For several days the Hogwarts headmaster worked like a bee, one could even say he justified his surname...
He privately and thoroughly talked with all the ladies he'd caught at the potioneer's then. As a result, each of them tried to give him a headache... Only Trelawney succeeded, but with Pomfrey, alas, he had to work: again carefully wipe memories concerning Harry Potter's health... and some other moments.
"Every cloud has a silver lining," he thought, "still, the fact that the boy finally grew a bit and gained weight is definitely good. Now won't have to fear uncomfortable questions every time he ends up on a hospital bed. And considering his activity, he'll end up there certainly, it's even strange this hasn't happened yet. However, Gryffindor's first Quidditch match is still ahead..."
Albus himself twice tried to give the potioneer himself a headache (at least in revenge for the ladies' behavior), and it seemed to him he succeeded, but... for some reason there was no complete confidence. But there seemed nothing to find fault with either. With Severus will definitely have to keep ears open now. If he overdoes something else, it might not be possible to rake through anymore.
The overall picture didn't come together. Everyone "just came for calming potion." He didn't believe in such coincidences! However, there were no other explanations. Actually... he himself had approached the potioneer for the same thing. But the school was quiet and peaceful!
Sybill sobbed as soon as he mentioned Harry Potter, which was quite understandable—he himself had informed the prophetess about her role, otherwise she would never have agreed to hide in Hogwarts where it's so convenient to watch over her. Pomfrey worried and pitied Trelawney—well, she finally believed she's a real Seer. No-o, this also needs to be carefully removed, let her continue to consider her a charlatan. Pince was thrown off by Gryffindors in the library? Well no, she'll endure! Look at that, she likes working in silence... Minerva worries about Quidditch. This is good, this is right, let her worry. And at the same time find out what her Gryffindors dug up. No, definitely no deviations.
Except Snape managed to thoroughly work over all his clients mentally... But reviewing them one after another, the headmaster noticed not the slightest traces of influence. Had the boy become so strong and grown in mastery? When? He had not the slightest conditions! And in this case he would have felt at minimum alarm. And danger emanating from him. After all, must admit, Severus had reasons not to love the headmaster. And if he became stronger and more skillful than him, then...
He didn't feel danger from Snape. At all. No, the boy is still too young to be such a virtuoso...
In the corridor, catching Harry Potter, Albus, internally tensing, extended his hand to ruffle his head and finally see what's with the scar... It was in place in exactly the same form as it was. The boy blushed, smoothed his fringe... Had to praise him for modesty, which, however, came easily and quite sincerely: a stone fell from his soul still.
Harry's fine, the block on the horcrux and some of the boy's abilities that he discovered shortly after Harry's admission to Hogwarts, intact and safe. All is well. A pity, of course, that because of the block the child noticeably lags in development and studies, but this sacrifice was worth it.
With all this, the headmaster felt: good, but not all. But what exactly?.. And here again a summons to the International Confederation. How untimely, but will have to go. The main thing is to manage to return to school before the holiday.
***
The healer who returned from the headmaster looked with surprise at a note left on her own desk, apparently by herself. At least it was definitely her handwriting, not a forgery. But what was written in it seemed very strange. And even dangerous. Could the headmaster really?.. She must check. Just not now, but a bit later, who knows what.
She didn't want to believe that some part of her memory had been cleaned, but the presence of the note spoke for itself. And she'd lived a quite long and turbulent life, so she had experience, and she had no lack of endurance. She'll definitely go to Snape for "what should be in her head" as soon as she learns the headmaster is absent from school.
Well... She didn't understand Snape purely humanly and rather disliked him, mainly for his caustic tongue, appreciating in him only high professionalism. Otherwise she'd probably often sit visiting him. She remembered the outwardly strict but very cozy apartments. And she trusted the headmaster, as... Absolutely trusted. By the way, also something to think about, not an enthusiastic girl to feel such a thing.
