An almost sleepless night that Harry spent in fruitless reflections about what he'd do with his godfather-doggo (if only he could reach him!) didn't contribute to good mood in the morning.
Terribly displeased he came down to the common room, met worried looks from Hermione and Ron, sighed and trudged in their company to breakfast. He waved off the rest of the Gryffindors building all sorts of assumptions about Sirius Black: didn't even want to listen to this nonsense.
Scrambled eggs with bacon and small fresh rolls improved his worldview a bit, but he terribly wanted coffee. He stealthily threw a glance at the far edge of the teachers' table. For some reason the potioneer wasn't in his place.
"Snape probably brews himself some every morning," the guy thought not without envy and dreamed slightly about how nice it would be to somehow have breakfast in the teacher's company, as used to happen in summer. And then suddenly got worried why the professor didn't come, although he skipped breakfasts quite often. But exactly this worry helped Harry finally wake up.
So, yawning but already quite invigorated, which he wasn't glad about because unfortunate head again began to be overcome by various not very joyful thoughts, Harry stomped toward the greenhouses. By Madam Sprout's promise, familiar practice awaited them.
"Again these mandrakes, how much is enough already," Ron grumbled, searching in the pile of cheerfully-pink earmuffs for something "more decent." "Like last year wasn't enough."
"Useful plants," Harry shrugged, grabbing the first ones he came across and putting them around his neck. "Without them last year would have been really bad. Hermione caught up with our year all summer," he nodded at his friend, "and what if it had been you?"
Ron grimaced, and Harry thought: "Really had to wait half a year for them to grow? Couldn't buy them? Or is Madam Sprout the only one in England who grows them?" He wanted to add that exactly thanks to these plants their best friend Hermione is now alive and healthy, but Ron had already pulled on dark gray earmuffs and moved away for seedlings.
Harry remembered summer work in the garden with Aunt Petunia: then, when he accidentally scorched the lawn, they planted a lot of things. And transplanted, yes. Auntie still kept grumbling either at the Garden Center manager and his additional discounts, or at herself, saying she bought too much, nowhere to place... But they placed everything, of course. And Harry learned a lot of new things.
For example, that the thinnest and smallest roots are the most important. The plant mainly feeds with them. And since his head was working, he immediately wondered if that's why baby mandrakes cry? After all, small roots still tear, and that's probably painful. Harry once had it very painful when Dudley pulled out a clump of hair in a fight. He even winced, so unpleasant was the memory, and looked at the pots with plants sympathetically. And how to do it so as to injure them less?
He took a pot from which stuck out a well-familiar green tuft and carefully tapped from all sides. That's what auntie did so earth would come away from walls, and roots with it. They'll cling to walls less, and... he remembered how Petunia Dursley cooed over her favorite roses.
In response to the tapping, the tuft of leaves stirred and above the earth appeared a pair of small but curious little eyes. Harry found it funny, as if he'd gotten into some slightly strange cartoon, and he winked cheerfully. The little eyes widened in surprise.
"You know how interesting it is there, outside?" Harry asked. He couldn't coo and didn't intend to, but why not try to just talk?
The mandrake seemed to listen...
"It's been cramped for you here for a long time, right?"
The tuft froze for a couple seconds, apparently lagging, then seemed to nod.
"I'm going to transplant you now so you have more space and comfort to grow, clear? You, if you can, gather your roots, pull them in or however else, don't know... you'll need them."
The mandrake again portrayed something like a nod and seemed to shrink a bit.
"Well, ready?"
Harry put on gloves and carefully raked earth around the tuft. No attempt to grab his finger followed, already a plus...
"Want to look at the rest of yours?" he asked intuitively, and the green tuft perked up, and curious eyes looked out from the pot: the mandrake itself was stretching upward, only remained to help this movement.
Harry helped...
The mandrake kid tried to twist, but it didn't work—Potter's grip was good, trained over summer. But before the root-person could pout, Harry himself turned him so he could look in all directions. And then brought him to a new big pot where he'd made a decent hole in advance, and the sprout, looking around, climbed into the new place itself, only remained to sprinkle it with earth.
