"Harry, look at that mug!" while his brother hadn't yet rushed off to his professor again (the poor fellow had completely lost it—studying in summer!), his cousin dragged him to the television. "What do you think, could we shoot someone like that straight away with the 'bulldog' or start with a slingshot first?"
When Dudley wheedled himself a toy pistol that shot small pellets, his father was skeptical. "Pfft, what nonsense," thought Vernon. But the boy's shooting successes were so amazing that later he thought: "If such a pellet hits someone in the eye, it won't seem like nothing. And sometimes it's precisely such details that matter."
"You mean," Harry was amazed at the boy's bloodthirstiness, "you want to... bump him off?"
"What for?" his brother was perplexed in turn. "Shoot him in the legs so the police catch him faster. Well, if I see him, of course."
"Ah. No, of course, only with the slingshot, otherwise Uncle Vernon will get such a fine! The 'Bulldogs' are supposedly just in our collection!"
"The Dursleys haven't yet seen the problem that their boy no longer finds drawn targets sufficient, and he, alas, is looking for live ones. True, he does take the trouble to think about it, so for now only the neighbors' cats, rare stray dogs, and flying birds get it. However, Dudley hasn't yet managed to really get any birds. I'll have to enlighten the relatives," Harry decided, sadly looking at the empty page of his cherished notebook.
"Sirius Black," Duds continued commenting, "this guy lucked out with his name. Maybe that's why he went off the rails?"
"Black, you say?" Harry finally paid attention to the screen, where they were showing a photo of a wild-looking... no, just plain wild, disheveled man whose face clearly warranted a diagnosis. And, it seemed, not just one. The snarl, at least, impressed not only Harry. Aunt Petunia today hadn't allowed them to leave the house at all. Only to the backyard, where no one could see them.
***
A pleased Petunia fluttered around the perfect kitchen, busy with a new dessert. She had to celebrate her own victory. And the boys deserved a treat. She directed her gaze out the window and smiled dreamily, remembering how her sister's former admirer had looked at her. Eh. She could still... surprise and delight. And she shoots excellently, yes. Her soul felt surprisingly light and calm, as if protection had already been built for them.
She didn't recognize Black on television, which was no wonder: she'd seen the aristocrat's descendant only once at her own wedding, and then she hadn't been looking closely at her sister's friends. Moreover, Black had been dressed in a suit appropriate for the occasion and looked accordingly. So the woman didn't particularly worry, and simply took preventive measures. Just in case.
And the boys got down to new experiments with Dudley's weapons "arsenal." This was partly implementing Snape's ideas. By the end of the day, they'd managed to make something quite interesting from the toy pistol: Harry had managed to make the "targeting spell" work in the hands of an ordinary person, that is, a Muggle, which increased the shooting range almost twofold. His brother was blissful: the toy showed intermediate results between a small-caliber rifle and pneumatics. And no law violations, it must be said! Neither he nor his parents were in any danger! Harry was terribly proud and was going to demonstrate their success as soon as his uncle returned. Since Snape wasn't writing...
***
"My boy," Dumbledore addressed Snape in his usual manner, and the latter cringed as usual, "I didn't want to trouble you this summer, but you understand yourself, the circumstances..."
"The mutt escaped, yes, I'm aware."
"I want to ask you to watch over Harry."
"But he's under 'blood protection,' as you say. What do I have to do with it?"
"The boy is often sent from home on various errands... He can't disobey, but leaving the property is dangerous for him..."
Sent often, yes... Daily at least once Potter, along with a trip to the store, heads to his place, Snape's, and also goes out with his cousin to chase the neighbors' kneazles. Well, Potter can perfectly well travel to him from his own yard too...
"And? Am I supposed to sit in the bushes under a Disillusionment Charm and watch the house? Headmaster, haven't you confused something or someone?"
"What are you thinking, my boy... It will be enough if you pick him up from the Dursleys a couple of times a week, help him catch up in Potions and, most importantly, teach him the basics of mental defense..."
"He's too young for defense. And why does he need it?" Snape grew wary.
And, as always, he received a lengthy lecture about the boy's probable connection with "he-who-must-not-be," that is, Riddle. Imagine that, and he'd almost gotten used to calling him not the Dark Lord, but by his real name. But now Severus refrained from that designation. It wasn't worth surprising the Headmaster: who knows what might come of it.
Then Dumbledore, truthfully depicting light sadness on his face, complained at length about the Chosen One's more than mediocre academic achievements.
"I don't tutor."
"Double rate per hour."
