Sybill Trelawney opened her eyes and saw a white ceiling with two thin cracks running to the corners. Yes, she could see perfectly without glasses... That's why she hid behind their thick lenses when she didn't want to see anything or anyone. That is, often. So now she was reaching for them, but her hand was gently stopped.
"Madam Pomfrey..."
"Just Poppy, dear..." the woman smiled, showing cute dimples on her round cheeks. "Sybill, tell me how you became so popular with students from all houses at once... and why are you so emaciated?"
"I... what?"
"Sweetheart, I thought you only had vision problems... But it's exactly the opposite. By the way, you look much better without glasses. Why do you drag around this monstrosity, dear? Okay, eat breakfast properly, then we'll talk. I'll tell you what's wrong with you and how you got here, then you'll tell me how you got to such a state... Don't worry, I won't pry into your soul. Only as a doctor I need to know two things: why you lost consciousness and why you're starving yourself. I suppose it's very much connected."
Poppy Pomfrey silently slipped out of the small hospital section: she always moved very deftly despite all her roundness. Her curiosity literally burst: where did so much attention to the unfortunate charlatan come from?
That she was exactly unfortunate had been clear for a long time. Back when Dumbledore out of the blue took her for the position of Divination professor. Excuse me, what kind of professor could this flighty one be? Absolutely none, and you don't need to be brilliant to appreciate that.
The children appreciated it, so the new teacher was periodically "saved" only by the headmaster. As a result she was tolerated as something inevitable, but far from always. Not for nothing did she try with all her might to fence herself off from everyone and everything as much as possible. But never complained. And never asked for help.
She felt sorry for the girl, but she stubbornly continued to shy away from everyone. "Can't force affection," Poppy decided then and abandoned attempts to get closer. So in ten years of work, Sybill Trelawney ended up with her for the first time. If what she did could be called work, of course... No, now the healer won't release the patient from her capable hands without finding out what's what, or she's not Poppy Pomfrey!
***
Quidditch practice began simultaneously with rain... Flying was lousy. What's more, it was unpleasant to even just be under open sky. Harry looked more and more often at Oliver Wood, trying to understand what was wrong with his head, and then began bloodthirstily contemplating how to accidentally hit a quaffle right into the tireless captain's head. Not a fact, of course, that the resulting bump would become a bump of wisdom, but one can dream, right?
And it would also be quite a serious chance that practice would finally end. Because no warming charms were enough anymore, and the glasses, despite the water-repelling spell, still periodically filled with water, and his hands began to slide unpleasantly on the shaft. What snitch, for crying out loud, just to stay on the broom...
Harry secretly activated sticking charms. Wandless magic is a THING. He turned his head hoping to at least see the golden glint of the snitch, but found nothing except gray veil and unclear shadows rushing in it. Harry dodged another ball, refreshing in memory several very appropriate bends from St. Mungo's*, and pondered again.
What's the point at all of training the Seeker all the time together with the whole team? The only thing that came to mind was that in this case he should dodge balls and other players and be ready for someone to protect him. Protect, yeah, sure... But why not play regular dodgeball, under a roof—the school has enough suitable places?
When practice finally ended, he could barely uncurl his fingers on the broom shaft. His teeth were chattering. Everyone's. Fortunately, casting charms with shaking hands didn't occur to anyone, and Harry didn't want to show off wandless magic yet. Snape wouldn't warn for nothing. And an interesting spell might come out from syllables mixed with teeth chattering! So they just gloomily shuffled to their tower, continuing to shiver and leaving wet and dirty tracks behind them.
On the way to the common room they also ran into Filch, who didn't hesitate to read them a lecture, fortunately quite short. The caretaker shuddered, encountering in response an unexpectedly grateful look from Harry Potter...
"What nonsense am I seeing," he thought and decided that if this happened again, he'd have to go bow to the potioneer.
***
"Well, how was practice?" Hermione asked in an indecently cheerful and satisfied voice as soon as they entered the common room, completely dry.
That, damn it, was a blow below the belt! Harry, from whom water was still dripping, squinted evilly, but his friend had already made a pass with her wand... after which he was ready to forgive her much. Oh no, already everything. Forgave. And spread into a blissful smile.
