Behind the daily bustle, I didn't notice how evening came, dinner passed, and I was already sitting in the House common room, to which I still can't get used.
"Hector," a satisfied and smiling in his own way Cedric approached me. "There you are."
The Prefect without unnecessary preambles summoned the neighboring armchair and sat opposite, leaning forward slightly.
"I want to make you happy. We have gathered a full team roster and are ready for training. True, until the end of the first two weeks, training is prohibited—this time we, according to the professors' idea, should spend on helping the newly admitted adapt. But this concerns training specifically on the field and specifically in Quidditch. No one prohibits flight training."
"Clear," I nodded with a smile. "That's great. When? Tomorrow? In the morning?"
"Whoa-whoa, guy, hold your horses," Cedric stopped my enthusiasm. "But yes, you're right. In the morning, but the day after tomorrow. And generally, every day, for an hour. Need to get used to each other's flying style. And then, from September fifteenth, we'll switch to training twice a week specifically in Quidditch. Is that okay?"
"Undoubtedly," I didn't hide my joy.
"That's excellent," Cedric got up and headed to the older guys.
Justin, sitting on the sofa nearby, decided that silence was an impermissible luxury in such a situation.
"Quidditch? In what role?"
"Chaser."
"But you didn't say."
"I didn't mean to. Just somehow forgot in this bustle."
"I understand," the guy smiled back. "I myself couldn't get used to all this at first…"
Justin meaningfully swept his hand around everything.
"…Bedlam."
"Comparing Hogwarts to a madhouse?"
"You just weren't here in previous years. You can't say otherwise. But, maybe, it's just my, 'Muggle' view?"
"Who knows, Justin, who knows… It's too early for me to draw conclusions."
"The main thing is that one day it doesn't become too late."
"Deep."
"My father beats profundity into me," Justin grimaced, clearly remembering something unpleasant. "In words, it turns out not bad. In reality… So-so."
Silence reigned in our modest company, but it was destined not to last long—classmates quickly gathered at the table, and we began to check if we had done all the homework, because tomorrow will be a particularly difficult day.
. . . . .
In a study, the wood and stone decoration of which spoke of the owner's wealth, two wizards sat at the table, seeming to be opposites of each other. It was already night outside the window, and the tiny lights of stars gave almost no light. Only a couple of dim lamps illuminated the study. The gloomy Potions Master Severus Snape, all in black, with black hair that seemed greasy due to special means. His interlocutor, a platinum long-haired blond, a famous philanthropist, in the recent past—the Head of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and simply a rich man, Lucius Malfoy.
Both wizards sat with elegant glasses of Firewhisky in their hands, conducting a casual conversation about the frailty of existence and various vicissitudes.
"How is my son doing, Severus?" Lucius finally asked the question for which the old comrade, and concurrently, Head of Slytherin House, was invited.
"Mediocre, Lucius," the Potions Master replied dryly. "I have told you more than once that he is not suitable for the role of leader."
"And I told you more than once that even if he is a leader only fictitiously, publicly for the rest," Lucius smiled faintly, flashing steel-coloured eyes. "Then over time, the others will get used to seeing him there. Hogwarts is the perfect time for such a thing."
"And nevertheless," Severus took a small sip of the strong drink, allowing these drops to give away every note of taste. "I am forced to focus again on his shortcomings, with which you, as a father, are simply obliged to work."
"Proceed. Unlikely you'll say anything new. And Draco is too stubborn and cowardly. As soon as the matter smells of punishment, he immediately pretends that he learned the lesson."
"And you buy it."
"Both I and Narcissa. Every time we think that now Draco will do everything right. And as a result?"
"As Antonin used to say: 'Never happened before, and here it is again'," Severus covered a smirk with a glass.
"Precisely," Lucius did the same. "So what about his negative qualities? And did he get involved in another adventure?"
"As always stubborn, inconsistent, his actions are stupid and shortsighted, and attempts at intrigues are not just not thought out a couple of steps ahead—they lead back."
"Predictable," Lucius nodded. "I'll think about educational measures during the Christmas holidays. Any new conflicts?"
"You don't even doubt Draco's ability to find these conflicts?"
"His intemperance will one day play a cruel joke on him. I want this lesson to happen at Hogwarts, under the supervision of Madam Pomfrey and in relative safety."
"Hmm…" Severus took another sip, settling more comfortably in the armchair. "A new student, third year, Hermione Granger's brother."
