After Charms, Hannah and I first of all went to escort the first-years, after which it was time to attend the first Transfiguration class. There should be two of them, but the schedule turned out so that the double class was broken by a lunch break. Think this is not very bad, because no one is against a snack after a rather boring lecture by McGonagall.
In general, classes with our Deputy Headmistress began in much the same way as with Flitwick—we were read the importance of OWLs, the importance of passing them with a good grade, and generally, that life is a complicated thing. I, of course, am exaggerating, but approximately such a message was read in McGonagall's words. And of course, the strict Gryffindor Head of House, and part-time Transfiguration teacher, could not help but remind about the qualities of a wizard and a person in general that she loves.
"It is impossible to pass OWLs," she said sternly, looking at us over her neat glasses, "without serious practice, without diligence, without perseverance. I see no reason why everyone in this class shouldn't succeed in the Transfiguration exam. Just need to work hard."
Actually, I somewhat like McGonagall's manner of communicating with students. At least, if compare her with Snape. They are equally strict and demanding, and generally, similar in many ways, but if Snape's speeches often boil down to the fact that there are too many useless idiots around him, and medicine is powerless here, then McGonagall, in general, does not deny this fact, but manages to say such things in such words as if she wants to say to everyone: "Yes, you are idiots, but if try hard enough, can teach a hare to smoke too".
"So, today," Professor McGonagall continued meanwhile, "we begin the Vanishing Spell. It is simpler than Conjuring Spells, which you will have to systematically study only when preparing for NEWTs, but it belongs to the most difficult acts of sorcery of all that are included in the OWL program."
It turns out, Evanesco is one of the most difficult spells in the first five years, which surprised me somewhat, because I learned it without any special problems back in the third year, when I was compiling various household charms. Then it seemed to me that Evanesco in all its variety of variations is a very useful sorcery capable of making both inanimate and living objects disappear. Literally erase it from the universe. True, the more complex the structure of the object, the more difficult the sorcery, and if the object is also magical, such as, for example, some magical animal, then the complexity grows exponentially. For example, I strongly doubt that there are wizards in the world capable of "erasing" a human with the help of Evanesco. A dead one—possibly, and even then with great difficulty, and far from everyone. But a living one—unlikely. A wizard—even more so. Think, with the capabilities of my brain, I would cope with this matter, but somehow don't want to check.
It seems to me that the main difficulty of the spell is that many simply have no idea about the exact structure of the body. Not about anatomy—I mean cells and so on. And the very mechanism of disappearance also remains a mystery, so it doesn't work to make really complex objects disappear—just not enough magic and brain power to supply this magic in the required volume.
Under such thoughts I didn't even really notice how the class passed. Turns out, I earned points for the house for the perfect and fast execution of Evanesco on the first try. Hermione lagged behind me by one, and many others needed more than five.
Lunch, fulfilling prefect duties, a little more Transfiguration, and here I am already moving to Hagrid's hut among those who chose Care as an additional subject. To be honest, I don't think that this lady, Grubbly-Plank, an elderly and, it seems, rather withdrawn witch, will bring someone extraordinary, as Hagrid loves to do. A pity, of course.
Actually, so it turned out. The professor showed us Bowtruckles. Amusing I considered that Hagrid already demonstrated one to us and even told about them, but it seems, didn't make a record about it. And considering that these small, seemingly consisting of twigs and leaves animals were not damn dangerous, then Hagrid told about them without special, inherent to him, enthusiasm. And what does it mean? Correct—almost everyone completely forgot about these creatures.
Professor Grubbly-Plank approached the issue more creatively, gathering a bunch of Bowtruckles, building a simple pile of them, not differing from twigs and sticks in any way at all, and among other things, gave the Bowtruckles the opportunity to behave naturally.
Girls immediately were touched by these amusing small creatures, clumsily moving on legs-sticks, and just as clumsily moving such sticks, only hands. There was an amusing idea in my head to name one such Groot, but I couldn't understand at all where this thought came from, from what depths of memory, what it means, and why the thought seems amusing to me. Hate such memory gaps—they make you feel like either an idiot or a psycho.
In general, the public began to be touched, and only Hermione decided to answer the question of what these creatures are. Of course, having previously quickly raised her hand and almost jumped in place. Now she has more or less acquired friends, look, stand nearby, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown... But still remains Hermione, who needs to be asked as soon as possible, to be praised for knowledge. Cute, and at the same time a little scary, because knowing her unshakeability and stubbornness, far from a fact that this character trait will smooth out with age.
We were assigned to sketch a Bowtruckle, which we all began to do, including Malfoy. Why do I focus attention on him? Just have an amusing observation. Draco can express whatever and however much about this or that teacher, about methods, about educational material, but always tries to complete the tasks set by the teacher, and complete them qualitatively at that. Well, not for nothing is he in the top ten leaders in studies in the year, and closer to first place, and specifically—fourth.
Potter managed to get injured in the course of the matter. I don't know what happened to him there and how he managed to bring the Bowtruckle, a rather calm and friendly, albeit slightly dangerous creature to such a state, but it is what it is. Stands all shaggy, in glasses, actually, as always, clutching a bloody hand and baring his teeth in response to the laughter of Malfoy and his comrades. In general, nothing new.