"Headmaster..."
"Plus the choice of potions to prepare remains yours..."
"And what, may I ask, can I choose?"
"Anything. Ingredients will be paid for."
"Will be?"
"Here," the Headmaster handed him a compact but heavy leather purse in the shape of a small truncated pyramid. "Here, I think, will be enough until the end of the holidays."
Snape's eyebrows involuntarily crept up. For Dumbledore to give money in advance? The Headmaster wasn't particularly generous with performers even after all his assignments were completed. To put it mildly.
"I have to do this until September?! Why? The boy shows neither talent nor desire to study!"
"I would like you and him to... get to know each other better. I was wrong to keep you on opposite sides..."
"What are you planning, Headmaster?"
"I simply wanted to make school days easier for both of you."
"So that compared to summer they'll seem like paradise to us?"
"So that you would become friends with Harry..."
"Perhaps I should also catch Black and shelter him as a house pet?!" Snape flared up.
"Severus, if Black remains a dog, then as much as you like..."
"But he was, it seems, one of your allies..."
"Alas, apparently I too can sometimes be mistaken..."
"That is, I can... kill him?"
"If he threatens Harry's safety, you'll be able to stop him, won't you? I just beg you, don't say anything to the boy. Don't frighten him."
"As you say, Headmaster."
"Severus, give me your word that you won't say anything to Harry. And... don't kill Sirius. Only if there's absolutely no other way out. Do whatever you want with him, as long as he doesn't threaten Harry."
Snape wanted to object that he'd had enough of words and oaths, but quickly sensed that this time they wouldn't let him go so easily... The Headmaster was ready to talk as long as necessary until his interlocutor agreed to everything himself. That's precisely why the Potions Master always preferred short reports and equally short conversations: the less luxury of communication with the esteemed Albus Dumbledore fell to him, the better.
Merlin, how much simpler it had been with the "Death Eaters"... They'd looked at his memories, drawn conclusions that didn't please them but were correct. Shot at the shooting range Malfoy had set up in his own cellars. True, he hadn't managed to talk the grown men out of testing their own shields directly on themselves.
Fortunately, they'd had enough brains to aim at legs for a start, and the first injuries were quickly healed—Avery and MacNair turned out to be quite knowledgeable in healing. Snape noted that the small-caliber weapon took down shields from absolutely everyone. At the same time, he got plenty of information about each person's personal power, shield strength, and... accuracy. Although, if you think about it, there are several attraction spells, but you'll still have to aim properly. He'd need to discuss this with Potter; by the way, it was only past noon, so they'd have time to study. Right, he'd remove the protection and write to him as soon as he got home.
Snape finally reached the boundary of the anti-Apparition zone and demonstratively took out his wand.
"Apparate!"
***
To the master's surprise, his house unexpectedly smelled deliciously of excellent coffee and fresh baking. Still, the nimble boy had managed to bypass his protection! Although Snape lately hadn't been setting it very carefully. He wasn't worried about Dumbledore dropping by—he wasn't the kind of bird for the Headmaster to run to him personally. As for former pseudo-comrades who'd now become simply comrades, there was no need to worry: he'd long ago managed to position himself so that no one would even think of visiting him without an invitation. Except perhaps Malfoy... But he wouldn't be allowed by either upbringing or natural laziness.
Most likely. And... The next thought ran away somewhere. The insufferable boy was standing by the table and smiling so that his lips stretched into an answering smile on their own. Malfoy was weak against him, to be honest... But he'd never say that to either of them.
And Harry was pleased as a python. Snape wasn't scolding him for penetrating his home! Fantastic... He was being called by his first name again. Asked how he'd worked with shields. Consulted with. Definitely, something had happened. But first he joyfully demonstrated what he'd managed to turn the toy pistol into.
And immediately got in response from Snape an idea about applying spells and potions to bullets... and Dudley's pellets... Because of his damaged eyesight, this was especially valuable to him. The base was Carpe Retractum, of course, but how Snape suggested improving it was amazing. Two variants: potion and enchantment. Moreover, you could enchant a whole pile of stones at once—it worked on all of them! They checked. Pebbles, from small ones the size of a fingernail to cobblestones the size of a fist, flew right to the area of the left eye of an improvised full-height target. "Brother will be thrilled!" thought Harry.
"But still, what happened to the professor who suddenly became... soft? Humane? Kind... Oops. Damn, not one word fits! Ah, better just ask." And Harry asked.
And then they puzzled for a long time about what Dumbledore wanted from them. The assumption that they should "become friends" at his initiative, after everything that had happened, seemed too strange.
