"Well," Cedric took my application, allowed himself a second to admire the handwriting, and continued: "I trust our new guy to you."
As soon as the prefect turned around and headed to the first-years gathered in one crowd, my classmates immediately dragged me back to our room.
"Got the schedule?" Justin asked a rhetorical question.
"Got it," nodded Ernie, who had shown himself almost in no way recently.
"Let's pack bags now, so as not to run around unnecessarily later like everyone else."
"Logical," I wanted to pull off such a maneuver myself.
When we prepared for the coming day and returned to the common room, I could not help but note that almost no one carries a standard school bag; here, it seems, the dress code is not as strict as with the clothing uniform. That means my personally enchanted triangle backpack won't be something extraordinary.
We arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast not last, but far from first, so the clamor of students came from all sides. No sooner had we taken seats at the House table than plates with oatmeal, sausages, buns, and other breakfast victuals appeared before us immediately. Ernie Macmillan, seeing how I looked around at the House tables and students at them, started a monologue about the current "political" situation in the school, about who is who, about a certain Harry Potter, a half-blood against whom the local Dark Lord killed himself in infancy, and various other things that I had already gleaned largely from Hermione's books. True, in those books information had to be looked for literally between the lines, but now I at least figured out who could boast what blood status, and which Houses de jure do not pay attention to this, and de facto—exactly the opposite. In my House, to my joy, they don't pay special attention to such things, but in fact, purebloods still possess greater social significance. Nothing new. From my observations, certain conclusions on another topic suggested themselves.
Hufflepuff was distinguished by a certain herd mentality, in a good sense, of course. It seemed as if the House was more cohesive. These conclusions suggested themselves from various little things, be it glances, how they sit, how they smile, but that is if one looks closely. Otherwise, just familiar people with common topics for conversation, common interests.
Ravenclaw is the House of extraordinary people. They stood out, but in trifles. Even the school uniform they tried to individualize somehow, to give a certain uniqueness not going beyond the scope of the dress code; something hemmed somewhere, extraordinary shoes, rolled-up sleeves, some additional ruffle, or at least a self-made bracelet. And also they are obvious loners; keeping distance and observing personal space are obvious, as is the fact that even at breakfast many look at some notes or discuss clearly magic with a serious look, if one believes the hand movements.
Gryffindor is an explosive mixture of everyone indiscriminately. Generally everyone. From decorously sitting and breakfasting, haughtily observing what is happening, to some disheveled loafers with a crazy smile and ants in their pants. In this House, one could find absolutely any type, but one only has to watch a little longer, and a common feature traceable between all of them becomes obvious, despite differences; an instant and slightly aggressive reaction to a stimulus. Well, I, at least, would call it exactly that.
Slytherin is a hotbed of kids with a claim to aristocracy. No, this does not mean that all of them there act like princes and princesses. But in all memory shards, I had to cross paths with the "upper caste" or those who classify themselves as such. And why hide the sin; the elf could also boast of by no means ordinary origin, just like a couple of wizards. In general, either upbringing is visible, or a reprimand from parents, saying: "Do as the seniors from the House do."
Together all this looks terribly amusing, and now I understand why Dumbledore smiles, looking at everyone from behind the staff table. I am sure he smiles like that constantly except, of course, cases where a smile is inappropriate.
I also saw Hermione, who rushed like an unstoppable hurricane to the table of her House, quickly ate something without listening to anyone, and just as quickly departed; everyone only saw a shock of unruly chestnut hair.
"And you are Hector, yes?" a blonde of my age sat at the table opposite us, clearly a classmate, and a red-haired, slightly plump girl kept her company.
"Precisely. You?"
"Oh, really," the redhead got embarrassed. "Susan Bones."
"Hannah Abbott."
"Very nice," although, honestly speaking, not very.
I simply do not like redheads, and Hannah has a smile that is too... Toxic, maybe? It seems you understand that it is sincere, but there is a feeling as if she drew something devilishly offensive on your forehead, and now waits for the crowd's reaction. But everyone has their peculiarities, just like this smile.
"Our classmates, and yours included," Justin nodded to them.
Involuntarily I decided to pay attention to his peculiarities too. The guy with his thick dark hair with a perfect part, as well as an oval, yet slightly elongated face, resembled some movie rich-guy villain. And the expression on his face, as if he suspects everyone of everything, only strengthened this feeling. An amusing company has gathered here, frankly speaking.
"And why didn't you study with us from the first year?" Hannah continued asking questions.
"I was sick. Since birth. But don't worry. Now everything is excellent."
"Clear as day," the girl nodded.
"Have you eaten already, no?" Ernie was clearly dissatisfied, but it is not yet clear with what exactly. "Let's go, or we'll be late for Potions."
"Oh, by the way!" Susan joined the conversation while we got up from the table. "Did you notice that Potions will now be for everyone simultaneously?"
We left the Great Hall and walked in one direction known to the guys. Justin pulled a parchment with the schedule out of his bag and checked carefully.
"True enough. What is this, do we have to be present at the eternal squabbling of Gryffindors and Slytherins? What a joy," the irony in his words literally lashed over the edge.
"Squabbling?"
"Ah, Hector, you aren't aware," Hannah, walking nearby, decided to enlighten me immediately, and we had already reached the main tower with moving staircases. "Here the enmity of these two Houses is something like a tradition."
Maneuvering in the crowd of students, we quite deftly began to descend, judging by everything, into the dungeons, but torches and bowls with fire gave magnificent diffused lighting. Unlike the evening on the day of arrival.
"As the upperclassmen say, usually this is a fairly quiet conflict," the blonde continued speaking. "But precisely in our year, several students were found who with all diligence translate it into open, and most importantly, active confrontation."
