Chapter 287 - 287
Walking along the path behind the hut, only now did I cast an obscuring charm and Muggle-repelling charms over us, in the shape of a dome, weaving them together with the rain shield.
"An interesting variant. I hadn't thought of that," Daphne smiled at me. "I'll have to remember that — it's annoying, losing sight of your companion because of invisibility or an obscuring charm."
"I'll work out the gesture and formulae for weaving it with the dome. Although…" quickly running through in my head how to combine these particular spells, I drew my wand and showed the transitional gesture. "You can do it without a verbal formula — the main thing is to picture it as a single complex charm."
"Noted. By the way, you could have broken through the wards straight from the doorstep."
"Yes, but why trouble the Headmaster and staff over it? A breach like that wouldn't go unnoticed. Panic, a search, and then — a grand dressing-down? Better to move a bit further off and slip through the edge of the wards gently. Walk to Hogsmeade, say."
"There are a lot of Aurors and DMLE there, Hector," Daphne looked at me with mild reproach. "Won't we be noticed?"
"We won't. I've worked very hard on concealment, even without Disillusionment. Besides, it's not only students who might be in Hogsmeade — people actually live there, quite a few of them."
"I know," Daphne nodded, glancing down to step over a stream cutting diagonally across the path. "Oop… One simply forgets that. We only ever go there to wander about."
I know that feeling well enough. I myself, once, in the past, living in a relatively small town, more than once caught myself with the simple thought, walking through the centre, among the shopping streets, cafés and other entertainments: "But people actually live here, on the upper floors!" One rarely thinks of it, visiting such central streets and old-built districts, where the ground floors, and sometimes the first floors too, are wall-to-wall shops or offices, while the other floors are lived in.
Almost reaching Hogsmeade, skirting the streams from the downpour, I felt us cross the boundary of the anti-Apparition wards, and immediately told Daphne so, and asked where, exactly, we ought to Apparate to.
"A timely question," she smiled, adjusting her beret slightly.
"We solve problems as they arise."
"You don't know the area of the town on the outskirts of which our house stands, do you?"
"Never had occasion to."
"But you've seen the park at the edge of the town, and there…"
"Across the road, on the hill," I understood what she meant, "your house already stands."
"Precisely."
"Hold on tight, then."
Daphne gripped my arm more firmly, and I Apparated us as gently and efficiently as possible. Almost imperceptible distortion of perception from the twisting of space, and there we stood in the middle of a small park, more of an avenue really. The sky overhead just as overcast, but no rain at all, everything dry around us. Paths, trees, benches. Nearby — a road, two- and three-storey houses, typical of a suburb or of the central, historic streets of London. Looking closely through the trees, one could tell we were quite literally at the edge of the town, and there, a little way off, a hill covered in tall grass, scattered trees, and at the top, by a copse, stood the Greenglass mansion I recognised, so tiny from this distance.
Daphne looked around and, realising where we were, pointed towards the street between the houses.
"This way. We just need to remove the Muggle-repelling charm first."
I gestured away the rain shield and the Muggle-repelling charm, leaving only the light obscuring charm, which wouldn't let people take notice of us unless we drew attention to ourselves with something significant.
"Come on," Daphne pulled me by the hand, and we set off along the path out of the copse.
The occasional car drove along the roads — far more were parked along them. There weren't many people either, since even though it was a weekend, we were on the edge of just a small town.
At a leisurely pace, Daphne and I walked along the pavement past the houses, the girl's face carrying a light air of nostalgia as she looked at the familiar houses, balconies and so on. With mild surprise she looked at the occasional signboard that clearly had nothing to do with her memories and was new to these parts.
"How little's changed here. But something has," she said.
"A quiet place."
"Yes. And peaceful. Though it's such a tiny town. Even the one in Italy was much bigger. But it was too hot there…" Daphne, for a single second, conveyed universal suffering from the heat with her voice and face, though she was, of course, exaggerating quite splendidly.
"It wasn't that bad."
"Especially after sunset," and she glanced at me, ever so slyly.
"Those were lovely evenings and nights," I smiled, matching the sly glint in her eyes.
Talking of this and that, of Daphne's memories of days gone by, when Smethwyck used to take her and her sister out for walks — that still happened in first and second year, but by third year only once — we reached the little restaurant. Or rather, Daphne had brought me here. A cosy façade in shades of wood, greenery and dark coffee tones.
On one of the walls by the entrance hung photographs of various people who, judging by the pictures, had visited here. Possibly even some celebrities, or something of the sort. We spent just a minute looking at the photographs, and Daphne even pointed out one where she'd been caught in frame together with Astoria.
There were few patrons inside, but none of them were alone — a young couple, an elderly couple, a family with one child, one with two, a group of girls around twenty years old.
"Our favourite table's free," Daphne led me to the far corner table by the window.
The table was meant for four, but who ever cared about that? The table's placement really was excellent — beside it stood a beautiful large aquarium, part of the room was screened off from us by a lattice partition, from the top of which hung thick trailing plants, seemingly even real ones, so that we could see part of the room from here, while from the room we were almost invisible. Looking out the window, one could see the road, and beyond it a slope down to a small river, a stone bridge, a millpond, green meadows, groves, hills, and, not far off on a hill, what looked like an observatory. Or something else with a domed roof.
"Are we high up in the mountains?" I asked, looking at the building I'd taken for an observatory.
"Not exactly high," Daphne considered. "Around a thousand-odd metres above sea level. I think. I've never really looked into it, just heard it in passing."
I saw a faint question in the girl's look, as if to say: "Why the interest?"
"There's an observatory there," I nodded at the building. "They don't build those just anywhere."
"Probably. It's private property. Could easily just be some rich person's whim."