***
Filius Flitwick's return turned out to be very timely. From his pleased appearance, Severus understood that the search had ended successfully. Which meant it was time to share what had happened here—you couldn't write much in the "Protean notebook."
"So that's why such an effect appeared!" exclaimed the small professor, having listened to the tale about the Mungo epic. "Severus, your mark was obviously resonating with the Horcrux! The Headmaster didn't account for that. And couldn't, considering his rather superficial knowledge of these sections of magic. It's interesting that when the boy slept, you didn't feel hatred. Apparently," he turned to Harry, "you somehow managed to block the Horcrux in your sleep. Alas, now we can only build assumptions about this."
"I wouldn't say I'm upset," Harry parried. He had no desire to be the object of research, even by the friendly Charms professor.
"Yes, rather the opposite," Flitwick continued. "You dissolved and even assimilated it, and you now have Tom's best traits..."
Harry visibly shuddered, but the professor "reassured" him:
"Tom Riddle was a brilliant student with an excellent memory and analytical abilities. And if they overlaid your own, freed from the spell, is that really bad? Incidentally, he was a very charismatic leader and brilliant storyteller. Don't you recognize anything, or rather, anyone? You've been described him exclusively in black colors, but haven't you thought about what kind of wizard, a half-blood, he must have been for most aristocrats to swear allegiance to him—and this began not only with his classmates, but also with those who were older..."
"So what, should I thank him now?"
"Thank whom? Riddle, Vol... the Lord, or that piece of him that's now part of you?" Snape clarified, puzzling Harry. Because really... whom?
"You're the master, Harry, it's for you to decide whether you're grateful for this or not," Flitwick noted, likewise not intending to make the choice easier for him.
But the irritation still hadn't gone anywhere and was looking for an outlet, so Harry remembered how they'd plugged his ears back then in Mungo, and became indignant...
"Why did you remember this just now, Potter?" Snape was surprised, but quickly realized: the boy simply needed a release. And he explained more gently:
"Harry, about half the information there was, mm, containing nothing important. So I was only concerned then that your ears wouldn't wilt prematurely or stretch out like goblins'. You know, young wizards are told this when they start cursing or listening to cursing..."
"How would I know!"
Snape cut himself short. In the green eyes where he was used to seeing sparks of inspiration, hurt and long-standing pain were splashing. It finally dawned on him what was a painful topic for Harry. And no changed Dursleys, even if they were the most wonderful guardians and relatives, would fix this. But what could he do?
"I'm ready to show you all the hospital records right now and answer your questions. If that doesn't satisfy you, you're always free to contact the Chief Healer. He became very interested in you."
"In you too," Harry grinned, recalling with pleasure how similarly the healer and Potions Master behaved when it came to work. And especially the almost carnivorous look of Mungo's head at the professor and the potions he produced.
"Let's, let's have a look," Flitwick rubbed his hands, immediately joining the noble company of professionals.
They got so carried away that they surfaced from the pile of old and new records only after a couple of hours, when Harry's stomach sang a simple but quite understandable song. They had to order food: no one was going to waste time cooking.
While waiting for the order, Flitwick improved the toy pistol a bit more, which now (provided the pellets were treated with potion) became quite a formidable weapon.
"I wonder, can the balls be made with expansion charms and pumped with other potions?" Harry puzzled the professors.
But before they could settle down to more calculations, the food was finally delivered.
***
"The garlic sauce definitely turned out well this time," Flitwick noted, eating braised meat with some very complex side dish.
Harry perked up: he'd long wanted to ask one question.
"Why couldn't anyone sense something wrong with Quirrell? He really stank!"
Forks quietly clinked...
The professors had to "come clean"—by the Headmaster's order, apparently, everyone's sense of smell and other... suspicions had been dulled. Harry was shocked.
"No one?! All of Hogwarts... all the teachers, then? Everyone is controlled by the Headmaster so that not one can even stir? But that possessor, he was really dangerous! Or wasn't he?"
"The Headmaster, Harry, is the strongest wizard..."
"But he... shouldn't harm students? Allow danger?"
A heavy sigh was his sad and quite unambiguous answer.
"I personally couldn't determine the nature of the possessor. Special techniques were needed, I... fortunately, didn't possess them then," Snape admitted.
"Why fortunately?"
"Because I'd sworn to the Lord. I only had suspicions, so I preferred to behave like a complete idiot, treating Quirrell as a sick man and trying to slow him down at least with an attempt at intimidation. But what would have happened if I'd recognized him?"
