Tuesday morning logically began with exercises and a workout, after which I headed to the shower. Of course, it was occupied. Mom on the first floor, Hermione on the second. I didn't have to wait long, and soon the shower was free, and the appearance of Hermione's hairstyle caused a barely suppressed desire to collapse in hysterics from laughter—seeing such a thing live is much more effective than from the mories of a vegetable.
"Not funny at all," my little sister pouted. "Magic is forbidden outside Hogwarts, and to put this in order…"
Hermione pulled a strand of hair to the side, shifting the entire center of this mane.
"…only magic will help."
After breakfast, our whole family went to London—to walk, shop, sit in restaurants. With my mind, I understood how many social activities I missed. Since the beginning of November, various pre-Christmas events begin to be held on different streets in London, festive lights are lit, performances and concerts are held. But even having missed all this, one can enjoy trips and walks through various beautiful places.
On this day we visited many iconic streets: Oxford Street, where concerts were held in November, leaving behind bright decoration in the form of glowing figures and illuminations on buildings; stopped by Covent Garden, hitting a couple of sales and sitting in a cafe; by evening we reached Sloane Square, walking around the square, admiring trees decorated with garlands and eventually leaving for Pavilion Road, following the call of the stomach.
At the end point of the route, we almost returned, finding ourselves not so far from Oxford Street, specifically Regent Street with its monstrous figure decorations made of yellow lights. Well, and from there it was a stone's throw to Soho, and this is such a place where one can disappear for a very, very long ti.
During the walk, even though we moved from district to district by car, Hermione and I were able to talk. No, not about anything important, not about family relationships and so on. Everything was much simpler. Looking at what attracts her attention, I managed to find out that she is still a girl, not a robot, just too pragmatic. Few people know that she doesn't have a single skirt and other girlish things—they are simply impractical and unnecessary in her understanding. Jeans, cardigans, sweaters, and other unisex clothes—as much as you like. But, according to her, one day, when there is a good reason, she will definitely wear a dress, ideally—a ball gown. Turquoise or sky blue—she said so herself.
At the sight of the slightest injustice, my little sister imdiately tensed up and began to think aloud about it. A funny desire to change the world for the better, but this very "better" must correspond only to her vision.
We returned ho tired, and quite quickly went to our rooms.
. . . . .
Wednesday passed at about the sa pace, only other routes and establishnts were chosen. Several tis we started talking about magic, and we shared our vision of certain magical disciplines with our parents. Parents were interested to know how magic actually works, about which there are so many fantastic books. Hermione happily shared her own, but mostly others' thoughts gleaned from books. I just said that will and fantasy are enough to embody anything, and the boundaries of the possible are determined by the power of consciousness.
"That's not true," Hermione insisted when we were driving in the car. "Books clearly indicate the necessity of gesture and word for sorcery."
"Within wand magic—yes."
"But…"
"Did manifestations of magic happen in childhood without any wands? They did. This fact alone is enough to understand the possibility of sorcery without a wand, gestures, and words."
"And why are we taught exactly like this then?"
"How should I know?" I was indignant. "Look, there is a school in Africa, Uagadou. Do you know?"
"No. Where did you find out?"
"From books, Mione," I smiled at my little sister sitting next to , and turned back to the window. "They say, generally all magic one way or another ca from Africa. A rather controversial statent, but that's not the point. Since ancient tis they have cast spells without wands, and the trigger for them is almost a banal pointing of a finger. The best in Astronomy, Alchemy, and Self-Transfiguration. Of course, they also cast spells with a wand, but this is like a tribute to politeness and a way of understanding sorcery thods in the rest of the world."
"Which book?"
"Overview works of wizard historians. Look in the corresponding section of the library when we return."
This made Hermione think. Thus ended Wednesday, December 22nd.
The morning phone call on Thursday the twenty-third was a surprise for . It caught us just as we were finishing breakfast.
"I'll get it," Father got up from the table, and returned half a minute later. "Hector, for you."
"Yeah? Unexpected."
Getting up from the table, I went into the hallway and picked up the phone receiver standing on one of the bedside tables.
"Hello?"
"Hector? Hi, it's Justin."
"Oh, hi-hi."
"I wanted to ask you about sothing here."
"Listening."
"Hector, wouldn't you like to co to visit for a small party? Just for our own. Sothing like festive gatherings."
"I think it's possible, just need to check with parents. When, by the way?"
"Today. We are too small for evening routs, so from one to six."
"Got it. Just need to check with parents, in case they have so plans for today. Wouldn't want to cancel them, haven't seen each other for so long. Can you hang on the line?"
"I understand, sure," judging by the voice, Justin clearly smiled. "No problem."
