HPTH: Chapter 66
Almost everyone around me sat with various variations of Omnioculars—means of optical tracking based on mechanics and charms.
"Lend?" Cedric handed me one of the devices in the form of a monocular. "Or else I have many different variations. Thought you wouldn't have one."
"No, I see everything anyway."
"Yes he's lying everything," Draco was indignant, leaning forward a little to look at me through mom.
"Am I bothering you, young people?" Lady Malfoy looked first at him, then at me.
"Not at all, lady," I smiled. "And anyway better if with peripheral vision I see you."
"Hm?"
"Do I really need to explain the reasons for such a prioritization?"
"Granger!" Draco was indignant, hearing everything perfectly.
Hearing her surname, Hermione turned around from the front row, and we simultaneously asked: "What?".
"Tsk... Too much Granger..." Draco quietly was indignant, but special charms of the Minister's box allowed hearing the interlocutor, while not drowning out events on the field and the noise of fans.
"Too much Granger," I parodied Draco, and did it qualitatively, simultaneously recalling someone else who is more than one wizard. "Too much Weasley, too much Creevey, too much Greengrass... With such claims you are clearly at the wrong address."
"And why would that be?"
I was amused how Mr. Malfoy sighed sadly, but did not interrupt.
"Well, you know, the question of the numerical superiority of the Malfoy family over others is outside my competence."
"What?"
"Young people," Lady Malfoy looked strictly at us. "I strongly ask you to stop this obscenity, otherwise I will take measures."
Draco gulped and calmed down, and I chuckled and sat more comfortably, watching the game.
"Does something confuse you, Mr. Granger?" asked Lady Malfoy, raising one eyebrow Snape-like—they definitely know each other and communicate.
"One of the reasons for Mr. Malfoy's outstanding endurance before Veela charms became clear to me."
And meanwhile the Irish sent the first Quaffle into the Bulgarian hoops. Spectators rejoiced, and a whole green wave passed through the stadium. The commentator, in the role of whom Mr. Bagman acted, enthusiastically, but briefly told about the combination carried out by Irish Chasers.
In the very first five minutes of the game, the strengths and weaknesses of both teams became clear to me. Let's say so, the Irish are strong precisely as a team, while each individual Bulgarian is better than an Irishman in a similar role. But there is almost no team play among Bulgarians—a kind of team of stars.
On the big screen, where text advertisements used to be, particularly sharp moments of the game, players with the Quaffle or scoring moments were broadcast. Team mascots supported their own and raged at particularly significant moments. In general, quite an understandable game, dynamic and interesting.
"What do you think," Cedric began to speak, tearing himself away from watching the game through Omnioculars and turning to me. "Could you notice the Snitch on such a field?"
"I see it anyway," I shrugged, causing surprise in everyone next to me. "What?"
"Yes you're lying again," Draco was indignant.
"There it is," I pointed my hand to the far part of the field, where a practically invisible golden ball rushed. It was really practically impossible to notice it if you didn't know where to look, and you had to look practically at it.
"Where?!"
"There."
"Young people..."
We pulled ourselves together again, although I continued to point my hand at the moving Snitch so that Draco and Cedric could track it. Well or try.
"See!" they exclaimed simultaneously. "How?"
"Yes because I don't want to play the role of Seeker—for me it is wildly boring."
"It still needs to be caught."
"You know that this is not a problem, don't you?" I smirked, leaning forward to look at Draco through his mom.
Lady Malfoy almost imperceptibly took the wand out of her sleeve and moved it slightly. I felt a light, insignificant and generally, almost joking curse that tried to unfold in my energy, but instantly and almost reflexively straining my will, gathered it into a heap and sent it back. Draco did not possess such talents, and therefore instantly stuck to the back of the chair, while maintaining perfect posture and forcibly looking at the field. Exactly the same fate befell Lady Malfoy, to her indignation. True, very well hidden indignation.
This did not go unnoticed by Draco's father, and he in his arrogant manner asked:
"Should I be indignant?"
"And indeed," I agreed with him, like: "Yes, worth it". "Someone is scattering all sorts of joking curses, and this at such a responsible event. Pranksters. And the main thing—not for the first time already, imagine?"
"Indeed," Mr. Malfoy nodded, straightened up and looked at the field. "However, I propose to leave the search for the guilty to competent authorities, and for us—to enjoy the game."
"Fully agree with you."
"Lucius-s..." Lady Malfoy hissed quietly at her husband.
"Yes, dear? Did something happen? Ah, I never cease to remind you what wonderful posture you have."
"Father..." Draco hissed in a similar way. "I can't move."