Harry quickly finished with this and felt someone pat him on the shoulder. He turned around. Neville was smiling widely and showing him the victory sign—two fingers in a "checkmark" or letter "V," and Hermione just looked admiringly, and it was damn pleasant. Harry smiled back at them and set to work on the next pot.
Hermione, instantly appreciating Harry's work, began repeating his techniques and by the end of class almost caught up with him in quantity done. They didn't notice how Ron got distracted and went somewhere, and his place was taken by Neville, who still surpassed everyone, transplanting over a dozen of the largest specimens during class. Having received five points each for their house from satisfied and slightly surprised Madam Sprout, they cleaned up and last headed to Potions.
"Didn't even think Herbology practice could be so fun," Hermione shared impressions. "Especially when these little ones start peeking out from the pot, so funny!"
"So why did you take so long? Really didn't expect you'd suddenly become such a botanist," Ron said disappointedly, joining them as soon as they left the greenhouse. "Okay Longbottom, don't feed him bread, let him dig in earth, or Granger, for whom most important is how many points she earns, but you, Harry?! What's with you, mate?"
"Well, here we go again," Harry thought and sighed, but kept silent. Though they understood something was wrong with their friend, that he might be under influence, teenagers' patience gradually thinned. And they didn't need that much for it, honestly...
"Since when did you decide you know what's most important to me, huh?" Hermione squinted. She'd already let slide the insult at the very beginning when he was holding forth about mandrakes' significance. Of course, it wasn't him but her who'd lain so long practically not alive, it wasn't him but her who had it very painful and hard to restore body mobility, and much more. She kept silent then so as not to fight, especially since class had already started, but forgot—didn't forget.
"Everyone's long known who our main bookworm at Gryffindor is," Weasley waved off.
Hermione only gasped.
"What do you have against it?" Harry couldn't stand it now. Such behavior from the former "best friend" already irritated him considerably. For some reason it was possible to communicate with Ron normally only in Runology class and some time after, but otherwise had to endure. But already with difficulty: hands more and more often itched to just, Muggle-style, punch the ginger in the face... True, everything seemed like trifles, like now—the quarrel literally on level ground! But... accumulated. And it's offensive for Hermione.
Harry would have restrained himself with last strength, but Weasley added something quite contemptuous about "all bookworms and Harry joining them." In Potter's stomach began terrible stabbing, transferred by fire to throat, smelled of smoke... He barely managed to turn around, and his fist clenched itself, body sprang back, and he planted a juicy hook under the ginger's lower jaw—his teeth only clacked. And then everything was filled with pain and darkened in his eyes...
"Aguamenti! Harry! Harry, calm down!!! Let's run! Neville, help us, quickly..."
Ron Weasley himself didn't understand how he ended up on the ground, for some reason in wet but stinking of something burnt clothes from which steam came. He shook his head coming to his senses, got up, touched his chin and headed to the medical ward. If only he could get out of Potions...
***
Severus Snape, absorbed in the process of preparing the student laboratory for another practical work of the most nasty house, started from surprise when the door to the classroom flew open, seemingly from a kick, and something incomprehensible burst into class. Under invisibility charms it would be impossible to determine who it was, if the emptiness hadn't immediately yelled in Granger's voice:
"Save him, professor!"
Invisibility charms fell, the girl slid onto a bench at a table, and next to her materialized—more precisely, drew themselves—Potter bent from pain and Longbottom huddled in a ball, looking hunted at his personal nightmare. Granger still managed to jump up once more to reach the professor.
Severus Snape was shocked: it had been a long time since anyone treated him like this third-year girl who grabbed him by the lapels and sharply pulled him to herself. But when she, whispering right in his ear:
"Dragon, incomplete transformation, burn," literally wilted on his desk, the professor no longer cared about this, essentially small liberty.
He darted to the laboratory, and in a few seconds Harry, wincing from pain, slowly drank the saving potion. Looking at the still distorted boy's face, Severus understood that scolding him now was a waste of time, especially since class would start soon.
"Ten points to Gryffindor for timely help and keeping the secret," he said quietly, "each."
