March Eighteenth, Hogwarts Castle, Hospital Wing.
Large space in white colors. Peace and tranquility reign here; this is not a place for hostility or war. Here people stand on their feet, or they are carried forward by the same legs. The kingdom of peace and quiet. Only occasionally it can be disturbed by extraneous noise, but usually it does not last too long. The caretaker of this hall monitors everything that happens here. But apparently not this time.
The once quiet room was filled with noise and hubbub. Here weeping, roaring, as well as cries of sorrow and grief were heard. A crowd of people stood near one of the beds, which was covered with a white screen. Some of them cried, others argued in a raised voice, a fourth clenched their fists in impotent rage, and still others stared into space with their serious eyes, pondering something undoubtedly important.
The ruler herself looked at this picture with sympathy on her face. The Weasley family knew grief. Mother and daughter cried on the bed next to the body of their son, and the male part stood nearby in silent support. The medical wizards just shrugged:
"He died instantly," said one of them. He looked like a typical aristocrat of the 18th-19th centuries. His dark, medium-length hair was neatly combed, and his thick beard was neatly trimmed. "To fall from such a height upside down," his head swayed slightly in different directions.
"He didn't fall," the grieving mother pounced on him, grabbing his robe with both hands. Her eyes burned with a fierce fire. - My son was killed! Killed in cold blood!
- Molly!
- Mother!
Three men shouted in one voice and rushed to calm her down. One is the father of the family - Arthur Weasley, and the other two are the eldest sons - Charlie and Bill Weasley. They all looked alike. Red-haired, stocky, with a slightly large nose. They could be distinguished by minimal differences. Arthur, naturally, was older. Bill - wore piercings on his ears and nose. Charlie was dressed in dragon skin clothing. By the method of elimination you can find which of them is which.
- Oh, Percy! My sweet little son. Who is doing this to you? — the inconsolable mother again fell into hysterics. She can be understood - all parents want to leave before their children. None of them want to bury their child.
- Tell me, Madame Pofrey. Are you sure there are no traces left? - Bill turned to the witch. His eyes expressed a desire for revenge, and his right hand squeezed the shelf so tightly that the knuckles on his hand turned white from the effort. - Maybe traces of a spell? Or physical violence? No matter what! - Still, he couldn't stand it and in the end the young man started screaming.
"Don't shout here, Mr. Weasley," she besieged him with steel in her voice. - I can hear you perfectly. And no, as I said before, there are no marks on Mr. Percy's body. No subjugation charms, no physical violence. "Alas, we are at a dead end here," she shrugged slightly.
- Well, there must be at least something! — Charlie intervened in the conversation. Of all the people hanging around here, he behaved more violently than others. Even his appearance has changed slightly. Her once brown eyes had darkened and her hair had turned blood red.
- Calm down Charlie. Everything will be fine, we will find the culprit. And we will give him what he deserves," Arthur squeezed his son in his arms. He also suffered the same metamorphoses, only he behaved much more restrained than his son.
The discussion of the tragedy continued for at least another half hour. All this was observed by a boy who, under the spell of concealment, stood in the most inconspicuous corner of the hospital room. His blue-gray eyes kept returning to the figure of his two older brothers.
"Bill and Charlie Weasley, two more monsters in human form," Calder mused, looking at them. - Your time will come. There is no forgiveness for what you did to a defenseless girl. I'll make sure you get what you deserve. — His gaze returned to the figure of the crying woman. "I sincerely feel sorry for you; you wouldn't wish such grief on anyone." But your son deserves such a fate. Nothing could save him."
Eventually Dumbledore came to the Hospital Wing. Having calmed the family of victims with a few words, he, with a wave of his wand, shrunk Percy's body and they all left together. The medical wizards, mixed with aurors, set off after them.
With a tired sigh, Poppy removed the bed on which the corpse lay with a wave of her hand, and then headed towards her office. Calder, who had previously stood in one place, followed her.
Sitting down at the table, Pofrey exhaled and turned her gaze to the boy, as if expecting something.
"I understand that I didn't need to come today," he said, sitting opposite her.
"You think right," the witch nodded. "But since you've come, then what's there to do?" What is done is done. Better tell me, why such a reaction to a corpse? More precisely, its absence?
— Conversations between father and mother about the unsuccessful operation. Visiting a hospital where the chance of meeting a terminally ill person is much higher. Yes, and there was a case when I ended up in the morgue. There I saw enough of all sorts of corpses. Both whole and not so good," the guy answered, shrugging his shoulders. And yes, there was such a story.
