"I have," taking out the wand, I directed it toward my backpack lying by the armchair in our corner with the guys. "Accio."
The backpack flew quite briskly through the air across the common room right into my hand.
"Without designating the target?" Cedric smirked, taking out a small purse-bag.
"I simply realized that the name of the object is not part of the Summoning Charm, but allows focusing thought and will better."
"That is so. But they don't write about this in books. They don't write about a lot of things there," Cedric stuck his hand into the purse and took out a stack of Galleons so that no one saw. "By ten. Easier that way."
Ten seconds went to transferring five stacks of ten Galleons into my backpack, and another one of six coins.
"Your part for twenty-eight pendants."
"Got it," I fastened the backpack and threw the strap over my shoulder.
"Not all yet. Herbert got something from his father. Tomorrow in the common room, at six. Agreed?"
"No problem."
"That's great."
We dispersed in different directions: Cedric on his business, and I back to the guys.
"Did something happen?" Justin didn't even wait until I sat back in the armchair. Curious fellow. Perhaps the most curious of all, but outwardly tries to keep himself in hand in any situations. Should still find out where I heard the surname Finch-Fletchley; the guy can clearly boast extraordinary upbringing.
"Asked to be here tomorrow morning. Clearly something connected with Quidditch."
"Eh... Lucky..."
It seems the guys were a little envious.
"I just liked flying, and the others decided that I do it too well to ignore. Let's see when it comes to training specifically in Quidditch, and then to matches," moving my massive armchair to the table not without effort, I pulled the Potions book from it. "Maybe I will refuse. Don't want to lie down with some incurable injury. I was sick for too long as it is."
"Ah," Zacharias waved it off, "nonsense."
Nonsense? Quite a strange and dismissive statement. Zacharias, seeing my reaction, hurried to correct himself.
"I meant that at our matches it is impossible to kill yourself; charms on the stadium. And we heal fractures quickly. In principle, even a neck broken to smithereens is not a problem. If help is provided before brain death. But if the head is torn off..."
"Ew, Zach, ew," Hannah grimaced. "Why talk about such things?"
"Speaking as it is," with only his face he showed, like: "What can you do?" "Stadium with charms softening falls and all that stuff, Madam Pomfrey and teachers always watch the game. Of course, one can fly into the stands, break wooden beams with oneself, impale on one, but... If the injury doesn't imply instant brain death, everything can be returned to its place."
From what was heard, Hermione's face at ten years old floated up in my head by itself, so bewildered, but at the same time surprised and disdainful simultaneously. She didn't like something in the pajamas relatives bought me then.
"Cute," I repeated her words, causing smiles from the guys. "But life without risk is dull and boring. Just a small dose of it is capable of brightening the grayest day."
"Main thing is not to end up in the ground ahead of time."
"Thank you, Hannah, for the kind word."
A cool shower invigorates; everyone knows this, but not everyone uses it. I belong to these people too. Waking up early in the morning, first thing I washed and put myself in order, for full-fledged exercise and physical training are postponed due to the necessity to meet Cedric and Herbert in the House common room; that is where I am heading, walking along the deserted and absolutely quiet corridor of the House's male wing.
"Hello to the sleepless," I waved a hand to the entire House Quidditch team. "What happened that I can't sleep an extra hour?"
"Hi, come here," Cedric answered for everyone.
They stood almost in the middle of the common room. Stood in a crescent, and at their feet lay a huge elongated box of wood and plywood. It looked as if it was hammered together just recently, and there was no talk of any marking or processing with varnish or at least sandpaper; even from the entrance to the male wing, I see burrs on wooden bars that will easily turn into splinters if one just runs a hand over them. Approaching the guys, I looked at the box and waited for explanations.
"Hector!" Herbert couldn't stand even a couple of moments of silence. "Open it!"
Our Keeper pointed at the box with both hands.
"Should have offered a crowbar too."
"I already pulled the nails. Open-open!"
Bending down, I removed the lid from the box and put it on the floor nearby.
"Whoa, looks cool!"
"You bet!"
In the box, almost completely drowning in straw, lay a broom on a special stand. Its forms, due to the same straw, were difficult to distinguish, and therefore I simply took it by the handle and pulled it out. Not only the perfectly new polished handle of an unusual, at least for me, shape caught the eye but also metal footrests. Another unusual moment was that on the handle there were loops protruding down and to the sides, like handles. Although, judging by the winding, that is what they are. The same winding, like on a Japanese sword, was also where a wizard can place hands with a traditional grip on the handle itself.
Looking closer, noticed that the handle is much more massive, and its curves remind, strangely enough, of a sports motorcycle.
"What do you say?" in Herbert's eyes such expectation of vivid emotions was read, as if he made this broom himself.
"Heavy," I answered with a maximally serious look.
"Ha-ha-ha!" no one restrained laughter, and I smiled in return.
"Need to try before saying something," I explained to the guy the reason for such an answer.
"Yes, indeed. Overlooked this. Let's go faster!"
This guy's enthusiasm can be contagious. Although, why "can"? It is. We incredibly quickly got outside. This time the breaking dawn spread in faded gray light along the horizon; cloudiness, gloom, British Isles.
"To the changing room?"
"To Merlin with the changing room, Hector," Herbert waved a hand. "Mount, but carefully. It is special, you'll understand."
Winding, as they say, this remark on the mustache, carefully sat on the broom and just as carefully pushed off the ground with feet; standard procedure, if one believes books. Hovering half a meter above the green of the field outside the castle walls, I clung to the handle maximally, grabbing the handles. Such a grip allowed holding on to the broom much better due to supports not on the central axis, but from the sides. The footrest was generally divine; and why don't they do this on other brooms? Now I have four points of support on both sides of the central axis. Yes... As if in the cradle of one of the void fighter models, which the pilot shard happened to fly. Or like on a sportbike, only even more horizontal and elongated.
Plunging into sensations from the broom, felt something strange. So, let's try shifting to sides, forward and backward.
Sharp! Very sharp!
"Yee-haw!" a scream broke out of me by itself.
Instantly flying up ten meters and not changing the horizon of the broom, I stopped just as instantly. Giving out a series of multidirectional powerful impulses, I literally drew a vertical square with a cross inside.
"Absurdly cool!" yelled Herbert below, and guys supported him with approving shouts.
"So..." I said aloud, thereby pacifying enthusiasm. "Time for flight tests."