"I don't consider this such an inconvenience. At least for me."
Nevertheless, Mr. Malfoy knocked with his cane, and I felt Lady Malfoy relax—the curse definitely fell off her. But not off Draco. Well, this is not my business. Although I wouldn't remove it myself either—he is painfully unrestrained, does not fit into the Malfoy image.
But, no matter how much interesting things happen in our box, the game continues, and the Bulgarians finally scored the first goal, and the score became thirty to ten in favor of Ireland. Veelas danced for a couple of seconds, celebrating this goal, and this amusing effect appeared again, but extremely short-term.
The game went on, Cedric and I enthusiastically watched and discussed its nuances and eventually came to the conclusion that the tactics of the Irish game are very similar to ours, only if we have a key Chaser in my person around whom tactics are built, then the Irish have every Chaser equally good. And Bulgarians are for the most part Gryffindors—their tactics are built on individual skill of each player, and the main stake is on Krum.
Time passed, the Irish scored one goal after another, and here the score became one hundred and thirty to ten—Bulgarians could not improve their results. This forced them to play tougher, and Veelas became more and more assertive in moments of support. Bulgarians began to violate. Here they were already assigned a penalty, Leprechauns flew over the field in their half in a kind of flash mob, putting together various words from themselves. Veelas didn't like this, and they danced and sang more assertively, almost seducing the referee. He turned out to be restrained enough to keep himself relatively in hand, but could not resist landing on the field next to the Veelas and starting to pose like a bodybuilder, dashingly twisting his mustache, and generally...
To bring the referee to his senses, a Healer was sent, and he applied a truly magical method of treating ailments—kicked the referee. The referee decided, like: "Enough tolerating this", and tried to remove the support group of Bulgarians from the field, which caused indignation of the team in red clothes. Two Beaters went down to the ground next to the referee, an argument began, resulting in two more penalties... The theater of the absurd was gaining momentum. Inflamed by all this situation, Leprechauns began to openly mock Veelas, giggling and putting together words from themselves. Veelas did not remain in debt, and created fireballs on their palms, throwing them at Leprechauns. At the same time, Veelas themselves transformed—their faces lengthened, heads looked like birds', and pairs of leathery wings appeared behind their backs.
While all this absurdity was happening below, the game continued to gain momentum—Bulgarians really are very similar to Slytherins and Gryffindors. They began to play very tough. Bludgers flew at opponents, Beaters hit with bats everything they could reach, and it does not necessarily have to be a Bludger. The Irish continued to score.
At one fine moment the Irish Seeker sharply rushed to the side, and this differed from the usual lure—he really saw the Snitch. Krum rushed after him, gradually catching up. Here Lynch, and that was the name of the Irish Seeker, began to perform the Wronski Feint, diving to the ground. Of course, not just like that—the Snitch simply flew there. Krum after him. Once during the game he already caught the opponent's Seeker on this trick, and... Lynch again failed to come out of the dive, crashing to the ground, and Krum caught the Snitch.
"Krum caught the Snitch!!!" Bagman shouted. "But Ireland wins with a score of one hundred and seventy against one hundred and sixty!!! Well who would have thought!!!"
"In principle," I smiled, looking at the general chaos. "I guessed it would be so."
"Yes?" Cedric looked at me.
"Yes. In the first minutes of the game I understood what exactly the teams represent, but Krum—is a much stronger and more talented flyer. Let him not notice the Snitch first, but he is faster on the same broom and controls it much better—this decided. You know, battle of Seekers—battle of flyers. Well, if circumstances do not knock both out of chasing the Snitch."
"Well, they fought bravely," spoke the man sitting next to Fudge.
It seems this was the Bulgarian Minister for Magic.
"You speak English!" Fudge was indignant. "And you watched all day how I explain myself with gestures!"
"Well, it was funny," the Bulgarian Minister for Magic smiled.
Then the cup was brought into our box, teams entered, everyone was congratulated, shook hands, and I was surprised how clumsy Krum was on the ground—stooped and with an implicit defect of feet, because of which it was not particularly convenient for him to walk. Although, this may explain his talent for flight—only there he feels free. I knew such people, or rather not I, but the pilot shard—there were a couple of disabled people who are aces in space, but cannot relieve themselves without outside help.
After presenting prizes, all sorts of congratulations and praise, spectators began to disperse, and we included. Pretty soon we found ourselves in the general stream of wizards moving to the tent camp, and shouts of joy, celebration and other beginning lawlessness were heard around. Nothing unusual. Quite quickly Cedric and I reached our tent, and on the way I met at least a dozen wizards who cheered for Bulgaria before the match, and now celebrate in green Irish paraphernalia among their fans—quickly they changed camp, nothing to say.