***
How this nastiness ended up with them, Petunia herself didn't understand... Why did she climb to tidy up Harry's room? And what possessed her to take and examine this sheet? Unless it was the article's headline. She also wouldn't mind winning a trip to Egypt, so she paid attention, wanted to look at the lucky ones. But then almost threw the old newspaper away from herself: the photo of a satisfied ginger family suddenly began to move! Brr. No, when her nephew's home, it's much easier for her to deal with him himself, not with this... result of witchcraft. She was simply afraid and couldn't do anything about it. Can't shoot at a newspaper!
Maybe burn it? Ah, if only the boys were here, they'd handle it. There's also Sirius Black of course, but for some reason she didn't perceive him as an adult wizard. Now he made a good dog. As for everyday conversations they sometimes had while he was hiding in the garage, it was quite sad there: the wizard demonstrated a development level no higher than a junior schoolboy.
And what's saddest, he didn't want to learn anything, despite periodically slipped books. Only read Dudley's books, and not all of them. About Indians. What did they do to him in that damned Azkaban... Azbu... Ugh! No, would never agree to live in a world where such a place exists. So the woman decided she could just as successfully consult, for example, with a dish dryer or kitchen stove. With the only difference being they'd be silent and not neigh like a horse about "what a Muggle she is."
Petunia was about to bring the newspaper to the stove flame but then pulled back. She got scared: unknown how a magical thing would react to what she wants to do with it. Mrs. Dursley sighed heavily, put on gloves and shoved the nastiness deeper into the trash can.
Only when trash is thrown out, what was on the bottom usually ends up on top. And here the wind also rose, as if on purpose, throwing that very ill-fated sheet right under the paws of the English bulldog walking in the yard...
***
Snape was deep down satisfied with his ward's actions: finally he gave at least some reasons to continue pouring bile on the shaggy and irrepressibly talented head, one only had to remember the additional cauldron of calming potion. Not the cheapest ingredients—that's okay, but several hours of work he could have used in a much better way than standing over a cauldron, that's what irritated. And it became so convenient to focus on this before looking toward Potter and starting any interaction with him.
"Seems you still don't really appeal to him," Hermione whispered when they headed to the Great Hall after another dressing-down during Potions class.
"You can't imagine, I recently ruined his whole evening... But I didn't do it on purpose!"
"Is this when you went to him under the cloak? You still didn't tell me!"
"I'm interested too, mate!" Ron interjected. "Need to keep an eye on that snake!"
Harry nodded to Ron and looked expressively at his friend. "And how do you imagine this—in such conditions?" was literally written on his face. Fortunately, only the one for whom it was intended understood this. Ron continued to interrogate, and Harry had nothing left but to tell how the professor still caught him. And yes, it was, to put it mildly, unpleasant. But he brought it on himself.
"So that's why he picks on you? Ah, I get it. What a bastard!"
"Ron, would you like it if someone barged in invisible, say, to your bedroom?"
"Why would they?"
"To watch you."
"I'd... I'd..." the guy blushed, "I'd get them good!"
"Well, Snape got me... as you say, good. Normal reaction," Harry sighed.
Ron only pressed his lips together displeasedly instead of answering.
Though the "external" relationship between Harry and his mentor had long been calculated and their interaction with witnesses discussed with all nuances, it was still... sad. When a person you consider close shows everyone he treats you like dirt, it's at minimum unpleasant, and to be honest, simply painful. And he still has to gather himself and be rude in response, when most of all he wants to just turn around and leave. For example, to the gallery on the way to the Astronomy Tower. The air is very fresh there.
But at received detentions life began! Yes, because of the last "disgrace" he almost learned to brew Calming Potion, that very one, proprietary, patented by his teacher. Just think, lacewing fly skins pre-soaked in moon water have such an interesting effect! Wonder if you add Muggle valerian to the soaking solution, which his aunt always uses? After all, valerian acts the same on wizards and ordinary people. For some reason these last days Harry often remembered the Dursleys and the house on Privet Drive. Wonder why? Could he really be homesick?
In thought he didn't notice how he reached his own common room.
