The week for Harry flashed by like it never happened. Correspondence with Dudley. "Detentions" preparing "bulldog" Polyjuice. And the last two days Hermione managed squeezing into the potions laboratory. Deliberately ruining a potion during class. Causing cognitive dissonance in everyone present.
To Snape's displeasure, had to harness Granger to the main process and spend time on explanations. However the professor's anger quickly evaporated. Whether thanks to pleading looks from Potter and his friend, or Granger's unprecedented silence and knowledge, or the great diligence with which both teenagers prepared ingredient after ingredient.
Well yeah, this wasn't ordinary practical work but guarantee of a living person's safety! Nothing else needed motivating their diligence. Snape understood this perfectly. He quickly realized observing these two's efforts brought him genuine pleasure. Barely restrained himself from applying this method already in school lessons. Really, if only he could pour into some negligent students at the end of each practical work the results of their own "labors"! Of course he wouldn't do that. But at least could dream?
Surprisingly, Potter voiced this idea. Like reading the professor's thoughts from his face. And lately this happened suspiciously often. Snape even checked his Occlumency shields. But pointlessly—everything was fine with them.
Flitwick calmed him as more experienced. Told that such side effects of "teacher-student" connection were quite common. Nothing exceptional. Especially when the student was so young. And he wasn't reading his Teacher like an open book at all. Simply understood him very well. And this usually concerned only shared work.
Snape sighed with relief learning the last part. Matching some things up. But still asked why with Flitwick in his time this didn't happen. And got a snide answer:
"You, my friend, were too occupied with yourself and your experiences then. Weren't you?"
Nothing to counter with...
***
Tuesday, after double Runes, Ron surprised them. Wrote Harry a note asking him and Hermione to stay a bit. When only they and Professor Babbling remained in the classroom—occupied with her business—he approached and... apologized! True, hesitated quite long. But nobody was rushing anywhere—last lesson. And Madam Babbling calmly sorted through papers at her desk. He wasn't planning on kicking them from class.
Harry was so surprised his jaw nearly dropped. But clever Hermione remembered her friend had told her how he'd made Weasley redraw embroidery from clothing.
"Do you have the drawings with you?" she puzzled Ron.
Of course he didn't have them. Completely accidentally "got lost somewhere." But it seemed the guy himself was surprised by his forgetfulness.
Still lucky this was the professor's last lesson too! Hermione simply took both boys by the hands and dragged them to consultation. And they learned that—yes, of course, the passage to the office, door, arch—everything was thoroughly treated with runes completely blocking all other runes, runic arrays and charms. On amulets and on students' clothing.
"Why?" The kids were surprised practically in unison.
"With potions, for example, everything's more or less simple. Most importantly, obvious. Either explodes, melts, or color or consistency turns out wrong. Usually immediately visible. Only real experts can imperceptibly ruin a potion or make it dangerous," Madam Babbling enlightened them.
"So turns out Runes can be worse than potions?"
"Ron, don't interrupt."
"But if runes conflict with other runes or charms, everything happens fast. And the impact itself is very difficult to determine. Hidden is actually much more dangerous. And everyone has their own traditions. Each family. Each clothing master. Each artificer. You understand? True, this is next semester's material when you start activating your work. Well fine, I'll tell you."
The kids listened to spellbound. Just think, they'd sincerely considered Potions the most dangerous subject before! Hermione barely fought the desire to immediately grab a notebook and start taking notes. But the professor continued.
"You have absolutely nothing yet. No instinct, no experience. So if Mr. Weasley or Mr. Potter make some rune's tail a millimeter longer in their practical work. Or slightly more sloping... that's it, you're done for. They'll probably carry them from the office."
All three faces involuntarily lengthened.
"No, it's actually usually not deadly... for a person. For their body. Though serious illness is quite possible too. But this can happen to either a mage or Muggle. For mages the danger is that discordant runes block magical channels quickly and imperceptibly. And reversing this is most often beyond even Rune Masters' power."
"Whoa..."
"How awful..."
"Is that how Squibs happen?" Harry asked.
"One possible variant," Madam Babbling nodded. "So for example, pregnant witches monitor clothing and home most carefully. And while the child isn't one year old, try not contacting anyone except closest and verified people. Don't even invite all relatives to the house."
