The morning of September thirtieth began, as always, with physical exercises. Out of the corner of my ear, I had heard more than once that the guys from Durmstrang also devote a lot of time to physical exercises, running, and the like in the mornings. True, their training place is by the lake, not far from the ship. Should I go out, take a look, run or something? Can't just be content with the stairs in the main tower.
While walking in a tracksuit through the quiet corridors of the castle, I pondered about the Tournament. Overnight, my thoughts fell into order, and the desire to commit hasty and thoughtless actions receded into the background, giving the privilege of ruling the ball in my head to common sense.
The Fire of the Tribunal is an extremely strong energy substance, and it is strong by no means with some burning, destructive power. This flame can be used absolutely however you like, but for correct use, several things are needed: a certain condition set by the wizard; someone or something satisfying or not satisfying the condition; an effect set by the wizard, depending on the fulfillment or non-fulfillment of the condition.
A simple example of using the Tribunal is protection. You create a circle of tribunal fire, and set a condition—a wizard passing through it must, for example, wish you only good. If this is so, then nothing happens to him. If this is not so, then you can choose some action, but the simplest is to burn the enemy. There is simply a wildest multitude of usage options. Can be used in rituals where the tribunal flame will play the role of either insurance or a guarantor of receiving exactly what is needed from the ritual. True, the Tribunal has one limitation—it cannot fulfill a condition for which it does not have enough energy. But that is why it is the Tribunal, an immutable, incorruptible flame. It will fulfill the condition, but in return may take something. For example, life.
The elf's memory shard claims that those few wizards who could undergo affinity with the Tribunal and obtain an almost infinite source of such powers were almost national treasures of different eras. The trick is that to use the Tribunal, unlike other energies, one does not need to possess phenomenal mental abilities. One can be a complete log—the Tribunal will complete the necessary images for you.
For this very reason, I need a sample of this flame to check compatibility, which most likely will be high, save the sample, and then, someday, conduct the necessary rituals. The problem is that this flame obeys only and exclusively the one who summoned it. Plus this restraining Goblet surely exerts a certain influence—I simply won't be able to "scoop" it up, but the Tournament...
The Tribunal always gives something in return. I will never believe if I am told that the flame in the Goblet only chooses champions. It surely tracks their progress, and then, based on the results, chooses the most worthy regardless of the judges' opinion. It can give something, something very significant, and this will depend on the efforts invested in the victory—the Tribunal always observes the balance. The one chosen by the flame may not even know about it, but if he wishes something strongly, the Tribunal will fulfill it, and if there is not enough energy, it will take something in return. But it will fulfill, give the right to appeal to the flame, establish a connection. This is what I need.
I stopped in the Entrance Hall, looking at the stool on which stood a casket, and on its lid—the Goblet of Fire. This whole structure stood in the middle of a glowing circle with a radius of about three meters. Approaching close to the circle, I listened to the sensations from the blue flame in the Goblet—this is definitely the Tribunal.
Thoughts flowed in the right direction again. Not necessary to participate. Can help the Hogwarts champion win, and ask him in the end for permission to hold the Goblet of Fire, appeal to it. Will need to formulate the request so that it does not look suspicious. Or ask the champion to mentally appeal to the flame and ask it for a "piece" for me. Yes, I think something like that can be organized. Especially if Cedric becomes the champion, whose candidacy is almost unanimously supported by the entire house.
"Hey, Hector," Ernie's sleepy voice rang out from the side.
Turning around, I saw a truly sleepy roommate carrying a chair in his hands.
"Hi. Why do you need a chair?"
"Want to set up an observation post here and chronicle events..."
In the flame of the Goblet, everything looked quite mystical, bluish, because the castle hall is poorly lit at this early time.
"Don't want to upset you..."
I pointed my hand to several rows of benches, different in height and allowing, probably, the entire school and guests to take seats here without embarrassment and observe... well, whatever they want to observe.
