HP: Spirit Talker

POV Hermione Granger

— Parvati, have you seen Sora? — The two famous 'ladies-in-waiting' looked at the equally famous 'nerd' in unison.

— Aren't you spending too much time with the new girl? — The blonde in cute house clothes smiled broadly. — Are you in love with him? — The girl moved forward a little and spoke a little more quietly. — Tell your friends, don't be so secretive! — Hermione, confused by the unexpected pressure, did not notice the strange expression in Patil's squinting eyes.

— Don't be silly! I'm interested in books from his personal library, that's all. — The girl sat down on an ottoman near the sofa where the girls were chatting. — So, did you see it?

— Did you look at the gym? — Parvati, hiding the satisfaction in her gaze that Lavender noticed, turned her head away.

— It's locked, and only Hoshino has the key. So he's not in there. — Granger stated her conclusion without a shadow of a doubt.

— Why not? — a couple of upperclassmen approached her. — What if he just locked himself in there?

— With someone? — The other girl interjected immediately.

Hermione opened her mouth, thought, then closed it. She went through the spells in her mind, came to the conclusion that she didn't know the magic to detect the presence of the living behind walls or doors.

— Why would he be locked in there with someone? — Hermione voiced her first thought with naive eyes and immediately began to realize the answer to her question, turning pink.

— Good for you. — One of the older girls smiled, noting the reaction not only of Granger but of the 'dolls as well. — You understand everything, don't you? What a boy and a girl can do in seclusion...

— But that's wrong! — squeaked the red-haired girl.

— It's normal! — the other girl said seriously without smiling. — Just because someone is shy doesn't mean everyone is. You should spend more time with Weasley and Potter — they know all about the young couple's relationship.

— That's for sure, — the girlfriend of the student who had spoken giggled. — One is an absent-minded underachiever and the other is a naive loser!

— You should ask the older girls for advice. — said the girl in a low, confidential tone. — I'm sure you'll learn a lot of new and interesting things. — The girl continued with a mischievous grin and twinkling eyes. — Maybe you'll even find a normal guy who doesn't talk about cauldrons, or in your case — brooms. Here, take a lesson from them! — The girl nodded at the blushing fourth years. — They came up, asked, and we shared our experience.... So, is it interesting?

Hermione nodded, of course. And then, for a few hours, she was alternately colored in different shades of red from the revelations that were being voiced. The girl had no idea that everything in the magical world was both simpler and more complicated than her mother had told her.

***

POV ?

In a dark office, behind a massive and solid desk, sat the owner. A man in his fifties, thin. Dark coat, silver-trimmed waistcoat, snow-white shirt, dark blue neckerchief, pinned with a gold brooch with a dark blue sapphire. Long fingers flicked through the documents, the ring of the head of the clan gleaming in the twilight, a large dark-blue sapphire shining around it, the Latin words engraved in ligature. The silence of the office was broken only by the rustling of paper and parchment and the measured work of the mechanism of an expensive floor clock made by a German master from Hamburg.

 The gentleman went about his business, and no one dared distract him until there was a knock at the window. Not at all surprised, the man swung out his brush. The window opened to reveal a large raven with a silver beak and talons. The bird circled the spacious office and sat down. The lord held out his hand to the raven, and a small, cylindrical case flew over. A few code words were spoken in a whisper, and he held a scroll tied with a red ribbon. For several minutes, the man read the oversized, calligraphic handwriting of the lines.

When he finished, he froze, pensive, and placed the scroll on the table, studying it with a seemingly perfectly calm gaze. But then his cheek twitched slightly, his eye twitched, and the quill in his right hand broke. Losing control of himself, the man hissed something that made the scroll and the broken quill disappear in a flash of fire. The man covered his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and then picked up a new quill, clean parchment. Letters and words flowed from under the quill....

***

POV ?

— Afternoon. — A tall Asian woman, probably Chinese, in an expensive and beautiful short coat of gray fox, looked out of place here, but for some reason no one noticed her until the very end. Her beautiful black hair was scattered over the expensive fur.

— Nice. — agreed a simple Englishman, who had risen to the position of a supervisor — foreman, he was just dealing with the plan of communication, when he was approached by a Chinese woman with some rigid features. But he was not surprised by her, because not far away there was a small town, a few isolated houses, and beyond that a big city. The locals sometimes visited out of curiosity, and his superiors did not forbid him to stand at the border and watch. Stanley lowered his eyes to the papers again.

— I hear there was a little trouble here the other day? — The woman's English is good, but her accent is still noticeable.

— It's a construction site, lady, and it's supposed to be loud. — Stanley chuckled.

— I mean, it was louder than usual. — I mean, it was louder than usual, — the woman said in a steady voice, but it sounded like something... something.

— Yes, it was. — The man took a break from his papers, covered them with a special plastic sheet, and took out his cigarettes. — In the middle of a clear day, a pack of wolves appeared. Big, bad ones. — The man inhaled the bitter smoke, let it out. — If the owner and his guards hadn't been here, they would have torn ours to shreds, but they fired in the air, got a couple of tailed ones, and the pack fled.

— Oh, yeah? And the "master" has a big guard?

— What do you care, lady? — The man looked at the woman in disbelief:  —How could there be a Chinese woman in Scotland, and in high heels? And that strange perfume of hers, which makes you want to sneeze, only a cigarette saves you.

— No reason. — The woman shrugged her shoulders indifferently and walked around with a lazy look in her black eyes. — Have a nice day.

The man stared at the woman's dancing gait and beautiful ass for a few more seconds, as if drawing figure eights. Would his Mariah walk like that?

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