"But this could be dangerous... here at school! For us! If someone puts such runes somewhere in a passage—say, to the dining hall—could easily harm. After all, all protections also cancel, right?" Hermione clearly felt uneasy.
The professor quickly calmed her. Explained that activating an array made in class required, first, being at minimum a Rune Master. Second, binding them with one's own magic and Hogwarts's magic.
"Without proper activation, as you know, runes don't work. And the more complex the chain or array, the more nuances in activation. The classroom is protected like no other Hogwarts room. By the way, when taking office, all professors sign a special contract. It has three runic chains. Result—none of the professors can harm students. The consequence of such attempts would be magic loss. Or even death. So guaranteeing your wellbeing in my class is my own magic and life."
Here Harry protested and nearly blurted about Quirrell. Barely managed switching to telling how Ron Weasley kept forgetting his intention of figuring out runes on his clothing. How they practically had to force him to make the drawing. And now he'd left it who-knows-where or even lost it!
Madam Babbling frowned.
"The embroidery, I suppose, was done by your mother, Mr. Weasley?"
"Don't know. Never saw her embroidering," Ron spread his hands.
"Molly Prewett... Remember, remember," the professor sighed. "Can't say anything good. She never shone in my class. Didn't take my main course. And the mandatory introductory one in those times finished with quite mediocre results. Unfortunately your mother in her youth had completely different interests. Teaching against will... Tell me, do you have any unusual sensations in my classroom?"
"Um... don't know. Nothing unusual seems like. Here I feel like I sat down to play chess!" Ron confessed. "I... like it here. Good, calm. And everything's so clear. You just explained it great!" He blushed.
"Are you good at that game?" The professor seemed not to notice his awkward compliment.
"You bet!" Harry answered for his friend.
"Yes, this resembles blocking some of your abilities. Or maybe directed influence. Maybe you'll still show what you have there?"
"But... I can't... undress here," Weasley's face could probably light a candle.
"Don't understand," the professor frowned. "You absolutely don't have to undress before everyone's eyes. I'm of course not too strong in Transfiguration. But making a couple solid screens, perhaps I can manage. Ten minutes should be enough?"
"He copied it in five then," Harry said to his friend.
When Ron Weasley handed the drawing to the professor, she looked at the paper very attentively. But only shook her head.
"I can't tell you anything yet, Mr. Weasley. It would be good having the original sample. You only have a copy. But even this won't help quickly solving your problem. Though try carrying one of your chess pieces in your pockets. They're antique, right?"
"Well... yeah, they're very old, Professor."
"Excellent."
"Ah... why?" Ron often felt embarrassed his things were quite secondhand. True, he thought he didn't show it. But Harry who'd become attentive understood this the very first week of study.
"In old times chess matches often served not for entertainment but for... other tasks."
"So whoever won was right?"
"Something like that. The loser often had to give something or fulfill a vow as dispute resolution. And so chess couldn't be enchanted, one of the Rune Masters created a completely special array canceling any sorcery. And exactly that's used here." The professor gestured around the room. "So if my assumptions are correct, your chess pieces, Mr. Weasley, will help you perfectly. Plus you can always put the piece down. Because if your mysterious ill-wisher is at school—though I doubt that—he'll definitely notice the changes happening with you."
"Same runes at the entrance?" Hermione asked.
"No, simple blocker at entrance. Well, how—simple... In a year, if your studies go equally well, you'll try yourselves."
Thanking the professor, the children left. Madam Babbling pensively propped her cheek with her hand, attentively examining her student's somewhat careless sketch. Seemed nothing special. Ordinary protective chain... but still something definitely wasn't right with the boy.
However she had enough other orders for now. Doing charity... Though something about this boy hooked her. So as soon as she finished her current work, perhaps she'd figure out this question. And to test Weasley, she'd give him one interesting but difficult book for a beginner. If he managed—meant she'd finally found herself a real student.
Weasley... Sixth son in a blood traitor family... If he were seventh, that would explain much. But sixth! Wait, how didn't I realize immediately: Molly could've had a miscarriage. And that's not talked about.
That Ron Weasley started dragging everywhere the thick tome "Quidditch Through the Ages, Second Edition, Supplemented" surprised practically nobody. Especially since he was a known fan of this game. But he became much quieter and more thoughtful... Harry even figured whether he'd have to provoke his friend at least into a micro-scandal with Malfoy to maintain appearances.