"How are you, staying here?" asked Cedric. "Personally I will go celebrate."
"Yes, stay. I'm exhausted for the day."
"Well, as you know."
Cedric quickly dumped somewhere, and I went into the tent and without undressing lay down on my made bed, pondering what I saw, and especially about Veela charms—the topic turned out to be painfully interesting.
Don't know how much time I spent in thoughts, but outside the noise of fun changed to distinct panic, screams and bustle. I immediately jumped out of bed and left the tent. In the night people in panic ran towards the forest. There, ahead, under the black sky a glow flared up, but not of fires, but of conflagrations—smoke gave them away. Now and then flashes of spells sparkled in the distance, screams, panic, explosions.
First thought—find Hermione. But I immediately discarded it due to the impossibility of doing such a thing on such a huge area. Well, nothing—there is a bunch of Weasleys, and an adult wizard. One way or another, but she is in relative safety. I myself am in much less safety. Whatever is happening there, it is better to stick with the crowd—if anything, will "cover" not immediately. Looking into the tent, threw my things into the backpack with magic—this did not take even ten seconds. Throwing the backpack over the shoulder, ran out of the tent—the flow of people had not stopped yet, although it was becoming rarer. I rushed together with everyone to the forest.
Running was easy, but for greater effect I took off the training bracelet and threw it into the backpack. Restless thoughts did not leave me, and behind my back spells sparkled, fires flared up, explosions thundered.
Here is a hill ahead, and there, higher, after a hundred meters of way, the undergrowth began. Literally at the very first tree I stopped and hid behind it, looking at the camp. The view opened not full, but even so it was possible to make out several growing centers of some lawlessness, fires, explosions and flashes of magic, particularly disturbing of which were green. Not immediately, but I understood where the anxiety came from—energy of death hovered in the air. Not some mystical, but born from the fact of torment and precisely the process of forced death—once sensing and realizing such a thing, will not confuse with anything. Let this experience be in the life of shards, but it was.
Forcing energy in the body to improve already perfect vision, I made out many groups of people in black robes and masks—it was they who created all the lawlessness and chaos. They burned and destroyed the camp, threw explosive and other spells under the feet of those running away, and in some cases directly at people, surely killing. This picture excited shards of a dwarf and an elf who passed through more than one magical battle. Hands themselves reached to fight back, hard. Just like other scattered wizards who tried to confront this black-robed mass.
Two robed figures closer to me destroyed another tent, and a girl ran out of the formed rubble, or from somewhere nearby. One of the robed figures threw some spell under her feet that heaved the ground and dropped the girl. The second clearly laughed—cannot interpret these convulsions otherwise from such a distance. He pointed a wand in her direction and a green ray broke from it, but missed—the girl actively crawled, trying to get up, but falling. The wizard laughed again. Only because of this ray something changed in the energy of death. Annoying.
The elf was a Healer. A professional who saved many lives. But he also ruined lives with his own hands no less, if not more. Sick? Treat. Robber? Cripple. These black guys definitely do not belong to the camp of goodness, chewing gum and pink ponies. But... From such a distance, three hundred meters, I can hit only from one weapon...
Like it or not, I activated the bracelet-bow, and with the other hand, without thinking, like a reflex with which an archer takes an arrow out of a quiver, transfigured a simple feathered arrow from the air, which should disintegrate after fulfilling its direct purpose. Bow in hand, aim, thought: "Overtake and kill my target". Click of the bowstring, whistle, and the arrow disappeared in the moonlight scattered in smoke, to pierce the robed figure's head through in a moment. While the arrow flew, I was already creating a second one, and when the enemy was defeated, the second arrow went for a new target—the second robed figure. He, by the way, didn't understand at all, as it seems to me, what happened to his comrade—so died in ignorance from the arrow.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Cedric, immediately putting away the bow—cannot shine it, and cannot use it anymore, otherwise I will be bad. I didn't try to hide particularly, so he noticed me and quickly approached, hiding by the same tree and breathing heavily.
"Phew... I thought that... something happened to you," he clearly felt relief. "Let's move further into the forest. The Ministry will take everything under control soon."
Battles on one side subside, and there are fewer robed figures, but on the other... On the other everything is not so rosy.
"Move."
I turned around and moved further into the forest, and Cedric followed me.
"What is happening?" I asked a question, hearing the movement of the tired guy and knowing that he walks a couple of meters to the side.
"Death Eaters looked like that."
"Who? Did they not disappear after the fall of the Dark Lord?"
"You know?"