The staff had seen us take the table, and as soon as we'd shed our outer clothes, a waitress came over at once, greeted us and asked about our choice of dishes.
"Your choice," I smiled at Daphne. "This is your favourite place, after all."
"All right."
Once Daphne had placed the order and the waitress had gone, we simply carried on talking about nothing in particular. Daphne told amusing stories about get-togethers at this place, funny mishaps involving her sister, who'd been quite the fidget as a child. And I… I liked this place. It struck me as oddly out of keeping with such a small town, yet clearly it enjoyed its own popularity, and could boast a pleasant atmosphere besides. Glancing at the prices in the menu out of curiosity, I was mildly surprised.
"What is it?" Daphne noticed my surprise.
"Usually places this nice and interesting have fairly steep prices. And a wide variety of dishes. Surely excellent quality too. But the prices are quite reasonable."
"I'll confess honestly," Daphne smiled modestly, taking a sip of water from her glass, "I'm not well versed in Muggle prices. But if you say so, then it's no surprise this place is always in some demand. And they really do cook very well here. At least, if the chef, Mr Edwards, still works here."
"Mr Edwards?"
"Yes. He's a Squib. My godfather helped him a great deal once. It turned out he worked here as chef, and was also part-owner. That's how my godfather came to know this place, if his account is to be believed."
The first courses soon arrived, and Daphne and I simply enjoyed the food, the calm, each other's company, idle conversation and the view from the window. But nothing lasts forever, and our meal, too, drew to a close. Having paid, we decided to take a little walk, especially since there was a rather pleasant pond with ducks nearby, and the weather was pleasant. So the walk turned out calm as well, Daphne now and then recounting some small detail from her life, while I had precious little to share in return — my life as such had only really begun a scant few years ago.
Evening was drawing near.
"We ought to be heading back," Daphne wrapped herself a little more snugly in her scarf. "It's rather chilly for September. And something might happen at the castle while we're not there."
"True enough. Though I wouldn't say no to continuing the evening."
"That would've been nice. Pity we don't have a private corner of our own yet."
Hiding in an alleyway between the houses, away from unwanted eyes, I wrapped Daphne and myself in a dome of various concealing charms and Apparated us to the edge of Hogwarts's wards, from where we walked on into the castle itself along the path. By the time of our walk the rain had stopped, so there was no need to shield against it, but it had grown rather windy — not enough to fight against, but enough to make one want to wrap up a little tighter.
"You know," Daphne spoke thoughtfully, resting her hand in the crook of my elbow, "I've been watching you, and you sometimes create a strange impression."
"In what way exactly?"
"It's as if you've absorbed different patterns of behaviour, but not like masks — more like they're you, yourself. One moment you're one way, then another."
"Doesn't everyone behave like that? In the sense of a little light hypocrisy?"
"Yes, but it's not that…" Daphne shook her head. "With you it's not hypocrisy and masks, but more like… patterns. In different social situations you seem to become someone imperceptibly different. Small gestures, expressions, glances, manner of speech."
"Hm… Perhaps you're right. But why bring this up now?"
"All these 'imperceptibly different' versions have a great many overlaps, so to speak. But in one particular matter, it seems, there are no overlaps at all."
"And what's that?"
"Everything to do with romance and relationships," she smiled, deftly stepping over a stream underfoot as we climbed the path. "You know, I think that if I hadn't taken matters into my own hands in Italy — nearly dying, mind you, from my own nerve and embarrassment while doing it — we might have been waiting for the 'right moment' for years. It feels as though in these matters you're constantly contradicting yourself, and that's why you do nothing."
That's a fairly accurate observation, in some measure — I can't deny her words there. All the same, the dominant shards of the elf, the dwarf and myself personally have entirely different foundations and patterns of action where courtship, and moving matters onto a horizontal plane, are concerned. What counts as the correct course of action for one shard — the conditions and situations in which such actions are acceptable and fitting — is utterly inadmissible for the others. That same elven longevity, with all the social conventions and pattern of life that follow from it, means there's almost no passion there, none of that "a glance, a spark, madness" — courtship there can drag on for decades, as elves gradually come to know one another.
Dwarves, on the other hand, are hot-tempered and vivid, and the basis of almost all their social activity, indeed of life generally, is strike while the iron's hot. Humans are the most balanced in this matter, and my own personality, as the foundation, serves as a bridge between the largest shards, and between the smaller, less significant ones too. The flexibility of the human mind and its adaptability smooths over all the rough edges, but the upshot is that in romance and more carnal matters there's no unity to it, no guiding thread.
"So what have you decided, then?"
"Until you've developed a 'pattern' for romance and the rest, instead of contradictions, I'll take charge of it, so be it."
"You already tend to take the lead in most things," I couldn't help but smile. "I'm merely the one who starts things off."
"Well, now we've said as much out loud."
Once back at Hogwarts, I walked Daphne to the Slytherin common room, then went off to see to administrative matters and other duties that were now, personally, mine — forging artefacts, calculations for the basilisk-bone marvel… Then there was the final confirmation of the official start of team trials — before the official date, I hadn't planned on stirring myself. What role did I even need, contractually? Beater? Fine, I'd be their Beater for the match. Might even enjoy walloping a Bludger with a bat — I'd stay in that role until year's end, though I'd need to work on coordinating with the team.
All the new teachers' lessons attended, the situation assessed, and it seems to me the only interesting surprises are likely to come from the suspicious Helena Hunt. What, for instance, was she planning for the next lesson? She'd split our year into two groups, one of the groups made up of just three people. Perhaps she means to pit me, Daphne and Draco against everyone else at once? Given that her subject's called "Battle Magic," the situations covered there are unlikely to be limited to duelling — she'll likely teach us to use whatever comes to hand. At the very least, that promised to be interesting.
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