Potter: The Flight of Our Youth

(Five episodes from the life of Hogvarts Air Force with prologue, epilogue and lyrical retreat)

Prologue
somewhere in the USSR, July 44.

Captain Zaikin - a comet and without five minutes of SCS - lay under his Lavochkin, putting a helmetphone over his eyes. He had already made three sorties today and, as he understood the situation, there were at least two more. The adjutant running from the staff dugout, he did not see, but rather felt, but did not move - and if not them, suddenly the second will be raised? Although, all these are children's dreams, they will raise them now, like cute ones, and they will send them to cover the tankers, it is time to change Bear.
- Pasha! Zaikin! cried the aide-de-camp, without reaching the parking lot, "Get eight to the tankers!"

* * * * * * *

An hour later, the returning pilots could not remember how their commander – a comet – died and without five minutes Hero, Captain Zaikin. Some said that he was cut down by an anti-aircraft gun while crossing the front line, others that he faced a Junker, and others that he yawned the attack of a hunter while moving away from the target. In the thick mess that was going on in the sky, something was impossible to make out. Three days later, Captain Zaikin was found dead, his notes on tactics took a new comet, he also left a volume of Jack London as a memory. The trophy Zolingen razor was given to the mechanic, letters and a new Star were sent to their mother in Leningrad. And other things comedian Pasha Zaikin for his twenty-something years and did not gain.

Episode one. I'll fly.
Somewhere in England, 199...

- How are you feeling?
Pasha opened his eyes and saw an old man with tender eyes and a long white beard.
“Both on!” he was surprised, “there was a grandmother, Christ was natural, and I didn’t believe it, laughed all the time.”
How are you feeling? the old man repeated his question, can you talk?
Pasha could talk, but now he was more worried about the question of how it happened that he – a Komsomol and an atheist – got to heaven, while according to all canons he belongs exactly in hell. Grandma must have prayed. This thought so captivated Captain Zaikin that he did not even pay attention to the environment, although it should have been done. “You have to lie down,” the old man went on, “by the morning you will feel better.” Don't worry, you're at friends'.
“Here’s got stuck,” thought Pasha, “no other way to Vlasov got to the Vlasovites.” He is the one who will be recruited. That's why he passed out.

* * * * * * *

When Pasha woke up, someone was lying next to him.
Looking closely, Pasha saw a thin black-haired boy.
"Hey, brother," the captain shouted to the neighbor, "don't be a bitch, tell me, where are we?"
- How is it? - The boy rose in the hospital.
Where is the hospital, in which country?
Well, I guess you could say in England.
“Well, thank God they are allies. ?
- How did you get in here?
- Yes, man, the blager missed, the hunter on the way out of the peak caught ... - Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.
- Nimbus two thousand.
Of all the Allied aircraft, the captain knew only Harricane, and was very glad that this acquaintance did not last long. The name Nimbus didn't mean anything to him. And okay, Nimbus, so Nimbus -- there's a lot of technology at war.
- Well, don't worry, brother, I've changed four machines in a year - and nothing, the iron will still rivet. What did your slave miss, huh? It has long been known that on the way out of the peak of our brother and caught.
- What kind of slave? - the boy was surprised, - I had no follower.
- So you're being sent alone? Well, you're not doing well here, I see.
No, not alone, we have a team of six.
So you can see that the team missed the hunter, the sluts. Okay, survived - you'll be smarter, I was also dumped for the first time on stupidity, nothing, we still scratch them...
- Of course, the boy revived, - we must scratch. These greens don't really know how to fly, they've taken me crazy. But more than that, they won't get caught.
“You don’t burrow, buddy, they know how to fly,” the captain cooled the boy’s ardour, who was very respectful of the skill of the “Green Hearts” – but we were not born yesterday, we will come up with something.

* * * * * * *

- Okay, reclined in Dumbledore's chair - in the end, it doesn't matter so much how he came here, the main thing is what we will do with him?
Looks like we're gonna have to leave school.
- But how? What's he gonna do here?
"Yes, anything," the director smiled lightly, "but at least Ogrid to carry manure in a wheelbarrow in the garden, what difference does it make?" Does he have magical powers?
- Not the least.
- Well, then really let the dung carry.

* * * * * * *

“And how many pipes did your Nimbus have,” continued to torture his neighbor.
- Dudok? - The boy replied incomprehensibly.
- How many dots, how many dots?
- I don't know.
- Yes, the knowledge of matchmaking at a height, you can not say anything. What about quality, other than that it's "super" can you say?
- Nope.
“Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

* * * * * * *

Ogrid, Dumbledorr the giant, did you hear about that strange man who literally fell on our head yesterday?
- Yes, Mr. Director, - the giant booed.
- We decided to send him to you. Do him something useful, don't let him miss you. He'll live in your cabin, get used to it.
“Of course, of course,” rejoiced the school watchman, who was already pretty tired of single-handedly dismissing the annoying and curious trio of beloved students.

* * * * * * *

- No, look, - the captain twisted his hands, - you go in like this, and your slave at that moment ...
- Snake?
- Yeah, it's called a snake. And the second two is hanging here, so they don't come out of the cloud. Got it?
Got it.
“And then you go to the swing,” the captain again waved his hands, showing how, “so that above the point you have maximum speed.” Don't hang around, they'll eat you in a moment.