Putting the receiver next to the phone on the bedside table, I returned to the dining room.
"Mom, Dad, have a question."
"Yes, son?" Mom reacted imdiately.
"I am invited to visit today, from one to six. Do you have plans?"
"Generally, no," Mom shook her head negatively, actually, like Father.
"I thought," Hermione spoke up. "That we could spend more ti together."
"If you want, I'll ask Justin. Don't think he'll be against you as my 'plus one'."
Returning to the hallway, I picked up the receiver.
"Hey, Justin, you here?"
"Yes-yes, Hector. So what?"
"Parents have no plans."
"That's good."
"Yeah. Can I bring Hermione with ?"
"Think so," Justin answered without doubt in his voice. "There will be guys from Hogwarts here."
"Oh? That's unexpected. That's… Very unexpected."
"It was both easy and difficult at the sa ti. Will you co yourselves, or should I send a car for you?"
By intonation, it was clear that Justin sincerely hopes for the first answer option, and offered these options purely out of politeness.
"Ourselves. Just tell where?"
"Ah, well yes, write it down."
Prudent parents had a notepad, stickers, and a holder for pens and pencils on this bedside table. That's how it is, the end of the twentieth century. I recall with sadness the total computerization of the past life, when everything was at hand, and neural networks from the pilot shard's mory are not even to be dread of. Although, who knows what things can be invented with the help of magic?
Writing down the address and saying goodbye to Justin, I returned to the kitchen—tea wasn't finished yet.
"Well?" Hermione asked imdiately.
"You're going with ," I nodded, and everyone at the table smiled. "Dad, will you drive us?"
I handed Father the piece of paper with the address. Father looked, thought, was surprised, nodded. True, I had to ask him to take to the Leaky Cauldron, because I never bought gifts—the discovery made in the Three Broomsticks turned out to be too unexpected. It seems not to concern , but unexpectedly—not so many events in magical England, as I see.
We reached the pub quite quickly, and I, of course, together with Hermione, quickly passed through it to Diagon Alley.
"What do you want to buy?" she asked, striving to take charge of this shopping run.
"Two Sneakoscopes, an enchanted notebook, a couple of books, pick up a Self-Inking Quill, and other trifles."
Let her command the parade if she manages. I know how strong this trait is in her, and I don't consider it necessary to force soone to step over themselves, literally cutting off a piece from themselves just because I don't particularly like it.
It wasn't particularly crowded here on this day. Snow very harmoniously, surely not without the help of magic, covered signs, roofs, shop windows. Small shops were decorated for the holiday, albeit without fanaticism. All this created even more the feeling of a certain artificiality, as if there were only decorations around.
"Then," Hermione thought for a mont. "This way."
She literally grabbed my hand and with the persistence of an icebreaker dragged through space and ti, and I was only amused by her importance and purposefulness.
"Let's look at books," Hermione literally flew into the bookstore. "Looking for sothing specific?"
"I think I need sothing powerful, substantial, and without any water on potion-making."
"I heard you, young man," a voice sounded from the side, from behind the bookcases.
"Oh," Hermione started, turning to the voice. "Sorry, we didn't notice you."
Well, speaking for everyone is unnecessary, of course. An elderly wizard approached us, slightly hunched, which made his already short stature even smaller.
"Nothing terrible," the wizard waved it off. "Wait at the counter, I'll bring what's needed."
He retired sowhere deep into the store. Hermione didn't hold out for long, and about thirty seconds later clung to one of the huge number of bookcases, carefully studying the spines. It was impossible not to notice that her gaze stuck to one of the books, but she tried hard to sohow step aside and pay attention to at least sothing else. I beca curious, and I approached closer.
"Advanced Charms: From Use to Creation"—read the title on the spine of this rather bulky book.
"Here is your reference book," the voice of the sa seller distracted us, placing a thick to on the counter. "One thousand two hundred and seven pages of the most concise, precise, and comprehensive description of known ingredients for potions."
Thinking, I took out the book that interested Hermione and put it on the counter.
"And this one too, be so kind."
Hermione tugged lightly at the sleeve of my jacket.
"That is not at all necessary."
"Uh-huh."
"That will be thirty-seven Galleons and fifteen Sickles," the seller nodded. "Rare editions."
"Pricey…"
"Well, create a full-fledged printing house, like Muggles—you will produce books in large editions, you will sell them for Knuts."
Taking the backpack off my shoulder, I took out thirty-eight Galleons, received change of two Sickles, and put the books in the backpack.
"Let's hurry, Mione, there isn't that much ti."
My little sister nodded, embarrassedly and joyfully thanked for the book, and again took charge of our shopping trip. Quite quickly we went around Diagon Alley and bought various trifles, most of which I planned to send out as gifts. Among other things, I had to run into the confectionery on the next street, that very best one in magical England, to order the delivery of the "fattest" assortnt of cakes for Daphne Greengrass on the morning of December 26th.