***
"Harry, will you go to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" Ron greeted his friend who'd just returned from detention.
"What did I lose there?" he was surprised, already set to spend these weekends with Snape. With normal Snape, whom he missed terribly.
"What do you mean, what?"
"Well... list it."
"You've never been there," Hermione unexpectedly supported the ginger.
"You know how many places on earth I haven't been? Ooh. When I finish school, get my inheritance and let loose. Will you come with me?"
"With what money?" Ron's eyes widened.
"We'll earn it!" Harry winked. "That's what I'm studying for."
"You're our rich heir..."
"Inheritance doesn't last forever. I'm not going to take anything from there for travel at all. Decided long ago."
"And how do you think to get money right after school?"
"There are several options. Ron, do you think wizards would like to watch television?"
"Is this about movies you told about?"
"Not only, but by the way, yes, movies... I just need to know charms and runes ideally. And study artificing myself, everything I can get my hands on! Otherwise, just think, in all magical Britain—only radio with one single singer, some ensemble and incomprehensible news. Boring! So for a couple patents on a normally working television and a way to tap into Muggle programs you could probably go around the world several times. Worth working on such a thing? Only dibs... Let's have an oath! A real one!"
Friends swore as if they'd been waiting for it. And pondered. After which Hermione took her bag and headed toward Ravenclaw Tower. Ron also decided to go to Babbling's office, but on the way the twins diverted him, and he alone from the trio decided to still visit Hogsmeade tomorrow. And didn't regret it at all. But Hermione arranged additional classes with Professor Flitwick right for tomorrow.
***
In the morning Harry preferred to get up early and slip away to the dungeons before any of his friends, which now numbered the whole house, started dripping on his brain and dragging him to Hogsmeade. And again Snape was right. Who pulled his tongue to tell all sorts of books and movies?! No, going would actually be curious, but his affairs awaited no less interesting. And finally discuss everything that happened recently. And what he overheard... Detentions for everything he wanted were catastrophically insufficient.
His ears began to burn a bit when he remembered some phrases from the healer and his own Head of House, especially those concerning himself. Well, what they can be... in informal settings. The smile spread by itself.
Yes, and he won't go to breakfast—Snape will feed him, right?
Snape finally behaved humanly: smiled, ruffled his head, and then sighed, frowned and drove him to breakfast...
Eh, completely relaxed. Or does school act on brains like this? Really, will have to explain his absence to at least roommates! And Ron Weasley absolutely doesn't need to know that Harry isn't diligently scrubbing cauldrons and brewing potions at all, but nicely having breakfast in pleasant company with the Terror of the Dungeons. By the way, he recently shared school folklore with Snape and had the pleasure of observing a completely satisfied smirking potioneer's physiognomy.
At breakfast Snape, taking advantage of the headmaster and McGonagall's absence, passing by, in an icy voice ordered him to immediately go to detention, for which Harry was very, very grateful—one phrase got him out of all possible questions. Only some people started pitying him... Like he needs that. But this ultimately isn't important.
Hermione managed to tear herself away from new girlfriends with considerable difficulty, so looked at her friend with some envy. Harry winked inconspicuously.
***
"Can rain pour two days in a row?" Hermione heard from the door to Ravenclaw common room.
"Days or twenty-four hours?"
"Answer... obviously you know, but order is order."
"Can't, because between days there's night. But if in twenty-four hours, then..."
"Enough, come in."
"A Gryffindor in our common room? Interesting... who let her through?" some upper year Raven became interested.
"It's Granger," some younger girl explained, resembling Hermione's roommate, not tearing herself from some calculations. "She'll pass herself. Hi."
"Hello. You know me?" the girl was surprised and immediately guessed. "Padma Patil? Nice to meet you."
"Robert Hilliard, house prefect. Greetings," a tall handsome upper year rose, somewhat resembling Malfoy but with dark blond hair.
"Hermione Granger," Hermione who'd read lots of books curtsied slightly.
The prefect nodded.