"Is it really possible," I could not refrain from a matured question, "that there were no magical skirmishes in the school before them?"
"There were, how could there not be," Zacharias wedged in between us. "And something happens constantly. The Hospital Wing is not empty. But personal conflicts are one thing, arranging a brawl crowd on crowd somewhere until professors give a scolding, and another thing is because of the color of the tie."
"Got it."
"Therefore we should move as one group," Hannah spoke again. "Our House is not at war with anyone, but you never know into whose head some brilliant thought will wander."
"Or a trap," added Justin.
"Or just to mock," Ernie Macmillan, silent until this moment, shrugged a shoulder.
"Did that happen too? And fighting back?"
"We give it," Zacharias shrugged. "Well, not us personally; we, thank Merlin, had no such problems. Hope we won't. Otherwise, it somehow happens by itself that one is offended, the whole House stirs up, and in the end, seniors sort it out. But I will say this..."
Judging by the students of my age and from all Houses crowding near one of the classrooms, we reached the goal.
"...The most difficult to solve and offensive problems are from Slytherins. The harshest, but easily solvable in a similar style, are from Gryffindors," Zacharias nodded at two groups of kids with scarlet and green robe linings. "And from the Ravens, there are no problems; they couldn't care less about anyone."
We quietly approached the other students, exchanging polite nods with some.
"Oh, mommy, a Dementor!" a blond in the green colors of Slytherin wailed, recoiling from a bespectacled brunette disheveled by all parameters.
The bespectacled one immediately turned behind his back and, naturally, saw no Dementors there. However, this maneuver of his caused unnatural laughter from the Slytherins, and indignation from the Gryffindors.
"How did you scream there, Potter?" the blond smirked, while two large guys stood behind his back, giggling obsequiously. "Mommy, mommy, no-o-o!"
"Shut up, Malfoy!" some redhead, clearly a friend of this Potter, snarled at the blond; I disliked him immediately. I don't like redheads.
Justin lightly nudged me with his elbow, attracting attention, and I tilted my head slightly in his direction.
"Draco Malfoy," the guy spoke quietly. "Heir and only son in the Malfoy family, a very rich, influential pureblood family of wizards. Self-confident, cowardly, insolent. They say, the unspoken leader of the House. Weasley, the red one, from Gryffindor—sixth son of a poor pureblood family. Hot-tempered, dumb, insolent, lazy, envious. In the opinion of the majority, he parasitizes on Potter under the guise of friendship, but maybe they are truly friends. Ernie already told you about Potter."
"Such detailed information? You are sort of Muggle-born, aren't you?" I said just as quietly, continuing to observe the skirmish.
"Father taught me to analyze and collect a brief summary on people."
"Yeah," Zacharias wedged in again, literally squeezing between us. "Only you never learned the first part."
"There is that, what can I say. You are a layman in this too."
"Hmm... Finch-Fletchley... Finch-Fletchley," I tried to recall where I heard this surname just recently, and here, it would seem, the thought came to mind, but was mercilessly interrupted by the appearance of Hermione.
"Enough already," my sister dragged the lanky red-haired guy by the sleeve, who looked at Malfoy like a bull at a red rag.
"What, Potter," Malfoy continued to mock, "hiding behind a Mudblood?"
Nothing is new under the moon. Whatever the world, whatever the magic, people remain people. Yes, even elves possess extremely similar psychology, only with slightly shifted values. If there is a division into purebloods and others, there will be an emphasis on such. If there is differentiation by another sign, there will be discrimination based on it. But whether for an elf, a dwarf, or for very many other shards, blood ties are always important. However, force is not our method.
Donning the best mask of elven superiority, straightening up and putting my hands behind my back, I headed toward the debaters, the distance to whom was a couple of meters. Suddenly Zacharias's hand lay on my shoulder.
"You want to get into this?"
"And should I ignore an attack regarding my sister?"
It seems he simply forgot that Hermione is my sister. But he realized this quickly and removed his hand. For me, from already known facts, knowledge about the pattern of thinking of various sentients, and due to other information, a thread of dialogue and its possible variants already began to form. It seems, at this rate, that part of the elf that for a century and a half helped him push his decisions in the council and conduct other social activity in an extremely aggressive environment, better known as "high society," will get out.
"I am considerably surprised," I spoke in that cold and slightly majestic voice with which the Elders "broadcasted," wishing to shame a young three-hundred-year-old upstart in my person at that time.
My appearance immediately attracted attention. It seems the guys are not used to someone not from their Houses joining their squabbles.
"Even, to some extent, discouraged. The heir and only son of the Malfoy family seeks attention from a half-blood and a Muggle-born from another House with such genuine diligence," I shook my head almost imperceptibly in censure.
Such a gesture is almost not noticeable visually but is perceived subconsciously.
"What?" the blond looked at me with misunderstanding.
"Hector!" naturally, Hermione recognized me, but stared with no less misunderstanding.
"A-a-ah," Malfoy drawled with ostentatious understanding, shaking his head. "Dirty Mudblood brother of a Mudblood, although... That is logical."
I almost laughed, watching how he turned for a moment to his own for support. Two big guys guffawed obsequiously, and the rest of the Slytherins supported the blond with light chuckles, but looked attentively and with interest. A girl with a bob of almost black hair supported the blond most actively. The first one calculated.
"I heard from my father," Malfoy switched his sarcasm to me. "That you were a vegetable since birth and only a couple of months ago spoke for the first time at all. No wonder you ended up in the House of dullards. Shouldn't you return to your dirty pigsty?"