Dark Hogwarts

We docked at the underground pier. On stiff legs, I somehow managed to get out of the boat, then helped Hermione, who was wiping her tears, with this task.

I looked around: the freshmen were in disarray — someone was crying, someone looked so pale, as if he was going to faint. Ron Weasley threw up right into the Black Lake, although even after that no one made a face — everyone was too shocked by the sudden death of a classmate.

— We need to tell someone... Tell the professors! Hermione shouted to no one in particular, "We are.".. We didn't even know his name...

—His name was Kevin," the thin blond girl said timidly, "he was riding with us in the compartment. Kevin Entwistle seems to be his full name.

A plump brown-haired woman who was standing next to her nodded in support of the girl's words.

"It's useless to tell anything," another girl chimed in, "didn't you see Hagrid's reaction?" Apparently, such cases are considered the norm here... So that's what Father meant... It's clear.

— Well, are you going there, or will you just stand there? Hagrid called out to them, who had already climbed several dozen steps up, "I need to hand you over to Professor McGonagall, and she doesn't like being late.

Hagrid's words seemed to bring the freshmen to their senses, and we began to climb after them.

—I can't understand," Hermione whispered to me, calming down a little, "how is it that the death of a student is in the order of things?" Is this possible? He was a wizard!

"I don't know, Hermione. I think we'll understand the rules here soon, but for now," I looked around, "we'd better lie low. Don't stand out, don't attract attention, do what they say. What do you think?

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, and we continued climbing in silence, albeit in thought.

The tunnel from the dock to the castle was quite long, and the only light source here was the huge lamp of Hagrid, who was walking in front. And where did he just dig it up from? As a result, as in the case of the path in front of the lake, we moved in the dark and only by a miracle none of the students fell down the stairs.

After all, if you think about it, then one student who fell in front of his body will push another one, that one, and so we will roll down like a snowball until we fall into the lake like broken dolls, to the delight of the man-eating squid. And if Hagrid falls, then no one will have a chance of survival.

The death of Kevin's boy clearly affects the course of my thoughts — I'm already thinking about how I can die at the moment.

Finally, the stairs ended, and we found ourselves on the lawn at the foot of the castle. Only now it turned out that we had to overcome another flight of stairs before entering the huge oak door visible even from here.

On the last steps, the children were clearly exhausted, and I can't even imagine what routes they will need to overcome every day in this huge castle. How many floors are there, eight, I think? And how many times a day will you need to walk through such flights?

Upon arrival, Hagrid knocked on the door three times, and almost immediately it began to creak open. An elderly woman in a black raincoat was standing behind her, and some kind of rope was hanging from her belt and twisting faintly.

Professor McGonagall himself.

—Professor, I've brought you freshmen here," Hagrid told her, —just one less. Not a bad result, huh? He scratched his head.

— Thank you, Hagrid, — the professor looked at our crowd with a hard look, — I'm taking them away.

McGonagall turned around and walked through the huge castle lobby, and we followed without agreeing. The oak door closed behind us with the same sound, hiding the giant from us.

When the double doors appeared on the right, behind which the hum of voices could be heard, the professor turned around and waved her hand to stop our disorderly procession.

— Are you wizards or what? "Why do I see a bunch of dirty, clumsy Muggles looking at you?" she asked suddenly. Line up in two straight rows, I'll inspect your appearance before the distribution ceremony.

The freshmen hesitantly began to try to fulfill the professor's instructions, but in the process they rather interfered with each other, created curved rows from different sides and did not understand where they should eventually stand correctly.

I wanted to take the formation into my own hands, looking at all this mess, but I remembered that I was going to keep my head down until I knew all the local rules. Otherwise, who knows, what if the initiative here is punished worse than carelessness?

As a result, the professor only got angry at us and began to put the students in the right places herself.

— It's amazing. How are you going to do magic if you are not able to complete such a simple task? — wailed McGonagall, - I think this year the first year will be amazingly disgusting in their skills and discipline. It's even strange that the lake took only one.

The students' eyes widened after the professor's words, and even my stomach sank. It's too much... Cruel? To say that to eleven-year-olds.

However, we soon managed to get up, as McGonagall wanted. She began to examine each student individually: she let some pass without words - fortunately, Hermione and I were among them, she asked some for a name and pointed out flaws that needed to be corrected as soon as possible. After her words, the students frantically adjusted their cloaks and clasps, put their hair in order, and wiped off traces of dirt...

This continued until the professor approached one unlucky student. Looking at his ugly appearance, she asked in the voice of the Arctic wasteland:

— Your name?