"Me too, Hermione," Patil tore herself from her notes for a bit. "My sister lives in the same room with you, so I've heard. Are you here for someone? Tell me, I'll call."
"Your Head of House scheduled this time for me."
"Ah, means he'll be soon. Make yourself comfortable," Hilliard made an inviting gesture.
Hermione didn't just like Ravenclaw common room. It was ideal! First, it was quiet here, if anyone talked, it was exclusively in half-voice. Second, the room was large, even huge, so there were many convenient places for classes, separate and quite secluded. And along the far wall with the fireplace stood neat tea tables, at two of which two small companies were treating themselves to something.
"Thank you," she answered. "May I too?" she nodded at the cupboard filled with very tempting contents for her.
"Besides Ravenclaws, anyone who independently passes into the common room can. Access at the entrance is given as soon as you guess the riddle."
"Great!"
"Like it here?" the prefect looked with curiosity at the book she chose.
"Why weren't you sorted to us, Granger?" Padma, who'd finished her work, got curious. She purely girl-ishly appreciated the expression on her face and instantly understood everything.
Hermione shrugged.
"There can be different options, though I think I was simply sent to a support group for one interesting boy..."
"Ah, well yes, well yes. The boy it seems can also already be with us... Heard."
"Can I bring Harry? Thanks!"
"Why would he come here? Will he himself want to?"
"Oh, we have so many questions about Charms! And just to talk, our common room is very cramped and someone's always making noise."
"And here's Professor Flitwick..."
Miss Granger left the blue-bronze house only in the evening. In her soul splashed regret that she wasn't their student. But the fact that she finally became a real personal student of Professor Flitwick, and therefore now has access to the common room, and bookshelves and even got her own place for classes in this wonderful common room (just whee!), instilled hope and was a source of enthusiasm... Especially regarding the task given to her—Disillusionment Charms!
After all, if she masters them herself, she'll share with Harry. And he'll help her with wandless... Probably. The main thing is he won't have to rummage in his bag and look for the cloak, and if you don't have to wave a wand either—that'll be simply ideal. You're walking, walking, once—and you're gone! This definitely needs to be done. She walked to the common room dreaming of sharing with her friend everything that happened today. And invite him to the smartest house's common room—that's exactly the place where they can finally talk calmly!
***
Harry at detention didn't feel nearly as good as his friend. He had to answer many unexpected and not quite pleasant questions. Turns out he gave himself away back when he was indignant about Quidditch. He barely restrained himself from yelling that he's not an idiot to enjoy flights under pouring rain, but bit his tongue in time: for two years he'd flown and enjoyed it... Exactly an idiot, yes.
And his behavior in the library turns out was completely out of hand. And for what he arranged with Slytherins, killing him is not enough. Turns out Malfoy is still a bit... in an altered state of consciousness, one only has to mention Potter around him. No, he didn't complain himself, Snape's quoting their prefect. Need finally to understand that not everyone around is blind, deaf and can't draw conclusions. And why did Harry need to scare Professor Trelawney?..
"I scared?!" Harry was indignant. His patience came to an end. "It's not my fault she has such good hearing! I was whispering to myself. And then she started asking, and what was I supposed to do?"
"Be silent and afraid!"
"Be afraid of that dragonfly?"
"This dragonfly, as you put it, Potter, is that very person who prophesied those events because of which your life changed, and not in the best way. Or did you forget? And decided to play researcher: is she a 'real' professor? Yes, she's no professor, but she's a true Seer! And if you want to live more or less peacefully, shouldn't unnecessarily cross her path, especially with witnesses."
"Professor, may I ask a question?"
Snape nodded. The sight of guilty Potter somehow didn't calm him at all. The awl was coming out of the sack, and warning, much less canceling this was impossible. It's unlikely all his words will have effect. And not because Potter won't take them seriously: he'll take them, but won't stop being simply a boy, teenager, and demanding from him behavior worthy of a spy with many years' experience is at least unreasonable. Means only remains to think how to minimize possible consequences.
