Snape, returning home after another conversation with the headmaster (this time for some reason having decided not to stop by Privet Drive—intuition, no doubt), appreciated the surprise in the form of two bodies in his hallway, to put it mildly, not particularly positively. The boy had dragged Black to him and passed out practically on the doormat. Black. To him. Ugh. Well done.
The strangest thing for Severus was the realization that what had happened was quite natural: after all, it was his house that Harry considered the safest place. And he had rushed here, most likely, purely instinctively. To him... But the fact that he, the owner, wasn't home—that was very bad. He should have worked out some kind of signal long ago for cases when writing in the notebook was impossible; he was a troll for only thinking of this now. Although... the diagnostics he'd run twice (and only after that allowed himself to breathe) showed only general exhaustion, physical and magical, and that was all easily fixable with a regular strengthening potion and good sleep. So let him sleep. He'd still give him an exam on the safety procedures for using an individual portal. Later. When he and Flitwick made the alarm.
Sending Potter home after such stress wouldn't be very wise: the Dursleys had no experience with magical exhaustion, couldn't monitor it, and certainly couldn't help. He'd have to do it himself. While settling the child more comfortably, he thought through so many things... And, of course, he'd guessed about the spontaneous transformation, otherwise why would they both be here. Black was tossing about in the corridor, bound by his godson thoroughly. Good job, the boy—safety above all. Never mind, the mutt could wait.
After Snape learned of Sirius Black's non-involvement in the Potters' deaths, the former hatred, heavy as an avalanche, had receded, exposing a now-safe slope, but as a person Black remained unpleasant to him. Though Black-the-dog's devotion to Harry could prove quite useful. Who knows what might happen to him and Flitwick. Good thing Smethwyck had joined their company, promising to shelter the boy at St. Mungo's in an emergency. But if he could somehow train this dog... The more anchor points Harry had, the better. The main thing was to make them reliable. Which meant he had to work with Black. For starters—feed him and send him to wash.
After that everything went quite predictably. But he hadn't anticipated that the idiot would overturn the table and wake the boy, otherwise he wouldn't have rushed to untie him. He'd yelled at Harry, slipping into informal "you," but at that moment he was ready to simply and straightforwardly strangle Black. Well, the main thing was he'd given the child a strengthening and calming potion, since he'd woken up anyway. Let him rest properly. The boy... Pale as a ghost himself, but there he goes, needing to protect everyone. His hand involuntarily reached out to ruffle the troublesome head. Strangely, it had a calming effect on him too.
And after that he only hissed at Black—didn't lose it, didn't strike, though his hands were positively itching. And then Black said something that left him unable to remain indifferent. Moreover, he understood. He. Understood Black. Who had poured out all his canine pain on him. Again. And he'd even managed to plant the thought of service to his godson and the desired qualities for such service. Whether it would work or not, time would tell.
Black, surprisingly, finally heeded the voice of common sense and hobbled off to wash, while Severus moved the boy to his bedroom, where he'd be more comfortable. And there was a cozy armchair for him too. Black passed out on the way to them, not managing literally the last few meters—must have followed his nose. Apparently, the dog had also instinctively put his power into the transportation, otherwise Harry wouldn't have gotten off so easily. He had to transfigure a box that had held old cauldrons into a sofa, transform a storage closet into a minimalist bedroom, and levicorpus the poor fellow there. Severus Snape tucking Sirius Black into bed. Indeed. A priceless picture, for those in the know, of course.
He spent half the night by the boy, corresponding with the teacher: it seemed they'd be able to finish the "alarm" tomorrow. Should hang it on the bracelet, Harry used it excellently. And he needed to brew a concealing potion and fixative to treat it with. He looked closer: Potter was breathing evenly, sleeping peacefully. Severus set up a monitor that would alert him if anything happened, and headed to the laboratory. There was much work to do, hopefully he'd finish by morning.
Sleep, of course, didn't happen. At dawn the alarm signaled that Harry had woken, but the potioneer couldn't go to him: the potion was in an extremely unstable phase. So the boy, shuffling barefoot across the floor, found him himself. And invited himself to make breakfast. Well then, let's see... It seemed Potter was beginning to feel at home here—not shy at all. Should he arrange a room for him?
Severus came to the kitchen almost an hour later. The smells, quite enticing ones at that, were already spreading throughout the house. The boy surprised him again: Potter's signature scones turned out no worse than his own. And everything else... But most importantly, hot, strong, aromatic freshly brewed coffee was waiting for him. For this he'd forgive Potter absolutely everything today. Ugh. It seemed he'd forgive this cheeky boy everything anyway. If only he would... He smiled back at Harry's smile and sipped the coffee with pleasure.