—No, no, Neville, Neville Longbottom," the boy stammered, staring at the floor.

— Look at the professor when you answer! McGonagall shouted, and the rope that was on her belt shot at the boy's face with a whistling sound, leaving a long bloody trail on his cheek.

It turned out to be not a rope, but a real whip.

Neville put his hand on his cheek, and, sobbing with fear and pain, raised his own tear-stained gaze.

—Well, Neville Longbottom. Would you care to explain to me why, instead of shoes, trousers and a cloak of a future Hogwarts student, I see only dried mud? Have you decided to change the school's dress code, or maybe you feel more comfortable feeling an affinity with the earth in this way? She bombarded him with humiliating questions.

— I fell down, prof-f-fe-esso-or.

— Oh, they fell. Thank you, Mr. Longbottom, without your answer, I would not have guessed about such an unfortunate accident that happened to you by the will of fate. How are you going to appear in front of other students like this? Professors? Headmaster Dumbledore?

— I-I don't know-yu-yu, — Neville began to have a natural tantrum, but this clearly did not touch any strings of McGonagall's dried-up soul in any way.

The rest of the students looked at what was happening with pity and fear. Everyone understood that he could easily have been in Neville's place.

— Evanesco! — the professor waved her wand and all the dirt on the boy's clothes evaporated, — regardless of your future faculty, Mr. Longbottom, I take away ten points from you for looking so untidy.

It seems that Neville was very lucky, since he only lost points. Judging by what he had already seen, everything could have ended much sadder and more tragic.

— So, — the professor attracted the attention of the freshmen after the end of the inspection of the exterior, — since now you at least remotely remind me of wizards, you can finally be released into the Great Hall, where the faculty distribution ceremony will take place. You will study with them for the remaining seven years," McGonagall glanced at Neville, "or less. We go to the place of distribution in a double column, and after arrival we stand in a line facing the teaching staff. After that, I'll start reading out the list. When you hear your name, you will step out of the line and sit on a stool. After the distribution, you will go to the table of a certain faculty, and take one of the empty seats at the end of the table. Is everything clear?

It was noticeable that many children were terribly afraid to confuse everything in front of the eyes of the whole school, so there were no affirmative voices.

"Do I really speak any other language?" "What don't you understand?" Double column to the place between the tables of students and the tables of teachers, then in a row towards the teachers. It's so easy!

It didn't seem easy for the freshmen, although I personally understood everything perfectly. But I should probably be considered an exception rather, which only confirms the rule.

McGonagall, seeing some faces showing a significant lack of intelligence due to their young age, began to walk along our line, looking for someone.

— You! She pointed with her finger. I didn't even realize right away that they were talking to me— your name?

—Kyle Golden, Professor," I answered without hesitation and looking straight at her with an even gaze. I had no desire to repeat Neville's fate.

— Well, good, — she looked at me with a drop of approval, apparently satisfied with my answer. — Do you understand my explanation? McGonagall looked at me questioningly.

— Extremely, Professor.

For a moment, it seemed to me that relief flashed across her face.

"Come here, to the center," I said. "You will be the guide in this kind of column," she pointed with her palm at my classmates, "and make sure that your classmates do everything right. Can I have any hope of success in this venture, Mr. Golden?

But why me? She saw something in me, since she chose me to be responsible... Here's a plan for you not to stand out, damn it. I don't want to!

"I'll do my best to do that, Professor McGonagall," I replied, not at all what I had in mind. You never know how she would take rejection—her wriggling whip now scared the hell out of me.

— great. As soon as the doors of the Great Hall open, you leave. You have about ten minutes to prepare. And you! She turned to everyone else. — I would advise you to obey Mr. Golden. After all, if you fail, then the responsibility will be entirely on him, but if I find out that the first year was disgraced because of unwillingness to listen and hear... Anyway, I've warned you.

After finishing her speech, McGonagall left, but went to the Great Hall not through the main doors, but, apparently, through a special passage for teachers.

— So, now everyone has gathered, we are not shouting and we are not leaving our seats, — I took the bull by the horns, not wanting to waste precious time on useless reflection.

My tone clearly had a positive effect on the children — they got up and listened to me attentively.

— Now, if someone does not understand something from what the professor said, raise your hand, - immediately soar up with a couple dozen hands, - great, only those I point to say — we have little time and any dissenters in case of failure, I will definitely hand over before my own quartering, Or whatever she's going to come up with for me...

