Sunday was an unusually long day, as it turned out this time.
Having finished with the library, I headed to the Room of Requirement—it was high time for the meeting of our secret club of anonymous Defense Against the Dark Arts enthusiasts. True, with Umbridge's departure, all need for secrecy had vanished, but that didn't stop the club from being secret—such things appeal far too much to the rebellious spirit of young wizards. Besides, isn't it great to have such a "secret," especially when there are so many people involved? You can seemingly talk about the secret with many, yet still keep it—there's absolutely no argument to be made for shutting the club down.
Stepping into the Room of Requirement, I realized it was a full house today—absolutely every member had arrived on time. They were serious, barely smiling, and only the twins managed to lighten the mood, moving from one group of students to another without even using any of their special products.
Approaching Hannah and Ernie, who were standing and discussing something with Daphne and Malfoy, I offered a friendly smile to the group.
"Hey, guys," I nodded, looking at each of them in turn, "Daphne."
"Hector," she smiled sparingly due to the presence of outsiders around us. Sparingly, but not formally, as it had been in previous years.
"Everyone looks so serious," I nodded sideways, hinting at the students around us. "Any idea what the reason is?"
The question was, of course, unnecessary from an informational standpoint—one could easily guess. However, as a conversation starter and a way to keep it going, it was more than suitable.
"You're smart, Granger," Malfoy smirked smugly, "at least that's what the overwhelming majority of students think."
"I don't even really show off. Why would they think that?"
"I have no idea either, but that's not the point. Since you're smart, figure it out yourself."
"You look kind of irritated, Malfoy. Does it have anything to do with your dearest Aunt Bellatrix escaping from Azkaban?"
Malfoy didn't answer, but his silence was very meaningful—it was impossible to tell exactly how he felt about the question. Or perhaps he himself didn't know how he should feel. On the one hand, she was a relative. On the other, it was unclear which of the rumors were true. And I personally didn't know what exactly Draco's parents had told him about Bellatrix and the other "worthy" wizards from their Death Eater circle.
"It seems," Hannah glanced sideways at a few groups of students, especially at an unusually serious Neville, who was gripping his wand as if it were an axe rather than a fragile magical instrument, "the others really are quite worried about the prisoners escaping. Funny thing is, Merlin save us, it only reached everyone by evening."
"And that's why everyone threw themselves at the books and practice?"
And that was a genuinely important observation. The crux of the matter was that, with Umbridge gone, the enthusiasm for independent DADA study, all those extracurricular house-wide group sessions and other activities, had almost dwindled to nothing. Not everyone likes DADA, not everyone feels drawn to combat magic, let alone various forms of self-defense. As soon as the threat of a total lack of knowledge and practice in the subject disappeared, many immediately abandoned the "necessity" of extracurricular DADA classes. Plus, you have to consider that Flitwick now teaches the younger years, and to many, if not all, he is a highly respected wizard specifically in terms of magic and sorcery. This means his lessons will be more than enough to keep up with the curriculum and get the required minimum.
"Does that surprise you so much?" Malfoy smirked again. "The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters have everyone terrified to the point of shaking knees. Even those who, in principle, have no need to be afraid, are afraid of them."
"Even you?"
"Don't speak nonsense," Malfoy waved it off, but Daphne's sly smile—knowing and understanding a bit more than the rest—spoke volumes. "My family and I have neither reason nor cause to worry."
"Whatever you say," I shrugged, choosing not to push the topic. "Shall we practice?"
"Nah," Malfoy waved me off. "You know yourself, I have a place to train."
It was immediately clear what Malfoy was talking about—the Dueling Club. True, I hadn't heard Flitwick restarting his club's activities, and it seemed doubtful—the workload on the tiny professor was considerable.
"Suit yourself. Daphne?"
"I'd like to practice a bit. Without fanaticism."
"After you," I pointed toward an empty "lane"—somehow it naturally happened during mass practice that students lined up in rows facing each other, so a missed spell wouldn't hit the person behind them.
We practiced for a while, and I can't say it was without enthusiasm. It seemed Daphne liked the fact that wand magic, as she said, was coming easier to her. It's understandable and easily explained—engaging in something, seeing progress, feeling it, rather than waiting for results in the very distant future a couple of decades down the line, is highly captivating, even if you don't particularly enjoy the activity itself. No one is devoid of at least the rudiments of pride, and personal growth flatters that pride very well.
