An ordinary early morning, ordinary warm-up, jogging, and physical exercises before breakfast, only around was not Hogwarts, but an ordinary suburb of London, the sky was completely covered with clouds and a light rain was drizzling.
After taking a shower and changing into ordinary but formal clothes—dark jeans, a thin dark blue turtleneck—and taking a light jacket with me, I went down to breakfast. Hermione, it seems, decided to sleep in until the last moment, indistinctly informing everyone in a lethargic voice that there would be no first lesson.
After breakfast, took my backpack and left the house. Walking literally a couple of hundred meters, hid in a dark alley between the familiar minimarket and the building next to it, immediately Apparating near the Burrow.
A grove, hills, greenery around. Not far away, the Weasley house was visible, towards which I headed. The weather here was better than in London, and the sun peered through the gaps in the clouds now and then, breaking through with oblique rays. Not far from the Burrow, on a makeshift Quidditch pitch, the twins were already hanging out, experimenting with some crap that popped slightly and exploded with small colored sparks.
"Hi, guys!" I waved my hand to them.
"Oh!" they turned in my direction simultaneously and waved, smiling. "Why are you here? And how?"
"Apparated," I approached and shook hands with the guys.
"Well there," one of them chuckled, seems to be Fred—they differed just a little in magic sensations. Or maybe it's George—I need them to honestly tell their names at least once. "And mom forbids us, strictly observing..."
"...and severely punishing if catches."
"Only potions remain."
"And you train wandless. I tell you for sure."
"Nah, man," the second one chuckled. "We are cool, of course..."
"...but not that cool," the first one finished for him.
"And I, actually, am at Cedric's invitation. Seems he should come now..."
Mrs. Weasley leaned out of the window, immediately notifying everyone of her presence with a rather loud exclamation.
"You, gentlemen tomboys, did you clean up your rooms?" she shouted so that the twins would definitely hear her, but then noticed me. "Hector?"
"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," I waved my hand to her.
Mrs. Weasley disappeared, to come out of the house in a couple of seconds. As always, in a home-working bright dress, clearly all in business and worries, she quickly approached us.
"Hector, dear, why without warning," she complained about my behavior with a smile. "I would have prepared at least something for tea."
"Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Weasley. I'm literally for a minute, to talk with Fred and George."
"Yes?" she looked at these pranksters with suspicion. "I hope you are not planning some grandiose dirty trick?"
"No, what are you saying, mom," the twins simultaneously put their hands in a protective gesture. "Only small and insignificant ones."
"Watch it," she wagged her finger at them, and turned to me again. "If you want to stay for lunch, say so, I will organize another place at the table."
"Definitely, if I suddenly stay."
"Don't be naughty," Mrs. Weasley quickly returned to the house.
"Too much control," Fred shook his head.
"Too much care," George repeated the gesture.
"Even in twenty years you will be beloved and small prankster kids for her. Accept it."
"Well it's understandable. But strange."
A pop of Apparition sounded nearby, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a funnel of spatial anomaly instantly turn into Cedric. Familiar clothes of brown and greenish colors, a jacket and a polite smile of the former prefect—nothing changes.
"Hi!" he waved his hand to us, approaching. "Seems I'm a little late."
Handshakes, greetings—nothing unexpected.
"Actually, why I gathered you," Cedric looked at us, stopping his gaze on the twins. "Guys. Since I graduated from school, then..."
Cedric put his hand on my shoulder.
"Now Hector will be responsible for your contacts with our handyman."
"Yes?" the twins exchanged glances, but Fred continued to speak. "And you won't tell us who it is either?"
"Of course," I smiled. "Contracts—they are like that."
"Pity," George sighed. "Such a specialist would be useful to us. You know that we plan to open our shop of all sorts of jokes?"
"Informed."
"So. It would be cool if such artifacts were also sold at our place. For a quite adequate share."
"This no longer depends on me."
"Well you mainly pass it on, what if something works out?"
"The contract does not forbid this," I nodded, which caused clear approval from the twins.
"Well, actually, I did what I wanted," Cedric smiled. "And now I have to run. Father planned to introduce me to... 'A bunch of important people'. He just dreams about how I will work with him in the Ministry, and will definitely outgrow him in position very, very soon."
