The bookshop on Diagon Alley had always been a hub of interesting events for lovers of literature in all its various forms. But right now, it was quite quiet here, with few customers. Outside, the rain continued to fall, drumming against the windows, driving wizards into cafes, taverns, pubs, and other such establishments—few wanted to continue shopping in such weather.
Narcissa stood next to Lucius on the second floor, leaning against the railing and looking down—there, Draco was leafing through some book with a terribly important air, clearly pondering whether he needed it or not.
"How did your meeting go?" Lucius asked dryly, occupied mostly with his own thoughts.
They weren't worried about being overheard—complex privacy charms gave no chance to anyone who might like sticking their nose into other people's business.
"I introduced young Granger to Burke," Narcissa replied, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the sleeve of her robe, which was practically indistinguishable from a coat.
"I see. How did the old man react?"
"Favorably."
"Is that so?" Lucius looked at his wife for a moment, noticing her pensiveness. "Did something happen?"
"Smethwyck didn't ask us to take a closer look at him for nothing. He is quite talented. Falling a little short of some of our acquaintances, Bella for instance, but..."
"But?"
"I don't know. There was an incident with werewolves there."
"Tsk..." Lucius took a deep breath and exhaled. "Causing trouble?"
"To put it mildly," Narcissa nodded. "The problem was resolved, and not without his participation."
"And what could a Muggle-born possibly show against those beasts?"
"Enough. He even reminded me somewhat of an angry Smethwyck..."
"Is that so? Did he actually manage to heal someone at the expense of someone else's health?"
"Yes. And he literally shredded one werewolf with some original spell. Wandlessly."
"Possibly," Lucius nodded. "Draco, albeit reluctantly, said that Hector is very strong in magic. I would say, in his own understanding of it. And he fights on equal terms with Durmstrang's best duelist, and their level in this matter is noticeably higher than our students'. We should have sent Draco there after all—they would have knocked all the nonsense out of him, since we couldn't."
"What's done is done."
"Anything else interesting?"
"Nothing," Narcissa glanced briefly at her husband's left arm, and this did not escape his attention.
"I don't know. No one knows. It seems bright, same as before," Lucius spoke as if about nothing, but the initiated could understand something. "But even if so, He isn't revealing Himself in any way. That is strange."
They both saw Draco take two more books and place them on the counter, taking out money. It seemed the shopping was coming to an end, and they could go down. As for Granger—thinking about exactly how to behave toward the promising wizard could wait for later.
. . . . . .
Home, sweet home—a wonderful place to return to after a walk in the downpour. But for the sake of justice, it is worth noting that there was no downpour in our suburbs—only gray clouds.
Hermione, without much enthusiasm, but with her inherent thoroughness, fluttered around the house, putting things in order, thereby expressing her help to parents. Without magic, which goes without saying. She, it seems, didn't even try to conjure anything, otherwise she would have already raised the alarm, like: "Spells don't work, strange, you check".
Dirt did not stick to me in the literal sense, so I, not afraid to devalue sister's work, went to my room, taking off the robe on the go.
"You already returned?"
It seems I won't pass unnoticed, although I would like to.
"Yes," I nodded to Hermione, standing in the passage to the kitchen. "Help with something?"
"No, I'm already done. And where did you go early in the morning? Don't understand anything."
"To the same place, to Diagon Alley."
"Again, I guess, met with this Greengrass?"
"No," a slight smile crawled onto my face. "More thoroughly and in detail, without haste, explored the assortment of shops. Or else during preparations for school somehow everything is too hectic, they always try to shove you what is profitable, and not what is interesting to you specifically."
"Logical. Want anything for afternoon snack?"
"And rich choice?"
"Not at all," she smiled. "Asked out of politeness. Probably need to go to the store, or call parents at work so that they stop somewhere."
"I'll go. Say what is needed..." literally turning on the spot, I went back to the exit.