"You risked..."
Severus shrugged.
"What will happen to you if he returns?" For the first time, Harry was truly frightened. "You kept interfering with him all the time!"
"All my actions were directed at Quirrell, not at the Lord. I hope I can convince him of this. Otherwise..."
"Squeeze this," Flitwick immediately fastened the same chain on his friend's wrist as Harry had, and the boy simply felt relieved. He looked gratefully at the half-goblin.
"I think it's time to lift your spirits," he smiled. "I'll share something new, especially as it's quite apropos. I was tasked to find out who's behind the Dursleys."
"The Headmaster or the goblins?"
"The goblins, of course."
"And what shall we make up?"
"Why make up? I'll jerk them around a bit and say who."
"And whom are you targeting for this role?"
"Dumbledore, of course."
"Oh my. Ha! Brilliant. The surveillance on the house is his, the spy is also his person... Even I, carrying out his order to periodically drag Potter to my place for lessons, will fit perfectly into this picture: most people consider me 'Dumbledore's man.' Excellent, Filius!"
Harry was grinning from ear to ear: the cover for his relatives was simply gorgeous. Few wizards would decide to go against Dumbledore! Actually, no one. Except those who were near him now.
"But still, why does the Headmaster suddenly need your rapprochement? I'm still puzzled..."
"We have a couple of theories. For example, perhaps he really fears Harry and Riddle's connection and hopes I'll help the boy close himself off."
"Isn't that too naive?"
"Too much, but there's another theory. The Headmaster may finally be starting to prepare Harry for having to fight the Lord."
"What the... What can I oppose against a Dark wizard with experience? Nonsense!"
"Nevertheless, the great wizard Albus Dumbledore prefers to believe in this."
"And has long since tried to implant his belief everywhere," Flitwick added.
"But why?! He's the strongest... And I'm still just a schoolboy. Why doesn't he want to do it himself?"
"According to his... belief or opinion, one can't remain Light after staining oneself with murder."
"I don't under-stand..." Harry even goggled his eyes. "So, if I somehow miraculously manage to deal with Riddle, I'll... become Dark? And what awaits me then?"
"Nothing good, I suppose. Something needs to be done about Dumbledore. As for the Lord, I can cheer you up, we have... colleagues, you might say."
"By the way, Dumbledore dealt with Grindelwald, maybe you can do the same, Harry? Without killing?"
Snape snorted disbelievingly at this (almost identically with Harry), and then cheered them up with a story about the wholesale recruitment of the remaining free Death Eaters. Despite the fact that his descriptions were quite sparse, the listeners perfectly imagined what had been going on at Malfoy's shooting range. Their mood improved again.
"And now for the sad part: Harry has a little over a month left before school. How are you doing with defense and mask?"
"I believed and continue to believe that traditional Art of mental defense isn't for Harry at all. Just as it's not for any teenager. At this age there are too many emotions, he lives by feelings, guided mainly by them—by the way, we observed this more than once today. Harry's strong points are his inclination for self-observation, ability to draw conclusions and use them. But classic Occlumency, I repeat, isn't for him. And so we invented... this game."
Snape invited his colleague to his own Pensieve, where Harry gradually joined in. He hadn't yet understood how to regard Snape's pronouncements: he seemed to have been both scolded and praised. And then he understood what the professor was talking about: he was again trying not to take note, but to produce a responsive emotion! How about that. Turns out you can do without it. Just know, and that's all. For example, that he's at such an age, yes. And what's so special about that? It will pass. As Snape says, a normal stage of development. Thinking about himself as an object of his own research, as if from the outside, Harry liked this, it surprisingly calmed him and gave reason for... pride, perhaps?
Snape commented on how he went through his Labyrinth, showing Flitwick in the Pensieve the most interesting moments, explained how he helped Harry place monster-guardians in their places, how they introduced a "false trail" and made branches, and then Harry figured out how to work with emotions in Legilimency...
The Labyrinth with rooms labeled "infant," "crybaby," "grouch," "offended," "Muggle" gradually confused the casual visitor, frightened with nightmares and allowed putting together from a mosaic of images a simple and quite limited personality that had absolutely no relation to the current Harry Potter, except that real pieces of his past life were taken for the rooms.
"This will be... This will be a breakthrough, at least in this discipline!" the beaming half-goblin emerged from the silvery mist. "But for the mask, the strictest organization of mind and feelings is necessary. Especially feelings, Harry, understand?"
