Chapter 165

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For three days, we wandered aimlessly around the tent camp, meeting wizards from different countries, learning about their schools and other educational institutions, the features of magic, and the nuances of magical culture. With the Americans, or rather, the American girls from Salem Witch Academy, we chatted about "what's it like over there?" and "what are they being taught?" The Asians were extremely closed to communication and ignored anyone who spoke anything other than Chinese or Japanese. Guests from Africa actively tried to sell me something, especially the Egyptians, who I immediately recognized. Wizards from Uganda made an impression - they did magic without wands and other concentrators, but for a long time, with various incantations and ritual movements. The essence of their magic is not clear to me at all, and Rowena was not able to analyze it - the flows of magic are too different. If we create clear structures, then their magic is "streaming" or what? It's closer to the children's underage magic, only stretched in time. Why am I so dumb, though? I used to do this kind of magic myself, and it was just simple effects like fire, telekinesis, and stuff like that. There was no structure to it, either, just a stream of magic that made my "wishes" come true.

A few times, we went to the Irish camp. By some strange coincidence, some of the other kids from the House who had decided to attend the match were there, too.

On the evening of the fourth day we were here, Lavender Brown, the Patil twins, and the Hufflepuff girls I didn't know, came to this camp, and that was just from our year! There were a lot of kids from other years too, and it seemed to me that Irish Camp, with its green tents, had become a sort of branch of Hogwarts. The girls, in general, stole Hermione away and whispered around the campfire. By the way, during those days, many wizards had mastered the mystery of survival without magic in camp conditions. So almost every campfire was full of pots with different stews, kettles, and there was even a semblance of kebabs - they must have copied it from other Europeans or from the Turks. Yes, most likely from the Turks - their guys were selling high-class kebabs at our camp canteen.

So, anyway, we're sitting around the fire — boys by one, girls by the other. The boys were telling fables about their summer, the girls were giggling, shooting their eyes in our direction. A kettle came up every now and then, but secretly a flask of something strong went between the guys. And I bet that it was enchanted by one of the adults - you could not take more than a sip. Of course, it's easy to get around - drink it, pass it around, and so on between two people until you drop. The interesting thing was that no one abused it.

Noises began to come from outside, breaking out of the already familiar picture of the camp.

"What's going on out there?" turned to Seamus sitting nearby, enthusiastically rolling a twig of potatoes over the coals.

"Where? There? Oh, right!" the guy jumped up. "There, the Scots set up a camp nearby!"

"So?"

"Oh, I get it!" Dean went up with a grin. "There's going to be a fight!"

"What kind of fight?" someone from the senior Hufflepuff year was extremely surprised.

"Anyway, everyone follow me! There will be fist fights! You won't see anything like this at Hogwarts, I swear."

Even the girls were interested in the upcoming events. Well, about the guys and say nothing. After a minute's walk, we came to a spacious clearing where people of all ages were already gathered, most of them men and boys. In the middle of this gathering was a spacious patch with tall torches, richly illuminating the future round ring. We, a fair bunch of twenty of us, managed to make our way into the front rows. At the back, someone was setting up platforms for people to climb on, and after a couple of minutes, a miniature stadium was formed around the improvised circular ring. The funny thing is, there were Aurors here, too. People were yelling, discussing, and arguing. There was no shortage of alcohol, either.

"Did we come here to watch people beat each other up?" asked Hermione, standing next to me. I only looked in the direction of Seamus, standing on the other side of me, who had clearly heard the question.

"Exactly! You can even join in if you want! It's a youngster's game, to begin with. Well, the Scots and the Irish can't get together in one place and not have a scuffle. But it's long been a tradition to hold them in a more organized way. Of course, there'll still be a dump afterward, but that's what the Aurors are for. That's the way it is. Want some?" Seamus handed me a flask.

"Sure," I grabbed the flask and took a savory sip.

"Max!" Hermione tapped me on the shoulder.

"What? You drank something yourself, too."

"That's not it..." the already ruddy girl blushed a little. "The girls had a light wine, and I just tasted it."

"I'll keep that in mind, fluffy."

She responded with another fist bump to my shoulder. Eh, child alcoholism - what a nightmare!

"Wine is a tricky drink. Like all alcohol. Deceptive. Don't drink anymore. I won't either."

"Deal."

A fat man with a red mustache literally rolled into the middle of the ring.

"Ladies, yee-eks, and gentlemen! It's a good thing we're all here, and hic... Goddamn firewhisky!" the man hit his chest with his fist. "Oh, it got better. That we're all here tonight. Yeah! Anyway, who wants to watch somebody punch someone in the face?"

"Yes!!!" thundered the crowd.

"Great!" rejoiced the man enthusiastically. "And who wants to be that 'somebody'? Let's start with the young people!"