A cool shower is invigorating—everyone knows this, but not everyone uses it. I belong to those who do. Waking up early in the morning, the first thing I did was wash and tidy myself up, because a full-fledged warm-up and physical exercises are postponed due to the need to meet with Cedric and Herbert in the House common room—that's where I'm heading, walking along the deserted and absolutely quiet corridor of the male wing of the House.
"Hello to the sleepless," I waved to the entire House Quidditch team. "What happened that I can't sleep an extra hour?"
"Hi, come here," Cedric answered for everyone.
They stood almost in the middle of the common room. Stood in a crescent, and at their feet lay a huge elongated box made of wood and plywood. It looked as if it had been hammered together just recently, and there was no talk of any marking or treatment with varnish or even sandpaper—even from the entrance to the male wing, I see burrs on the wooden bars that will easily turn into splinters if you just run your hand over them. Approaching the guys, I looked at the box and waited for explanations.
"Hector!" Herbert couldn't stand even a couple of moments of silence. "Open it!"
Our Keeper pointed to the box with both hands.
"You should have offered a crowbar too."
"I already pulled the nails out. Open it, open it!"
Leaning down, I removed the lid from the box and put it on the floor nearby.
"Whoa, looks cool!"
"You bet!"
In the box, almost completely drowned in straw, lay a broom on a special stand. Its shapes were difficult to distinguish due to the same straw, so I just took it by the shaft and pulled it out. What struck the eye was not only the perfectly new polished shaft of an unusual, at least for me, shape but also metal footrests. Another unusual point was that on the shaft there were loops protruding down and to the sides, like handles. Although, judging by the winding, that is exactly what they are. The same winding, like on a Japanese sword, was also where the wizard can place his hands with a traditional grip on the shaft itself.
Looking closer, I noticed that the shaft is much more massive, and its curves resemble, strangely enough, a sports motorcycle.
"What do you say?" in Herbert's eyes read such an expectation of bright emotions, as if he made this broom himself.
"Heavy," I answered with the most serious look possible.
"Ha-ha-ha!" no one held back laughter, and I smiled back.
"Need to try before saying anything," I explained the reason for such an answer to the guy.
"Yes, indeed. Overlooked that. Let's go quickly!"
This guy's enthusiasm can be infectious. Although, why "can be"? It is. We got outside incredibly quickly. This time the breaking dawn spread in a pale gray light along the horizon—cloudiness, gloom, British Isles.
"To the locker room?"
"To Merlin with the locker room, Hector," Herbert waved his hand. "Mount it, but be careful. It's special, you'll understand."
Taking note of this remark, as they say, I carefully sat on the broom and carefully pushed off the ground with my feet—a standard procedure, if books are to be believed. Hovering half a meter above the green field outside the castle walls, I clung to the shaft as much as possible, grabbing the handles. Such a grip allowed holding on to the broom much better due to supports not on the central axis, but from the sides. The footrest was generally divine—and why don't they do this on other brooms? Now I have four points of support on both sides of the central axis. Yes… Like in the lodgment of one of the models of void fighters that the pilot shard happened to fly. Or like on a sportbike, only even more horizontal and elongated.
Immersing myself in the sensations from the broom, I felt something strange. Okay, let's try shifting to the sides, forward and backward.
Sharp! Very sharp!
"Yu-hoo!" a shout escaped from me by itself.
Instantly flying up ten meters and not changing the horizon of the broom, I stopped just as instantly. Giving out a series of multidirectional powerful impulses, I literally drew a vertical square with a cross inside.
"Absurdly cool!" Herbert yelled below, and the guys supported him with approving shouts.
"So…" I said aloud, thereby subduing enthusiasm. "Time for flight tests."
