Lunch passed quite quickly. Mr. Weasley went to work, Mrs. Weasley busied herself with household chores, Hermione and Ginny ran upstairs to do something of their own, girly stuff. Ron went to do nothing and spit at the ceiling. The twins dragged me on a tour around the house.
"...This is the garage. Father has a huge warehouse-mess of Muggle things there."
"...These are geese. Better not annoy them—pinch worse than Stinging Hex."
"...This is a car. Again. It flies. Again. But we can't. And it's a secret."
"...These are pigs. No one knows why they are here at all. Maybe gnomes can be fed to them, but Mom doesn't allow."
"...This is a chicken coop. Chickens there. They lay eggs. Eggs are tasty."
"...This is our Quidditch pitch. Made it ourselves, but hoops here only on one side. Just to train."
"...This is a vegetable garden. Magic is strictly forbidden here. Everything by hands. Tedious."
"...This is a grove—we experiment there."
"...This is a hill. Behind it—a lake. No, that pond by the house—for frogs and all sorts of crap. But there—a lake! And further—Lovegood house. And in the other direction—Diggory. And there—Fawcett. And there—a couple of kilometers and a small Muggle village. No, town... Village—sounds bad."
"And what's interesting in the town?" I asked when we stood on the hill and looked at other hills, behind which Ottery St. Catchpole should be located.
"Oh, our flyer friend," one of the twins drawled. "Everything is interesting there..."
"...But need Muggle money," finished the second for him.
"...Father has them in the garage, in a jar..."
"...But he has strict accounting and charms..."
"...Doesn't spend himself."
"...And doesn't give to others."
So we walked. And at four, like clockwork, Cedric appeared in front of the Weasley house from a spatial anomaly familiar to me. We were just sitting with the twins on benches by the house and trying to "probe" the ground for future communication—understand who is interested in what at all.
"Oh, look," George, or Fred, unclear, nodded toward Cedric walking along the green clearing. "The number of badgers is steadily growing."
"Hi, guys," he waved his hand, smiling.
He was dressed in quite ordinary clothes, although the style was somewhat strange. All wizards are like that, I already noticed—seemingly can dress like ordinary people, and there are such clothes, but some alienness to the ordinary world was felt in their style. Seemingly ordinary colors, and all that...
"Hi-hi. What brings you? Sit with us?"
"Sorry, not this time. Hector, a second?"
"And when did they manage to contact each other."
Cedric and I moved a little aside, closer to Mr. Weasley's garage, which looks more like a miniature hangar.
"I'm in a big hurry," Cedric began, "and I hope you don't mind skipping talks about the weather and how things are?"
"Only 'for'."
"Excellent. You know that the Quidditch World Cup final will be held here? Well of course you..."
"No."
"Oh..." Cedric looked surprised, and even thoughtfully scratched his head. "Then that explains a lot. In general, briefly, the guys and I, not without the help of parents, got tickets. For you included. August twenty-fourth, the match will take place in the evening. Departing in the morning at dawn. There is a tent camp, but we staked out our place a long time ago."
"Understood."
"Good that you are visiting the Weasleys. They are going too. Our parents, as I understood, already discussed everything among themselves there, whom to invite and similar things, so that there were no uncomfortable embarrassments. Weasleys, seemingly, knocked out tickets for themselves, for Potter and for Hermione. Wanted for you too, but Bagman got stubborn there, then it turned out that I already got tickets for you..."
"I understood, Cedric, don't rattle," I smiled.
"Oh, indeed. Just hurrying. About magic—in places of wizard settlement, technically, it is possible. The main thing in this matter—not in front of Muggles. The law has been twisted back and forth there for seventy years, can't twist it in the right direction anyhow. No one will pay attention to one or two weak spells, in a room, without witnesses, at all—that's how Trace charms work in places of Muggle residence. But if you cast systematically—will definitely slap with a reprimand, and a fine, and generally, can expel from Hogwarts. I don't understand this at all..."