* * * * * * *

From an unsent letter:
" such things, Bear. The commission did not pass - they say there is not enough magical abilities, so they do not allow flying yet. But I don't believe them - you remember, I was the first to fly out on my own at the club and in school. And I went to the store without an instructor, so that's what they're talking about. Probably check, it is clear - I fell on them from nowhere, but here too is a war. In the meantime, I was sent to reforging - driving a local gardener shit in a car. They just feed me for the slaughter, if it wasn't for the car, I'd get so fat that I wouldn't get into any plane. Reforging is strange, you know, I asked the boss - the gardener of this - how much plan, how many cars should I roll a day? So for two days I could not get an answer, then he comes, says - three cars before lunch, two after. That's the plan? Remember the cadets building the airfield? How long did we wave a shovel? And here's five cars, laughing, that's all. I’ll still be flying, I’ll definitely be. I've got a kid coming in here alone, fire guy. If you don't cut it right away, you'll make a great fighter. Well, bye, Mishka, say hello to the guys who are still alive.

* * * * * * *

Here! Hermione broke into the Griffindor drawing room, happily waving a large scroll.
- What? - Ron and Harry shouted in chorus.
He said he was flying, right? So he had the ability. Now, listen, this is about Bader.
- Badera? - Harry was surprised, - the famous Drim-Tim bloodhound? But he flew, he flew for a long time.
- Yeah, that's the thing! In the fourth year, preparing for the match, he came under fire from a crazy spine wing, and completely lost his magical abilities. After that, he spent fifteen years looking for a means to restore them. He's become such a scumbag that our Snape is no match for him. I found it! And became the most famous bloodhound! - Well, run! - Harry was ready to break to Pasha in the middle of the night.
- And why run? - Rhon reasoned, - we must first make a potion, and then to Pasha. Hermione, can you cook this Bader potion?
“This is not quite his potion,” Hermione went into unnecessary details, “he did not invent it himself, but found it while traveling between the two countries.
"It doesn't matter," Harry interrupted her, "can you make it?"
- Yes, but only...
- What is "only"? - Potter sharply saddened, - again have to climb to Snape in the closet?
- Yeah, but that's not the point. Bader writes that this remedy is extremely dangerous, a small dose will not help, and a large one can be fatal.
But Harry has already had a good time studying his new friend:
- He'll risk it, I'm sure. What do we need?
- First of all, we need a bubble swab, then we need some Hogsmead sweetener and 10-15 pounds of those nasty spiny pears that we cut in past herbal studies. Yeah, Ron, that rat-tonic you bought for Strupik is gonna be needed, too. And we need to order a glass cube, a twisted tube and a torch.
- Yes-a-a-a-a - Ron thoughtfully stretched out, - I will not be surprised that the brew will turn out to be poisonous.

* * * * * * *

Zaikin was lying in the corner of the hut, flying paper planes and whistling something long and sad.
“Hello Harry,” he said to Potter. - I'm just sitting around. Ogrid said he didn't have manure for me anymore, and he also said Dumbledore didn't approve of my project to dig a canal to water the garden. Tosca...
Pasha, Harry said not very clearly because of the excitement, we seem to have found a way to help you. He held out the bottle, but... But he did not have time to finish - the former comet quickly opened the cork, with pleasure smelled and instantly swallowed the devil's brew. Harry did not even have time to tell him that without the spell “just do it!” the potion would not work, but Pasha did everything in the right way and without prompting, only the spell was pronounced in some strange language – budem, hloptci. It was even better, though.
- Pasha, you could have died!
- Don't worry, kid. No flyer ever died from that. Well, thanks, guys, good-bye. You must have found Hermione's recipe, huh? - Yeah, who else?
- Well done, girl. Someone's gonna be lucky with his wife.
- Pasha! - Harry cried happily, - You will fly!
"Of course," smiled the captain, "how else?" How can you not fly?

Episode two. Sketches.
Somewhere in England, 199...

- Level up! Smir-r-na-a-a-a! Comrade! A group of cadets for flight training is built! Finnegan on duty!
- Hello, comrade cadets!
- Hello, dear, dear!
At ease!
- Volna-a-a-a!!!
Today, comrade cadets, we will practice a group flight along the route in a two-squadron composition. Finnegan, hand out benefits! - Well, - Malfoy stretched out in a nasty voice, seeing how the duty officer begins to distribute slightly hewn sticks with some kind of tied twigs, - again "walking on a flight", tired already. If my dad finds out...
- Cadet Malfoy!
"I," Draco replied reluctantly.
- Three outfits for Slytherin!
- Uh-uh. Sir, not in the business of all-know-it-all Hermione, you meant to say, probably five points with...
- I mean, Cadet Granger, three outfits to Griffindor for talking in the ranks and wrangling with a senior. Keep quiet, the students began silently disassembling the textbooks. Yesterday's cross around the Forbidden Forest was enough to make you realize that the new teacher won't be joking.

* * * * * * *

"Do you think, Albus," Professor McGonnagal turned away from the window, "isn't he too cruel to them?"
That you, Minerva, have nothing to worry about. Look, it's only been two weeks, what are the results? Even Snape is happy, isn't he, Zlodeus?
A man whose efforts this trinity has not been saving the world for two weeks is worthy of admiration.
Yes, but his strange outfits are out of line. And why, tell me, wash the floor in the dining room, if the houses did it perfectly?
But notice, Minerva, it works much better than our scores.
- But why is he making them...
- Heh-heh, don't make the service look like honey.
Looks like Mr. Zaikin has found a faithful imitator in you, Snape.
- Of course. Can I not admire a man who, without any magic, has managed to do what I have not been able to do for a good decade, using all my art? By the way, the floor in the dining room became noticeably cleaner.
- But what will the parents say?
- Parents? My parents will thank me, I am sure.

