The next morning began with unexpected news that quickly spread through Hogwarts' Great Hall. At breakfast, Cho sat down next to Stephen, who, as usual, was lost in thought, only occasionally bringing his fork to his mouth with mechanical precision, enough to maintain an optimal metabolic rate. His gaze was distant, and his brain seemed to be working on multiple levels simultaneously, processing vast amounts of information.
"Did you hear?" Cho began impatiently, beaming with delight, her eyes sparkling like precious gems. She was full of energy and fresh impressions, while Stephen appeared to be an epitome of calm, bordering on apathy. "Harry became Gryffindor's Seeker! The youngest in a hundred years!" Her voice rang with admiration.
Stephen slowly blinked, his gaze focusing on her as if he had just returned from a long journey. He analyzed the information received. "Seeker? Is that where the little golden ball flies, and you have to catch it for the game to end?" He formulated this with his characteristic precision, as if giving a medical definition of some rare biological phenomenon. He showed no surprise, rather, he registered a new, but already predicted, fact.
Cho laughed, her laughter light and melodious, like the ringing of bells. "Exactly! The Snitch. He's brilliant! Madam Hooch says he has a natural talent, he's just made for it!" She was clearly happy for Harry and couldn't contain her enthusiasm.
"I see," Stephen said, his eyes scanning the Gryffindor table where Harry was smiling, surrounded by friends, accepting congratulations. His "memories" accurately predicted this event, and this only strengthened his confidence in the reliability of the data he had received. "Statistically, this increases the probability of his participation in subsequent, uh, 'non-standard' events requiring exceptional agility and reaction." He paused, as if weighing each word.
Cho giggled shyly, covering her mouth with her hand. "Stephen, you speak so strangely. But I'm happy for him. He deserves it. Can you imagine how he flew? It was incredible! He just soared, like a bird!"
"Naturally," Stephen replied, once again immersed in his thoughts. He already knew about this, but observing the unfolding of events in "reality" was interesting in its own way. It confirmed his "memories." He noted that people's emotional component often overshadowed the logical one.
"You're lost in thought again, aren't you?" Cho asked gently, trying to get his attention, her voice full of softness and genuine interest. "You're always so serious, as if you're solving the most difficult problem in the world."
Stephen looked up at her, and a mischievous spark, which rarely appeared on his usually impassive face, gleamed in his eyes. "Just analyzing data, Cho. The brain is a muscle, and it needs constant training, otherwise it atrophies. Can you imagine what would happen if I stopped thinking? The whole world would plunge into chaos without my ordering influence." He smiled slightly. "However, sometimes you can take a break. For example, to admire... statistically attractive objects that, by their presence, improve the overall aesthetic indicators of the room."
Cho blushed, her cheeks rosy like the morning dawn. She lowered her gaze, trying to hide a smile that still broke through her lips. "Oh, Strange, you're incorrigible. You never know what to expect from you." She shook her head, but her eyes showed clear amusement at his words.
"And why fix what works?" Stephen winked, then returned to his breakfast, leaving Cho pleasantly flustered and with a slight smile on her face. He felt a slight fondness for her, noting her natural beauty and vivacity, but his main goal now was something entirely different, something much grander and more exciting.
The concept of the Philosopher's Stone was firmly entrenched in Stephen's mind, occupying a central place in his analytical constructs. He understood that an artifact with such extraordinary properties could not be merely "magic" in the common understanding of the word. Behind it had to lie a fundamental science, profound principles that could be studied, systematized, and perhaps even reproduced. And this science, as he clearly realized, was alchemy. It wasn't just a metamorphosis of matter, but a deep understanding of its essence.
After classes, when the hum of the corridors gradually subsided and students dispersed to their common rooms or for extra lessons, Stephen purposefully headed to the library. The vast repository of knowledge, beckoning him since his first days at Hogwarts, now presented itself to him not just as a place, but as a source of answers to the most complex questions. He knew that somewhere among thousands of volumes, in ancient, dusty corners, there had to be information about alchemy, about transmutation, about life and immortality.
The librarian, Madam Pince, cast a stern glance at him, her thin lips tightly pressed, and her eyes suspiciously tracking his every move. Stephen, ignoring her dislike for noise and idle wandering, went straight to the section that, by his logic, should contain the books he needed. His "memories" gave him not only knowledge of events but also an intuitive understanding of the structure of the magical world, including the classification of knowledge. It took him very little time to find several ancient, dusty tomes with covers adorned with incomprehensible symbols and engravings. The inscriptions on them were in ancient, almost forgotten languages, but his unique, modified brain seemed to be able to decipher them without much effort, translating archaic turns of phrase into modern concepts.
He chose one of them, the thickest and most worn, marked "Fundamentals of Alchemy" — a title that made his heart quicken. He settled at the nearest table, away from the main aisles, so no one would disturb him. The pages smelled of dust and ancient parchment, their touch almost tangible. Stephen began to read, his eyes gliding over the text with incredible speed, his brain absorbing information, classifying it, building new connections and hypotheses. The more he read, the more convinced he became: the Philosopher's Stone was the pinnacle of alchemical art, not just a magical artifact, but the result of a complex scientific process. Its creation, its principle of operation, its properties — all of this was a complex scientific process, not just a miracle that could be explained by a mere flick of a wand. This was the physics of magic, its fundamental basis.
