Opening my eyes abruptly, I barely managed to keep myself from jumping on the bed. Vague images didn't let me forget myself properly in sweet sleep. Every action causes a reaction, violence begets violence. There were crumbs of violence in the shards, but for me, like for any more or less adequate person, such things are somewhat repulsive, unpleasant, which is why they were shoved into the far corners of memory. Until last night.
Throwing off the blanket, I immediately changed into sports clothes, looked around the room where peace and sleep reigned, and went for a run through the corridors and stairs of the castle.
With Polyakov... I couldn't restrain myself. Analyzing my act, I can say only one thing—it was precisely a reaction and, what is most amusing, in the style of the Elf shard. A personality that lives for many hundreds of years either ossifies in prejudices and stereotypes to the state of adamantium, or becomes too multifaceted for an ordinary person to understand. And here, it seems, one of the "facets" manifested itself in response to sharp pain and stress.
I myself cannot yet understand exactly how characteristic and permissible such tough behavior is for me personally. Some worm of dissatisfaction with my own actions gnaws, torments the soul, gnawing its way like in an apple. Means I need to control myself better and not allow immediate reactions to stress, especially such radical ones, to take over consciousness.
Having run my sports program and done "gymnastics," in which I began to include exercises with a transfigured spear, I went to the shower. Standing under streams of cool water, I thought again about the incident with Polyakov.
Consequences, so far, for no one. No alarm was raised, professors were not looking for violators, although in a castle where due to the ancient "curse" of the founders themselves it is practically impossible to have sex, it looks somehow strange that one can stab someone. Perhaps the fact that for me the wound was trifling played a role, and I didn't intend to cripple Polyakov even in thoughts? Anything can be, because I know perfectly well how multifaceted magic can be in its manifestations. True, I have no desire to conduct further experiments on these matters.
However, the guy's act itself seems too impulsive. According to my observations, Polyakov, of course, is very impulsive and not very careful in actions, words, and deeds, but is he really not particularly burdened by morality either? Or maybe this is not so much his decision? There are Confundus of different degrees of mental disorientation, potions, and the same Imperio.
Having washed, I returned to the room and changed into casual clothes. The guys were still sleeping, but this is permissible—holidays, after all. Somehow by itself a crazy thought appeared in my head—to move in the castle absolutely invisible and inaudible to everyone throughout this day. Why? To create the appearance that I disappeared. I myself, perhaps, will watch Polyakov, who will definitely appear at breakfast, like every guest of Hogwarts. And spiders will help collect information in "interesting" corners of the castle. Why not?
Decided—did. So I left the room, and then the common room, not just wrapped in magic, wishing to be hidden from everyone and everything, but also under Disillusionment Charms. Although, it is worth noting that specifically these curious charms, which are beyond the capabilities of schoolchildren, but variations of which are mentioned in books one way or another, are quite difficult both to understand and to master. But these are lyrics.
The time was approaching breakfast, and I settled like an invisible shadow at the entrance to the Great Hall. Students began to appear gradually. They walked in groups or separately, chatting merrily or swaying, not fully awake. But nevertheless, they went to breakfast. Waiting for the appearance of a group of guys from Durmstrang, I followed them—and so reached the Slytherin table, where Durmstrang students preferred to sit.
Talk, talk, talk... Ordinary morning conversations of students—they did not differ both among ours and among Slytherins. Polyakov, by the way, was present, and looked very crumpled. As much as one can look crumpled after heavy libations and stress. Refused to talk about anything, didn't joke, was gloomy, thoughtful, and still not careful in handling cutlery.
Using my brains, I pulled out one of the spare spiders and directed it to Polyakov. Simply, it may turn out in the end that some information will be sounded under privacy charms, and even if I am quite close, I won't be able to hear anything. But the spider, which has already climbed somewhere under a fold of clothing, will calmly hear everything, as it will be inside the zone of action of the charms.
Time passed, breakfast came to an end, the guys began to disperse about their business, and some remained in the Great Hall—this is quite a good place to sit in large groups, chat, do all sorts of crap, and the main thing is that the administration closes the Hall only for the night.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noted slight bewilderment on the faces of my Hufflepuff classmates, because I never missed breakfast. At all. Actually, because of this I myself was now experiencing discomfort—the body was very indignant at skipping a meal.
Durmstrang students did not linger in the Hall, and went, like many other students, about their business. I decided to follow Polyakov at a small distance.
He just wandered around the castle. Aimlessly. Exchanged a couple of phrases with someone, stared blankly out the window, in general—goofed off. After about two hours he more or less came to his senses, recovering from his yesterday's binge. As a result, looking after him became more interesting and amusing. Polyakov continued to aimlessly wander around Hogwarts with an important look, clumsily flirted with older girls, bragging about one thing or another, but he, oddly enough, was of little interest to anyone.
