The gloomy and overcast London morning did not inspire heroics in the slightest, nor did the large number of people at the entrance to King's Cross Station. It seemed to coincide that quite a few trains were both arriving and departing soon, and the flow of people was simply huge. To be honest, I am a little annoyed by such a crowd, rather faceless and gray—too many business suits, strict clothes, and all, as if selected, in gloomy shades, and only a small number of children among this crowd were more or less bright spots in this grayness. What am I doing here? I am actually waiting for my parents and Hermione—it's September first, after all, boarding for the Hogwarts Express is soon. Why am I here while they are still driving here? Nothing special, I just needed to run into Diagon Alley for additional ingredients, a list of which Professor Snape sent literally today at six in the morning—very responsible.
Connecting to my parents' amulets, I realized that they had another ten minutes to drive—acceptable, they shouldn't be late. Well, while I'm standing here, propping up the station wall, I can mentally summarize the past month and think about what to do at Hogwarts.
No matter how you spin your thoughts, there isn't much to summarize. I received the money from Delacour, and the Frenchman himself even took an extremely small amount for brokerage as a sort of apology for the oversight in selecting the client last time. We agreed that orders are not accepted during August, nor in September either. At such a statement, a light and almost imperceptible relief appeared on Mr. Delacour's face—it seems he faced some difficulties in finding clients, but those are no longer my problems.
Correspondence with Daphne was conducted without interruption but wasn't too frequent. Her parents found out about our walk and punished her, though not strictly. Not physically, no. Let's say it was more like some administrative punishment, sanctions. In general, they cut down her degree of freedom for August a bit. As a result, we decided not to get on their nerves unnecessarily; there will be time to walk and talk at Hogwarts.
As a result, I spent August socializing with my parents and Hermione, just as I planned. A couple of times we went out into London to visit different places I hadn't been to yet, and it didn't matter what exactly these places were—a cinema, a museum, a restaurant, a theater, or a shopping complex.
Since I had done all my homework, in terms of education, all that remained was to devote more time to analyzing what I remembered from books, looking for connections between various spells, charms, runes, and Arithmancy. Simply put—I continued to build and supplement my existing understanding of magic in general, and the local vision of sorcery and magic in particular.
Some time was spent by me searching for a certain universal weapon for training. No matter how I tried to come up with something for myself, I didn't come up with anything better than a spear in the Chinese style, a sort of glaive. It allows training both thrusting, chopping, and cutting strikes, which accordingly gives loads to the necessary muscle groups. As a result, in the last week of the holidays, I calculated and created such a glaive for myself. Metal, indestructible, enchanted with all sorts of stuff through dwarven forging, albeit by the only method available to me, somewhat primitive.
That, actually, is all the events for August—absolutely nothing special.
But as for plans for at least the first semester at Hogwarts—everything is somewhat more complicated here. The only thing I know for sure is that I will most likely step down from the role of Chaser in the Quidditch team, taking the role of Keeper. This will allow me to officially ditch training, because the Keeper does not participate in team play, and I have nowhere to improve my skills. At least, I do not see prospects for development and practical benefits from further overcoming for myself. Well, and the fact that I am guaranteed not to let a single Quaffle through—is ninety-nine percent true, because there is always a chance for a miracle.
And in general... Need to arrive at Hogwarts first and see live what will happen there. For example, the duties of a prefect—in fact, I have no idea what I will have to do, and the rest of the study plans will depend on the load.
While I was indulging in reflections on the complexities of life, our Range Rover drove into the parking lot, a fine nasty rain began to drizzle from the sky, and people around began to bustle with greater force. It would seem they live in England, yet they still dislike the rain. They are strange. Although, I also have a two-fold attitude towards this weather phenomenon—everything depends on the mood. If it is appropriate, I can happily go out into the downpour and even enjoy such a thing. Hmm... I'm strange too.
Stepping away from the wall, I took a pre-reserved trolley and headed to my parents' car. Quickly unloading Hermione's things onto the trolley, we began the process of saying goodbye—all sorts of hugs, wishes for all the best, instructions from parents to study well, achieve success, and all that. For our part, Hermione and I wished them not to get bored here, to take care of themselves, and only after that did I roll the trolley with my sister's things to the entrance to the station, and then along the platform straight to the passage to the magical platform "Nine and Three-Quarters".
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed quite interesting and unusual movement. Among ordinary people, at some distance from each other, clearly following some scheme for protecting an important object, walked wizards familiar to me in the person of Lupin, Moody, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and one other stranger. They walked in a spread-out security group, and the object of protection was Potter, at whose feet ran a healthy black dog of unknown breed—Black.
"Look," I turned to Hermione and nodded towards this strange, and not immediately understandable procession. "How many wizards do you see?"
"Where?" Hermione did not immediately follow my gaze, but then... "If you don't count that I recognized three, then... Three?"