Snape smirked. For the mask they already had their own technology ready, including anchors, which they made from images of Harry's friends, his Dean, the Headmaster himself, and some objects from Hogwarts' furnishings. And these anchors held quite specific emotions of the boy—namely those that he most often experienced while at school the previous two years.
"You've done amazing work, colleagues," Flitwick shook first the Potions Master's hand, and then Harry's. "And dealt with it amazingly quickly. It remains to understand what needs to be changed in response to the Headmaster's proposal. What's most logical?"
"Intensification of enmity," Snape said hollowly. "The former Harry and I under the influence of the mark... I can't imagine how we would have survived it at all. But I also don't believe the Headmaster would like to get rid of us. It's not in his interests."
"Mutual hatred, deeper than it was," Flitwick nodded. "Dangerous and unpleasant."
Harry frowned: this didn't suit him at all, but he couldn't disagree with the professor's conclusions. Because that's exactly how it would have happened.
And he'd still need to find out what his friends really were... It turns out he'd remain in Hogwarts completely alone? No way... Should he tell about the cloak or not? No, better save it for later. You never know...
"What if we still show that from the Headmaster's idea to, mm, make us friends, something did come out after all? Well, we turned out to be so obedient and diligent. Eh? And you took me from the Dursleys and, for example, started by feeding me. And didn't hiss. At least because you were busy. And I didn't get in the way, the Dursleys were enough for me. How much does a kid need?"
Snape and Flitwick laughed in unison, and then...
"Well, this idea has its charm, Harry. Only what will follow from his luminescence after this?"
"I don't know what from him, but I can perfectly imagine what will follow from you when we return to school under the condition that you yourself characterized as 'intensification of enmity.' Personally, I'd prefer some other intensification..."
Snape... smiled. For the first time—so openly.
"Well... It will be interesting to see Dumbledore's face if you and I say in unison: 'We tried very hard, Headmaster.'"
"Take me with you," Flitwick laughed. "I want to as well."
"The Pensieve will be your consolation, my friend. Showing close acquaintance with you is the last thing we need, isn't it, Harry?"
"One thing is clear, he'll be interested in how you managed it."
"We tried very hard," Snape and Potter answered almost in unison.
"I see what to add to the labyrinth?"
Potter nodded actively. If Snape considers Flitwick his teacher... then it wouldn't hurt him to attach himself too, right?
***
"The boy reaches out to you, Severus. Despite everything. Don't you see it yourself?"
"I'm not blind, Filius, but can you answer why?"
"Harry has a heightened sense of... truth. And you were honest with him, although it cost you a lot. Very much. And he's also very emotionally receptive, and if he didn't understand this on a conscious level, he certainly sensed it. And therefore for him it's precisely you who's worthy of trust, like no one else."
"The one who handed his parents over almost into the Dark Lord's hands? What nonsense?..."
"You're the one talking nonsense, how long can this go on? The prophecy, according to Dumbledore, fit two children at that moment, although its content could be interpreted however you liked. Take at least the date. The seventh month is different in different calendars, and it could also be the seventh month of pregnancy... I'm not even mentioning the year! And if Potter Senior had chosen friends better, Neville Longbottom would be in Harry's place now. And don't try to excuse yourself with adolescent 'whatever,' you're no longer a teenager."
"It feels like almost the entire previous life was played out by someone, as if by musical notes..."
"Familiar, my friend, familiar... But this doesn't negate the fact that you took control long ago. So don't fake it. Harry is far from indifferent to you."
"Just tell me what you brought."
"I found the threefold mentorship ritual. Where—I can't say yet. Except that it's somewhere in China. And in the mountains. It was cold."
Snape nodded understandingly. He knew some places where you could only pass with blindfolded eyes or let yourself be stunned and carried... The Teacher risked and, apparently, considered it justified.
"It will give Harry almost complete protection. But not us. More precisely, it would give us too, if we hadn't been recruited earlier. If we conduct this ritual, then all actions for the benefit of our ward will be prioritized. Do you understand what I'm talking about?"
"Of course, but let's clarify. If such circumstances arise, like a conflict of oaths, how will this affect our actions?"
"We'll act in Potter's interests in any case, but in conflict with oaths given earlier and especially vows, they'll simply burn us..."
"Well, not the worst death. But not the best option either. Who will remain with him? Yes, he now has decent Muggles... But we need to think of something."
"So Harry must know the entire essence and meaning of the ritual, just as we do."
"And bear responsibility for our lives? A boy? I'm against it."
"There are no other options."
"And how do we convince him of this afterward?"