"How should it have been, in your opinion?"
"What exactly?"
"Well... how should I have behaved at Professor Trelawney's?"
Snape thought, drumming fingers on his lips.
"For starters—portray fear. Serious, not feigned—such that it becomes clear you don't even want to believe her words. By the way, weren't you scared for your godfather? Running away is really dangerous for him: Dementor's Kiss no one canceled... So if he gets caught, consider him dead."
"I... I didn't think about that then," Harry immediately grew serious.
"Shouldn't have."
"Thank you, professor! Now I seem to imagine how it should be. Too bad I refused Divination."
"Do you think you have the gift?"
"Don't know... Seems not. But sometimes something happens, like with books for example, you saw yourself!"
"That's called intuition. But it has very little in common with true foresight. Harry, we thought long about what to occupy you with to at least slightly dampen, hmm, your bonfire... So now we'll engage in returning memories of our first, then unsuccessful study."
They went into another room adjoining the professor's personal laboratory.
"Here," Snape made a broad gesture toward flasks vaguely whitening in the semi-darkness almost hiding from outside eyes a long shelf.
"This is all mine?" Harry was amazed.
"No, about half. To carefully remove memories, have to work quite a lot. Especially if they're not quite new."
"What should the term be for it to be easiest?"
"No more than a week."
"And... this is the rest?"
"Mine. And a bit—my colleague's. And anticipating your question—yes, we also insure ourselves."
"Ah... of course. What should I do?"
"Sit and relax. Let's start with the very first lesson."
While Harry "remembered," more precisely, returned temporarily extracted memories, Snape could think a bit. Particularly about how now to help Madam Pomfrey. She came the previous evening, as always, for potions for the Hospital Wing. Only... she herself opened memory to him and showed that very note they agreed on before three ladies slightly tipsy and in good mood departed from his quarters.
Poppy turned out almost immune to alcohol, means she guessed after that evening about much. And although indignantly rejected his assumption about danger emanating from the headmaster, still preferred to get rid "of extra memories" rather than bring Oath and Vow. So when she came, all he could do was give her her flask. But then...
They talked almost an hour—an unaffordable luxury for both. But otherwise was impossible: the healer sincerely worrying about each patient was ready to immediately go and smash either the headmaster's head or his office or generally everything within reach. Her vague fears about Harry Potter's health and life turned out the most real. And only Snape's intervention helped her pull herself together.
"Didn't think an enraged healer is so serious... Turns out Smethwyck isn't an exception. Should introduce them closer?" the potioneer pondered when his ward opened surprised green eyes.
"Well, how?"
"Seems fine," Harry answered and suddenly rushed. "You know, I heard some of that in dreams. And even remembered in the mornings. Over summer at the Dursleys' when it all started. But couldn't understand, the voices seemed familiar but... different? Would never have thought of you!"
"That's Filius who took care of it, his spell. But how could you remember what was carefully extracted? Believe me, I did it conscientiously. And in general... Interesting, interesting... If Phoenix tears give such effect, can make a memory restoration potion based on them... Maybe then some people can be helped."
The boy's eyes lit up. Here it is, a piece of that wonderful summer when they thought, decided and created together!
"Potter," Snape sighed heavily.
"What? Should I search on this topic? Where?"
"No, better eat a lemon..."
"A lemon? What lem... Ah. I'll pout... I'll make a sour face, there. Just don't scold anymore, okay?"
Snape ruffled the black fringe.
"Will need to fix the scar slightly, it faded a bit. Walk to Ravenclaw Tower. Especially your friend, as I guess, might be there too. And come tomorrow, I'll try to get something about phoenixes."
"Can I bring Hermione?"
"How do you imagine this? Harry, only yourself and only under the cloak."
"Okay. Until tomorrow, professor."
***
Hermione at the "Ravens'" Harry alas no longer found: she left for dinner in Padma Patil's company. But Professor Flitwick was waiting for him: apparently Snape managed to write in the notebook, so in a couple minutes the nasty scar "sparkled with new colors," as the part-goblin commented. Harry looked at himself in the mirror and almost spat. Would love to finally get rid of both scar and glasses. Though... something about glasses he seems to remember. But what?