"Look closely not at specific personalities, but in general, at the movement scheme of people around as a whole."
We stood not far from the transition, towards which this whole procession was moving quite quickly.
"Four? That girl with colorful hair... I saw her somewhere..."
"Understood. You are trying to recognize acquaintances, not see the picture."
"Wait, wait," Hermione loves various puzzles, and she perceived this specific situation as a challenge to her attentiveness and logic, simultaneously squeezing the huge red Crookshanks, holding him in her arms. "Five. Moving strangely."
"Seven, but you have to know about one specifically—logic won't help here. But generally, wizards use mainly two types of groups. Three and five. They like to call them stars. Now you see a five guarding a VIP person with a comrade."
"Are you talking about Harry? Do you think this is a real necessity?"
"Well, considering the rumors about the return of the Dark Lord, Harry's fame, and the fact that according to the official version he killed himself against him in the past... Why not?"
"Version?" my sister was surprised, looking at me. "It is a well-known fact. You-Know-Who came to the Potters' house, killed his parents with an Unforgivable, and tried to kill Harry himself but suffered a fiasco."
"Have you seen the magical photos of the Potter house in Godric's Hollow?" I smiled, looking back at her. "Let me remind you that since that very day, the house has been under preservation charms, and it is impossible to break it more than it is already broken."
"Well, there was a fight there..."
"Avada is not Bombarda. You can't wreck a house like that with such spells. If only Harry's parents and the baby himself were in the house, then who told about what happened there? That's two. How did the unblockable curse of instant death reflect? Although, there are fewer questions here—I'm sure this can be implemented."
"There is no reason not to believe in this version, actually," Hermione shrugged. "What is the point of telling lies to people?"
"As always, first you need to answer a simple question—who benefits from this version? If there is an answer to this question, you can think about the rest."
While we were quietly whispering about what was happening, Potter with his security and dog went to the magical part of the station, passing through the column between platforms "nine" and "ten". We decided not to waste any more time and also headed to the transition, and a moment later stood in the middle of the magical part of the station, bright, more colorful than its gray ordinary part. Here and there were wizards of different ages with their children, checking if they had taken everything for school, saying goodbye-hugging, and so on.
We went to the scarlet carriages of the Hogwarts Express. At one of them, we met Hermione's housemate, Lavender. This curly blonde greeted us joyfully, said in which compartment other girls from the house took seats, and Hermione, not without my help, dragged things into the carriage, and then into the compartment. I went further in search of a place for myself. Pigwidgeon will get to Hogwarts himself—this was clear from his behavior. The phoenix remained at home for now—sleeping in the corner of the room. I told my parents that he can be fed, or not fed—he doesn't care. Maybe I-phoenix will fly to Hogwarts, maybe settle in the forest—don't know yet. So, of my things, I only have the triangle backpack with me, in which I carry absolutely everything that might come in handy.
Moving through the carriages, inadvertently glancing into this or that compartment, I thought about the need to place my money somewhere, which has accumulated quite a lot. Like, really a lot. I don't trust bloodthirsty shorties, and it doesn't matter how many contracts they are bound by. How can you generally trust sapient predators who stand higher than your species in the food chain? Well, purely biological food chain, but nevertheless. I am one hundred percent sure that these shorties sit in their dungeons, mine jewels, and milk wizards like a cow, only instead of milk—gold. Sit, and laugh at the restrictions with which wizards allegedly bound them.
Shaking my head from the unbidden desire to get rid of the lurking threat in the person of a whole species of intelligent, bloodthirsty, and by the standards of both humans and elves with dwarves, somewhat immoral lovers of eating live human flesh, simultaneously torturing and cooking... Eh... Need to learn more details about goblins in this world before succumbing to the influence of stereotypes.
Spotting an empty compartment, I immediately went inside and settled comfortably by the window. There, on the platform, as always, it was crowded, but gradually parents put their offspring on the train, looked into the windows and prepared to wave, or simply left, considering their duty fulfilled.
Sitting a little longer, I took a robe out of the backpack, put it on, smoothed out invisible folds, and attached the prefect badge to the proper place. Yes, I don't know exactly the entire list of prefect duties, but I do know something. For example, that right now it would be good for me to go to the first carriage to the other prefects. I am also charged with maintaining order on the train. Eh... Heavy is my burden.
Standing at the exit of the compartment, I suddenly realized that I had nothing to leave here as evidence that at least one seat was occupied. After racking my brains, I transfigured an "Occupied" sign out of thin air, fixed the result, cast a few charms, and put it on the seat by the window—hell anyone will get rid of it now.
Leaving the compartment, I moved to the first carriage, passing compartments with having-fun students, or gracefully maneuvering between them, but already scurrying along the corridors.
The first carriage did not represent anything special, except that you can't go further than it, and there is no door there—a tender with coal behind it. As strange as it may be, wizards did not save the steam locomotive from the need to smoke up the sky.