Before lunch he went outside. There, on the shore of the lake, where the wind blew away almost all the snow, there was a patch of space not far from the ship, where everything was cleared of this very snow completely and utterly. Here on this patch of space, on the stones of the coast, Durmstrang students were doing physical training. They were dressed warmer, but without excesses, brown spacious tracksuits, clearly suitable for the weather, staffs, in general—already seen, nothing new. Polyakov quickly went up the gangway to the ship—here I did not follow him, but listened attentively.
For a long time he just walked, the quiet clatter of the heels of his boots on the deck was heard. Then the sound became duller, various small sounds appeared, rustling. It would be interesting to also look, but the spider sat in the folds of clothes—just darkness. Yes, magical eyes can look through clothes, but there are a number of conditions, for example, if the entire eye is covered from view, for example, with fabric, then it sees almost nothing.
"Gotcha," Karkaroff's voice rang out in my head, but I quickly realized that Polyakov "got caught."
The next sound was like a stinging slap.
"What did you think up, puppy?" Karkaroff growled. "Well now, what do you have there."
"It's mine..."
"Really?" some rustling, fuss. "And what did you forget in the armory? Eh? Wanted to return what you stole?"
Silence.
"Thought you could steal a dagger and no one would know? Drunk again yesterday? Juvenile drunkard. Think no one sees anything? Doesn't understand? What about Granger?"
"How should I know..."
Another slap.
"Don't lie," Karkaroff hissed. "Your father strongly asked me to make sure you didn't do stupid things. Even insisted that I use any necessary measures for this."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Listen here," Karkaroff hissed again, sighed, and spoke a little softer. "You walked around all day yesterday and whined that the 'cursed Mudblood' lost his boundaries. Was that so?"
"Yes."
"Incited our guys and Slytherins to somehow teach him a lesson immediately. Was that?"
"It was."
"Was told to go to hell by everyone. Wasn't it?"
"Not exactly..."
"I call things by their proper names," Karkaroff smirked. "Then you got alcohol somewhere, strong, a lot. You were seen in many places with bottles, and each time—with new ones. You don't know how to disguise yourself. At night I find out that someone broke into the armory. Carefully enough so that the alarm didn't go off immediately, but at the same time extremely poorly leaving traces absolutely everywhere. And stole a dagger. At night you were Merlin knows where, and in the morning Granger didn't come to breakfast."
"Who knows where that Mudblood fre..."
Another slap sounded very loud.
"Think with your empty head," Karkaroff hissed, "what and where you say. This is—Dumbledore's domain. And everyone in this castle knows, even I, note, that he never and under no circumstances skips a meal. Half the castle is already looking for him, albeit not very carefully. Also say, like: 'Who knows where he hid?'. Do I need to tell you what your reckless actions are fraught with? Hmm? Do I?"
"No..."
"Where is Granger?"
"I don't know!" Polyakov shouted, clearly unable to withstand the pressure of his Headmaster. "I don't remember..."
"Pig. Pah..." Karkaroff spat, possibly not even on the floor. "Careless, inaccurate, irresponsible, inconsistent, hot-tempered... Merlin forbid something happened to him, and even more so if he died..."
"Can't kill with a dagger..." Polyakov tried to justify himself.
"Don't teach me what can be done with this dagger. If you whacked a Muggle-born here, at Hogwarts, be sure that you will have a very hard time here, and when we return... Your father will be very unhappy and I will try to explain to him as colorfully as possible why something went wrong with the Tournament and international cooperation, on which he had huge hopes. You, damn it, are not the first and not the second son. But the third, who is 'always' a fool."
There was silence for a few seconds.
"How did he displease you anyway."
"Doesn't matter."
"Women? Always women's fault..."
I didn't want to listen to anything else, and there was no special point. Turning around, I began to move away from the ship, intending to return to Hogwarts. Need to appear at lunch at least.
Actually, I arrived just in time for this very lunch, quickly taking a seat at the house table.
"Where have you been?" Justin immediately attacked me with questions, and the others clearly wanted to know the answer to this question.
"Yeah... Got carried away with training. Found a couple of interesting spells, so couldn't even tear myself away from mastering them."
"Probably didn't stop until perfected, right?" Justin smirked.
"Something like that."
"You have no idea," Hannah looked at me reproachfully, "how worried we were."
"Really? What's the big deal?"
"Well how! Hector Granger, and missed breakfast?" Hannah did not hide sarcasm and indignation. "This is such surrealism as Hermione burning books."
"Um..." thinking, I tried to imagine such a picture, but couldn't. "Really?"
"Yes!" everyone answered at once and, finally, started eating.
Naturally, at lunch I made up for the missed breakfast, eating my fill. Sometimes I cast glances at the Slytherin table, looking at Daphne, who was talking with Pansy. My glances did not go unnoticed by the girls, but they only nodded politely, whispered even more actively and giggled reservedly about something, covering themselves.
