On a clear Sunday morning, we all gathered for breakfast. I should note a couple of significant nuances, though—the Hufflepuffs couldn't quite shake the manner of speech. They weren't speaking in rhyme, per se, but they kept strict rhythms and syllables. It gave the impression that everyone was due for the asylum. To everyone's great joy, the country didn't have asylums intended for those who possessed the magical gift.
"You're painfully thoughtful," Finch-Fletchley nudged me in the side.
"Waiting for it to wear off."
"You mean this manner of speech?" Justin smiled impudently.
"Exactly that, my friend. The one that's now in fashion."
Our breakfast passed with grief in half, and the anticipation of the upcoming walk around Hogsmeade completely blew the habit of trying to compose words in a certain rhythm out of the students' minds. This helped distract me too, allowing me to stop arranging words in my thoughts as if reading some strange, broken prose.
After breakfast, we were given time to get ready for the trip to Hogsmeade. The weather outside was more than acceptable, albeit cool in a February way. Around one of the corners, I crossed paths with Daphne and her housemates. We simply nodded to each other, and surely looked extremely conspiratorial from the outside. It seems such a small and insignificant, but still a secret, and even plans to break the rules for the sake of delicious confectionery products, gave Daphne pleasure. I can understand such things, as I was a child too, and such small secrets for children, and for adults too, are a terribly interesting, important, and even inspiring part of life. Knowing what others don't know—you are special.
An hour after breakfast, almost all the students crowded into the courtyard, before leaving the castle grounds. This courtyard was large enough to freely accommodate just as many people again, and they wouldn't feel cramped.
"Students!" McGonagall spoke loudly. "I hasten to remind you that during today's trip you will be supervised by DMLE and Auror officers. Wandering alone is prohibited—only in groups."
Everyone listened attentively to McGonagall, or pretended to.
"I hope," McGonagall swept everyone present with a stern gaze. "That you will show prudence inherent in well-bred Hogwarts students, and will not cause problems."
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Hermione sitting on a stone ledge between the columns of the corridor adjoining the courtyard. I should go over, ask why she's sitting with a book and not going with everyone to Hogsmeade.
"Hi," I greeted my sister. "Why are you bored?"
"Huh?" she looked up at me and smiled weakly. "Hi, Hector. Just brought a book for light reading in the fresh air."
The book on her knees was heavy, contradicting the concept of "light."
"Haven't made up with those two dolts yet?" I sat down next to her, watching the other guys slowly moving toward the exit.
"Of course I made up. Go on," she nudged me in the shoulder with a smile. "Or the others will leave, and you'll get a reprimand later for wandering alone."
"You could go with everyone, or even with me," I walked with my back to the crowd, moving away from Hermione. "No?"
"I have too much work," my sister shook her head. "So go and have fun."
"Well, yes," I smirked. "A convoy of Aurors and Dementors on the perimeter—grand fun..."
Quickly finding myself at the tail of our procession, I followed along with everyone down the slopes and paths that had begun to turn green, descending into Hogsmeade. I'll say this—in winter Hogsmeade is much more pleasant, fabulous, and attractive—there's no need to even doubt this. In winter the village is magnificent. In spring Hogsmeade acquires a slight tinge of medieval dullness, and even bright shop windows and the soft yellow light of establishments don't fix this.
For today, the main task isn't just to blow a little money on all sorts of trifles and sweets. I need to visit Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop with Daphne—there she is, by the way, found me with her gaze and nodded toward Honeydukes. A group of Slytherins of about ten to twelve people was heading exactly there. A couple of ours headed there too, which means I'll slip in with them.
Guards in the form of Aurors and DMLE employees—sounded scary, but in fact not very. We simply weren't allowed to wander all over the village and beyond its limits, and were allowed to keep within the shopping districts—that's all the security. Some Aurors walked here and there, looked around, turned back particularly eager students trying to slip away somewhere. Some couples from senior years walked very gloomily, and I had some suspicions regarding the reasons for their gloom, but let's put them aside.
Entering Honeydukes and forgetting about the purpose of the visit even for a brief moment is impossible. Many displays with the most diverse sweets, of different shapes and colors. Huge cabinets where large jars with various candies stood on shelves. Bright gift sets of sweets, all sorts of animated chocolates in the shape of animals—frogs are far from the limit. Take lollipops, for example...
