The morning of the ninth was gloomy, overcast, a light rain drizzled, slanting from the wind. But even so, I went for a run, putting on one of the rain protection pendants—a sort of stress test. Seemed to work. At least I returned dry after all my physical exercises.
Having put myself in order and dressed decently, I went to the meeting with Delacour. Had to Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron, and from there get to the restaurant by taxi, but this was not a problem.
The establishment was decent, but did not pretend to be something chic. Just a good and modern place. There were quite a few visitors, but despite this, I easily spotted Delacour at one of the tables.
"Good morning, Mr. Delacour."
"Good morning, Mr. Granger."
We happily shook hands and sat down at the table.
"So," began Delacour. "I took the liberty of ordering a classic breakfast. Hope you don't mind."
"Moreover—I am for it."
"Well excellent."
After breakfast was served to us, and we ate, it was time to drink tea, and have a conversation too.
"Can say that the customer was satisfied," with a joyful smile, Delacour began the conversation. "Here, please, pass on for excellent work."
He put a small pouch on the table, and I, having checked it with magic, noticing only Undetectable Extension, accepted it, putting it in the backpack.
"I assume," I smiled, looking carefully at the Frenchman and catching every smallest nuance of his facial expressions and other movements, "you have already taken your due share?"
"Of course," he nodded. "Everything as agreed."
"And about the trap near the customer's land also agreed?"
"Trap?"
Delacour looked at me uncomprehendingly, and a moment later turned pale and even sweated a little. Wonder what he invented for himself there.
"Oh... What a surprise, honestly..." Delacour took a handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing perspiration on his forehead. "I know absolutely nothing..."
Amusing. It seems he isn't lying. At least he is in great confusion, fear and does not understand at all what is being discussed.
"Well... In that case..."
"We won't end on this, will we?" he inquired, suppressing his agitation.
"It's not for me to decide. But, Mr. Delacour, I assume that now that the order is completed, it will be easier for you to find new ones, and your services will be resorted to more willingly and with greater trust."
"Yes... Yes, that is so," Delacour tuned himself to a businesslike mood, took a couple of sips of tea, and such that the cup became empty. "Indeed. Hope this annoying incident did not affect the opinion of you-know-who... Somehow it sounded wrong, in my opinion."
"Indeed," I smiled, nodding. "But I understood who you are talking about."
"Wonderful. In general, Monsieur Granger, convey my purely best wishes to the respected person. I am sure that soon I will find a more worthy option in terms of payment."
"Hope for fruitful cooperation," I took out banknotes to leave for breakfast.
"No-no, Mr. Granger, don't worry," Delacour smiled, hastily taking out pounds. "Strictly at my expense."
"As you wish," I smiled, got up from the table and threw the backpack over my shoulder. "Waiting for your letter. All the best."
"And to you. And to you, Mr. Granger."
Leaving the restaurant, I returned to Grimmauld—they had already finished breakfast there, and in the house, apparently, only Sirius remained, humming something in one of the rooms. Without noise, quietly and peacefully I went up to my room, took the nest with the phoenix and just as quietly left the house, hiding myself with magic from everyone generally.
Was it easy to find the stash with the box? Honestly, not very. At night everything changes, and familiar places become completely different, and in magic the Lotus in the box was not felt at all. But after two minutes of searching, I still found the right place, dug up the earth with magic and took out the box.
The Lotus was still there, and as soon as I touched it, immediately realized that the power of the curse and dark magic had not faded in it at all. It was funny that as soon as the Lotus was in the phoenix's field of vision, I-phoenix immediately woke up and felt a kind of appetite. Not the kind that happens from food, but something else. When I brought the nest to the box, I-phoenix began to quickly peck the Lotus, tearing off pieces from it. It was funny to watch this from the side. But much funnier, as it seems to me, was that when nothing remained of the Lotus, I-phoenix wanted to sleep and, as before, safely curled up in the scarf nest. Such a strange bird turned out. Did it benefit the phoenix? Difficult to say for sure, but all calculations and theories say that definitely yes. Remains only to wait and periodically feed him with something like that. Can even make this very "something" myself—have experience.
