Hogwarts: Through the Veil of Time

Saturday's day off was spent almost entirely within the confines of the faculty common room. My classmates and I did our homework, using both our own books and the library books that Zachary and Justin ran to with great readiness and no less time. It seemed they just didn't want to study. So we "me, Hannah, Susan, and Ernie" got all our homework done.

Cedric and the other boys from the Quidditch team were in full swing, looking for candidates to be selected as Chasers, or more precisely, for one vacant position.

"but the selection is only in two weeks… "those who wanted to try out, but, apparently, in the best teenage traditions, put off preparation until the last minute, were fussing. The "last minute" came suddenly.

In short, the guys caused a stir.

Having finally gotten some free time only in the evening, I sat in the living room, looked at all this peaceful bustle of children both in regular clothes and school clothes, in robes with yellow lining, and gradually became irritated. My fingers themselves tapped out a vaguely familiar and very usual rhythm on the armrest of the chair, and this bright hobbit hole, mistakenly called a living room, gradually drove me crazy. Not much, no. Just a little. But considering that not a single external factor could shake my peace of mind "a great achievement. Most likely, this is due to destroyed expectations "after all, I was expecting dungeons.

I probably need to do what I planned to do as soon as I arrived "write to my parents. But now, or later? So I sat there, thinking, crossing my legs and looking at the same smooth, unhurried bustle of the students.

"Are you tired?" Justin stood next to the chair, half-turned towards me, and also looked at everything around him.

"Insignificantly.

"Hm…

"Is something bothering you?" I asked, continuing to watch the living room.

"No, it's just that you're sitting on this chair like Thranduil, surveying the lands. You could use a staff and a sword on your belt."

Thranduil, yes? A familiar name, but not at all from Elven memories, although it sounds exactly like Elven. Something from books, fantasy, I think. Yes, exactly. Something similar has slipped into the memories of several lifetimes. I will not focus on it. It seems that this unknown work exists here too.

Taking a piece of parchment and a quill from the table next to him, he placed the sheet of paper on his knee and began to compose the letter. It was surprisingly easy. The content, if you throw away the fluff, comes down to a few words and phrases: arrived well, accommodated, the food is excellent, the subjects are interesting, the guys are good, the Hufflepuff house, with best wishes, your son Hector.

"A letter? To whom?" Justin, who was standing nearby, asked, as before.

"To parents, of course. Parents, no matter how grown up the child considers himself, will always worry, languishing in ignorance."

In one fluid movement, I stood up from my chair and looked at Justin.

"Isn't it my duty to dispel this ignorance?"

"Let's go, I'll show you where the owls are "languishing."

Judging by the intonation, Justin liked the word "languish", and I increasingly notice nuances of movements characteristic of one or another intelligent being hatching from the fragments. I hope that the elven arrogance will not creep out of me too much "adult intelligent beings cannot accept it, and there can be no talk about children.

Justin led me out of the common room, down stone corridors lit by torches and hanging lamps with flames. On our so-called basement level and up to the main tower with its moving staircases, we met almost no one, but on these very stairs and adjacent corridors there was a little more activity "individuals or groups of students walking somewhere, discussing something important or cheerfully, and all that."

After going up a couple of stairs, we found ourselves in another corridor, and from there, on a large spiral staircase inside the tower. Each turn of the stairs came across a small glass window in the outer wall of the tower, through which a view of the Forbidden Forest opened up, and every two turns there was a door to some internal room. The tower was not particularly wide, and the rooms were hardly larger than a storeroom, but it was impossible to get in and check having pulled one door out of curiosity, I could not help but notice that it sat in the opening so tightly, as if it were an imitation, and magic reliably locked it.

Having climbed to the very top of the tower, we found ourselves in a fairly spacious round room, dimly lit by only one matte lamp, but it was enough, albeit gloomy. A cunning interweaving of wooden beams and struts stretched upwards, to the high roof, and along there were rows of many perches on which owls sat. Now, when it was almost dark, at least a third of the owls, judging by the empty seats, had flown away to hunt freely. The rest looked at us with their huge eyes. There was neither threat nor fear in them "the magical birds were clearly smarter than their ordinary relatives of various species.

Taking a step across the room, I stepped on something and this "something" crunched. Looking down, I saw the gnawed skeleton of some very large rodent. Only now did I notice that almost the entire floor was covered with a thick layer of hay, and here and there were either skeletons or regurgitated lumps of wool. And there were some droppings. Fortunately, the room had many windows and openings, open to all the winds, otherwise one could easily die from the smell here.

"Well?" Justin turned to me, looking around this not-so-well-kept place in the castle with obvious displeasure.

"Hm…"

As soon as I extended my hand and released magic in all directions, a large owl immediately flew off its perch and landed on my forearm. A neat landing, I should note. Interestingly, it seems that the local magical bird with a penchant for mail delivery reacts to such a call in the same way as in the elf's memory.

"Healthy, the bastard..." I couldn't help but mention the bird's decent weight. Decent, but smaller than expected in size. "What should we do?"

"Huh? You give a letter, tell it to whom, and that's it. You can add where exactly, or wait for a response or not.

"At least for free?"

"Usually, yes, "Justin shrugged. "What? I've only written letters a couple of times. The owls here are mostly school owls, and they work, it seems, for the idea.

For the idea? No. They feed on magic. That's probably why there aren't many skeletons here, and in the store on Diagon Alley I saw treats in the form of cookies for such owls "part of the diet in the form of regular food, part in the form of magic.

"Here you go, owl," I handed the letter to the bird. "Deliver it to my parents, Emma or Robert Granger. Wait for an answer."

I mentioned in the letter the request to respond if possible, because it seems to me that an owl expecting something will not be a surprise.

"Woo-hoo…" the owl hooted.

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