"As they say, man proposes, but God disposes."
On the approach to the castle gates, while the robes and scarves of the students were just beginning to appear on the edge of the forest, a familiar clot of magic flew at me. I practiced the simple Body-Bind Curse, Petrificus Totalus, so often that it was impossible not to recognize it with my sensitivity, honed by Quidditch.
At first, I wanted to dodge, but in a split second, I became so curious about what they wanted from me that I managed to restrain myself and did nothing. The clot hit me, my body snapped to attention, stiff as a board, and toppled over sideways, right into the grass. Good thing someone caught me with a spell and quickly levitated me somewhere; otherwise, I would have rolled down the slope like a log. A spell conjured a blindfold over my eyes. Nice. Judging by the sounds of quick footsteps, there were about five conspirators—not bad preparation.
A bit of adrenaline hit my blood, making my heart beat faster and creating a desire to start doing at least something. In principle, I don't fear the situation. Well, worst case, they'll beat me up, cripple me, maybe even try to humiliate me somehow. As the Elf from the shard believed, getting hit in the face with a staff is scary the first time, scary the second, and no less scary the third, but by the hundredth time, you start looking at the situation philosophically.
The group moved through the castle in short dashes. It was no secret to me where exactly I was being levitated, nor that the endpoint of our route was an empty classroom, where I was quickly seated on a chair, bound with Incarcerous, stripped of the wand holster on my forearm, and relieved of the blindfold, while the paralyzing spell was also dispelled.
"Well then, Mudblood," spoke one of the upper-year Slytherins, with whom I had never crossed paths. "Not so tough after all, are you?"
Yes, I didn't know him, just as I didn't know three other Slytherins and one Ravenclaw. Memory can be as perfect as you like, but you can't remember what you don't know even from indirect data. The guys were... well, like everyone else, ordinary seventh-year students.
"To what do I owe such a polite invitation?"
"He didn't get it," one of the guys shook his head, and the one standing closer, who spoke first, clumsily punched me in the face.
"Hmm..." I flexed my facial muscles. "Is that how you say hello? My condolences..."
Received another punch.
"Somehow not very magical methods..."
The next punch landed very nicely on my nose, breaking it slightly—well, it's not my fault that I reflexively strengthen my body with magic. It's a mental reflex, not physical, and it was honed in Quidditch. Plus the training bracelet and my other health machinations make themselves felt.
"Didn't teach you magic at home, huh?" I smirked, licking a trickle of blood running from my nose.
"No, well, that's just insolence," the others were amused both by my position and by the fist-fighter flaring up with anger.
"Basically," this lover of hand-waving rubbed his slightly scraped knuckle. "Right now is your end."
"So that's where my doom lay hidden?" I pathetically raised my eyes to the stone ceiling of the classroom.
"Do you think Dumbledore won't let you get hurt?" the Ravenclaw suddenly asked.
"What does the Headmaster have to do with it? Why did you even get on my case?"
"As if you don't know?"
It seems the leader's role here, strangely enough, belongs to the Slytherin who is throwing punches. Or maybe he was tacitly chosen as the public initiator to take the consequences of the group's actions.
. . . . .
"I just study, talk to people..."
"Study, talk," the guy mocked me in a most unaristocratic manner, twisting his face. "You think too much of yourself. Worming your way into the confidence of pureblood ladies, showing off, bypassing defenses and all that. You need to know your place, right, boys?"
"Right..."
"Yeah..."
The others answered disjointedly.
"I think many of ours will thank us for putting you in your place, you Muggle degenerate."
"And what happens next?"
"Next?" the guy broke into a predatory smile. "We'll beat the crap out of you properly, curse you a little... For example, hang you in the corridor immobilized, beaten, upside down, and vomiting slugs. Maybe break an arm too? Fingers? So it's hard to hold a wand for a year or two. You're too crafty..."
"Hmm... I see. No imagination."
"What?"
"And I have no imagination either. I think I'll beat the crap out of you properly, curse you, hang you upside down in the corridor, and attach some signs. Hmm... The idea is cruel, but not bad, yes."
"And what will you do without a wand?" the guy waved my holster demonstratively in front of my eyes. "Curse loudly?"