On the other hand, there were no compartments as such in this carriage, but there was a lot of space, comfortable seats, practically small sofas, tables, and all that. There were curtains and drapes on the windows, on the walls—old-fashioned lamps, clearly magical. There were also cabinets with various things inside, for example, tea sets. In general, it was an ordinary first-class carriage from the middle of the last century—moderately elegant and rich, but without excesses.
"Ladies and gentlemen," with a smile I nodded to the guys present here, of whom there were six, and they were sitting on the sofas.
Someone, like Malfoy for example, didn't even bother to put on a school uniform—a strictly black and formal business suit. Draco sat with his legs crossed, sipping tea.
"Granger," without any emotions, bad or good, he stated the fact of my appearance. "And why am I not surprised?"
Pansy, sitting on an armchair nearby, twitched the corner of her lips sparingly, but it is worth noting that not on the sofa next to Malfoy—a trifle, but indicative.
"Oh, Hector, hi!" Hannah waved at me, a prefect badge gleaming on her robe, just like on mine. "Come in, sit down."
Hannah patted the seat next to her on the sofa located opposite the one where Malfoy was sitting.
Blond and curly-haired Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil stood by the window—they, obviously, were the prefects from Ravenclaw. And Hermione was here too, nothing unusual about that. She, like Draco, neglected the school uniform, and if Malfoy was in a formal suit, then Hermione, as always, was in jeans, a T-shirt and a dark blue light jacket—moderately formal, moderately comfortable. In general, nothing unusual.
Approaching closer, I sat next to Hannah and leaned back, settling more comfortably and crossing my legs. Of all of them, Hermione caught my attention. She stood with her arms folded under her chest near another window, encompassing the entire space of the compartment with her gaze, and tapping her index finger on her arm with obvious displeasure.
"Stop escalating, Granger," Draco saw her out of the corner of his eye and, it seems, it annoyed him. "How long can you keep this up?"
"And what's the problem?" I glanced at my sister.
"Nothing."
"And more specifically?"
"Where is the second prefect? And who is he anyway?"
"Oh, don't you know?" Malfoy smiled insolently and even allowed himself to turn half-around to Hermione. "Rejoice, Granger! You're not looking for easy ways, are you? So here. You are incredibly lucky, because your colleague will be—unbelievable thing—Weasley."
"Ron?" Hermione was genuinely taken aback. "But... For what merits?"
"Obviously," Pansy smirked brazenly, "only for being Potter's friend."
"This blockhead has no other merits for the house," Draco chuckled.
"Stop saying all sorts of nasty things," Hermione frowned.
"I have the right to say what I want," Malfoy waved it off. "This is my opinion."
"What a lovely atmosphere you have here," I looked around at everyone present with a smirk. "Can immediately feel the spirit of productive cooperation this year."
"Oh yes!" Malfoy smiled. "I already feel how points will fly from the Gryffindors for their numerous violations."
"By the way," I leaned forward. "And what are our duties? Announce the entire list, please."
"Tsk, you don't even know that?" Malfoy did not change his manner of dismissive communication. "Sure your sister memorized everything inside and out."
"Not memorized," she nodded, "but learned, showing common sense. The duties of a house prefect include..."
At this moment Ron literally burst into our carriage, flashing a wide smug smile. But as soon as he saw all this contingent, with a good half of which the redhead has certain frictions, the smile on his face faded.
"Showed up," Malfoy made a maximally upset face. "I hoped you would get lost on the train, or better yet, on the platform."
"Shut up, Malfoy," Weasley pouted angrily. "What did you forget here anyway? Are you really a prefect?"
Malfoy demonstratively pulled back the lapel of his jacket, showing the prefect badge.
"I thought bad eyesight was your friend Potter's thing. But this, it seems, is contagious."
Ron was ready to show all his irascible character, and Hermione, it seems, decided to add fuel to the fire.
"Ron, where have you been? Prefects must appear in the carriage before the train starts moving."
Surprised by her words, I glanced out the window—the train not only started moving, but even picked up decent speed and judging by the picture outside the window, has been moving for about ten minutes.
"Oh, what's the difference?" Ron was indignant.
"Yes indeed," Malfoy nodded. "No one expected you here anyway, loser."
"What did you say?!" Ron snatched out his wand.
Malfoy did exactly the same, jumping up, and here they are already standing, ready to launch some spell at each other. Pansy, to her credit, also held her wand at the ready, but continued to sit calmly in the armchair. Ravenclaws looked with slight condemnation and at the same time, with anticipation. Hannah managed to sit next to me so that any accidental spells would not reach her. Hid, but held herself independently.
Chuckling, I didn't even take out my wand or show activity with any gesture at all—just volitional magic, concentration and no extra costs. The guys' wands were torn from their hands. Malfoy, as if pulled by the belt, found himself on his sofa again, and his wand hovered nearby. Ron flew through the air to the armchair, and his wand was next to him.
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