Chapter 45: Welcome to Hogwarts

The train pulled into the station at dusk. There was still plenty of light outside, but the older students had already lit their Lumos charms above their heads. The first-years, clearly nervous, huddled together near the few kerosene lanterns. I didn't push through the crowd with everyone else — I just waited until the platform cleared. My only neighbor did the same.

"First-years, over here!" boomed a deep voice. The man holding the lantern was definitely a half-giant, judging by his height — at least two and a half meters. Why not a titan? Well, probably because the power radiating from him was nothing compared to Hayato's, though I could be wrong. Either way, he didn't look particularly appealing: a coat made of mole skins, a huge tangled beard, and wild hair gave him the look of a fairy-tale bandit, not a teacher at one of the best schools in Europe.

I have nothing against half-giants — Madame Maxime, for example, is quite attractive and charming despite her height — but couldn't they find proper robes for him? Do wizards really have clothing problems? Don't make me laugh. This just shows a dismissive attitude toward the image of their staff, and therefore toward the students.

"Marlow, Arthur Marlow," came a baritone from behind me. I turned and saw a half-goblin this time. Well, at least the headmaster treats half-bloods normally — that's good.

"Yes, that's me," I replied. "And you are...?"

"Professor Filius Flitwick. I was sent to pick you up. You're the only exchange student who decided to take the train." I wanted to curse, but held back. Traditions, of course. Oh, that Ministry secretary Weasley! Damn him... Seven kids to feed and only enough money for them! Phew, calm down — am I a mental mage or what? Or I might accidentally curse someone.

"Thank you," I nodded, following the unexpectedly spry half-goblin. He looked like a dwarf, about four feet tall, with a disproportionately long nose and sideburns already going gray. He wore a classic black robe and a cap. Flitwick, Flitwick... I rolled the name on my tongue and quickly remembered where I'd heard it.

"Wait, weren't you the European dueling champion about ten years ago?"

"You know? I didn't realize I was so famous beyond the British Isles." We approached the carriages, harnessed to thestrals — fascinating creatures, created by a famous Chinese ruler, chimerologist, and necromancer over a thousand years ago, based on pegasi. His name was Qin Shi Huangdi. No one knows what he wanted to achieve, but in the end he got thestrals — toothy, winged black horses, like skeletons covered in skin, who feed on meat and the death emanations of their victims.

And yet, they're living beings — in this, they're like necromancers. They're also known for the fact that only those who have seen death can see them — that is, a wizard who has taken at least a drop of death mana into himself. Although, if they wish, these horses can hide from a wizard too — it's just their passive camouflage.

"Not to say very much," I said honestly, helping the half-goblin climb onto the high step. "It's just that my teacher and trainer mentioned you, and I read your book on magical dueling."

"Is that so?" The carriage started moving. "And how did you like it?"

"I really liked your combination of fog charms, air thickening, and area stunning. It's great for duels, though any battle mage would immediately put up circular protection or parry from the fog. The tactic is mainly for duels where you're forbidden to leave the platform."

"I never claimed to be a battle mage," he answered sincerely. He seemed like a rather cheerful person, judging by his emotions, and he wasn't offended at all by my criticism.

"And who are your teachers and trainer, do I know them?"

"Teacher Phineas Black, and trainer Richard von Mayer," I replied calmly — I think it's stupid to boast about teachers, especially if you're a bad student.

"You've gone pale, are you feeling unwell?"

"I just met Herr von Mayer once and asked for a training duel."

"And did he refuse you?" I was curious.

"Worse, he agreed," Flitwick shook his head. "He carved me up then, proud of my championship victory, in less than ten seconds. Said to train more and left."

"Haha, that's my trainer," I laughed. "By the way, would you give me a couple of dueling lessons?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore recently banned them, as there were too many... incidents when students deliberately maimed each other." I wouldn't be surprised if those students usually wore red and green ties. "However, as a private lesson, I don't mind."

"Thank you," I nodded, asking a few more questions. As it turned out, Flitwick is the Head of Ravenclaw House and a Charms Master. Every self-respecting school tries to hire masters as teachers, raising the school's status. And many of them don't mind — it's easy to find a student or do research in their free time.

But I was surprised that at Hogwarts, masters teach all courses, and assistants are only recruited through punishments and detentions. It wasn't like that at Beauxbatons: there was no shortage of those wishing to assist, as you could get money, points, and attract the Master's attention. There, teachers without mastery usually taught the younger years, since teaching basic charms and theory wasn't difficult.

For a Master to teach first-years is like... well, a Nobel laureate teaching first-graders — theoretically possible, but essentially a waste of potential. But I won't bring my own rules to someone else's monastery — maybe they all like to teach, like Filius?

The carriage rode around the Black Lake, through the forest, so only halfway, when the trees parted and we were driving right near the lake, I could see Hogwarts. What can I say? A beautiful castle, reminiscent of Neuschwanstein, which raises many questions, since during the construction of Hogwarts in the 10th century, a completely different, rougher and more down-to-earth style was used, not the romanticism of the 19th century.