Focusing, I probed the Incarcerous binding me with thin energy threads. I don't like this spell—it seems vulgar to me. But getting rid of this simple school modification, essentially the basic version, is too simple. I just did what Finita does with such spells—dispelled its energy. Only while Finita forces the spell to reverse the effect and then dissipate, I simply released a thread of neutral energy and pumped magic through it just into space.
A jerk from the spot. With one hand I snatch the holster with my wand, and with the other I take the bulging-eyed guy hostage. At this moment, a Stupefy and another Incarcerous fly at me. I literally catch the not-particularly-fast Stupefy beam with the guy and shove him onto the Incarcerous.
My hand had already pulled the wand from the holster on its own. Four guys stood in a crescent facing me, spell beams tearing from their wands. No, I didn't perceive everything in slow motion—I just managed to react to everything. Different spells, flying at different speeds. Guiding my hand with the wand, I create Protego Reflecto against the conditionally third spell, then against the first, against the second, and against the fourth. That's it—the guys are defeated by their own spells.
"What in Mordred..." only their leader remained conscious.
He lay on the floor, bound by Incarcerous and slightly beaten by Stupefy. I walked past the others, collecting their wands. Stopped next to their leader and thought—what to do? Well, I need to teach them a lesson somehow, but not cripple them, right? Injuries in this world are perceived too lightly, as if it's a daily routine, and breaking and healing a couple of limbs is like going to the toilet.
"How did you manage..." the guy looked at me with hatred, lying on the floor.
"Well, you could have gathered information about me, or something. Why is it that you do stupid shit, but I feel ashamed? Hmm..."
Waving my wand, I pronounced a couple of spells, useless in most cases, from a book on Transfiguration—wrapped the guys in dense cocoons of bandages. True, I slightly modernized the cocoons, adding runic chains "Vigor," "Electrical Stimulation," and "Silence" to their surface. The chains are simple and weak; the natural energy background of wizards is enough for them to work. securing the transfiguration, I made sure there was a loop in the back of the head area of each "human larva," cast Locomotor on each, and Disillusionment Charms. I simply wrapped myself in magic and wished to become invisible.
It was in this "invisible" form that I left the classroom, followed by invisible "human larvae" flying through the air. I didn't need to see them—I felt them without that. Reaching the doors of the Great Hall, I looked around—no one. The doors themselves were closed, and judging by the sounds, the Headmaster had organized a festive feast. The old man can be understood—it should be noted that no one suffered in the first stage, except for the dragons.
Waving my wand, I transfigured five ropes and glued one end of each firmly to the ceiling, and tied the "larvae" to the other—one per rope. Thinking, I seasoned the ropes with Unbreakable Charms, although the name does not correspond to reality, but in about seven hours they will dissipate and can be destroyed without problems. And added Disillusionment Charms to them, trying to calculate the strength so that both ropes and "larvae" would become visible in about twenty minutes. Thinking some more, I decided to add a couple of elements—transfigured large signs with the inscription "Wizard Larva."
And still something is missing... Ah, their wands?
I tied these guys' wands on strings right in front of their noses—the guys saw their wands literally within walking distance, just reach out a hand. Now everything is excellent!
Cleaning my wand of spells with a pulse of magic, I opened the doors of the Hall and went inside. The crowd of students was celebrating, the table was rich, and my appearance attracted almost no attention. I pretended to be surprised, shrugged, closed the huge doors behind me, and headed to my table.
"Where have you been?" Hannah asked me immediately.
Actually, from the looks of my classmates, it was clear that they were also interested in my answer.
"Ate something wrong, or with the wrong thing."
"It had to happen sooner or later," Justin nodded with the air of a food poisoning expert, causing chuckles from those around. "And how is it?"
"Do you want details?"
"No. I think I rushed with the question."
Giving me the opportunity to pile up more food, Justin looked at my plate, where there was a large heap of said food, and shook his head.
"Life teaches you nothing."
"Hector," Hannah pulled my attention to herself. "There's a rumor that there will be a Yule Ball at Hogwarts during the winter holidays."
"Oh, now it's clear why we need dress robes and suits."
"I knew that anyway," Susan shrugged.
Everyone immediately turned their gaze to her, causing embarrassment and a blush on her cheeks.