Engrossed in reading, Stephen didn't notice Hermione approaching his table. She was carrying a stack of books that almost obscured her view, clearly intending to work on another homework assignment or learn something new to get ahead of her classmates. Seeing him with such rare and mysterious tomes, which few ever took from the Restricted Section, she stopped, her eyebrows raised in surprise, and her eyes widened.
"Hi, Strange," she said hesitantly, lightly adjusting her thick hair. "What are you reading? I've never seen these books. Are they from the Restricted Section?"
Stephen looked up, and a slight, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his face — he thought it was time to stop his night excursions. "Hi, Granger. Studying. Alchemy. A very... conceptual area of magic. Do you know how to transmute lead into gold? Or how to create something that grants immortality?" His tone was completely serious, but with a slight, barely noticeable hint of mockery.
Hermione blinked, her brain trying to process what she had heard. "Alchemy? But that's... that's very advanced magic, almost lost. It's hardly taught. And lead into gold? Those are legends! No one believes that!" Her voice sounded incredulous, but at the same time, there was interest in it.
"Sometimes legends are just facts poorly understood," Stephen replied calmly, his gaze piercing. "And advanced magic is what you haven't studied yet, Granger. You like to learn new things, don't you? And to systematize."
Hermione felt a challenge in his words. Her eyes lit up as if she had seen a new puzzle. "I read a little about alchemy in 'A History of Magic,' but it said it was very difficult. There are so many symbols, formulas... and incomprehensible principles. And most experiments ended in explosions!"
"All principles are understandable if you delve deep enough and apply logic, rather than just memorizing," Stephen leaned back slightly in his chair, observing her intently. "For example, do you know what a homunculus is? Or the elixir of longevity? Not from fairy tales, but from the point of view of molecular structure and energy transformations?"
Hermione blushed slightly with excitement, her brain frantically sifting through all the facts she knew. "Well, I... I read that it's theoretically possible, but... no one has ever been able to create them. It's considered beyond human capabilities."
"Unable or unwilling to understand the fundamental laws underlying it?" Stephen chuckled, his lips curving into an ironic smile. "You, Granger, you seem to be the kind of person who likes to get to the bottom of things, right? You like to organize knowledge, classify it, find cause-and-effect relationships?"
"Yes!" Hermione brightened, feeling that he understood her. "I believe everything should be logical! Magic isn't just randomness, it's a set of rules!"
"Then you've come to the right place. Alchemy is the highest logic of magic, its anatomy and physiology. And you, it seems, are capable of understanding complex structures and interconnections, unlike most of your peers who prefer to memorize dates and names." Stephen took one of his tomes from the table, the one with the most convoluted alchemical diagrams, and handed it to her. "Try this. I'm interested in your opinion on the symbolism of the processes. Try not just to read, but to analyze."
Hermione took the book, her eyes scanning the ancient texts and intricate drawings. She frowned, trying to decipher the symbols and understand their interrelationship. This was nothing like ordinary textbooks.
"Don't understand? Well, no big deal. It's not a first-year textbook," Stephen leaned a little closer, his voice becoming a little softer, almost conspiratorial. "I can give you a couple of hints. For example, imagine you're not just reading letters, but deciphering... the formula of creation. Or, if that's too abstract for your pragmatic nature, imagine it's just a very complex recipe. Only instead of cupcakes, we get... immortality. Or, for example, precise knowledge of where to put your ballpoint pen so it's always at hand."
Hermione looked up at him, flustered and at the same time intrigued by his strange jokes. She didn't know how to react to him, but his words, though sometimes absurd, made her brain work in new ways, to look for unconventional approaches.
"You... you always joke like that? Or are you just trying to confuse me?" she asked, trying to suppress a smile.
"Only when it helps clarify the situation, Granger," Stephen replied, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Or when I want to see you blush. It's quite... cute, Granger. A very predictable physiological reaction to certain stimuli. And, you know, it suits you. Statistically, it increases your attractiveness by 7.3%. And your reaction to this increase by 1.2%."
Hermione felt her face flush again, much more intensely this time. She simultaneously wanted to protest his audacity and laugh at his eccentricity. "Alright, Strange," she said, shaking her head slightly, trying to hide her embarrassment. "Maybe you are strange, but I'll try. Something tells me it will be... interesting with you. You're not just studying alchemy for no reason, are you? What are you looking for?"
Stephen smiled, his smile enigmatic. "I'm looking for the truth, Granger. All of it. And I'm sure it's here, at Hogwarts, in its deepest secrets. And the truth, as you know, is always nearby. Especially if you know where to look. And how to correctly interpret data. And you, more than anyone, know how to find and systematize data."
Hermione sat opposite him, opening the book, trying to focus on the text, but watching Stephen out of the corner of her eye. He continued reading his tomes, not seeing her presence as necessary for his research, but not objecting to it either. He valued her as a sweet and curious creature, nothing more. His own mind was self-sufficient, and he did not require external help for processing information or making decisions. He knew that his path to the Philosopher's Stone depended on this trio, so friendship with them was a foundation.