* * * * * * *

- Boys! Time to get up!
- Oh, come on.
- Pa-a-a-d-o-m! Forty seconds for personal hygiene and bed dressing! Building in the yard, keep your ears open! Time's up! “Arthur, what are they doing?” asked Mrs. Weasley, bewildered as Fred, George, and Ron popped out into the snowy yard.
"Don't worry, dear," Mr. Weasley gazed at the stopwatch, the new teacher gave them a vacation assignment. They have to get up, brush their teeth, make their beds and squish around the yard four times until this arrow makes two circles.
- But why?
- I don't know, darling. That's right.
- They've changed so much this semester. No explosions, no biting spoons, no creeping ears. You know, they cleaned the fireplace last night. All the toothbrushes disappeared from the house.
- Mr. Weasley turned the long scroll. - Yeah, okay. Company, smyrna-ah! Start cleaning up!
With her eyes rounded with amazement, Mrs. Weasley watched as her sons, in their underpants and boots alone, cheerfully worked with large plywood shovels. The snow that fell from yesterday nullified all their efforts, which did not diminish their enthusiasm. When she woke up from the stupor, she still remembered about breakfast and went to the house. And was almost not surprised when in the kitchen her youngest daughter, introducing herself as a diary, reported that everything was well in the entrusted part, there were no incidents, the company was busy, according to the routine.

* * * * * * *

From the letter:
“...and we will always welcome you to our humble home. Dear Pasha, let me call you that, it is hard to overestimate all that you have done for our family. Fred, George and Ron are all about you. The only thing I have to say is, "Pasha won't like it," is that they're right there.

* * * * * * *

- Well, comrade cadets, the export program was all successful. Most of you flew out on your own, some even mastered aerobatics in the zone. It is possible to start combat use.
In the evening, the elders will hand out a schedule of individual classes.
- What about Quidditch? - Involuntarily escaped from Harry.
- Forget Quidditch, Potter.
- What? - In amazement, the whole system gasped. How?
“We’re going to have another game now,” the comet continued merrily, “and I guarantee you’ll like it.” Quidditch is a childhood. Turtles. Now you will be playing a serious game. A real one.
- What? Potter looked at the teacher in all his eyes, he did not doubt for a second that Pasha came up with the best game in the world.
- Kuban floor. You ready, Harry?

Episode three. If there's a war tomorrow.

Hogwarts, 199.

Training metlomaran slowly, circles dialed a given echelon. Sitting on the tail beam, Ron tried his best to make sure that at least from the ground it was not visible how he was shaking. I wanted this to end quickly.
- Fertigmahan! - The flank stick lit up with a green light and began to make a nasty grinding sound. Ron lifted up and, as expected, applied a stick to the left side of his chest.
- Comedian Adandare!
With a smooth push, Ron was thrown into the void. With barely audible rustle flashed the rods of tail plumage. Time! With a sharp movement, Ron took the stick away from his chest, raised his hands up and shouted from all his urine: “reparative catapultamento!” Two small brooms passed through the sleeves, and chatted cheerfully overhead.

* * * * * * *

- Well?
- Harry! It's -- it's -- the breathless and happy Ron couldn't say a word.
- What did I say, huh? Harry cheerfully slapped a friend on the shoulder. And you say, "Oh, it won't open, oh, I'll kill myself." Well, now come on, you'll go with a checkout on Monday.

* * * * * * *

- Broom sports and aerobatic, model 12. - Drummed Ron under his nose, diligently driving a pen, - manual on exploitation. Laying of the VSP-12 is made by packing from the inside with a pole forward into the sleeves so that the V-shaped mark on the 16 tail rod coincides with ... Where's Hermione?
Like where, Harry chuckled, in the toilet. She was sent "Fundamentals of Magodynamics" yesterday, so we won't see her for three days.

* * * * * * *

"Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three ..." as the enchanted Ron thought, looking at a broom circling in the dim sky.
- What does he not bring out? - Hermione agitated.
- What doesn't?! All of a sudden Potter got furious, I told you that the center was fucked! And you fought like sheep...
"Oh, trouble," Ogrid worried, "someone can kill himself."
- Well, maybe he can.
- Zaikin! - spread over the whole Hogwarts reinforced magophone voice Dumbledorr, - leave the broom!
“Thirty-eight, thirty-nine,” Ron continued to count.
- Pasha! Pasha! - Harry shouted desperately, - Pasha! Pull the balls!
It was as if Pasha had heard the desperate cry of his beloved disciple. On the forty-third turn, a dark lump separated from the broom and went to the ground with a stone. A moment later, everyone was relieved to see how two small snowballs jumped out of the pilot’s sleeves, sank and stood tightly in the stream, taking on the weight of the rescued pilot. The broom that was freed went down a long and beautiful arc and disappeared over the horizon. The deaf blow coincided with a general cry of jubilation. Pasha was seen as coming from the dead.

* * * * * * *

From the report:

" is necessary:
- bring the centering to 37.5% of CAC;
improve transverse stability on turns;
Eliminate magodynamic shading of the 12th, 27th, 164th and 571st tail bars;
- indicate to the manufacturer the quality of polishing broomstick;
- to ensure fast fast fastening of stirrings in an inverted position;
- eliminate vibration of the node attachment of tail bars to the broomstick.

In general, the model corresponds to the stated LTX. Subject to the elimination of these shortcomings, recommend to launch into serial production.

* * * * * * *

“Okay, there’s no wind,” Ron lazily stretched out, watching the first-graders fall out of the former Quidditch field of Grand Ulet.
“Yeah,” he threw Harry without opening his eyes, “the first-handers are the same.” Someone's gonna get on the wheel, and someone's gonna fly off on the Sticky Willow.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, o You'd rather feel sorry for yourself, Potter.
“He has nothing to feel sorry for himself, Malfoy,” Hermione cut off, “unlike you, he can jump.”
- Oh, yes! - laughed Draco, - this is a very important skill if you have to fly in such coffins - and Malfoy waved his hand towards the caponiers of Griffindor, where there were such familiar and relatives, but, alas, but hopelessly outdated and worn Granatines. My dad laughed for a long time when he found out how old you are here showing the wonders of aerobatics.
“Your father, Draco,” the barely restraining Harry, strained through his teeth, “cannot tell a pilot from a strategist.” And he can laugh as much as he wants.
- You have outdated information, Potter. My dad is no better at this than your favorite Pasha. At least he didn't wait for your craftsmen to... Ha-ha-ha... will improve the quality of polishing broomstick... Gi-gi-gi. He has already decided the issue of matchmaking for the entire Slytherin Geshwader. So, practice jumping, Potter, practice. See you in the sky, your chosen one.
- Anyway, Malfoy, I will make you at least in boom-zoom, even in dogfite. - Harry boiled, if you were on Huberflugbessen!
- Take it higher, Potter - there was no limit to Malfoy's jubilation - my father did not stint on Staubyagdsturmkampfflugsugshauger.
Yeah, yeah. Ron was scratching in the back of his head looking at Malfoy’s receding back, Staubshauger is cool.

