For several days the headmaster of Hogwarts worked like a bee. Practically lived up to his surname...
He privately had thorough conversations with all the ladies he'd found at the potions master's. Result—each tried to drive him crazy... Only Trelawney succeeded. With Pomfrey, sadly, he had to work harder. Carefully scrub memories concerning Harry Potter's health... and certain other details.
Every cloud has a silver lining, he thought. At least the boy finally grew a bit and gained weight. Definitely good. No worrying about awkward questions every time he ends up in the hospital wing. And given his activity level, he'll definitely end up there. Strangely, it hasn't happened yet. Though Gryffindor's first Quidditch match is still ahead...
Albus himself twice tried to drive the potions master crazy (at least in revenge for the ladies' behavior). Seemed to succeed. But... somehow wasn't completely sure. Nothing to criticize though. Definitely had to keep his guard up around Severus now. If he overdid something else, it might be impossible to fix.
The overall picture didn't come together. Everyone "just came for a calming draught." He didn't believe in such coincidences! But there were no other explanations. Actually... he himself had contacted the potions master for the same reason. But the school was quiet and peaceful!
Sybill burst into tears the moment he mentioned Harry Potter. Completely understandable—he'd personally informed the prophetess about her role. Otherwise she'd never have agreed to hide at Hogwarts where she was so convenient to watch. Pomfrey was worried and pitying Trelawney—imagine, finally believed she was a real seer. No-o, this also had to be carefully removed. Let her keep thinking the woman was a charlatan. Pince got rattled by Gryffindors in the library? Too bad! Acting like she deserves to work in silence... Minerva's worried about Quidditch. Good. Correct. Let her worry. And find out what her Gryffindors dug up. No, definitely no abnormalities.
Unless Snape had managed to properly work over all his clients mentally... But reviewing them one by one, the headmaster noticed not the slightest trace of interference. Has the boy become so strong and skilled? When? He'd had no conditions for it! And in that case he would've felt at least alarmed. Danger radiating from him. After all, honestly, Severus had reasons not to like the headmaster. And if he'd become stronger and more skilled...
He felt no danger from Snape. Absolutely none. No, the boy was still too young to be such a virtuoso...
In the corridor, catching Harry Potter, Albus internally tensed and reached out to ruffle his hair. Finally see what was up with that scar... It was right where it should be. Exactly as it had been. The boy blushed, smoothed his fringe down... Had to praise him for modesty. Which came easily and completely sincerely. A weight off his shoulders.
Everything was fine with Harry. The block on the horcrux and some of the boy's abilities—which he'd discovered shortly after Harry entered Hogwarts—intact and secure. All good. Shame, of course, that because of the block the child lagged noticeably in development and studies. But this sacrifice was worth it.
Despite everything, the headmaster felt something wasn't quite right. But what exactly?.. And now another summons to the International Confederation. Terrible timing. But he'd have to go. Main thing—get back to school before the holiday.
***
Returning from the headmaster, the healer examined with surprise a note left on her own desk. Apparently by herself. At least it was definitely her handwriting, not forgery. But what was written seemed very strange. Even dangerous. Could the headmaster really?.. She should check. Just not now. A bit later. Just in case.
She didn't want to believe someone had scrubbed part of her memory. But the note's existence spoke for itself. And she'd lived a long eventful life. Had experience. And plenty of nerves. She'd definitely visit Snape for "what should be in her head" as soon as she learned the headmaster was absent from school.
Imagine that... She didn't understand Snape on a human level. Rather disliked him. Mainly for his acidic tongue. Only valued his high professionalism. Otherwise she probably would've sat in his rooms often. She remembered the outwardly strict but very cozy apartments. And the headmaster she trusted like... Completely trusted. Also something to think about. Not some starry-eyed girl to feel that way.
***
How this nasty thing ended up lying around, Petunia didn't understand... Why had she started tidying Harry's room? And what possessed her to actually examine this paper? Well, the article headline. She wouldn't mind winning a trip to Egypt either. So she'd noticed. Wanted to look at the lucky people. But then nearly threw the old newspaper away. The photo of a satisfied ginger family suddenly started moving! Ugh. No, when her nephew was home, dealing with him directly was much easier than with this... result of magic. She was just scared. Couldn't help it. Couldn't shoot the newspaper!
Maybe burn it? Ah, if only the boys were here, they'd handle it. There was also Sirius Black, but for some reason she didn't perceive him as an adult wizard. He made a decent dog though. As for casual conversations they sometimes had while he hid in the garage—those were pretty sad. The wizard demonstrated a development level no higher than elementary school.