In the end, we managed quite quickly, although I sotis had to unobtrusively correct the route of the purposeful icebreaker "Hermione". Father was waiting in the car at this ti, parked not far from the Leaky Cauldron.
"Bought everything you wanted?" he asked as soon as we sat in the back seats.
"Yes. Everything," my little sister answered, and I just nodded.
"That's excellent. There is little ti left, so let's hit the road!"
The road went calmly, and the reason for this is simple—I shoved the book bought for her into Hermione's hands. After half an hour of driving along so cunning routes, which, judging by the lack of traffic jams, Father and a couple of other motorists t on the way knew about, we drove up to a large plot behind a high figured cast-iron fence. We drove up to the gates, and Father turned around.
"Well, go, ring, announce arrival."
Getting out of the car, I found the bell in the gate column with my gaze, approached and poked the button. A characteristic ringing sounded from the speaker, and ten seconds later an unfamiliar voice sounded.
"Finch-Fletchley Manor, how can we help?"
"Good afternoon. Hector and Hermione Granger. Arrived at the invitation of Justin Finch-Fletchley."
"Opening, drive through."
The gates began to open, and I returned to the car.
"Wow," Hermione couldn't restrain herself.
The manor territory was large and for so ti we drove along the path, at any point of which this, actually, manor was visible. Large and sowhat strange. It feels like at first they wanted to build a large rectangular tower, and then spat on this matter, building a brick-wood house in Victorian style around it. The maximum here was three floors, minimum—one. Around the house there were gardens, and paths, and gazebos, and other decor—expensive-rich, as one acquaintance of mine in a past life would say. At the front entrance, the road beca a large ring around a fountain. Following the rules, Father drove in from the left side.
"Well, kids, go visit and behave decently. Call about forty minutes before leaving, I'll pick you up."
"Okay, Dad," I nodded, and hanging the backpack on my shoulder, left the car.
Hermione ca out next. Just as we headed for the porch, Justin ca out of the doors in everyday clothes, shooing soone away from inside the house.
"Ah, Hector, Hermione!" he waved to us joyfully. "Co quickly, a cold wind is blowing."
Quickly running up, we greeted the guy and went inside. A rich, but without pretentiousness hall in dark wood tones and with elents of bronze created a feeling of massiveness, monuntality of everything around.
"Probably," Hermione thought, looking at her jeans, "should have dressed more decently."
"Nonsense," Justin waved it off with a smile, and I noticed a man in a black tailcoat flashing out of the corner of my eye. Butler, or what? So valet? Just a hired worker? Who can figure it out now.
Justin led us into a large living room, where children perfectly familiar to were located on sofas and armchairs: Hannah, Susan, Ernie, and Zacharias. While the girls chatted sweetly, discussing fashion magazines, of which there was a heap around them, the boys were busy with completely different things. Zacharias examined rather large airplane models with great enthusiasm, apparently glued by Justin, and simultaneously reached for a large box with a picture of a vaguely familiar triangular spaceship. Well, the guy is more or less familiar with the world of ordinary people, so it is not surprising that he beca interested in exactly this.
Ernie looked like a fool at a large colour TV with a flat screen, but clearly CRT. The device itself was safely recessed in a wall niche and did not look too out of place.
"Don't understand anything," Ernie shook his head. "How does this work without magic at all?"
"From electricity, Ernie," I answered, walking inside.
With this, I attracted general attention, and they imdiately smiled at , waving hands.
"Oh, Hector!" Ernie imdiately jumped to his feet. "Do you know how this Mordred device works?"
I headed to one of the free armchairs next to the table with tea and sweets. Justin led Hermione to the girls, and he himself headed to Zacharias, it seems, to open the box with the model.
"In short, the TV receives a coded radio signal," sitting in the armchair, I took a cookie from the plate. "On this signal depends with what paraters the electron beam from the electron gun will be supplied. The beam is focused into a ray and moves very quickly over the surface of the phosphor coating of the kinescope, causing it to glow."
"Um… Nothing is clear, but very interesting," Ernie nodded importantly at my words. "And what is an 'electron'?"
Hermione first looked at in surprise, actually, like the others, and then at Ernie, who asked this question.
"Hmm…" I chewed the cookie thoughtfully. "Can't do without basic knowledge here. Maybe about sothing else, and not about technology?"
"Hector," Hermione looks at in surprise again. "How do you know this? This is very specific knowledge."
"It was in so program, it seems."
I don't know myself where I know this from, and the correctness of this knowledge also remains in question.