While I was picking up the nest with the phoenix and arranging it better on the crook of my elbow, an owl flew up to me and handed a letter, immediately flying away. Hmm, from Daphne. Will read when return to Grimmauld. But for today not all things are done yet—need to double-check if I made all artifacts for Cedric and write to him already. And then all planned things will be done, and can start doing homework. Yes. Excellent plan.
. . . . . .
July ninth didn't want to end.
After feeding the Phoenix, I returned to Grimmauld Place and again found myself involved in cleaning and tidying up the house. True, Mrs. Weasley, with Sirius's silent consent, decided to spruce up not the whole house, but only those rooms that are planned to be used one way or another, so our goal for today was to prepare one of the rooms. According to Mrs. Weasley's assurances, as soon as everything is more or less prepared, and they themselves finish some important negotiations and other secret activities about which no one except adults knows anything really, then Sirius will invite Harry to stay here. Of course, everyone is eagerly awaiting Potter—could it be otherwise. Although I don't quite understand such animation and anticipation. As for me, Potter is not some outstanding personality, but I didn't communicate with him particularly much. Sirius can be understood—as I understood, Potter is his godson. Although, if you think about it, he is Ron's friend, which means the twins are waiting for him too. Ginny... Well, considering how many written stories and just rumors wandered around his persona, then everything is clear. Mrs. Weasley generally wants everyone to be friends with each other, and various petty squabbles for her are generally not a reason to change anything in her attitude towards others. Look, Ron and I obviously don't get along for everyone, and what is Mrs. Weasley's reaction? "It'll do, big deal, quarreled". Surely experience tells, after all there are six guys of different ages in the family, and I strongly doubt that growing up did without conflicts both within the family and with other guys.
Why did I even think about Potter's arrival? Just all this fuss around his personality amuses me. And okay, the Boy-Who-Lived—everyone calls him that—would teach him something, or something else, but no. Just rush around like with a crystal vase and don't know where to stick properly.
In general, put everything in order.
Of course, almost immediately after returning home and placing the nest with the phoenix in the corner of the table, I read the letter from Daphne. The girl writes that, like: "Languishing locked up, parents arranged an educational marathon consisting of house arrest and the obligation to learn and pass a bunch of different material. With practice". If regarding "reading books" she is more than not against, then she likes practice in sorcery only regarding potions, and in this direction her oxygen was just cut off. The family welcomes charms and spells, which means train in this matter. She trained, albeit without special enthusiasm, but with fervent enthusiasm. At least, so it comes out from her words. Would be good to come up with something like that to cheer her up, and I even know what exactly. But, this is closer to the evening.
Finding Sirius sitting on a sofa in one of the halls, blissfully sipping some drink in a glass, ironically looking at the newspaper in his hands, I approached him for a conversation.
"Having fun?"
"You bet!" he chuckled, not raising his eyes to me. "They write such crap here that it's a sin not to laugh."
Putting the newspaper on the table next to the chair, Sirius looked at me.
"Wanted something?"
"Actually, yes. Have a question. As I understood, at one time you were somehow admitted due to the family to the houses of other wizards."
"Ah, there was that," Sirius grimaced. "All these receptions, bows... Especially at nine-ten years old, when you want to run and have fun with a friend, but have to constantly bow to someone, 'if-you-please-your-honor'. Boring... Hope you didn't decide to take etiquette lessons from me?"
"No, dismiss me," I smiled. "The question is different. Do you know where the Greengrass house is?"
Sirius smirked somehow caustically.
"Is it not about a girl? Although, why am I asking, at your age," Sirius slapped the armrest of the chair, "definitely about a girl. I know, but I have a counter offer."
"You are a Gryffindor," I feigned indignation. "What about selfless chivalry and irresistible desire to rush to help the suffering?"
"Somehow, you know, diminished over the years. The thing is this..." Sirius leaned forward. "You won't believe it, but everything is simple. I lack not so much in this house. And if have to hide for reasonable reasons, and I agree with this, sent my own chance for justification to the next world..."
I raised an eyebrow questioningly in Snape's manner.
"...Don't ask," Sirius waved it off. "In general, I banally need normal alcohol."
"And order? Or something else..."
"Molly just has some phenomenal instinct for my stashes—sent everything under lock and key. Well, at least not down the drain. Like, nothing to drink in front of children. And I... And I need to. There. In this shitty gloomy England, in this house..."