Neville bugged out his eyes, blushed and choked on air, also undertaking another unsuccessful attempt to slide under the table, and Hermione smiled happily. Snape looked at her angrily and poked toward Neville with his index finger:
"And you both didn't hear this."
"Yes, professor, of course, professor," Granger shone like summer sun, and Longbottom managed to blush even more, though it would seem there was nowhere.
"Thank you, professor," Potter whispered.
"Detention, Potter! Promise you, today in class you won't think it's enough. Granger, stop smiling, no one will believe you love potions so much. Longbottom..." Snape sighed heavily, "are you familiar with cooling charms? Of course... Potter, do you have a sip left there? Pass it to your comrade... Now scram from here and wait outside the door until the rest come."
***
The Potions lesson would have been terrible for Harry if he didn't understand what was going on: the professor was worried because he didn't manage to immediately find out what exactly happened, and now was giving full vent to his displeasure. He poured so much poison on Potter's shaggy head that by the end of class even Weasley, who at first threw evil glances at Harry, moved to the sympathizers' camp.
Potter just sighed and tried to at least not spoil the potion too badly. His right hand hurt, knuckles of fingers ached—still, he was a so-so fighter, but punched with all his heart. "More precisely, with all his foolishness," Harry thought self-critically almost in unison with what Snape was laying out about him.
And Hermione sometimes threw admiring glances toward the professor, one of which he still caught and didn't fail to pass over her self-esteem. However it came out somehow not very convincingly... But all this was trifles compared to how everyone was shaken by Neville Longbottom. He didn't blow anything up, didn't melt the cauldron, didn't burn either himself or neighbors, and most importantly, toward the end was one of the first to submit quite acceptable quality potion.
"It hasn't even been three years and your thought process finally worked, which instills some hope," Snape commented, but the student didn't sit down and didn't even flinch, standing almost next to him. "Even afraid to assume what so influenced you, Longbottom, however I advise just in case to repeat."
But when the most problematic student in response looked him straight in the eyes and nodded lightly, Snape himself was surprised. So much that, assigning homework, he reduced the essay volume almost by half.
Examining Potter's potion, Snape grimaced as if it were someone's excrement.
"Detention, Potter."
Harry sighed. Snape once again went over his mental abilities, and finally Harry got it.
"I didn't even say anything!" he jumped up. "And my potion's no worse than these," he nodded his head at Crabbe and Goyle.
"Another detention for arguing with a teacher, Potter," Snape spat out, as it seemed to Harry, with relief. "Everyone out of here."
Gryffindors first rushed to the corridor, hurrying to lunch. After them much calmer came out Slytherins. Harry dawdled because of Hermione who dropped her notebook, climbed under the table, then dropped her "eternal pen." They came out last when the professor was already standing on the threshold, impatiently stamping. Strangely enough, this time he said nothing to them, only turned around and went to his office. Harry almost yelled at his back: "What about lunch?" but bit his tongue in time.
"Well you, Potter, are something... Held on almost the whole lesson," Malfoy admired, having fallen slightly behind his "bodyguards."
"What, did you decide to praise me?" Harry was surprised.
"You know, endurance is exactly what aristocrats can appreciate..."
"Well you're a poser, Malfoy," Harry responded in a friendly manner. After that contact that happened between them after flights on hippogriffs, didn't want to consider him an enemy anymore. "Main thing, praised yourself. Eagle!"
"Not without that," Draco smirked. "You can do that too. In about five years."
Harry and Hermione snorted and laughed, but Draco had already turned and disappeared around the corner to Slytherin dungeons. But mood amazingly improved. Tonight can talk with the professor! And let him scold, but... Harry didn't want to admit to himself how much he missed, but there was nowhere to go. Fact.
"You didn't forget anything?" Neville, fortunately alone, was waiting for them near the stairs leading toward Gryffindor Tower.
"Right," Harry slapped his forehead. "Thanks, Neville. You owe an oath. And yes, my animagus form is a dragon."
"Let's go to the tower while everyone's in the hall, won't put it off," Hermione suggested.
"This is amazing," Neville breathed, hurrying after them.
"I'll tell you later. Want to train with me?" Hermione offered.