* * * * * * *

And this, Mr. Weasley, with apparent effort, hauled out of the drawer something large and angular, wrapped in oiled paper, which I bought in Southampton from a very strange mug. He went around and molested everyone with that hardware, so I couldn't resist it.
- What's that?
- I don't know, and nobody knows. And even Harry, who has lived with muggles for so many years, has nothing to say about why it could be used. Can you, Pasha, help me? and Mr. Weasley pulled the bundle by the edge. There was something black and shiny. Unbelieving his eyes, the former comet in impatience grabbed the package and tore the paper.
- Berezin! - Zaikin whispered reverently and carefully put the machine gun on the table.

* * * * * * *

Standing his feet against the grass, Harry braked his broom on the white line and pulled his glasses over his eyes.
- I'm fifty-three, please start.
“Fifty-three, I allow the start,” Hermione’s voice sounded in his ear. Come on, Harry!
New broom slightly unusual cone shape, sharply fell off the start and, after a short run, a candle soared into the sky.
Barely waiting for the end of the run, Harry, already the usual movement pressed his legs and fixed his fairing pants. Having laid a steep and rapid turn, Harry threw a broom to the other side of the lake.
- Ortungsgarat! - almost shouted in chorus all those in the control tower. Everyone already knew that when Harry is aerobatic in the zone, it is worth watching. As always, Hermione has the clearest screen.
- No, well, what does the bitch do? - admiringly beat himself with his fist on Pasha's knee, - three outfits I gave him... For that, all five. Look what he's doing, huh? Well, parasite! – and, slapping himself once again in admiration on the knee, Pasha ran to the field, where Harry Potter came to land on the first serial Brumfighter Mk-IV bis.

Episode four. The battle of the Hogvarts.
Hogwarts, 200 ...

Harry spit the dirt in half with blood, that's it, they're gone.
"Yes?" he lifted up from behind a pile of broken bricks, "and I never thought it would end."
- Exactly 23 minutes, I got it.
- Where's Hermione? Where is everyone?
- They're in the basement. We jumped into the emergency fireplaces. I think we've got it.
- Did anyone take off besides us?
Nope. Oliver was knocked down at the start, Neville crashed into the caponier, Cedric didn't make it to the broomstick.
- Well done, you got two.
- What's the use, Ron? Don't you get it? They burned all the Broomfighters. All of them! What are we going to fly now, huh? They're coming back tomorrow, aren't they? Harry waved his hand and slowly walked towards the ruins, which half an hour ago was the Griffindor Tower. He did not remove the brooms, and they dragged him, clinging to stones and twisted iron, preventing him from going. Ron unfastened the magochute and wanted to abandon him, but the order in his head was stronger. Somehow stuffing a disheveled and scorched VSP into a bag, Ron rushed to catch up with a friend.

* * * * * * *

I believe that Harry raised his voice and even as if he had risen above the podium – that on the Granatins we can shoot down the Huberflugbessen. Even the Staubshaugers.
Tom Maglaggen shouted from the spot, Zhou flew better than all of us, but she just didn’t notice.
- How, how, - suddenly Zaikin infuriated, - and as we in the 41st on the Junkers Seagulls fell, so it is necessary!
- Zhou. Harry continued with difficulty, that fight still haunted him. We never got it into her head that a leg that once fell out could cost her life. She thought it was a trifle, and here's the unfastened fairing, loss of speed, and ... Harry wagged his hand sadly and walked off the podium, but at the last minute it was as if something pushed him back.
- In a week. Exactly in a week and no later, I will shoot down the first Staubshauger. All right?

* * * * * * *
From The Hogwarts Guard:
“Bat the enemy like Harry Potter hits him!”
Yesterday at Hogwartz approached two nine Schlachtbarrendero and twelve Staubjagdsturmshauger. The vultures had orders to wipe Hogwarts off the face of the earth. But the detection service didn't sleep. Battalion magotechnic 2nd rank Hermione Granger skillfully, worked out movement produced Ortungsgarat and saw marks on the screen. As it should be according to the instructions, she circled the site with a stick and clearly said: "Engrandecimento!" There was no doubt – it was Slytherin vultures flying to destroy the last stronghold of peace and freedom – Hogwartz! But magotechnic Grangery not for nothing spends all evenings inventing new spells. Giving fighters a powerful new weapon is what she thinks about all the time. “Microhertzen!” shouts Hermione, and no one doubts that Schlachtbarrendero and the new Staubyagdsturmkampfflugshuugshaugs are flying. "Nothing," says the commander of the Griffindor regiment, Zaikin, and raises the duty link into the air. It has only four aircraft, but the name of each pilot makes the enemy shudder with horror. Harry Potter is a famous ace, the one who has repeatedly made Huberflugbessen fall into the ground, the first came out to meet the enemy. Just three days ago he promised his comrades to shoot down the first Staubshauger, and now it is time to fulfill his promise. The approach, the lightning-fast attack, and the newest Staubyagdshturmkampfflugzugshaugger, touted by Slyserin propaganda, goes to the ground with howling. A passageway, a loop, and another Slyserine ace found a grave on Griffindor land. Faithful Granatine, the flights on which our hero only a year ago aroused the admiration of the whole school, did not fail its owner. But what is it? Potter sees one of the Staubshaugers break through and go into the tail of his slave. "Ronnie!" shouts Potter, but fascinated by the attack on Barrendero, Ron Weasley does not notice the mortal danger. Save your partner is the motto of a true Griffindore, and Potter throws himself at the vulture. Another fireball hits the hated green snake, and the enemy begins to leave. But it wasn't. Potter rushes forward and waves his hand, as if inviting his partner to finish the job. And Ron Weasley finishes the attack brilliantly! It is only Slytherin aviators in pursuit of personal fame at any cost to increase their own account. No, not the Griffindor pilot, not Harry Potter. The performance of a combat mission is the main thing for a Griffindore. This is how they were raised by Director Dumbledorr, this was taught by the military mentor of the Order of Merlin first degree Paul Zaikin.

