CHAPTER 21

The almost forgotten hassle of practicing magical manipulations over and over again lasted for an hour and a half, and it captivated me. Only when we went to the Great Hall for lunch did I realize that, having lost myself in the moment, I'd stopped psychologically separating my "I" from the elf's memories. But that was only a fleeting moment, because these memories themselves hardly evoke an emotional response. They can be imagined as an unchangeable fantasy invented by oneself—or a film, but with immersion and from the first person. There's something there, but it has almost no personal nuance.

At lunch, I noticed Hermione rushing to eat quickly and run off somewhere again. What's she doing, always darting around the castle like she's been stung in one place?

The third and fourth lessons were English Language and Literature, a mixed subject taught by a short, slightly hunched, but cheerful lady in her seventies. Fiction had to be borrowed from the library and studied over six months—three large works and a collection of poetry. The latter was dissected to understand poetry in principle.

The last lesson was Herbology, taught by our Head of House, Pomona Sprout—a plump lady with gray curls of short hair sticking out from under a wide-brimmed hat. The classes themselves were held in the greenhouses on the castle grounds, consisting of a short introduction to a specific task for the day and a practical portion. To my surprise, the subject didn't resonate with the soul of the elf, because it was fundamentally different from the elven concept of working with plants. There, everything is built purely on magical interaction—communication with them and the like. And here? Typical gardening, except that instead of carrots, it's Mandrakes, which can easily send you to the next world.

Dinner was a hearty meal, the basis of which was meat prepared in various ways and an assortment of vegetables. Here, I let loose, indulging in chops, baked potatoes, and some salad. Afterward, fatigue rolled in. Besides the fact that my body isn't used to such a load, the training bracelets added physical strain. Stumbling into the common room with the others brought relief, and when I collapsed on the soft sofa and turned off the bracelet, I completely relaxed—much like everyone else.

"Here's some tea and cookies," Hannah said, having found a tea set with a very large teapot somewhere, while Susan brought two large, deep plates filled with cookies of every taste and color.

"Thank you, girls," I said, to the full approval of the other boys. "You're just wonderful."

"Of course!" they smiled.

Well, what does one do over a cup of tea? Discuss the past day, what else? Fatigue faded into the background a little, and we, as an honest company, decided to tackle the homework assigned today. This, by the way, is the most optimal approach—tested by more than one lifetime.

Just before bed, as we settled into our beds in the niches, Justin asked a question:

"Well, Hector, how's our school?"

"It's too early to say anything. But I don't think I'll be bored here."

"Bored? Well, I'd like to survive here. Remind me…" He yawned loudly. "I'll tell you tomorrow what happens here."

A pillow whistled through the air.

"Ow…"

"Can you at least not chatter at night for one day, huh?" Zacharias muttered into his remaining pillow, then almost immediately snored, falling asleep.

It's time to follow his example.

Friday, September 3rd. Only the second day of school, but already the last one this week, because Saturday, as I'd learned, involves classes in various clubs—of which there are quite a few at Hogwarts. True, I hadn't yet been informed about them or told where to find information. I suppose this decision stems from the need to get used to the castle first, avoiding idle wandering and trouble-seeking—a similar tactic has been chosen for first-years. Well, nothing can be done about it, and I'm in no hurry to sign up for anything yet.

The morning, like yesterday, began with rising, a light elven warm-up reminiscent of an unusual wushu routine. And, like yesterday, the boys in the room had to be woken with improvised means. Something new needs to be devised, because at this rate, they'll develop immunity to the clanging of a metal tray.

Having packed our things according to today's schedule, we safely left the room, and some kind of bacchanalia was already unfolding in the house common room. Everyone was sneezing and coughing, with a clearly magical blue fog swirling around, in which many sparks quietly sparkled. The fog was localized only in the far corner, occupying a quarter of the room, and after watching for a second, one could conclude that those sneezing and coughing were trying to dispel it.

"There's just a lack of concentration and willpower," one of the older students—perhaps a seventh-year—noted.

The boy waved his wand, pointed at the fog, and said:

"*Evanesco**."

It's much harder to sense someone else's magic than your own—at least without preparation. But the tiniest traces of its movement in space can be caught. The trails of this magic from the senior student's wand enveloped the fog and literally began to erase it from reality. Visually, it looked as if the fog compressed rapidly without changing density, then vanished.

"Nothing critical," said a girl—also an older student—who'd started examining the victims. "Just irritation from the pollen. Let's go to the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey will give everyone a couple of drops of potion to clear the lungs."

"Maybe we shouldn't?" one of the younger victims looked at the girl pitifully.

"We must, Henry, we must. At the same time, you experimenters—remember well that volatile powdered ingredients must be handled with utmost care, using a special approach for each."

The unlucky students were quickly ushered to the hospital wing, and Cedric, who'd appeared in the common room, began gathering the first-years into a semblance of a line. Noticing me, the prefect seemed to recall something, waved his finger admonishingly at the first-years, and moved towards our group.

"Hello, people," he smiled.

We greeted him in disarray, and Cedric, focusing his attention on me, continued:

"Hector, I just remembered—you'll need to hand in the material you covered for the first and second years at the end of this semester."

"Yes, you're right."

"So, how do you plan to pass the flight exam? There are only a few lessons, but the subject's in the credit program."

"I was thinking of approaching you with questions about the exam in a few days, once I've attended the subjects at least once."

"Got it. Come tomorrow, Saturday, at ten in the morning to the Quidditch pitch. Our team's meeting there. It's worth making sure we haven't forgotten how to fly on brooms and play over the summer. At the same time, we'll see how quickly you can get the hang of it."

"Agreed," I nodded, mirroring the prefect's smile.

"Then I won't keep you any longer."

Cedric returned to the first-years, and we headed to the exit, where Hannah and Susan were already chatting about something. Having greeted the girls, our male company intended to proceed to the Great Hall, but it seemed the girls had been waiting for us. Now, the entire third-year Hufflepuff group—six strong—moved briskly through the castle corridors.

"So, what does this mean?" Justin pondered, his expression making him look even more like a rich movie villain. "Do you even have to hand in Flying?"

"Yeah."

"That could be a problem."

"What's the problem?" Ernie asked, surprised. "He gets on a broom and flies off."

"That's for you, who've been in the magical world since infancy," Justin shook his head. "But I was into airplanes as a kid. I knew everything about them."