The sun, unusually warm for May, was gradually sinking toward the horizon. Not evening yet, but the lunch hour had already passed. The Quidditch match had ended barely twenty minutes ago; the students had long since disappeared back into the walls of Hogwarts, and the players had quickly changed and made their way to the castle as well — the meal time might have passed, but lunch itself, as always in such cases, was served "as ready" for students to come to the Great Hall. So why was I still standing outside, back leaning against the cool castle walls, gazing at the countryside around me? Simply because something had pulled me toward a moment of meditation — enjoying the sounds of nature, the sun, the greenery, and all the other small pleasures of life.
No, genuinely. These kinds of moods come over me for a minute or two perhaps twice a term — sometimes I'll stand on the Astronomy Tower and stare into the distance, sometimes something else entirely. For me it's a form of mental rest, much like sitting in the common room amid the warm, light, living hum of busy housemates.
So here I stood, simply looking out at the green mountains, the hills, the Forbidden Forest, the smooth blue surface of the Black Lake, resting my mind. The Quidditch match just played had drained me considerably — mentally, specifically. The role of Beater, of a good Beater, is quite demanding. When I'd played as a Chaser I hadn't needed to account for too many factors at once, and as Keeper even fewer — but Beater is an entirely different matter.
Thanks to my sensitivity to magic and a kind of spatial radar that had opened up during my very first flights on a broomstick, I could, as before, literally feel and know the position of every player and every ball on the pitch at any given moment. And it was the role of Beater that allowed me to put those talents to full use, since my task was — through precise coordination with the second Beater, the two Bludgers, and the opposing team's Beaters — to make life as difficult as possible for every single player on the other side.
For truly effective play, for the highest possible quality of execution, I had needed maximum concentration: constant calculation and recalculation of players' movements and the balls' trajectories, continuous adjustment to the flow of play, rapid and correct repositioning, exploiting the Bludgers' tendency to react to the nearest Beater in order to introduce an element of chaos... In short, I hadn't pushed myself that hard in quite some time. But is playing Beater this taxing for the others? Far less so.
Many of them, as I now noticed and analysed, concentrate not on the game as a whole but on one particular tactic — not everyone is capable of "reading the game" in such an active role. Playing against one or two Chasers, for instance. Or switching focus to disrupting the Seeker. Or tying up the opposing Beaters in a Bludger duel. Flexible, situational play — changing strategy at any given second — is extraordinarily difficult for a Beater, which is precisely why no one ever aims for it.
As for the match itself... a victory. With my involvement, we simply paralysed the Slytherin game completely. They even switched to the rough style of play they normally reserve for Gryffindor, but it did them little good. Though Malfoy did catch the Snitch — the boy is better than our Seeker, there's no denying it. We won on the point difference: one hundred and seventy to one hundred and ninety in our favour. Herbert, incidentally, managed to improve his Keeping skills while playing as a Beater — which was something. But even that, along with the fact that the Slytherin attacks were almost constantly broken up by Bludgers on our end, couldn't save our hoops from two excellent shots. Our Chasers, however, under Tamsine's leadership and with Bludger cover, pushed through one successful attack after another.
"Why the long face?"
Herbert had clearly imagined he'd crept up unnoticed, and even added a little flourish of surprise by giving me a proper, brotherly clap on the shoulder.
"Just enjoying the scenery," I said, glancing at our Keeper — former Keeper again now, since next year I'd be playing Chaser for two matches and Seeker for one. "Why didn't you go in with the others?"
"Where's the food going to run off to, for us Badgers?" Herbert stepped up beside me, ruffling his blond hair. "I'm looking at the pitch."
Glancing toward the Quidditch pitch, set slightly below on the hillside, I wasn't entirely sure what he was seeing from here — standing against the castle walls, all that was really visible were the outer barriers, the stands, and the goal hoops. The field itself, the green grass, the base of the hoops — none of that was in sight. We weren't high enough for that.
"Last match, isn't it," Herbert continued, completing his own thought.
"Is it?"
"Did you forget?" He looked at me with genuine surprise. "I'm graduating this year."
"And you don't plan to play Quidditch after that?"
"You're missing the point," Herbert said with a grin, shaking his head. "Last match this year. Last match in the house team. Last match in the Hogwarts championship. It's the last in a lot of ways. And I'm not planning to play professionally. Everything that comes after — it'll all be different."
