On the Saturday of the first week of the new term, when the snow had either been blown away or melted—though frost still clung to the trees in the morning—I headed to the Headmaster's office after my usual physical exercises, shower, and breakfast.
Climbing to the designated floor and walking down the corridor, I reached the alcove with the gargoyle. However, the gargoyle was currently missing, and the passage with the spiral staircase leading up was open. Shrugging with a "what isn't forbidden is allowed" attitude, I boldly headed up. I didn't even have to knock—the door was open.
The Headmaster's office looked completely different in the morning than it did on a dark evening lit by mystical blue lamps. Now it was sunny and bright, and even all those seemingly completely inappropriate trinkets and artifacts created a certain "correct" look. The palette of wood and bronze shades gave the office a mystical component, making it look like the typical study of an old, venerable archmage—something I had noticed last time, too. But in the dim blue light, the atmosphere was gloomy; now, in the rays of the morning sun flooding through the large windows, it felt... Solid. Respectable. It's hard to describe.
"Mr. Granger?" Headmaster Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, displeasedly examining a large stack of papers, documents, and parchments with seals. "What has disturbed you on such a fine Saturday morning?"
"Good morning, Headmaster. Your door was unlocked, and I have a couple of questions. But it seems you are busy..."
"No, no," Dumbledore briskly pushed the stack of papers aside and smoothed his beard with his hand. "I am always glad to help a young wizard."
"Well then... I want access to the Restricted Section to study magic."
"Ahem..." the Headmaster actually choked at my statement. "You don't look for workarounds, do you, Mr. Granger?"
"You could say that."
"But permit me to ask, what interests you in the Restricted Section? It houses books on extremely complex magic, which must be approached with full responsibility, understanding, and casting aside youthful maximalism. And Madam Pince, I am sure, has told you about the restrictions."
"That is true. The reason for my desire to get there is that I have chosen the goal of becoming a Healer. The literature on the disciplines necessary for this path is kept there, in the Restricted Section."
"Hmm..." The Headmaster pondered. "Yes, I recall, perhaps two dozen books. But that is just off the top of my head. There may be more. A Healer, you say? That is a very worthy goal and an equally worthy profession, Mr. Granger. I see that you are a rather sensible young wizard, and you must understand that I, as Headmaster, cannot simply write you a pass."
Nodding understandingly, I prepared to listen further.
"Young wizards are prone to hot temper and lack of restraint, and a school is full of reasons for petty, insignificant in their root cause, but extremely hurtful conflicts. Can I be sure that in response to an innocent but offensive hex, in the heat of the moment, you will not use something from the Restricted Section? If you do, dooming a student to an unenviable, agonizing fate—and that is the best-case scenario. You could perform the magic incorrectly, and then a much larger number of students would suffer, yourself included."
"So what should I do?"
"Focus your attention, Mr. Granger, on studying the available disciplines and materials. Trust an old man who himself occasionally looks into the regular section of the library to replenish his baggage of knowledge—there is plenty to learn there. And in the future, for example, after your fourth year..."
Dumbledore fell into thought.
"Yes, I think if Professor Snape confirms that you are sensible and mature of mind, and the other teachers agree on your competence in their disciplines... In that case, I believe I could issue you a pass—not to the whole section, but to specific books."
"Why Professor Snape specifically?"
Dumbledore looked back at me with surprise and a slight smirk hidden behind his beard.
"Surely you, Mr. Granger, have not succumbed to the general trend and consider Professor Snape somewhat..."
The Headmaster paused, choosing his words and giving me the opportunity to express my own opinion about the professor. I decided to play this game.
"A spiteful, nasty dungeon bat? No, not at all."
"I intended to put it somewhat more mildly, but Professor Snape has indeed acquired such a reputation within the walls of Hogwarts," Dumbledore nodded. "However, though it may not be obvious, he cares about student safety almost more than anyone, and his requirements for people are excessively high. Yet precisely because of this, if Professor Snape says that you are a sane and sensible young wizard, then it is more than true."
"Well then... I think that is fair. In that case, I will focus on studying the available material."