Sirius looked somewhere behind me, mired in memories.
"...Without light and a glass of good Ogden's it is difficult for me."
"Understood. Will be."
"Then, I will write you the address. Or else even walls have ears."
Strange, of course, and I am not sure that I can say that I understand him... But since he needs alcohol—there will be alcohol.
"Listen," I distracted Sirius from writing the address on a piece of paper. "Do all wizard houses have addresses? Well, like this one, for example."
"Not quite. This is a relatively new trend, about a hundred and fifty years old. Before how," Sirius wrote the address and put it aside. "Fireplaces for everyone. Floo Network—generally ancient, pre-statute thing. Later already, when Muggle cities began to grow by leaps and bounds, many wizards adopted the designation scheme and on its principles simply fit, so to speak, into addresses. Just to have. Not all, of course. Some still live apart. And this house was originally Muggle generally. Don't even know why our family moved here almost as soon as it was built. Funny that such houses are under Unplottable Charms, and do not exist in Muggle cadastres, as well as on maps, and anywhere else, and even on magical maps it is extremely difficult to plot them. Extremely."
"You know a lot about this."
"Well yes," Sirius chuckled. "I left home immediately after school, James sheltered me. And Godric's Hollow—fifty-fifty, Muggles and wizards. So I became interested, how and why."
"And if the house is in a lacuna or spatial pocket of some kind?"
"So what's the difference?" Sirius was even surprised a little. "You come to such a lacuna or pocket with your feet, or fly. They are still located at a certain point in space and can be tied to the Muggle address grid. And there are few such houses—prefer, as I understand, to build in the ordinary world, and then create all sorts of magic around the house for concealment. In lacunae mainly lands for certain needs."
"Clear, thanks."
"No problem."
Sirius handed me a piece of paper with the address, and I, gratefully nodding, went to prepare. Need a little—just a small modernization of existing contours for artifacts to create a small flying drone. Of course, it will not fly on wings, and generally, will look mediocre, still the same triangle, or something else. But its main task—fly and look. Reconnaissance, so to speak.
Settling in my room, spent only half an hour on easy modernization of contours, simultaneously drawing two sheets in the sketchbook. Another sketchbook. Of real modifications introduced the function of complete stealth, will carry out through the introduction of a clot of magic with a corresponding volitional message and image into the nozzle for the hammer, well and, accordingly, through forging.
Prepared everything, transfigured a simple metal triangle, prepared the nozzle, strike—a little sparks, familiar noise in ears, and...
"I, of course, am well done," praise yourself—no one will praise. "But where is the triangle now?"
It seems masking worked and, moreover, turned on automatically. This pleases, but there is a nuance—devil knows where the triangle is now. It could fly off the anvil in the manner of its fellows, and finding it is now an extremely difficult task. But, since its functions turned on automatically, maybe the connection with the bracelet-transmitter, to which I "bind" all my trinkets, was also established?
Concentrating, tried to mentally contact the newly made artifact, and it succeeded—I saw part of my room from under the bed. Still threw it a little to the side. Light volitional message, which I didn't even notice due to the developed habit of working with such artifacts, and here the triangle flew out from under the bed, and I got the opportunity to see myself from the side. Works.
Landing the triangle on the table, changed into street, decent clothes, threw the backpack over the shoulder and went downstairs.
"Hector," Mrs. Weasley called me, coming out of the kitchen. "Dinner soon... Albeit late."
Time flies fast after all, nothing to say.
"Mrs. Weasley, I'm going for a walk, and besides a few things appeared that just necessarily need to be done."
"Set for you?"
"Don't worry, I'll have a snack on the way."
Mrs. Weasley clearly didn't understand how this could be done, and I remembered that wizards lack the concept of fast and street food.
"I'll run somewhere, eat. But won't refuse your cooking either."
"As you know," she was clearly a little upset by the refusal of dinner, but immediately realizing that the refusal was not categorical, smiled. "I'll leave your portion under stasis."
"Hope no one eats it before my return."
