Chapter 5

Knock, knock, knock, the wheels of the locomotive clatter, blah, blah, blah, the boys in the compartment share their impressions of the summer. And I'm flipping through my sixth-grade charm book. The owner of the shop gave it to me for perfect service this summer. It's a nice gift for him, and a pleasure for me. He and I parted on good terms. He promised me a place behind the counter next year and rise my salary, if I not find a better place. I thanked him and promised to think about it. Maybe I will go to work. Why not? Of course, I have other plans in mind, such as flipping through an Old English textbook under the artifact, finding one for Latin, and memorizing a lot about runes. You can't forget the hundreds of ingredient compatibility tables.

It is impossible to create new potions without a thorough knowledge of them. And just understanding what and how in the cauldron is very useful. But of course, first and foremost is a selection of books that Room of Requirement gives. And of course, do not forget to train with rituals. Well, in the meantime, we can amuse the boys with a few curiosities that happened during the summer, as the shopkeeper always has something to say about the customers.

In Hogsmeade we waited for carriages drawn by Thestral. These inanimate horses, with their leathery webbed wings, red eyes, and predatory teeth, made an oppressive impression. They also seemed to have a special aura. Unfortunately, many people had seen them. In general, the confrontation between Voldemort and Dumbledore was not a civil war.

Rather, it was an analog of a mob war, similar to those that took place in Prohibition-era America. Except there were far fewer wizards on the entire island than there were in 1930s Chicago alone. A lot fewer. Many of the students, who had recently been having fun and joking with their friends, boarded the carriages in silence. Traditions are traditions, but they could have thought about the children's state of mind. One word — wizards.

In the Great Hall, Albus Dumbledore sat in a gilded chair. I can't say I'm happy to see him. He'd only been to school five or six times since Halloween last term. Maybe more, but I doubt it, the symbol of light likes to eat, and I never missed a meal. John was thin and tall, so I had to work hard to keep him from gaining weight. So far, I had only managed to achieve a sort of wiriness and weight that I remembered being the standard for twelve-year-old. The process of distributing the freshmen, the opening speech, filtered through my brain and consisting of slogans and appeals, the party. A walk to the faculty "hole", hygiene procedures and a blissful healthy sleep for ten hours. Wonderful.

On the first day of school, as soon as classes were over, I went to see the dean. Got a look of approval and almost maternal praise. I told him that over the summer I had read all the textbooks on herbology up to and including the seventh course, and that in general I was eager to put my knowledge into practice. And I really, really want to make some money. Pomona nodded and set up a two-hour exam. I can't say that I passed with flying colors, but I got a B on the subjective evaluation. Sprout was obviously quite pleased, and for a while she looked at me thoughtfully, apparently struggling with herself, but as often happens, she made a straw decision.

 — Mr. Smith, frankly, I am amazed, and therefore, knowing your position, I am willing to let you grow mandrakes. — My jaw dropped, and the dean, pleased with the effect, continued. — However, you must realize that I can't trust you with such an expensive and specific ingredient.

 — Yes, ma'am — solidly, as much as I can as a twelve-year-old boy, I replied in the pause indicated by Madame Sprout.

 — Excellent! So, here are the terms under which you can begin your new student project. First, you're going to beef up your Enchantments by learning how to cast a Silence spell. Can you do that?

 — Certainly, ma'am, — it's nothing difficult, especially since such a requirement is quite reasonable and justified when working with such a specific plant, but I have a great dean, as she elegantly stimulated the boy to tear the veins, talent.

 — The second condition is that half the harvest goes to the school.

 — Of course, ma'am. — It's a pity, because each adult root is worth ten gold pieces, but I can grow a hundred on my land, so I won't be out of pocket anyway.

 — Well, as soon as you show me the silencing charms, I'll give you one hundred seeds.

 — Thank you, ma'am. I'll try to finish this as soon as possible.

 — I trust you're an industrious boy. Go on.

 — Have a good day, ma'am. Bye-bye.