And then Black came too, somehow completely unlike himself... Greeted them peacefully, ate calmly... And he didn't even feel the desire to needle him somehow. Had someone replaced him?
***
Harry, during the familiar kitchen work, finally woke up completely, thought things through, and felt quite uncomfortable. It dawned on him whom he'd dragged to Snape's home. Yeah. An enemy—hopefully a former one. His face grew hot. Thoughts jumped and hopped about, outpacing even fleas.
And he'd spent the night here for the first time. Slept in the professor's bedroom while he worked. Oh, he needed to write to the Dursleys, reassure them! Although... Snape had said something yesterday... ah yes, he'd written to them last evening. Oh, Dudley was a squib! Right! That meant Aunt Petunia must be at least a squib too... Well, they'd sort it out. No, today something was definitely wrong with his head, he couldn't think straight at all. He'd have to figure out how to apologize to the owner. Though maybe breakfast would work?
He hadn't wanted to fuss with rolls, but he'd probably have to make an effort... And coffee, it seemed Snape kept it right here... Hurray, found it! Harry rolled up his sleeves and got to work. Still, cooking was something that calmed him down excellently. So by the time Snape appeared, he'd already managed to take a tray of pastries from the oven, make an omelet, and set the table decently.
And then he could only rejoice—for himself, because it seemed they weren't planning to scold him, for Black, who finally behaved like a human being, well, and the breakfast turned out excellently, especially the rolls, both the classic ones and those with cheese.
***
After the hearty breakfast, the guest's eyes began closing on their own, and the only thing Harry and Snape managed to learn from him was how long he'd been a dog. Sirius told/barked that that was the only way he'd saved himself from the Dementors all those years in Azkaban. Snape only whistled, but Harry immediately clarified the rest:
"And after the escape?"
"All the time. About two weeks. I don't know exactly. I lost count..."
"Go to sleep already," Harry couldn't stand it, "it's obvious you have no strength left..."
It had been easy for him to recover after the teacher's potions, but give them to Black? Not that he begrudged them, not at all! But he was so normal when sleeping... and if he was also in dog form, even cute.
Harry shared these considerations with Snape, who in response only laughed shortly.
"Professor, why did he become a puppy though? I took fur from Злыдень for the Polyjuice, and he's an adult!" a question arose for Harry during the story about yesterday's experiments with the transformation.
"I have one theory... Shall we call guests?"
He's asking him? Harry was sort of a... guest himself. Though he felt almost at home here, but only "almost." Sometimes this made him feel strange and uncomfortable, but he hadn't quite figured out yet what else he needed. Maybe to be patted on the head, like Uncle did with Dudley?
Harry nodded in agreement, continuing to think what it would be like to consider this place his home...
They wrote the invitations together indeed: Harry to Flitwick, and Severus to Smethwyck, each in their own notebook. They promised to come, but not right away, in a couple of hours. Yes, the professor had also made a notebook for the Healer, a small one, more like a notepad, and "connected him to their network." Flitwick had then allowed Harry to observe his actions, and to say that Potter was impressed would be an understatement. The curious boy, naturally, immediately became eager to learn. But so far there hadn't been time even to sketch the basic structure of the charms, let alone what the half-goblin had layered on top of it. Oh, how he'd layered it! But Snape strictly ordered him to moderate his requests—saying he could easily burn out.
Harry remembered his own flame, shuddered, and didn't ask anything more, but figured that on weekends he could quite well study at Hogwarts, one day with Flitwick, the second with Snape. Friends? If they were his friends, let them join. He remembered Hermione and chuckled: she'd definitely like it. But Ron... Interesting, would his friendship be enough to stop messing around and seriously take on something? Well, he wouldn't drag him to Snape, fine, but he'd have to take a walk to Ravenclaw Tower. If the professor allowed, of course. Though... Flitwick would? He would!
Harry decided not to part with his notebook anymore, all that remained was to figure out some kind of belt bag. His hands had to be free, whether he had a wand or not, passes hadn't been canceled yet, and it was more convenient to concentrate attention on fingers. And he'd gotten used to it... with hands. Though with a wand there were nuances, and it was great that in this house he could cast as much as his heart desired. Well... that is, until the owner stopped him.