* * * * * * *

- What's the matter? Ron put his hand on Ginny's shoulder, he's been out for three hours. Yeah. Ron fell silent, he did not want to tell his sister how Harry shot down two Huberbessen in a frantic fight, but he himself became a victim of the Staubshaugers who emerged from nowhere, how he fell out of the burning Grnatina, and how the Slyserins coldly set fire to his magoshute. Let's go now. Sleep time.
- And if he comes now, imagine, and there is silence, and no one will open his door.
- Like no one. Security at the gate. She'll let him in, wake us up.
- No, Ron, you don't understand, Ginny threw her hand off and took a few steps towards the lake - a man came back from his own, you know, and no one ever meets him.
- All right, let's stand still.

* * * * * * *

- Ron - Pasha handed him a paper - take the squadron, here is the order. - What about Harry?
Had Harry been alive, he would have come back.
- But I can't.
“Lieutenant Weasley!” – the voice of Pasha’s friend instantly turned into the voice of regiment commander Pavel Zaikin – “Stop the snot!” You have been ordered to receive the second squadron. In half an hour, I'll be back for a flight.
- Yes, - said Ron. - Permit me to do it?

* * * * * * *

“So, Potter, are you saying you were hit here?” a bony female finger poked at the map spread on the table.
- Yes, Professor Umbridge.
And you say you fell into the forest and your broom fell into the lake.
Yeah.
But judging by the reports of Ron Weasley and Pavel Zaikin, the Slyzers set fire to your magochute, how did you manage to avoid serious injuries? They only set one broom on fire, Professor Umbridge, and I fell on a soft shrub, and...
- Keep going, keep going, Potter.
- Aragog found me there. In his cave, I lay down while my foot... - Potter! Aren't you funny? You want to convince me that you were sheltered and hidden by a man-eating spider, which, as you know, is not the case.
- But he doesn't like Slytherin! Because...
- I'm continuing. Which, as we know, was in close contact with the so-called heir Slytherin, and possibly with Salazar himself. Can you stop locking up, Potter? Maybe you can finally tell us everything to the end and frankly. How much did Slyserin intelligence pay you to land the latest fighter on their territory?
- Is this Granatina the newest? Any slyserine has studied it for a hundred years.
- Here's Potter, by the way. This document, and Professor Ambridge handed Harry a piece of parchment, clearly and unambiguously shows that three years ago it was you, Potter, who conducted an initial flight training course for the famous Slytherin vultures Krabe and Goyle. Is that your signature?
- Yes, mine.
I hope you understand that this is nothing but assistance to the enemy, which is punishable very severely under wartime conditions.
But I was following Professor Evil's orders! It was a punishment for...
If you think, Potter, that submitting to a well-known and sworn enemy of the Ministry and Hogwarts, sentenced to death in absentia, will alleviate your fate, then you are mistaken.
Not only did I obey, but all the students followed his orders.
Now, Potter, this is not about all students, but about you personally. So: aiding the enemy, surrendering and transferring classified information. Think carefully about your fate.

* * * * * * *

- So listen to me, bitch - Minister Fudge felt something hard and very unpleasant under his shoulder blade - either tomorrow Potter commands the Griffindor Regiment, and this fool is getting out of here at courier speed, or we will feed you quietly with the suit and briefcase.
- What do you allow yourself? - the minister tried to indignate, - you have no idea that I can ...
“Dry, nit,” they breathed hotly in the minister’s ear, “I grew up on Shkapin, there people like you were put on a choir a day for a dozen.” Anyway, if you don't want to be served Slytherin's Avada Kedavra instead of coffee tomorrow morning, you're tearing up all the fucking protocols, and Umbridge is sending you to run an overdue cloth warehouse on Dixon. Okay, mini-ster?
- Okay, Fudge responded in a trembling voice.
- That's nice. And yet the liquid minister has gone, wrong, wrong. I would try who is a fiddle with Alexei Ivanovich to turn. Uncle Winston wouldn't have bought such a cheap gop stop. All right, go, ministry.

* * * * * * *

- All right, Harry - Pasha signed the last paper - command. I went to the Ministry. I will improve the breed there as I can, so to speak, and opportunities. I'll keep an eye on you assholes from there.
- Pasha, you are there immediately about ZIP order, otherwise we have two good rods for repairs, and then everything - the regiment on the ground will remain.
There will be no bars for Granatines, Potter.
- How so, Pasha, you know that...
You won't have any bars, Harry, but you'll have 36 new Broomfighters in a week. So it's not for your beautiful eyes and your stylish scar I scratched you out of that Umbridge, and now the fun starts. We will have fun and you will not be bored.
Lyrical retreat.