"But this... you have to be very strong... it's very difficult..."
"Actually no. I'll tell you, it's really not as hard as they write. There are different ways, and I seem to have found the simplest. Well, the professor thinks so... Flitwick."
***
Remus Lupin couldn't find peace. He couldn't fulfill the headmaster's task and befriend the boy. His best friends' son turned out more like a Muggle than a wizard. And grown up in the magical world, albeit on its very edge, Remus had no idea what to talk about with Muggles. He'd never been interested in them.
And after the very first classes when he learned how hard and even terrible the boy's life had been in his aunt's family, he additionally began suffering from a guilt complex. Yes, he never once got curious about the child, but why would he? Dumbledore clearly explained to everyone that Harry was safe, everything was fine with him and that going to him meant attracting attention, which is dangerous. And who is he to him anyway? Acquaintance of parents...
Acquaintance... He couldn't consider himself a friend. If he were a friend—most likely would have been with them that day. But they didn't call him. With his deformity no one could truly be friends with him. Harry Potter... Remus had already noticed more than once during classes interested looks thrown at him by Harry and his friend, and animal instinct said: they know. Or at minimum suspect something. And this needs to be understood, because it's about his own safety.
"No, this is impossible," he repeated to himself like a mantra, but it's foolish to hope to deceive animal instinct. Though he didn't believe his wolf, he couldn't completely ignore it. "Harry, I'm a dark creature... " he imagined the boy's face after he says this, but the picture stubbornly didn't form, more precisely, he didn't feel its authenticity. "Confess or not confess?" He even flipped a coin, simply from desperation, swearing to himself he'd do exactly as it falls.
The coin fell into a small crack near the wall. On edge. Remus exhaled and closed his eyes: what did he do so wrong before the universe? But after lunch he promised the headmaster he'd definitely talk with Harry... And he'd do it. And then whatever happens.
***
It went surprisingly easily, as if Harry really was... a friend? The boy listened attentively, asked questions, was interested in him completely sincerely, the wolf felt it, and at some point Lupin understood: can't go on like this anymore. And told everything. Well, like... almost everything. And was shocked by how Harry perceived it.
"Hermione lost the bet," the boy smiled widely.
"Huh?" Lupin couldn't utter another sound. He definitely wasn't ready for this.
"She already understood what was what after the second full moon and brought irrefutable proof."
"What kind?" Remus squeezed out with difficulty.
"Besides the lunar cycle, it's your ability to sense, at first we thought you could see with your back..."
Lupin listened attentively, noting all his slipups. There weren't many, but Granger is still incredibly smart and observant witch, though still almost a child. And Harry too... The kids turns out researched him fully! And told no one anything. Probably because they, like him, completely trust Dumbledore. Completely... For some reason this started to seem not quite right. He swallowed.
"Harry... Can I call you that?"
"If it's more comfortable for you, then why not, professor. You wanted to ask something else?"
"How do you now..." Lupin hesitated. Words wouldn't go, as if stuck to tongue. For some reason the boy's answer seemed very important to him.
"How do I feel about you, learning you're a werewolf?" he guessed.
Lupin flinched, and Harry continued.
"Exactly the same. I'm not that... what's it called?.. not a xenophobe, there... That is, I feel normal," he decoded, determining by his interlocutor's mimicry he understood nothing. "If you're not planning to bite of course, professor... But you're not planning to, right?"
Lupin paled.
"Harry, how could you think? I never..."
"Sorry, professor, I in no way wanted to offend you! But you have to ask just in case?"
"What if I lied?" "My Merlin, what am I saying?!" flashed in his head.
"No," the boy confidently rejected such possibility, which itself was balm on wounds.
"Why?" "fool, why are you interrogating, just accept!"
"You... no, you definitely wouldn't."
"Why are you so sure?" Lupin finally smiled. Brightly, from the heart. "Thank you, Harry. You can't even imagine what you just did for me."
"I feel."
"Do you always feel lies?"
The boy shrugged.
"More mood, intention... Your attitude toward me."
"This is a very useful property, but has it really never let you down?"
