee. But the ring was handed out without even bothering to discuss it. We just looked at each other, and the chairman gave me the box and congratulated me dryly. After such an examination, I had to take a sedative and could not go to the boiler for several weeks. My hands began to shake. I had a hard time working with myself. I even thought of forgetting or consciously erasing the memory of the horror I had experienced.

I could hardly find the strength to relive it again and again. You can't run away from fear, you have to have the will and the courage to face it. Everyone is afraid, it's normal, the main thing is not to let the fear take over, you have to learn to overcome it. I did, in general, otherwise it would have been funny: a potions master with a phobia of the cauldron. It's just a joke.

The seventh ring of mastery from the herbologists was received only in the fall of 1990. They were into hydroponics. Really into it. For a year they checked and rechecked the results. So much so that they began to experiment and research. In general, the research was original. The commission immediately asked me to submit new data to the journals, which I couldn't do because I hadn't prepared it, but I managed to get out of it.

I threw away my memories, which was more than satisfied with the extended board of two dozen masters and three masters present. Of course, there was a little questioning for the record, but in general, the demonstration of practical skills in Pensieve left no doubt about the applicant's merits. The ring was presented, warm and sincere congratulations were offered, a buffet was organized, and the membership fee was waived for life. The nicest people, no comparison with potions. Just balm for my soul.