"Ha, ours is the same," George smirked under Fred's encouraging smile. "Remember, he joked somehow, like: 'Imagine, all important departments—and Weasleys everywhere! There will be no one to give bribes to Malfoy'."
"Funny plan, of course," Fred nodded. "But there is little prospect in it."
Cedric said goodbye and Apparated away.
"Staying?"
"Nah, guys. I need to go to St Mungo's, I have a planned checkup."
"Sick?.."
"...or matter of the past?"
"Yes, need to check health, exclude complications, all that. You never know. Smethwyck says not to resist, go to him and study."
"Ah, Smethwyck," the twins nodded.
"Cool old man," Fred continued the thought. "True, mom dislikes him."
"Yes? Why? He seemed to me a quite qualified Healer."
"Ah, nonsense," Fred waved it off. "Just father got to him a couple of times, having received injuries at work. Well, you know, he needs everything in Muggle way, so he insisted on treatment with Muggle methods."
"Yeah," George nodded, continuing his brother's thought. "Smethwyck says, like: 'Any whim for your money'. Until mom found out, father walked for several days with hands in plaster like this..."
George stretched his arms to shoulder level, bending them at the elbows—it seems their father had broken collarbones.
"...happy, sickening to look at."
"Yeah," I smiled. "Imagine the shock of other people."
"You bet! Our dad is quite a humorist."
"Okay, guys, I'll fly. Or else will be late, God forbid."
"Go ahead."
Hiding myself with magic from the gaze of ordinary people—an analogue of Muggle-Repelling Charms, only on sheer will—I Apparated near the Leaky Cauldron. Generally I still have a couple of hours, even more, so I decided to just walk along Diagon Alley, look into shops, collect rumors.
By the way, about rumors. I still have a connection with spiders, but absolutely nothing is happening at Hogwarts now. At all. Quiet. Therefore, the connection is almost not felt. Well, can listen to the noise of the wind on the Astronomy Tower—do I need it?
Walking among wizards along the magical street of London, looking at shop windows, at counters with all sorts of necessary and not very things, I thought about what kind of protection needs to be organized for parents.
First of all, the thought came to mind about some artifacts like the one I created for Daphne. But I discarded this option immediately. Yes, the snake bracelet turned out notable, and magic, following my will, realized a unique thing capable of much and even without special recharge from the side. But nevertheless, this recharge is needed, and the need for it is somewhat greater than the natural background can give. Need something capable of accumulating magic, and spending it extremely effectively—my parents are ordinary people. That's why I walk around shops with all sorts of things, ingredients and trinkets—looking for material, because I can create far from everything.
Can, of course, try to create some contour capable of holding and accumulating magic based on meager memories of magic from the life of an elf or a dwarf, but... Either these two did not create such a thing in principle, or did it too rarely, using other people's works. On the other hand, why am I bothering? Look, installed a protective contour around the house? Installed. It is autonomous and works both due to background magic and due to absorbed, from dispelling spells. So why reinvent the wheel?
Yes, this won't help against very strong wizards, but if some really strong wizard suddenly decides to harm my parents, then... Well, need to be objective and discard emotions—no personal protection will help here, and even locals don't have such a thing, otherwise they would use it. So, decided—will forge medallions dispelling magic and creating Protego Reflecto based on it. Why exactly so?
Everything is extremely simple here. Wizards have a point on their own superiority. Need to apply something powerful and deadly immediately against "filthy pathetic Muggles"? Of course not—need to show yourself, how magnificent you are, and how insignificant they are. First will go something not particularly dangerous—it will be dispelled by protection, and based on it Protego Reflecto will be prepared, which will appear exactly in the path of the second spell. And here the second one should be more serious, dangerous, because what is this, magic didn't work on a Muggle? Need to bang cooler, with some Bombarda. So it will return to the sender.
And additional protection on the house, most likely, is not needed. In fact, under the action of protection, activation of a magical effect is impossible. That is, with a huge probability—will need to check—even a dangerous dark trinket will simply be a trinket if it is within the limits of protection. But outside—will work already. And if I cancel the work of all magic in general, then anything can happen. Hermione brings some bag with Undetectable Extension into the house, and "BANG!"—the bag scatters like a fragmentation grenade, destroying everything around with fragments of contents. Do I need it?