The pleasure from warmth spreading through his body and dry clothes could be called unearthly without exaggeration. But to her question he angrily muttered:
"Disgraceful! What can you practice under icy rain with practically zero visibility?"
Someone gasped in the common room. Seems like Wood.
Harry turned to his team and was about to say everything he thought, but looked at them... and pointed his wand forward. No one had time to react before he and Hermione dried everyone and even warmed them a bit. The team captain cleared his throat and... began making excuses. At least as he understood it.
Harry classified his captain's speech as completely unlawful pressure on conscience and too reckless riding on ears. His ears! And finally got indignant.
"I listened to you, Wood. Now you listen to me! Or I'll throw Silencio, clear?"
The guys quieted from surprise. Even the twins.
"Yes, flying is great, but in good weather. Tell me what you train when you can't see each other? Or can you? Personally I can't. Share the secret? Silent? Then what the hell were we just doing and what were we training, tell me please?! Because two hours purely for hardening in such weather is clearly overkill. And I don't agree to this anymore. Period."
"Harry, what are you..."
"Refusing to be Seeker?!" Fred and George finally reacted.
"I'm for figuring something out so weather doesn't interfere. Wood, are there restrictions on weather charms in the rules?"
"Haven't seen any. But at all matches they fly like that... I think. Though no, oh wait, exactly, I read... They put up a dome if everything's really bad."
"So why are we all suffering nonsense? Until we find a way to fly normally in bad weather, I'm out."
"You... you... have you lost your mind, Potter?"
"Imagine how many advantages the team will have during a match if we find such a way?"
"Ah... So not for the whole stadium but individual protection? Wow!"
"Need to find all possible ways. Upper years know better, by the way," Harry hoped no one would notice the irony that flashed in his voice.
Only Hermione smiled with just her eyes, but he understood: she appreciated it.
"After lunch everyone in the library!" Wood trumpeted. It was clear his nose was already congested. "And no excuses!"
"But we have the field reserved... What if the snakes climb in?"
"Let them, for crying out loud!"
"Ha-ha-ha, let them harden, exactly!"
***
When in the evening the Slytherin team, soaked to the skin and shaking violently from cold, met their rivals coming out of the library, Marcus Flint couldn't stand it:
"What, gave up? Baby Gryffs find the weather not flyable?"
Wood opened his mouth to answer, but Potter interrupted him.
"And you prefer to harden? For two hours, every time it rains? Simply shocked by your willpower... by Merlin, simply shocked! Your valiant hand, sir!" Harry bugged out his eyes, grabbed Flint's hand and shook it actively.
"And yours... Oh, Malfoy! For your unbending and indelible courage!" and he shook hands with everyone he could reach.
The joyfully neighing, though also slightly stunned by their Seeker's behavior, Gryffindor team went on, rustling some sheets, leaving behind stupefied Slytherins. Malfoy stared thoughtfully at his own palm...
"What did they mean by that?"
"Is it praise, a dig or condemnation?"
"It's Potter."
"Ah... yes. He's kind of strange nowadays."
"That's an understatement. They say our Head of House worked with him over summer."
"So Potter's like this after being raised by our Head of House? Oh-oh-oh... Will have to be more careful with him."
"Wow... How did he only not bury him? Still, what were they doing all in a crowd in the library?"
"Oh, right. The Gryff team in the library... That's something."
"This isn't good!"
"Who has contacts with Madam Pince?"
"She won't even let us on the threshold looking like this!"
"So, let's go dry off, then Pucey and Bole to the library. Clear? Malfoy!"
"What?"
"Wake up! Think of how to make Potter spill!"
"What does 'indelible' mean? Huh?"
Filch, who accidentally observed the more than strange "handshake scene," understood: he couldn't avoid Snape today. Just first he'd have to wipe the floor. And he never made remarks to these thrice-cursed messy ones...
***
The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, President of the International Confederation of Wizards at this time surfaced from the Pensieve, in which he was reviewing his own memories of Harry Potter. Harry, who changed because he, Albus, so carelessly handed the boy into the potioneer's hands.
Just think, only two months! And after this Snape will tell him about his complete absence of pedagogical talent? Well-well. But stopping his rapprochement with the professor will be difficult. Unless he gradually leads the boy to reveal the Prophecy to him and at the same time, in passing, Snape's role in this story. Yes, probably will have to do so. He'll make it so Harry understands everything as needed.