"Hmm..." Ernie looked at the benches, at the chair in his hands, at the benches again. "But I'll have a backrest, and a soft seat. There."
He even nodded as if trying to convince himself of his own words.
"You're a wizard, Ernie."
"There is that..."
"Drink tea, man, you haven't woken up. Transfiguration."
"It's easier for me to drag a chair than to transfigure it constantly."
"And will you sit here? Until evening?"
"No, of course not. Most likely I'll change my mind in about three hours."
"Well, as you know, and I'm going running," waving my hand, I went to the exit from the castle.
Inhaling the fresh morning air, cool, but not freezing, like yesterday or a couple of days ago, I checked if the training bracelets work well, drove a little life energy through the body, completely bringing every cell into "combat readiness", and only after that jogged, winding along the almost gentle slope, collecting dew from still green grass with sneakers. Ready to bet, an hour ago it was not dew, but frost. Hope the greenery lasts another month before becoming gloomy and dark, or generally, dry and dead.
Reaching the lake, the ship anchored near the shore, I ran along this very shore. What can I say—not sand here, oh not sand. Large, clumsy stones, and if just walking along the shore, then there will be no problems at all, but running, and running fast—is a completely different matter. Yes, got used to it and adapted in a minute, but experienced discomfort.
Running along the shore, admiring the mountains, hills and the surface of the lake disappearing in the gray fog out of the corner of my eye, turned into a grove and ran back, but already through the undergrowth. After some time ran out to the ship again, and noticed a rather interesting picture.
Durmstrang students stood on the shore at a decent distance from each other and facing the water. They were dressed in a brown sports uniform—and where did they even find such a color solution—and, oddly enough, did some semblance of group exercises. How long have I been running there already? Fifteen minutes? Route I chose for myself is not weak. In general, they have clearly finished with the warm-up, and now, when I went down to the shore from the undergrowth, they lifted heavy staffs from the ground and began to synchronously perform sets of exercises.
Running up to them, but observing a respectful distance, began to run in place, looking at their training with a staff. In some of their movements and strikes, the use of spells through this very staff begs itself. Amusing school they seem to have. Clear attention to physical training, and this is good, because in a healthy body, as is known, a healthy spirit, and together it is—strong magic. Well, or maybe they have some special division by houses, and all of them came from one where there is a bias towards such training? Quite possibly, and considering that the guys now and then slip movements and habits characteristic of the military who washed away from the unit far away, try to relax, but habit makes itself felt... Ah, well them, anything can happen.
"Hi..."
While I was thinking, Krum ran up to me, and, following my example, began to run in place.
"Hi. Not cold?" I nodded at the fact that he is only in a T-shirt.
"No. Just right."
Turning around, could not help but notice a crowd of motley older girls and in Hogwarts uniform... Ah no, there are also younger representatives of the fair sex. And all of them are hesitating something, somewhat tired, flushed, and in their hands quills, posters, leaflets, magical photos.
"Are they running after you?"
"Yes," Krum nodded.
"Like... Running?"
"Yes."
"Hmm... Well, maybe at least this way they will start doing sports."
Krum smiled.
"Yes."
Shrugging, I turned around and ran further along the shore. Krum, apparently, trained not so much running as various movements of arms and legs during racewalking. Well, maybe a Seeker has a different training, different from the rest?
Finishing with running, returned to the castle and engaged in my "elven gymnastics"—I preferred not to show it to anyone. This is, after all, a full-fledged system, and even for a not very knowledgeable person this is obvious, and inventing explanations for what it is and where I got it—too troublesome. Easier to hide.
Shower and putting myself in order—these are the next stages. Since today is officially a day off, I decided to wear ordinary but formal clothes, not a uniform—a blue turtleneck, trousers and comfortable shoes. Glancing in the mirror that Zacharias attached to the door of the nook with all sorts of general junk, for the second time in six months convinced myself of the magnificence of myself in general, and physique in particular, which, by the way, becomes more and more healthy and athletic, and here I am already in the Great Hall, having breakfast with the rest. Classes are not expected on this day, which means the day, in principle, is free. However, I still want to spend some part of it on developing a method for bypassing Dumbledore's prohibiting line. Even if I changed my mind about participating, it is interesting to throw such a challenge to my ingenuity.