A scheme began to slowly and surely form in my head that will help me implement personal protection for parents. But besides other things, purely just in case, I will outline the situation in the magical world to them, and what threat may threaten them. Suddenly they decide to leave? While thinking, looked into Fortescue's cafe, ordered simpler ice cream, but with chocolate chips. Sat, ate, thought—didn't even pay much attention to wizards around, but, it seems, there was nothing to pay this very attention to. Yes, what people are talking about did not escape me—nothing important. Generally. Nothing related to the Dark Lord, except "But Dumbledore said, and the Minister sent him away".
By the appointed time I reached St Mungo's Hospital and, having learned from a plump and not at all polite witch at the counter if Healer Smethwyck is here, went up the wide staircase to the second floor—I know the way. Knocking on the door, opened and went inside.
"Good day, Healer Smethwyck," I smiled at the plump little man sitting at his desk.
"Oh, Mr. Granger," he smiled back, putting documents aside and placing a folder in front of him, which until this moment rested on a stack of other folders. "Glad for such punctuality. Come in, sit down."
Smethwyck pointed to a comfortable chair opposite his desk, and I hurried to take advantage of the invitation. Although, what kind of invitation is this? Instruction for action.
"So," Smethwyck quickly leafed through the sheets with notes in the folder, paying special attention to the last one. "Hmm... So, clear. Well, Mr. Granger, shall we talk?"
"Why not talk," I smiled.
Smethwyck's gaze was kind and ingratiating, like a smile, but at the same time it was visible that he looks extremely carefully, studies, forms an opinion. Well yes, because my problems are somehow connected with brains and CNS, so he observes various reactions both physiological and psychological.
"I remember I prescribed you courses of potions."
"Yes, Healer, there was that."
"Did you drink them in accordance with recommendations?"
"Of course. As you asked, didn't strain brains particularly, didn't use strong magic on the principle of children's outbursts."
"Very good," the Healer nodded. "How do you feel?"
"No complaints or complications. Head doesn't hurt either systematically or occasionally. No pain syndromes in the body, no increased fatigue or tiredness. Everything is in tone. Wand magic obeys, subjects are studied, memory works."
"Wonderful, glad to hear it. Allow me, will conduct diagnostic measures?"
"Of course."
"Then, as last time, will ask you to mentally practice in various disciplines to load brains a little. As soon as there is no need for this, I will tell you."
"Good."
For about twenty minutes Healer Smethwyck spun around me, waving his wand launching some extremely complex magical manipulations not bringing me harm—I checked this first of all. From them came a response, rather, of cognition than anything else. Well, this is logical—diagnostics after all.
"Phew," Smethwyck brushed non-existent drops of sweat from his forehead and returned to his table, immediately starting to make notes. "You, Mr. Granger, are really in excellent condition. It seems your condition has finally stabilized and I no longer see problems for using your... experimental sorcery techniques."
"This is good news, sir," as if I didn't know myself. "Won't lie if I say that I missed it."
Indeed, it is pleasant to learn from a specialist with experience, and not only from my fragmentary reliable knowledge, that nothing threatens my health. Of course, there is still one nuance—final merger with storm energy has not passed yet, but nothing can be done here. Need to wait another six months-year. And then I will be able to use large volumes of this energy without problems, as now I can use life energy or neutral, like all wizards. True, having understood some ideas and basics of maleficism, can turn neutral into dark with the help of emotions... Hmm, by the way, need to try to fatten the phoenix with it. And generally check if it works as a lightning rod... Or else sitting now in my nest, pecking all sorts of goodies and sleeping—that's all activity.
"How is your academic success, Mr. Granger?" in Smethwyck's question lay some mockery that adults allow themselves towards children, not offensive. The Healer himself continued to make notes, glancing at me and my reactions.
"More than successful. I received access to the Restricted Section. The Headmaster and Professor Snape sketched very large lists of literature to study. What is not there, I must say. Now I especially concentrated on maleficism and potions, not counting the usual school curriculum."
"Hmm, not bad, not bad. And at what level of study is the school curriculum?"