"Looking at it from that angle," I nodded, "yes. Are you already feeling nostalgic?"
"A little. Honestly, right now it's been a break from studying for me. And I needed something to take my mind off the constant anxiety about exams. How do you manage to stay so calm and not get swept up in the general panic about OWLs? They do matter, you know. Oh, and are you actually a prefect?"
"Did you work that out yourself, or did someone tip you off?"
"Ha. Ha. There might be a draught in my head, but not that much of one. I'm just curious — has our Head of House already tasked you with handing out the career guidance forms?"
She had, as it happened — though it barely registered for me, since those forms are for students who have already settled on a future profession but aren't sure which exams they need in order to be accepted onto the advanced study courses in sixth and seventh year. I simply planned to sit everything I was permitted to. Potions, admittedly, was the genuinely difficult subject with a high pass threshold — but I was unlikely to do poorly in it.
"She did. In a rush, between other things — handed me the forms and sent me off to distribute them to ours. Madam Sprout looked rather preoccupied that day. What made you ask?"
"Just that your fifth year lot don't seem to be making any sort of fuss about it at all," Herbert shrugged, still scanning the Quidditch stadium for anything of interest. "Some of the others from different houses are still running around with those forms, stressing, asking everyone questions."
"Ours more or less know what they want to be already. Hannah plans to go into the family business, same as Ernie. He's apparently looking to continue his training with a family acquaintance in a few years' time. Susan will go under her aunt's wing in the investigative department."
"Isn't she a bit on the shy side? The one with the long red plait?"
"That's her," I nodded. "I get the impression she has a switch in her head, and when necessary it cuts the shyness off entirely."
"Ha." Herbert smirked. "We're all a little mad, we wizards."
"Can't argue with that. Zacharias plans to join his father at the Ministry."
"Standard enough. And he knows which subjects he needs?"
"Why wouldn't he? Justin is only at Hogwarts because he's obligated to be here — though he doesn't seem to mind, from what I can tell. He's an only son. Wealthy family, a business, all of that. Personally he plans to continue his education, but in the ordinary world."
"What's wrong with magic?"
"Why would he put in all that effort to build something from scratch in the wizarding world, when all the conditions for an excellent life already exist in the Muggle one? And magic will serve him as an advantage there — not all spellwork is obvious enough to violate the Statute. Potions, for instance. And with connections in the wizarding world, you can arrange some very profitable deals."
"Fair enough..." Herbert settled into his thoughts. "I'd never considered it that way. Muggle-borns really do start from nothing, don't they. No family connections, no one to pull strings, no influence whatsoever. You're Muggle-born too, aren't you. Are you going back, or do you have plans here?"
"I'd like to think I'm talented enough — and I've been building connections with quite a few people. You've noticed, I imagine."
"Hard not to," Herbert smiled. "You're everywhere — here, there, everywhere."
"Money isn't an issue. As for a profession... I'm thinking, once I finish fifth year and see my exam results, I'll ask someone to take me on as an apprentice."
"Have someone in mind... What is it you want to become?"
"A Healer."
"Right, of course," Herbert nodded. "Someone you know who could take you on?"
"There is."
"Have you tried getting any practical experience with Madam Pomfrey?"
"I was told to go learn my school spells and not get ahead of myself."
"Well, don't let it get you down."
"Has she ever taken on trainees before?"
"Hm, let me think..."
Herbert thought so hard about it that he began pacing in small circles from the wall to a small boulder that had long since sunk almost entirely into the grass, gesturing to himself and working through calculations in his head.
"As far as I can remember — no one," Herbert said at last, looking at me with genuine surprise, almost shock. "My parents mentioned that in their day you could often find one or two trainees working with her... From sixth year onward. That's it — I'm sure of it! If you're as talented as all that, she'll take you on as a trainee next year. And if you're also taken on as an apprentice by a Healer, that's practically guaranteed."
"What makes you say that?"
"Simple — your mentor just writes an official letter requesting supervised practice placement in the hospital wing, and that's that. Anyway, we should head to the Great Hall. We can still catch the tail end of lunch and won't have to fend off the house-elves in the kitchens. Last time they tried to stuff more food into me than I could eat, let alone carry away with me."