My heart quickened its pace at the thought of my own death so soon, but I did not pay attention to it, it was not up to that:

—You," I pointed to the girl who had told everyone the name of the drowned man.

—Hannah Abbott," she introduced herself for some reason. — Can you tell me exactly how we will go to the Great Hall? Do we need to rebuild, and who starts walking and who finishes?

— If everyone turns to the right now, then we will become that double column, and this is how we will enter. I will be without a pair, the very first, since I am the guide. They will be the last to go," I pointed to the students farthest from the Great Hall, "next?

Immediately, five or six hands were removed, which gave me hope:

—You, with the black hair," I pointed to the boy with glasses, the only one besides Harry Potter.

—Ahem, I'm Terry Booth," he looked around uncertainly. — The professor was talking about the empty seats at the ends of the tables. But from which side should we consider this very end? And what happens if there are no empty seats?

I restrained myself from putting my hand to my face:

"When you're assigned, the end of the table will mean the farthest edge from you, Terry. And there should be empty seats. Exactly. And if they are not there, then they will definitely tell you exactly where to sit. The next one?

There were even fewer hands — did everyone have such a stupid question in their head? Or were they able to guess their own ones on their own?

"You, that's right," I pointed to another boy, "what's your question?"

— Oliver Rivers. And how do I find out where which faculty will sit?

There were chuckles from the crowd at such a stupid question.

— Well, don't laugh. Oliver, right? He nodded. — So, to answer your question, firstly, each faculty should have insignia on their uniforms, I hope you know them? — Oliver nodded again, — Okay, secondly, if you can't see the stripes, each faculty has its own color, I hope you know them too? — positive response. — So you can determine where which faculty sits by one type of student. Well, if you can't do that either, here's my advice for you — go to a place where they clap more actively. Is everything clear?

—Yes, thank you," he said gratefully.

I answered a few more questions. Some of them were quite logical, and some were beyond my perception. Most of the students were just afraid to do something wrong, so they asked me about every little thing.

I didn't know the exact answer to some of the questions myself — they found, damn it, who to ask. I haven't actually spent a day in this world yet. However, I connected the first-order logic and found the most likely answer without any problems, which I voiced to the others.

And just when I thought the children had run out of questions, another hand appeared.

— How will the distribution ceremony take place? — a slender, pretty girl asked the question as soon as I looked at her. It was the one who talked about the normality of student mortality and something else about her father on the dock.

Well, what should I say to her? I'll say about the hat — what if everything happens differently in this horror version of Potteriana? Although McGonagall said about the stool, so it seems like there should be a canon...

— You should first identify yourself before asking provocative questions, — I replied to the impudent woman, deciding to go on the offensive.

It was obvious how indignant she was, but under the gazes of the others, she reluctantly replied:

— Daphne Greengrass. So, are you going to answer or what?

—Daphne," I said gently, "darling," I even liked how she was offended by my treatment, "did the professor say anything about it? Or do you consider me an omniscient prophet? I am a Muggle—born, but you are clearly pure—blooded in appearance and manners, — I hope I was not mistaken in this. — So I have to ask you: Daphne, how are we going to have the distribution ceremony?

The freshmen began to wait with interest for Daphne's answer — apparently, none of them for some reason knew what this very ceremony involved. Didn't the parents tell anyone anything? But why?

"I don't know," she muttered after a few seconds of tense silence, crossing her arms and clearly regretting that she had decided to debate at all. — My father didn't tell me anything about school, he just gave me all sorts of hints.

As the classic used to say, he outplayed and destroyed. Nevertheless, with youngsters, it is enough just to choose the right words and, without reaching rudeness, turn out to be the winner of any verbal battles.

— Well, then, if no one has any unclear moments left, — I looked around at my classmates, and fortunately there really were no more questions, — I suggest that we immediately line up properly under the doors and wait for them to open — it doesn't seem to be long left.

 ***

One step, one more step, and another. My hands were shaking, and there was clearly a serious dose of adrenaline in my blood. However, I kept walking, looking straight ahead, not squinting around and not being distracted by the curious, studying stares of the upperclassmen.

Our procession moved in a straight line after the doors were opened, and I could not find out what was going on behind. Has anyone fallen? Do they keep an even formation? Is there anyone at all behind me, or did they just stay in front of the entrance to the Great Hall, not daring to take a step?

The responsibility weighed heavily on me, and using McGonagall's whip with proof in the form of Neville's wounded cheek only increased my nervousness about the whole farce.

