Autumn 1993. Ministry of Magic.
"Mr. Moody, if you wish to report a specific offence, you will need to fill out a form," the tall young man in the scarlet uniform robes standing behind the counter drawled in a bored voice. "If not..."
"Why are you shoving your papers in my face?!" Alastor Moody barked at him, leaning heavily on the counter. "I've served here longer than you've been alive, you brat! And so I repeat once again: call Scrimgeour!"
"Mr. Scrimgeour is currently away," the duty Auror, who was standing in front of the furious Moody, replied, pursing his lips in irritation. "And yes, you are absolutely right: you did serve in the Auror Office. But now you have been dismissed from your post, and therefore you are no different from any other civilian visitor!"
The duty officer clearly didn't like the retired veteran's tone. And it must be said: Moody had irritated many people even before his forced retirement - but back then, few could argue with him. His position, his length of service, the respect of the majority of veterans who had gone through the hell of the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with him - try arguing with him!
But now that the one-eyed retiree had become, practically, a nobody and a nobody here, the duty officer could simply follow the instructions to the letter, as if he were an ordinary citizen. That is, with dry, official phrases, officially send the problematic visitor far away. Collect papers. So the fact that the administrator even condescended to any explanations could be interpreted as recognition of the retired Auror's past merits. At least, the duty officer himself thought so.
Of course, if Scrimgeour had been here, Moody wouldn't have been sent so quickly. Moreover, the current head of the Auror Office would at least have taken his old comrade's opinion into account - after all, his paranoia had saved many lives in the past.
True, most likely this "for your information" will be equivalent to "sending an intern for the sake of appearances". In recent years, even such loyal colleagues to Alastor as Scrimgeour have had questions for the crippled veteran. It is one thing to suspect the Death Eaters who remain at large that not all of their sins have been exposed - and quite another to doubt official justice and see a conspiracy in every move of those around them!
Although, Scrimgeour himself admitted that a couple of these bastards should have been locked up in Azkaban, despite all the acquittals. And it must be said: where has it ever been seen that completely exposed Death Eaters not only walked free, but also retained their position in society, like Malfoy, or even held positions in the Ministry and Hogwarts, like McNair and Snape!
But he valued his position too much to make any grand statements on the subject, so even if he had been at Auror Headquarters that day and listened to Alastor Moody, that would have been all it would have been.
"So, are you going to write a statement?" the duty officer asked, with obvious hostility in his voice.
"What statement to Mordred?!" Moody exclaimed again in his heart. "Some kind of devilry is happening in the Muggle world! There is almost a war on the outskirts of London because you distracted the mundanes with Black - this threatens to turn into a catastrophe!...
- Mister Moody, - the duty officer rolled his eyes, as if he had heard some unimaginable stupidity. - What nonsense are you talking! Of course, I am a man of progressive views, - the Auror spread his hands slightly conciliatorily, - but, really, it is one thing to protect Muggles from the machinations of various racists, and quite another to seriously believe that something really important can happen there. They are Muggles! - the duty officer snorted, as if explaining everything at once. - What kind of wars can they have there - they just beat each other up when drunk, maybe it will do them some good. And so, at least they will help a little in solving the real problem - that is, catching Black, - he emphasized. - And now, please forgive me, - the duty officer demonstratively turned away, - but I have a lot of things to do, don't hold up the line!
Considering that there was no queue at the duty desk at that moment, the last phrase was a clear hint that the annoying visitor should leave - otherwise he would call security. But Alastor was not going to object - he just silently hobbled away, angrily muttering under his breath something about "they will recruit from the ad" and "fucking purebred arrogants." But, despite his thoughtfulness, a joyful cry almost right next to his ear did not come as a surprise to him.
"Master!" Nymphadora Tonks exclaimed, smiling almost from ear to ear, as she jumped out of the side corridor. "I'm so glad to see you!"
"Tonks," Moody muttered, slightly grumpily. "Hello. What are you doing here?..."
