No matter how fast your brain works, awareness of certain things sometimes doesn't come immediately. For example, only when I found myself at home did I realize how bored I was without magic, without its practical application, and judging by Hermione—I wasn't the only one.
For several days in a row, parents and Hermione talked about their trip around Greece. Father even took care to go almost on the day of arrival to develop photos at his photographer friend's, who has his own darkroom in the basement. So the stories were accompanied by a demonstration of various pictures, from which the most successful ones were selected in several rounds, and put aside to later end up either in an album or in a frame.
I also talked about the time spent, though I clarified that I stayed in a slightly different place, where due to paranoia played out among wizards, and maybe really not without reason, some secrecy was maintained and I cannot disclose information under the contract. Parents reacted with understanding, as did Hermione—she generally praised mass paranoia. As a result, I talked specifically about my activities, not touching others. Again, in general terms I talked about "business" and progress in the sphere of making money. Even if some questions still remain in limbo, but roughly outlined prospects, hopes and the fact that I am thinking about development options in case of refusal or lack of interest of wizard-entrepreneurs.
Approximately in this tempo several days passed, even a week, and on August first parents returned to work at the dental clinic. What to do for two wizards in the house? Correct, nothing to do. But the main stimulus to start some movement were letters from Hogwarts, which came with owls almost immediately after breakfast, as soon as the door closed behind parents—we were just clearing dishes from the table and planned to wash dishes.
"Hector," Hermione was ridding dishes of large pieces of uneaten food before loading into the dishwasher. "Take the letters, please."
"Yeah," I was just looking for something specific to occupy myself with, maybe even vacuum, but for some reason I didn't want to mess with ordinary appliances, but had a desire to practice household magic, but couldn't.
Approaching the kitchen window overlooking the backyard, I opened the sashes and wanted to let the owls in, but they just sat outside and tried to shove all the letters to me as soon as possible—it seems they have things to do anyway.
"Eat?" I asked them, but they quickly hooted something and flew away. "Well okay, offer was made."
With a stack of letters, judging by coats of arms and signatures, not only from Hog, I entered the kitchen. Hermione had just finished with dishes and turned on this infernal washing machine—as far as I remember, I never had such a device, but had excuses for its absence: nowhere to put; I can wash myself, not much here.
Leaning against the cutting table, I put two letters for Hermione on it, put mine next to them and began to open the first of them. Sister also hurried to find out what they write, and stood nearby, opening hers.
"Hmm..." I read into the list of books. "Suspicious."
"What exactly?" Hermione asked without looking up from reading the same list.
"Don't like the DADA textbook."
"Do you determine the quality of a textbook by the title?"
"Well listen: 'Defensive Magical Theory'. But that's not the problem. Year of publication. This year. Ninety-five. Moreover, the author—Wilbert Slinkhard."
"And what does this mean?" Hermione looked at me, fixing a strand of unruly hair. "Don't understand your doubts. What's wrong with the author?"
"That I don't know him. Don't shake your head and smirk, Mione. All authors of books for past years are or were, while alive, active experts in magic, whose names are known to many. Before there were editions of older publications, reprints and so on, and here—absolutely new manual."
"Science does not stand still," Mione shrugged, smiling. "Don't see a problem in publishing a completely new book."
"That is so... but it just breaks out of the established trend. After all, I saw lists of textbooks for many years—selected literature for additional reading in the library by them. So I'm surprised. Not every teacher will decide to conduct a subject according to a completely new and untested program. In the end, the same Lupin taught according to the third edition of the textbook of the mid-sixties. Think partly it was the program by which he studied himself, supplemented by personal experience."
"If look at this issue like that..." Hermione thought for a second. "In the second year our teacher was Lockhart, a local writer. He recommended his books. Surely earned a lot."
"Maybe here too will be this unknown Slinkhard."
"Well, for the sake of justice," instructive notes appeared in sister's voice, "Lupin was also an unknown wizard."
"Okay. Fair. Maybe I'm wrong."