He once again mentally imagined his face, which was already losing childish features; look, even grew out his hair—is it following Snape's example? And now the forehead is covered by quite a neat black fringe. Forehead... What a modest boy still, tries so others don't notice his famous scar!
What if not the scar but the absence of scar?! Albus swayed, and his heart beat quickly and anxiously. The new thought seemed completely wild and absurd, but it was there. He rushed to the Pensieve again, but reviewing everything in a row, couldn't find Potter with an open forehead. But if there's no scar, then... Merlin help... Watch, watch Harry as carefully as possible!
"And don't get nervous ahead of time," his inner voice told the headmaster. Albus obeyed: the voice had never advised badly. With quick step he went into the neighboring room, threw open the cupboard and quietly cursed. The stock of calming potion had run out.
"Still, I have too nervous a job," thought the Grand Sorcerer and went to the fireplace to summon his permanent potioneer.
***
Madam Pomfrey was slowly coming to her senses. After everything Miss Trelawney poured out on her... Oh, how terrible to be a real Seer! Now she understood her. Glasses so as not to see faces that at any second can provoke a prophecy. Hide to contact people as little as possible. Try with all might to convince that the gift is weak when it bursts out, destroying all barriers so she no longer belongs to herself. Play charlatan... Horrible.
She'll definitely develop a medical support program for her, because this is impossible! The girl will burn out for nothing, and... soon. She reminded her of Potter somehow when he first ended up with her, but about the boy she was somehow quickly calmed by the headmaster... Somehow quickly... Not too quickly? So... Need to calm down first and think everything through well. She threw open the cabinet, took out the familiar flask and drained it in one gulp.
***
Sybill Trelawney, barely recovered from the healer's questions, felt very strange. For once she was full. And... calm. But still wanted to hide, especially from students. She hoped to quietly sneak to her tower, but Pomfrey released her only now, when everyone was going from dinner and crowds of people were scurrying in the corridors. Out of spite she did this to her, or what?
She walked, catching sympathetic looks... Sympathetic and... respectful? Merlin, still scary. She knew well: just focus, and prophecy will pour like water from an open tap. Don't open, don't open... When will this end? Fortunately, none of those greeting her tried to speak. But before almost no one greeted her, as if not noticing. Finally she reached the tower, looked around to see if anyone sees, and began climbing her ladder as quickly as possible.
Pulling her after it, the woman finally relaxed.
"Merlin... What should I do?" Her hand reached for a bottle of sherry but immediately stopped, then fell limply. Before her mind's eye stood eyes, eyes...
"Just a little, only for courage," she tried to excuse herself, but... how will she look into them later? Will glasses help? Sybill didn't know. She no longer knew anything except that her life wouldn't be the same.
She needed someone's advice... But whose? She's completely alone here... To whom can she at least just approach? Speak?
Unexpectedly memory presented her a young face: thin, hook-nosed, framed by uneven strands of black hair. He... They studied almost together, he's older by... it seems a couple years? Or one? They ran into each other more than once in Potions, a couple times he... helped her. And she? Thanked in words and calmed down. But he then gave her a new ingredient instead of the spoiled one, what if... it was his own? Bought by himself? Maybe try to repay the debt?.. What if it's not... not a debt? What to do? Sybill rushed around the room, and then like a confused moth sat on the floor and pressed on the baseboard.
In the wall appeared a tall narrow arch—passage to one of Hogwarts' secret corridors. Sybill loved the castle and, it seems, mutually. At least despite all her absentmindedness, she was never allowed to get lost. Grabbing a bottle of gin stashed for the very-very most unforeseen case, she slowly headed down to the dungeons...
***
Opening the door to a knock, the potioneer, who'd been expecting to finally see Potter behind it, felt how his eyebrows completely independently crawled somewhere up. What could this one need from him?! Snape gave the Seer an unreadable look, and Sybill felt emanating from him cold and hostility. Such that she involuntarily shuddered. She wanted to leave, but had to at least apologize for the disturbance.
"Excuse me... Professor Snape. I... shouldn't have come, s-sorry."
For some reason she reminded him of a broken branch, carelessly thrown right on the ground, with already wilted leaves, reconciled with the inevitable, but... still alive.
"She doesn't remember. And knows nothing. Absolutely nothing. And she can't be blamed for this."