And most sadly, didn't want to learn anything despite books occasionally left for him. Only read Dudley's books. And not all of them. About Indians. What had they done to him in that cursed Azba... Abuk... Ugh! No, she'd never agree to live in a world where such a place existed. So the woman figured she might as well consult, say, the dish rack or the kitchen stove. Only difference—they'd stay silent instead of laughing like a horse about "what a Muggle she was."
Petunia brought the newspaper toward the stove flame. Then jerked back. Got scared. No telling how a magical thing would react to what she wanted to do. Mrs. Dursley sighed heavily, put on gloves and shoved the nasty thing deep in the trash bin.
Only problem—when trash gets thrown out, what was at the bottom usually ends up on top. Plus the wind picked up. Spitefully tossed that very cursed paper right under the paws of the English bulldog wandering the yard...
***
Deep down, Snape was satisfied with his ward's actions. Finally the boy gave at least some grounds to continue pouring bile on that shaggy, excessively talented head. Just thinking about the extra cauldron of calming draught helped. Not the expensive ingredients—that was fine. But several hours of work he could've used much better than standing over a cauldron. That's what irritated him. And it became so convenient to focus on this before glancing at Potter and starting any interaction.
"I don't think he likes you much anyway," Hermione whispered as they headed to the Great Hall after another dressing-down during Potions.
"You have no idea. I ruined his whole evening recently... But I didn't mean to!"
"Is that when you visited under your cloak? You still haven't told me!"
"I'm curious too, mate!" Ron jumped in. "Gotta keep an eye on that snake!"
Harry nodded at Ron and looked pointedly at his friend. How do you expect me to do this in these conditions? was literally written on his face. Fortunately only the intended recipient understood. Ron kept pressing. Harry had no choice but to tell how the professor had indeed caught him. And yeah, it was unpleasant. To put it mildly. But he'd asked for it.
"That's why he's picking on you? Ah, I get it. What a git!"
"Ron, would you like it if someone showed up invisible in, say, your bedroom?"
"Why would they?"
"To watch you."
"I'd..." the guy blushed. "I'd kick their ass!"
"Well, Snape kicked mine... as you'd put it. Normal reaction," Harry sighed.
Ron just pressed his lips together unhappily.
Though their "external" relationship with his mentor had been calculated long ago—their interaction in front of witnesses agreed on down to every nuance—it still felt... sad. When someone you consider close shows everyone he treats you like dirt, it's unpleasant at minimum. Honestly, just painful. And he still had to pull himself together and be rude back when he mostly just wanted to turn around and leave. For instance, to the gallery on the way to the Astronomy Tower. Very fresh air there.
But detentions were where life began! Yeah, because of his latest "outrage" he'd almost learned to brew a calming draught. That very one. The special patented formula his teacher developed. Imagine—niffler hides pre-soaked in moon water had such an interesting effect! Wonder what would happen if he added Muggle valerian to the soaking solution? The kind his aunt always used. After all, valerian affected wizards and ordinary people the same way. For some reason Harry kept thinking about the Dursleys and the house on Privet Drive lately. Wondering why? Could he actually be homesick?
Lost in thought, he didn't notice reaching his own common room.
***
"Harry, are you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" Ron greeted his friend just back from detention.
"What would I do there?" He'd already planned to spend this weekend with Snape. Normal Snape. Who he missed like hell.
"What do you mean, what?"
"Well... list stuff."
"You've never been there," Hermione unexpectedly supported the ginger.
"Know how many places on earth I haven't been? Tons. I'll finish school, get my inheritance and go crazy. You guys coming with me?"
"With what money?" Ron's eyes went round.
"We'll earn it!" Harry winked. "That's why I'm studying."
"You're our rich heir though..."
"Inheritance doesn't last forever. I'm not taking anything from there for traveling anyway. Decided ages ago."
"And how do you plan to get money right after school?"
"Got several options. Ron, do you think wizards would like watching TV?"
"You mean movies you talked about?"
"Not just that, but yeah, movies... I need to know charms and runes perfectly. And study artifact-making myself. Everything I can get my hands on! Just think—in all of magical Britain, only radio with one single singer, some band and who-knows-what news. Boring! So for a couple patents on a properly working TV and a way to tap into Muggle programming, you could probably travel around the world several times. Worth working on that kind of thing? But dibs... Let's make an oath! A real one!"