So either the founders — Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin — anticipated the future, or, more likely, like the Sumerians, had connections with other worlds. I bet on the latter, because looking at the castle with true sight... I didn't go blind, no, I've seen enough monsters, but I was impressed by the work — yes.

"Impressive?" Flitwick asked, pleased with my expression.

"Absolutely," I replied — though we were talking about completely different things. I was admiring the mana force lines, cleverly woven with four ley lines, all converging right where Hogwarts stands. And the greater my disappointment that such a masterpiece of magical thought was in decline.

Those same force lines are interrupted somewhere, twisted somewhere, and somewhere they lead to a dead end. At Beauxbatons, built a century later, everything is fine thanks to generous donations from Nicolas Flamel and his invaluable help in repairs.

Simply, a lot of knowledge has been lost since those times, even more is forbidden, so such castles decay. And all because eternal artifacts don't exist, even if there's constant feeding — the wizard's will, invested in charms, runes, rituals, weakens over time, and charms dissipate, so they need to be renewed.

I'm not even talking about the fact that matter begins to decay over time with any charms. But Lerach's book lasted more than four thousand years, and that's strange, since he wasn't a strong enough wizard for his will to last so long. An archmage — yes, but not a master in power. Although now the reason can't be found out, the book was destroyed long ago.

"Follow me, Mr. Marlow," Flitwick said, getting out of the carriage in the inner courtyard. In front of me was a small garden with two galleries on the sides, and straight ahead a huge, thick double oak door, reminiscent in size of the entrance to Redzenpark.

On either side of the door were niches with dozens of knight statues — no, golems. Judging by their appearance, they were created to repel attacks by ordinary people, since I don't see artifacts on them. And without those, for any wizard they're good for one or two hits. The door was ajar, and students from second to seventh year were entering through the passages.

"Wait, take my hand."

"Why?" I asked.

"You're not in Hogwarts' Book of Admittance, since you were born outside the United Kingdom, so you must be escorted by one of the teachers."

"And if you need to escort many people at once?"

"In that case, it's enough for the headmaster to be at the entrance. The charms consider all entering to be verified."

"The castle was built by paranoids," I commented, watching the Hogwarts students. They didn't pay much attention to me, as everyone was eager to get inside — the Scottish climate is cool even in early September, there's a big lake nearby, and night is coming soon. "Just how I like it. But I would have added more protection systems."

"They exist, they're just either inactive or have dissipated over time." The half-goblin and I went inside, up the main staircase, turned left, and after a not particularly long but wide corridor hung with "living" portraits — mental imprints of dead people — we reached another door, this time inscribed with ornaments.

They were open, so I immediately saw the famous Great Hall. I can say I like Beauxbatons better. There, illusions show not only projections of the sky, but anything you want, and the space is much wider. Here, you just sit as if under the open sky. Beautiful? Yes. Interesting? Also true, but I've already passed the stage of admiration — I'm more interested in how this is done and what methods Rowena used to enchant the ceiling. Direct projection, solid illusion, mental charms? Definitely not the latter, as I would have noticed.

In the hall, larger than a basketball court, there were five tables — four of them, the longest and standing along the walls, were house tables. The fifth stood on a dais at the far end, perpendicular to the others — the teachers' table, with a throne-like chair in the center, where a benevolent old man with a white beard with bells woven into it and a purple robe with golden stars sat.

If he wanted to create the image of a kind wizard from fairy tales, then I'd say the attempt was successful. But besides teachers, I noticed three more people at the table who were too young to be staff. Next to them was one free place, and it was to this that the Charms Master led me.

"Until the first-years are sorted, you can sit here. The headmaster will introduce you later," Flitwick told me.

"Thank you for your help and good conversation, it was nice to meet you," I said, sitting down. In front of me were golden-colored dishes — but it's unlikely to be real gold. Looking with true sight, I chuckled — transfigured from air by a matrix in the table. Actually, it's even more convenient this way — no need to wash, and no pity if they break.

I was being studied with glances, but the time when this could embarrass me had passed. I've given plenty of presentations on the restoration and translation of ancient texts. And mental practices help. Gryffindors looked openly, some even stared. Some looked with displeasure — mostly guys, some with sympathy — girls.

Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were about the same, only in the first there were more kind looks, and in the second more scientific interest in a student from another school. Slytherins differed in behavior, but not in emotions. No one looked directly at me, except maybe a few underclassmen. There was more cold interest, but in general, everything was the same. The same boys and girls, just maybe a bit more rotten. As they say, power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Soon they brought in the children, a stool, and a chair. The Sorting Hat sang a song, and then, putting it on everyone in alphabetical order, sorted the children into houses. Which don't differ in level of education or lesson composition. I don't understand this artificial division, just as I don't understand the meaning of house points. At Beauxbatons you can at least spend them, but here? Maybe this made sense before, and then new headmasters brought so much new that they forgot the old, and the tradition became meaningless.