If a student can safely drown on the way to Hogwarts and no one even scratches themselves, and the teachers themselves use physical punishment on their own whim, then what can I expect in such a place? A hitman, a Muggle-born wizard. Would they kill me if they found out about my adult consciousness in the body of a child? Do I even have a chance to get out of this Hogwarts alive?

I don't remember being afraid of everyone's attention, but there was not an ordinary audience hall for some kind of performance, but several hundred real wizards, and a dozen and a half of them are adults, and one is completely some kind of arbiter of local history and almost the most powerful magician of our time. And they all look at me first of all, because I am the guide — I go even without my own pair, clearly standing out from the rest.

After an endless amount of time, the four long tables with the students were finally left behind. I turned right, forming a long line across the entire width of the hall. When I reached my own place, I was able to look at the freshmen — everything seemed to go well, although their extreme excitement was visible.

As it was necessary, we turned to face the teachers. In the center of the hall, McGonagall was standing on a small platform next to a stool, holding a Sorting hat and a scroll—apparently with our names on it.

— Abbott, Hannah! McGonagall said without warning as soon as the end of our column took its place at the opposite end of the Great Hall.

The girl did not come out for a while, but after a push from her friend, she finally moved, came over and sat on a stool. McGonagall put a hat on her.

— HUFFLEPUFF! — she said, and applause rang out in the hall — rather polite from the teachers and the other three tables, and loud and frequent from the Hufflepuffers who occupied the end table on the opposite side from me.

Hannah got up and walked with quick steps towards the badgers.

And that's it, no surprises. The usual distribution, as in the canon. To be honest, after all the oddities of this day, I expected that the ceremony would be somehow different for the worse. It's even good that I was wrong.

— Bones, Susan! — the distribution continued in the same way.

I was finally able to appreciate the Great Hall in all its glory while waiting for my turn. Before that, I just didn't have time to stare around — I was too worried and focused on building correctly.

The hall was elaborately decorated with flags of the faculties, numerous floating candles that illuminated the room, and an enchanted ceiling in the shape of a starry sky... It was an amazing sight, nothing to say.

When Susan followed her friend to the Hufflepuff and the next girl was called, I decided to take a closer look at the teaching staff.

In the middle, Albus Dumbledore himself sat on a kind of golden throne. I remember that in books he always wore strange eyeless outfits — there was no such thing here. His gray raincoat, although it was without frills, looked quite presentable on the director. Dumbledore himself looked friendly, but something about him showed echoes of the power he possessed here. You will not dare to speak disrespectfully to such a person, and even more so you will not allow yourself to underestimate him. If life, of course, has any value for you.

To his left sat Severus Snape in all black and a burly woman in a swamp flower outfit, who was, apparently, Pomona Sprout. On the right, the head of the half-human, half—goblin Filius Flitwick was visible, and then there was an empty chair - obviously, this was McGonagall's place. But some of the other teachers on the sides, whom I had not paid attention to before, led me into complete confusion.

On the right side sat the one-eyed Alastor Moody, who according to the canon did not teach at Hogwarts at all! Well, except for Crouch under the polyjuice potion, of course. The professor's enchanted eye moved quickly, scanning what was happening in the Great Hall, and as soon as I looked at Moody, he immediately realized it and looked back, smiling with his ugly scarred face. I immediately looked further away from sin, and saw an ordinary-looking, but so familiar Remus Lupin!

Also sitting at the faculty table was Dolores Umbridge in all pink, Quirrell, whom I barely recognized at all, since he was without his turban, and therefore without the Dark Lord on the back of his head. On the other side of the table, a black man seemed familiar to me—I think he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix and his name was either Kigsley or Kingsley. Right behind him sat a beautiful young woman in a gorgeous purple outfit, and I didn't remember her at all in books or movies.

There were five or six other unremarkable teachers at the table, but I had enough of those whom I recognized. For a complete collection, there was not enough except for a Lock of Slughorn — and then a complete set would have turned out! What do they all teach here, I wonder? Five different variations of ZoTI?

— Entwistle, Kevin! McGonagall's words rang out, and the freshmen instantly tensed when they heard a familiar name.

No one was out of order. I already imagined for a second how the teachers would start asking where the named boy was, how, according to our confused testimony, his fate would be revealed, disrupting the general holiday. How Hagrid is called and the proceedings begin... It was only for a second that I imagined the outcome of events, which was supposed to happen in a good way.

— Kevin Entwistle! — the professor repeated after a few seconds of agonizing silence. When once again no one responded, she simply crossed out the name on the list, and continued:

— Finch-Fletchley, Justin!