Acceleration from a standstill—speed gain is simply devilish! Shift right, left, up, down—very fast, sharp, and powerful. A striking difference is felt from the Cleansweep I flew on. If compared with pilot experience, one can draw a rather amusing association. Cleansweep—a void ship with a not particularly powerful reactor, main and maneuvering engines, and each of these engines is capable of realizing only a small and pre-written percentage of the reactor power. Here everything is powerful, but at the same time each separate maneuvering engine can realize all one hundred percent of the reactor power, de-energizing the others. Considering that I can, albeit not perfectly yet, control all these "engines" as I need, this is not a broom—this is a miracle!
Running wild for another twenty minutes in the sky and properly tiring the body with powerful overloads, I returned to the surprised and satisfied teammates.
"Crazy broom!" I joyfully issued, beaming with a smile showing all thirty-two teeth. "Simply crazy."
"We saw," Cedric patted me on the shoulder. "And how do you manage it?"
"Just feel it," I shrugged.
"Well? I told you?" Herbert nudged Cedric with his shoulder. "I told you! In short, Hector, the story is this…"
For about ten minutes our Keeper explained the nuances of his idea, and in principle, I agreed—to receive the broom for use, win on it, and for this there will also be a small reward. But only if the team wins on goal difference. In general, a purely promotional thing.
"Don't think it will be easy," Cedric, although he spoke to us while we walked back to the castle, was somewhere in his dreams. "To win on goal difference, the score must be one hundred and sixty points more than the opponent. And I shouldn't catch the Snitch."
"But you will try to catch it as soon as possible."
We passed the inner courtyard before the entrance and returned to the school walls, where silence still reigned, literally broken by the booming sounds of our steps.
"Of course," the Prefect emerged from his thoughts. "If I delay searching for and catching the Snitch, the opponent's Seeker might simply catch it before we score sixteen Quaffles. So, soon…"
"Soon?"
Cedric turned to me, looking conspiratorially.
"Soon we face training, and you will need to learn to score as much and as quickly as you can."
The importance of the moment was interrupted by the loud growling of Herbert's stomach. We stopped abruptly in the middle of the main hall.
"What? I want to eat. Let's go quickly."
"Definitely, only Hector will take the broom to his place."
"Cedric, may I ask a question?"
"Yes, go ahead," he nodded in response and turned to the others. "Go, I'll walk Hector to the common room."
We headed to the main tower to descend one level—that's exactly where our common room is. Although, there is at least one secret passage that Justin showed me, and Ernie showed him.
"What did you want to know?"
"How do I order ingredients for Potions?"
"Something special?"
"No. Sets for the first, second, and third years."
"Oh, nothing simpler. Just write to 'Mulpepper's Apothecary' and ask for as much as you need. One set each for the first, second, and third year… about fifteen Galleons. There are quite expensive ingredients in the second year."
"And money?"
"Upon receipt. Hogwarts student status gives some credit of trust. Don't pay—expect a scolding and sanctions from the Head of House, and you'll still have to pay anyway."
"Hmm, clear. Thank you."
Returning to the common room, where newly awakened students of different ages were already slowly starting to wander back and forth, I quickly returned to the room and stowed the broom in my nook. Taking a shower, I returned and wrote a letter to the apothecary, listing everything needed, and almost ran to the Owlery—the mood is good.
At breakfast, the mood remained good as before, and even the illusion of a cloudy sky on the ceiling did not spoil it at all. Nor did Malfoy's whining, saying: "How unhappy I am," and he whined all day—whenever I meet him, he whines, in classes he whines, during breaks, and even at lunch and dinner in the Great Hall it seemed to me that his whining came from the end of the hall where the Slytherin table was. It is clear that he is pretending, but so nasty, it infuriates. Better to pretend as if stoically enduring unbearable pain, but proudly going forward—would have scored more "points" in the eyes of others, honestly.
In the evening, in free time after dinner, I busied myself with finishing the remaining number of pendants, calculating "one student—one pendant". And as last time, passed everything to Cedric.
Going to bed after the evening shower, I cherished the hope that the package from the pharmacy would arrive in the morning.
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