"Yes, I remember. You seemed to mention several times a sick boy who lay in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing."
"Draco managed to create a conflict with him on the very first day. A conflict with a Puff, Lucius. The brother of the Boy-Who-Lived's friend. In response, this boy ridiculed your son very sharply. Draco didn't like this, and he decided to catch him and teach him a lesson."
"Judging by your tone, nothing worked out. But, knowing you, you surely made the boy guilty, right?"
"The procedure has been worked out by years of practice, Lucius. Slughorn did it, I did it, and I intend to do it. But this boy wrapped everyone around his finger."
A spark of interest appeared in Lucius's eyes, and even a smirk on his face betrayed this interest.
"Continue," the blond nodded.
"By some magical trick, he forced Draco and his comrades to believe that instead of comrades, they were being attacked by this Hector and his classmate. Lucius, they simply beat each other up, sincerely believing that they were casting spells at Granger. Moreover, during what was happening, this boy acted in such a way that he could honestly say that he was not involved in anything. Honestly keeping silent. Clean. Generally. And even the wand."
"And you didn't guess?"
"Guessed, but not immediately. It was too late to change anything. By the way, wanted to ask you. Was it not you who advised Draco to get an injury so as not to play Quidditch while Dementors are at the school?"
"Not quite. I just told him before leaving that this is—one of the options."
"And, as usual, asked to arrange some diversion at Hagrid's lesson. You knew who would be the Care teacher?"
"Of course I knew, Severus…"
Lucius got tired of sitting in the armchair and stood up, he walked to the window, holding a glass of Firewhisky in his hand.
"Even though I'm no longer on the Board of Governors, connections haven't gone anywhere. Of course I asked Draco, if possible, to disrupt the lesson of this forester, but so that the forester would be guilty."
"Congratulations, Lucius. Your undoubtedly genius son decided to expose himself to the claws of a Hippogriff."
"Nonsense," Lucius waved it off. "Draco knows perfectly well how to handle them, and how to expose himself safely. A Hippogriff will never strike the first blow too hard. Scratch—yes. Not a bad idea if you're not afraid of a little pain. Did it work? It should have been today?"
"Yes, today, and no, it didn't work," Severus also got up from the armchair and walked to the same window, looking at the night fields around the manor. "Granger disrupted the performance. Moreover, on the fly he compared all the facts, assumed everything, and in a Slytherin manner overturned a tub of this slop on Draco."
"Let me guess. My son made a disgruntled face, proudly threw up his head, uttered a curse, and ran away intemperately. Right?"
"Precisely. Lucius. He is losing even invented authority. Much worse is that he constantly and in front of everyone threatens to 'write to daddy', and he will sort it out. With a Mudblood, Lucius."
Both wizards looked out the window in silence for a few seconds. Lucius turned to the frowning Severus with a question in his eyes.
"You don't think that I will actually do something about this? School is school. Let him get his own bumps. But you can help him. Advise something, and if anything—cover him. Your plan, as an adult and experienced Slytherin, should be crowned with success."
"Lucius. I. Am. Tired. I have a whole House of such… Dim-witted kids with inflated self-esteem. You are the father, you advise him. And I will cover. And enough about students. I have the dubious pleasure of solving their problems every day and even night. Better tell me—is there any progress with the Minister?"
"Fudge is a stupid cowardly idiot."
"You're not a brave man either," Severus smirked, finishing the remains of Firewhisky in the glass.
Lucius finished his and beckoned the bottle with magic, correcting such injustice as empty glasses.
"I—rationally avoid overly complex situations. Fudge—is afraid of his own shadow. He is so afraid that Sirius will manage to undermine his and the Ministry's reputation that he is ready to kill him on the spot without trial or investigation. Under the pretext that he is hunting Potter, he drove these cursed creatures to Hogwarts and for no money, services, and promises wishes to exchange them for Aurors."
"After all, people can talk, and Merlin forbid, talk to Black."
"Precisely. Be so kind, convey my urgent request to Draco. Let him not even think about wandering around the castle alone and even in a small company."
Here Lucius seemed to remember something and looked at the Potions Master with a sly smile.
"They say you were seen talking to a certain lady in Diagon Alley."
"Does it surprise you that I can talk? Or is our conversation now—a product of a mind inflamed by alcohol?"
"Talked, longer than usual, and even portrayed something more than a smirk, but less than a smile. Tell me…"
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