I didn't notice a single drop of confusion or anxiety on the teachers' faces. The senior students behind me whispered about something - that was all that accompanied the permanent absence of one of the freshmen. Poor Kevin was no longer enrolled in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

—Golden, Kyle!" my name sounded after a while. I carefully showed my lack of excitement and headed to the center of the hall.

Under the eyes of hundreds of students, McGonagall put a hat on me.

— Caution. Leadership. Courage. Desire? — I heard it in my head.

Did the hat name my qualities now? Interesting... And the desire is which faculty do I want to go to? I would also like to know the difference between the faculties... And so, out of ignorance, it's best to choose an option that you know at least something about and where there are characters you know:

— Gryffindor? — I tried to give a mental signal to the hat.

— GRYFFINDOR! — she repeated the name of my department to the whole hall, after which, with the help of McGonagall, she left my head. It happened quite quickly, and no intelligible dialogue between us happened. I think it's probably a good thing, because if the hat in my mind found out who I am, then problems could arise.

To the clapping of students and teachers, I went to my desk, to the farthest part of it. If I correctly estimated the age of the students sitting, then the oldest were closest to the teachers, and the youngest were further away.

— Goldstein, Anthony! Meanwhile, McGonagall shouted a new name.

Seamus Finnigan, a friend of mine, and two other girls are already located behind our cubicle, adjacent to the second year of Gryffindor.

— Hey, Kyle! We're in the same department," the Irishman exclaimed as soon as I sat down at the table.

— Yes, Seamus, it's great. What's your name? Meanwhile, I asked the girls.

"I'm Lavender Brown, said a tall, with bouffant hair blonde-haired girl, smiling, "nice to meet you."

—Faye Dunbar,— the second one said uncertainly.

— And I'm Kyle Golden, I'm very pleased too.

— Come on, Kyle, I think they know your name. We kind of got it right, didn't we? Seamus asked me.

— I think we didn't do anything fatal, so yes, it kind of got through, — I smiled with relief, relieving the accumulated tension with empty chatter.

A few minutes later, Hermione joined us, sitting next to me.

"Congratulations on joining the lions,— I told her, smiling.

—Thank you," Hermione got to know the others and joined our conversation at my suggestion.

Behind the festive atmosphere and thanks to the rapid emotional swings, the freshmen managed to relax, no matter what shocks. After all, the child's psyche is quite plastic, and if an hour ago we were all shocked by Kevin's death, now, looking at the behavior of undergraduates, we communicated without problems, shared information about ourselves and waited for the dishes to appear on the tables, as we were seriously hungry.

— SLYTHERIN! — the hat shouted once again, sending the cheeky Daphne Greengrass to the faculty of snakes.

— How did you beat her, Kyle! I almost laughed at the top of my voice when I saw her distorted face," Seamus shared his impressions of my altercation with the girl.

"That was pretty rude, Kyle," Hermione put in her five kopecks, "she's a girl, and she just asked you a question."

"She just wanted to make a fool of me in front of the others," I replied, waving away Hermione's words, "apparently she didn't like that a Muggle—born was in charge of her classmates, she just didn't have the heart to say it directly. Admission to Slytherin only confirms my guess.

The other children nodded in agreement with my incredible arguments, and Hermione had to admit surrender.

Meanwhile, the distribution continued in full. Neville joined us, as if by canon, and there was still dried blood on his cheek. The girls asked about his well-being, but he only quietly excused himself that everything was fine. The boy was terribly shy of communicating with his peers, as well as his newfound wounds, which is why they soon left him behind.

The pretty Riona O'Neal, the Indian Parvati Patil and the short Sally Ann-Perks followed the lions. There were too many girls, so Seamus and I and the introverted Neville were in the minority, forced to listen to girly chatter.

— Potter, Harry! — the professor said another name, and any conversations in the hall stopped, replaced by whispers:

"The boy who survived?" I had forgotten that he was applying this year.

"The Harry Potter?" The Dark Lord's winner?

Obviously, in this regard, the canon turned out to be the same — Harry Potter's popularity in the magical world was great.

— GRYFFINDOR! The hat exploded with a shout, and all the Gryffindors even got up from their seats, meeting the famous boy.

He timidly walked through the entire hall and joined our company. Harry got to know me and the others, after which he even took part in our chatter, although he was mostly silent himself, only answering harmless questions from classmates.