His friends swore like they'd been waiting for it. And got thoughtful. After which Hermione grabbed her bag and headed toward Ravenclaw Tower. Ron also decided to visit Babbling's office. But on the way the twins cornered him. So he ended up the only one of the trio who actually decided to visit Hogsmeade tomorrow. Didn't regret it one bit. Meanwhile Hermione arranged extra lessons with Professor Flitwick for tomorrow.
***
In the morning Harry preferred getting up early and slipping down to the dungeons before any of his friends—which now included basically the whole house—started nagging him to come to Hogsmeade. Again Snape was right. Who pulled his tongue to tell all those stories and show all those movies?! No, visiting would've been interesting. But the things waiting for him were just as fascinating. Plus finally discuss everything that has happened lately. And what he'd overheard... Detentions catastrophically weren't enough for everything he wanted.
His ears started burning a bit when he remembered certain phrases from the healer and his own Head of House. Especially ones about him. Imagine how they could be... in informal settings. A smile spread on its own.
Oh right, he wouldn't go to breakfast—Snape would feed him, right?
Snape finally acted human. Smiled. Ruffled his hair. Then sighed, frowned and sent him to breakfast...
Damn, completely relaxed. Or did school mess with his brain like that? Seriously, he'd have to explain his absence to at least his roommates! And Ron Weasley absolutely didn't need to know Harry wasn't diligently scrubbing cauldrons and brewing potions but pleasantly having breakfast in the company of the Terror of the Dungeons. By the way, he'd recently shared school folklore with Snape and had the pleasure of watching the potions master's completely satisfied smirking face.
At breakfast, Snape—taking advantage of the headmaster and McGonagall's absence—ordered him in an icy voice to go to detention immediately as he passed. Harry was extremely grateful. One sentence got him out of all possible questions. Only problem, some people started pitying him... Great. But ultimately not important.
Hermione managed to break away from her new friends with considerable difficulty. So she looked at her friend with some envy. Harry winked discreetly.
***
"Can rain fall two days in a row?" Hermione heard from the Ravenclaw common room entrance.
"Days or twenty-four hour periods?"
"Answer... obviously you know, but rules are rules."
"Can't, because there's night between days. But if we're talking twenty-four hour periods, then..."
"Sufficient. Come in."
"A Gryffindor in our common room? Interesting... who let her through?" some upper-year Ravenclaw asked.
"That's Granger," explained a younger girl who looked like Hermione's roommate, not looking up from calculations. "She can get through herself. Hi."
"Hello. You know me?" The girl was surprised. Then guessed. "Padma Patil? Nice to meet you."
"Robert Hilliard, house prefect. Welcome," a tall handsome upper-year who looked a bit like Malfoy but with dark blond hair stood up.
"Hermione Granger," Hermione—who'd read plenty of books—gave a small curtsy.
The prefect nodded.
"Me too, Hermione," Patil briefly looked up from her notes. "My sister lives in your room, so I've heard about you. Looking for someone? Tell me, I'll call them."
"Your Head of House scheduled this time."
"Ah, so he'll be here soon. Make yourself comfortable." Hilliard made a welcoming gesture.
Hermione didn't just like Ravenclaw's common room. It was perfect! First, quiet. Anyone talking kept it to whispers. Second, the space was large. Huge even. Plenty of convenient spots for studying. Separate and fairly private. Along the far wall by the fireplace stood neat tea tables where two small groups were having refreshments.
"Thank you," she answered. "Can I?" She nodded at the cupboard filled with extremely tempting contents.
"Besides Ravenclaws, anyone who gets into the common room independently can. Access at the entrance is granted as soon as you solve the riddle."
"Brilliant!"
"Like it here?" The prefect looked curiously at her book choice.
"Why didn't they sort you into us, Granger?" Padma asked, finishing her work. She evaluated the girl's expression in a purely feminine way and instantly understood everything.
Hermione shrugged.
"Could be various reasons. Though I think they just sent me as support for one interesting boy..."
"Ah, yeah, right. The boy could probably join us too... We've heard."
"Сan I bring Harry? Thanks!"
"Why would he come here? Would he even want to?"
"Oh, we have so many questions about Charms! And just to talk—our common room is really cramped and someone's always noisy."
"And here's Professor Flitwick..."
Miss Granger left the blue-and-bronze house only that evening. Her soul splashed with regret about not being their student. But finally becoming Professor Flitwick's true personal apprentice—meaning the common room, bookshelves and even her own study spot in this wonderful room were now available to her (just squee!)—instilled hope and was a source of enthusiasm... Especially about her assignment—Disillusionment Charms!
