The morning of the second Thursday in September turned out gloomy, cloudy, and heavy. The weather was oppressive, hinting that rain would soon pour down on the earth, and it was far from certain that it would pour for only one day.
My day, as always, began with physical exercises, a shower, and a journey in a friendly but sleepy company for breakfast in the Great Hall. Due to the oppressive weather, the mood was not the best, but we worked with forks and spoons enthusiastically. Several owls brought letters and magazines, which pleased the recipients.
Potions was on our schedule, just like last Thursday, but I don't think that surprised anyone. I, and even my shards, are accustod to a slightly changing schedule during the week, but what is, is.
In a disorderly crowd of students from different Houses, we reached the dungeons to the doors of the Potions classroom. Several Slytherin students were already standing there, but I couldn't help noting an amusing fact for myself—Malfoy was standing with a bandaged arm, suffering selflessly and demonstratively.
"Who knows what happened to him?" I nodded in his direction when my classmates and I settled against one of the walls.
"Oh, you don't know," Susan beca enthusiastic. "They say that he encountered a whole year of Gryffindors in the dungeons, boldly fought back, covering Princess Parkinson, laid everyone out, remained alone, but did not co out unscathed. Malfoy was treacherously lured into a trap, an unknown poisonous plant was thrown at him, and it was this plant that inflicted terrible wounds on his arm, which will take another two months to heal."
It cannot be overlooked that all those who heard this speech had their eyes popping out of their orbits to varying degrees. Susan, having delivered all this with a subli expression on her face, as if speaking about a miracle prince, smirked sharply.
"It is clear that most likely, he just stuck his hand into so bush to get these wounds, shirk work, and suffer. But rumors… These are rumors," Susan shrugged.
"Phenonal," Justin shook his head. "Self-mutilation for the sake of indulgence."
"You know," I pondered. "I expressed only an assumption back then that Malfoy does not wish to fly in the sky with Dentors. It seems that is the case."
"It seems… After all, they don't have a reserve Seeker," one could literally see on Zacharias's face how reluctantly the gears turned in his head. "Which ans the team cannot play for technical reasons. Which ans…"
The pause in his monologue was too long, and we were already burning with impatience waiting for the continuation of his thoughts.
"…The schedule of inter-house Quidditch gas is always the sa. They are unlikely to rearrange teams, but changing the matches themselves… Gryffindor will be either against Ravenclaw or against us. What do you think?"
"Need to ask Cedric. He probably knows," expressing my logical opinion, I turned towards the Professor approaching the classroom. "Good morning, Professor Snape."
He only brushed with his gaze, and his nod was so insignificant that you wouldn't even notice it. I wonder why the others don't say hello? Well, it doesn't matter.
The lesson itself went smoothly, but points flew from the Gryffindors due to the sloppiness of Ron Weasley, who lted a cauldron by incorrectly mixing ingredients, and thanks to Neville. The modest plump boy didn't spoil the potion much thanks to Hermione's tily help, but the mistake with the order of actions itself was noticed by Snape, which did not remain without consequences. Our House also suffered a little due to Hannah's hair falling into the potion. Suffered minimally, but no one was indignant—it was deserved. The girl forgot to tie her hair and secure the potion from such things by simply not hanging over the cauldron.
"Greengrass," I spoke to my partner almost for the first ti, not counting the formal greeting. "How are things with additional Potions classes?"
I spoke, of course, incredibly quietly, and only Daphne could hear .
"We can co on Saturday from five in the afternoon," Daphne glanced at , simultaneously checking if black strands caught in a ponytail had co loose. "As soon as the ingredients are ready."
"I'm working on it. I think I'll make it by Saturday."
"Excellent."
"Stop chattering," the voice of the Professor appearing nearby sounded. "Since you have ti for conversations, you will find ti to control the potion preparation process."
The lesson ended quite quickly. Having handed over potion samples, the students left the class and went to History of Magic. Of course, the guys from my House and I decided to skip again for the sake of training various spells and charms from the covered program, and simply for the sake of sothing interesting.
In the abandoned classroom where we had already practiced more than once, everything remained exactly as we left it. Is it good that only we use it? I suppose so.