That's how we found out that Harry Potter lived with Muggle relatives and the second-year students heard it, followed by the rest. The students did not understand and did not believe that the one who graduated from the civil war, about which they had heard so much, had spent all this time with "pathetic simpletons." Theories were being built, but none of them brought anyone closer to finding out the reasons, which is why the topic of conversation gradually changed to others.

Among the latter, Dean Thomas joined Gryffindor, who sat down next to Seamus, and the red-haired Ron Weasley, who settled down next to Harry.

The distribution ended, and the headmaster of Hogwarts took the floor. He got up from his chair, looked at the students carefully and said:

— I am glad to see all those who have reached this new academic year here. I would like to welcome our first-year students, who have yet to get acquainted with Hogwarts and its secrets. I hope," Dumbledore tilted his head a little forward, "that the senior students will find wisdom in themselves and allow their younger wizard brothers to find their way into our common family on their own.

After the headmaster's words, there was a deathly silence in the hall, until Dumbledore himself broke it.:

— Also, do not forget about the basic rules of the school, which our school caretaker, Argus Filch, will kindly remind us, — the director pointed with his hand at an elderly man who stood against the wall in one of the openings.

Argus Filch had thin hair, was dressed in an old worn-out suit and involuntarily twisted his face, and from a special pocket in the area of his stomach, a cat stared piercingly at the students. Apparently, this is the same Mrs. Norris.

— Khm-khm, — the caretaker cleared his throat before speaking, — it is forbidden to do magic in the corridors, — he bent one finger, — it is forbidden to leave your faculty for personal purposes after lights out, — bent the second, — it is forbidden to leave the territory of Hogwarts without special permission, — the third, — it is forbidden to enter the Forbidden Forest unaccompanied, — the fourth, — it is forbidden to visit the right wing of the third floor, not being a freshman, — once an open palm turned into a fist.

The last rule was kind of stupid. Are only freshmen allowed to attend? What's the point of that?

However, after hearing the last rule, many senior students visibly breathed a sigh of relief. But for what reason did they react like that? And why do I feel like there's some kind of setup in all this?

— Thank you, Argus, — Dumbledore took the floor again, — finally, I want to tell you the following: ordinary animals are defeated by the stars, and the melody is the strongest. So, let there be a feast!

After these words, a variety of treats appeared on the tables. Side dishes, a variety of meat dishes — from cutlets and steaks to sausages and chops, sauces of various types... Needless to say, the freshmen, like all the other students, literally attacked the food?

I also joined in the general takeover of food, and meanwhile I thought about the director's words. Animals, stars and melody? About the latter, there were thoughts that he meant the three-headed dog from the canon and the way to put him to sleep, but the rest?

However, his words clearly contained some kind of meaning, and thanks to my memories, I was almost sure that they were connected with the ill-fated third floor. In any case, I should have remembered everything I said today, or better yet, write it down and think about it carefully.

A variety of desserts appeared to replace the hot dishes, but personally nothing fit into me anymore — the feast turned out to be very rich in treats. And when the desserts disappeared, Dumbledore gave a sign that the feast was over and the students went to their living rooms.

A female voice addressed us through the crowd of students making their way to the exit:

— Pervaki! Keep up, or you'll get lost and get into trouble. I don't think you'll find the entrance to our living room alone.

We looked at each other, then abruptly jumped up from our seats, and also headed for the exit, following the seniors with red flowers in the elements of the uniform.

We were walking in one group, but no, no, I was looking to see if we had lost any Neville on the way. I don't know why such concern has awakened in me. I guess I still feel the echoes of the responsibility that McGonagall put on me.

Pretty soon, the faculty streams split up — the Slytherins went through the door on the left in the basement, and the Hufflepuffers through the exact same door, but on the right. Each of them apparently led to different sections of the dungeons.

The Ravenclaw and I climbed up the wide marble stairs to the first floor, after which we followed the seniors for another ten minutes along the stairs-in-motion, somehow reaching the seventh floor with full bellies. The crows went off in one direction, and soon we came in a long procession from all the courses to the portrait of a Stout Lady.

— Happiness to the brave, — even though we were at the very end of the queue, but I was able to hear the password, making a notch in my memory not to forget it.

Gryffindors actively flooded into the living room of their faculty. When I entered it, the circular room with a large patterned fireplace and lots of armchairs and sofas seemed to me quite a cozy place.

Most of the Gryffindors, especially the juniors, went straight to their bedrooms, well—fed and tired. In the living room itself, only the elders remained, who sat on the sofas and looked at us with interested glances.

— Well, did you get there? — the girl with the prefect's badge asked us, — is everything in place, or have you lost someone?