Malfoy won't understand, he realized. Thankfully in time.
Since Harry entered into a conspiracy with Draco about his uncle and his godfather, relations between them changed even more. No, he couldn't call Malfoy a friend. But they definitely weren't enemies anymore. Wonder if anyone noticed?
***
Of course Harry couldn't resist asking Snape this question during another detention. And got the answer that shouldn't consider himself the world's navel and universe's center. Even if he was "The-Boy-Who-Lived."
Then conversation turned to Weasley, runes and everything connected. Snape confirmed Professor Babbling's words about the contract. Harry just managed to draw breath to say everything...
"Does the headmaster also sign such a contract?" Hermione asked. "And with whom?"
"The headmaster, as far as I've heard, gives a special oath..."
"So he also can't harm students? Interesting... Turns out he's not involved at all? Then who?!"
"Well, first, the oath concerns only students. Only the castle's territory and surroundings. But regarding the latter, by the way, I'm not sure."
"So leaving an infant on relatives' doorstep at the end of October..."
"Wait, wait!" Harry interrupted them, already regretting initiating his friend into too much. "Turns out my mum's blood protection has nothing to do with it?"
"What are you talking about, Harry?"
Had to pour memories about the headmaster's visit to the Hospital Wing at the end of first year. Emerging from the Pensieve, Snape displeasedly hissed something under his breath suspiciously similar to expressions that escaped him during their first joint St. Mungo's visit. Hermione thought deeply.
"What the hell... Harry, blood magic is a Dark section. Should I remind you how your mother felt about Dark magic?"
"So Quirrell was burned by his own oath and Hogwarts's magic?"
"I'm sure of it."
"But why did the headmaster tell me those fairy tales then?!"
"What's happening in our Supreme Mugwump's head—" Snape grimaced like he'd bitten a lemon "—is inaccessible to the ordinary mind. And my work experience suggests building guesses is completely unpromising."
"I want to swear. Badly," Hermione whispered angrily and seriously. Which made Harry smile and even Snape relaxed slightly.
"Maybe not, Miss Granger? What if you say something our ears won't survive?"
The kids laughed.
"Thank you for the compliment. But I doubt my modest knowledge of obscene vocabulary could corrupt you, sir..."
"Oh," Snape finally laughed. "Miss Granger, you shouldn't copy me. Though it turned out quite successfully. Still, sarcasm doesn't suit such a young and pretty witch."
"How do you do that? I almost curtseyed!" Hermione protested, blushing from embarrassment.
She terribly wanted to ask exactly what made her so pretty...
How to believably ruin some other potion to land detention again?
And Harry just melted. Finally his friend and beloved mentor had completely found common ground!
***
Early Saturday morning on Hogsmeade streets there was nobody except a quite strange company. A solid, large mannish woman with a big dog carrier. A slim girl in clothing is odd even for wizards. And a man in a tightly buttoned black coat or cloak.
The man in black quickly and seemingly slightly angrily dictated something to the large lady. After she finished writing, she handed her a small bag. The girl extended a leash to the lady. On it sat a young and skinny English bulldog nervously eyeing the carrier-cage.
The dog clearly didn't want to climb in there. He turned to the girl and man and almost humanly sighed. Then wagged his tail and licked... air that ran down his back, slightly smoothing fur.
The man bent down and said something to the dog. After which the dog, sighing once more, entered the cage and started settling in. Trampled and circled several times on the bedding. Laying down with such a philosophical muzzle the women smiled. Then the whole company turned the house corner together and... vanished. Though if anyone had been watching, they'd have found nothing special. Apparition in a mage village was normal.
* * *
Marjorie Dursley, learning that very young bulldog they'd acquired last summer had run away from her brother, didn't hesitate a second.
Should've seriously dealt with the doggie or given it to professionals! At least could've consulted me! Marge snorted internally, packing a carrier, water, bedding, napkins and dog treats. She'd had quite definite hopes for the excellent purebred male from first glance. So didn't scold her brother and sister-in-law for oversight. Worked in her favor.