Occasionally, I stole glances at the other students. They kept gathering in small and large groups, discussing something, but they approached neither me, nor Daphne, nor Malfoy. Consequently, they didn't really discuss anything with Hannah and Ernie either, since the two of them didn't shy away from talking to the "Death Eater's son"—they were purebloods themselves, from the "Sacred Twenty-Eight," and didn't suffer from that kind of nonsense. What did this mean? The majority of the kids, led by Potter and Weasley, were theorizing, making plans, and discussing the potential dangers from the escaped prisoners and the Dark Lord himself, which is why no one was in a hurry to include us in these conversations. Malfoy's situation was clear—years of antagonism with Potter and Weasley hadn't passed without leaving a mark. Daphne is a Slytherin. I talk to Daphne. Ernie and Hannah aren't exactly the right crowd for conflict enthusiasts either, although you can talk to them about general topics. Susan, on the other hand, felt very comfortable in their company, and here again, the reason was simple—her family had suffered greatly from the Dark Lord's actions back in the day.
Was I offended by this attitude towards me? Not in the slightest! If they wanted to do their own little investigations, let them. If they wanted to make plans and generate ideas, more power to them. Fortunately, Hermione took minimal part in this, mostly focusing on her brainchild—this DADA study club—and enthusiastically discussing books or practicing magic with the female half of the group.
"Worried?" Daphne noticed me glancing a couple of times toward my sister and her female companions.
"A little," I nodded and lowered my wand, signaling that our spell practice was over, and the time was running out anyway.
Daphne and I started walking toward the exit of the Room of Requirement.
"I'd hate to see her dragged into Gryffindor adventures. Sure, they're unlikely to be truly dangerous and might be good experience..."
"You don't need to explain," Daphne smiled as we stepped out into the castle corridors. Empty, deserted, and gloomy, exactly as they should be during the dark evening hours. "I'm perfectly familiar with it. Astoria is terribly restless, always trying to find some adventure out of nowhere. Also completely harmless, but I still want to protect her from even the slightest chance of not just getting injured, but even getting a scratch."
"By the way, how are things between you two?"
We were walking slowly down the corridors, alongside the very tall stained-glass windows. Ahead lay the staircases of the Main Tower, and from there came the quiet hum of school life—it wasn't late enough for students to have all retreated to their common rooms. A dull, echoing thud announced that one of the staircases had finished its "maneuver" and shifted position.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, Astoria made it pretty clear she disapproved of us talking, as I recall."
"She still disapproves," Daphne smiled again, but in a slightly different, unfamiliar way. "She's unwavering in that regard. But that doesn't mean we're fighting or anything like that, no."
"I have to say, that's excellent."
"Is it? Conversations about it do happen, and... to be honest, it's just a tiny bit stressful. But the good news is that despite all of Astoria's attempts, she hasn't been able to find anything in you that she could exaggerate and use as an argument to smear you."
"Well, none of us are perfect. I haven't dug into my own past, but I'm sure something would turn up. It all depends on your point of view and worldview. What is good to one person is a terrible character trait or action to another."
"So far, she's pushing the blood purity angle and your lack of any significant prospects."
We entered the Main Tower and began a measured descent down the stairs. Both Daphne and I needed to reach the dungeons, which meant eight floors of genuinely large flights of stairs, plus a multitude of portraits and tapestries of various sizes on the walls—someone is always watching you from them, be it a human, an animal, or a magical creature. These portraits are one of the few things that are truly hard to get used to. Unless, of course, you start blatantly ignoring their existence, which is completely unacceptable—they can, after all, report what they hear or see.
"By the way, Daphne," I recalled an interesting nuance. "I wanted to find out something about property, land, houses, apartments, when a wizard has the right to own something, to build something..."
"I get it, I get what you mean," Daphne stopped my rambling with a slight smile and a wave of her hand as we reached the seventh floor. "You don't need to explain it in such detail. But..."
She paused in thought for a moment, and I involuntarily, for that exact same moment, found myself staring at her thoughtful face, stripped of all masks—a rare and therefore "valuable" occurrence.
