Chapter 16
I didn't feel like eating dinner at all. The happiness of successfully brewing an advanced potion had replaced hunger, leaving behind only euphoria and confidence in my skills. After all, Professor Snape was a master of his craft, which made him an excellent professor. But still, you can't eat happiness, and it's worth it to let the emotions subside, as hunger will make itself felt. So my body went to the Great Hall to replenish my body with food and energy.
The meal didn't take long, or at least it seemed so to me. After all, all my attention was focused on the other students who were laughing and chatting amongst themselves. Of course, I was sometimes lonely because of the limited socialization and at such times I retreated to the library, but it didn't help much. As I had mentioned earlier when talking to Angelina, all Slytherins were pompous turkeys with whom it was simply impossible not only to make friends, but even to maintain an interesting dialog that wouldn't quickly descend into bragging about their family's achievements. The situation with the students of other houses was even more interesting. Almost all freshmen considered Slytherins to be dark wizards or those who would soon after graduation become residents of Azkaban, an impregnable prison in the middle of the sea guarded by horrible Dementors. And the older students, who are not so naive believing in the rumors floating around, are unlikely to want to be friends, or even talk to a "silly" freshman.
Of course, that's not to say I don't have any friends at all. Take Angelina, the Weasley brothers, and Nymphadora, for example. But Angelina was always with her friends, and what was there to talk about with a girl? The Weasley brothers always disappeared in the middle of nowhere, plotting or already performing their pranks. And Nymphadora... being a sixth year student, she was always in the living room of Puffendui or wherever, because they had incredibly difficult exams that were worth preparing for, so as not to fail them. Especially considering that Nymphadora was rumored to want to become an Mrakoborz after graduating from Hogwarts, which had high requirements for the knowledge and skills of the candidate. Mrakobors by the way are elite fighters, combining traits of Muggle special services, criminal investigation, intelligence, and the military. In addition to excellent knowledge of such subjects as Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbalism, Potions, Transfiguration, and Spells, all of which require a score of at least "Above Expected" on the JABA exam, Muggleborns must possess certain personal qualities: the ability to resist pressure and unfavorable circumstances. To this end, they are subjected to tests before being accepted into the obscurantist course. The applicants' backgrounds are also thoroughly checked. Apparently, wizards with criminal or dubious pasts are simply not allowed to enroll in the courses.
And all these factors made me spend more and more time in the library. That thought made me think of the rumors about me, so the next time I see the Weasley brothers, I should remember to ask them thoroughly....
***
The next morning was cold but sunny. The Great Hall was filled with the delicious smell of fried sausages and happy chatter as everyone anticipated the exciting spectacle.
After all, today the Slytherin Quidditch team was facing the Gryffindor team. And if they won, the Slytherin team would come second in the school championship. But I didn't share their enthusiasm, because today was an important day for me personally. We had another Defense Against the Dark Arts class today after the Quidditch match, led by Professor Reikpik. Who had most likely gotten into the students' heads last time. And I didn't want a repeat of that experience, which left me with a bunch of unpleasant thoughts. What if Professor Snow couldn't come, or was late, and my willpower wasn't strong enough to resist the professor's influence, which would make my secret known to her. Whatever was leading me behind that stone door, I'm sure it wouldn't want others to know about it, otherwise those glowing signs would be seen by others.
Or what if Professor Snape didn't find anything suspicious and thought I was just playing out my imagination. I couldn't eat, so I decided to go to the Quidditch match tonight, just to get some fresh, frosty air.
The X hour had finally arrived. Almost all the students had left the castle walls and were walking down the path towards the Quidditch pitch. And I, of course, was no exception. The frosty morning air was incredibly refreshing, pushing away all anxious thoughts. And the sunlight, which was still a little warm, made me smile. And in such a melancholy mood I was already almost near the field, when I abruptly had to reconsider my plans. There were glowing signposts on the ground again, and after I had put Quidditch out of my mind, my path shifted to the direction the signpost was pointing. There was hope in me that maybe this time something would change and I would be able to solve the mystery. Adventure is inherent in everyone, and especially in people obsessed with magic and knowledge, to which I proudly count myself.
The signs led me back to Hogwarts, and gradually it became clear that they led to the same place as last time. So in a dozen minutes I was standing again, facing a locked, impregnable stone door.
- Alohomora!
- Alohomora!
- Alohomora!
No matter how many times I repeated the spell, it was as futile as last time, which made my fervor cool down a bit, and the smile that had appeared on my face from my little walk was replaced by a sullen expression.
- Think Draco, think... there's no way those damn signs were just leading you here! - I mentally urged myself to find other ways, and then began to immediately use all of my knowledge on the door, from the arsenal of all sorts of knowledge that I had acquired through school textbooks and publicly available information from the school library, to simple shouts from fairy tales like 'open sesame' and the like. In the end, all my efforts were again pointless. So I decided to just try to channel my magical energy through my hands into the door. It was possible that it would react to my aura, at least I had read in books that such blockages existed.
And so, holding my breath, I carefully placed my palm against the door and let the mana flow through my hand. Immediately, copious amounts of magical energy began to flow out of my hand and into the door, making me immediately happy. But it didn't last long, because when I tried to pull my hand away, it was glued to the door. Gradually my hand began to feel numb and sore, and my head began to spin. It made me fear for my life. There was a possibility that the door itself was some kind of cursed treasure, which could absorb all the powers and soul of the magician, thus killing him. And when I was about to start shouting for help, the door stopped pumping out my magic and my hand fell off, after which I fell on my heel, breathing heavily from exhaustion.....
***
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