The list was already studied and memorized, so I folded the sheet and put it back in the envelope, putting it aside and taking the next one. Hermione did the same. A couple of moments, and here in our hands are prefect badges and a short cover letter from Heads of Houses.
"Hurray!" Hermione cheered up, almost jumping in place from joy. "Imagine, I'm—a prefect."
"Congratulations, probably," I smiled, demonstrating my badge. "And I got one."
"So this is great! If we cope with the duties of prefects, it will be a very good recommendation after graduation from Hogwarts. Cannot miss such an opportunity, even if it adds a little trouble."
"Hmm..." Folding arms on chest, I thoughtfully nodded. "Here you are, of course, right. Even if I am confident in the success of my aspirations and undertakings, but an extra plus in the personal file may come in handy. Perhaps, everything in life will turn out not quite as I would like."
"Exactly," Hermione nodded importantly, pleased that she turned out to be right in the eyes of others. "And what's there?"
She nodded towards another letter lying on the cutting table next to me.
"And this is already personal," I smiled, taking the letter and opening it. "But if you are interested, and if there is nothing such here, I will say... Just read quickly."
"Such?" Hermione folded her arms under her chest with a smirk. "What kind of 'such' can be in a personal letter that it cannot be told to one's own sister?"
"Text pornography? Erotic correspondence?" I answered without expressing unnecessary emotions, mentally laughing at the instantly blushing sister. "Oh come on, I'm joking."
"Joker."
Daphne wrote. Offered to meet today, August first, on Diagon Alley. True, she will go there with Pansy. Here, according to Daphne, she had no options—either Pansy or parents. True, parents will still go to Diagon Alley, but on their own business.
"Daphne writes, suggests meeting and taking a walk. Today. On Diagon Alley."
"So, Daphne? Is there something between you?"
"Who knows," a smile appeared on my face by itself. "Who knows. In two hours I'm going to Diagon Alley. You?"
"Of course, I'll go too. Need to buy everything at once and forget nothing, and I want to look into the public library, look, evaluate."
"By the way, really good idea. Will need to look."
"I'm getting ready," Hermione instantly jumped out of the kitchen, but returned a second later. "Will you get the dishes?"
"Will get."
True, almost immediately I went to get ready myself following Hermione. But if it took me ten minutes of quite thoughtful preparation, with feeling, sense, arrangement, although I didn't put on anything special—as always dark blue and almost black, like the robe—then Hermione went down exactly five minutes before leaving, and, apparently, it was putting her unruly hair in order that took so much time. And otherwise—grayish jeans, T-shirt, light gray jacket on top, more like a shirt in thickness, and a bag over the shoulder, some unisex.
"Will you go in a robe?" she looked at me in surprise.
"And you without?"
"I took with me. While we get there, we will walk along ordinary streets, ordinary transport there..."
"Firstly, don't care at all—I had an amusing conversation with the Headmaster, and we came to the conclusion that technically, can dress however you like, as long as could hang noodles on ears of those who decide to show curiosity. And secondly—how do you want to manage to get to Diagon Alley in ten minutes?"
"Ten minutes?"
"Well yes. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. I can Apparate myself. So, Knight Bus."
"Oh, reviews about it from guys are very... Not very," but despite words, Hermione liked the idea with such a thing. "Although I liked it. But could have made it more comfortable, I'm sure."
Well yes, not the first time we go on such. Hermione took a gray-blue robe out of the bag and quickly put it on—fitted, according to the figure, somewhat non-standard cut for England.
"Took in Greece," she answered the unspoken question read in my gaze. "Shall we go?"
"Let's go."
We left the house, not forgetting to lock it, and went down the street right in this form. Without concealment and other things.
"It seems to me that I look strange."
"Chin up, Mione," I smiled. "And everyone has already left for work. I haven't seen a single pensioner in our area here, so there is no one to even look at us."
And it was really so. Walking a little, we turned into a nook between two houses, trees on the territory of which formed a kind of arch of through passage to the neighboring street. Taking out the wand, I quickly conjured Muggle-repelling on the two of us. Sister clearly wanted to say something about magic outside Hogwarts, but remained silent. Correct, unlikely can detect my magic when I completely keep magic flows under control and simple natural background from a wizard is even more than parasitic leaks during magic.