"I understood you. That is, I can cast in this area? I'm not for mischief, you know."
"I know," Cedric nodded.
"And how does the Trace work?"
"Charms over the Area," Cedric pointed a finger at the sky. "Fix magic flashes. You know how a spider determines where a fly got stuck in the web? Same here."
"And if I, suppose, make a room from which magic won't escape?"
"Theoretically—will help. They say that's how it's done in houses of rich purebloods. We, you understand yourself, do not belong to the rich."
Now it is clear why my manipulations do not cause any attention—energy control does not allow it to disperse to the sides, and all of it goes into action. But wand magic according to the local school, in terms of energy efficiency, is like hammering nails with a microscope, and with a strong background to boot.
"Clear... That is, I move out to the match together with the Weasleys?"
"Yes. Our parents agreed to depart together. Weasleys, generally, are funny. Try to befriend everyone with everyone. I also remember, when I was small, often visited them. If more wizards lived here, everyone would gather there. Friends of Charlie and Bill also always came for the summer. It was fun."
Cedric plunged into memories for a moment, but quickly returned to the mortal world.
"Cedric, and you moved by apparition?"
"Don't ask to teach," he refused with a strict expression on his face, and I didn't even ask this question. "It is very dangerous without special rings, and I don't have them."
"And won't tell how it should be done?"
"Naturally. Or else you'll try, get splinched, one head or half a body will move, and that's it, die a stupid and nasty death. Do you need it? Seriously, don't try. Chance to end like this isn't worth it. First apparitions are the most difficult."
"But it is so... Necessary!"
"No-no. I, of course, will ask the guys, maybe someone will get rings, but they are with the ministry. And a certain level of skills in magic is needed. In general, without rings—don't ask."
"Eh, pity. Useful skill."
"Don't despair," Cedric patted me on the shoulder. "You'll learn yet. Everything has its time."
Cedric looked at the sky.
"So. Time for me to go. Promised to help father, and here I am."
"Thanks for dropping by."
"Well, how else?"
Cedric disappeared into a funnel of space distortion, and I, bad boy, felt how he does it. Remains to get the theory... Instruction, what one needs to think about at the moment of this magic. Although, I strongly doubt that there is a big emphasis on formulas—energy blazed not weakly, which means there is no talk of calculations. Most likely, a certain image of the place, at least shard knowledge of the elf and other mages leads to this thought. There, of course, are no specifics on such movements, but it's like instinct together with logic.
. . . . .
Staying as a guest at the Weasleys' meant peace only at night. Morning, afternoon, evening—something was constantly happening, some activity was always underway. Going somewhere, doing something, playing Quidditch—albeit not on Sleipnir, but still an interesting experience that showed poor Ron that it's not about the broom. Unfortunately, this didn't convince him, but I don't care.
De-gnoming the garden was quite the amusement. Finding a tiny wrinkled vegetable-man, cursing like a dockworker, by the way, but always in the same sequence—funny. Spinning him around and throwing him far away—also funny. No, seriously. I understand that in a couple of years this would get boring, but the twins invent various devices to deal with them. This month, for example, they built a small but very powerful trebuchet. A gnome sees a radish, completely ignores the loop trap made of rope, walks in, takes the radish, the mechanism triggers, and the squealing, and sometimes cursing, gnome flies away from the garden on a parabolic trajectory. In general, the twins don't care about anything; only Ron suffers.
Percy—no one sees him. According to Ginny, he has turned into a Ministry worker ghost who comes late in the evening and leaves early in the morning. Everyone knows he exists, but no one has seen him. Ginny herself turned out to be something of a tomboy, "one of the guys." Yes, not without girlish manners and habits; in the mornings she rushes around the house in a floral robe over pajamas and is a little embarrassed by her appearance when she catches my eye. But overall—a tomboy. She's never at a loss for words, fights back in a verbal duel with the twins in no time, and Ron is generally an outsider here. And she's not averse to learning something new. Probably that's why she and Hermione got along—girly magazines, ruffles and frills, cosmetics, and the like occupy too small a role in their lives.