Once, when the guy was already ten years old, and he had read all the books on medicine that were in the house and his father had brought him, he asked to go to the hospital. It took a long time to persuade him, but his parents finally agreed to take him with them. As luck would have it, that day a patient was admitted who needed urgent surgery, so the father had to leave. Calder was left to his own devices. So he came to the morgue while walking around the hospital. I screamed when they found him. I can't put into words how loud the noise was then. And my mother was offended by my father because of this.
"Well, my father was very unlucky then, because he was left without sweets. Hah." — the guy grinned at his thoughts.
"Okay, let's drop this topic," Calder began again after several minutes of silence. "Better tell me, the last few times were somehow different, why can't I shine with my magical sense, as well as my magical vision?"
"Eh," Poppy breathed out again. - Maybe another time. I am so tired.
"Yes, yes, I said it myself that healers of your level can go without sleep for months," the guy didn't believe it. - Don't evade the answer, teacher.
"Okay," all the carelessness disappeared in an instant. It was replaced by seriousness and composure. - Listen carefully Calder, your life directly depends on this information. At least until you become a strong enough magician and can fend for yourself.
- I'm all ears.
"It just so happens that seers are people like you and me, who ourselves awakened magical vision either at birth or at an early age, or much later, and are a strategic resource of the magical world.
"I just can't figure it out," Calder said. — Magic vision can be awakened by any magician, regardless of age. So what is our specialty?
"Don't interrupt and you'll hear everything," she scolded him. "There are two factors at play here," he raised the fingers of his left hand in a "v" shape. — The first is that awakening magical vision by force harms the magical shell, which significantly slows down a person's development as a magician. Yes, it can be cured, but not many people have the money for it.
"Somehow I don't think this is such a significant reason."
- Because it is not such, it is rather like an addition to the main reason. The second and most important reason is that such magical vision is tens of times weaker than ours, and it cannot develop.
- How can he not? Why?
- Well, it's simple. If in our case, Magical vision is a consequence of the influence of a magical principle on our shell, then during a forced awakening, a process of sort of applying a filter to the sense organs occurs, in particular, lenses are put on the eye. And the lenses are parts of the magical shell that are forcibly torn out from the magical beginning. Because of this, they cannot develop further.
— So an ordinary magician cannot awaken normal vision?
- Why can't he? Maybe, but for this you will have to systematically develop the magical shell in this direction for at least a couple of years. A couple of years is simply divine luck. By the way, it took me about forty years," she smiled at the end. Apparently these were happy memories. "It follows from this that if you were in my place, then in forty years you would have much more detailed vision."
"I have vague doubts that the causes of the danger lie in human greed and laziness.
"Alas, but it is so," the woman smiled sadly. "Many hundreds of years ago, the magicians who forcibly awakened vision created a guild of the Sighted, which was engaged in catching people like you and forcibly forcing them to "work," sadness and regret were visible in her eyes. "I saw those who were unlucky enough to fall into their clutches. They become broken dolls that obey their every order. I wouldn't wish this fate on anyone. That's why you should be much more careful, Calder.
"Human greed and envy have no end," Calder reflected. - As soon as they were allowed to do this? Stupid question though. I'm sure they didn't start acting like that right away. They gradually accumulated strength over many years, and then there was no one who could stop them," his face twisted in a grimace of disgust. - Envious pigs. How many lives have they ruined because of their greed?
"As I understand it, they have been building the foundation for such actions for many years," the girl nodded. "So why don't the other guilds get together and destroy them?"
- This is where the "devil" lies. The Guild of the Sighted is also the only guild of artifactors. They forcibly seized a monopoly on artifacts, thereby blackmailing the entire magical world. That's why no one bothers them.
At this point the conversation died down. Each of them has something to think about.
About ten minutes later, Calder said goodbye and left. This conversation gave a lot of food for thought. He needs to adjust his plans and also come up with new ones.
*****
March twenty-seventh, Evening after dinner, Hogwarts area.
The path from the castle to the forester's hut was barely visible in this darkness. Neither the lights of the lanterns, nor the flame of the torch, nor anything else could sufficiently dispel the darkness.
A small group of schoolchildren, as well as the forester himself, gathered at the forester's hut. They were all talking animatedly about something, occasionally starting to shout. This went on for several minutes until Hagrid raised his voice and silenced everyone else.