"Guys!" Ernie Macmillan clapped his hands fervently as soon as we locked the door behind us. "Finally I can brag!"
"Speak already," Hannah smirked, sitting down with Susan at one of the tables. "You've been literally bursting all morning."
"Really?" I was surprised, sitting down at another table. "I didn't even notice."
"Guys, guys, what I found out," Ernie not particularly carefully dumped his bag on another table next to mine, and imdiately took a notebook out of there. "Yesterday found a very useful spell we talked about."
"And didn't even tear the page out of the book?" Justin smirked, leaning against the wall, but imdiately jumping away from it. "Oh, damn…"
Finch-Fletchley spun on the spot, trying to see the back of his robe, abundantly covered in dust.
"How did that happen?"
"Help?" Susan took out her wand, adjusting a strand of red hair with her other hand.
"Be so kind."
"Tergeo."
The dust from Justin's robe disappeared, returning it to a clean and well-grood look.
"Thank you."
"Guys," Ernie attracted the attention of those around him again with childish resentnt on his face. "It's an important spell! Or rather, a charm."
"Speak already, we are all listening to you attentively."
"Patronus Charm!"
"O-o-oh! Co on quickly."
Ernie put the notebook on the table and turned to the right page. Well, we all got up from our seats and crowded around the guy, looking at the notes.
"What handwriting you have."
"Oh co on, Hannah," Ernie grimaced slightly. "Here, found it. Patronus Charm… Blah-blah-blah… A powerful defensive spell. I didn't write word for word here, only the important stuff."
"We see," Hannah nodded. "But I think many know about it in general terms."
"Hector doesn't know," Ernie shook his head in my direction.
"Hector doesn't know," I nodded in agreent. "So, what's there…"
Quickly adjusting to Ernie's clumsy handwriting, I began to read information about the charm aloud.
"Designed to protect against Dentors and Lethifolds. Can have many different forms depending on the wizard, but mainly there are several, and all have a silvery-blue colour: mist, shields of various shapes, corporeal form, and wave. Wave?"
"Boom-boom-boom," Zacharias showed waves diverging to the sides with gestures, like from an explosion. "Looks like a pulse."
"Clear. The corporeal form of the Patronus takes the form of so animal corresponding to the character of the wizard. Interesting, how does it work?" I looked around the guys bent over the notebook, but they, like , had no answer. "Okay. The shape and size of the Patronus do not affect its strength. So are unable to produce a Patronus until they survive so shock, ntal upheaval. Where is the instruction?"
"On the other page," Ernie turned the page of the notebook, pointing a finger at the wand movent diagram and the verbal formula.
There were also arithmancy formulas here, which Professor McGonagall loves so much, but Ernie signed "doubtful benefit". It seems to that this inscription was the reason for the bewildered glances directed at the guy.
"What? That's what was written in the book. I quote: 'The effectiveness of using the formula has not been proven in practice'. Let's better try."
An hour and a half—that's exactly how much it took us all to co to a logical conclusion. Which one? We are too weak, or our mind is weak, or we don't have the necessary happy mories. Yes, yes, precisely on "happy mories of great strength rests the power of the Patronus Charm"—Ernie copied this quote verbatim. Of course, I have a theory that it is not the mories themselves that are important, not their truth and strength, but the psychological effect from them, and at the sa ti those reactions in the body that they cause. Simply put, a mory can be invented, adjusting their strength for oneself, making them as effective as possible. Invented based on imagination and will. Actually, this is generally one of the strengths of sorcery through internal energy—will and imagination.
But I did not use this conclusion, like my other advantages over the rest—I worked and tried like everyone else, "honestly," looking for the necessary mories. Later I will try my conclusions, being in splendid isolation, and share the results with the others. Why so? People, and especially children, tend to treat negatively those who succeed too well. Especially if absolutely everyone fails.
"Not surprising," Zacharias beca despondent, leaning against the table. "This is an advanced level charm. Not every adult can handle such."
"Well, well," I smiled. "If sothing didn't work out right away, it ans you just need to try properly, work hard. After all, talent is only five percent of success, and the rest? What our House is famous for. Work, work, and work again."
"Work is, of course, good," Justin smiled. "But not missing lunch would be even better."