- Well, - for some reason the girl was a little embarrassed. - Mr. Scrimgeour gave me the task of sorting out papers and helping with the archive before I went to Hogwarts, - she shrugged. But then, seeing Moody's narrowed gaze, she caught herself: - Oh! Sorry, I still think out of habit that you already know everything. I forget that you... that you, er... - realizing that she blurted out without thinking, Tonks became even more embarrassed.
"That I was kicked out," Alastor finished for her, smiling bitterly. "And that I no longer have much opportunity to receive operational information. Unless my friends in the Auror Office tell me," he snorted, glancing meaningfully at Nymphadora.
"Sorry," Tonks looked down and sniffed, looking completely miserable.
- Oh, come on, - the old Auror chuckled again and waved his hand. - Forget it. It's not hard to guess that you're being sent to school with the control group.
- Um... - the girl hesitated once again. - Not the group. Just me.
"What?!" Moody stared at her. "Has Scrimgeour completely lost his mind?!"
Since they had already entered the common corridor of the floor where the Auror headquarters were located, it had become quite crowded around - and the ministry officials passing by looked askance at the noisy one-legged old man in the company of a young girl in an Auror robe.
- Oh... - Alastor leaned tiredly against the wall, as if the steel rod that had always held him up had been pulled out of him. - Whatever Albus said about the benefits of fucking politicking - this is too much! - he hissed angrily under his breath.
"What?" Tonks didn't hear him.
"Nothing," Moody muttered sullenly, grabbing his crutch and moving briskly toward the elevators leading to the Ministry's common room. "It's just that I'm in deep trouble, that's what!" he clarified.
Tonks only sighed sadly at this, but did not comment. In principle, she completely agreed with this thesis. Although she did not understand what her former mentor meant by the concept of "ass" in this case.
It so happened that they went out into the fireplace room together. Stopping near the right fireplace, the retired Auror glanced sideways at the girl still walking with him.
"Was there anything else you wanted, Tonks?" he croaked, not very kindly.
"So… that's…" she scratched the back of her head in embarrassment. "We miss you, mentor," she suddenly sobbed.
"Who's 'us'?" Moody squinted.
"Well, Severus and I are continuing our investigation..." Tonks hunched her head, already anticipating a storm. But Alastor only shook his head:
"Don't shrink back, Tonks. After all, you're a grown-up girl and you decide for yourself who you hang out with and who you sleep with. What?" he croaked mockingly, seeing the girl blush. "Am I right?"
"Partially," she still didn't confirm Moody's words completely.
"As for the investigation," the retired Auror suddenly became serious, "it should definitely not be discussed here!"
Moody glanced furtively around the room full of people, then approached Tonks and said quietly but clearly:
— Remember: the first jump is Flint Street, building 9, apartment 55. Then you leave the apartment, go down one floor to apartment 41, by the fireplace there — at the address…
Having grown accustomed to Moody's paranoid habits over the past year, Tonks listened very carefully and carefully memorized the sequence of Floo jumps - of which there were three in total, plus a couple of Apparitions. It was understandable: the old Auror would rather bite off his own hand than jump directly from the Ministry's public fireplace to his home or somewhere close. What's more, to this day she didn't even know the exact address of his house, only the town in which it was located. And even then she wasn't sure that it was Moody's house and not some safe house of a one-eyed paranoid!
Anyway, after half an hour of jumping on fireplaces, running and apparating between them, Tonks reached her destination - a semi-dark living room in some private cottage on the outskirts of a small town.
"Sit down, Tonks, there's no point in hanging around in front of the windows," muttered Moody, who had already settled down on one of the chairs in the blind spot of the fireplace - according to all Auror science. However, he shouldn't have mentioned the windows: they were all covered with thick curtains. "Sorry, I won't offer you any tea - there's no point in you staying with me for long. We'll have a chat, and then you can head back."
Tonks was not at all offended by the former mentor's impudence and nodded briefly - she had gotten used to it during the year that he had trained the girl in the Auror's wisdom, that in many cases it was worth neglecting many rules of good manners. Especially if there were enemies around! And they were around all the time - that's what Alastor Moody had taught.