To get this dog in her hands, Madam Dursley was ready not only getting up at half past five in the morning, drinking some vile mixture her nephew's teacher brought. Who'd offered her going with him to a magical village. Hell, even to the devil's horns! Marge was ready even flying on a broomstick. She said so! And why did they look at her so strangely? Mr. Snape even coughed?
Didn't even upset her that she got carsick in the thrice-cursed taxi. Though it was strange. Drove and drove. But felt bad when they got out who-knows-why on some wasteland. Couldn't they have driven closer? True, couldn't voice this to Snape immediately. Fearing instead of commenting, breakfast would exit her mouth. The pale-greenish driver also stayed silent. Apparently she also felt bad. How would they get back?
Though thanks still to this Snape. Offered his hand like a gentleman. Helped carry the carrier. She'd have managed herself if she didn't feel really strange. Thoughts are confusing. She felt nauseous. The head buzzed like after... buzzed anyway.
Some medieval villages. Probably filming a movie, Marge glanced at surroundings. But she didn't examine details or ask questions. She didn't care about movies and magic. She urgently needed to get the doggie in order. He was so thin!
Good job Snape prepared some special medicine. Oh yes, she'd definitely give it—after all, last summer she'd already tried his fertility potion on one of her bitches. Considered hopelessly barren after an injury. This professor deserved respect. Yes-yes, she'd act exactly as he said.
Removing the choke leash from the short sturdy neck, Marjorie frowned. She already wanted to explain to the nearsighted lady how to properly handle such dogs. But she first mumbled something incomprehensible but pleasant. About glory and medals. Well... that was right.
Madam Dursley patronizingly patted the skinny shoulder and sighed. What could you expect from non-professionals? She was confident about medals. At least three. By age they'd make both juniors and open class. And then would see. But she wouldn't let anyone ruin the doggie now!
Smart her nephews. Pity both were studying. But nothing, when they came for holidays she'd arrange a meeting with the new breed champion for them all! And could go to summer shows together.
She'd already sorted out documents for the wonderful doggie... Now his full name was Charles Alfred Bester White Pearl—after her own kennel's name, naturally! And he supposedly represented the unique inbreeding result of her best producers. Remaining making him a winner so everything would be proper. And why not, with such data and her, Marge's, personal experienced handler?
Marge already imagined the line for puppies from Charlie's stated parents' pair. And conformation really matched—by bone structure definitely Spite's spitting image. By the way, should she train him to the new name? It seemed the Dursleys called him Black. Amazing nickname for a white bulldog. Excellent imagination, whatever you say...
To shows she'd naturally already registered him. Even paid the entry for the first. By summer they'd collect a minimum of three certificates. Though she would have to travel a bit. To the continent for sure. Main thing—leave early. The doggie would need getting used to it. Calming down... They must make all the shows. She'd make him an International Champion!
All this Marjorie Dursley had pleasure explaining to the dog on the way home. He listened most attentively. Which completely touched her.
"You're my clever boy," a strong hand so like a man's affectionately ruffled the bulldog's withers. "You'll be smarter than many people."
The dog sighed heartbreakingly and looked sadly into her eyes...
***
Sirius Black had managed to bless Madam Dursley's manner of talking to dogs a hundred times. Thanks to this he could consider having a full understanding of what awaited him in the near and not only future.
Well, he thought internally, showing off at a dog show isn't the limit of my dreams of course. But nothing terrible. We'll become champions! Wonder if Harry will be happy?
He was only surprised by one thing. He was a dog. Felt perfectly and behaved like a dog. But thoughts remained completely human. And main among them were his vow to Sybill and the promise given to his godson before parting.
Change, hide in a safe place, get examined at a good clinic... Perhaps the continent trip the lady dog breeder plans will come in quite handy, he decided and went examining his new residence.
***
The scheme with relieving Miss Trelawney of his godfather Harry with his cousin and other interested parties pulled off in just a week. Malfoy barely managed to contact his mother. Getting out Protean notebooks. When he learned his help wasn't needed anymore.
He tried being offended. But cunning Potter still loaded him with a new question. Namely finding a good clinic or at least reliable specialist. Said his godfather needed treatment. And he'd somehow manage getting there and paying. Main thing—recommending him to the right healers.
The elder Malfoys sighed with relief. Still ready hiding a state criminal thoroughly sought by Aurors in the Manor or hunting lodge—family after all. But taking him from England through all cordons was completely inconvenient for Lucius.