"Of course, but not to the detriment of the main curriculum. By the way, Mr. Granger. Rumors have reached me that you have learned the Patronus Charm," Dumbledore leaned forward slightly across the desk, expressing genuine curiosity.
"Yes, that's true, Headmaster," I smiled. "My friends and I spent quite a lot of time achieving even some results. It turned out to be very difficult to cast such powerful charms."
"I understand you perfectly," the Headmaster smiled. "That is why such charms are considered N.E.W.T. level. Specifically, the Patronus Charm is not so much difficult in execution as it is in the requirements for the wizard's experience and their ability to channel a large amount of magic through the wand. You, as I understand, are capable of creating an incorporeal Patronus, but not a Corporeal one?"
The question was clearly rhetorical and required no answer—it was readable on the Headmaster's face.
"That is quite telling."
"Telling?"
"Yes, Mr. Granger. Such a skill speaks of a certain mental maturity, self-control. A Corporeal Patronus comes easier to impulsive people who are easily led by emotions and find it hard to stop. Therefore, the flow of magic surges, forming a Corporeal Patronus. One who controls oneself is more predisposed to the incorporeal Patronus, dosing their emotions and magic in precise, sharp impulses."
"It turns out," I pondered, analyzing what was said, "that to form a Corporeal Patronus, one needs a smooth buildup of emotions and magic?"
"Precisely."
"Interesting," I smiled. "That hadn't occurred to me, despite the amount of literature I've studied."
"That is the difference between experience and knowledge. Books do not contain everything by far—wizards are subconsciously greedy when it comes to knowledge they have gained over a lifetime, as they say, by sweat and blood. And the more complex and sophisticated the magic, the more of these small omissions are found in books. This is one of the reasons why I cannot give you access to the Restricted Section now. From a multitude of such omissions, a complete misunderstanding of the magic you wish to touch eventually forms, and that is already dangerous. Very dangerous, and primarily for you, Mr. Granger. One must approach any undertaking having both knowledge and experience with understanding behind them."
"I understand, Headmaster. Thank you for this small lesson."
"Oh, think nothing of it," Dumbledore waved his hand. "It is no trouble at all. Allow me to be curious, by the way, how did you learn the Patronus so quickly?"
"We have quite the incentive flying around the school," I shrugged, and the Headmaster immediately turned gloomy.
"Indeed. A very unpleasant neighborhood."
"Is it possible to somehow... I don't know, Headmaster, escort the Dementors to where they belong?"
"To my great regret, although I am an influential wizard, such measures are regulated strictly by the Minister for Magic. But be that as it may, I dare not detain you any longer. If memory serves, you should soon have Quidditch practice with the other students?"
"Yes, indeed. I've stayed too long. Have a good day," I nodded, and receiving a nod in return, left the Headmaster's office.
So, I need to study the local magic, but mainly the school curriculum. I already realized that at first glance it seems ridiculous, but it isn't.
. . . . .
On Saturday evening, after dinner, I went down to the dungeons as usual for extra Potions lessons. Professor Snape sat invariably at his desk, checking scrolls of student homework without much enthusiasm. Daphne was already sitting at the first table; tools were prepared, and cups and bowls with various ingredients stood nearby. Dirty cauldrons stood at the back of the classroom, clearly intended for detention, but where were the culprits? Judging by the Professor's look, he expected to see them right now, but no, it was just me.
"Come in, sit down," Snape greeted me with his usual brevity. "Recipes are on the board, ingredients on the table, arms attached to shoulders, and your head, I dare hope, is not empty."
With a wave of his hand, the Professor materialized recipes written in chalk on the board behind him, and I quickly took the seat next to Daphne.
"Greengrass."
"Granger."
"Merlin Almighty..."
"Unexpected," Daphne and I looked simultaneously at the Professor, who rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
"What did I do to deserve this..."
The girl and I exchanged glances, smirked, and set to brewing. Now I was also directly involved in the brewing process, having become skilled over the past time in various trifles like chopping, determining the state of the potion at intermediate stages, compiling tables of ingredient reactions under different conditions, and all that sort of thing.
"Greengrass."
"Yes?"
"I heard your favorite confectionery has launched a new series of products."
"Hmm?" Daphne looked at me quite sharply, her expression demanding details, but quickly regained her proper coldness. "Ahem, perhaps I would like to know the details."