"Read."
"Maybe imitators. Yes, most likely... Phew... How do you walk so fast, and without any noise?"
"Don't know, and doesn't matter. Look, someone is there."
I pointed to a barely visible light source, and we moved towards it. After a couple of dozen meters a very shallow ravine appeared from behind the trees, like a trench. A group of very young wizards and witches hid in it, who in what, but mostly in nightgowns, pajamas and so on... Although, what the hell young? Cedric's peers. As many as five pieces...
Two immediately jumped up, pointing wands at us, but quickly realized that we—are not those guys in robes.
"We have wounded. Do you have potions?" immediately asked an agitated guy in competent English, but with a wildest accent, which I could not unequivocally attribute to any specific language.
"Um, no..."
Cedric and I quickly approached and jumped into the ravine. In the light of Lumos, which the wounded girl held, I saw injuries of three guys who did not jump up. Clear fracture of the leg in the girl with Lumos, cut by fragments guy unconscious, whose arms and legs were competently bandaged, depriving venous blood flow—arteries not touched. Another girl clearly damaged her head, clamped the wound, and blond hair was in blood. Under her on the ground were clear traces of vomit, and a thin trail of corresponding smell hinted, yes.
I immediately knelt next to the girl with a head injury, carefully lifted her head by the chin—redness of the whites of the eyes, unfocused vision, reacts not particularly well to Lumos light. So... And as luck would have it, I don't know local magic capable of helping. Well, and what is there elven? Minor and Medium Healing? Well yes...
Touching the girl's temple with a wand, I caused wary looks from those who met us.
"Do you know what you are doing?"
"I want to become a Healer," I shrugged and began to form a spell contour from life energy right in the girl's head, which was not easy, because had to overcome the energy resistance of the body.
However, resistance, although it was, eventually turned out to be weak—I control magic, releasing it with thinnest threads, and a semblance of contact area comes into force—the smaller, the easier. Unlike my modifications, classic healing works quickly, but only with injuries, and preferably non-magical—just our case. Literally a couple of seconds, and the girl's condition began to improve, although I can say for sure that she will lose a kilogram because of this.
"Well here, soon it will become easier, but will want to eat very much..."
"She doesn't speak English," spoke the same guy with a strange accent.
"Understood."
Moving to the wounded guy, repeated the maneuver with creating a spell inside the body. I do this only so that no one sees the formation of the contour from different symbols and threads—it has visual manifestation. A couple of seconds, and in those places where the guy's clothes were torn, could see how wounds tighten, and he himself regains consciousness—the one who spoke with an accent began to explain the situation to him.
Taking up the examination of the girl's leg, who still held Lumos, I came to the conclusion that without Skele-Gro I won't cope. More precisely, the girl won't cope. But remove inflammation, anesthetize, make reposition if the bone shifted a little and apply a splint—this is possible, Minor Healing will cope with this.
"Transfigure..." I turned to Cedric, but doubted that he knows what is needed. "Need to apply a splint."
"Ah, know, understood," he nodded and transfigured bandages and a couple of planks from rags underfoot. "Also broke, father fixed my leg and explained why and how. There were no potions then."
When I patched up the girl a little, Cedric volunteered to apply a splint.
"This is not treatment, understand?" I asked the girl with Lumos on the wand, and she nodded silently.
"Oh, kiddies!" among the trees ten meters from us appeared three robed figures.
I didn't understand myself how, but sharply retreated into the shadow behind one of the guys, wrapped myself in magic to hide and quickly got out of the ravine, moving in an arc to the opponents.
"Got lucky!" said another.
The guys who were conscious and able to do something sharply snatched out wands, but immediately lost them—robed figures used Expelliarmus.
Even a cook-elf turns into a real threat in the forest. A person with elf skills—a problematic opponent. A wizard with leaky memory of an old elf—extremely ambiguous. But specifically at the moment these wizards, whose manner of movement betrayed more criminal rednecks than exactly wizards, and voices with smirks, corresponding... In general, I saw only robbers whom the elf sent to the next world by hundreds. Saw enemies whom the dwarf crushed with a hammer and halved with an ax. In them you see enemies, impersonal and dangerous, capable of harming those whom you yourself willy-nilly appointed as your patients.
The bow itself appeared in one hand, and an arrow in the other. Enemies almost on one line, and the arrow rushed into the far one, piercing the head. Inarticulate dying "Bu-eh...", and the enemy falls, and the other two turn their heads to him.
Dash forward, concentration of life energy in the hand, touch of the back of the nearest robed figure in the heart area—threads of life energy instantly entangle the heart, obeying my will. A moment, and his body cognizes the other side of this energy—death as a biological process and instant rotting.