So Harry, using the invisibility cloak and strange—as he naively supposed—indulgence from Snape, saw off his godfather. And also planned finally seeing Hogsmeade. He didn't even think his professor's connivance actually hid elementary calculation that godson's instructions would help Black holding himself within bounds somewhat longer.
But besides everything, Harry also had business. Right before the weekend the Weasley brothers showed him on the Marauder's Map a secret underground passage from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. Naturally it was absolutely necessary to examine—otherwise what would he tell them when he returned?
True, Snape liquidated these encroachments at root. Too early, too dangerous—nobody on the streets. And dementors watched round-the-clock. These creatures apparently didn't need sleep. And what if someone going for a walk noticed footprints appearing on fresh-fallen snow? Harry had nothing left except looking at clouds gathering in the sky and swirling snowflakes as enemies. And agreeing.
So when they saw off Sirius and Snape Apparated the "lady with little dog" (simultaneously casting Confundus on both) to the neighboring Muggle village where they'd left the car, Professor Trelawney Apparated with Harry straight to the Shrieking Shack. From there they went by underground passage back to Hogwarts. Despite Harry acquiring some confidence he could contend with dementors, meeting them he absolutely didn't want. And how Miss Trelawney rejoiced in the underground!
Plus Snape hinted to his student that watching the Seer wouldn't be bad. True, from Miss Trelawney's behavior Harry guessed she'd been asked to watch him exactly. This was funny but didn't interfere with anything. And Harry wasn't planning to report all his weekend plans.
He managed to return to his dormitory after peeking into the shower first where he wet and ruffled his hair. Then carefully folded the cloak in his breast and with the company of Weasley, Finnigan and incredibly clingy Creevey brothers went to breakfast. Hermione was already at the table. So they only exchanged glances. Harry nodded. Granger's appetite immediately improved.
***
Into the new underground passage Harry went with the twins after almost all students who were allowed had left for Hogsmeade. He walked quickly. The passage obviously was used often. Even and clean. When they climbed out through a narrow heavy door to Honeydukes' stockroom, the Weasleys warned him taking nothing here wasn't worth it—everything enchanted. So better just walking. They'd buy what he ordered.
Not to break character, Harry handed them a dozen sickles. Ordered Chocolate Frogs and Honeyed Cupcakes. Wrapped his cloak tighter and went outside where Ron and Hermione waited as arranged.
The three of them walked around almost all Hogsmeade. Here of course had more space than the castle. But practically nowhere to particularly stroll. Harry quickly learned what was where. Then Weasley wanted to eat. Plus Harry, leading a quite eventful life since early morning, had already forgotten eating breakfast.
"You had breakfast two hours ago," Hermione was surprised.
"Maybe still go to the Three Broomsticks? And Harry will hide behind our backs. Nobody will notice, you'll see! There's not that many people yet. Huh?"
"Don't whine," Hermione asked. "What if someone touches Harry or trips over him?"
"I'll say it's me, big deal," Ron spread his arms and legs.
"Ah... Fine. But no fighting, swear!"
"Won't, won't, let's go already!"
"What if I immediately climb under the table?" Harry suggested.
"What, been hanging with d... dogs so much you got envious?" Hermione was surprised but couldn't resist the jab.
"Where did he hang with dogs?"
"The Dursleys got a bulldog puppy last summer," Harry found, understanding that making big eyes at his friend while under invisibility cloak was completely useless. Well what can you do, he wasn't used yet, wasn't used! And Hermione could be more careful. Almost said about his godfather!
"Look at this crowd," Hermione whispered when they entered the pub. "That's the Minister himself!"
"How do you know?" Ron settled at a table so a free spot remained near the wall.
"Don't you read newspapers? Don't even look at wizarding photos, seriously?"
Harry angrily hissed from under the table for friends to talk quieter. He simply had to learn what such a strange company could be talking about. Fine, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall visited Hogsmeade. One of them should accompany students today. Maybe both. Hagrid was also local. But what wind brought Fudge here? And what was he whispering so confidingly with the barmaid about? The Minister... and already with the gamekeeper! Norm-ally... Harry slowly started making his way under tables closer to them.
And finally he heard... like a radio broadcast specially prepared for him. True, realizing this came far from immediately. At first Harry just quietly went nuts.