Snape managed to rein him in surprisingly timely—each time, coming to his senses, Harry felt simply ravenous hunger and weakness in his knees. And the potioneer was writing something down, marking things, nodding to his thoughts, which Harry very much wanted to know. But he felt shy about asking for some reason. It was one thing when they had joint research, but when they were studying him... Black probably felt something similar? He should read him that notebook out loud.
For now he'd have to work on the image in which he'd have to live at Hogwarts. The last assignment was interesting but tedious: Snape had suggested he make a complete description of the future personality-persona. It turned out that personality was such a terribly multi-component thing that you could describe it for a very long time, but still forget something. And Harry didn't like writing a lot. It was different with keeping an experiment journal. He'd like to try recording Black's sensations... No, he had to think about something else for now. Ugh... He sighed heavily and settled down to write.
***
Black, waking up once again, was fed by his godson and started to thank him, but the boy muttered that actually everything here was by the owner's will, and he was just helping his favorite professor. Sirius choked on the phrase that was about to escape and fell silent for a long time. And when Snape, temporarily holed up in the laboratory, came to the kitchen to inform Harry of the guests' arrival, Black cleared his throat, stood slowly and ceremoniously, and delivered in a completely official tone everything proper wizards were supposed to: gratitude for food, shelter, and help. Sparks even hung in the air...
Harry's mouth dropped open. Before this he'd only read about such dances with tambourines. To witness a real ancient ritual, even the simplest one, was incredibly interesting. How does all this work, huh? If Snape didn't explain, at least let him read about it!
However, the owner of the house was also seriously surprised, and if not for his spy training, who knows what would have happened. But as it was, he in turn responded with what was proper: the formula for acknowledging a guest, just one phrase and one pass. The sparks slowly faded.
"Well, well. Black remembered the ritual!" Snape struggled to maintain calm on his face. "Had to bow and scrape with him, and according to all the rules at that: good thing I remembered what to do and say. Thank you, Malfoy. If adequate Black turns out not to be an oxymoron, then this is definitely for the better! How do Muggles do it, cross your fingers?"
His musings were quickly interrupted by Harry.
"Well, if the ceremonies can be considered finished, and Mr. Black is coming to his senses, maybe we'll take him with us too?" Harry suggested.
Snape shrugged.
"Where?" Sirius asked, having recently been ready to follow his godson anywhere without a single question.
"To the living room," Snape enlightened. "If you can remain just as calm."
"If I can't, you'll hit me with a Silencio, big deal. I'm the one who's unarmed here."
"Bla-ack?" Severus couldn't help himself, practically picking his jaw up off the floor. He completely didn't expect such behavior from an enemy and... patient.
"Sna-ape?" Sirius saw warm approval in Harry's eyes and... was happy! But still added: "In the past you would have definitely said something nasty."
"In a dozen years children grow up, you're aware, I hope?"
"Well there. A little, but finally somewhat like you," Sirius smirked.
"Impressed. Didn't expect it from you. Please," Severus made an inviting gesture, passing into the room, that very living room-library.
"My house is completely unprepared for receiving guests, but that's how it turned out," he explained to the wizards waiting for them, primarily, of course, to the Chief Healer.
Smethwyck snorted:
"If I can work with a client in a garage, then you have excellent conditions here, Severus. You really don't mind Black's presence?"
"After he voluntarily," Snape emphasized the last word, "agreed to Silencio? Not at all. After all, this concerns him first and foremost."
"Fair. And you've already buried the hatchet?" Flitwick inquired.
"Burying hatchets, playing Indians... I think I grew up long ago, Filius."
Black could only move his eyes fast enough from one speaker to another. They clearly had known each other well for a long time. They... were friends? Quite a company. A teacher, a former student—of course, and he'd heard legends about Smethwyck even as a youth. Well then. He wanted to be... grown up too. Catching himself with that thought, he didn't believe himself. But the thought was there. Completely bright and clear. It seemed he was envious... Horror. Nonsense.
And everyone else was already watching Harry's memories of his transformations. Sirius thought he'd die of shame, but surprisingly no one even tried to laugh. They all emerged deadly serious, except for smiling Harry, but everything was forgivable to him...
"What theories, colleagues?"
"Consciousness rollback to childhood, I suppose. If you estimate the puppy's age, then at that moment Sirius was... fourteen or fifteen years old. Now, I think, when transforming he'll be much more adult."
"Is that a compliment?" Black was astonished and immediately met Snape's puzzled look.
"It's a statement of fact," the latter arched an eyebrow... How that facial expression of his infuriated Sirius! And... why doesn't it infuriate him now? Could "guest-host" really work like that?
"It's a pleasure to observe you, Mr. Black," Flitwick smiled at him. "Will you allow me to dispel your doubts?"
