Saturday passed almost entirely within the confines of the House common room. My classmates and I did our homework, using both our own books and library books, which Zacharias and Justin ran to get with great readiness and no less great expenditure of time. It seems they simply didn't want to study much. Therefore, we—Hannah, Susan, Ernie, and I—safely finished all the homework.
Cedric and the other guys from the Quidditch team were bustling about, looking for candidates for the Chaser selection, or rather, for one vacant spot.
"…but the selection is only in two weeks…" bustled those who wanted to try out but, apparently in the best teenage traditions, delayed preparation until the last minute. "The last minute" had arrived suddenly.
In general, the guys caused a commotion.
Having finally received some free time only towards the evening, I sat in the common room, watching all this peaceful bustle of kids in both ordinary clothes and school robes with yellow linings, and gradually got irritated. My fingers tapped a vaguely familiar and very habitual rhythm on the armrest of the armchair on their own, and this bright hobbit hole, called a common room by some misunderstanding, was gradually driving me crazy. Not much, no. Just a tiny bit. But considering that no external factor had yet been able to shake my peace of mind—it was a big achievement. Most likely, this is due to dashed expectations—I was expecting dungeons, after all.
I probably need to do what I planned as soon as I arrived—write to my parents. But now, or later? So I sat, pondering, crossing my legs and looking at the same smooth, leisurely bustle of students.
"Tired?" Justin stood next to the armchair, half-turned to me, also looking around.
"Insignificantly."
"Hmm…"
"Is something bothering you?" I asked, continuing to watch the common room.
"Not really. It's just that you sit in this chair like some Thranduil, inspecting your domain. You just need a staff and a sword at your belt."
Thranduil, huh? A familiar name, but by no means from elven memories, although it sounds exactly elven. It seems to be something from books, fantasy. Yes, exactly. Similar things slipped through in the memories of as many as several lives. I won't focus on it. It seems this work unknown to me exists here too.
Taking parchment and a quill from a nearby table, I placed the sheet on my knee and began composing a letter. It came surprisingly easily. The content, if you discard the fluff, comes down to a few words and phrases: arrived well, settled in, fed excellently, subjects interesting, guys good, House Hufflepuff, best wishes, your son Hector.
"A letter? To whom?" Justin, standing nearby as before, inquired.
"To my parents, of course. Parents, no matter how adult the child considers himself, will always worry, languishing in ignorance."
With one fluid movement, I rose from the chair and looked at Justin.
"Is it not my duty to dispel this ignorance?"
"Come on, I'll show you where the owls 'languish'."
Judging by the intonation, Justin liked the word "languish," and I increasingly notice nuances of movement pecking through from the shards, characteristic of one or another sentient. I hope elven arrogance doesn't climb out of me too strongly—adult sentients cannot accept it, let alone children.
Justin led me away from the common room, along stone corridors lit by torches and hanging lamps with fire. On our, so to speak, basement level and up to the main tower with moving staircases, we met almost no one, but on these very staircases and adjacent corridors, it was somewhat livelier—loners or groups of students were walking somewhere, discussing something importantly or cheerfully, and things like that.
After passing a couple of staircases, we got into another corridor, and from it—onto a large spiral staircase inside a tower. Every turn of the stairs there was a small glazed window in the outer wall of the tower, through which a view of the Forbidden Forest opened up, and every two turns—a door to some inner room. The tower wasn't particularly wide, and the rooms were unlikely to exceed the size of a pantry, but it was impossible to get there and check—tugging one door out of curiosity, I couldn't help but notice that it sits in the opening so tightly, like an imitation, and magic securely locks it.
Climbing to the very top of the tower, we found ourselves in a rather spacious round room, dimly lit by only one frosted lamp, but it was enough, albeit gloomy. A cunning interweaving of wooden beams and struts stretched upwards to the high roof, and along them were rows of many perches on which owls sat. Now, when it was almost dark, no less than a third of the owls, judging by the empty seats, had flown away on a free hunt. The rest stared at us with their big eyes. There was neither threat nor fear in them—magical birds are clearly smarter than their ordinary relatives of various species.
Taking a step across the room, I stepped on something and this "something" crunched. Looking under my feet, I saw the gnawed skeleton of some very large rodent. Only now did I notice that almost the entire floor was covered with a thick layer of hay, and here and there lay either skeletons or regurgitated lumps of fur. And, of course, droppings were present. Good thing the room had many windows and openings, open to all winds, otherwise one could quite possibly die from the smell here.
"Well?" Justin addressed me, inspecting this not-so-well-groomed place in the castle with obvious displeasure.
"Hmm…"
As soon as I extended my hand and released magic in all directions, a large eagle owl immediately flew down from the roost and landed on my forearm. Landed carefully, it is worth noting. Amusing, but it seems the local magical bird with a penchant for mail delivery reacts to such a summons just like in the elf's memory.
