Harry Potter: The Healer Chapter 89 - 89

If soone were to ask how it happened, I would just spread my hands.

The thing is, during our walk through Hogsade, our company grew to a rather decent size, albeit not imdiately. I an, genuinely decent. First, Daphne and I t Hannah and Ernie, and the conversation sohow 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 so 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 t 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 Hogsade, discussing the topic. A reasonable question—how much ti does such an unusual group of students need for soone 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—soone 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 seed 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 gentlen," Cedric smiled. "I haven't been visiting this establishnt for the first year and can help save you from choosing dishes and snacks that won't be to your taste."

Exchanging glances, everyone ca 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 sothing of their own, giggling periodically, but also devoted ti to magic, and especially Potions. Almost all the ladies turned out to be interested in this science to so extent, and therefore Daphne enthusiastically participated in the conversations. We guys also found sothing to discuss—Quidditch, nuances of Transfiguration, the variety of at snacks, and the fact that Butterbeer is an extrely peculiar drink.

"I heard," Krum spoke up at one point, addressing . "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 beca despondent, as did Polyakov.

The latter, by the way, reminded sowhat 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 gas through the Ministry?"

"What do you an?"

"Well, the only problem is that our teachers don't have ti to prepare the Quidditch pitch. Charms there, safety, all that stuff. Can we invite a couple of specialists from the Ministry? From the Departnt of... 'many words' and Sports."

"They might request paynt," Polyakov noted. "Ours wouldn't be shy."

"Well, the amount is unlikely to be large. Half a Galleon can be found by anyone. Tournant is a tournant, but without Quidditch, it's sohow dull."

"And I knew," Cedric smirked. "That you would beco a fan of this ga."

"Pff, it's not right to miss the opportunity to play with soone 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 ti, just enough events accumulate for a decently sized interesting story, albeit briefly. And in the Owlery, among other owls, Khrustik was already waiting for , 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 ti 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. Sothing 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 ti of day. The reason is always simple—it's morning, everyone wants to sleep, not study. But the sll of pumpkin is rather unusual for breakfast, so the students, so to speak, woke up, rembering 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 sothing 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 seed to 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 thed decorations: carved pumpkins hovering overhead, all sorts of bats, little skeletons, and other horror paraphernalia. Coupled with the slightly dimr-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 t at the doors of the Great Hall. , 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 ti 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 movent. "Just throw an offering into the fire and believe that it will bring you purification and blessing."

"Sohow simple."

"Full rituals and festivities were larger scale," Daphne explained. "But to a much greater extent, they were sothing 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 assu it's like a spell—we believe, our magic purifies us. And the ritual itself is a psychological trigger."

"Exactly," Hannah confird 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 movent of magic in myself and around. The energy seed 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 . Hexes, for example. So 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 sowhere on the lake. Not the kind from tornt and forced demise, but death as a natural phenonon. These are different energies. The first is bad, evil, and crazy. The second is correct, like air, light, or fire.

"I feel sohow 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 sothing else.

"Not all magic even has a visual manifestation," Daphne spoke importantly, walking beside . "Much manifests itself extrely weakly. But when there are very many such weak manifestations, the situation can change radically."

"And I feel nauseous," Ernie rubbed his stomach.

"ans there was quite a lot of fresh stuff on you," Hannah smiled maliciously in the lamplight. "I'm sure you said sothing offensive to so 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 one way or another. Normal, correct energy, being almost a special case of life.

This is interesting.

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