Wow, that looks good on me. Of course, mandrakes are fussy and require a lot of time and effort, but for five hundred gold pieces, I'm willing to work hard. My first impulse was to run to the Dean of Ravenclaws, Filius Flitwick, a master of charms, and ask for help, but I suppressed it in time. I shouldn't bother the professor with such nonsense.

First of all, I know how to cast the necessary spell myself, at least in theory. Second, if for some reason there are problems, you can always ask the senior students to show and explain. And now, while there's still time, I'll pick up my feet and go to the help room. I need to get to the first books on the list.

Trolls in ballet tutus were learning some pirouettes under the guidance of a painted ballet master waving a magic wand. I'm not good at ballet, but it looked kind of creepy. Personally, I didn't find anything funny about it. I guess I'm stale and boring, or maybe I just don't get that kind of humor. Okay, let's not get distracted. Three passes back and forth, and there's a door in the wall. Well, let's see. The first book I had to master, according to the advice of the room, was in Latin.

It was a good thing I hadn't put it back yet, but I just looked at the cover and decided to open it. It turned out to be an English-Latin dictionary and a self-teacher. Two in one, except the native language wasn't modern. Strangely, the cover had only a single language inscription. The ancestors had an original approach. No, if the inscription had been in Old English I would have understood it, but here it was in dead Latin. Although it might not have been too dead back then. Anyway, there was nothing for me to do here, so I went to the library to get some modern manuals.

It turned out to be easy to memorize the dictionary and the self-study book, but I had a hard time applying the acquired knowledge. However, a week of active use and the speed of conscious reading increased noticeably. Learning on the program we did not load us much, and what loads in the seventh grade of school, the chickens for laughs.

From an adult point of view, of course, the children themselves complained that a lot of tasks and, in general, two-thirds of the lessons are clearly unnecessary. True, in contrast to a normal school, we were actively waving magic wands or chopping ingredients with knives, but personally I was not stressed. In the summer, I spent half a day on my feet, like a bee spinning in a bookstore. The silence spell, the sound barrier, and even the mute spell were easily cast.

I practiced for a few days so that I wouldn't make a fool of myself in front of the Dean. To provide an alibi, I bullied the upperclassmen into showing me how to do it, and then went to show off my accomplishments with a proud face. Sprout praised me and told him to come to the greenhouses that evening. I came right after dinner and took place at the door. After about forty minutes, the dean came up, shook her head, and said she probably had not eaten enough. Her voice had the typical grandmotherly intonation, so I didn't even try to argue and prove anything; eyes in the ground and a guilty face was the best tactic. Tested by practice.

The first evening, under the supervision of the dean, I managed to plant only two dozen future mandrakes in pots. I could have done more, but I was supposed to do my homework, and in general children are supposed to follow the regime and go to bed on time. I did not argue, because in general I completely agree and share this position. With the planting finished only at the weekend, at the same time a lot of useful work was done immediately.

I prepared fertilizers, not just dung, and brewed some special potions for watering here on the spot. I prepared the substrate, as long as the mandrakes are small and do not have mouths easily with them, and as they grow, they should be planted in larger pots where they will become stronger before being planted in the ground. I used a lot of specific spells, so much so that I was on the verge of exhaustion. Herbology, by the way, is not just hoes, rakes and shovels with a wheelbarrow of manure, a normal farmer or wizard with a wand no less than on transfiguration works, and even more. I

 dug and loosened the soil on the allotted bed. I worked until the stars flashed before my eyes. Only after dinner did I more or less come to my senses and sit down to do my homework. It wasn't hard to write with a pen these days, I was used to it, I had the knowledge in my head, so I even managed to sit in my room for an hour before bedtime and read the textbook on spells by the same founder of the Raven Faculty.

I did a little magic at bedtime, I had to work on my spells, and I was exhausted. I sat up on the bed, took a sip of a highly diluted sleeping potion, wished everyone a good night, closed the canopy, and passed out. Praise the magical wellspring of Hogwarts and the simply saturated background. I was fresh and awake in the morning, whereas in Diagon Alley I usually didn't fully recover until noon, and in the Muggle countryside I would probably not recover until evening.