Having finished with these mandatory operations, before parodying crazy people and voting with wands on an empty road, we left this nook and only after that I began to do this business. Parodying a crazy person, meant.
Had to wait almost a minute. It seems the Knight Bus was quite far from our location.
The three-story purple bus appeared literally out of nowhere—so fast it moved and so instantly began to stop, ignoring physics and inertia. Doors swung open, and the conductor's head with a cap askew poked out from there. Not the neatest person I met, not the neatest.
"The Knight Bus welcomes wizards in trouble," he cheerfully issued, "or just needing transport. Please on board!"
Hermione and I quickly went inside and literally clung to the handrails.
"Where are we going? Let me guess—Leaky Cauldron?"
"Exactly, sir," Hermione gave a polite half-smile. "And how did you guess?"
"Well so August first," the conductor adjusted the cap. "These days I hear 'Leaky Cauldron' more often than all others combined. So, experience. Heard, Ernie?!"
The conductor turned to the driver.
"Hit it to the Cauldron!" the conductor turned to us. "Will rush with a breeze."
The bus jerked from the place as if it had a rocket behind. Seemingly we held on normally—if hold on to the handrails, then dangles around the cabin not even strongly, as if inertia is partially dampened. But the conductor stands as if nothing happened.
"Heard, youth..." he began a conversation, distracting from pictures outside the window merged into many lines, "...Ministry took up arms against Dumbledore, preparing some dirty trick. Administrative, of course."
"Yes? And what exactly is the matter?" I managed to both speak and try to maintain my position in space relative to the bus cabin without problems.
"Yes who would know," the conductor shrugged. "But rumors circulate, where without it. Different wizards ride here, talk about different things. So, I sense, it won't be easy for you this academic year. What year are you? Sixth? Seventh?"
"Fifth."
"Fifth?" the conductor was surprised. "And look older. Although, a guy studied with me in the stream too, already in the third was a huge horse, so... Yes, quite. Well, then definitely will be hard. These OWLs, professors will be furious, and if the Ministry also thinks of something—generally pipe business."
The bus stopped abruptly in a deserted gateway.
"Leaky Cauldron, gentlemen wizards..."
Having paid, we stepped onto the asphalt, and the bus instantly drove somewhere, disappeared before we could look back.
The pub literally burst from the number of visitors. Here really—practically nowhere to push through. The bartender now and then managed to take orders, and two witches of average appearance without much enthusiasm on faces, but promptly served food and drink.
On Diagon Alley things were not much better—wizards scurried here and there, there were many of them, their clothes were diverse and bright. About a third of wizards were Hogwarts students of different ages, and if younger ones turned their heads following parents, then older guys, about our and older ages, walked in groups from shop to shop, discussed something, laughed. Near many shops there were trade stalls under awnings, and sellers actively called to buy only their goods, because they are the highest quality that can only be found—well of course, how else?
"So..." Hermione looked around everyone and everything importantly. "Plan of action?"
"To begin with, meet Daphne and Pansy."
"Parkinson?" sister was in bewilderment. "How do you communicate with her at all? She is a poisonous ulcer, just would... Ooh, no words."
Leaky Cauldron, or rather entrance there from the side of Diagon Alley, was slightly higher than other shops, and from here could see most of the magical street, as well as wizards on it, even if in such a pandemonium it was not so simple. But I managed to see Daphne and Pansy standing under the awning of the summer veranda of Fortescue's cafe.
"There, by the cafe, I saw them," I nodded towards this establishment, "let's go."
"Well let's go. Hope caustic phrases from Parkinson will not be so many that my patience begins to burst at the seams."
"You are smart. Show intellect and fantasy, answering caustically, but not below the belt. Although..."
"What?"
"You flare up too quickly, like other Gryffindors."
"Don't slander."
"Well-well."
We moved briskly, maneuvering between groups of wizards and singles, steadily approaching our goal, and I thought about how this walk would pass, because now here one could meet anyone, and everything could end also anyhow. We'll see.
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