HP: Spirit Talker

Ehhh, good tea from the headmaster of Hogwarts, I wonder what it's called? I like green tea, but I don't mind a good black one, and sometimes I just want a change. And Dumbledore's service is excellent: not too fancy, but not too plain either. At the moment, an Ingredient Collector was sitting in a large, comfortable armchair, sipping a fine tea and enjoying the powerful currents of the castle's magic flowing through the Headmaster's office.

I don't really know what those ruptured power conduits are for — I've never had a chance to examine them; perhaps they're being used to power other kinds of constructs, and ideally their power shouldn't reach the Headmaster's office.

But even what we have now is more than enough to do "magic exercises" or "magic breathing qigong. This technique does not have its own name, or I just don't know it, but the essence of this action is in the deep "inhaling" and "exhaling" of magic on the magic source. The absence of coloring, i.e. the ancestral altar, which changes the magic of the source under the specifics of the family, with such "gymnastics" allows you to develop your core, channels and the cocoon of the aura just a little bit at a time.

In this way, after a long time, it is possible not to increase the volume of the magical reserve too much, but much more importantly, the energy body of a gifted person becomes accustomed to passing large, even powerful currents, up to the possibility of a one-time release of the entire reserve without harmful consequences.

This, I would like to point out, is very important for an ordinary magician. And if the gifted also chose ritualistics or combat magic, then there is no question. In short, I was simultaneously resting, relaxing after the test, holding a golden egg on my lap, doing a relaxed workout, and making fun of those gathered.

And it all started the moment I escaped the public eye after the first exam. My grades were very low, but frankly, I didn't care. I did everything I set out to do, and whoever didn't like what I did was none of my business, especially since the second trial is all about speed, and if Gabriel doesn't end up in the water, I have no doubt about my victory.

So, immediately after the judging was announced, which by the way caused a lot of discontent in the stands — the judges were even booed (!) — I was intercepted by "Chip and Dale", who are very famous and respected, though not by me, McGonagall and "Moody".

These wizards escorted me to the office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, where a considerable company had gathered a short time later, including a couple of dragonologists, one of whom seemed familiar to me. The last to arrive was Dumbledore, accompanied by Crouch, a tall black man in an African national costume, and another apparent employee.

The Headmaster spoke first, and he delivered a twenty-minute sermon that included appeals to patriotism, duty to one's country, humanity, mutual aid, and the universal obligation to wash one's hands before eating. I strongly disagree with the latter! I believe that washing (or washing?) should not be limited to the hands!

I didn't understand exactly what the old politician was getting at, but if his speech was an "artistic preparation" for the next "speakers", then everything falls into place. After him, in a very short form, the audience was enlightened on the subject of the hard work of raising wyverns ... dragons, as these creatures are now called in many parts of the world.

Towards the end, the speaker couldn't help but add that draconologists give their all to this endeavor, literally burning out on the job. I nodded in understanding, for I read the press myself, and I know that in the last six months, three draconologists have been eaten by dragons in the nursery, and five draconologists have been burned to death.

I suspect they were reduced to ashes, literally scattered by the wind. So what, these creatures need something to eat, and the roasted corpses don't care anymore, so what's the harm? After that, an unknown salesman spoke, who, as it turned out, was responsible for the ingredients obtained from the dragons.

The exact amount of everything I'd collected, as well as the exact price, down to the knath, was announced literally down to the scales. The amount announced was suggestive....not me. Six liters of blood and half a sack of scales I need for a new project, but claws, fangs and horns I'll use for amulets and battle artifacts.

There was silence for a while. I don't consider myself a downer, so I realized they were waiting for my answers or, more likely, an apology. It was frankly funny to me: I wasn't asking Crouch those questions for nothing, I was inoculating myself so that in a case like this, I could send everyone away. I could have killed the dragon right then and there and taken the carcass for myself as a hunting trophy, but at this level it was too much for me.

I may be my own man, but the locals don't see it that way. Anyway, at that point, my reaction to those words was, uh, nothing. And keeping a straight face is a Japanese national tradition and trait: if you don't know how to behave, you get a brick; if you're in an unfamiliar environment, you get a brick; if the boss at work is a jerk, you get a brick, and so on.

— Mr. Hoshino, we're waiting for your answer. — It's worth noting that the director's demeanor is very diplomatic, without being harsh or overbearing.

— Did you ask me something? I'm sorry, but I thought I was in the middle of a discussion about the financial benefits of dragon breeding, but I'm not quite sure why I'm here. If you don't mind repeating the question. — All this was said in a calm voice with a neutral and friendly expression on his face.