Casting one last look at the grounds around me, I finally pushed off the wall and headed inside with Herbert, talking about whatever happened to catch our eye along the way. Career guidance remained the main topic, and Herbert mentioned that consultations on the matter were usually held in early May — which was, in fact, why he'd brought it up in the first place: he simply wanted to offer a piece of advice, which was not to be taken in by McGonagall's habit of painting everything in the darkest possible colours.
We made it to lunch in time, one could say — the dishes hadn't been cleared yet, though many students had clearly eaten their fill and were simply talking. Taking my seat at the table, I began efficiently loading my plate with as much of everything as I could.
"I hope I haven't missed anything interesting?" I asked in passing, and almost immediately received an answer from Justin.
"Only that there's no trip to Hogsmeade today."
"Hm. Pity."
"Bit of a shame," Hannah agreed. She was listening to the conversations around the table, slowly finishing off some kind of smooth dessert. "You lot spent far too long torturing each other at your Quidditch."
Right — she didn't like Quidditch. Possibly because Hannah didn't enjoy flying on a broomstick, and had a strongly negative attitude toward heights in general.
"But it was still a brilliant match," Ernie said happily — he and Zacharias had both worn themselves out watching it. "Even if it did go on a while. I can't imagine how players felt during those matches that went on for ten or twenty hours."
"Obviously not terribly well..."
"Oh, come on, Hannah," Susan tried to cheer her friend up — though I wasn't entirely sure why she needed cheering.
After lunch I headed to the library to shore up my knowledge in a couple of subjects. The impulse came from the fact that some of the exam questions went significantly beyond the standard curriculum and seemed aimed at students who had already ventured well past the school syllabus, at least in theory — those were precisely the students meant to achieve the highest marks, answer every question, and be welcomed into the advanced study courses by the professors. I, meanwhile, had studied everything evenly — broadly, in all directions — gradually covering more and more material. Now, it seemed, I'd need to dig a little deeper in a few specific areas.
The library, as had been the case consistently of late, was packed with students — like herrings in a barrel, or so it felt. In reality, the library could seat all the students comfortably, even if some would have to make do with the space between the shelves rather than the reading room itself — there were quite a few tables tucked away there as well.
I made my way through the rows of shelves, found the ones I needed, took a couple of books, and returned to the reading room. No free tables — but several had spare seats. I headed toward one of them, not least because Daphne was sitting there, even if not alone.
"Hello," I smiled at Daphne. "Miss Parkinson. Miss Bulstrode."
"Granger," came the answering nods from Daphne's friends almost immediately, and a simple "hi" from Daphne herself — though accompanied by a smile.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Unlikely to be a problem," Millicent said, simply lifting her book and showing me the cover — some novel with another thoroughly unremarkable title.
"I see you're having a pleasant afternoon?"
I sat down beside Daphne and spread out my textbooks, preparing not so much to review existing knowledge as to expand the horizons of understanding... I always get carried away, even in my own thoughts, whenever it comes time to study. As though I'm about to construct an entire universe rather than learn a handful of facts.
"I am," Millicent replied with confidence, propping her head on her hand and returning to her reading. "They've got themselves bogged down in Transfiguration."
"You are, in fact," Pansy said, looking at her friend with mock severity, "here to help us work through it — not to read novels."
"At least read the passage I marked," Millicent replied with complete indifference, not looking up from her book. "Once you have specific questions, I'll explain."
"Fine, fine," Pansy said with a marked lack of enthusiasm, dropping her gaze to the text — though barely two seconds passed before she breathed, barely audibly: "Dreadful bore..."
"Is yours Transfiguration as well?" I leaned slightly toward Daphne.
"Yes," she said, clearly deciding that studying could wait, and turned her full attention to me. Flattering, to say the least. "There are a few tricky points. I'm not aiming for Outstanding, but I'd like to be better prepared for the exams. Actually, Hector..."
"Yes?"
"You're good at Transfiguration, aren't you?"
The girls directed their gazes toward me, waiting for an answer.
"I am, yes. Though I should say upfront — I tend to work around a lot of the tricky parts, so to speak."
"I know your approach to Transfiguration," Daphne nodded. "All the same."
"All right, then."
The remaining hours before dinner were spent in the library, reading and working through various magical nuances together. Pansy, for instance, gave me some helpful guidance on Charms — she excels at them, having put focused effort into studying them, and so wasn't at all surprised that I'd stumbled on a couple of exam questions. In return, I helped the girls with Transfiguration, though Millicent was no less knowledgeable on the subject than I was. Her practical work, however, was noticeably weaker — which I suspected came down to a lack of broader understanding of material composition and the properties of particular objects.