In general, the day passed without special events, in the usual bustle diluted with prefect duties, and Hannah helped me in this matter.
In the evening I went to one of the unused classrooms to start making various small artifacts capable of making life easier for a Hogwarts student. In addition to the already usual warming ones, I thought to make something to protect against rain and dirt, selling them through Weasley for mere crumbs. But crumbs are crumbs, and from such crumbs capital is created—a little here, a little there, here is already some amount accumulated. Pleasant? Of course.
Having properly enchanted the classroom against sudden penetration by students and teachers suffering from excessive responsibility or a desire to catch someone at a late hour, I began to transfigure metal drop-pendants for warming amulets, and coin-pendants for protection from dirt, dust and rain, which on some lace, thread or chain should take a place on the wrist.
Time passed, work went well, and creating new schemes of artifacts was generally a simple matter—after all, they are really simple, and by no means even a tenth as complex as, for example, my bracelet with drone-triangles.
When almost everything was finished, a signal came from one of the spiders. Connecting, I saw Potter come out of Umbridge's office and hurriedly walk away. He was somehow pale, gloomy and rubbed his hand with a movement characteristic of such when receiving injuries. This interested me. The spider deftly ran along the ceiling, pursuing the guy who almost broke into a run.
Quickly throwing everything into the backpack with magic, I left the classroom and hurried to intercept. In theory, I should intercept Potter in the corridor of the second floor right before the exit to the Main Tower, from where he will already get to the common room.
And so it happened. I literally dived out in front of Potter's nose, from which the guy started, snatched his wand and conjured Lumos. Well yes, the time is late, I see in this incomplete darkness normally, and besides the dim light from the Main Tower a little, but dilutes the gloom of the corridor.
"Granger," Potter issued somehow warily.
"Exactly. An hour after curfew, Potter," I smiled, "and you are wandering, running along the corridors. Reason?"
"What's your business?" the pale guy snapped back sluggishly. "And for that matter, I was in detention with Umbridge."
"Hmm... Any Potters just don't run along the corridors for nothing," I answered calmly. "I am—a prefect. Note from Professor Umbridge?"
"What else... Ah... Don't have it... And generally," Potter wound himself up very quickly, getting rid of the paleness on his face and adding bravery to himself. "I'm almost in the common room. Leave me alone, huh?"
"If you answer my question..." I looked closely at Potter, at his hand, from which a smell of blood was felt.
Potter noticed where I was looking, and tried to hide his hand.
"So, the question," I chuckled. "Why does Harry Potter return from detention with Professor Umbridge with an injury on his hand? And a strange one at that, from which a slight smell of some abomination comes?"
"What do you care anyway?!" Potter flared up, taking a step in my direction and pointing at me with the glowing tip of his wand. "This doesn't concern you in any way!"
"You're mistaken, guy," I continued to stand calmly, mentally preparing to repel some attack from Potter, caused by his limitless understanding of any situation. This is irony, if anything. "I am—a prefect. You got an injury in detention and, apparently, by no means an accidental one."
"And so?"
"Are you an idiot?" I chuckled. "I used to think that Malfoy's teasing had no ground."
"You..."
"Think again. Detention with injuries for a student. I am—a prefect. Does this concern me?"
It seems something finally began to reach Potter, and he looked at me no longer aggressively, but thoughtfully. Or maybe he just now formulated a certain idea, understandable to him without me, but born in my presence.
"Will breed secrets next time. Such a thing," I pointed my hand at his hand, which he pulled behind his back, "is a serious reason to ask you these questions to get full answers. Corporal punishment was canceled by Dumbledore as soon as he became Headmaster, let it be known to you. And not a single professor has the power to change this nuance. I am responsible for first-years in particular, and students of my house in general. I must know exactly what happens at detentions with Umbridge, especially since the reason for the punishment is by no means the most valid. What will happen if someone is more guilty than you?"
"I am not guilty of anything. I only told her the truth. I have no reason not to believe the Headmaster. Voldemort returned, and that is a fact," Potter broadcast weightily, continuing to keep me at the gunpoint of his wand, at the tip of which Lumos dimly shone. "Or do you also consider him a crazy old man and a liar?"
"Don't consider. But my question remains valid. What. Happened. There?"
Harry hesitated for a second before lowering his wand, not dispelling Lumos.
"She made me write lines with some strange quill."
"Yeah? What kind?"
"Don't know. It doesn't require ink, writes with blood and leaves scratches on the hand."
"Show," I held out a hand demandingly.
Potter wanted to kick, but something stopped him, and he held out his hand, back of the hand up.
"Here."
Taking his hand, leaned a little to look closer. It seemed as if someone really tried to write on the skin with a sharp quill, scratching, time after time drawing a short line in the same place. "I must not tell lies". Taking out my wand, causing Potter to flinch for a moment, I passed it over the injury, supplying my magic and trying to feel the response. A little Darkness. Not the Darkness as the elf understood it, but local, distorted magic. Cannot cure such a thing just like that. Also some influence on energetics.
