Late at night.
The residence at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London.
Even though it had been over a year since his name was cleared, there was no stopping Sirius, who had apparently been waiting to celebrate with us.
The result.
Sirius, flushed and woozy after drinking the celebratory liquor he'd opened, was swaying on his feet.
Harry, a minor in both body and mind, naturally abstained, and while I licked my lips at the thought of a drink after so long, I managed to resist, considering my current physical state.
Which meant the only one drinking the celebratory liquor was Sirius himself.
He must have been saving some seriously potent stuff, because even we, who hadn't drunk any, could smell the alcohol wafting from him. It was obvious what would happen to Sirius after drinking it all by himself.
Well, the rest was predictable. There are only so many clichés an old man resorts to when drunk.
He grabs his nephew and starts recounting his life story, then presses some pocket money into his hand, calling him cute.
Eventually, he gets too drunk and slumps in his chair, spouting nonsense.
Then Kreacher, with a disgusted look on his face, would bring a dirty blanket and toss it over him.
As I watched the scene with a smirk, Sirius, with a thoroughly twisted tongue, told an interesting story.
"Oh, yeah… Thish ish! A shecret! The professor comin' this year ish actually! A werewolf!"
"What? Really?"
"Of coursh! That prof's an old friend'a mine!"
After we finally managed to get the thoroughly drunk Sirius to sleep, I said to Harry, "A werewolf is coming as a professor, and somehow it doesn't even feel strange?"
"Compared to Voldemort and a con artist, a werewolf is pretty normal, don't you think?"
"You've got a point. Is it the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor again?"
"Probably, right? By the way, if he's a friend of Sirius's…"
Harry pondered for a moment before continuing. "When I think of Sirius's friends, I only know three others: my father, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin."
They were the names that always came up whenever Sirius told stories of his mischievous youth—heroic tales they were not.
I nodded. "Your father has passed, and one of them is in Azkaban. That naturally narrows it down to one person."
Harry nodded in agreement. "Then the last one, Remus Lupin, must be the new professor."
Looking back, that group called the Marauders was quite the combination. An Azkaban inmate, a traitor, a werewolf, and a resistance fighter.
Put them all together, and it would be stranger if they *hadn't* gotten into all sorts of trouble.
"Oh, yeah! I 'member!"
"Whoa, you scared me."
Just then, Sirius, who we thought was asleep, suddenly shot an arm into the air from his reclined position. "A long time ago! We made a shecret map of Hogwartsh! Look for it!"
"Kreacher, please move your master to the room upstairs. He's very drunk."
"As you command, Master Aisen."
*THUD.*
*—Aaargh!*
After glaring at Sirius with an annoyed look, Kreacher gave me a polite bow, snapped his fingers, and vanished along with Sirius.
A moment later, there was a loud tumbling sound, and then Kreacher reappeared. "I have escorted him safely."
"Thanks, Kreacher."
At Harry's words, Kreacher bowed so low it looked like he was about to smash his head on the floor.
"A secret map of Hogwarts, you say?"
I had something similar, a guidebook, but this was a 20th-century version. It might be more detailed.
I thought about it for a moment and decided to look for it when I returned to Hogwarts.
"For some reason, I feel like Fred and George would know about something like this," Harry said.
"I agree. When it comes to pranks, those twins are the best."
I smirked, remembering the twins who had just recently contacted me, begging me to sell them a Laughter Bell.
Hmm, speaking of pranks, I wonder what would happen if I replaced the bell in the Hogwarts clock tower with a Laughter Bell. Wouldn't everyone be able to relieve stress by laughing their heads off every hour on the hour?
As I hatched a plan that would horrify anyone who heard it, the night began to slip away.
***
The next morning.
As we were eating the luxurious breakfast Kreacher had prepared, Sirius came staggering down the stairs, one hand on his forehead, the other on his lower back.
"Ugh. I was a bit drunk yesterday, wasn't I? My apologies."
*But setting my head aside, why does my whole body ache so much?*
Behind Sirius, who was grumbling about his body hurting as if he'd been bruised, I could see Kreacher quietly smirking.
I didn't bother telling Sirius. It probably wasn't because I found his drunken rambling annoying. Probably.
Between Kreacher, who served delicious food, and a drunkard, it was a no-brainer who was more commendable.
"Tsk, tsk, you rootless cur. There's a limit to how much you can disgrace the name of the House of Black!"
Hearing the voice from somewhere down the hall, Sirius covered his ears and shouted, "Damn it, the soundproofing charm must have worn off again. I'll have to recast it later!"
Ignoring the nagging, Sirius badgered Kreacher for his portion of the food and said, "Ah, Harry. By the way, when are you planning to go to Diagon Alley this year?"
"Hmm, I'm not sure. There are still two weeks of vacation left, so I'll probably go with my friends when they go."
"Is that so?"
Sirius's eyes twinkled. It was painfully obvious, even without Legilimency, that he was eager to go to Diagon Alley with Harry.
"In that case, Harry, let's go somewhere soon."
"Where to?"
"I have a gift for you, a combination birthday present. Oh, Aisen, if you don't mind, you should come too. I owe you a lot as well."
Beaming and brimming with confidence, Sirius seemed certain that Harry would love the gift.
My curiosity piqued, I took a peek into his thoughts to see what the gift was, and I was horrified.
*A Firebolt? A broomstick that goes 250 kilometers per hour? Is that a broomstick? It's a mass-weapon missile.*
Even a Cleansweep felt fast to me; I'd never be able to control that thing even if he bought it for me.