It was in this group of four that we set off for dinner, though halfway there we ran into Professor Snape. We exchanged polite nods and greetings, naturally, and continued toward the Great Hall — professors also walk there on their own two feet rather than materialising alongside the food.
"Mr Granger. Miss Greengrass." Snape addressed us as we passed — clearly intent on quickening his pace, since he never walked at a leisurely stroll under any circumstances. Perhaps, if one walks slowly, the black robes don't billow quite so dramatically behind one's back?
"Yes, Professor?"
"Come to my office after dinner this evening."
Having said that, the professor finally accelerated, sweeping off ahead. The black robes billowing behind him, naturally.
"Have you done something wrong?" Millicent asked, in the tone of someone raising the subject purely in passing.
"Them, do something wrong," Pansy snorted. "Unless Granger's been punished for helping the Hufflepuff team beat ours. And Daphne... rooting for him instead of our lot?"
"Really? Flattering to hear," I smiled at Daphne, and she simply took my hand.
"Oh, absolutely," Pansy confirmed. "Did you think no one noticed you disguising your true loyalties behind general shouts of 'Go Slytherin'? And every time Granger pulled off a good manoeuvre or broke up an attack, you'd be there quietly clenching your fist in delight? All that was missing was a little 'woo-hoo'."
After a calm and unhurried dinner — at which not a great deal was consumed, since students hadn't yet had time to work up much of an appetite — I met Daphne at the exit of the Great Hall and we walked together to the Potions classroom. Its door stood open, and its owner, Professor Snape, was sitting at his desk in the customary fashion, marking the seemingly endless rolls of parchment he himself assigned in such unreasonable quantities.
"Come in," he said without looking up, and we hastened to take our places in front of his desk.
The professor read through the final lines of someone's essay, crossed out a couple of words with his quill, wrote a mark, and set both parchment and quill aside, raising his eyes to look at us. He regarded us carefully, unblinking, saying nothing. Did I feel the slightest discomfort under that gaze? Undeniably — though only very slightly.
"So," said Snape, producing from his desk two rather large certificates and two small jewellery boxes. "The bureaucratic apparatus has finally seen fit to move. With grinding and terrible creaking."
He slid one certificate and one box toward each of us.
"From this moment, you may consider yourselves fully-fledged Potions Apprentices."
We accepted the certificates, inscribed with our names, seals, and all the accompanying formalities. I could clearly sense the extraordinarily complex magical structure woven into the material of the certificate itself — the magical ink, the no less magical seals. All of it unified into one intricate construction, making the certificate not merely a piece of paper but something genuinely unique, elaborate, and, it seemed to me, practically impossible to forge.
Inside the boxes was a bronze badge — a stylised cauldron set within a kind of wreath, though what exactly the wreath depicted was difficult to make out precisely.
"As you can see," Snape said, once he had satisfied himself that we'd had a good look at the badge, "the Potioneers were not troubled by lengthy deliberation when designing their guild's emblem. Binding is standard — through a drop of blood."
No sooner had the professor said this than Daphne and I, without any need for agreement, simultaneously pricked ourselves on the clasp pin. The magic took effect at once; the badge now felt right.
"You may wear it on your robes, your tie, your collar — or, as I do, keep it in a drawer and avoid advertising your status to anyone who happens to look," Snape remarked drily, watching as we, again without conferring, placed the badges back into their boxes and tucked everything — certificates included — into our bags. Into my rucksack, in my case.
"Will you be continuing to give us additional lessons?" Daphne got the question in before I could — understandably, since the apprentice title was simply a title, and Daphne pursued this for the knowledge itself.
"No," Snape answered, with the finality of someone who had no intention of revisiting the matter. "You have acquired sufficient knowledge and experience to work independently, seeking out subtleties and nuances on your own terms. So..."
Snape made a small wave of his hand, as if shooing away an impertinent cat.
"I will see you in scheduled classes."
Leaving the Potions classroom, we wandered through the castle for a while longer, made plans to go somewhere together the following day to mark the occasion of our new apprentice titles, after which I walked her to the Slytherin common room and headed off to prepare for an important meeting set for that evening. Or perhaps I should drop by the twins? Find out how their meeting had gone? Probably not — they'd come themselves when they were ready.
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