Having deepened by a couple of dozen meters, I almost immediately found the trunk of a fallen tree, fairly overgrown with all sorts of vegetation and surrounded by ferns, sat down, inspiredly looking at rare rays of the sun declining to the west, breaking through the clouds. There, at the foot of the slope, a view opened onto that very hut, from the chimney of which gray smoke literally oozed in a thin stream, and behind it—dense coniferous crowns of the Forbidden Forest.
Silence, peace, bird songs come from afar.
"Herbology, damn it..."
Sliding off the log, I squatted and touched the ground with my palm, sending a wave of life energy. A second, two, three, and here I felt the echo of this energy. The mind immediately interpreted the signal, like a radar, while I myself stood up and began to descend, following a peculiar magical compass. Quite nearby, literally in two dozen meters, in the tangled roots of a huge tree, branches of which began to grow very high above the ground, I found what I was looking for; a small sprout. It reacted very lively to the wave of life energy, which attracted my attention.
Leaning over the roots, I stretched my hand to the sprout, and separating life energy from neutral by effort of will, concentrated maximally, starting to feed it into the sprout. For a couple of seconds nothing happened, but soon it began to grow, swell, change.
"Herbology... Runda..."
Not quite understanding what exactly should result, for the memory of the elf shard was silent, I, nevertheless, understood how to do this "something." When the sprout increased five times, and outwardly it began to resemble more a coil of lianas, I made a cut on my finger with one volitional effort and magic. A droplet of blood swelled for quite a long time, and all this time I saturated it with neutral magic, but did not let spontaneous magical reactions begin.
The drop broke off.
No sooner had it touched the plant than this liana-like miracle immediately grabbed it right in the air, absorbing. I immediately removed the thin thread of magic connecting me with this droplet and allowing me to maintain control over magic. The plant swelled more, and began to fall, as if drying up, but not withering. However, I did not doubt that everything would go as it should. A large reserve of neutral magic will allow those changes to happen that only come to the plant's mind, even if this phrase is inapplicable to them.
The plant curled into a ball between roots, calmed down, and only slightly swelled and deflated here and there, as if pulsating.
"Here's Herbology for you..."
Despite the fact that I do not quite understand what kind of miracle should result, with my gut, sixth sense I understand the necessity and correctness of creating such a thing. At the same time, the elf shard will stop quietly being indignant; one cannot accumulate tension in the soul.
Rising, I stepped away from the tree a couple of steps; at such distance, it is not even visible that some strange activity is happening in the roots. Nodding with satisfaction, decided that it's time to know when to stop, walked enough. Suddenly cold rolled in. Exhaling, noticed steam, and sensations of magic sharply became familiar and unpleasant. Familiar both from the life of the elven shard, and recently, from this life too. Sharply turning toward the supposed threat and pulling out the wand, I almost face to face met a Dementor hovering half a meter above the ground.
Protection of the mind did not allow "swimming" or giving in to emotions, but any self-respecting wizard knows that disembodied spawns of undead influence not only and not so much the mind as the soul; this is their source of nutrition in one form or another.
Aiming the wand at this hovering tattered black robe, I mentally cursed the appearance of this creature; will ruin the whole experiment with its magic!
"Sirius Black is not here," I said to the slowly approaching creature, concurrently starting to form the contour of a magical construct against such creatures, not for nothing remembered it back then, on the way from Hogsmeade, in McGonagall's presence.
My words, it seems, did not convince the Dementor, and he decided to taste my soul, and then decide whether Black was here or not. Or maybe he just became stupid from hunger? I slowly retreated behind the tree in the roots of which I conducted the experiment. The Dementor approached. What else does the bestiary say? Painfully don't want to destroy the property of our Ministry. Although, it is hard to believe that Dementors are precisely property; unlikely wizards forbidding dark magic, and using neutral in everyday life, could create something similar.
Light always scares away such creatures. Even ordinary sunlight can be enough, and powerful focused, magical, albeit created by neutral energy—even more so. After all, here is the thing; created by a spell on neutral energy, light is already a physical manifestation, and physical manifestation carries crumbs of energy corresponding to this manifestation...
Thinking all this over in a brief moment, decided not to destroy, but scare. How is it according to the local textbook? Lumos Maxim?
"Lumos Maxima," I delivered a perfect gesture and verbal formula.
A blinding cone of bright light broke from the tip of the wand. The Dementor somehow drawled a howl, covering himself with hands and flying back. Suddenly, instead of a howl, I heard an inappropriate gurgling sound. Continuing to actively shine into the place where the Dementor was, I retreated. The light is too bright and I could not understand what is happening there. Retreating ten meters, I canceled the spell, prepared for a run to the bridge, and then to the castle, but looked back for the last time. Eyebrows shot up almost to the middle of the forehead from surprise by themselves; the Dementor actively tried to detach from himself a small ball of lianas entangling his ghostly essence.
However much I wanted to watch this matter to the end simply to know the result, I preferred not to remain at the scene of the crime and hurried to the castle.
And yet Dumbledore said that Dementors would be on duty near approaches to the castle. Logical to assume that they won't be on those paths used by students for descent to the place of conducting Care classes, but nearby—why not? It seems the Headmaster said the thought not quite fully, and I did not assume the worst. But Susan casually told about patrol routes, and here, sort of, they shouldn't be.
Returning to the castle, I caught my breath, leaning against the wall at the entrance. Not every day you meet such a creature as a Dementor. And you can't even destroy it; someone else's property. Haven't grown up yet for conflicts with authorities. Even for self-defense purposes.
"Skipping classes?" a grumbling caretaker in an old suit approached from the side.
This old man looked, frankly speaking, unpleasant. A feeling was created similar to some wizards whom I saw in the Leaky Cauldron; sort of homeless people of the magical world. But regarding Filch, everything is somewhat different. Clothes are terribly old, but neat enough. The problem, it seems to me, is in the old and slightly twisted face with three-day sparse stubble, evil gaze, and unkempt sparse hair to the shoulders.
"No, sir. I have no classes right now," nevertheless, I maintained a polite tone.
"No classes," grumbled Filch, mimicking me and passing by. "Walking here, dragging dirt from place to place..."
Disapproving glances of the caretaker who engaged in cleaning without any magic do not deliver pleasure at all, and therefore I went to the Great Hall.