*These speed-crazed wizards.*
I forced an awkward smile. "Ha, haha. I don't know what it is, but I'm fine, so just take Harry. Think of it as a nice outing for a godfather and godson."
"Are you sure? I wanted to get you a gift, too."
"Thank you, but I'll just accept the thought."
Sirius raised an eyebrow in surprise, but no matter what face he made, I was refusing the broomstick gift. Why ride a dangerous broomstick when I can use safe and comfortable flight magic?
By the way, a gift. What would be a good gift for Harry this year? It was a topic worth considering. Yes… for example. Something to improve his skills.
Harry stared at me as I fell into thought.
***
A few days later. Back at the Savoy Hotel.
In Harry's own opinion, he was a rather blessed wizard. Though his family life had been quite unfortunate, an even greater fortune had found him.
First, his talent was remarkable. He couldn't compare to Dumbledore, Grindelwald, or Voldemort, but he was good enough to be right behind them.
And his upbringing was perfectly suited for his growth as a wizard. Who else in the world could receive direct magical instruction from an archmage starting at the age of seven?
Not only his environment for magical growth, but his new family had also helped him grow without want. Deek, Ardeura, and Aisen had given him boundless love.
Of course, Harry himself knew very well that all of this had happened because a single wizard named Aisen Knightly had taken him in. Naturally, Harry respected his master so much that he was incredibly proud that Aisen used his surname.
Nevertheless, upon receiving this torture device disguised as a birthday present, Harry couldn't stop a seed of fear toward Aisen from blooming.
"...Master. What is this again?"
"Don't you like it? With this, you can train as much as you want, even in your dreams."
The gift Aisen had brought looked like an ordinary hat on the outside, but Harry already knew the heinous reality it contained.
It was nice to say it helped you train in your dreams, but wasn't it basically a nightmare inducer?
Aisen nodded to himself as if impressed with his own genius. "You can't die in dreams, so you can face all sorts of magic. Plus, your body doesn't get tired! Right, Harry?"
*Doesn't that mean death can't be an escape route?*
As much as Harry enjoyed real combat, he did not want to face life-threatening situations even in his dreams.
If it had been last year, he might have accepted the hat with a cheerful heart, but after experiencing the hellish training with Dumbledore, he had no desire to do that kind of training even in his sleep. If he'd known this would happen, he should have killed Tom Riddle somehow!
He'd rather fight Voldemort than have to reenact surviving that bombardment every night in his sleep. The thought was enough to instill a sense of crisis in Harry.
As he looked around, thinking he had to overcome this crisis somehow, it was a stroke of pure luck that his eyes fell upon the owls clustered outside the window.
Harry hurriedly pointed at them and shouted, "Ah! There are a lot of owls over there. Shouldn't we check those first?"
Aisen, who had been proudly explaining the hat's functions, checked the window and tilted his head. "What's this? Do we usually get this much mail?"
Watching Aisen walk toward the window, Harry thought, *That's it. I've decided.*
*First, I'll go buy the gift with Sirius, then quickly buy my school supplies in Diagon Alley.*
*And then, I'll go with Professor Dumbledore to the Mediterranean to hunt a Kraken!*
By the time he returned from the hunt, the existence of that hat would surely be forgotten from his master's mind!
The appearance of the owl was familiar, too. That brown owl was undoubtedly the one he had gifted to Ron. In other words, the letter was from the Weasley family.
It was most likely a letter asking to go to Diagon Alley together.
But, until he went to Diagon Alley, he had no good excuse to escape the hat.
So, it was essential to divert his master's attention from the torture hat to something else.
As Harry pondered, the writing on another owl's letter caught his eye.
*—From Hermione.*
*Yes, that's it!* Come to think of it, he remembered his master saying that Hermione had figured out Ardeura's true identity.
Harry quickly shouted, "Master, by the way, what are you going to do about Ardeura?"
"Hm? What about Ardeura?"
"You haven't opened any of Hermione's letters since she found out Ardeura was a phoenix."
Aisen flinched and replied, "I haven't opened them? You make it sound like I did it on purpose. It was an accident caused by the owls not being able to enter the training grounds."
It was only natural, as no owl could deliver a letter in the middle of an exploding bomb. But to Harry right now, that wasn't important.
"I don't think Hermione will see it that way. Don't you remember how angry she was last year when she couldn't get her letters because of Dobby?"
As if on cue, the owl pulled a handful of Hermione's letters from its bag. It seemed she had resent the returned letters as well; there was a stack of five or six bundles.
Aisen untied the letters and read them, then said with a troubled expression, "...Oh dear. She's practically singing for me to show her the phoenix."
*Yes, thank you, Hermione!* Harry cheered silently.
"...Wouldn't it be okay if I just erased her memory of seeing the phoenix?"
But Harry, desperate to turn Aisen's attention to Hermione, argued, "But we don't know how much Hermione knows about phoenixes, do we? Erasing her memory halfway would be worse than doing nothing at all. Besides, using a memory charm on a friend who's done nothing wrong…"
"Yes, you're right."
Aisen sighed. "I suppose we'll have to prepare for a guest soon. Well, I had a feeling she'd find out eventually."
In all honesty, aside from the hassle and the difficulty of explaining, there wasn't really a reason to hide it.
In any case, Harry was celebrating internally. Now his master wouldn't be interested in that hat until Hermione came!
***