"Ah, Sirius Black was James Potter's best friend and best man at their wedding with Evans... How could he! — Madam Rosmerta lamented, remembering how James courted his future wife. "...Right on this very spot presented her such a magnificent bouquet!"
Who's she telling this to? Which of them doesn't know this? Harry marveled.
None of those present looked the age of those who couldn't read thirteen years ago. And newspapers had rehashed exactly all this. What was happening?
"He's Harry's godfather, it seems like," Hagrid mumbled.
"How could he betray his best friend and his family?!" McGonagall echoed him!
Here Harry almost climbed from under the table with a yell: "Did you try thinking with your head?!"
"After all, Black—" Fudge summed up "—gave Lily and James to the Dark Lord. Then killed another Potter friend, Peter Pettigrew."
You don't say... Harry nearly threw up. Wanted climbing out and... knocking Fudge on the head. And let them do whatever with him after.
"Perhaps, gentlemen, we'll stop sorting through old sins? Others' at that?" Flitwick saved the situation. For which Harry was quite grateful.
"This is some theatrical production," he whispered, climbing out and sitting next to friends. He didn't want to eat or drink anymore at all. He felt disgusted. He quickly whispered about what he'd heard.
"What nonsense... Merlin, what nonsense! Let's leave," Hermione took his invisible hand. With the other grabbed Ron. A minute later they already stood on the street.
Harry wanted to catch his breath. Like he'd lacked air in the room they'd escaped.
"What was that?" Ron stopped. "Don't understand anything!"
"Try thinking for yourself," Hermione advised.
Ron comically wrinkled his nose and touched the knight figurine in his pocket.
"But this doesn't happen! If Black was Harry's godfather, he couldn't violate the vow and give up Fidelius! He'd... he'd... it would backfire so bad dementors wouldn't be needed!"
"Exactly. I'm glad you also came to that conclusion."
"Main thing, how do they all know this? Not counting Madam Rosmerta—she's a known gossip. But the rest? And what are Flitwick and McGonagall doing there?"
"Well, Flitwick seemed like he just sat and stayed silent."
"No, he asked questions. You didn't hear. He spoke quite quietly. Very interesting questions. They were waiting for me there."
"Um... Harry, you sure?"
"Tell me, why would people who already know everything—plus know each of them knows—go through all this again and again? For whom and what?"
"..."
***
The mood was terrible. And not just Harry's. Hermione also sat like she'd been hit. Just pretending to read. Harry and Ron listlessly moved chess pieces. Periodically protesting where they were placed. He didn't want to talk about anything. Thinking—either.
Could it be the Weasley twins, Hagrid, and McGonagall were participating in some incomprehensible conspiracy? Harry wasn't so hurt thinking about the Minister and the barmaid—wasn't particularly acquainted with them. But Hagrid! But his head of house! Periodically his eyes got hot... And he saw Ron exactly the same upset about his brothers. And what would he say about himself? After all, the idea to go eat belonged to him. Though to be honest, Harry would've gone himself. Because—where else? Not to Madam Puddifoot's!
And couldn't go to Snape. Slytherins probably now prowled their dungeons. He still needed bumping into someone. When would this thrice-cursed day end?.. He'd make his way to the professor tomorrow early-early morning so as not to bother anyone. He absolutely needed talking to him!
Maybe go to Flitwick? Harry thought. Still my second mentor. Especially when he himself was there and heard everything. And probably knows how such a meeting came about.
Harry nodded to friends and went to the dormitory. They could draw curtains tighter, cast unopening spells and write both professors. Whoever responded first. Otherwise Harry simply couldn't fall asleep.
The notebook warmed as soon as he took it in hands.
"Called Aunt. Doggie settled excellently. Behaving exemplarily. D."
Harry sighed. No, today wasn't such a bad day after all. Sirius was safe. And that was probably the main thing. And they'd figure out the rest gradually. After all, he wasn't alone. What, didn't he trust his teachers? Look, even the Dursleys were for him. And Aunt Marge...
He wrote Dudley "thanks." Then requested meeting both professors. The next day, he hoped, promised to be interesting. Even if it's Sunday. The professors didn't answer. Harry's eyes started sticking together and he gradually floated into his restless dreams.