"Will you go like this?" she looked at my outfit with disbelief, which is strange for the ordinary world, even if not very.
"Ah, nonsense," I waved it off, putting on shoes. "If someone pesters with questions, I'll say that I'm getting into the role of a wizard for role-playing games. Are there few freaks on the street?"
"Sort of yes, but... Strange approach. Seemingly Secrecy, all that, and here you openly say that a wizard..."
Straightening up, glanced at Hermione, pulled the hood over my head and chuckled.
"A vampire pretending to be a human pretending to be a vampire."
For a fraction of a second misunderstanding was read on Hermione's face, but then she shook her head with a smirk.
"How avant-garde. Okay, look..."
For two minutes Hermione clearly listed products from memory, and my imaginary shopping bag grew and grew until there were two of them. Of course, I can turn the corner of the minimarket, hide with magic and throw everything into my flat triangular backpack on one strap, but a whim shot in my head—walk with bags like an ordinary person. Well I can't be logical forever, even if logic is purely mine, personal—not a robot, right?
With such thoughts I walked along the street along private houses of our area. Working day, few people around, and even more—still need to look for them. Youth, it seems, are also not fans of sitting pants near the house and surely they hang out somewhere. For example, near the same minimarket, or in a small park nearby, or somewhere else. And in the end, can get on a bus and hang out in London—it's not far from here at all. But, these are all reflections.
Reaching the store, in the parking lot of which there were only a few cars, I went inside. Did I attract attention? A little. Exactly enough so that few buyers lingered their gaze on me a little more than on other people. Still, probably, a joke—a huge guy in black clothes, a robe and a hood, sedately rolls a cart around the store, putting purchases there.
At the checkout I noticed cookies on promotion—two packs for the price of one? In principle, this was not a lie—indeed, for the price of one. Glancing at the cart with products, exclusively healthy, raw, which still need to be turned into a dish, I shifted my gaze to cookies. Again to the cart.
"It seems," smiled a young saleswoman, one might say, a girl, "these wonderful cookies lure you to the dark side of the Force?"
Oh, I was taken for a Jedi... Hmm, would be better if I remembered my name than a whole bunch of brands, titles and other nonsense from the world of entertainment. Taking four packs of these sandwich cookies with different flavors and putting them in the cart, I smiled.
"You have no idea the power of the dark side..."
Having dealt with purchases, stomped home, but thoughts gnawed at me by no means joyful, despite cookies. Werewolves. Incident in Knockturn. I am interested in cause-and-effect relationships of this event. No, not at all out of idle curiosity—need to understand what is happening in society. But no matter how much information I collect, this is not enough. To have a really clear and precise idea of what is happening in the magical world, need to live there. Live in the most literal sense. Need to fall asleep and wake up in this society, receive news every day, discuss them with other wizards, hear household conversations, correlate what is heard with what is seen. Dry information tells me nothing.
Take, for example, that incident. Yes, werewolves participated in it. What can this say? For example, that the Ministry finally drove them into a corner, and now they literally have nothing to lose, and as is known, this cannot be allowed. Need to create an illusion of choice, and succumbing to this illusion creatures themselves will choose what you need. They will be faithful to this choice, because they made it themselves, considering it the best. But this is all wrong, wrong...
Yes, it would seem, the answer is on the surface—the Ministry overdid it. But this is only superficial observation. Need to know what exactly spurred that group of wizards to do what they did. Quite possibly that it was some kind of showdown, outwardly looking like a "kick" of werewolves, who, undoubtedly, were involved in this... Yes it could be anything! But, whatever it was, it reminded me of one thing—need not only to go to my goal, to becoming a Healer, but also build up purely combat power. But for now do it secretly. If now I am interesting to some just as a promising wizard and as a way to earn extra money without straining much, then the image of also a strong fighter can provoke a less open game in which they will try to use me as a resource. Less openness—more secrets. More secrets—difficult to solve them. And I decidedly do not wish to engage in these "divinations".