"Want to laugh?" I smiled.
"Not particularly," Potter really was not disposed to such.
"Will have to. Firstly—there is a little Dark Magic here. Secondly—after five or six such procedures it will really be hard for you to lie, up to slight physical pain. Show the hand you wrote with..."
Potter held out his right hand, and I immediately examined the fingers holding the quill. Two dots on each—such a trace remains from a Blood Quill, I know for sure, signed documents with such.
"Amusing... Looks like a cunning modification of a Blood Quill with which contracts and documents are signed. This gives guarantees that the signer will follow the word of the contract. Here, it seems, a contract with oneself, the text of which you write... Unacceptable..."
I wanted to continue speaking, but finally Malfoy and Parkinson came out of hiding—today is their turn to patrol. I felt them somewhere from the middle of our conversation, but didn't show it.
"Well-well-well," Draco smirked, and Pansy, who walked next to him, just smiled. "Who is this wandering around at night?"
"Malfoy..." Potter almost hissed, stepping aside and standing as if I were with him, thereby contrasting us with Malfoy and Parkinson.
Draco raised his wand to head level, but held it out of his field of vision—at least someone in this circus understands that keeping a light source in front of your eyes and trying to see something—is idiocy.
"Good evening," I nodded to them both.
"And what..."
"Excuse me, of course," I looked at Malfoy with a serious face. "But the situation is strange and jokes are inappropriate now."
"Yeah?" Malfoy smirked, but seeing impenetrable seriousness on my face, took an equally serious look. As, by the way, did Pansy. "What happened?"
"It doesn't matter..." Potter wanted to wave it off, but I looked at him extremely seriously.
"Shove your stupid feud into one place, and deeper. Not the time now."
"Don't tell me," rudeness and indignation crept out on the bespectacled face of the hero of all England.
"Turn on your brain already..."
"Ha," Malfoy chuckled. "To turn on something, need this 'something' to be there in the first place..."
"Draco," Pansy took a step forward, standing sideways between all of us. "Now, obviously, is not the time. What happened?"
She looked at me waiting for an answer.
"In short," I made sure with a look that Potter would not be rowdy. "Umbridge slightly modified the Blood Quill using light Dark Magic, most likely, maleficism, if I understood correctly. Now it serves not for its intended purpose, but to inflict physical harm on the holder and imprint the written both in the body and in the mind."
"Can praise her for inventiveness," Malfoy chuckled. "Don't see a problem yet."
"That's for now," I nodded. "She used this amusing thing at Potter's detention."
"Now this is serious," Pansy nodded.
Potter, it seems, just stood and naturally leaked from our communication. Normal, serious communication. Well, or maybe from the fact that no one pays attention to him at all.
"Physical punishment, especially with the use of Dark Magic," Pansy continued meanwhile, folding her arms under her chest. "Completely forbidden by Dumbledore and the Ministry. For such a thing, by the way, can get Azkaban from half a year to a year on average levels."
"Of course, you know," Potter grimaced, "what one can go there for."
To my surprise, Potter was completely ignored by the Slytherins. Well, not entirely completely.
"How did she make you write?" Malfoy looked at Potter without jokes and smirks, which clearly broke the pattern of his typical behavior.
"Um... Just gave the quill and told to write lines."
"Can you say verbatim?"
Potter clearly struggled with himself.
"...Now, Mr. Potter," Harry's brains clearly creaked in an attempt to give a verbatim phrase. "You will write some lines for me. No, not with your quill. You will use my quill."
"Hmm..." Malfoy thought. "Did she say earlier that writing lines with this quill would be a punishment, detention, and so on."
"No... Probably. No, definitely no," Potter shook his head.
"Pity."
"Think," I looked at Malfoy, "to bring an accusation against Umbridge expressed verbatim?"
"There was such a thought."
"What accusation?"
"Good one," Pansy smiled. "Now if Umbridge said that writing lines with this quill is a punishment, detention or something like that, then yes... Here would be something to work with."
"Do you understand," I looked at Pansy and Draco, "that this is all—a problem?"
"Not fools," Malfoy proudly threw back his head.
"I wouldn't rush with such statements..." Potter grumbled, but in response received only hostile glances, and from all of us. And Malfoy meanwhile continued the thought:
"Our little ones can fall under the distribution."
"What will we do?"
"Don't know, Granger," Malfoy shook his head. "Don't know yet. Need to see how things go. I will tell mine that if they get to such a detention, try to infuriate Umbridge and trick her into a confession."
"Good. I will warn the little ones," I nodded. "Will tell the seniors how better to act. It seems, Umbridge is serious."
"She—is the Minister's assistant," Malfoy shrugged. "She is always serious."
On this "cheerful" note we went our separate ways, and I thought about how to cause trouble for this amazingly suspicious lady—only two days, and almost the whole school already hates her. Sure that a week will be enough for her to earn the hatred of absolutely everyone. Think it will be difficult, and will have to work subtly—cannot use force against bureaucracy, and if achieve a result by force, will remain guilty of everything yourself. And this is unacceptable.
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