"I don't have much to say... I've never really looked into that kind of thing. I mean, somewhere, someday, in the distant future..." Daphne waved a hand vaguely. "I would have found out when I encountered it. Why the sudden interest?"
"It's just that, in the ordinary world in England, the laws governing the ownership of land, buildings, apartments, or houses are quite convoluted. So I wondered—how does it all work here?"
"Oh... I don't know much. For example, all land deals go through the Ministry one way or another."
"There are no private firms?"
"I don't know, but I doubt it," Daphne shook her head negatively, nodding in passing, as I did, to some students we knew on the stairs. "I don't think land deals, specifically buying new land to own, are a very frequent occurrence. But I do know for a fact that the Ministry has a special department that handles land operations. Because all the land in the ordinary world within the country belongs to the Crown, and there's some complicated scheme there, I heard my parents mention it once."
"And in the magical world?"
"It's very expensive, but also prestigious if it's for housing," Daphne nodded importantly. "There aren't many of them, and new ones are discovered less and less frequently. There's also some difference based on the intended use of the land—for production, I think, it's cheaper, but the taxes are different... Anyway, you definitely shouldn't come to me for these kinds of questions. Maybe if I really think hard about it, I could tell you something else."
"What about ownership? I mean, for example, from what age, are there any restrictions or conditions?"
"There's nothing complicated there," the girl waved it off as we passed the third floor. "From the age of eleven, a wizard can own whatever they can afford. But there are various taxes on land and real estate, so without a stable income, it's better not to burden yourself with such things."
"What if, for example, I cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on something myself, or something similar. In a suitcase, for instance. And put land and a house in there..."
"I don't know those details," Daphne seemed disappointed in her own lack of knowledge on these matters. "I think all the complications and taxes are associated with ordinary, so to speak, land. Without those kinds of tricks."
The girl fell into thought again for a second, and then smiled genuinely, albeit fleetingly—we had reached the ground floor, and there were many students here, dispersing towards their common rooms: up the stairs to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, towards the dungeons, or the Hufflepuff "basement."
"If you want to live as a hermit, or minimize your interaction with other wizards at home, you can get as creative as you want. Everything can be hidden," the slight smile turned into a smirk. "If you have the desire."
"So, purely theoretically, you could pay nothing to anyone, and no one would object."
"Wouldn't object?" Daphne did an impression of Snape, raising a questioning eyebrow.
We had just reached the fork where we would have to go our separate ways.
"The Ministry will always object if a wizard suddenly finds a way not to pay. That's why they constantly pass various restrictive laws—magical England as a state has few sources of income."
"There are no state-owned, for example, enterprises or firms that export products?"
"Only private ones. And everything is in the hands of pureblood wizards, Hector. You didn't bring this up for no reason, did you?"
The question was clearly rhetorical. We stood at the fork, in an inconspicuous corner, in the shadows, so I added charms to this stealth, and only started answering after that, although such measures were unnecessary—the spiders made it clear that there was no one nearby, everyone had dispersed.
"I started thinking about acquiring land or some alternatives. After all, graduation isn't that far off, and living with my parents all the time... That's not ideal. They are, after all, ordinary people, and we don't even live near wizarding neighborhoods or houses. There are constantly all sorts of surveillance and other things. Plus, you can't just engage in magical activities. Nobody likes it when household members are doing some incomprehensible, strange stuff at home, instead of useful or at least understandable activities."
"Well, yes," Daphne nodded understandingly. "For ordinary people, magic probably is just... strange stuff, as you put it. My family, for example, completely fails to understand potion-making, although in charms and spells few can rival them. My hobby was viewed with extreme disapproval."
It was getting late, curfew was imminent, and Daphne clearly had no desire to run into a teacher when the common room was just a stone's throw away. Looking around and making sure no one was around, she, as always, quickly kissed me, as if in a hurry, and smiled in farewell.
"You have a lot of Ministry workers' kids in your house. Ask them."
"I certainly will. Good night."
"Good night..."
. . . . .
The first snow is always a joy. True, one has to decide what exactly counts as the first snow—just snowflakes falling from the sky, or that white blanket that doesn't melt by noon and becomes something permanent? Personally, I "vote" for the latter.