..you're being chased under our fireballs by Muglov's commissioners.
Shoot them and come out here. In Slytherin, purebred wizards were always honored. Let's end this useless war. Griffindores are brave pilots, but your brooms are only good for riding old women. You are getting smaller and smaller every day. Stop believing the rotten propagandism of the Muddlebloods and the sweet tales of Dumbledorr! Harry Potter! Draco asked you to tell him that he will give you his personal Staubyagdsturmkampfflugsugshaugger and honorably accept you as his geshwader. Stop it, I'm telling you! Magicians must not shed the blood of sorcerers.

- Why are you listening to this? Ron, unskillfully smacking his dresser, pricked his finger and quietly gagged.
“I wonder,” Pasha turned and put his feet on the back of the bed, “will they put five thousand galleons behind my head, or will they stop at three?”
Meanwhile, the transmission ended, and the receiver hoarsely marched:

We have no place for cowards, for alarmists,
We're crumpling the world like a lean,
And fucking Mugglebloods soon.
They'll know our magic fist.

Fly forward the green car,
Even if we call the whole world into battle,
Slytherin's undefeated Geshwader
And blonde beast Malfoy.

Harry pointed the wand at the receiver, abstellennahsoo quickly! The receiver grunted scaredly, shut up and jumped onto the closet. Just in case.
- Ha-a-a-a spell, - stretched Pasha after 15 minutes, when the cheerful rust ceased. - You made it up?
“Hermione prompted,” Harry murmured, provoking another quarter of an hour of joyful and loud expression of good mood.
Ron, stop tinkering with the dresser, get a better guitar.
My mom is coming tomorrow, how am I going to be with these holes?
- Ron, you must have forgotten something. You don't have to take Percy's old robe and put it on long winter nights. You need to go to the OZU, and there, according to the clothing certificate, you will be given a lot of different interesting items. Some of them you can even wear.
- No, Harry - Pasha even threw his feet out of bed for this cause - he does not need to go to the OZU, because I have already gone there and put a squirt in the right parchment, which our Ron proudly calls a signature. All he has to do is stick his hand under his bed, and then decide whether he wants to meet Mrs. and Mr. Weasley in a flight suit, like an old air ace, or in a dress uniform, like a normal Griffindor officer.
A couple of minutes for order Ron suffered with a thimble and a needle, and then gave up. And the whole room quietly tightened the favorite song.

Fireball hit the broom.
And it's a mess.
We're not going back to school.
They'll go to class without us.

Write a name on the fence,
The broomstick will be demolished in the museum.
The portrait will be hanged at Griffindor.
Only the Evil laughs.

The owls will fall off the perch.
And the funerals will be carried.
Mama and bride will cry,
My friends will remember quietly.

The last verse was stretched out so lamentably that Harry involuntarily had tears in his eyes.

“Yes,” a quiet voice suddenly sounded from the corner, “and so many years ago we sat in a dugout in the light of a magzut smoker, commemorating the dead and singing sad songs.”
Harry tried to jump up, but got tangled in the blanket. Pasha had enough training to stand up as expected, Ron frightenedly threw away the plaintively ringing guitar.
“You guys are sitting,” Dumbledorr said quietly, picking up the instrument at the very floor. - Ron, play us something else.
“Sir, choking with his own arrogance, suddenly said Ron, maybe you yourself?”
- Well, ooh. Old people are always happy to remember how they were when they were young. Dumbledorr intercepted the guitar more comfortably, his fingers ran along the strings, and the old instrument, more than once beaten by drunkenness, suddenly responded with a burning elastic motif:

In the Castilian sky, a broom flew
towards death, that's the thing.
You're as brave as Chkalov, you're as tough as Zorro.
Oh, Commander, oh, Dumbledoro!

Oh, the smell of smoke, the fire,
Oh, Barcelona, Guadalajara.
Goodbye, tormentor, I won't be back soon.
Oh, Commander, oh, Dumbledoro!

I'll meet your chateau.
Hakuna flowed, matata spilled.
Death is better than captivity or shame.
Oh, Commander, oh, Dumbledoro!

The last chord had not yet been quieted, as the director of Hogwarts walked out, silently putting the door behind him.

- Hermione, I...
Don't say anything, Ron, don't say anything, I beg you. Another day, the sun will come out, and the whole nightmare will start all over again. You will lift your Granatines into the air and then come back. And we will count, count and miss counting. And then you'll fly away again, and we'll think again how many of you we won't have by tonight. In the meantime, this evening is ours, ours as a whole. Imagine that we are 12 years old again and all we care about is the Quidditch Cup.

- Jeannie, I can't...
Listen, Harry, listen to me carefully. You can come up with all the reasons you want not to take me on a mission, you can put all the troubles in my flight book you want. I don't care. I'm as good at pomegranate as any of your squadrons. No one can get in my tail but you, not even my dear brother. And so either you take me as your wingman or Dean Thomas will, you understand?
- All right, Jeannie, I'll take you on a mission with my men. But on one condition.
- What, Harry?
You don’t do anything in the first flight, you just hold on to my tail. You don't shoot down the Staubshaugers and the Huberbessen, you don't throw yourself at every passing Schlachtbarrendero. You don't even get nervous when you think I'm going to get dumped, okay?
- But, Harry, how is that possible?
Jeannie, you are a perfect flyer, you are an amazing flyer. But you're no fighter. God knows, I'd like you to sit with Hermione and string the bars. But if you can't do that, I'll make you a fighter. I swear, if you do everything I say without question, you'll be such a fighter that Malfoy won't dare mess with you.
- Harry. I'll -- honestly, I'll do what you say. - But Pasaran, my love.
- Death and destruction, darling.
Episode five. Fly forward, steel squadron.
Hogwarts, 200 ...