"At different, sir," I shrugged. "Something at the level of the seventh year, something sixth, and something only fifth, but there is almost none of that. Some subjects, among other things, I study not only upwards, so to speak, moving through the years, but also in breadth. If went strictly according to textbooks, would not have studied only Runes and Potions."
"And why exactly these subjects could remain among the not fully studied?"
"For Runes need a mentor, understanding, and all such things. Well and for Potions—practice. Common sense does not allow me to practice in potion making without professor's control, so here I am exactly at the level that Professor Snape gives."
"Praiseworthy common sense."
"Haste makes waste. Need to know the measure in everything."
"That is so, Mr. Granger," Smethwyck finished filling out papers, closed the folder and put it aside, looking up at me. "That is indeed so. Would like to know something from you. I don't see any characteristic traces of errors when working with Dark Magic yet..."
"Just I didn't work with it, sir."
"Even so? You surprise me, honestly. Besides the fact that you answer questions quite frankly, so even having reached maleficism, didn't try to do something like that?"
"Regarding answers," I settled on the chair more comfortably. "I perfectly understand that you, as a Healer, to compile the correct picture, need to collect a correct patient anamnesis. What, where, when, how, in what quantities and so on. At such moments, the patient should discard doubts, embarrassment, uncertainty and answer honestly. Then the Healer will be able to compile a correct picture, understand what, where, when and under what conditions went wrong, and prescribe correct treatment or prevention."
Smethwyck nodded at my words with a slight smile.
"You know, Mr. Granger. Probably, worth compiling a manual for the patient. Many even knowing that a Healer cannot tell any details or secrets about the patient's health to third parties, still continue to lie."
"Think it's from shame."
"Shame?"
"Yes, Healer. Sure, many visit this institution having received injuries due to their own stupidity, inattention, due to their own or others' mistakes and so on. It is shameful to talk about such things, especially if you consider yourself extremely important, strong, professional. Pride interferes."
"Ha, you are right, perhaps. But what about maleficism? Honestly, when you said that you started studying it, I slightly didn't believe. Usually students of your age, Mr. Granger, as soon as they get to such a thing, immediately try to check in practice and spoil the life of their neighbor. Mistakes in the absence of experience—are inevitable. You are completely clean from such a thing. Or didn't make mistakes."
"Flattering to hear that you admit my infallibility in working with magic, however I am not that cool," I smiled sincerely, because it is true. "I practice neutral disciplines now, so to speak, get the hang of it, delve into how wizards see magic and sorcery, read, try to understand and realize."
"Understand and realize..." Smethwyck thoughtfully repeated my words. "This is a rare aspiration these days. And in the years of my youth a rare wizard tried to understand magic or the vision of this magic in other wizards, authors of certain treatises."
"Really?" I was surprised. "It's obvious. Won't go far without understanding magic. Okay basic knowledge, they are maximally polished by years of teaching at Hogwarts. Ambiguity of interpretation, formulas or other things is excluded there."
"That is so."
"But," I leaned forward a little. "More advanced knowledge and disciplines, related sciences or generally, separate directions, like maleficism, for example... They require very versatile both knowledge and understanding of the subject, base. Just to understand how the author of a particular technique saw magic, so that one could repeat the same result, and not another, using the same techniques. For example, six months ago I had my vision of Dark Magic, but if I approached the study of maleficism with it, without communicating with practitioners, so to speak, without expanding horizons and understanding... Think if I decided to apply knowledge on this subject, the result could be deplorable. My vision was albeit a little, but incorrect."
"You are right. Sorcery—is far from just following instructions. You became very proficient in understanding magic in just a year. Praiseworthy. You know... I, perhaps, will compile a list of books and send them to Headmaster Dumbledore so that next year he expands your access. Only there is one condition."
"I am listening to you carefully."
"Also in a year, approximately in the first week of summer holidays, I would like to examine you. Hope you will find time, Mr. Granger, to pay attention not only to preparation for OWLs."
"Oh... Right... First mandatory exams," I thoughtfully rubbed my temples. "Somehow slipped my mind. Also our prefect graduated now and threatened that it is me who will be chosen as a prefect for this year."