"Let's exchange gifts!" Susan clapped her hands, looking at each of us in turn.
"Too early…" Zacharias was slightly indignant, busy examining many gray details of the model.
"Oh well, so what. Drive owls back and forth later or what?"
As a result of a brief discussion of this issue, a decision was made to exchange. It seems similar thoughts possessed the minds of the guys even before arriving here, and therefore everyone had gifts with them. Only Hermione was a little embarrassed because her gifts were universal, sweets, because she didn't know anyone present particularly. But, as it turned out, it's not so scary, because she received similar things herself. What is the main thing in this matter? Correct—start integrating into the team. Well, or at least just show politeness for further maintenance of acquaintance.
Having dealt with gifts, albeit sowhat neutral ones, we just sat and talked. Susan and Hannah found a common language with Hermione quite simply, dragging her into their won's club, well, and the guys and I suffered from all sorts of nonsense, simultaneously telling Ernie about the everyday life of ordinary people using examples, explaining everything on fingers—the guy was happy to imrse himself in such an environnt.
Towards evening, I asked for a phone and called Father to pick us up in an hour. They set a table for us in a separate dining room, we ate heartily, and after, when it got dark, went to the inner courtyard to launch fireworks. The pureblood wizards in our company were sowhat stunned by pyrotechnics, but it seems to that most of their astonishnt fell on the acrid sll of gunpowder, because magical fireworks are pure magic. Not all, but if conversations in Hogwarts are to be believed—mostly.
Justin's parents, as it turned out, were busy with business and were not present at ho. There were only a couple of people from the service staff here, who never appeared before our eyes.
When it was ti to disperse and we were all sitting on the rim of the fountain in the middle of the road ring opposite the porch, several spatial anomalies appeared next to us, from which an important-looking witch in black robes and a no less important-looking wizard, but in a gray suit and coat, ca out.
"Auntie," joyful Susan imdiately jumped up from her seat. "We had a very good ti! Let introduce you to my friends."
Susan quickly introduced us. Her aunt, Alia Bones, turned out to be the Head of the Departnt of Magical Law Enforcent. Such an acquaintance made Hermione almost stand at attention. The man turned out to be Hannah's father. He did not occupy such an important position, but in his Departnt of International Cooperation occupied by no ans the last post.
At this mont, Father's SUV drove up the road to the mansion, and acquaintance procedures went to a new round. In the end, Ernie and Hannah were taken by the girl's father, disappearing into the vortex of a spatial anomaly, and Zacharias and Susan "flew away" with Alia Bones—they all there, as it turned out, are sohow familiar by families. We went ho with Father.
. . . . . .
On the early morning of December 25th, I took public transport to London, and from there to the Leaky Cauldron. The reason was simple: to use the public owl post to send the ingredients reference book to Daphne. It didn't take much ti, and by lunch, I was already ho, in the circle of my family, talking about nothing and helping to prepare the festive table.
Christmas was t in a tight family circle, without extra people or trips to who-knows-where. In the morning, I received a return gift from Greengrass—copies of the rune books I had my eye on back in the first lesson. It seed quite sweet that Daphne rembered that instance.
That sa morning, I handed my parents Sneakoscopes—spheres inside of which a small arrow appeared, pointing in the direction of potential danger. It had a downside, of course—it could recognize danger coming from a person or their actions, recognize malicious intent, but if a teorite capable of wiping out the city were to fall, the Sneakoscope would remain silent. They really liked these amusing gadgets, and the demonstration I conducted using a fork and a desire to poke Father with it brought them to complete delight.
The remaining days until December 31st passed in the usual bustle, walks, conversations, and shopping trips, where I updated my wardrobe—both magical and quite ordinary—since I had the money for it. In Gringotts, one could exchange Galleons for Pounds, albeit at a rate slightly lowered and typical for any bank. Lowered not in my favor, of course.
On the morning of December 31st, Father drove Hermione and to King's Cross Station, where, along with the rest of the Hogwarts students, we boarded the Hogwarts Express from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Sitting in the compartnt opposite Hermione, who was reading a book with fascination, I thought about what these holidays had given . I consider it quite important that during this ti I understood Hermione more or less not only as the girl from the mories of my vegetative state but also as a person.
Yes, just a little, and she has many flaws in my opinion, but she is who she is—Hermione is not obliged to correspond to so vision of mine of a "correct" person.
I am also sure that Hermione herself got to know better. True, we didn't develop almost any common topics for conversation, not counting magic, nor did any cool common interests appear, but it seems to that for her, I am no longer a mannequin that suddenly started speaking.
Surely, yes.
Does this please ? I can't say for sure, but here is what I know for a fact—the more mutual understanding, the better, even if it is not an end in itself.
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