So, in a state of deep thoughtfulness, Harry was shuffling to dinner but on the way ran into Professor Lupin. He invited Harry for tea, and the boy thought—why not? No appetite anyway.
Having looked at the unfortunate kappa the professor had prepared for the next lesson, Harry barely held back the question about what the subject Lupin teaches them is actually called: "Defense Against the Dark Arts" or "Defense Against Dangerous Magical Creatures"?
The professor, trying to hold himself as benevolently as possible, carefully asked Harry about where he could have seen nightmare creatures his boggart turned into. Well, here there was absolutely nothing to hide, so Harry, sipping tea with suspiciously familiar sweets, described in colors how he watched horror movies at the Dursleys'.
The professor nodded and was horrified by Harry's relatives' cruelty (exactly as the headmaster told him after that nightmare lesson) and offered to help arrange him for holidays "somewhere else." However politely refused to take his best friend's son to himself, urgently switching to "insurmountable circumstances," particularly "blood maternal protection." Harry thought how he'd tell Snape about Lupin's reaction and almost smiled, but then a question arose that literally flew off his tongue by itself.
"Professor, tell me... I once read... Is it true that blood magic is classified as Dark?"
"Yes, of course..."
"Then it turns out my mother, to protect me, used... Dark magic? And this helped against Voldemort?.. Can't such protection be put on all children? Mothers surely would want..."
Lupin choked and paled.
"But this is Dark magic..."
"But my mother was recognized as a heroine..." Harry tried to sob and hung his head, then altogether buried his nose in his fists. Just in case. And mumbled looking under the table: "And I wasn't even at their grave. Is there really a monument? And... Halloween's soon..."
Remus Lupin thrice cursed himself and the headmaster's task to talk with Potter. He felt guilt before the boy, including because he remained a stranger's child for him. Best friend's son... Some friend who forgot who Remus Lupin was as soon as they crossed the school threshold. No, the boy wasn't to blame for this, but... He, Remus, himself distanced from the Marauders, including because he didn't want to participate in the war. Maybe if he'd stayed with them, everything would have turned out differently?
"I'll talk with the headmaster, Harry, as soon as he returns. I... also haven't been to Godric's Hollow for a very long time."
"Is that what the place is called?" Harry decided to clarify to seem completely ignorant.
"It's written everywhere. There stood the house James bought when he married Lily. You see, his family..." Lupin hesitated. Still, he didn't want to say too much, but... the boy looked with such interest and incomprehension that he decided. Everyone's dead anyway, so his words are unlikely to harm anyone. "Your father's parents—pure-blood wizards, and they were quite displeased with his choice of bride. Lily was Muggle-born."
The conclusion the boy made literally struck the professor.
"Means I have a house? A real house where... where my family lived? Mom and dad? Why didn't anyone tell me about this?!"
Damned boy, damned headmaster, damned bad luck... Continuous uncomfortable questions! But really... why? Isn't the boy right?.. Inside something seemed to sink. Why did the headmaster do so?
From the necessity of answering Lupin was saved by Snape, who brought him Wolfsbane Potion and, frowning displeasedly at Potter, insisted it be taken as soon as possible. Lupin had never thanked Snape so sincerely. If only he'd take the boy with him too... Fortunately Harry, squinting at Lupin, followed the potioneer himself.
But after they silently walked an empty corridor side by side, Harry received only a dressing-down made in hissing whisper on the subject of safety.
"I'll write, okay?" he whispered in response.
Snape released him with a silent nod and sighed heavily.
***
In the house common room after a calm day with Snape it seemed especially noisy. Classmates returning from Hogsmeade vied with each other telling "bookworms" about the village, showering with gifts from various shops. Harry in turn told everyone how Lupin was shocked by Muggle horror movies. Which ultimately led to quite expected result: a new scary story for the night. This time Harry decided to limit himself to "The Speckled Band" by Conan Doyle.