Spending a couple of moments to examine everything, I found Daphne with my gaze, standing in the company of guys from her House. Their company seemed to be above mundane vanity—even without House insignia, one could immediately recognize Slytherins in the rest of the crowd.
Remembering my sister languishing in the medieval castle, I bought sweets, dumping them into my triangular backpack. At that moment, some ridiculous incident occurred among the kids packed into the shop, and the Slytherins, as true representatives of "high society," not deprived of a sense of slight disdain for others, decided to pay special attention to this incident. The moment was opportune, and as unnoticed as possible, and not without the help of neutral energy, I crept up to Daphne, who had stepped a pace away from the company.
"Quietly," I whispered, taking her hand and forcing my magic to create a simple diversion of eyes around us.
A step, and we were behind a display case.
"Interesting tricks, however," Daphne smiled and, taking out her wand, pointed it at herself, whispering spells.
"Just casting unnoticed," I showed the wand just pulled from the holster.
Daphne's hair became light brown, and her facial features changed. She applied similar spells to me, and in the glass of the display case I saw the same ordinary light brown hair, and the face became ordinary, by no means habitually attractive anymore. Even such a trifle as the shape of my backpack visually changed, and the shade of clothes too.
"Your turn."
Pointing the wand at the girl, I pronounced the spell read in the book. Visually there was no effect, but by sensations it was possible to understand that it worked. Repeated with myself.
"That's it, let's go."
We deftly squeezed through the crowds of students, making our way to the exit, and left Honeydukes. Students and rare adult wizards walked here and there along the streets, and an attentive observer, me for example, could notice Aurors in red robes hiding in the shadows too.
"You're walking too suspiciously," I whispered to Daphne with a smile. "Like you're wooden. Give me your hand."
Setting aside my right arm bent at the elbow, I looked at Daphne—she immediately put hers in. The girl's excitement and nervousness were palpable, and when we approached the threshold of the vanilla-pink establishment of Madam Puddifoot, these emotions only intensified. Not to change our minds, we didn't stop on the threshold, immediately going inside.
What can I say? A typical "vanilla" establishment in all senses. Everything so beautiful, light, beige and pink, in some ruffles and with cute decorative elements on the walls. There were few visitors at the round tables for four, and we headed to one of the tables by the window itself. Curtained window, it should be noted.
Pulling out a chair for the girl, I seated her and sat down myself. Glancing briefly at the few visitors, I noticed that not so many couples came here—there were six students I had seen earlier, but not personally acquainted. The remaining twelve people just sat in groups and discussed pastries and cakes from the new menu with great excitement.
"You can relax," I smiled at Daphne, although her appearance was foreign. "It seems we are not the only ones who came here for the new menu."
"It shows," imperceptibly, but Daphne exhaled with relief. "And we can ignore those kissing over there."
"You already noticed."
"But they are kissing?"
"So let them kiss, and new cakes and pastries await us. We can't delay."
"Quite right."
A nice and slightly plump middle-aged lady approached us, and the expression on her face was understanding and all-forgiving.
"Will you order something, young people?"
"You know, we will," I smiled. "To start, let's begin with tea. Which one do you prefer today?"
"I think black Indian," Daphne portrayed joy on her face. "And are there chocolate or other particularly sweet pastries on the new menu?"
"Of course..."
In the end, all the girl's awkwardness disappeared without a trace. Despite the fact that couples were present here who came purely because of hypertrophied vanilla romance, for several hours we did nothing but eat different sweets, washing them down with different varieties of tea suitable for specific sweets. And while I purposefully accelerated digestion with the help of life energy, and used neutral too, where the sweets fit into Daphne is a big secret.
So, over delicious cakes, tea, and conversations about nothing, we didn't notice how it was time to return. Having paid, we left the establishment.
"Did you notice one kissing couple at the far table?" asked a tired, slow, but completely happy Daphne, not rushing to dispel the light-haired image yet.
"Let's assume."
"A girl from a practically ruined pureblood family, albeit young. In such an establishment, and with a Muggle-born, and even in clearly romantic relationships."
"So bad?"
"Who knows?" Daphne shrugged almost imperceptibly. "But I'm willing to bet there will be quite a lot of talk about such things. Maybe not at school, but there, in the world, among adults. The family is young, hardly anyone will judge too harshly for an infatuation, but if things go further..."