I also found an opportunity for myself to practice magic, albeit in a limited format. During morning exercises, and after them, I simply went to the grove where the twins hang out, concentrated completely on magic control, created a whip from my wand, and began weaving the control of this whip into my elven training. This is not a problem, since the training itself easily allows using anything as an additional "apparatus," as a weapon, even a stool.
A couple of days into our stay as guests, the operation to transport Harry Potter to the Burrow took place. Mr. Weasley, the twins, and Ron went to his house via Floo powder, which, of course, caused me doubts about the adequacy of the decision, but who am I to argue with these enthusiasts? If they want to mess up someone's life—more power to them, as long as they don't mess up mine. They returned half an hour later with Harry and his things, and Mr. Weasley kept rambling about "fascinating plugs." And he didn't pester me with questions about Muggle things. But here, it seems, he saw that Potter relaxes from such conversations and it amuses him, distracting him from his pressing problems. And Mr. Weasley, by the way, understands everything, being quite knowledgeable about the things of ordinary people, but not ordinary people as such. In general, he simply mocks those who are infuriated by his deliberately ridiculous questioning. Well, unless they are children, of course.
How did I realize that Mr. Weasley is a sort of troll? A couple of times he told stories about how he had to remove joking, but potentially dangerous charms from items of ordinary people, since he works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. In general, several times he showed himself to be quite knowledgeable in very different things, including electronics, albeit slightly outdated, tube-based.
On the same day Potter joined us, a trip to Diagon Alley for shopping took place. According to Mr. Weasley, right now is the best moment. Locals are focused on the World Cup Final, those who didn't manage in time or something similar are taking seats, and visitors who bothered with this in advance haven't flooded everything around yet—for a day or two Diagon Alley won't be particularly lively, which means you can buy everything you need without unnecessary fuss and pushing. Well, we bought it. True, we also had to buy dress robes. What for? I don't know, but Mr. Weasley knows. Knows, and stays silent. Maybe grow an elven dress uniform at Hogwarts? With slight changes to the local style—why not? But I'll deal with this at Hogwarts. I'm even curious, what kind of occasion is this?
I didn't really communicate with Potter, as I preferred to do business, and he, along with Ron, preferred to spit at the ceiling. And fly on a broom sometimes, playing Quidditch with us, but there's no time for talking there—just fun. Hermione behaved not particularly friendly with the guys, still harboring a grudge, but she drove everyone with homework, under Ginny's quiet chuckles—the redhead did everything, and even more than necessary. The elder Weasleys were touched, Ron and Harry didn't know where to run, Percy knew nothing about this, as he was at work all the time, and the twins and I came together in the field of designing traps for gnomes.
True, on the twenty-second, our entire design bureau had to be liquidated in a hurry—the garden turned into one big trap, and Mrs. Weasley got very angry. Strongly and loudly: "Dismantle these towns of yours, rascals, immediately, or I'll launch you yourselves with your own trebuchets into the nearest grove. You, Hector, dearie, this, of course, does not concern." But I knew it concerned me.
In general, quite a nice place, this Weasley family house. It's lively here, everything is magical, even the walls, cozy—a sea of effort and time has been invested in this. Even when Hermione, Ginny, and I worked with textbooks on runes—the redhead decided to choose Runes as one of the subjects—all this fuss and movement around did not distract at all, but gave a feeling of some kind of liveliness.
In the evening of the twenty-third, preparations for a mini-hike began. It was necessary to pack things, prepare provisions, all sorts of necessary and not-so-necessary containers, camping cauldrons. Because in the morning we meet Cedric's father, Amos Diggory, and go together to the tent camp of the World Cup Final. Let's see what it all looks like at a professional, not a school level. This should be interesting!
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