Taking a deep breath, Tonks began to report clearly and distinctly. Not to talk, not to tell - just to report! Alastor Moody recognized no other way of presentation.
"So I was right!" the former Auror growled, waving his hands expressively when the girl finished. "A dark mage - and most likely more than one..."
"As part of a group of people," Tonks automatically clarified, to which Moody winced:
- Girl, stop with these official formulations. Only a few months without me - and this empty bureaucracy is already starting to eat away at your brain! Better tell me: do you understand what awaits you at Hogwarts?
"Well…" Tonks tried to concentrate. "Dementors?"
Moody shook his head in disappointment.
"You know what I mean," he frowned.
"If you're talking about Snape again, then I!..." Tonks flared up, but stopped short when she met Moody's gaze.
"Tonks," he croaked in his hoarse voice. "I already told you that you are a grown-up girl and can decide for yourself who to trust . And I also talked to my friend Al Pym," here the one-eyed former Auror winced, as if from a headache. "For some reason he is almost delighted with Mordred's Snape!" he snorted.
Tonks decided not to point out that Severus had been offered a job with the Department of Mysteries, almost outright, even though she was tempted. For some reason, it seemed like a bad idea - after all, this was Snape and Mr. Pym's business.
- As for what you dug up, - the former Auror drawled. - It all confirms! Someone is hanging around Potter with an unknown purpose, and is testing his blood protection with a tooth! It's a pity we won't be able to report it...
Tonks had already learned from Severus some details about Harry Potter and the protection his dead mother had placed on him, and so she understood what her mentor was talking about. What she didn't understand was something completely different.
"But we have plenty of evidence!" the girl was surprised. "Even Scrimgeour and the Minister won't be able to simply brush aside everything that has been revealed to us, and will be forced to begin an investigation."
"Oh, Tonks," Moody croaked mockingly, rubbing his neck and glancing at the cupboard standing nearby, where the old man kept his drinks. "You're old enough, of course, but you're still Mordred-young! All our evidence, all our logic is worth nothing before one concept - politics.
- But I don't understand...
"And it's not worth it yet," the old cripple waved his hand, summoning a bottle of firewhiskey and a glass from the cupboard with a wave of his wand. Having poured himself some of the amber liquid and sipped it with pleasure, Moody grunted and explained: "All our evidence is based on ancient rituals and practices, traces of which we found in the vicinity of Potter's house and Hogwarts. Well, and suspicions about goblins. Now tell me: if these rituals are considered long-forgotten fairy tales, and goblins are reliable partners and creditors of the government, what will the Minister say to our suspicions?"
"He'll send us," Tonks frowned.
- Exactly! - Alastor nodded, taking another sip of whiskey. - And that's if they even let us in with our arguments. You know yourself, Fudge dreams of a world political career! He's preparing two high-profile events for next year that could raise the prestige of old Britain to incredible heights in European and world politics! He's completely immersed in the process of organizing the Quidditch Championship and the Triwizard Tournament - and eliminating any problems that could hinder him in the slightest.
- Black! - the metamorph girl nodded understandingly.
"Exactly," Moody chuckled maliciously. "Black's escape was, in light of all this, like a sickle in the balls for him. So his radical, and at the same time half-hearted, measures are not surprising."
"But why bring the Dementors to the school?!" Tonks was surprised. "They're unlikely to find anyone specific in the Forbidden Forest - but they could very well cause a stir and endanger the children!"
- But what a beautiful move, don't you think? - the former Auror grinned wryly. - Look how hard we're trying to catch a criminal: we've thrown a whole pack of terrible Azkaban Dementors at it. For the sake of safety, we're even ready to sacrifice the comfort of our own children! And at this time, trained Aurors will be sifting Britain with a fine sieve without days off or holidays. Of course, this is mostly just a smokescreen for our foreign "friends" from the ICM, but on the other hand, it's a completely logical move.