"What? I thought everyone knew. Two-thirds of our house are Ministry-connected."
"No, girlfriend," Hannah shook her head. "They don't know."
For several minutes we just ate. The students in the hall made noise, talked, laughed, rattled dishes—nothing unusual.
"Who are you thinking of inviting?" Hannah asked when I was halfway through my food.
"Don't know. That is, I know who I want, but it won't work."
"Aaaah, got it," Hannah smiled slyly. "But you're right. Such an event is official, not just entertainment as we would like. Why don't you invite Delacour, eh?"
"Hm? Why would I need such joy?"
"Well come on," Hannah feigned indignation. "According to rumors, some who already found out about the ball tried to do it."
"I'm afraid to imagine their stupid faces from the Veela's influence."
"They say it was a terrible sight. Terrible, but funny."
"First I'll find out the situation with the one I want to invite, and then I'll think about alternatives."
Naturally, talking to Daphne that evening didn't work out. By some miracle, we missed each other at the doors of the Great Hall. The "larvae," as I planned, were discovered at that exact moment. Whoa, the debriefing began—Snape and McGonagall raged, like: "Who did this, who did this." Snape didn't miss the opportunity, blaming Gryffindors for such a thing, while McGonagall desperately shielded her own. Removing the charms from the larvae right away didn't work, well, or maybe McGonagall simply didn't dispel the transfiguration—after all, she's an expert in this matter. The guys in the form of "larvae" were sent to the Hospital Wing, the Headmaster promised to investigate and punish, but no one believed it—Dumbledore's eyes expressed far too obvious amusement.
And then the guys from the house dragged me to a party in the common room, where it was planned to celebrate Cedric's victory in the First Task. Of course, there was alcohol in reasonable limits, but mostly—various teas and sweets.
Everyone congratulated Cedric, had fun, entertained themselves.
"...and the dragon goes, waaaugh, and Cedric—whoosh, and that's it!"
"...and Krum kept throwing and throwing spells..."
In general, the conversations weren't particularly interesting, but predictable—children were happy for their own, and expressed polite but "meh" regarding other champions.
"Cedric, friend!!!" Herbert shouted over everyone, having already snatched some booze somewhere. "And what's the egg?"
"Indeed!" many students immediately supported the question.
Cedric stood up in a prominent place with a smile, holding the egg in his hands. Everyone fell silent.
"To begin with, I want to thank friends and comrades who actively helped prepare for the contest and who took on some of my duties during the week. And, of course," Cedric looked at me. "Our best flyer, and as it turns out, just an excellently thinking comrade, Hector Granger."
"What do I have to do with it?"
"And who scouted the situation?"
Yes, everyone found out that the champions knew about the dragons almost immediately after the first task.
"And developed the plan? And the backup plan? And the backup plan for the backup plan?"
"Alright, alright, I get it, where would you be without me. But you did the magic."
"The achievements of one are the fruits of the work of the entire collective. Let's open this egg, in which, according to the judges, lies a clue."
"Yes!!!"
Cedric opened the egg. Instantly, a wave of wild ultrasonic cacophony spread through the common room. Many covered their ears, crouched down, someone even fell off the sofa. Cedric instantly closed the golden egg, and silence reigned.
"Nice little clue," I spoke out in this deathly silence, cleaning my ear with my pinky. "With such little clues, no more trials are needed."
Though not immediately, the party continued, and the golden egg migrated to the "brainstorming" group, in which I was unwittingly drawn. Actually, this group consisted precisely of our Quidditch team and some of Cedric's classmates. In fairness, it should be noted that almost the entire team was already classmates of the Prefect, so it can be said that the "brainstorming" group was the Hufflepuff seventh year and Hector Granger.
Did we find a solution? No. But we spent the evening nicely, and that's the main thing at the moment.
Tuesday began with a hangover for many, while I looked at the sufferers with a brazen smirk, because after my daily physical exercises and shower, I felt simply wonderful. Or maybe my well-being is connected to the fact that I simply didn't drink?