After all, if she mastered them herself, she'd share with Harry. And he'd help her with wandless... Probably. Main thing, he wouldn't have to dig in his bag looking for the cloak. And if he didn't even need to wave his wand—that'd be perfect. Walking along, boom—you're gone! Definitely had to do this. She walked to the common room dreaming of sharing with her friend everything that happened today. And inviting him to the smartest house's common room—exactly the place where they could finally talk peacefully!
***
Harry felt nowhere near as good about detention as his friend. He had to answer many unexpected and not entirely pleasant questions. Turns out he'd exposed himself when he got upset about Quidditch. He barely held back from yelling that he wasn't an idiot who'd enjoy flying in pouring rain. But bit his tongue in time. He'd flown for two years and enjoyed it... Yeah, total idiot.
And his library behavior was apparently completely outrageous. For what he pulled with the Slytherins, killing was too good for him. Turns out Malfoy was still slightly... in an altered state of consciousness whenever Potter got mentioned around him. No, he didn't complain himself—Snape was quoting their prefect. Ultimately he needed to understand not everyone around was blind, deaf and unable to draw conclusions. And why the hell did Harry have to scare Professor Trelawney?..
"I scared her?!" Harry protested. His patience ran out. "Not my fault she has such good hearing! I was whispering to myself. Then she started asking questions. What was I supposed to do?"
"Stay silent and afraid!"
"Of that dragonfly?"
"This dragonfly, as you put it, Potter, is the very person who prophesied those events that changed your life. And not for the better. Or did you forget? Decided to play researcher—is she a 'real' professor? She's no professor. But she's a true seer! And if you want to live relatively peacefully, don't cross her path unnecessarily. Especially in front of witnesses."
"Professor, can I ask something?"
Snape nodded. Watching guilty Potter somehow didn't calm him at all. The cat was out of the bag. Warning, much less canceling this, was impossible. His words probably wouldn't work. Not because Potter wouldn't take them seriously—he would. But that wouldn't stop him being just a kid. A teenager. Demanding spy-level behavior from him with years of experience was unreasonable at minimum. So all that remained was thinking how to minimize possible consequences.
"How should it have been, in your opinion?"
"What exactly?"
"Well... how should I have acted with Professor Trelawney?"
Snape thought, drumming fingers on his lips.
"Start by acting scared. Serious fear, not fake—so it's 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 is still on the table... So if he gets caught, consider him dead."
"I... I didn't think about that then," Harry instantly got serious.
"Mistake."
"Thanks, Professor! Now I think I know how to do it. Shame I dropped Divination."
"Think you have the gift?"
"Don't know... Seems like no. But sometimes something happens. Like with books—you saw yourself!"
"That's called intuition. But it has very little in common with true divination. Harry, we thought long and hard about how to occupy you. Dim your, hmm, bonfire a bit... So now we'll work on returning memories from our first, then unsuccessful, studies."
They went to another room adjoining the professor's personal lab.
"Here." Snape made a broad gesture toward vials glowing faintly white in semi-darkness that almost hid the long shelf from outside eyes.
"This is all mine?" Harry was amazed.
"No, about half. Carefully removing memories takes considerable work. Especially if they're not completely fresh."
"What timeframe would be easiest?"
"No more than a week."
"And... the rest?"
"Mine. And a bit from my colleague. And anticipating your question—yes, we also take precautions."
"Ah... of course. What should I do?"
"Sit and relax. We'll start with the very first lesson."
While Harry "remembered"—more precisely, returned temporarily extracted memories—Snape could think a bit. Particularly about how to help Madam Pomfrey now. She'd come the previous evening as always for hospital wing potions. Only... she'd opened a memory herself and shown him that very note they'd agreed on before three slightly tipsy ladies in good moods departed his quarters.
Poppy turned out almost immune to alcohol. So after that evening she suspected much. And though she indignantly rejected his assumption about danger from the headmaster, she still preferred getting rid of "excess memories" rather than taking an Oath or Vow. So when she came, all he had to do was give her her vial. But after that...
They talked for almost an hour—unaffordable luxury for both. But there was no choice. The healer, genuinely caring for each patient, was ready to immediately smash either the headmaster's head or his office or anything she could reach. Her vague fears about Harry Potter's health and life turned out completely real. Only Snape's intervention helped her pull herself together.
Didn't think an enraged healer was this serious... Turns out Smethwyck isn't an exception. Should I introduce them properly? the potions master pondered when his ward opened surprised green eyes.