"It's like zeroing out all the family's achievements for generations."
"Very correctly noted, by the way, Granger," Daphne smiled weakly. "There, a big group. Let's go, merge in, and remove the disguise there. Just apply those inattention charms of yours..."
Ahead of us indeed marched a large and motley company, into which we easily and unnoticed "merged," pretending as if we were with them all the time. And yes, we safely removed the charms that changed our appearance. Already on the way to Hogwarts I freely discussed the perfectly passed day, overhearing this or that detail from the conversations of those around.
In the castle, the streams of returning students separated, and many went their separate ways. Personally, I was interested in where Hermione was. Entering the library, I didn't miscalculate—my sister sat here, at one of the first tables in the reading room.
"So," I began, sitting opposite. "Did the day go well with books?"
"Very productively," she answered neutrally. "How was the walk?"
"Quite tasty. It seems to me that I've eaten enough sweets for a year ahead. Perhaps that is so."
Throwing the backpack off my shoulder, I opened it and took out the sweets bought for Hermione.
"Here, 'Mione, this is for you."
"Hector," there was both joy and reproach in her voice, but she accepted the sweets. "You know sweets are bad for teeth."
"And good for the brain, and yours definitely works at full capacity."
"Thank you."
"Oh, trifles. Make up, come on, with your friends."
"It doesn't depend on me," Hermione pouted. "They accuse me of something I have nothing to do with."
"That is, you didn't whisper to McGonagall about Potter's broom?" I couldn't hold back a malicious smirk.
"Professor McGonagall, Hector. And yes, me. But you know, there was a high probability that Sirius Black sent the broom."
"Quiet there," Madam Pince's voice reached us, and we started whispering, although before that we spoke barely audibly anyway.
"Do you need help with homework?" it seems Hermione doesn't really have other topics.
"No, but if anything—I'll ask."
"Good."
"Dinner soon. Don't miss it," with these words I got up from the table and left the library.
. . . . .
School life only just flowed into a stable channel. Yes, only in February did this very stability appear. The Dementors were driven away to a greater distance from the castle, and inside it was almost impossible to feel them. Perhaps this, and perhaps the banal factor of habituation influenced it, but nevertheless, I, and many other students, were glad of this.
Classes went on as usual. Professor Flitwick taught us the purely book curriculum with the same enthusiasm, seasoning lectures with funny real-life cases, and explaining nuances in movements and words that were sometimes imperceptible. And in the evenings, the tiny professor supervised duels in our "secret" club, where I had to fight not only with Draco, Nott, or a couple more guys from my year, but also with older opponents. To my joy, I always won, but learned something new for myself every time. I can even boast that I started succeeding in Protego without a verbal formula, and this is already the level of more or less experienced seniors who pay attention to duels, and not just the school curriculum.
McGonagall continued, as before, to give rather dry theory in her classes, but with my understanding of magic this wasn't a problem. Snape, as before, fluttered like a kite over the students, knocking the faint-hearted off their train of thought, and looking for the slightest flaws in the potion-making process. Thank Merlin, as they say here, I, like Daphne, didn't have such flaws. It would be fair to note that there were a third of such "skilled" and Snape-resistant students in the year, maybe less. And at additional Potions classes, Daphne now brought her own ingredients, to which Snape reacted completely neutrally, and we continued this business on Saturdays. Yes, everything as before.
Other classes, training, gatherings in the common room with guys from the House, homework and trips to the library for knowledge both in the field of magic and in search of information about social aspects of life in the magical world in general, and influential or significant families of England in particular—all this became a usual routine. A routine that a self-compiled schedule of employment helped to observe, where everything was scheduled by the hour. In this schedule there were not only points like: "Water procedures", but also "Chat with guys, an hour and a half". Well, what to do? If you approach the issue less responsibly, you can banally sag in this or that area. Easily, quickly, and the devil you'll get out later.
I agreed to Cedric's proposal—to play the role of Seeker in our last game of the school year. Of course, we discussed that by my quick victory, if everything goes according to plan, we will deprive not only our House but also the other guys of bread and circuses. In the end, Cedric acted cunningly—he started, not without the help of other guys in the team, a rumor that our team intends to win the game in the very first minutes. The result? And the result was that this information spread like an airborne infection in a closed room—already the next day after the appearance of rumors, a real betting pool was opened. A bunch of bets, like, in which minute the Hufflepuff Seeker will catch the Snitch, and whether he will catch it at all.