I returned home quite quickly, handed bags to Hermione, which almost knocked her over—I picked with soul, fortunately I also had ordinary pounds, and quite a few. Took the bags back and carried everything to the kitchen myself, where everything was sorted and put in their places in the refrigerator. What places? No idea—not my diocese.
Returning to my room, changed into home clothes and sat at the table, examining the black phoenix peacefully sleeping in his nest from my scarf. It is amusing that he eats, grows, sleeps, but does not shit. In literal and figurative sense. Still, a phoenix is not just a biological object. This is even, in fact, the smallest part of his essence.
Concentrating, began to supply my magic through our connection, previously distorting it in a dark manner. Amazing. No influence on my brains—this I can say with confidence. Despite the fact that it is I who project this energy into reality, it seems not to touch me, passing to the phoenix, but at the same time in three-dimensional space manifests itself exactly at the point of my presence... Eh, damn multidimensionality—cannot understand without a half-liter and even express the thought correctly due to the lack of specific knowledge. Funny... In some of the interpretations of the spatial model, the phoenix and I are one object, and it is somewhere at this level that the separation of energies and their influence on our three-dimensional bodies takes place.
One thought began to cling to another, turning into increasingly cumbersome forms, moving away from the cause of their origin—from the phoenix. I didn't notice myself how I began to reflect on the subtleties of being, the structure of the universe, the universe. Here I am already reflecting that the "materiality" of the material world is just an illusion, thinking about whether there is some indivisible particle in the universe... And here I didn't notice myself how it began to get dark, and my thoughts revolved around a delusional at first glance comparison of a single system of soul, body and mind with a molecule, any molecule.
With such thoughts I went down to dinner, which, by the way, passed without me.
"You didn't call," some reproach appeared in the voice by itself when I returned from the kitchen, holding a glass of milk and a pack of cookies in my hands and entered the living room, where parents were busy with their affairs under the measured noise of the TV, and Hermione was reading a book.
"You were busy with your thoughts," mom smiled, looking up from carefully reading some papers at the table. "We didn't want to bother you."
"Exactly," father nodded, sitting on the sofa and thoughtfully examining a model of a human jaw. "I know perfectly well how inspiration can evaporate, and you will never catch up with this thought again. What were you thinking about at least?"
I sat on the sofa next to my sister who moved from the middle, put the glass on the table, opened the box with cookies and, thinking about which end to start pulling confectionery products from there, answered:
"About the frailty of being, the universe, the universe, the soul, and other nonsense."
"Amusing," father smiled. "And what thoughts did you come to?"
"Everything is decay, material is immaterial, we are—energy. Remains to understand what energy is in general."
"Wow, it hit you," Hermione chuckled, not looking up from reading the textbook on charms for the fifth year. Everything is clear with her—got to it, soul rushed to paradise. "And how to understand the immateriality of the material?"
"You know," I turned to her, forcing to look up from reading and look at me in return, "that an atom of anything—is not a ball at all."
"Didn't think about it," Hermione became interested in my thoughts, and parents pricked up their ears, wanting to hear another idea, dispute, and generally, observe our interaction, because they haven't seen such a thing for many years... And this is sad.
"So here, we, people, invented a bunch of different models for visualization and simplification of understanding of everything around. In fact, the 'ball' of an atom—is a place in which this or that electron can turn out to be at a certain moment in time."
"Well, logical, nothing to say," sister nodded.
"That is, in fact, at some point in time, an atom of substance—is a nucleus, and electrons hung here and there around it. And what's next?"
"Hmm... don't know. Such is far beyond the school curriculum, which I reached before Hogwarts."
Parents smiled.
"And next we should look at the nucleus. Protons and neutrons. And here is a surprise!" I quickly ate a cookie. "They are not balls either. In accordance with the current physical model, they consist of quarks. They interact madly with each other there, creating their own system, which we represent as a ball."
"Suppose... What are you leading to?"