Before leaving the house properly hid myself with magic and only after that went over the threshold. Stepping aside to a dark alley, Apparated in front of the Leaky Cauldron, left only Muggle-repelling on myself, and went inside. And again there are quite a lot of visitors here, but this time people gathered not only and not so much to eat as to drink and discuss either the past day or collected rumors. That's how ordinary wizards with not the most paid work live. Wonder what caused such stereotyped thinking among wizards? Yes, undoubtedly, abilities for magic, with their fundamental presence, depend on the brain and other mental parameters, but in the range from "fool" to "amazingly smart" this difference can be neglected, and only closer to "genius" the wizard becomes noticeably stronger and more talented.
Although... If you do not have an extensive home library, and slacked off at school, not using the opportunity to study magic, if your family has no influence and its capabilities cannot interest a mentor, then you get into a difficult situation. You didn't show yourself as a talent, didn't interest someone who can teach you for the sake of teaching. If the family is poor, then you cannot buy books for yourself to have an understanding of where to develop, and missed school education with teachers did not give you a base for independent brainstorming. Your family does not have influence and cannot interest a professional so that he teaches you. You need to earn money just for food, because you don't know how to get it otherwise, and meager knowledge and skills from school do not allow to properly monetize them. Result—low-paid job in some shop or in some simple production, or somewhere else, for example, junior assistant to the senior assistant to the deputy head of the department for counting pencils in a glass—they like to churn out different departments there.
No doubt, many perform important work in their own way, which one way or another, someone must perform, and due to this society more or less stably exists. More or less. But in general...
Shaking head, without problems went to the backyard of the establishment and opened the passage to Diagon Alley, immediately stepping onto this magical street of London. Special evening crowding was not observed, but now and then among others flashed wizards who were extremely hurrying on business known only to them, which is not surprising, because shops will start closing soon.
Not wasting time, I headed to one important place among many shops, winding along the winding, like a snake, stone-paved wide road of Diagon Alley. My goal was a shop of the most diverse sweets, pastries and other confectionery delights.
Entering inside this bright shop, the decoration of which was only and only in pastel colors, and large glass windows literally burst from the most diverse sweets, cakes and pastries, bright and colorful, or strict one-two-colored. Approaching the seller, I immediately asked for some set of cakes, but diverse, the tastiest, freshest, and preferably, from novelties. A minute later I was already leaving the shop with a well-packed small box, no, even a box. Assured that the best. The cost was also considerable. Now to the MacMillan brand store—if you want to take alcohol, then you go there.
Ten minutes I explained to the seller that I didn't need alcohol, but when I had already chosen a really expensive bottle, he decided that something five times cheaper would be enough for a young guy to get drunk, decided to yield to me and sell whiskey.
Going out into the street, where, despite the still bright sky, magic lanterns had already lit up, I hurried to leave Diagon Alley, and then the Leaky Cauldron. Stepping aside from Charing Cross, voted with a wand, and a couple of moments later a sugary-purple three-story bus stopped opposite me—the Knight Bus. Not wasting time, I dictated to the conductor the address a kilometer from the destination and barely managed to grab the handrail—so briskly the driver started from the place, maneuvering at crazy speed in the stream of cars, instantly turning and maneuvering, sometimes applying some games with space in order to squeeze between two cars or buses.
A couple of minutes, a sharp stop, I paid and, with unsteady gait left this hellish vehicle. Did they think of such diverse charms for the bus so that it could move like this in space, but didn't come up with inertia dampers for passengers? Wizards—abnormal.
Coming to my senses, went along the road in the suburbs of London, along houses, and a minute later left the residential area, simultaneously admiring the scarlet sunset, hills, groves, fields highlighted in scarlet. If believe the address on Sirius's piece of paper, then the Greengrass house is slightly to the side of this road, which leads outside the suburbs, to the north, and in a couple of dozen kilometers will lead to a small town.
Here I reached a fork, and if in one direction it was possible to go along the same asphalt, the same wide road, then to the right turned, in fact, a path, only wide, as if for a car. This road led to a hill where near a grove a large fenced area with a no less large house was visible. Neither this fork nor that house were on the maps that I saw even if once in my life, but they were new, and I remembered them. The last doubts were dispelled by an almost imperceptible echo of magic from this road.