"So?"
"Seems fine," Harry answered and suddenly rushed on. "You know, I heard some of that in dreams. Even remembered in the mornings. Over summer at the Dursleys when everything started. But couldn't understand—the voices seemed familiar but... different? Never would've thought of you!"
"Filius took care of that. His spell. But how could you remember what was carefully extracted? Believe me, I did it thoroughly. Though actually... Interesting... If phoenix tears give such an effect, they could be the base for a memory restoration potion... Maybe then we could help certain people."
The kid's eyes lit up. There it was—a piece of that wonderful summer when they thought, solved and created together!
"Potter." Snape sighed heavily.
"What? Should I research this? Where?"
"No, better eat a lemon..."
"A lemon? What lem— Oh. I'll look sour... make a sour face. Just don't yell anymore, okay?"
Snape ruffled the black fringe.
"Need to touch up your scar a bit. It faded slightly. Walk to Ravenclaw Tower. Besides, your friend might be there, I suspect. Come tomorrow. I'll try to get something about phoenixes."
"Can I bring Hermione?"
"How do you picture that? Harry, only you and only under the cloak."
"Fine. See you tomorrow, Professor."
***
Harry didn't find Hermione at the "ravens," unfortunately. She'd left for dinner with Padma Patil. But Professor Flitwick was waiting for him. Apparently Snape had written in the notebook. So a couple minutes later the nasty scar "sparkled with new colors," as the part-goblin commented. Harry looked at himself in the mirror and nearly spat. Wish he could finally get rid of both the scar and glasses. Though... he seemed to remember something about glasses. But what?
In this state of deep thoughtfulness, Harry headed for dinner but ran into Professor Lupin on the way. He invited Harry for tea. The boy thought—why not? I wasn't hungry anyway.
After staring at the poor grindylow the professor had prepared for the next lesson, Harry barely held back a question about what the subject Lupin taught was called: "Defense Against the Dark Arts" or "Defense Against Dangerous Magical Creatures"?
The professor, trying to stay as friendly as possible, carefully asked Harry where he could've seen the nightmarish creatures his boggart turned into. Well, nothing to hide there. So Harry, sipping tea with suspiciously familiar sweets, colorfully described watching 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 Harry's holidays "somewhere else." But politely refused to take his best friend's son himself. Quickly switched to "insurmountable circumstances." Particularly "blood maternal protection." Harry thought about how he'd tell Snape about Lupin's reaction and nearly smiled. But then a question arose that literally flew off his tongue.
"Professor, tell me... I read somewhere... Is it true blood magic is considered Dark?"
"Yes, of course..."
"So that means Mum, to protect me, used... Dark magic? And it helped against Voldemort?.. Couldn't such protection be put on all children? Mothers would surely want to..."
Lupin choked and paled.
"But that's Dark magic..."
"But Mum was recognized as a hero..." Harry tried to sniffle and hung his head. Then buried his face in his fists entirely. Just in case. Mumbled looking under the table: "And I've never even been to their grave. Is there really a monument? And... Halloween's coming..."
Remus Lupin cursed himself and the headmaster's assignment to chat with Potter three times over. He felt guilty toward the boy. Including for the fact that he remained a stranger's child. Best friend's son... Great friend who forgot what Remus Lupin was the moment they crossed the school threshold. No, the boy wasn't to blame. But... He, Remus, had distanced himself from the Marauders. Partly because he didn't want to participate in the war. Maybe if he'd stayed with them, everything would've turned out differently?
"I'll talk to the headmaster when he returns, Harry. I... also haven't been to Godric's Hollow in a very long time."
"That's what the place is called?" Harry decided to clarify, seeming completely ignorant.
"It's written everywhere. The house stood there that James bought when he married Lily. See, his family..." Lupin hesitated. Still didn't want to say too much. But... the boy looked with such interest and confusion he decided to risk it. Everyone was already dead anyway. His words would hardly harm anyone. "Your father's parents were pure-blood wizards. They were quite displeased with his choice of bride. Lily was Muggle-born."
The conclusion the boy drew literally floored the professor.
"So I have a house? A real house where... Where did my family live? Mum and Dad? Why didn't anyone tell me?!"
Cursed boy, cursed headmaster, cursed bad luck... Nothing but awkward questions! But really... Why? Wasn't the boy right?.. Something inside seemed to lurch. Why had the headmaster done that?
Snape saved Lupin from having to answer. Brought his wolfsbane potion and, frowning unhappily 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, glancing at Lupin, trailed after the potions master himself.