"Ar..." the man settles with a wheeze.
The remaining robed figure turns sharply in my direction with a wand in hand.
"Bombarda!"
As if in a duel, I throw up my hand, in which a wand already rested, and the bow turned back into a bracelet. Without even thinking, put Protego Reflecto and manage to catch an invisible clot of Bombarda on the shield, sending back. The chest of the robed figure bursts with a squelching sound, scattering entrails, blood and bones everywhere, and he himself flies back a couple of meters.
My heart is pounding wildly, but a couple of breaths, and everything returns to normal.
"Ah-h-h," only now one of the girls squeaked, and another, at the sight of partially burst in a bloody fountain enemy, issued a characteristic vomiting sound.
"Need to move on," I expressed my position. "Just don't tell anyone anything."
Only when I gave voice, attention was paid to me. Those who understood nodded, and the guy with an accent quickly translated my words into French and German—polyglot, or what? The guys quickly returned their wands, spending a couple of moments walking around the area. Didn't ask questions, got up and went—amazing submissiveness. Cedric walked nearby, looked around, listened, trying to isolate sounds of danger from gradually subsiding noise there, behind, where we left the destroyed camp. A couple of times he looked at me with reproach, but we silently continued to walk through the forest in the light of a single Lumos. Asking to turn it off is at least unreasonable, because if I am able to move in this darkness, then the rest—are not.
Soon we noticed many similar glows and hurried to the light—a rather large group of wizards organized a small halt, camp, if you will. There was also security here, wizards from which checked us and let to the rest. Here was one of our Ministry workers and calmed the mixed-age crowd of wizards, promising help as soon as the situation "settles down".
"You wanted to become a Healer," Cedric asked me in a quiet whisper, maintaining an extremely serious face. Serious, but pale.
"Yes."
"You killed them, didn't you?"
"Not sure," I shook my head.
"But a Healer should help people? Or am I missing something?"
"There are many ways to help people. Can treat patients, and can execute scoundrels."
"But still..." Cedric looked around, if anyone is listening to us. "Thanks, of course, don't get me wrong... Just... I don't understand."
"Did you see green flashes of spells? Saw what these people did, what they wanted to do?"
"Green?"
"Yes. People died from them."
Cedric turned paler than before.
"Avada..."
"Avada?"
"Unforgivable Curse. Instant death."
"Well there... Hope you don't blame me?"
Had to even portray a light, but frequent tremor of hands, in one of which I continued to hold the wand. It was not particularly difficult, because adrenaline makes itself felt one way or another.
"No. No, just..." Cedric rubbed his face with his hands, wearily looking at wizards around. "It's strange."
An hour later, when the glow of fires subsided, a corporeal Patronus appeared in the form of some elongated rat and reported some information to the Ministry employee. As a result, under the strict guidance of this employee and maintaining security around, we moved down the hill in one bunch.
"Need to find father," said Cedric, but father found him earlier.
"Son!" Mr. Diggory literally flew to us through the ashes, and with him several other wizards. "How glad I am!"
He hugged Cedric tighter, and let go only, probably, after half a minute. Looking at me anxiously, Mr. Diggory could not restrain himself, hugged me too.
In general, soon we were all evacuated, true Mr. Diggory contacted Mr. Weasley and reported that I am safe. Mr. Weasley reported the same information about Hermione and the rest. Already half an hour later our groups met, and another half an hour later I went by Portkey together with the Weasley family to their house. Everyone was depressed and outraged by what happened, but, it seems, they are not yet aware that people were killed there, otherwise there would not be all sorts of strange nonsense in their words, and especially in the words of Ron, accusing Malfoys of all sins, and raising the topic of the need to kick their ass and put in Azkaban.
Naturally, our appearance woke up Mrs. Weasley, and she, as soon as she learned the reasons for our unscheduled return, immediately began to prepare a snack, heated chocolate, in general, did what she knew well. Hermione, expressing simply huge concern and trying almost to wrap me in a blanket, feed with chocolate and put to sleep so that nightmares do not dream, and I sat on the sofa near the fireplace. Next on the floor sat Ron and sighed sadly. Opposite Ron, but at the other end of the room, Harry sat on the floor and also sighed.
"But Krum, of course, was on top," Ron smiled. "How he!.. Wow!"
"He behaved very courageously," Hermione nodded.
They discussed the game for some time, quickly distracted from what happened, and I thought... Thought that this year I will have a lot of work—I realized my weakness in local magic, and I don't want to reveal at least those "two and a half" secrets. Yes, a lot of work.
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