Of course, I didn't go along the road itself, but moved nearby, completely hiding myself with magic from any detection and search methods that only came to my mind. Walked through low grass, not forgetting to listen to sensations and probe the space around with a thin bundle of neutral energy—if it finds something magical, then will need to figure it out, suddenly it is an alarm?
Approaching the fence, made in the form of a stone base of the fence and stone columns, between which sections of a high black, like cast-iron, fence stretched, I thought. The idea, of course, is interesting, but in light of recent rumors and events, penetrating the territory of a wizard family will definitely not be good tone, and the fuss that can rise—generally a separate conversation. As a result, I came to a simple decision—write a letter.
Concentrating, I-phoenix woke up from sleep, and Pigwidgeon immediately jumped out of the improvised temporary house to my mental call. The little owl flew up and stared at me-phoenix with a silent question. Hmm... Well, what to say, fly to me—so I thought, and as soon as thoughts formed in my head, Pigwidgeon flew to the window, hooked the latch on the vent with his beak, opened and flew away. This bird is much smarter than it seems.
I-phoenix yawned and continued his important activities—went to sleep.
Chuckling at all this business, I ran my hand over the grass and summer flowers on a high stalk. Good here. True, dark already, the brightest stars appeared in the sky.
Pigwidgeon flew quite quickly, justifying the fact that he is—a magical little owl, and not just some feathered insect eater. While waiting for his appearance, I quickly wrote a note to Daphne, not forgetting to sign. Yes, dark around, but this did not detract from the quality of my vision.
Handing the note to the little owl, said:
"Take to Daphne Greengrass."
Pigwidgeon, sitting on my shoulder, looked at me with great doubt, over the fence, at the windows of the house, in which soft yellow light was already burning, back at me.
"No, friend, I'm not a fool, it just happened."
The little owl quacked something in his "owlish" language, and quickly fluttered to one of the windows.
Exactly two minutes—that's how much time it took for Daphne in a light dress to appear from the opened gate in the fence gate. I stood very close, without invisibility against wizards, and it was not difficult for her to notice me, run up and hug with a smile.
"Hector," she immediately pulled away, looking into my eyes and smiling. "This is very unexpected."
"Can imagine."
"How did you know the house address?"
"Asked knowledgeable people."
"Few know it. Otherwise you wouldn't have reached. Hm-m-m," she drawled, looking me over in the twilight dispersed only by light in windows and street lighting on the house territory. "Suspicious."
"Suspicious?" a broad smile crawled onto my face by itself. "When I found out that as one of the educational measures you were deprived of sweets, I was already about to penetrate the territory, knock on the window like an owl and hand you a present from your favorite confectionery. That would be suspicious."
I handed her a small box tied with a ribbon—still semi-gift packaging, if one can say so. Daphne cheered up more than before.
"You, of course, are a peculiar wizard," she accepted the box with a smile, wanting to open it as soon as possible. "But you would hardly pass the protection. Although... No, it is professional, and at least intrusion would be known."
"But that would be..."
"Very imprudent," Daphne's smile faded a little. "And I can't even invite you. Parents, you understand yourself. Appearance of another wizard in the house will not go unnoticed."
"Understand. And when will you be allowed to go somewhere?"
"Hm? Is this a date?" she smiled playfully, somewhat discouraging with spontaneity.
"Even so."
"In a week."
"Then, in a week we'll write and agree on details?"
"Of course. Immediately..."
Daphne quickly glanced over the fence at the windows of the house, ran her gaze over the garden, paths and gazebo, and quickly hugged me around the neck with one hand, clearly intending to do something stupid, and considering that she decided to do this literally under the windows of her own house, one might say, in front of her parents, who do not approve not that some relationship with me, but even the fact of my existence—this is a very decisive stupidity, which I simply could not fail to answer.
A couple of minutes later, during which the box with cakes was almost forgotten... Or maybe it was not a couple of minutes at all, because time flies unnoticed for stupidities. In general, the desire to go somewhere disappeared completely for me, and Daphne was in no hurry to return to the house, but still pulled away, with a smile.
"Need to go. Parents can enter the room," she breathed frequently. "Any minute. Check how I study."
"And that you are not home, they won't know?"
"So close to the plot—no. Write."
"And you."