- What's the logic? - Tonks didn't understand, indignant. And then, under Moody's mocking gaze, she calmed down a little and said: - Well, although yes, it's not like the Dementors are going to comb the country - they'll quickly go crazy from the abundance of emotions and go berserk. They are specifically not released from Azkaban in large groups, so that they don't cause trouble among the population, and they are not very good trackers. But then why were they released at all?
"As I said: a beautiful move," Moody leaned back wearily in his chair and renewed the whiskey in his empty glass. "They used to cluster in Azkaban, now they're in the vicinity of Hogwarts, the supposed place where Black appeared. On the one hand, they're involved in the investigation, on the other, they're not wandering around Britain uncontrollably.
"Then why am I the only one being sent to school?" Tonks raised an eyebrow. "If Hogwarts is the supposed birthplace of Sirius Black, then…"
"That's in theory," the girl's mentor waved his hand. "A theory that we and Scrimgeour believe in, but not Fudge. And Scrimgeour, not too much. This is in the piggy bank of those theories that focus on the hunt of some dark wizards for the Boy Who Hurt Them, and distract the Minister from 'important' matters. It is not in his interests to acknowledge the exceptionalism of Harry Potter, and the fact that Black or another dark wizard is hunting the boy makes him exceptional. Because Cornelius thinks that Dumbledore, his political opponent, is acting through the boy!"
They were silent for a minute or so. Tonks was digesting the information that had fallen on her, Moody was enjoying the whiskey - he had already poured himself a fourth glass. Finally, the old Auror sighed and said:
"Okay, Tonks, it's time for you to go. Keep me posted on what the hell is going on, maybe I can help." "And of course, most importantly," he leaned forward, his natural eye flashing menacingly. "Remember: constant vigilance!"
Autumn 1993. Hogwarts.
The fiery symbols flared and imprinted themselves on Harry's mind one by one. Some of them resembled runes, some were connected to each other in pairs and whole chains, like Arabic script - and all of them together formed one single picture.
Forecast. A forecast for the coming night, allowing you to slip past living portraits, patrolling teachers, and ghosts in the school hallways.
Not that Prediction was necessary, given the Invisibility Cloak. But it wasn't worth throwing that line of knowledge out the window either - and given the progress Harry had made in predicting future events over the past two years, it was worth it.
"A forecast is a useful thing in any case. Not as a universal tool - with a large number of variables it is useless in itself. But as a basis for subsequent practices - just right," Harry Smarty rustled in his brain.
A smooth movement of the hand - and the symbols fade, stabilizing in their positions. They will flare up again - when it comes time to go on a raid through the school corridors, filigree bypassing all possible traps and unnecessary meetings. Even with the invisibility cloak, it was worth playing it safe - after all, it did not hide sounds. And accidentally showing a leg from under its hem was also easy, especially if they went together with Hermione.
By the way, regarding Hermione. Forecasts, and everything related to the warp and magic in general, came to her surprisingly easily and quickly. And now, in her ethereal vision, a whole string of symbols and half-formed Neverborn were already swirling around her, helping the girl in her calculations and practices. Harry himself rushed from one interesting topic to another, starting with the same magic at the suggestion of the Smart Guy, continuing with potion making at the insistence of the Kind Guy, and ending with physical training under the scolding of the Bully. Not to mention raids on the kitchen, flights on a broomstick and just doing nothing - at the instigation of the Sweet Tooth.
Hermione, as stubborn as a rhinoceros, dug up materials on classical magic and practiced warp magic, almost forgetting about rest and sleep. The latter, by the way, greatly affected her health and appearance. And so McGonagall, seeing a pale and disheveled girl with bags under her eyes, categorically refused to sign her a list of additional subjects for the third year - where the stubborn Granger managed to write down all possible subjects at once! Harry still grinned, remembering the expression of confusion and universal resentment on his friend's face when she returned from McCosh with a measly three additional lessons on the list.
"But I felt like she could help me with that!" Granger had protested. "Somehow… I don't know how, but I could visit them all! But she decided that I… that I was what?" she hissed. "Unworthy, is that it?!"