"True enough," Hannah supported the thought, and the others perked up. "Let's go have lunch. And we definitely need to work properly on the spell. It is unknown how much longer Dentors will be around Hogwarts. And Hogsade trips are coming soon. By the way, does anyone know, will they be at all?"
"How else!" Justin and Ernie were indignant in unison, causing smiles from the others.
"If they are allowed, it will be sowhat… Delusional," Zacharias shook his head, but we didn't discuss the topic further, leaving the classroom.
Lunch, English and Literature, Herbology, and evening has already co, and we all sat in the common room with a friendly team, doing howork assigned today.
"Hector, hi," Cedric sat down with us. "And to you, guys."
"Hi, Cedric."
"I'll steal your comrade for a short while?"
"Only if for a short while," Hannah nodded. "Still lots of howork to do."
"Agreed. Hector?"
"Let's go."
We walked to one of the windows, outside of which the evening gloom had already thickened. A light pass with a wand perford by the Prefect, and the air floated around us in a familiar way—an anti-eavesdropping spell.
"The twins sold almost thirty pendants in a day," the Prefect smiled sincerely. "This is a success, Hector."
"Glad to hear. But I don't need money for entertainnt."
"I guessed. Inventing and implenting a way to earn money in a couple of days—such things don't happen from a good life. Do you have sowhere to put the money?"
"I do," taking out my wand, I pointed it towards my backpack, which lay by the armchair in our corner with the guys. "Accio."
The backpack flew quite briskly through the air across the common room straight into my hand.
"Without designating the target?" Cedric smirked, taking out a small purse-pouch.
"I just realized that the na of the object is not part of the Summoning Charm, but allows better focusing thought and will."
"That is so. But they don't write about this in books. They don't write about a lot of things there," Cedric put his hand into the purse and took out a stack of Galleons so that no one would see. "By ten. It's easier."
Ten seconds were spent transferring five stacks of ten Galleons into my backpack, and another one of six coins.
"Your part for twenty-eight pendants."
"Got it," I zipped up the backpack and threw the strap over my shoulder.
"That's not all. Herbert got sothing from his father. Tomorrow in the common room, at six. Agreed?"
"No problem."
"That's great."
We went in different directions: Cedric about his business, and I back to the guys.
"Did sothing happen?" Justin didn't even wait for to sit back in the armchair. Curious fellow. Perhaps the most curious of all, but outwardly tries to keep himself in hand in any situation. Need to find out after all where I heard the surna Finch-Fletchley—the guy can clearly boast of extraordinary upbringing.
"Asked to be here tomorrow morning. Clearly sothing related to Quidditch."
"Eh… Lucky…"
It seems the guys were a little jealous.
"I just liked flying, and the others decided that I'm too good at it to ignore. Let's see when it cos to Quidditch training specifically, and then to matches," moving my massive armchair to the table not without effort, I pulled a Potions book off it. "Maybe I'll refuse. Don't want to go down with so incurable injury. I was sick too long as it is."
"Ah," Zacharias waved it off, "nonsense."
Nonsense? A rather strange and dismissive statent. Zacharias, seeing my reaction, hastened to correct himself.
"I ant that it's impossible to get killed at our matches—charms on the stadium. And we heal fractures quickly. In principle, even a neck broken to trash isn't a problem. If help is provided before brain death. But if the head is torn off…"
"Ugh, Zach, ugh," Hannah grimaced. "Why talk about such things?"
"Speaking as it is," with his face alone he showed, like: "What can you do?". "The stadium has charms softening the fall and all that stuff, Madam Pomfrey and teachers always watch the ga. Of course, you can fly into the stands, break wooden beams with yourself, impale yourself on one, but… If the injury does not imply instant brain death, everything can be returned to its place."
From what I heard, Hermione's face at ten years old popped up in my head by itself, so bewildered, but at the sa ti surprised and dismissive simultaneously. She didn't like sothing in the pajamas my relatives bought then.
"Cute," I repeated her words then, causing smiles from the guys. "But life without risk is dull and boring. Even a very small dose of it can brighten up the grayest day."
"The main thing is not to end up in the ground ahead of ti."
"Thank you, Hannah, for the kind word."
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