"At least the last year—no," Harry smiled. "But agree, this might not be enough and can't completely rely on it."
The professor fussed with tea, and Harry felt how uncomfortable he was, and remembered psychology books Mrs. Fields gave him over summer. Seems the professor himself could use help now. But what can he, Harry, do? His head worked feverishly and finally issued a solution. After all, for a person to feel more confident, he himself needs to help someone and be in his element, something like that. Which means...
"Professor, could you teach me how best to drive away dementors? Because you'll clean out one, but what if there are several?"
So he learned about the Patronus Charm, protector between the world of living and... not very living. Because turns out dementors aren't living beings by definition. Harry practiced a bit more, summoning from his wand a silvery cloud, first small, then almost his own size. However that's where it all stopped for now.
The professor praised him, saying almost no one succeeds the first time, and corporeal Patronuses don't exist in every adult wizard. Harry didn't particularly like being consoled, so he referred to detention and took his leave, hurrying to the dungeons to his professor.
***
Surprisingly, Snape didn't scold at all, apparently had enough time to cool off. And even praised Hermione behind her back after Harry's story about how everything was. Strangely, he was much more affected by the professor's tired voice with which he spoke about the hopelessness of their conspiracy, about how Harry's just a teenager and won't withstand "all this"...
Wanted to do exactly the opposite—become restrained, calm, icy... well, like the professor. Prove you can, that you'll manage...
Snape said nothing more except they need to look at Weasley's memory as soon as possible and if necessary correct it. But when Harry asked him if the wolf could be trusted, again absolutely inimitably arched an eyebrow.
"How long have you known?"
"Recently. Hermione guessed after the second full moon..."
"And?"
"So what," Harry answered question with question, "was there supposed to be something else? We observed..."
"You told no one, even me."
"Well, how many times did you cancel detentions? Try catching you... And if just go like that, have to untangle from Weasley, arrange with Hermione to cover, and in general... When I learn the invisibility spell, then I'll definitely bother you every day!"
"Who said it'd be easy? Learn faster, will be useful."
"But today it worked," Harry smiled. "Thank you, professor."
"You're welcome, Potter," the corner of lips twitched in hint of smile. "And don't forget to more often be indignant about my methods, not build a guilty face."
And then Harry listened to another confession. About his schooling the professor still hadn't properly told him. And now finally told details about his feud with the Marauders (what a name they chose!). Simply, without embellishment, not diminishing or belittling anyone's guilt, including his own. And was surprised again when instead of reaction to his revelations the boy issued:
"Professor Lupin taught me Patronus today..." sad sigh. "I only get a silvery cloud so far, though quite large."
"Will you demonstrate?"
"Expecto Patronum!"
The silver cloud almost enveloped Harry.
"Well, quite good, especially for the first time."
"That's what Lupin said."
"I confirm. He by the way was the best student at Gryffindor in those years."
"And... do you have a Patronus?.. Or is this not allowed to tell?"
"This is quite personal information, but... Expecto Patronum."
A silver doe made a circle near Harry, silently stepping with sharp hooves, and he sighed admiringly. From the outwardly seemingly fragile animal emanated considerable strength.
"Your mother had the same Patronus, Harry."
"Thank you... Thank you very much, professor!" Harry himself didn't notice how he buried his face in Snape's shoulder, and he, hesitating slightly, hugged him, patting his back, but then moved him away.
"You should go. All we need is for them to miss you in your tower after curfew."
***
Sirius Black lay in a small dry but cold cave and thought only of one thing—how to penetrate the school.
The desire for revenge that covered him as soon as he understood the traitor was alive and well and free, tormented his soul and gave no peace day or night. Once he managed to get in there, but how unsuccessfully! All because of that stupid fat slob in the painting!
The huge black dog growled, but the growl turned to whimpering when a dementor "patrol" flew past the cave. Very rarely in his head surfaced thoughts about his godson, that if he, Sirius, gets caught and fed Veritaserum, the boy might be in danger.
And again around the familiar frozen air, bitter and sharp, cutting like glass through dog nostrils, causing dry cough... Dementors don't sense animals. Only animals themselves sense them perfectly. Especially if these animals are animages.