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Lady Greengrass returned shortly after my eting with Sirius. That ant only one thing, the continuation of the training that had taught to transfigure everything into anything on instinct alone. The ideal and ultimate goal was to cast aside the formulas, transfiguring on will and imagination alone. In any case, magic can be considered a physical discipline to so extent. Physical in the sense that at first you have to conjure using clear instructions and formulas, but in ti you won't even rember them while doing the desired transformation. It made life easier for Hermione and that we trained our sensitivity to magic - not only knowing how to create a spell correctly but also understanding the essence of the magical circuit. This, in turn, allowed us to subconsciously look for the difference between them, to build our unique ntal structures and understanding of the process, giving us the opportunity to improvise.
Ti flew by unnoticeably with such studies, howork, and calculating the sches and formulas for the magic battery project. Spring has finally and irrevocably settled in the mountains of Scotland, diluting the gloom of colors with bright shades of fresh greenery. Even the perennially gloomy coniferous forests seed to revive, and with them, the Whomping Willow was covered in bright leaves.
We all rembered to visit Hogsade on the weekends, mostly sitting in the Three Broomsticks or buying trinkets in the stores. We didn't forget about the Honeydukes either, each ti trying sothing new for ourselves, marveling at the inventions of the magical confectionery genius.
Hermione noticed what I did not notice, being in my thoughts - Fleur and so of her friends smiled at a lot, in Hermione's opinion, and the Veela herself seed to be evaluating. I didn't have ti for that - I was thinking. But I couldn't co up with anything.
Ron stopped making any attacks on , which made the atmosphere in the House almost perfect, and that was a happy thing.
A month before the third task, the champions were summoned to the Quidditch pitch in the evening, where the eternally happy Ludo Bagman showed us the rudints of the maze. Only a dozen centiters off the ground so far, the future walls of this creation had grown, but it was already clear - the entire Quidditch pitch was going to be a maze. Harry looked at this with horror, and Krum was clearly unhappy with such a sacrilege. Fleur didn't care.
"Mr. Knight," Bagman turned to with a smile. "The judges have been asked to limit certain allowable spells. Your abilities in transfiguration are astounding, as for such a young wizard. Therefore, in order to see you in action and not just dashing around in transfiguration, it has been decided that you should not be allowed to use this skill."
"It's very kind of you to leave a wand."
"Oh, it's not my rit," Bagman spread his arms guiltily. "One retired Auror proposed, and the others agreed."
"I see. Thanks for the warning. Most importantly - tily."
"You're welco, Mr. Knight!"
I left the grounds of Hogwarts that evening, apparating to Grimmauld Square. Ho of the Black family greeted with more cleanliness and order, and its gloominess was no longer intimidating or suspicious but inspiring. It inspired respect.
"Max," nodded Lady Walburga from the portrait. "You, as always, without any warning."
"I'm glad to see you too, lady. Kreacher!"
With a distinctive clap, the old house-elf appeared before .
"Kreacher greets the head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black," he bowed and straightened, awaiting orders.
"Bring the terrible thing that Regulus Black ordered you to destroy."
Walburga stared silently with obvious interest at what was going on, and Kreacher sohow even shyly began to crumple in place.
"Excuses are not accepted. I will destroy it."
The old house-elf looked at hopefully and then briskly dashed off to the only place he knew. He returned a few minutes later, holding an old dallion on a chain. There was so much suffering on the house-elf's face that I even felt sorry for him.
Kreacher held out the locket to . Silently. When I took it in my hands, all I could feel was that it was magical. However, the occluncy allowed to notice a slight pressure on my mind as if soone wanted to induce to certain thoughts. Without a mont's hesitation, I spoke in Parseltongue:
"Open-s-s-s..."
The locket clicked and opened. There was nothing inside, but it didn't matter. Placing it on the floor, I quickly materialized a sword that surprised with slight changes. The hilt, trimd in the style of snake scales, has acquired greater relief and rigidity, becoming like the skin of a dragon. The simple shape of the guard had changed slightly, becoming more predatory and aggressive, and the blade was etched with a symbolic drawing of a dragon that, like Ouroboros, grabbed itself by the tail. What did it change? I don't know.
Concentrating on the "Destroy Soul Shard" task, I pierced the dallion just slightly. The black smoke started oozing out of it imdiately, screaming wildly in the ntal, almost knocking my consciousness out of my body. It scread and scattered into sparks, burning irretrievably into space. It seed as if it would never end, but there in the smoke appeared a hideous, noseless face and burned away, and everything around it fell silent to the ringing in my ears.
In the corner of this small room, a shivering Kreacher shrank. For a few seconds, the old house-elf couldn't realize it was over, but he stopped trembling, peeked out between the fingers he'd been hiding his face behind, and crawled reverently toward the almost undamaged locket, picking it up from the floor with shaking hands.
"Last will..." the house-elf wailed in a hoarse voice over the dallion. "The last will... of the young master..."
Kreacher was in a deranged state, so I didn't touch him. Instead, I glanced at Lady Walburga's portrait.
"He will tell himself. I must hurry," I avoided the conversation with the portrait and quickly left the house, and, entering a dark alleyway, I apparated closer to Hogwarts.
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