"Come in, sit down, Miss Trelawney. What shall I pour you?"
His tongue didn't turn to call this miracle a professor.
"Thank you... Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you."
"Since it's already happened, finish with apologies and get to business. What happened?"
"Professor, I..." Sybill closed her eyes, extracted the cherished bottle into the light and awkwardly banged it on the table.
Snape was dumbfounded: "Do you have no one to drink with?"
"Ah... it's a gift. Yes..."
"For what?"
"You have calming potion, right?"
"Ah, this is such payment in kind. Got it. Right away."
The potioneer returned with a small flask.
"Here's one portion, unfortunately, all that's left. In the laboratory a new batch is almost ready now, but still needs some time to steep. Will you drink now?"
"Ah? Yes, if possible, thanks..."
"And what still happened such that you approached me for the first time in ten years?" Snape wouldn't be a spy if he didn't ask this question.
"Harry Potter..."
"Who would doubt it," Snape muttered.
"You... foresaw this?" Trelawney gasped.
"I simply worked with him all summer. By the headmaster's order, of course."
The further reaction unspeakably surprised him: the Divination professor squeaked weakly and tried to flee, hiding from him behind armchairs... Now she pushed the door, which naturally didn't yield. His cabinet doors, and in the laboratory too, are solid, of stained oak. Sometimes, accidentally forgetting, he himself doesn't open from the first try.
"Miss Trelawney, have you forgotten all spells? I'm even flattered. Won't you share how I managed to scare you so?"
The soft, as if enveloping voice strangely calmed. Skeptical hook-nosed physiognomy, crossed arms and just the tiniest bit of irony breaking through either in the look or in the pose. Sybill, feeling like a silly schoolgirl, timidly sat near the door and accepted the cup of tea levitated to her. Took a sip...
"Sorry... I... Potter scared me very much. You know, he seems to have communicated with the G-g-grim. Not just saw... This monster..."
"Potter?" Snape smiled with the corner of his mouth. "Agree."
"Really?" huge eyes widened even more.
"You're no longer afraid of me, Miss Trelawney?"
"Seems not... What did you do with the tea?"
"Calming potion, of course. The one you didn't quite finish. What's with your head?"
She grabbed it with both hands and looked at him uncomprehendingly.
"Joke... But what to tell her to calm her? Oh yes."
"You see, I really personally know this dog. And it's not a Grim, I can swear. Just a stupid huge dog that Potter's relatives bought for their little son. Yes, in the dark, by silhouette, perhaps looks like a Grim. But it's an ordinary dog that normally understands only strength, and specifically strength of spirit, self-confidence... Understand?"
"Really? My Merlin, Professor Snape... Oh... Thank you!"
"Do you feel better?"
"Incredibly!.. But he's so similar, so... you can't imagine!"
"Perhaps... will you allow your memories?"
"And you... Do you have a Pensieve?"
"Swear that everything you learn now will remain only between us."
"I swear by my gift!"
"Oh."
Snape bowed slightly, appreciating the power of the oath. The gift, as he'd long understood, she really had...
"I'm a Legilimens."
***
Closing the library after an extraordinarily long and strange day, Madam Pince thought a bit and headed to the Hospital Wing. She didn't smile at all at seeing in another nightmare how in her beloved library the Gryffindor Quidditch team in full composition digs like crazed shrews. To keep track of children who seemed struck by some spell (otherwise why would they show up?), was completely impossible, and she, trying to do this, almost went mad.
That's okay, but then repetition of almost the same with Slytherins... At least here not everyone came, but four. And she trusted these aristocratic children more, still more cultured than...
Oh, Merlin... How does she know what the Gryffindors were looking for? Looked at charms, Quidditch history, something in Transfiguration... No, excuse me, how could she notice, there are seven of them! Yes, each grabbed something of their own. In this section, in this one and that one.
Definitely, will need to get calming potion from Pomfrey.
***
In Gryffindor common room it smelled like a storm. As soon as Ron Weasley turned away from the cloak carelessly thrown on the sofa, a huge ginger cat pounced on it and there was a wild squeal. Ron rushed to his rat, and Hermione to Crookshanks. The rat, having freed itself from fabric folds, rushed under the nearest wardrobe.