"Hi, Hector," Cedric sat down next to me. "Didn't see you in the common room."
"And I didn't linger there. Hi."
"Listen, have a talk."
"Can it wait until the end of breakfast?"
"Undoubtedly," the Prefect nodded.
Cedric didn't look worried, but even on the contrary—was slightly pleased with something. After breakfast, Cedric and I left the Great Hall, and we went into one of the unused classrooms on the ground floor—even if there were fewest of them here, but they were there. Cedric cast various silencing and privacy charms, and only after that spoke.
"The twins asked for a batch of warming amulets."
"Hmm. A bit late."
"As demand dictates, I assume," Cedric smiled his duty smile. "As frosts hit, the kids thought it was time to do something about it."
"Should offer them to the French too."
"Sensible thought, by the way. Think the twins took this moment into account too—they asked for a hundred. Real?"
"More than," I nodded. "Will do now. Today wanted to pick at the forbidden line, see how names will be thrown."
"Looking for a way to participate?"
"Wanted at first, what's the sin to hide," I smiled. "But then abandoned this idea. I, of course, am good, but it's not worth it, and sure, there will be more than one or two students more knowledgeable in magic, and therefore more worthy."
"Possibly," Cedric answered neutrally. "When approximately to expect amulets? I need to somehow orient myself in affairs for the day."
"Think in two-three hours."
"Excellent. Then, meet in the common room."
"As always."
Having solved this issue, we went about our business. Cedric rushed off to deal with problems inherent to prefects, and I—to the room. Time to uncover the anvil and hammer.
The process went, as always—easily and simply. Transfiguration of a drop-shaped pendant with fixing transfiguration—a hundred repetitions. Forging using an anvil on wheels and a hammer with replaceable impact parts—a hundred repetitions. In my nook, hidden from prying eyes and isolated in terms of all sorts of sounds, the process went easily and simply, like clockwork. And after the designated period I went out into the common room. Almost empty common room—only a couple of junior students frantically scribbled essays, and another couple—studied one of the herbaceous plants that tried to grab unlucky herbologists by the fingers with a small mouth at the tip.
I waited for Cedric for no longer than five minutes—the prefect literally flew into the common room, out of breath and with a bag over his shoulder. Seeing me, beamed, waved his hand, like: "Follow me" and we went into a place hidden from prying eyes, which Cedric immediately secured with charms. Acted without unnecessary words and according to the old scheme—I took the backpack off my shoulder, took out the wand, and with magic forced amulets from my backpack to fly into Cedric's bag. Upon completion of the procedure, we silently nodded to each other and headed away from the common room. Cedric rushed headlong somewhere along the corridors, and I headed to the Entrance Hall of the castle.
In the Entrance Hall, on benches and next to them, gathered, probably, a third of the students. Everyone was busy with something of their own, or in the company of other guys—wrote essays, played chess, loudly discussed something, argued. Some simply ate sweets or snacks. They pursued one goal, as I understand—to see who else will throw a name into the Goblet. Dubious spectacle, but there are no particularly exciting activities at Hogwarts, and here is such an event.
Seeing my groupmates on the upper rows of benches, I made my way to them and sat nearby.
"What are you doing?"
"Homework," the guys answered synchronously and without much enthusiasm.
Justin turned to me, holding a large textbook on his knees, and a scroll of parchment on it. In his hands was a quill, but not a simple one, but enchanted—there is always ink in it, and it does not stain anything. Convenient thing, but I don't need it—calligraphy is in my blood.
"Not very convenient," he began to speak. "But at least not wasting time in vain."