Classes on this day, October 25th, went quietly, calmly, according to plan. Everything was much more interesting in the Great Hall at meal times. Some guys, having learned about the Yule Ball, hurried to approach and invite Fleur Delacour. In principle, the initiative was expected, and the result predictable. The girl deliberately pressed on such brave souls with her allure, making them swim. Whether it was a test or a method of rejection, Delacour refused everyone, leaving the scene in the company of French girls.
In the evening, I finally managed to intercept Daphne on the way to the library.
"Greengrass."
"Granger."
"Have a question."
"Listening carefully."
"There will be a ball. Have a partner already, or can I try to invite you?"
Daphne barely broke stride.
"Until yesterday, I wondered why father obliged me at the beginning of the year to accept an invitation to dance, which Nott would definitely extend to me. Naturally, I agreed."
"Oh, I see," I smiled. "Looks like he hedged his bets in this regard."
"Looks like it."
"And has Nott invited you yet?"
"Immediately. But even if not, agreeing to your proposal would be extremely..."
Daphne hesitated, looking for the right word.
"Short-sighted. Say it like it is, you won't offend me."
"Glad we have an understanding," she smiled, glancing at me. "Like colleagues."
"Naturally."
Passing a couple of upper-year students, we almost reached the library.
"Who do you plan to invite now?"
"Hannah suggested inviting Fleur Delacour."
"Oh..." Daphne thought for a second. "I think that's not the best... Although... Try it."
"Want to see me get rejected?" a smile crept onto my face on its own.
"Want to see how you don't get rejected, Granger. And at the ball, as you know, a lady is not obliged to dance only with the one she came with."
"By the way. I never learned to dance."
"Or she is obliged, need to recall the details of the rules."
We entered the library and went our separate ways. Daphne was waited for by her sister, Astoria, who made a adorably displeased face at the sight of me. She changed little from last year—remained the same blonde angel, except maybe grew a tiny bit.
Well, and on Wednesday, right before breakfast, I waited for Delacour at the doors of the Great Hall. She was walking in the company of girls from Beauxbatons, who still wore their sky-blue uniforms, but now without discomfort—my warming pendant hung on each one's neck, fitting surprisingly well into the overall style of clothing.
"Miss Delacour," I nodded, taking a step forward and attracting attention.
"Yes?"
This entire procession stopped and, naturally, other guys from different years, like hounds on point, turned to us. Just in case, I recalled all Elven mental training, although it wasn't necessary—I do them every day along with exercises, otherwise no way.
"Do you already have a partner for the Yule Ball?"
Delacour clearly deliberately corrected her silver hair with a rather elegant gesture, and I felt the influence of the Veela multiply, but it didn't compare to that massive "attack" I experienced at the World Cup Final. Plus, I knew what to prepare for.
"No, monsieur..."
"Granger. Hector Granger," I nodded simply and strictly. "At first I wanted to invite with all the curtsies, but... It seems to me that you are already fed up with them. I'll ask simply—will you go to the ball?"
Fleur stood for a moment, received no reaction from me. Came closer, swaying her hip, and stood almost point-blank. Naturally, no reaction. Well, no manifestation of it—I still feel something, but it doesn't dull me, on the contrary, it sharpens consciousness a bit, starting to analyze the girl's behavior. For quite specific purposes.
"By the way, yes," I smiled, and Fleur immediately pricked up her ears, clearly wishing to hear words of an "intoxicated mind." "I never learned to dance. This might be a problem."
Blinked a couple of times, realized, smiled.
"We will solve zhis pwoblem, Mr. Granger. I agree."
"Excellent," I smiled back in the same way. "After breakfast, we'll discuss the details of the 'solution'?"
"Oui, Mr. Granger."
And she left with the other French girls.
"Not bad, kid, not bad," Cedric, appearing from nowhere, patted me on the shoulder. "You earned a few more points in the 'reasons to hate upstart Granger' piggy bank. Other houses are starting to take you into account."
"Is that bad?"
"Oh, that's wonderful. I'll submit your candidacy for consideration as a Prefect for next year."
"Don't..."
"Need to, Hector, need to."
And he left, the rascal, smiling slyly. I really don't need it. Sigh... How to talk my way out of it? But I'll think about that later. Now breakfast, Fleur, schedule for the day—Halloween is closer and closer. Hm, maybe the French girl knows something about this day?
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