"About what?"
Thinking today was much easier, but he already felt tired.
"There was a lot of interesting things layered on you... Actually, some still remains. I took the trouble to remove a couple of things, there, in the garage, they were really interfering," the professor enlightened him.
"And what was it?"
"Aggression, tied to our respected host. And a mental block on cause-and-effect relationships. A very strange block, I tell you. And an old combination, they don't do such things now. Such things were widespread in the era of the ill-remembered Inquisition among wizards wishing to send their enemies or competitors to the stake, and quickly."
"How did it work?" Snape was already writing.
"The client became sort of possessed, as soon as the irritant caught their eye. It very much resembled obsession."
"Wow," Harry marveled. Yes, there was definitely some possession in his godfather. What an accurate word.
"Indeed, back then such people went straight to the stake."
"And now such a client calmly goes to a psychiatric clinic. And I can surprise you: Muggles manage to find ways to counteract it in about half the cases."
"Surprised. How?"
"Medicine. The same potions, but without magic, of course. Procedures. True, not always pleasant and sometimes quite cruel, but effective."
Sirius struggled to gather his spreading thoughts. He remembered how he'd start shaking the moment he saw Snape. Had he become obsessed with him then? He'd never thought about the reasons, but they should have existed!
And this morning—and in general lately—he felt as if it wasn't Snape at all. Even his throwing himself at him yesterday happened under the influence of something entirely different from the rage he'd known since childhood.
As if it wasn't Snape, but a completely different person under Polyjuice, whom Sirius knew and calmly tolerated looking like this—what could you do, if it was needed for some reason. He closed his eyes again, surrendering to memories. Voices reached him as if through a thick layer of cotton.
Though the Dursleys tried to fatten up the dog, he was still far from recovery. And he had to somehow decide where to live: using Snape's hospitality was somewhat uncomfortable. Returning to animagus form...
Harry had suggested it, but by how Black paled and shuddered, everything was clear without words: he was simply afraid to transform back.
"Look at him, Black is asleep again!"
"Harry, will you levitate him?"
"Yes, Azkaban isn't a resort. He needs at least three months to recover, if not six, and what do you think, Hippocrates?"
"Oh! Excellent idea, Filius! I'll contact a colleague this evening. Do you think our client can handle a Belgian clinic?"
"If he manages to extract the Black inheritance from the goblins, certainly."
"Why extract? They have branches all over Europe, all he has to do is request a transfer of funds. We need to think about how to transport him without bothering the Auror office and other our, hmm, respected structures..."
"Polyjuice then! Send a lady with a parrot," Harry, as always, was creative.
"Who will be the lady, colleagues?" Flitwick picked up the joke.
Finally everyone agreed to turn Black into a turtle and send him via Floo Network as ordinary luggage, but Black himself no longer cared.
***
While Harry was tucking his godfather in for the night, the adults vigorously discussed the phenomenon of consciousness age influence when using the new modified Polyjuice Potion on the age of the animagus form, or rather, transformation form. But they only came to the conclusion that this question needed to be studied, though it was very difficult: besides Black, they wouldn't find such test subjects even with a candle in daylight.
When Harry returned from the room, or rather, the closet converted into a bedroom, his questions poured onto the adults in an endless stream. But he started with the most important thing. After all, he'd seen how Black didn't want to transform back, and had drawn his conclusion. He didn't wish his wayward godfather any harm.
"What if you drink Polyjuice with a particle of an animal in human form?"
"They tried to practice that. The last time someone risked it was one failing student, if my memory serves me, exactly thirty years ago," Flitwick recalled. He generally knew masses of stories and could justifiably take pride in his memory. "He received an inheritance and went... carousing. For insane money he bought a phoenix feather from old Ollivander, and ordered the Polyjuice base from Slughorn himself."
"And?"
"The cremation went quickly, along with his laboratory... Fortunately it was fifty meters from the house, the family survived."
"What if not so extreme? That is, not take a phoenix feather, but just a bird, not magical?"
Smethwyck answered him:
"According to available data, almost all such cases ended fatally, with the exception of two when young wizards still pulled through. They came to us with transformed heads, one client was in feathers and with a beak—the most complex case, by the way. The second was a girl with a dog's head and tail, she was brought back to normal much faster. So the treatment methodology is generally worked out. But since then, it seems, most have finally realized that the seemingly easy way to become an Animagus in reality turns out to be suicide."
Harry remembered half-cat Hermione and shuddered.