Daphne quickly disappeared behind the gate, turning back in farewell, and I watched as she almost ran to the doors of the house, looking around now and then, and quietly went inside. Still, when there are definitely no witnesses around, she behaves quite openly. Especially if we haven't seen each other for more than a couple of days. Progress. Big progress. Smiling to myself, I went on foot to the road by the same route, simultaneously tearing off some spikelet that came to hand and barely suppressing the desire to use it like a toothpick, thoughtfully twirling in the mouth—as a result, thoughtfully twirled it in hands, looking at the starry sky, almost not illuminated by dim lights of the suburbs.
Only reaching the asphalt road, looked around.
"And why am I, actually, walking?"
Hiding myself with magic, Apparated next to the house on Grimmauld and, quickly reaching the doors, went inside. Quiet male voices came from the kitchen. That's where I headed.
"...don't think this will be a problem," I heard the end of Sirius's phrase.
He spoke not quickly, interrupting for thoughts, so the whole meaning slipped away from me somewhat.
Entering the kitchen, I immediately attracted the attention of Sirius sitting opposite—unexpectedly—Lupin.
"Sirius, Professor Lupin," I nodded, remembering what phase of the moon is now.
"Hector," Sirius smiled slightly.
"Mr. Granger," Lupin nodded.
Our former professor looked more or less: decent, albeit not new, slightly stretched woolen cardigan with buttons; shirt under it. In general, normal. True, as before, he stooped a little.
"Dinner should have remained for me here..."
With a glance I quickly found a couple of plates and judging by the steam hovering in the air over the food, they were really under stasis.
"Yes, there it is," Sirius nodded at them. "Molly said that for you."
I took the plates and put them on the table, and taking out the wand, canceled stasis.
"Wonderful aroma, and most importantly," I smirked, "can use only one fork."
"Ha-ha-ha," Sirius burst into barking laughter, and Lupin smiled. "See, not only I try to avoid such conventions if there is an opportunity."
"Well yes... Hope, won't disturb," I glanced at them, starting to eat.
"Not at all. Actually, I'm trying to persuade your former professor, Remus, to stay in this house as a guest."
"You know, now is not the time, and I'm not sure about the potion," Lupin spoke calmly, measuredly.
"Yes, by the way," I nodded. "Full moon day after tomorrow."
They both looked at me.
"Are you aware of my... problem?" Lupin was surprised.
"You underestimate the number of students who compared all nuances," I smiled.
"Indeed, that is so. See, Sirius," Lupin shifted his gaze to Black. "I can't stay here. It can be a threat..."
"Ah, come on. I have an excellent basement," Sirius waved it off.
"You are a true friend," Lupin smirked very caustically. "I always liked the hospitality of your family."
"Tsk," Sirius rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "You understood what I'm talking about. And the potion... Well, if something goes wrong, just sit in the basement."
"And why not ask Snape to brew a potion?" I looked at both. "As I see, the Headmaster is admitted to this house, and he has a certain influence on the professor."
"Not going to ask him for anything," Sirius waved it off.
"So pay him for the work," I shrugged. "He is a professional."
Yes, I didn't like Lupin and didn't like the fact of his presence here, but I know how to keep my personal opinions to myself, especially when one can simply conduct a dialogue.
"I won't trust him..." Sirius wanted to pick up some phrase, but couldn't. "Anything at all."
"Question closed, Siri," Lupin smiled friendly at Black. "I have somewhere to spend this time. Moreover, what's the point for you from my presence in that state?"
"Okay, that's it, I understood," Sirius waved everyone off.
I took a bottle of whiskey out of the backpack.
"Here, don't grumble."
"Oh, this is our way!" Sirius's mood immediately went uphill, and he himself fussed. "Need to hide. No, try, and then hide. Or else Molly will find again, and I won't even try."
Lupin shook his head, getting up from the table, and he and Sirius quickly and quietly went to the living room. Well and I only had to finish eating, put the dishes in the sink, and go upstairs to pack things. Why? Well what if Black persuades Lupin to stay? Personally I am not going to be in the same house with a werewolf on a full moon. This is not Hogwarts, the potion is not from Snape, faith in the situation—zero. Will wait in another place for a couple of days. Just tomorrow morning will leave—today is still early.
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