Potter didn't comment on anything then: he knew it was useless anyway. Hermione would either moderate her ardor by starting to rest more, or find a way to compensate for her physical fatigue in another way. Because Harry's method, gifted with the tirelessness of Nurgle and the strength of Khorne, clearly didn't suit her.
The boy sighed, breaking his meditation and leaning back in his chair - he and Hermione were in his secret laboratory deep in the abandoned dungeons of Hogwarts. Considering how Granger was so keen on learning new knowledge and practices, he couldn't count on her to join him in his other interests.
His gaze involuntarily moved back to Hermione herself, who was kneeling not far from him and continued to meditate, making the small Neverborns swirl around her in an amazing round dance. At the same time, she was fingering her long braid, curled from her temple and intertwined with multi-colored laces and ribbons. In Gryffindor, many began to joke about the fact that their nerd began to imitate the strange Luna Lovegood from Ravenclaw - but Hermione did not pay attention to it.
Harry chuckled: he himself knew perfectly well that this was Hermione's personal development, a kind of symbolic anchor that allowed for significantly easier manipulations with the warp in general and probabilities in particular. The pigtail served both as an "antenna" for communication with the Immaterium, and as a tuning fork for fine-tuning the invisible strings of the Universe, through which the girl manipulated invisible energies.
Harry himself didn't really need such crutches. With the power of four demons and the status of the Chosen of the Gods, albeit in one single world, he didn't need subtle manipulations to optimize his magic. Where Hermione had to juggle energy and weave multi-stage constructions, Harry only needed raw strength to achieve the same result. Of course, it took a lot of this strength, but the fact remained a fact.
The boy winced involuntarily: compared to those sorcerers of semi-divine power, from the world of his spirit-advisers, he still looked like a newborn kitten next to a sabre-toothed tiger. It was good that he had plenty of time for now - until the time came to open this world to the great warp.
"Maybe we should go play Quidditch with Draco?" Sweet Tooth drawled boredly as Hermione continued to meditate. "It's been a while since we've flown just for ourselves, and not to please that idiot Wood."
"Useless worm!" his eternal rival, Zabiyaka, immediately snapped back. "Physical training should pursue victory, not cretinous entertainment!"
"Of course, Zu-Zu, as you say ," the Slaaneshi responded venomously and continued, brazenly brushing his neighbor out of Harry's consciousness: "Well, really, how long can we sit in these dungeons and sort through dusty tomes in search of… what are we actually looking for?"
"Ancient goblin and elven rituals, my lilac friend ," Smarty chuckled at that. "Blargolag, the goblin demon god, remember him? We'll have to deal with him soon enough - and we don't even really know what to expect from him yet."
"But the elves probably had their own Gods before that Treaty ," Dobryak drawled loudly. "I'll never believe that they didn't. Such a psychically gifted race couldn't help but have patrons who would protect them from the excessive influence of the warp."
"So is that why your master still holds Isha captive?" Sweet Tooth asked casually.
"The beautiful Isha is an honored and beloved guest of the Gardens of Nurgle ," Goodfella gurgled admonishingly. "Considering what your corrupt master has done to her brothers and sisters, it is dangerous for the poor thing to leave Grandfather's domain. It is for her own good!"
Harry chuckled: the spirits-advisers had already told him this story of the rivalry between Nurgle and Slaanesh. Grandfather had "saved" the Eldar goddess of healing from the clutches of the Dark Prince, even unleashing a war because of it in his time - and now Isha was listed as a "guest" of the Gardens of Decay. Concurrently, she played the "honorable" role of the God of Rot's guinea pig, on whom he tested the new strains of all sorts of diseases he invented.
"At least now she is not in danger of becoming food for the Hungry Bitch," boomed Dobryak in the meantime. "Existence is always better than non-existence, even the most joyless one."
"It's a moot point ," muttered Sweet Tooth, but he didn't argue any further.
Harry stood up resolutely and headed towards the exit of the laboratory - he was not in the mood to meditate any further anyway. Hermione did not even turn in his direction - she would definitely never get bored with studying and the process of gaining new knowledge!
