If someone were to ask me how it happened, I would just spread my hands.
The thing is, during our walk through Hogsmeade, our company grew to a rather decent size, albeit not immediately. I mean, genuinely decent. First, Daphne and I met Hannah and Ernie, and the conversation somehow naturally flowed into a discussion of ancient and irrelevant traditions, which, due to their irrelevance, were happily gathering dust.
During our wanderings, I bought various necessary trifles for myself and Daphne, as well as just some cool things. Trifles, nothing special, and not even everything was strictly useful, but they brought a smile to both my face and the girl's, so why not?
Naturally, we ran into acquaintances now and then, but usually, it all ended with short conversations. However, this couldn't last forever. Soon we met three guys from Durmstrang—Krum, Polyakov, and Romanova. Honestly, a couple of phrases about Quidditch and a couple of phrases about interesting opinions on Halloween, and that was it—we were walking together through Hogsmeade, discussing the topic. A reasonable question—how much time does such an unusual group of students need for someone else to decide to join them? Five minutes—that's the correct answer.
Delacour with one of her classmates, or whoever they were—here was another addition to the company. And the reason was simple—someone said: "Three Broomsticks"; "food"; "Butterbeer." The girls decided it would be nice to visit this place in the style of an English tavern. They hesitated to do it themselves for a simple reason—the inevitable appearance of annoying guys wishing to keep two girls company, and they wanted to avoid that. Our colorful group seemed more than suitable for the role of a shield against unwanted acquaintances.
There was quite a lot of space in the tavern itself. All these wooden tables, chairs or benches, lighting, stone walls, various decorations, for example, a bunch of stuffed animal heads on the wall by the fireplace—a rather colorful atmosphere. However, unlike the Leaky Cauldron, everything here was clean, crisp, even. The tables didn't seem cobbled together in haste, the windows were clean, and the air was filled with pleasant aromas of food with rare notes of definitely not cheap booze. In short, the Three Broomsticks was style and design, not poverty and ruin.
Students of different years sat in small groups at separate tables, but for us, as it turned out, the sea was knee-deep. Our company of nine people deftly and quickly put two already large tables together, and not a second later, Cedric and Cho Chang, a Chinese girl from Ravenclaw, approached us.
"Allow us to join, ladies and gentlemen," Cedric smiled. "I haven't been visiting this establishment for the first year and can help save you from choosing dishes and snacks that won't be to your taste."
Exchanging glances, everyone came to a simple opinion—there are already two champions, let there be a third.
In the end, we sat in such company almost until dinner, and most importantly, everyone found a conversational partner or two, although we broke into groups by "gender." The girls actively discussed something of their own, giggling periodically, but also devoted time to magic, and especially Potions. Almost all the ladies turned out to be interested in this science to some extent, and therefore Daphne enthusiastically participated in the conversations. We guys also found something to discuss—Quidditch, nuances of Transfiguration, the variety of meat snacks, and the fact that Butterbeer is an extremely peculiar drink.
"I heard," Krum spoke up at one point, addressing me. "You play Quidditch well."
"So they say."
"He's being modest on this issue," Cedric put in his two Knuts. "I'm sure he's the best at Hogwarts. And in any role."
"We should play," Krum nodded briefly, smiling slightly.
"For that, we'd have to shake up the teachers," Cedric became despondent, as did Polyakov.
The latter, by the way, reminded me somewhat of McLaggen from Gryffindor. He has these attacks of Casanova, and he is not deprived of modesty. Only all his attempts are rather just a manner of communication, and the ladies didn't care about it at all. So he ate. A lot.
"Li-i-isten, Cedric," I drawled, smiling. "Maybe organize a couple of games through the Ministry?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the only problem is that our teachers don't have time to prepare the Quidditch pitch. Charms there, safety, all that stuff. Can we invite a couple of specialists from the Ministry? From the Department of... 'many words' and Sports."
"They might request payment," Polyakov noted. "Ours wouldn't be shy."
"Well, the amount is unlikely to be large. Half a Galleon can be found by anyone. Tournament is a tournament, but without Quidditch, it's somehow dull."
"And I knew," Cedric smirked. "That you would become a fan of this game."
"Pff, it's not right to miss the opportunity to play with someone from the major league."
So we decided to do.
During our gathering, during which a heap of everything was drunk and eaten for a considerable sum, I was amused that the number of students at other tables gradually increased, glancing at us with interest but not risking approaching. No, it's really funny.
Well, and half an hour before dinner, we all left the Three Broomsticks and headed to Hogwarts. Be that as it may, at dinner itself I repeatedly noticed interested glances cast by students at those who were in our company. I bet they were trying to figure out what connects us. And it wouldn't occur to anyone that this whole spontaneous party at the Three Broomsticks is the result of a banal accident.