Of course, I participated in the betting pool, betting ten Galleons that the Seeker would catch the Snitch in the first minute—the promised win was about one hundred and fifty Galleons. By such an uncomplicated method, we found out that they believe in Cedric as a Seeker, of course, but don't consider him a super-seeker.
In general, in early May we went out onto the field against the Slytherins. The stands buzzed, ovations and anticipation—indescribable emotions. Emotions when you stand there, below, on the field, look around, and around is a wall of stands, people shouting something joyfully, jumping, waving hands. Something inside just freezes, and doesn't want to let you go until the referee's signal. It's impossible, simply impossible not to love Quidditch, and being a player of an active team at that—it's simply impossible to get such a charge of positivity and emotions anywhere else! It's even hard for me to imagine what it's like for professional players—Herbert showed me moving photos of world-level stadiums—these are simply fantastic things. Fantastic! Huge, towering... If you look from below, it seems that a wall has grown around a large green field to the very sky, and on every section of this wall there is an applauding fan...
The game with the Slytherins went as dully as possible. When Lee Jordan, our favorite commentator, coupled with McGonagall announced the roles of the players, the faces of the Slytherins from the enemy team changed sharply. One had to see this misunderstanding and childish resentment, replaced by the same childish, but no less dangerous malice.
Madam Hooch released the Snitch first—as always. The main, one might say, flying ball must have time to hide from everyone before the game starts. From everyone, but even now, standing on the ground, I have already plunged into this strange and soul-forgotten state peculiar to pilots, which means the little golden ball with wings will not leave. A moment, and we flew up at the ready, and Madam Hooch launched the rest of the balls. A moment, and I rushed at the limit of my and the broom's capabilities toward the Snitch, and the other Puffs didn't even scatter to the sides.
Oh, if I watched not the space around but the faces of other players in the piloting state, I would probably laugh a lot—so Cedric told me. Any fool would read the shock of the Slytherins on their faces—that's how they reacted to the complete lack of reaction of our team's players to the start of the match.
"What, badger sloths," the haughty voice of one of the green team players reached me clearly. "Believed in your Seeker?"
No answer was required—I was pursuing the Snitch. Of course, Malfoy noticed this and tried to sit on my tail, but what bad luck—Sleipnir is faster in skilled hands than his Nimbus.
The Snitch is an interestingly enchanted ball. It always flies slightly slower than the fastest Seeker on the field. That is, no matter how fast you are—you have to catch up with it, reach out your hand to it, closing the distance quite slowly. There are many ways to catch it: stupidly catch up; intercept in a maneuver during a change of trajectory; cut off; and a bunch more options, the essence of which, although close, differs in execution depending on the situation. I just caught up, ending the match in the first minute of the game. The decisive arguments were my speed, allowing me to break away from Malfoy, and maneuverability, allowing me to pursue the nimble golden ball despite its mobility.
The stadium was in shock, but a second later exploded with applause. Everyone forgot that if you believe the "insider" information, they bet not on Hufflepuff's victory in the very first minute of the game.
Naturally, the victory in the game ended with a grandiose party in the House common room. Literally a sea of food from the kitchen was dragged here, some of the seniors secretly penetrated Hogsmeade and brought no less amount of various drinks, and for the same seniors there was even light alcohol. Reasons? Well, the victory in this game marked the unconditional victory of the House in the Hogwarts Quidditch Championship for this year, which means the Cup moves to Madam Sprout. For the first time in a long time. And considering her character, guardianship over us, constant visits to the common room and almost personal conversations with everyone, this Cup will stand in our common room, delighting the eye of every student of the House.
We didn't honor me, didn't single me out from the general crowd. Didn't honor the other players—we rejoiced for the House, and especially for Madam Sprout, who has yet to feel this pride, receiving the Cup from Dumbledore's hands. Later, at the end of the year. But it is inevitable. Why? The nearest competitor is unknown—the other Houses have plus or minus the same points, but our gap is simply incredible—the nearest competitor in points would need to catch two Snitches and throw Quaffles into the hoops a little more to catch up with us.
A holiday is a wonderful reason to relax.
And so our studies would have ended—without shocks and changes, but chance intervened.
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