Hermione with Harry's help barely caught the cat, and Ron finally pulled his pet from her shelter. That's when it all started. Word by word, Weasley quickly moved to insults... The rat spun as if stung and squealed disgustingly. Crookshanks hissed viciously. Ron yelled. Hermione didn't particularly lag behind but finally started sobbing...
Harry was indignant. Red indignant Ron, whom he wanted to just kill, crying Hermione... But if he sits down and starts comforting her, it might get even worse—look, they're right there, the house's first gossips... Finally shutting up Ron with Silencio, because of which he got offended at him too and jumped out of the common room (who cares!), Harry beckoned Brown and Patil to him.
"What's the fastest way to remove tear-stains from a face so no one guesses?"
And before they could open their mouths, he added:
"You guessed who needs to be told this?"
"Well, why doesn't that unfortunate rat give you peace? What did you find in him?" Harry addressed the culprit of what happened as soon as girlfriends dragged Hermione to the bedroom.
The brazen ginger cat measured him with a cold look and turned away.
"No, can't live like this anymore," decided Harry Potter and, first throwing on the invisibility cloak so he wouldn't have to explain anything to anyone else, headed to his mentor.
***
"Oh... sorry, are we at a bad time?" Madam Pomfrey smiled slyly at the potioneer, catching him with a guest.
Sybill Trelawney, who was pondering new information about what a curriculum is and how it can be composed, started from surprise and pressed into the armchair.
"At least didn't run to hide, already progress," thought Snape and opened the door wide for his colleague.
Since they'd been cooperating for far from the first year, Poppy Pomfrey was quite a frequent guest: if she came, it was on business. But came quite freely. And their relationship was not exactly friendly but businesslike and quite kind. Each was a specialist in their field and knew how to appreciate this in another.
But when from behind Pomfrey's sturdy back appeared the petite and embarrassed Madam Librarian, he didn't know what to think.
"Clever girl, dear," Poppy cooed, benevolently patting Trelawney on the shoulder, from which she almost fell, only the armrest saved her. "Oh, sorry, sorry! How do you feel? Oh, you're not bored?" she threw an expressive look at the bottle standing on the table. "Severus, are you sure?.."
"Unopened."
"Ah, payment in kind," Poppy giggled, "and I also wanted to ask for calming potion for her. And in the Hospital Wing it somehow all ran out."
She rummaged in her robe folds, and a second bottle appeared on the table. Exactly the same...
Snape silently pointed with his hand at the sofa.
Temporarily speechless Irma Pince sat down, mentally thanking the host of the rooms that he finally made this extraordinarily wide gesture for him.
"If you need it urgently, I can only offer to open this undoubtedly interesting bottle. Calming potion will be ready approximately..." Snape looked somewhere to the side, and the ladies, following his gaze, saw in the wall recess large antique clock, "in thirty-five minutes. But you can wait. And at the same time tell what happened."
"Be so kind, help the ladies," Pomfrey smiled, handing him the bottle, and Snape, opening it, poured a little into neat shot glasses conjured by his colleague. But before he could complete the procedure, there was a knock on the door.
"Severus! I know you have it!"
"What, Minerva?"
"Cal-ming... po-ti-on..." Gryffindor's Head of House, looking at the honest company of "three maidens" in Snape's quarters, slowly sank right to the floor, so the host had to bustle and put under her a chair hurriedly transfigured from an empty box.
"Thank you... You seem to not be bored..."
"Shall I pour you some?"
"Let's."
"So what happened, who's first?"
"Wood said they're refusing Quidditch practices. Quidditch!!!" Minerva jumped up. "Severus! You must know! This is your Potter's initiative!"
"Whose-whose Potter?" Madam Pomfrey became interested.
And Minerva, who knew, told—of course, "Dumbledore's version," speak of the devil. Then everyone else began gradually sharing their stories.
Along the way they consumed far from one shot glass (Snape did his best) and told much that was interesting.
At this time the fireplace flared... The headmaster choked and coughed, seeing the already considerably warmed exclusively female company in the potioneer's living room. This despite the fact that he didn't remember at all anyone ever being there besides the host himself. While he ordered in a not quite his own voice, while Snape answered, no one noticed how with a groan the heavy door opened slightly, and then quietly and carefully closed.
And down the stairs leading to the Slytherin dungeons, Argus Filch shuffled evenly down.