"Yes? Don't despair," Smethwyck smiled kindly. "I was also a prefect in the fifth year. If you want, can give advice."
"Of course."
"Advice, in fact, is simple—from the very beginning make it clear that the house will not be able to sit on your neck, dangling legs. Delineate zones of responsibility with the second prefect and find yourself one or two assistants who themselves will be happy to deal with some matters. In every house there are always one or two students who are happy to mess with juniors, help in learning, solve some minor social conflicts. Take only inter-house conflicts, serious internal and problems with teachers on yourself. Well and the first two weeks lead first-years from class to class together with the one whom you choose responsible for the troubles of small ones."
"Hmm... In general, build a clear vertical of student interaction."
"Sort of..."
Smethwyck seemed to come to his senses, looked at a mechanical wristwatch.
"Oh, Mr. Granger, we stayed too long with you. Time runs so fast."
"You are right, Healer," I nodded and got up from the chair, adjusting the backpack behind my shoulder. "Assume, see you next year?"
"Assume so," he nodded with a smile.
Already at the very door I turned around.
"By the way, wanted to ask. Do you think the Dark Lord returned?"
"Where do such questions come from?" Smethwyck's face became much more serious.
"There is reason to suspect, sir."
"Will tell you this—I do not possess reliable information. Where do such thoughts come from at all, for he died?"
"I am one hundred percent sure that there are ways not to die, having died. Sure, there are at least two of them."
"Even two? Why exactly two?"
"Because always and in any situation there are at least two solutions. Don't think death is an exception. As well as return to life."
"Ha, amusing position. Nevertheless, I don't know. And don't think anyone can reliably answer whether he returned, or not, and if returned, is it him?"
"Understood. All the best."
Leaving Smethwyck's office, I thought that he knows "something". Is this knowledge dangerous for me? Don't think so. For the family? Also unlikely. As it seems to me, Smethwyck revolves in quite specific circles. Just the amount he shelled out for a bracelet for his goddaughter is worth something. How should his words be understood? Do they mean that Smethwyck knows and communicates with wizards who, one way or another, if not obliged, should know about the return of the Dark Lord if he returns? And does it mean that Smethwyck is aware of what exactly allowed him not to die, and moreover, does it mean that Smethwyck is aware of what consequences for a wizard using this method of "immortality" can lead to? Eh... Magical England, a small village, everyone knows each other, only I here—know nothing and no one.
With such thoughts I walked along Diagon Alley again, left it through the Leaky Cauldron and Apparated into a dark alley between the minimarket and the building standing not far from the house. Hiding myself with magic from prying eyes, leisurely moved home, paying no special attention to the starting rain. Again.
Parents were not at home, but Hermione was. Wrapped in a robe, sat on the sofa in the living room and watched TV.
"Hi," I approached and sat nearby.
"Hi. How did you go to the hospital? What did they say?"
"That healthy as a bull."
Opening the backpack, took out a bracelet and gave it to Hermione.
"What is this?"
"There is protection on the house that does not allow casting spells. This is—a kind of pass."
"What protection? From where?" my sister immediately roused herself. "Why don't I know about this?"
"In connection with recent events, I attended to the safety of the house and parents. Remains only to get personal protection for them..."
"Hector," Hermione clearly didn't understand how to react to this. "What nonsense. Who would need to harm our parents?"
"Someone will need to."
"And generally," my sister looked at me with reproach. "Firstly, this probably costs money..."
"No."
"Okay, suppose," she nodded. "Then, why do I need a bracelet? I am not going to conjure at home. It's against the rules."
"No means no," I shrugged. "Okay, I still have a bunch of things to do."
Getting up from the sofa, I was about to leave the house in search of a place to work with artifacts, when an owl knocked on the living room window. A huge one like that, severe, and the letter in its paw was... How to say correctly, official, or what? Not some random envelope.
Hermione and I went to the window and opened it—the owl looked at me.
"Looks like it's for you," Hermione sort of took a step back, but was in no hurry to leave, and a spark of curiosity burned in her eyes.
"Looks like it."