After dinner, I spent almost an hour writing a letter to my parents. I think I'll write to them every two months, maybe more often, but hardly less. During this time, just enough events accumulate for a decently sized interesting story, albeit briefly. And in the Owlery, among other owls, Khrustik was already waiting for me, as if sensing that I wanted to send a letter. Actually, the house for the Little Owl successfully took a place of honor in our room with the guys, and the bird itself was very clean. But half of his waking time he preferred either flying around the neighborhood or pestering local owls. The wrong kind of little owl.
Having dealt with all matters, I went to the house common room with a clear conscience. Something interesting might happen tomorrow, because Halloween is not a simple day.
. . . . .
October 31st, Halloween. But the worst part is that it's a Monday. Of course, I'm not susceptible to the various stereotypes regarding Monday—a person is capable of making absolutely any day terrible and unbearable on their own. But still.
Breakfast in the Great Hall is not the most joyous time of day. The reason is always simple—it's morning, everyone wants to sleep, not study. But the smell of pumpkin is rather unusual for breakfast, so the students, so to speak, woke up, remembering that today is Halloween.
True, the fact that today is a holiday does not affect the curriculum in the slightest, so we all attended classes in full. Only before dinner did Hannah ask all those who intended to perform the simplest ritual to gather something for an offering. It could be anything, personally obtained in one way or another—even a purchased item, or a pie from the kitchen, it didn't matter at all.
The feast itself was... Pumpkin-y. Ghosts moved much more actively around the castle, and it seemed to me there were more of them, noticeably so. Or maybe I'm just subconsciously looking for differences from ordinary days. There was an abundance of various themed decorations: carved pumpkins hovering overhead, all sorts of bats, little skeletons, and other horror paraphernalia. Coupled with the slightly dimmer-than-usual light in the Great Hall, it all created a rather pleasant atmosphere. And only candles—no fire.
After the feast, our group of conspirators met at the doors of the Great Hall. Me, Hannah, Ernie, Daphne, Hermione. We had grabbed warm cloaks in advance, as the business would be done outside, and one must dress for the season. We walked outside at a rather brisk pace, as there wasn't much time until curfew and who knows what obstacles we might encounter.
"And what exactly do we have to do?" my sister asked when we left the castle grounds and moved along the lampposts toward the lake, where there was a good spot near the undergrowth and next to the Durmstrang ship.
"Nothing special," Hannah directed our entire movement. "Just throw an offering into the fire and believe that it will bring you purification and blessing."
"Somehow simple."
"Full rituals and festivities were larger scale," Daphne explained. "But to a much greater extent, they were something like a religious holiday. The only part that really has an effect lies precisely in this."
"Believe, then?"
"Yes, 'Mione," I nodded to my sister. "Magic is generally very strongly tied to belief. I assume it's like a spell—we believe, our magic purifies us. And the ritual itself is a psychological trigger."
"Exactly," Hannah confirmed my conclusions.
The night sky above our heads was studded with stars, the air was cool, and the light from the lampposts did a good job of dispersing the darkness. No one considered it necessary to hide completely, so we didn't stray far from the path.
Reaching the shore, in literally a couple of minutes we prepared a small bonfire, lit a magical fire, waited for it to flare up, and, filled with faith in the effectiveness of our actions, began to throw our offerings into the fire one by one. When Hermione threw the last offering, I felt a slight movement of magic in myself and around. The energy seemed to circle quietly around us, passing through. Very little, almost imperceptibly, but listening to my sensations, I could clearly understand—this energy takes and destroys what might be unpleasant to me. Hexes, for example. Some of them break down on their own in the course of normal life activity. As if the organism regards them as bacteria—that's the best association. This is a natural process, and I didn't even pay attention to it, just as, actually, to the bacteria that live in huge numbers in our body. But right now, we really are being cleaned a little.
Much stranger was that I felt a waft of death energy from somewhere on the lake. Not the kind from torment and forced demise, but death as a natural phenomenon. These are different energies. The first is bad, evil, and crazy. The second is correct, like air, light, or fire.
"I feel somehow uneasy," Hannah shivered, looking into the darkness of the lake.
"There is that," everyone agreed.
The bonfire died down quite quickly. Waiting for only embers to remain, we walked back to the castle.
"I don't think I witnessed anything incredible," Hermione looked either disappointed or something else.
"Not all magic even has a visual manifestation," Daphne spoke importantly, walking beside me. "Much manifests itself extremely weakly. But when there are very many such weak manifestations, the situation can change radically."
"And I feel nauseous," Ernie rubbed his stomach.
"Means there was quite a lot of fresh stuff on you," Hannah smiled maliciously in the lamplight. "I'm sure you said something offensive to some girl, she told her friends, and together they were offended at you for twenty minutes."
"Maybe."
We returned to the castle before curfew. As a group, we first escorted Hermione to her common room, then Daphne—the Slytherin dungeons are quite close to our common room. And only after that did we return to our common room ourselves, sitting down to do a couple of lessons.
It's all strange. And especially strange is that the lightest trace of death remained on me one way or another. Normal, correct energy, being almost a special case of life.
This is interesting.
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