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"Timmy," I called out to one of the Hogwarts house-elves Percy had introduced us to.
There was a distinctive clap, and the little house-elf stared at us faithfully, gazing happily with her large, disproportionate eyes.
"The young wizards haven't forgotten Timmy! Timmy is very happy, yes. Very happy! How can Timmy help?"
"Hello, Timmy," greeted Hermione, but she no longer had the strength for a smile. So conscious magical training was ntally exhausting, like being back in the first year and not knowing a damn thing. Such training, in general, is far more exhausting than mindlessly waving a wand, as Ronald and the others like to practice.
"Timmy, would you be so kind as to arrange dinner for us, but no fatty foods," I asked the house-elf, and she literally glowed with joy at being entrusted with her job.
"Timmy will do everything. Don't you worry about it, yes!"
Both Hermione and I sat at our own desks - in this office, they were individual. A large tray of salads, potatoes, and stead at appeared in front of us in less than a couple of monts. Each has an individual jug and looking inside, I found apple juice.
"Oh, the house-elf rembered juice preferences. Well done!" I said into the void.
Hermione looked slowly and reluctantly into her jug and only confird my words with one weighty, "Yeah."
After a deep al, we walked in silence to the living room, not forgetting to return each other's wands. I said the password to the portrait of the fat lady and let Hermione go first. The living room was as noisy as ever, with people doing whatever they wanted to do. The twins were chasing their classmates with their inventions. The older ones were scaring the younger ones with stories about twin jokes and Slytherin guile, and our classmates... Well, the girls were gossiping and giggling, sitting on the couch in one of the corners. Harry was playing Chess with Ron, and Neville was watching, noticing sothing he alone knew.
"I'll take a shower and go to sleep," Hermione warned in a tired voice, "so, good night."
"You too."
Nodding to my classmates' attention, I paid attention to Potter and company by inquiring about the ga and went off to my room. It was too early to shower since there was one unfinished thing left to do. Finding in my trunk a long-acquired bag with an invisible extension and a wide neck, a set of tools for cutting up all sorts of carcasses and plants, I put a disillusionnt charm on myself and went out again.
No one was in a hurry to enter the living room, so I had to open the portrait and slip unnoticed into the corridor. It was not long before bedti, which ant that the teacher on duty would be out on a raid - I had to hurry.
I quickly made my way through the already empty and quiet corridors of the castle to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I went inside and made sure that no one was there. I went to the right sink and checked the room again, this ti not neglecting the Honum Revelio. Clear.
"Open-s-s-s," I hissed in Parseltongue, and the complex of sinks parted to the sides, revealing to the dark yawning of the secret room. Well, one step, and there I was, flying down again. I had no broom, no charms in my mory.
I was in a dark room with the bones of small animals. A soft light poured in from out of nowhere, but it wasn't enough.
"Lumos," I waved my magic wand, creating a source of light and whipping it under the ceiling.
"Oh, shit..."
I simply had no other thoughts because next to the place where I landed, there was real minced at made from the remains that had been crushed and obviously pressed through sothing. Human remains and old clothes. In the middle of the remains, in the tallest pile of minced at, was a cage. The sa one in which I dropped Peter. I sniffed imdiately, but there was no sll, and the remains weren't rotting. The cold of the dungeon? Could be. There is a faint sll, though, and not of flesh at all, but of viscera. It's faint, but it's not the least bit unpleasant because they don't sll like roses.
I started to rummage through the remains with my wand and the telekinesis I'd practiced as a child, and surprisingly, there was no disgust. No matter how hard I searched, however, I couldn't find anything that could confirm the identity.
"Karnes Evanesco."
I got rid of the flesh with a spell, leaving only the cage and the broken bones.
"Oh, Peter, Peter," I muttered, squatting next to the skeleton, starting to carefully examine it. "You could not be killed by the one who wanted to kill you, but you died from the actions of the one who, on the contrary, wanted to save your life? Well, not for long ...But ... "
Paying attention to the details of the skeleton, I couldn't help but notice an amusing fact - he has ten fingers on his hands. So are broken, of course, but...
"This Pettigrew isn't real..."
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