"Oh, in that case, we definitely need to go to Hogsmeade, because by the next trip there, they should already appear..."
"At Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop," Daphne smirked sadly. "How Slytherin of you, playing on the weaknesses of a poor, vulnerable young lady."
The girl let out a sigh so theatrically sad that I couldn't suppress a smile.
"But considering my parents' instructions, and generally the very idea of the establishment, such an adventure seems somewhat reckless to me."
"Are we wizards or just out for a walk?" I started chopping the root that was first on the ingredient list. "There are charms and spells for disguise and changing appearance, even Polyjuice Potion, for instance..."
"Does nothing embarrass you, young people?" Snape, who had until this moment been hidden from us behind a large scroll of parchment, abruptly lowered its top edge, looking at us with slight displeasure. "My presence here, for example?"
"Oh, indeed, Professor," I nodded to Snape. "How do you brew Polyjuice?"
"Your impudence, Mr. Granger, causes me mild irritation. And if rumors among the students are to be believed, my irritation tends to turn into trouble for the source of said irritation. Do you not find your behavior unreasonable?"
"Better to trust an expert in this matter and get a reprimand than to mess something up yourself and get injured."
"Hmm," Snape shook his head barely noticeably. "If only your words could reach the ears of a certain reckless individual. I must warn you that brewing Polyjuice Potion illegally, without holding a qualification of at least a journeyman and without prior notification of the DMLE, is punishable by six months in Azkaban."
"Then Polyjuice is cancelled," I shrugged, eliciting a faint smile from Daphne, who was busy, like me, preparing ingredients.
"Furthermore, as a Hogwarts Professor, I consider it my duty to inform you that Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop has wards similar to the Thief's Downfall, which strip disguise magic from customers."
"That is regrettable," I nodded, tossing the chopped roots and a couple of pinches of pixie pollen into the slightly bubbling cauldron.
"I remember the times," Snape changed his tone for no apparent reason, "when, using the spell from page one hundred and thirty-one of the third volume of Advanced Charms by Miranda Sayre, one could anchor the effect of charms cast on oneself or a comrade, avoiding their removal even by the Downfall. Those were good times."
Daphne and I exchanged glances; it was clear what goal we would pursue during our next visit to the library.
"However, due to recent events, splitting into small groups during the trip to Hogsmeade will not be allowed, and the trip itself will take place under very tight Auror supervision."
It seems the killing of the Dementors stirred up the swamp too much. And the Professor is somehow... too talkative. Maybe he's in a good mood? It happens, albeit very, very rarely.
"Furthermore," Snape returned to his usual look and tone of a severe Potions Master. "As Head of Slytherin House, I was forced to agree to the request of Miss Greengrass's parents. To notify them in case the behavior of the young Miss in any way tarnishes the moral image of a young lady from a Most Ancient and Noble family of pureblood wizards."
In the Professor's intonations, both strictness and slight irony could be heard, which did not escape the attention of either me or Daphne.
"And I experience strong irritation when I have to tell someone something about someone. May I hope that you will not become a source of strong irritation?"
"Undoubtedly, Professor," we nodded simultaneously.
"Excellent," he nodded, turning sharply toward the doorway. "Ah, you've arrived."
In the doorway stood a blonde seventh-year girl in a Ravenclaw uniform with a prefect badge, and behind her were two first-years from the same house. They looked guilty but simultaneously unwilling to admit any wrongdoing.
"Professor," the blonde nodded. "I have brought the culprits to you for detention."
"You are late, Miss Clearwater."
"It won't happen again."
"I have been hearing that for seven years, and for the seventh year I answer you—minus one point from Ravenclaw, Miss Clearwater, for a change, for irresponsible attitude toward prefect duties."
"Yes, Professor," the girl literally shoved the culprits into the classroom and nodded. "I will return for them in two hours."
"Be so kind. You," Snape looked sternly at the first-years. "Over there. There are cauldrons, sponges, and ordinary chemicals. Enjoy the result of your experiments and disregard for safety."
The kids nodded dejectedly and trudged to the far corner of the classroom. Saturday evening—a wonderful time.
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