I don’t know what you think in your ministry, but I do know that I will not send my students to Durmstrang without cover. Dumbledorr slammed his fist on the table so furiously that the phoenix nearly drowned in a pot of memories. I won't! And if you insist, Mr. Fudge, I will make you personally take every funeral to the address. Everyone!
Dumbledorr! the minister was desperate, if we do not do this, their new Schlachtbarrendero will leave no stone unturned from Hogwartz!
Broomfighter lacks the range to fly to Durmstrang. Without cover, the Staubshaugers will shoot down our Swupdasters like on a training ground.
Do you refuse to comply with the order of the Ministry?
- And categorically.
You know, Dumbledore, you can put a stick on the table for that.
You didn't give it to me, Fudge, you didn't take it from me.
- Well, we will consider this issue at the board. Good day, Dumbledorr. I'll let you know who you're going to hand over.

* * * * * * *

- Ginny, - Harry squinted at the steering Swupdasters, - still somehow very wrong ...
Harry, either we're flying today or Barrendero's flying in tomorrow and Dumbledorr is filming. Do we have options?
But this is a new spell, we don’t even know if it will work.
- Hermione worked.
- Yeah, once.
- Well, it worked once. Well, it almost worked, it almost didn't work. And you and Ron didn't even get the first syllable.
So I'm flying, period.
- Jeannie, but...
"Your, Harry," Ginny lost her patience, "get out of here, but make sure there are fewer greens over Durmstrang when we get there." We still don't know which one of us will be worse off.

* * * * * * *

Yo, Ernie! It's a ha-arazdo better than scaring Muggle old ladies with Grand Ulet!
- Stan, don't yawn!
- Come on, Chief! But Pasaran! Hey, how cool! None of the green ones went away, I'm in awe.
- Ginny's voice cut through. - Great job! Home!
“Little ones, thank you for your cover,” Earn said in his calm voice, “home!”
- Hey, sweetie! - Stan yelled again, - you don't want to spend the evening with the hero guy, do you?
- They'll throw you a Cedaur on your way out, hero guy, it'll be your night.
- Wow, pretty girl! What kind of shit, you? All of your cuddies are nothing compared to a good line from Berezinskaya Sparki! - and Stan lovingly stroked a machine gun that already had 11 notches on it. And when they land, another one will appear.
Swoopdaster made the final lap on the target. After counting the methomarans attached to him to leave, Ernie smiled - today without losses. Over the Durmstrang Metrodrome rose fat child. Schlachtbarrendero's wreckage, blasted all over the county. Three more Staubyagdshturmkampflugzugbesen, who tried to take off, burned a little to the side.

* * * * * * *

- Jeannie! Jeannie, come on! How?
Hermione, it was very simple: Pendente Deposito – and our Brumfighters fly twice as far! Suspendo recipient also works, but worse - the speed is greatly reduced. A pendente deposit is what you need! All right, now they're dead! There's nothing they can do with cover. Hermione, you are a genius, honestly!

From the order:
“For the development of a new type of military equipment to award:
Brigmagotechnics 1st rank Granger Hermione Order of Merlin of the second degree

- Where's Harry?
- Jeannie he is.
- What?
- Well, Jeannie, don't worry. It's not the first time. He will. - Ron, how come?
- Well, you know, when we walked over their metrodrome, they kind of broke off the chain. Everyone's on top of us. Harry told me before the flight: “Don’t get involved and pull them south so they don’t have time to go to Durmstrang.” We thought that if they were planning a raid tomorrow, everyone would be on the jump. That's what happened. They rotated like karashi in a pan, and they did not let go of themselves, and they pulled back to the south. Here. And when they started to leave, there's a couple of greens like snow on their heads. And McLaggen, he's a little behind. Well, Harry just yelled at me, "Get away!" I see that McLaggen is in the tail, but Harry is not. Jeannie, well...
- What, Jeannie? What? I sent him before the flight...
“You guys, guys,” Ogrid’s crushed voice sounded nearby, “and I brought you a seagull here.” Don’t kill yourself before your time, it’s not our Harry. Oh, shit! I told you! Here he comes. Look the wrong way! Lower, lower.
And then everyone finally saw a dot above the horizon, almost indistinguishable against the background of the forest. Having made several risky maneuvers, so that everyone took their breath away, Harry with uncharacteristic negligence flopped the device on the meteordrome.
“That’s it,” taking off his helmet and taking a sip of tea, Harry exhaled. - And in exhaustion he descended to the ground.
- E-i-yess!! - shook the surroundings a loud cry, - Rock Potter!

* * * * * * *

- I recognized him right away. He yelled at Goylu, “Don’t touch it!” and pulled a stick. If he hadn't interfered with Goyle, I'd be mad. I never had time to leave. So, Goyle went off and Malfoy got hooked while they were spinning, I could turn around. I see Malfoy's on his forehead, putting a stick out. I'm a zero. And the fireballs threw everything, and Berezin shot to the iron, and the Cedaur to get into the frontal - it's no chance. I don't have time, Cedaur's a long thing. Well, here I am... Well, anyway, I shrugged off what I had to. And Malfoy got hit, and he got hooked. I think enough is enough and I'm slowly turning home. Oh, no, he's clinging to it like a tick and shuffling fireballs. I'm kind of dodging it, but I sense he's cooking me something nasty. And then I'm down, he's behind me. At the last moment he pulled out, and Malfoy ate the land, now he won't get up. I thought I'd have to, if I was joking, almost vertically. But it did. Well, I'm going to go home. Hermione, will you look at the broom? You need to fix something, something crunchy...
- Don't fix it, Harry. Your Broomfighter's gone. You're overloaded, you must have been over a dozen.

* * * * * * *

Harry was leaving the dining room with the only thought of a ten-hour wellness sleep when Hermione pulled his sleeve.
- Harry, a word.