"Healthy bugger…" I couldn't resist mentioning the decent weight of the bird. Decent, but lower than expected for its size. "What to do?"
"Huh? You give the letter, say to whom, and that's it. You can add where exactly, or whether to wait for an answer or not."
"Is it free at least?"
"Usually yes," Justin shrugged. "Why? I've only written letters a couple of times. The owls here are mostly school ones, and work, it seems, for the idea."
For the idea? No. They are fed by magic. Probably that's why there are few skeletons here, and in the shop in Diagon Alley I saw treats in the form of cookies for such owls—part of the diet in the form of ordinary food, part in the form of magic.
"Here, owl," I handed the bird the letter. "Deliver to my parents, Emma or Robert Granger. Wait for an answer."
I mentioned the request to answer if possible in the letter, so, it seems to me, an owl waiting for something won't be a surprise.
"Hoot…" the eagle owl hooted.
Flying off my hand, the bird with a powerful flap of wings flew out into one of the numerous openings in the wall, disappearing into the finally darkened sky.
"Curfew soon," noted Justin, looking at the sky. "Time to go back."
"Indeed. Let's go."
The descent was like the ascent—uninteresting and unremarkable. But as soon as we found ourselves in a rather dark corridor, events became more and more exciting.
"Just look who we have here…"
I can recognize Malfoy's smug voice out of many. Turning to the voice, I saw Malfoy himself, his two eternal large companions, and a quite decent brown-haired boy, his Housemate and classmate.
"Mr. Malfoy, what an, I won't lie, unpleasant surprise," the elf turned on in me again.
Well, I can't help it when such obvious spoiled brats stand before me… And the word picked itself.
"The feeling is mutual. And aren't you scared for two…" Malfoy looked us over with obvious contempt, striving not to look into my eyes because of my "arrogant" elf mask, so unpleasant to anyone having at least rudimentary pride. "…Mudbloods to walk around Hogwarts in the evening?"
"Scared? Of you?"
I myself had already begun to create the simplest and most effective magical contour, designed precisely for such encounters. The elf used it so often during travels that this contour almost began to form in the floor under my foot by itself. And no, this is not some powerful protection and it is needed by no means for attack. Cunning is the core of the lone elf's tactics. Even if the clash comes to direct contact. You just need to anger them a little, distract them, and that's it…
"And what if of us?" Malfoy snatched out his wand, pointing it at me.
His comrades hesitated, and the brown-haired boy looked at Malfoy with bewilderment, although he took out his wand too. Slowly. Of course, I didn't even flinch, looking straight at the boy. Justin bustled behind my back. No one was in a hurry to attack first.
"You insulted me recently. And you will pay for it. Didn't even have to look for you specially."
"Hector, we are in obvious trouble," said Justin.
"I see," I interrupted my comrade's fearful speech, "you know nothing about the likes of Mr. Malfoy. Their threats are like winter thunder brought by the wind. It rumbles in the distance, instilling vain anxiety. But sometimes thunder is just thunder."
My words really didn't please Malfoy, and even the previously bewildered brown-haired boy expressed his indignation with his facial expression. Now I need to distract.
Shifting my gaze behind the Slytherins' backs, I smiled politely at the void, bowing my head slightly in a welcoming bow.
"Professor Snape…"
The boys immediately tried to hide their wands in the sleeves of their robes and turned around. Of course, there was no one there—only the darkness of the night corridors, dimly lit by moonlight scattered in the clouds penetrating through the high windows.
That was the moment I chose to activate the magical contour under my foot. The air seemed to tremble for a moment, and I stepped back. Placing a hand on the shoulder of Justin, who froze in anticipation of an attack, I spoke quietly.
"Retreat around the corner."
"But…"
The Slytherins turned back with indignation, but their gaze brushed over each other. Immediately, as if in response, they began to spray each other with spells, shouting loudly.
"Stupefy!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Everte Statum!"
And several times more and more. They attacked each other in panic, dodged, beams of spells flew to the sides, but Justin and I stepped back into the opening to the stairs to the Owlery and were safe.
A couple of moments later everything quieted down, and I was the first to lean out of the opening, inspecting the battlefield. Well, nothing critical. Except that the brown-haired boy stood on his feet, swaying, and in the next moment—fell unconscious. The final chord of the contour's action. It seemed to the boys as if where one of their colleagues stood, I or Justin stood, starting to cast spells at them. No specifics, no illusions or deception—slight confusion, a mental suggestion, and the brain will complete the necessary image. Always worked. But a "last hero" always remained—specifically for him, the contour has a simple sleeping spell.
"Let's go, Justin."