Reaching out and simultaneously checking the letter with magic, I did not find traces of any sorcery on it, and therefore took it boldly and even invited the owl into the house with a gesture. But she only hooted, raised "ears", looked around everything, and flew away. The rain outside the window was getting stronger. I returned to the sofa, and Hermione followed me, clearly expecting when I would open the letter and, it seems, I am simply obliged, in my sister's opinion, to read it aloud.
Turning the envelope over, saw a wax seal with the Malfoy coat of arms on it. Hmm...
"Where is this from?" Hermione examined the seal with curiosity. "From Hogwarts?"
Shifting my gaze to her and looking into seemingly so smart, but so stupid brown eyes, I couldn't help but smile.
"Does this look like the Hogwarts coat of arms?"
"Hmm. No, but you never know? Suddenly something is designated in a special way somehow?"
"Learn the heraldry of families of magical England. This is from the Malfoys."
"Malfoys? To you? What do they need from you?" Hermione, it seems, became seriously worried.
"Who knows them? Actually, I communicate quite normally with Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. Quite interesting personalities when they keep their prejudices to themselves."
"They hate Muggles. And Muggle-borns. Lucius is evil generally, it's obvious. And was a Death Eater."
"Don't give a damn really. The main thing is that he doesn't cross the path of me and my loved ones. And as for the rest—let him do what he wants. Everyone is free to choose their path, and if his path leads him to the grave—good riddance."
"Hector, you can't say that. Yes, he is a bad person..."
"Listen, make up your mind, otherwise you are tossed from side to side on the waves of democracy and liberalism. Recommend developing your point of view on each separate issue, as well as the direction of movement in life."
"Oh screw you," Hermione pouted like a mouse at groats. "Nothing storms me."
And herself sits and glances towards the envelope.
Breaking the seal, took out the letter. In beautiful calligraphic handwriting there was a small message, the essence of which is extremely clear, like: "So and so, Mr. Granger, invite you to us on July second, we will have a holiday here, and you will be able to communicate with classmates and not only. Dress code—strict, business, but not ceremonial. With respect, Lucius Malfoy".
"What do they write?"
"Invite to visit."
"Pff-ff-ff, wha-a-at?"
Unable to resist, I laughed at Hermione's such vivid reaction. And she sat, looking at me, eyes wide open in disbelief.
"That's how it is, Mione."
"You absolutely decidedly cannot go there, Hector! It can be very dangerous."
"Living is dangerous in general. Don't worry, I'm not a weak wizard."
"What nonsense!" my sister continued to be indignant, puffing with righteous anger. "You are a fourteen-year-old boy, just moved to the fifth year, and even then, skipped the first two. You a priori cannot be a strong wizard..."
My sister's educational speech, causing only a smile in me, was interrupted by another knock on the window. Owl. While I went to open, another one flew in. And another.
"What is this anyway?" Hermione was indignant. "If not for the fact that the window overlooks the inner courtyard, I would be very worried. Neighbors too."
Letters were from Cedric, from Hannah and from Daphne. Judging by the fact that the owls did not fly away, but did not want to come in either, an answer is needed. In principle, nothing special was written there, but in each of the letters there was a question—what am I doing on July second.
"Hmm... Mione, be kind, give the backpack."
A couple of seconds later Hermione brought my backpack, and I quickly took out a quill, parchment and an inkwell from there. With quick, sweeping, but damn cool handwriting, I immediately wrote two polite friendly letters with an answer, and one slightly more detailed—for Daphne. Giving letters to owls, which immediately flew away, returned to the sofa, and Hermione stood opposite, hands on hips.
"Hector Granger!" Hermione suddenly moved away from the moralizing tone. "How strange to pronounce your surname addressing another... In general, this is irresponsible."
"Well, what to do?" I shrugged. "It seems that all more or less significant persons of my and close to my age, and, judging by everything, their parents will be there. Need to go."
And this is really interesting. Very interesting. And a small, insignificant chance that it will be dangerous there, unexpectedly excited me, which is why I even woke up in the nest and almost cooed, releasing crumbs of Dementor aura. Of course, this happened only for a brief moment and in an extremely small radius, but happened. Need to urgently experiment with energy and feed the phoenix—the bird should not be hungry. Maybe soon Delacour will contact me and offer the Plague Doctor to heal something? Would be not bad. And for now... Need to think.
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