It was quite cool on the Quidditch pitch - much colder than it should be in early October: although the Dementors had been driven away from the castle walls, even at this distance they were sucking the warmth out of the air and the joy out of the souls of mortals.
Harry gritted his teeth stubbornly and began to do stretching exercises. Without magical chocolate at hand, the only way to neutralize the influence of the Dementors was movement. Movement and strong emotions!
When he had finished stretching and was starting to jog along the stands, several figures in schoolboys' robes appeared at the entrance to the stadium.
"You're late, Draco," Harry shouted to his friend as he ran past Malfoy and his constant bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle. "You won't have time to stretch your legs."
The Slytherin only snorted at this, silently leaning the broom he had brought with him against the stands, throwing off his long-skirted robes and joining Potter in his run. Soon, the combined panting of Crabbe and Goyle was heard behind them - they were not far behind either.
"I ran into Weasley at the castle entrance," Malfoy said when they had already stopped and were putting on their flying gloves. "That's why I was late."
"Can you and Ron take a minute off from your Mordred chess?" Harry winced, but was interrupted by Draco's snort:
- You won't believe it, but we can. Only I'm not talking about that Weasley. I'm talking about his little sister.
"Ginny?" Potter was a little surprised, though not too much. It would be strange if Ron, with all his laziness, got out of bed before noon on a day off - and noon had just arrived.
"That's her," Draco snorted. "She saw us with our brooms, frowned, and started to attack us."
"Command? Why would that be?" Harry raised his eyebrows.
— From the series "Gryffindor training today, why the hell are you occupying the stadium." Well, I brushed her off on the topic that she doesn't care about it — she's not on the Gryffindor team, as far as I know, right? — the Slytherin's lips curled contemptuously. — Besides, part of the team will still be present — in your person. So it's all fair!"
"Wood moved the training to tomorrow morning anyway, so Ginny's data is out of date," Potter snorted. "But she was right in a way: Gryffindor will be practicing their main trick today - kicking Slytherin asses!" and laughed heartily. However, Malfoy did not take offense at this tease.
"Well, well," he grinned. "Let's see who kicks whose ass!"
As they were already taking off and preparing to release the training balls, Harry noticed another figure holding a broom at the entrance to the changing rooms.
"Ginny?!" the boy exclaimed in surprise as the figure flew up to them, and the fiery red braids flew up in the wind.
"Weasley," Draco winced, flying closer. "I don't remember inviting you to come with us."
"As if I need your permission, Malfoy!" the girl snapped, almost falling off her broom in indignation.
They would have continued arguing if Harry hadn't stopped them:
- Oh well, let him stay! Three beaters are better than two.
"But in Quidditch…" Malfoy began, but was interrupted again:
"So what?" Potter snorted cheerfully. "It's harder this way - and more fun! It'll be harder to dodge."
"There are only two Bludgers," Goyle, a fat man who wasn't feeling particularly confident in the air, boomed nervously. "Draco, maybe I should just... wait for you down there? And Weasley will be the Beater instead of me?"
- Pfft! - Malfoy snorted contemptuously at this, but still mercifully waved his hand, allowing his friend to descend to safe ground. Which offer he took advantage of with relief.
Harry didn't tell Draco that he'd already seen Ginny in action. And that she could very well surprise - especially with a Beater's bat in her hands!
She was surprised. Malfoy only managed to dodge the Bludger, which came from the most unexpected direction, at the very last moment!
"Mordred and Morgana!" the Slytherin cursed, not at all aristocratically, when he and Potter landed for a short time-out half an hour later. "She's mad! She hits the Bludger like she wants to break it. Or someone's head!"
"Well, let's say not "someone's", but a very specific one ," the Smart Guy whispered mockingly. "The girl is already so blazing with jealousy that even the uninitiated can probably sense it. And then there are so many competitors for her beloved, magnificent Harry Potter!"
"Hey, I should be singing Harry's praises ," chuckled Sweet Tooth. "Although, it sounded rather sarcastic... But what a drama!" he exclaimed. "Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley are fighting for the right to possess our Harry!"