It seemed to me that it was this voice that advised us to move out of the Great Hall in time.

I looked at my classmates and answered for all of them:

— Yes, that's it. Twelve people.

— great. I'm Olivia Riley, the prefect from the fifth year. Unfortunately, all I can tell you now is that the layout of the premises and the schedule of classes are on the wall at the Main Entrance. Remember this and look at them carefully on Monday after breakfast. And now I'll show you your bedrooms...

"Don't be in such a hurry, Olivia," said a voice from the undergraduates suddenly, "let me say a few words to the first-year students.

A handsome guy with the same badge as Olivia came out to us.

— What do you want, Dylan? Olivia crossed her arms at her sides, "you know very well that we shouldn't tell them anything.

"However, that didn't stop you from shouting at them in the Great Hall, when the little ones should have thought of following their comrades from the faculty themselves," retorted a certain Dylan, "and I'm not going to give them any advice. Let's call it a threat," he chuckled.

The guy came closer to us:

— So it's just a small thing. I'm Dylan Blair, a prefect from the sixth year. Next year I'm going to become the head of the school, and for this we need to win the faculty competition. If we lose... I'll look at, say, the bottom three names on the list of points earned during the year from the first year, and provide them with an unlimited resort in the hospital wing. I do not urge or advise you to do anything," he raised his hands as if giving up, "but you better catch my message. Are you smart?

We nodded like dummies. And even though I didn't like this guy very much right away, I definitely don't need any additional problems on my head right now. Did he say there would be consequences next year? Yes, please! I'll live to see that moment, and then we'll figure it out.

"It's low, Dylan, to threaten freshmen," Olivia said, frowning even more, "you know what they're going to have to do, and you're adding fuel to the fire."

Blair clenched his hands into fists and walked towards Olivia:

"You think a lot about yourself, Riley. Do you think you could slip into the prefect and become untouchable?! He punched her hard in the face with his fist.

The girl, who had not expected this, fell backwards, bumping her back against a column by the fireplace. But the guy didn't think to stop there.

Bending down to the girl who was covering her face and moaning, he began to beat her again — once, twice, a third blow came to the area of her arms, neck and chest. No one thought to stop him.

Dylan got up and kicked the girl's stomach several times, saying:

— More. Not. Argue. With me," his every word was accompanied by a blow.

The guy finally finished, slowly sat down on one of the empty chairs and began to examine his fists, glancing at us at the same time.

— Everyone, freshmen, go to your rooms. Now," said another headman with red hair, who is apparently Ron's brother, Percy. "The girls are up those stairs, through the far door on the right. Boys, follow me," he continued to command.

The guys and I were already climbing the stairs when Olivia was finally able to get up from the floor. Turning around, I saw her looking straight at me with her detached gaze.

I felt really sorry for her, however, I followed the others into the bedroom. It's not for me to get involved in the local squabbles. At least not right now.

"Here, make yourself comfortable, if that's the word you can use in this situation," Percy said, leading us into the room. — Breakfast is at nine, do not leave Gryffindor Tower until six in the morning.

The headman hurriedly closed the door, leaving us alone in our own room... The bedroom?

The room seemed to have been created for some ascetics. Four bare stone walls, an equally bare stone floor with a ceiling and a pair of wall sconces with magic candles. And, well, our suitcases, in the amount of six pieces.

"And... where are the beds?" "Or do you want us to sleep on the floor?"

"Apparently, on the floor," I replied thoughtfully, "we can put Muggle things on so as not to freeze." Who has it?

As it turned out, only Neville went to school in robes — the others had already changed on the train, so there were enough clothes for everyone for peculiar sheets and blankets.

— How do you guys like Hogwarts? I asked the others when everyone was lying down.

—It's tough,— Dean replied. — I thought it was completely different here... Less dangerous, that is.

—Yeah," Seamus said, "we're going to have a hard time here."

— I now understand my grandmother's words: "at Hogwarts you will have to become a man," Neville suddenly said in a tearful voice, "if education were not mandatory, my grandmother would have sent me somewhere else, she said so herself.

"But didn't your wizard relatives tell you anything about the school itself?" I asked.

"Nothing to me, just similar phrases," Neville replied.

— And my mother didn't tell me anything. I saw her off, I cried, but I didn't say anything about what might be waiting for me here. Although I studied here not so long ago," Seamus said.

— But why? — it was completely incomprehensible to me, — and to you, Ron? Did they say anything? After all, your brothers study here, and the older ones have recently studied.