Oh, no, Hermione, please, I'm sleepy, just dying.
- Harry, I didn't mean to. What did you do to Malfoy?
- Hermione, let me go, huh?
I will let you sleep as soon as you answer my question. Well?
Well, listen, what's the difference after all? He shuffled and shuffled. The main thing is that he's dead, and I'm still alive. And if you let me go, I'll live a little longer.
Harry, I want to know. This is very serious.
- Why would you? I did it once and believe me, I don’t want to repeat the experience.
It has to do with who...
- Yes, Hermione, yes. That's what it's all about. To bring down the Draco, I summoned Satan. Can I finally go to bed now?
God, Harry, can't you call him anything else?
- First of all, it's not him, it's her. And secondly, she doesn't care what she's called. And the blockbusters “Satan is the daughter of Voivode” or “Satan turns into the Dnieper” she also does not watch. You want to tell me her real name? The real thing. You don't? Fifteen pae zero eighteen um. Are you happy? Want more? Please. The launch spell sounds on the serpentargo, but remember, if you need it, you're capable. Schlussel auf schissen, klarlampe lyuchtet, worstuf, hauptstouf...
- Enough, Harry, enough. I can't listen to this. But I don't understand how you weren't afraid...
Who told you I wasn't scared? I'm so scared. But Dumbledorr, when he gave me the red button spell, said,
“Harry, there may come a time when you have no other option. But if you are a real Griffindore, you will succeed. However, after that, he added that he never ventured to use this spell.
- Oh, my God, Harry, my God! I'm afraid to think what other terrible spells you're hiding, and what else you can do when you're sure there's no other way out.
- Well, Hermione, it's not all that scary. Trust me, for Draco, I didn't regret myself. And it remained so, in detail - a couple of blue irons, Saddler ... I had a stiletto, but I gave it to Ron for Christmas. Oh, there's a dozen Kents George and Fred got us from their shop. By the way, if you want a couple - a funny toy, you'll like it. Just let her off the Grand Fly, a normal broom flips. And also, listen, there's...
All right, all right, Harry, sleep. By the way, you didn't have a scar when you called, Who...
- Of course I was. But it is useful in our time to have a personal radiation sensor. A little headache is a small price, believe me.

* * * * * * *

- Well, Harry - Pasha rose from the chair to meet the former pupil - with a star of you.
- Thank you, Pasha, - Harry shyly touched the newly awarded star Merlin first degree. - We're waiting tonight. You know what I mean. Or you'll come to Durmstrang with us. Haven't forgotten how to run a broom in the minister's chair, huh?
- Oh, Harry. Believe me, no, when you and I flew out on two Granatines against a dozen Huberflugbessen, it was easier for her. And now, oh, Pasha waved his hand. But after a second, having glanced at the parchment lying on the table, he ceased to play tricks and complain about the difficult ministerial life.
- Listen to me, Harry. I wanted to call you in a few weeks, but since I came by. Slytherin's about to get cracked. This is already clear to everyone, it is a matter of a couple of months, maximum six months. Tell me, is your deputy flight officer ripe for the nomination?
- Jeannie? Quite. Only with vacancies, you know.
Let’s put her in your place and you... Anyway, there's a case just like you. I'm nowhere. In short, think, consult... But, Pasha, you haven’t told me anything. And if you do now, then I feel that the neck on your words will be such that... Okay, don't pull it, I agree.
- I had no doubt. Pasha bent over the table and a little picture threw Harry a small scroll.
"Jet Swabber," read Harry's headline, what is it? You'll find out.

Epilogue.
Somewhere in England, 201...

"Well, girls, let's go," Pasha hugged Hermione and Ginny and gently pushed them towards the house. - Your falcons will be back in an hour and a half, we will just cut the salads, peel the potatoes. - No, Pasha, you go, and we will stand still - Hermione, with her hand to her forehead, watched as Supersonic Janitor disappears into the bright July sky. - We'll have time to crumble the salads.
Well, we will have time, so we will have time, Pasha sat down on a stone and lit a cigarette. You girls are not really worried. The janitor is a good broomstick. Reliable. Don't freak out.
- And I'm not crazy - Ginny sat down next to Pasha - I was crazy my year ago when Harry on this Janitor buffeting all the bars ripped. Give me a light.
- Wow! - Pasha laughed, - she went to Durmstrang - did not smoke, but here - on you. - And suddenly even a snick. I spent a long time rummaging through my pockets, then the lighter didn't want to flare up.
- I'm not dreaming, Pasha. Five years.
- I'm not dreaming either. Almost.
All right, Hermione turned to them, and really, what are we doing here? Let's go, while our men fly, we're gonna put a pint on it, okay?
- Exactly, - Zaikin cheered, - I have something hidden for such an occasion. - And he quickly and sharply walked across the field. Ginny was a little late, as if she had stuttered or just hit a pebble in the barefoot.
- Hermione, I...
- What?
I wanted to ask you a long time ago why you always stand like this, with your palm visor, looking into the distance.
You know, I'm not myself when new brooms come to Ron's division. Harry's gonna take him out. And then there... Do you remember what happened when he had three Jet Swabbere crashes in a row?
- Yeah. How not to remember. That's not what I mean. You made the best screen. Your Ortungsgarat is still remembered on the tower. You just stand there and watch a point in the sky disappear.
You know, Jeannie, since I was eleven years old, there have been spells all around me, magic wands, unicorn tails, phoenix tears...
Nobody does anything without spells. Frying pancakes is one spell, going to the store is another. To knock down the greens - ten and two only invented. The dead are buried with a spell. Except they didn't come up with any more spells to make Ron fly out on a new broomstick, and I wouldn't go crazy. So I don't need Ortungsgarat. Okay, let's catch up with Pasha. Did you buy olive mayonnaise?
- Yeah, and the grapes. Just like you asked.

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