"Ahem!" the object of the love struggle in question coughed sheepishly. "Actually, Draco is a guy, and Ginny is a year younger. It's kind of…"
"Harry, Harry ," Sweet Tooth shook his head somewhat reproachfully. "A pleasure seeker shouldn't be stopped by such trifles! A guy, a girl - the main thing is that you feel good together, right? And our red-haired girlfriend's youth is a shortcoming that passes very quickly. Before you know it, you'll be sixteen, she'll be fifteen - and such a hurricane will start, oh-oh..."
"Oh, yes, the hurricane will swirl ," Ruffnut suddenly growled loudly. Harry did not immediately realize that he was laughing contentedly, while focusing the boy's attention on Ginny circling above. "The harvest of blades, In the sky the Valkyrie is circling, bloody, In a storm of swords..." he recited measuredly, forcing the others, including Harry, to fall silent in amazement for a few moments.
"I didn't know you were a poet, Zu-Zu," Sweet Tooth teased the Khornite, somewhat confused.
"Shut up, worm!" Ruffnut snapped back, emerging from his strange reverie. Apparently, he himself was embarrassed by his strange impulse.
A little later they decided that it was time to return to the castle. Of course, flying without supervision of teachers or senior students was not exactly prohibited - but it was not worth abusing this loophole in the rules. Although the same Potter simply brazenly took advantage of the favor of his dean, who was also the deputy headmistress. Considering Harry's success in Quidditch, she could forgive her favorite a lot!
And yet, they did not risk occupying the stadium for more than an hour. Soon it would be lunch, after which the teams of the houses, who had training scheduled for the afternoon, would be heading there - it was not worth disturbing them. And it was not worth catching their eye once again. Who knows what the same Wood or Flint would think if they saw their Seekers in each other's company on the Quidditch pitch?
"Tomorrow is the first lesson of Defense Against the Dark Arts ," Dobryak said thoughtfully and a little out of place as Harry was already going up to the Gryffindor common room, dreaming of a hot shower, a cup of aromatic tea and some kind of sweet bun. He didn't want to think about business and problems at all.
"Yeah," the boy answered absentmindedly out loud.
"Professor Lupin has been at school for a week and a half now. And the full moon passed the day before the first of September ," the Nurglite continued to whine, clearly worried about something.
"Uh-huh," Harry replied, a little less absentmindedly. Having given the password to the portrait of the Fat Lady, he slipped into the faculty common room and trudged up the stairs.
"If you're talking about why there was no Defense lesson during the first full week of school, then it's all quite understandable ," Smarty answered Dobryak instead of Potter. "First, the professor was coming to his senses after the full moon, so the headmaster and McGonagall brought him up to speed. Let's not rule out all sorts of red tape - the Ministry is probably checking everyone they come across ten times these days! Not to mention the headmaster's ally..."
"Well, yes, it's unlikely that a werewolf would have been hired as a teacher if he hadn't been one of Dumbledore's people..." the boy agreed.
"And the day after tomorrow is Divination ," said the Smart Guy with a clearly audible anticipation. "Somehow I never got around to poor Trelawney – and then, look, the Changer of Ways himself, it seems, brought our paths together..."
"Pfft! Harry chose Divination as an extra subject himself ," snorted Kindly. "So the Great Deceiver has nothing to do with it."
"The Architect of Fates is always involved in one way or another ," the Tzeentch laughed, not at all offended. "Who knows, behind which crushed butterfly, which brought us to this very situation, His shadow looms?"
They did not discuss business any more that evening: as Harry had planned, he devoted the rest of the day and evening to blissful idleness. He and Sweetie enjoyed the sybaritic pleasure of lounging on the bed, drinking sweet tea with cloves and mint, and devouring the fluffy poppy seed buns brought by the slaves.
Harry had enormous power in his hands, new allies were gathering around him, and soon a real army would be assembled! The further he went, the more opportunities he had to satisfy any of his desires, and the fewer people could hinder him. Life was definitely good...
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