Mid-December, Saturday. After breakfast, joyous students spilled out into the street in a throng, rejoicing in the first snow—and not just any snow, but fluffy, crunchy, brilliantly white snow that had covered everything in a thick layer overnight. The little ones and a few older kids were happily playing snowballs, occasionally helping themselves with magic. The older students strolled about with an air of importance, wearing silly smiles as they thought about their own affairs or the upcoming trip to Hogsmeade on Sunday. Though, every now and then, one of the older kids would inevitably launch a snowball right into their neighbor's face. Or down their collar.
Following my tradition of periodic "contemplation," I stood on the small balcony above the main entrance to the castle's keep, surveying the courtyard and the surroundings with a master's eye. The mountains and hills, the ancient conifers of the Forbidden Forest—everything was draped in wavy white scarves and hats. But my thoughts were not about them, no.
Complete silence in the country; a dead calm, zero on the Beaufort scale. Since the escape of the Death Eaters, absolutely nothing had happened, and I drew this conclusion not only from the total absence of any significant news in various British publications—there was absolutely nothing happening even on the level of rumors. What else could be said when the front-page news of the Daily Prophet was a series of articles about the "Unfortunate Adventures of a Lost Niffler"—and that is no joke. For a whole week, one of these little beasts had been terrorizing, if one could call it that, Diagon Alley, and no one could catch it—so that's what they wrote about. Naturally, this couldn't last long, and the creature was caught—they even found out where it came from, which led to another article: "Animal Cruelty: The 'Magical Pet' Shop, or Hell in Diagon Alley?".
This was alarming not only to me but to the rest of the Hogwarts students as well—everyone was expecting some sort of action from the fugitives. Intellectually, I understood that the rational decision for them would be to lay low, recuperate after years of imprisonment in Azkaban, and only then make a move... I don't know, whatever it is they do. Considering the high probability that the rumors of the Dark Lord's resurrection were true, absolutely anything could be expected. That is precisely why I personally have been paying more attention to monitoring the status of the defense systems at home and the safety of my parents.
Everything is quiet at the Ministry, too. True, there are rumors in our house that people are actively digging for dirt on Fudge, and that he is resisting just as actively, but in vain. However, these are just rumors and conjectures, and so vague and unspecific that they aren't worth believing. As for life at Hogwarts itself...
Flitwick still hasn't resumed the activities of the Dueling Club, which didn't stop some of the kids from periodically gathering and, in their usual manner, discussing various tricks for using Charms and Spells, or practicing magic on the dummies. But there were no actual duels in the absence of teachers, and they were always absent—both Flitwick and Snape. A heavy workload, what can you do.
Classes themselves went on as usual, and Snape gained a reputation as a rather controversial DADA teacher. On the one hand, the material he provided was useful, concise, clear, and sharp, but at the same time, his strictness was off the charts. Many had grown accustomed to a certain degree of permissiveness in these classes, regardless of who the teacher was. Snape, however, demanded iron discipline, which for many, even considering the teacher's personality, clashed too strongly with their general worldview and way of life—at first, points were flying from all houses like crazy.
The DADA enthusiasts' club, under Potter's leadership, had become mired in paranoia and the maximally active study of various spells which, in the opinion of Potter and Hermione (who had conducted an analysis), any self-respecting wizard who decided to defend against the Dark Forces ought to know. The guys ultimately went down the path of maximum variety. In their place, I would have done things differently—I would have compiled a selection of five or six situational spells for defense and counterattack, and drilled them until I bled, achieving complete automatism, so that even if woken up in the middle of the night, one would be able to cast exactly what was needed, when it was needed, without looking or thinking. True, I do things differently myself, but my capabilities are entirely different—I can afford to.
Also, over the past month, I tried to find out something concrete regarding buying land, houses, construction, and the like, but no one could give a coherent answer—Muggle-borns and half-bloods knew nothing, and the purebloods hadn't thought about it yet. It looks like I'll have to consult with one of the adult wizards.
Taking a deep breath of the cool winter air, I decided to head to the library and read some literature from the Restricted Section. On the way, without meaning to, I found myself deep in thought about tomorrow's trip to Hogsmeade and how tomorrow would end for me, specifically, since Delacour had found another job for the Plague Doctor. Here, in England. Which means tomorrow I need to be ready for anything. By the way, I'll consult with him, with Delacour, about the property issue. As Hector Granger, of course. But that will be tomorrow.
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