"No," said Ron shortly, and then turned away the other way, covering his head with his sweater.

I decided not to go into details, and, consumed by an endless series of questions, fell asleep.

This endlessly crazy day has finally come to an end.

 ***

POV by Ron Weasley.

August 1, 1991.

—Oh," Ron's father clutched his stomach, —thank you, Molly dear. Dinner, as always, is beyond praise.

— You're welcome, dear, — smiled granny, then switched to Ginny, — finish to the end. And you eat so little — you grow up very skinny.

—Well, Mom,— Ginny protested, "I'm full!"

— Here, at least take an example from Ron in something, as you can see, he ate the whole portion and asked for more.

— Mom! Ron himself was outraged now, feeling offended by his mother's words.

— He's just...

— The most capable...

—The eater of his dinners," the twins said in their manner one after the other and laughed at their own joke.

— So, go to bed, everyone, once you've eaten. You have to go to school soon, and they get up early, it's time to get out of the habit of lying around until lunch," Molly complained.

— But I'm not going to school for another year, can I go to bed later? Ginny asked resentfully.

- no. And don't argue, honey, you also need to rest after your games in the yard.

Yawning widely, Ron followed the twins upstairs and went into his room. Looking at his favorite poster of "Cannons Peddle", he fantasized about his undoubtedly successful flight on a broomstick with steep peaks and masterful maneuvering, after which he undressed and fell asleep without noticing it.

He dreamed of Hogwarts. There, in the form of a powerful wizard, he defeated a troll, then a huge snake, then coped with dementors and eventually defeated a fire-breathing dragon. Everyone applauded and shouted at him: "Ron is our champion!"

The dream turned out to be extremely wonderful, which made it even more unpleasant to wake up — the ghoul was howling mournfully again, disturbing sleep. His brothers and sister were lucky, their rooms were further from the attic, so he was the only one who suffered from such periodic howling.

Stretching, Ron stood up, remaining wrapped in a blanket — it was warmer that way, and he loved and respected warmth. He left the room, wanting to go down to the kitchen and drink the delicious juice that his mother had left during dinner. If he stayed, of course.

However, after climbing only a couple of steps, Ron heard voices coming from the direction of the kitchen:

— Arthur, don't start all this over again, — his mother was clearly saying this, so he quietly leaned against the wall at the beginning of the stairs and began to eavesdrop on the conversation of his parents with interest.

— Understand, I have a bad feeling. He's not like the others—he doesn't have Bill's charisma, Charlie's diligence, or Percy's mind. And he doesn't have a twin to watch his back.

Ron guessed that it was about him, and therefore his curiosity was greatly increased.

"You always get too talkative when you take a sip of that firewhisky." We've already discussed everything and I've given you my negative answer.

"But Molly! My father exclaimed, but after my mother's chic, he spoke softly again. — Okay, you're right that you can't tell him everything as it is. It's really too dangerous. But at least a few hints, focusing on the most dangerous situations can be done. So his chances will increase.

- Yes? What if he tells someone? His tongue is clearly no shorter than the twins. And if one of the professors hears this or asks the question: "Doesn't Ron Weasley know too much?". Have you thought about that? With such actions, you can frame not only him, but also the twins, and Percy, and even little Ginny!

— Yes, they will be in danger anyway! My father raised his voice again, banging on the table. — Every day for ten months.

— Well, don't knock on me here! — the table also got it from my mother. — And don't scream! I hasten to remind you that all our children are alive and well! We have coped with the difficulties and dangers of the school, our elders have coped with them, and the rest will succeed.

— It was much softer in our time, you know...

"I know, but I believe in Dumbledore. I believe in his ideals. And you believe, you're just afraid.

— Yes, I fear for my son's life, imagine that.

"I feared for the lives of each of them, just like you. But I follow the rules and I won't let you break them. Yes, Ron doesn't have any bright positive qualities, but what's there, he's the only one who can't cast a spell properly at the age of eleven. But any wizard who wants to become at least a little respected must go through this school of life.

— You mean the school of death.

— Don't pick on words! What else do you want to hear from me? Ron will go to Hogwarts without hints or hints. Even the twins understand the need for this. With information, we will only aggravate his already precarious situation, increase the risk of you-know-what.

— What? Say it, come on!

— Arthur Weasley! Death! Are you satisfied? We will increase the risk of his death. I am grateful to fate for the lives and successes of my sons. I am also grateful for the beautiful daughter. And if Ron is destined to die to save all this, then so be it!