After another couple of minutes, they headed along the path that led into the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Behind them, our hero, Calder Wilson, advanced like an invisible shadow.
"Finally they moved. I'm already tired of waiting. How can? So, I waited a week."
A week has passed since the memorable conversation. All this time, the castle was terrorized by the Aurora. They did not allow lessons to be carried out normally, they asked compromising questions, and they interfered with the lives of the unfortunate schoolchildren. Even Calder was probed about his training class, but he managed to brush himself off. Of course, I had to show the class itself and its training, a stripped-down version. In response, Aurora nodded, fussed over the "minor" and gave, without a "doubt," important advice about training. And they were like that.
The day before yesterday, that is, on Saturday, the canonical epic with the dragon happened. But alas, the next day they were not sent to detention. Calder thought that because of the Aurors this would not happen, but it turned out okay. On Sunday they left Hogwarts, having closed the case with a single conclusion - suicide.
That's why they postponed the trip to the Forbidden Forest. And at the moment our hero was on their heels, not forgetting to look around.
"I hope I don't have to run into Tom."
Arriving at a fork, the group split up. Hagrid and Ron went in one direction, and Potter, Malfoy and Fang, Hagrid's dog, went in the other. Calder went after Potter, it was he who, as a hero, would have to face evil.
Their wanderings lasted a relatively long time. Somewhere within twenty to thirty minutes exactly. And all this time the guy followed them, never ceasing to look around. But everything comes to an end.
They came out into a small clearing whose perimeter was entwined with the roots of centuries-old trees. Everything was buried in shadow, only moonlight fell in the center. And as if in some kind of horror, right in the center there was a figure that was greedily drinking the blood of a still living unicorn.
Then everything went according to the book. Frightened, Draco and the dog ran away, leaving Potter alone. The same as a true hero tried to stand in Tom's way, but alas, the forces were not equal. Calder had to give it his due - Potter was not afraid. Various spells flew at Volodya, both school and not so good. Harry did not stand still, he constantly dodged and ran across the clearing, but alas.
Tom was much stronger and steadily advanced on the boy. With every moment the distance became smaller and smaller, and the hero fell into panic more and more.
A centaur jumped out of the nearby bushes to his rescue. Having scared off the enemy, he thereby saved the hero.
Placing Harry on his back, he galloped off into the forest. And none of them even looked towards the unicorn, which was slowly dying. Calder couldn't stand it.
Constantly looking around and scanning the space, he approached the wounded animal. The first thing he did was cast a scanning spell, as well as a blood clotting spell. A bundle consisting of threads that were a spell flew into the guy's head after completing its task.
"The wound is deep, lacerated, but he did not lose much blood. A paralyzing spell has been cast on him," Calder quickly processed the information. "Phew, it's like a stone has been lifted off my shoulders, we can still help him."
"Don't worry, guy," he tried to calm him down, broadcasting positive emotions with the help of Psi. "A couple of minutes and you'll be back on your feet."
Having said this, he began the operation. His wand fluttered like crazy. Her silhouette blurred in space. Every minute he cast more and more new spells.
Spells scanning, capillary splicing, muscle splicing, nerve splicing and, as icing on the cake, skin splicing. Each spell, in magical vision, had its own shape and color. Red spiral, blue antennae, green web, brown blanket. It was incredibly beautiful.
Calder flavored each spell with mana, sparing no effort. In the end he was successful. Within ten minutes the unicorn stood up.
Moving away from him, the guy looked into his eyes. Beautiful blue eyes that were filled with stars.
"Beautiful," thought Calder. And the unicorn was really beautiful. Silver-white fur, a long snow-white mane and a spiral horn that had a bluish-white color. His whole body breathed life. He personified life.
After a while, the horse nodded to him, and then began to cry. Not tears, no, but silver blood flowed neatly from the corner of his right eye.
The young man did not waste time, although he was shocked by what he saw, and as with the thestral, he took out a container, collected blood into it and hid it out of harm's way.
Carefully, so as not to hit him with his horn, the unicorn butted his head, as if saying goodbye. The boy did not want to say goodbye to his new friend at all, he was so beautiful.
However, he actually said goodbye. a moment later the unicorn rushed off into the darkness of the forest. Only gray-blue eyes, filled with sadness, followed the silhouette until it disappeared into the darkness of the magical forest.
"Well, I finished my business, now we can return to the castle," he thought sadly and began to turn towards the castle. It's already late.
"Give it back to me, Boy," a frightening voice was heard from behind Calder.