"And what do quarks consist of? Definitely consist of something that is again not a ball," I smiled, taking a sip of milk. "Also molecules—are all these particles interacting with each other in a certain system of theirs. That is, the system 'proton' interacts with the system 'neutron'—we will not focus on their exact number—and they, in turn, interact with the system 'electron'—I am sure that this is also not the smallest particle. Turns out the system 'atom'. Two 'atom' systems interact with each other complexly through 'proton' systems and 'electron' systems, which does not allow them to just fly apart who knows where, and 'electron' systems in one quantity or another fly between them like satellites, finding themselves either in the zone of influence of one 'atom' system, or in the zone of influence of 'another'."
"Strange and not immediately understandable, but in general—acceptable description. Possibly," Hermione nodded.
Father smirked and looked at mom.
"Wow. At his age I thought about completely different interactions."
"Watch it," she jokingly threatened father from across the table.
"Okay, Hector," sister nodded. "But what is all this for?"
"Do you understand that no one has ever touched anyone and will never touch? No one, no one and nothing. This is impossible in principle—everything remains at the level of energy interaction of various energy systems that are components of other systems..."
"O-o-okay..." Hermione drawled thoughtfully, and parents, it seems, never considered this issue from such an angle. "That was unexpected. And strange. But not devoid of meaning. But what are these thoughts for?"
"Yes I have no idea. Take the soul. Yes, science has not proven the fact of its existence and I will not dare to assume when this matter will be reached, but it exists. All sorts of theories of duality of the nature of light, wave-particle theory and everything else subtly hint to us that everything around is energy. True, what is 'energy'—is also a question. Soul—energy. Mind—result of interaction of systems, only there are many more systems than just molecules... But in the end—all these are just different manifestations of some energy, as it seems to me. And here is the strangest thought of all this..."
Taking another cookie in my hands, I thoughtfully looked at it.
"At some level of being, in fact, that me or you, and this cookie—absolutely the same thing..."
Looking at parents surprised by such a twist of thoughts, I smiled.
"And another amusing fact—look at spectrograms of the observable part of the universe. We and everything around—same composition, same proportions, plus or minus, of course. On the one hand, we consist of what the whole universe consists of. On the other—against this background, any uniqueness is somehow lost. After all, the fact of the existence of life in the usual sense for us—is not a unique case, not someone's design, but a banal regularity. Regularity, consequence of the very fact of the existence of the universe and its location at the stage where it is now."
"It seems you have some problems and uncertainties in life," father said thoughtfully. "Won't you share?"
"Hmm..." I ate a cookie and washed it down with milk. "Everything becomes too complicated. It seems I lose even the illusion of control of my life and understanding of what the hell is happening around generally."
"Oh, this is an extremely normal state of affairs," father smiled. "People generally control extremely little in their lives. Prepare for what you consider necessary. Do what you consider right and boldly make decisions. Boldly, but measuredly. Try to take into account a lot, but do not try to take into account everything—this is beyond our control. But the most important thing—take into account mistakes of the past, but do not regret decisions. After all, at the moment of making this decision you, in fact, could only accept it."
"What fatalism generally?" Hermione was indignant.
"This is not fatalism, daughter. This is—a sober look at things. Hope and strive for the best, but count on the worst—then everything will be better than it could be."
"Definitely, fatalism," sister nodded, returning to reading, and we returned to our affairs.
Not a minute passed before Hermione sighed loudly and closed the book.
"Well here. Now I think about the universe and fatalism, and not about educational material."
"It happens," father and I answered simultaneously and even shrugged in the same manner, which caused smiles of the female part of the family.
To be honest, I myself do not understand why and why I came to all these thoughts, but surely there is sense in this. Maybe I should have peered less into incomprehensible formulas from sometimes unknown symbols that I scribbled in a vegetable state a long time ago? Anything can be.
But, be that as it may, now I should pay attention to preparation for fulfilling Delacour's order.
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