"And what about the library? Or else I heard that Madam Pince is building barricades there?"
"Ah," Justin waved it off, and the others diligently wrote text. "Exaggerating. She just closed the library for today. They say someone made a mess there, and the librarian harbored a grudge against everyone. With the Headmaster's permission, of course. So that part in our schedule dedicated to the library falls out for today."
I settled more comfortably nearby and also took out writing utensils and parchment, only instead of a book as a stand, I transfigured a table, like on a plane or somewhere else—it was attached to the bench I sit on. Turned out quite convenient, and don't disturb those sitting in front. And here there are also backrests, on the top row. Not otherwise than so that negligent students do not tumble down head first from here.
"Eh..." Justin sighed. "I don't succeed in such free transfiguration."
"It's a matter of magic control and maximally clear representation. Then it works out without formulas. Or else no memory is enough for formulas for all occasions. So, general equations for the type of material, and enough."
"Yes understandable, just..."
"Stop chatting, huh? Please," asked Susan sitting on the side of Justin. "Let's finish writing everything already and do nothing with a clear conscience."
So we did. For a whole twenty minutes. Exactly until two students from Ravenclaw headed to the Goblet. Fifth year, or sixth—don't know for sure. Of course such a thing attracted my attention, and the attention of the others present. Everyone fell silent, the scratching of quills, rustling of book pages ceased, and it seemed as if even animated chess pieces on boards of some avid players turned their gaze to the Goblet.
Two guys approached the line, checked something against records, stood opposite each other, took out wands and for five seconds, no less, drew intricate squiggles, and at the very end pronounced quite loudly:
"Caesanectum."
Slow sparkling clots of silver color broke from the tips of their wands, hit the guys and... Nothing happened. A second, another, and here the guys seemed to stretch slightly in height, their hair lengthened, as well as nails, as if they fully aged by no less than a year and a half.
Nodding to each other, the guys took out pre-prepared sheets, which turned out to be difficult with elongated nails. Such a thing caused quiet chuckles, but without offensive intonations. Here they stepped over the line and nothing happened. As soon as they began to stretch out hands with papers towards the Goblet, the line on the floor lit up brighter, and with a rather loud click and bright flash the guys flew away, immediately growing gray hair and beards.
This caused chuckles and hooting, but no more than that.
"Plus two," Justin stated a fact, looking after the gloomy guys walking away from the hall towards the main tower, and holding their backs.
"And the total score?"
"Dumbledore—students, six—zero."
"Amusing. Did girls try?"
Hearing my question, Hannah leaned slightly forward, looking at me through Justin.
"Do you really think that any girl would want to age in front of the entire school in case of failure?"
"You never know," I shrugged. "Suddenly a self-confident one will be found?"
"Unlikely..."
The hall filled with the hum of students again, busy with who knows what, and we continued to write, do homework. About forty minutes later another attempt happened to bypass the line with the help of magic, but ended exactly the same—one elderly student went to the Hospital Wing.
"Hmm..." I thought, looking after this gray-bearded student hunched over from sciatica or something else. "Are they going to the Hospital Wing?"
"Yeah," Justin nodded, putting a period in his essay. "There, at the entrance to the hall, is a large announcement. Everyone who believing in themselves receives punishment for self-confidence must go to the Hospital Wing to continue disciplinary action."
"That is, treatment with Madam Pomfrey—is punishment?"
"Potions. Nasty. Ugh..."
Just a little remained until lunch and we, like many others, were already going to go to the Great Hall—even some teachers already went there, smiling at this improvised meeting of a third of the school. But, had to linger a little. A seventh-year student from Slytherin, slightly awkward and seeming like a bumpkin, Warrington, if I'm not mistaken, and I'm not mistaken—he went to the Goblet to throw his name. Calmly crossed the line, held out a hand with a note and put it into the blue flame, slightly licking his hand. The flame became slightly larger, but immediately returned to normal size. That's all, actually—that's how it looks when conditions are met.
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