But in the bedroom he, pretending indifference, asked if Ron deciphered what was embroidered on his clothes. He only slapped himself on the forehead and looked confused and guilty.
"Forgot? Or completely don't want to? Look yourself, you're the one who has to wear it..."
The youngest Weasley changed slightly in face, turned inside out the just removed shirt and brought to eyes. Harry watched as he frowned, climbed for a thick battered notebook, compared something...
"What nonsense?" Ron muttered to himself. "These runes seem never put next to each other... Here it's written, exception to the rule. Harry, maybe I understood something wrong?"
"What kind of advisor am I?! I'm studying with you. Maybe just show Professor Babbling? You're still only a beginner, can make mistakes."
"What?" Ron blushed. "Shake underwear?!"
"Lost your mind? Can't you redraw it?"
"Ah... right! Something I..." Ron yawned lengthily and fell on the bed. "Maybe in the morning?"
Harry bugged out his eyes:
"In the morning? You?! You only wake up at breakfast!"
"Ah... well yes."
And Ron Weasley with a heavy sigh took the notebook in his hands and got to work, periodically raising the shirt, examining, then drawing symbols he remembered.
"Ron, have your brains already fallen asleep?"
"Why?"
"Tear off a small sheet. Put it right on the shirt, next to the embroidery."
"Oh, so it's really simple! You're a brain!"
***
In the morning Harry came out to the common room early and understood he hadn't miscalculated. Hermione was already waiting for him. He managed to congratulate her on apprenticeship, was happy that now he can keep her company (sometimes, not often so no one pays attention), and they moved to discussing their "third."
"What interests me: why does he think well only in Runes? He behaves completely differently there too. Did you notice?"
"Me? Somehow didn't pay attention. In Runes I somehow have no time for that, you understand. But I'll try."
"Yes, not simple subject. Pay attention, really, maybe it just seems to me?"
"Still, what is embroidered on him? Really something... Yesterday he was so confused when he was redrawing and checking."
"Think something bad? But Mrs. Weasley couldn't..."
"She could buy second-hand."
"And not look? Come on!.."
"What if from someone she knows?.. From whom? Will need to remind him to give the paper with the copy to Professor Babbling. I barely got him to redraw it. Too bad Runology is only day after tomorrow. How are you by the way, using the Time-Turner?"
"Almost not. Only when the Head of House watches. And I now attend Divination! Only I seem to have no predisposition."
After classes was the Halloween feast at which they for the first time in the past week saw Dumbledore. Harry noticed Snape very often glanced at Lupin.
"Full moon," finally reached him. About amber-yellow eyes of werewolves he and Hermione long ago found in the reference book but guessed not to tell anyone. And then Snape confirmed.
***
After the Halloween feast Gryffindors in a friendly crowd headed to the house tower hoping to hear something else interesting and scary, but at the Fat Lady's portrait unexpectedly arose a jam. Percy Weasley who'd made his way forward almost over heads loudly yelled for the headmaster to be called.
"Is it all really that serious?" Harry was surprised and crouched. Among legs it turned out much easier to get through, only girls squealed funnily. Straightening near the entrance to the common room, he was stunned: the Fat Lady's portrait was savagely slashed, seems even scraps torn out. The inhabitant apparently hid in unknown direction.
Harry felt sick from a strange premonition and leaned against the wall slightly to the side. Soon appeared Dumbledore, Filch and McGonagall. The headmaster was about to send the caretaker to search for the Fat Lady, but Peeves, surprisingly, decided to help the caretaker.
"I know! She's on the fifth floor! In such condition, in such condition... oh-ho-ho-ha-ha! Hurry to admire before she drinks everything from that still life! Hysterical yelled down the whole corridor that Sirius Black attacked her, whom she refused to let through without password. What a fool!"
Large icy goosebumps ran down Harry's spine. For some reason he immediately believed the poltergeist. Sirius escaped... What to do now?!