After lunch, I finally managed to intercept Romanova at the exit from the Great Hall.
"Hi," I nodded to her with a smile.
"Oh, hi, Hector," she smiled reservedly and politely. "How are you? They say you disappeared somewhere, and I see, everything is fine."
"Yes, got carried away with training. What are the plans?"
"Nothing special."
"Then I propose to go to the club and practice."
"Excellent proposal..."
We strolled together along the corridors of the castle. But we didn't just purposefully go somewhere—we were strolling, simultaneously communicating about the nuances of certain methods of countering various spells in a duel. And of course, other students saw us. It seems even Daphne, albeit from the opposite side of one of the corridors.
"By the way, wanted to ask," I addressed Romanova when we reached the dungeons, which means a few more corridors, and we'll reach the Dueling Club. "Why did your guys look with such shock at rare kissing couples at first. And generally at everyone who demonstrated relationships with each other?"
"Oh, it's simple here," the girl smiled, waving her hand to the side, as if brushing it off. "With us at Durmstrang, any relationships are generally prohibited. Strictest discipline, daily routine..."
"Some kind of army."
"Some who have some idea about such things compare the school to an officer school. Well, or something similar."
"Hmm... I see."
"Also, our school, as you understand, is international."
"Like Hogwarts."
"No, not in that sense," Romanova shook her head.
We reached the Dueling Club. There were no more than five people in the halls, three of whom were practicing spells on mannequins, and the remaining two were gnawing at the granite of science, sitting at tables near bookcases. Romanova and I moved to one of the mannequins.
"And in what sense?" I continued the topic.
"A foreigner can enter Hogwarts, but the school itself is for the British Isles. Durmstrang is a school for many European countries. Territorial coverage is much larger. Many nationalities, very large spread by citizenship. Can't even say for sure who is more there. Rumor has it that after graduation most wizards won't even see each other ever again. For a month and a half or two of holidays it's hard to start any relationships at home, and sometimes there's no time for that. And meeting with comrades from school is extremely difficult—almost everyone is in other countries."
"Difficult for you."
Romanova nodded and shifted her gaze to the mannequin.
"Where shall we start?"
"You said you had problems with the combat aspect of transfiguration? Let's start with that..."
And we started. The mannequin that evening experienced the full variety of wizards' sick fantasy on turning some objects into others with their further use as piercing, cutting, burning and carrying any other effects weapons.
In the evening, after dinner, during which the guys and I tried to decide what we would do for the remaining days of the holidays, but failed due to overly tasty dishes, I tried to intercept Dumbledore at the exit from the hall.
"Headmaster," I nodded, barely catching up with this agile old man.
"Ah, Mr. Granger," he nodded, not in a hurry to stop. "Did something happen?"
"Can say so, sir, and perhaps only you can solve the dilemma."
"Hope you don't mind talking on the go?"
"Undoubtedly."
We walked along the corridors and stairs, climbing, apparently, to the Headmaster's office.
"So, what is gnawing at you?"
"Cedric and the guys and I solved the egg riddle and predicted what will be 'stolen'."
"Oh, really?" Dumbledore looked at me, smiling slyly with just his eyes. "And what, allow me to be curious?"
"People, Headmaster. I think for Cedric—Miss Chang. For Miss Delacour—someone from her relatives who will come to support the champion in the second task. Seems her sister will be there. With Krum it's hardest, but considering various factors, I suspect it will be Hermione."
"Hmm..."
Dumbledore was in no hurry to answer, and we kept walking along the corridors. But in a couple of turns we will reach the niche with the gargoyle, and the conversation, apparently, will be over.
"Let's assume," the Headmaster nodded. "But what confuses you?"
"How did you run the conditions of the second task through the magical contract of the Cup?"
"You look at the root, Mr. Granger, and this is commendable," Dumbledore nodded seriously. "This nuance was taken into account. Remember, Mr. Granger—our ministries spent a very, very lot of time and resources on preparing the Tournament, trying to take into account absolutely all nuances. For the Cup, the second task is a search for an object against time, without conditions of loss. The clue in the egg has nothing to do with the conditions. That is if speaking from the point of view of contracts and so on. But it is indeed a clue."
"That is..."
"No one will lose anyone, even if they completely lose," the Headmaster stopped and smiled into his beard, nodding. "It pleases me that you show such concern for those around you, Mr. Granger."
"I had to know, Headmaster," without a shadow of displeasure or anything else, I nodded in all seriousness. "You understand yourself, family is not something you can brush off."
"Understand you perfectly, Mr. Granger. I declare with all responsibility that all trifles have been thought out, from strictly logical and obvious, to absurd, incredible and impossible even in delirium of altered consciousness. Nevertheless... Tell Mr. Diggory that this is not a reason to relax."
"Certainly, Headmaster."
Now it became calmer. And this is important.
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