Or someone needs such division and confrontation to make it easier to manipulate and recruit supporters, as well as to instill the idea that the house opposing you is the enemy, that Ravenclaws are nerds, Gryffindors are aggressive but honest, Hufflepuffs are wimps but friendly, and Slytherins are dishonest but cunning.

Although anyone can see that dividing children by character at eleven is utter nonsense — a child can still change greatly. But they don't let him, forcing him to follow stereotypes, which he then begins to believe in and follow. What can we say if getting into the "wrong" house can cause a scandal in the family? Although, it would seem, what is the child's fault? He was sorted by an artifact with a mind spirit, not by choice.

"Congratulations to all on the new school year!" Dumbledore's voice, amplified by Sonorus, distracted me from my thoughts. "I'm glad to see you all in good health again within the walls of Hogwarts. For our newcomers, I must explain some rules. The Forbidden Forest near the castle is strictly forbidden to visit. For success in studies you will receive points, and for misconduct you may lose them. Also, before the meal, I would like to introduce four exchange students:

"Student of Durmstrang, Todor Krasnov!" — a short, plump guy in a robe with fur lining stood up and bowed slightly. Dumbledore clearly had difficulty with Russian names. "He enters the sixth year."

"Student of Durmstrang, Antonin Dolohov," — a guy somewhat resembling Rasputin stood up in the same uniform. Maybe all Russians look like him to me? No, something else — I activated true sight and almost winced at such a concentration of darkness and rot. I suspect he was sent away from sin. But not only that — on Dolohov's arm I saw a black spot of the Mark. The others were clean in this regard, but judging by their astral body, the appearance of the Mark is only a matter of time. "Seventh year."

"Student of Durmstrang, Natalya Ermolova," — this time the girl sitting next to me stood up, only her bestial expression and strong figure made one confuse her with a man. As did the far from pleasant emotions she experienced. However, true sight said — this is indeed a woman. "Seventh year."

"Student of Beauxbatons, Arthur Marlow," — it was my turn to stand up and bow. I looked like an aristocrat next to barbarians, and such contrast didn't please me. "Fifth year?"

"Yes, headmaster, I passed externally," I replied, to avoid answering the same question a thousand times later.

"Hmm, well then, let's welcome the guests to our wonderful castle of Hogwarts," — discordant applause sounded. "Only one question remains: sorting into houses. But since exchange is needed for exchange of experience, it was decided jointly with the headmasters of other schools to give you free access to any house common room and to attend any lessons, even of senior years. I only hope for your conscientiousness and that you won't use your freedoms for pranks or truancy. And now let's proceed to the long-awaited festive dinner."

Dumbledore clapped his hands, and in a flash of materialization, dishes with food appeared. The dinner was indeed festive — the tables were laden with delicacies: roast chicken, a whole roasted pig, beef Wellington, all kinds of rolls and side dishes. I'd managed to get hungry, so I began to eat — and I eat a lot. Which is why Natalya, sitting next to me, looked at me with surprise.

I generally evoked strange feelings of sympathy and disgust in her, apparently because of my pretty face and strong body. Or maybe she just knows about my origin — I don't really care.

When dinner was finished, and the food along with plates and dishes disappeared, Dumbledore stood up again.

"House prefects, take the first-years to the common rooms. Professor Flitwick, would you escort our guests to their rooms?"

"Of course, headmaster." Wiping his mouth with a napkin, which evaporated as soon as he threw it on the table, the half-goblin led the four of us to the guest rooms.

"If you need anything, call the house-elves, they'll tell you everything. Or wait for the prefects — they'll come to you in the morning for a tour and answers to all your questions. You understand, it's late," he spread his hands.

"It's fine, I'm an undemanding person," I shrugged.

"But you look completely different," Dolohov chuckled.

"Not everyone is what they seem," I smirked at this bandit face and, receiving no answer, went into my little apartment. Yes, it was exactly a little apartment, with its own shower, toilet, washbasin, study, and bedroom.

Most likely such apartments are intended for teachers or married couples. Now such are rare, but they occur. Not to say it was cozy here — it was still noticeable that restorative charms had been used on the furniture more than once, which made things look worn and washed out. But I'm not going to complain, since I won't be living here much.

First of all, I checked the room for surveillance charms — and they were there, but general, castle ones. Which are quite easy to block because they were on their last legs. Then I set up a veil of secrets, and only after that made visible the suitcase floating above my head, into which I climbed, creating a doppelganger beforehand. I don't make them particularly smart without a ritual, but if someone comes — he'll warn me.

Dorothea was already sleeping, so I didn't wake the little one, but undressed and lay down next to her. But sleep didn't come yet, as there were many plans ahead: find dragons and other magical creatures for Availon, the ritual of taking form, the Blacks, Gaunt, teacher, mother's pregnancy, obtaining mastery — from all this my head swelled and there was a desire to simply move to Availon for good, setting a coefficient of 1000 to 1, to come out already in the distant future, where these problems don't exist.

But there will be others, and it's best to prepare for them now.

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Thank you for the help with the power stones!!!