But after they silently walked side by side down an empty corridor, Harry only got a dressing-down delivered in hissing whispers about safety.
"I'll write, okay?" he whispered back.
Snape released him with a silent nod and heavy sigh.
***
In the house common room after a peaceful day with Snape, things seemed especially noisy. Housemates returning from Hogsmeade competed to tell the "bookworms" about the village, showering them with gifts from various shops. Harry in turn told everyone how Lupin was shocked by Muggle horror movies. Which ultimately led to the quite expected result: a new scary bedtime story. This time Harry decided to limit himself to Conan Doyle's "The Speckled Band."
But in the dorm, pretending indifference, he asked if Ron had deciphered what was embroidered on his clothes. Ron just slapped his forehead and looked lost and guilty.
"Forgot? Or just really don't want to? Up to you—you're the one wearing it..."
The youngest Weasley's face changed slightly. He turned out the just-removed shirt and brought it to his eyes. Harry watched him frown, grab a thick worn notebook, compare something...
"What the hell?" Ron muttered to himself. "These runes supposedly never go together... It says here, exception to the rule. Harry, maybe I got something wrong?"
"What kind of advisor am I?! I'm learning with you. Maybe just show Professor Babbling? You're still a beginner. Could be making mistakes."
"What?" Ron blushed. "Wave my underwear around?!"
"Are you insane? Can't you copy it?"
"Oh... right! Why didn't I..." Ron yawned hugely and fell on his bed. "Maybe in the morning?"
Harry bugged out his eyes.
"Morning? You?! You only wake up at breakfast!"
"Ah... yeah."
And Ron Weasley sighed heavily, took the notebook and got to work. Periodically lifting the shirt, examining, then drawing symbols he'd memorized.
"Ron, has your brain already gone to sleep?"
"Why?"
"Tear off a small piece. Put it right on the shirt, next to the embroidery."
"Oh, so much easier! You're brilliant!"
***
In the morning Harry came to the common room early and realized he'd timed it right. Hermione was already waiting. He managed to congratulate her on her apprenticeship, was happy he could now keep her company (sometimes, not often, so nobody noticed), and they moved to discussing their "third."
"Here's what I find interesting: why does he think clearly only in Runes? He acts completely different there too. Did you notice?"
"Me? Haven't really paid attention. In Runes I'm kind of busy, you understand. But I'll try."
"Yeah, difficult subject. Do pay attention though. Maybe it's just me?"
"Still, what's embroidered on his clothes? Something... Yesterday he got so flustered copying and checking."
"Think it's something bad? But Mrs. Weasley couldn't..."
"She could've bought secondhand."
"And not looked? Come on!.."
"What if from someone they know?.. Who? Should remind him to give the copy to Professor Babbling. Barely got him to copy it at all. Shame Runes is only the day after tomorrow. By the way, how's the Time-Turner?"
"Barely using it. Only when the Head of House is watching. And now I'm going to Divination! But I don't think I have any predisposition."
After classes came the Halloween feast where they saw Dumbledore for the first time in a week. Harry noticed Snape kept glancing at Lupin.
Full moon, he finally realized. He and Hermione had long ago found werewolves' amber-yellow eyes in the reference book. But figured out not to tell anyone. Later Snape confirmed it.
***
After the Halloween feast, Gryffindors headed in a friendly crowd toward their house tower hoping to hear something else interesting and scary. But an unexpected jam formed at the Fat Lady's portrait. Percy Weasley, who'd fought his way forward practically over people's heads, loudly yelled to fetch the headmaster.
"Is it really that serious?" Harry wondered and crouched down. Much easier to navigate through legs. Only the girls squeaked funny. Straightening up by the common room entrance, he froze. The Fat Lady's portrait was savagely slashed. It looked like chunks were even torn out. The occupant had apparently fled in an unknown direction.
Harry felt sick from a strange premonition. Leaned against the wall slightly to the side. Soon Dumbledore, Filch and McGonagall appeared. The headmaster sent the caretaker to search for the Fat Lady. But Peeves, surprisingly, decided to help.
"I know! She's on the fifth floor! In such a state, such a state... oh-ho-ho-ha-ha! Hurry and enjoy the show before she drinks everything from that still life! The hysterical woman was screaming down the whole corridor that Sirius Black attacked her—she refused to let him through without the password. What an idiot!"
Large icy shivers ran down Harry's spine. For some reason he immediately believed the poltergeist. Sirius had escaped... What now?!