"Were they already Animagi? Those who survived? Or did they become ones later?"
"The half-hawk was. Otherwise we wouldn't have saved him. But the half-dog after six months passed registration at the Ministry: she learned. No, we won't be doing anything like that. With anyone, even if a volunteer appears."
Harry almost told about Hermione, Snape's look stopped him. Aha, so Hogwarts hides what sometimes happens in the hospital wing. I see. By the way... How could cat and human hair even be confused? They're completely different... Something's not right here.
"What if into another person, for example into me? Then he could live with the Dursleys!"
"Only if you never appear simultaneously on the street, opposite windows, open or ajar doors, fireplace openings and mirrors."
"O-oh..."
"It's not simple, Harry."
"Yes, I understand," he sighed disappointedly. And immediately beamed. "What if into you?"
Severus momentarily lost the power of speech. And then he very much wanted to see Black's face when his godson made him such an offer...
***
They watched Black's memories all together. The real traitor was now known, and Snape was ready for an alliance with Black, or indeed with anyone at all, if only to catch the bastard Peter. Flitwick's story impressed him too. Fancy that, both of them had everything layered on them so they couldn't avoid that enmity. Actually, how did it start? Practically out of nothing. That, of course, would have alerted an adult wizard, but not eleven-year-old boys, which they were then. Who needed this, he of course supposed, but, for Merlin's sake, why?
Learning about the unregistered Animagi from Gryffindor, Harry snorted. Now his own question about "mandatory" registration seemed funny to him. Snape seemed to read his thoughts.
"I suppose registered Animagi are actually the absolute minority. Only those who can't hide their form."
"So I'll have to... A dragon definitely can't be hidden."
"Only if you're exposed. Don't transform, and you'll be happy. Or take an oath in advance, better yet an Unbreakable Vow."
Harry sighed. But he wasn't upset for long about not having to introduce his dragon to Draco. He'd already learned to emit smoke from his nostrils without bringing himself to heartburn...
"What if Polyjuice with something from a human is given to an animal? What if to an Animagus, if he can't transform? Could we then quickly make Sirius human?"
Snape chuckled.
"But his own parts are inaccessible... Unless prepared in advance."
"By the way, we'll need to give Black a haircut..."
"Doesn't it not matter if it's another person? The fusion will stop anyway? What if given to a werewolf during transformation?"
"I think I know a willing werewolf to participate... can find one," well-rested Sirius stood in the doorway. His godson's ideas had captivated him too, as soon as he heard them. Yes, when Harry burned with desire to learn something, it was quite... infectious.
"You're quick, Mr. Black. Please for diagnostics," Smethwyck immediately took him in hand. "Your recovery is proceeding interestingly, a very unusual regimen, I tell you."
He quickly drew several complex passes around him with his wand and frowned:
"I would put you back to bed right now."
"But... I feel excellent," Black was surprised.
"Don't you understand that this is temporary? Yes, everything's good, compared to Azkaban. You fall asleep so often, disconnecting from everything, and you think this is normal? You don't just have physical weakness and magical exhaustion, you also have a condition analogous to post-operative. Colleague," a nod toward Flitwick, "removed quite a serious nastiness from you, and that doesn't just pass either. Bed rest for at least a week. Should I take you to St. Mungo's?"
"They'll catch on... You always have suffering Aurors hanging around there. And they have many ways..."
"Polyjuice?"
"You'd better sit tight and not stick your neck out," his godson addressed him.
"Where to sit? At," Sirius clearly overcame himself, "Snape's home? After your conversation I'm ready to go back to the garage. I don't think I should abuse... hospitality."
"What woke up in Black? Could it be conscience? Or are the accommodations unsuitable?" Snape couldn't resist.
But then Harry intervened:
"Never mind, I lived in a cupboard for eleven years, so he'll survive somehow. And conscience is good..."
Black's face changed, but then he laughed barkingly:
"I haven't quite figured out yet what woke up... When I find out—I'll tell you."
It was his turn to enjoy watching Snape urgently hide his emotions.
"Well, transform back then..." he finally established his usual poker face. "Yes, will you try other Polyjuices?"
"Let's. Interesting. I'd like to fly, by the way..."
"Into a parrot or a pigeon?"
"Can a parrot talk?"
"Good idea, Black. Who has a talking parrot acquaintance?"
"What if we find an Animagus parrot and take its feather?"
"Potter... your brilliant ideas will drive anyone mad!"
"Um. I have more. Here, in the notebook. May I?"
"Harry, have you finished describing the mask?" Snape asked, catching grateful looks from the others.