"I understood!" Pat said happily when we left the class, in which we had additional transformations.

"Do you understand that McGonogall wants to get rid of us?" I asked, because the professor expressed the idea that we have caught up enough and we no longer need additional classes. And for me, we just got it.

"I understood the essence of the transformation of one inanimate object into another!" It took a long time to get to you. You take a wand ...

"No" Pat interrupted enthusiastically "you understand, for example - you need to turn a chair into a crystal vase - And?"

"Basically, it's the same thing! I mean the microcosm. The only difference is in the number of electrons! Wizards know how to do this only because they can accumulate energy. A wand, spells are just a means!"

I shook my head.

"Write to the Nobel Committee and you will be given a prize."

Pat seems offended.

"Potter, you don't take me seriously. Just think, to what magnitude of discovery I have just approached!"

"When did I not take you seriously? But how do you explain the transformation from inanimate objects into living things? Contrary to my expectations, Pat did not lose heart, and in his eyes that manic fire flared up, which lights up in Hermione's eyes at the mention of house elves."

"Not yet. But just think - the secret of the evolution of life on Earth may be hidden here!"

I looked at him closely.

"And, in my opinion, you are completely crazy."

Pat dimmed and made a disgusting face:

"Potter, you, as always, spoil my best ideas with your ignorance."

As you spoil mine. By the way, when you make a face like that, you become so much like your daddy..."

Pat flinched and returned to his normal expression.

"And now?" He asked worriedly.

"It's okay now," I said mercifully.

"Never scare me like that again!"

"Did he talk to you?" I asked.

"No!" exclaimed my friend "I still lacked his explanations. And what can he tell me, judge for yourself. What can you say to a sixteen-year-old son, about whom you have never slept or spirited before? What can I tell him? Our relationship is not sugar anyway."

"Yeah" I agreed "you are unlikely to become "best friends."

Pat laughed.

"That's right, buddy. He is clearly not one of those dads with whom you can kick the ball in the yard, and who will explain when it's time to stop pulling girls by the pigtails and start dating them."

"But, you must admit, - I continued, - that, in the first place, he pisses you off so much, because he is your dad, who appeared so inappropriate. Where are we going?"

Pat rolled his eyes.

"Oh, yes! I'm sixteen and I'm mad at my dad! this is not the case, Harry. He's a sadist and a moral freak. Show me someone who would love it." After a moment's silence, he added,

"Mom, if only. I don't understand it, though."

"You see," I said, "he's probably not so bad after all. Means…"

What am I saying? I'm protecting Snape?! I must have lost my mind. Even Pat gave me a strange look and interrupted:

"It only means that Snape has had sex at least once in his life, and nothing else."

I couldn't think of anything to say to him and just asked:

"So where are we going?"

"To the eighth floor. I'll show you something like this. I found it yesterday."

When we got there, Pat grabbed my arm, dragged me back and forth down the hall three times, and pointed to a door that appeared out of nowhere.

"Please!"

I looked at my friend. Pat was beaming. Well, at least I can be sure that there isn't a pit with sharp stakes at the bottom… I opened the door, walked in, and gasped. I found myself in Pat's room.

"Impressive?" My friend asked happily from behind me. I looked around the room and realized that there were some differences. First, there were no windows. The old posters of the Sex Pistols and Pink Floyd were replaced by posters of some Damn Sisters and Bullet Guns, the chandelier turned out to be a high-floating ball of light, and the chemistry books and various scientific collections that constantly lived in large numbers in Pat's room were replaced by books on Potions and Transformation Theory. Pat was beaming as if he'd built the whole place himself overnight.

"Well?"

"Impressive," I agreed, "and what does it all mean?"

I wasn't even going to speculate. Pat looked like he couldn't wait to tell the whole story for himself.

"Anyway," Pat began, plopping down on his own bed and happily taking out his cigarettes, "I didn't go here last night, I didn't want to go to the living room. I'm thinking of a place to sit here without anyone bothering me. And then — a door. I'm curious, of course — I'm going there. And there, that is, here, is my room. At first I thought that I was completely out of my mind, and then I think-this is the same magic, anything can happen. Then I took a closer look" — he pointed a smoking cigarette at the floating ball — "at the differences from my real room..."

I opened the first book I came across and couldn't help but be interested. I looked at the cover. The book was called "Animagia, or the Second Essence of Every Wizard"

"And you think Hogwarts gave you private quarters for your services? Did you know that this book isn't even in the Restricted Section?"

Pat grinned.

"This corridor provides a room of any size and with any equipment, you just need to go through it three times with a clearly formulated request. I've been experimenting here all night. I came back at ten-thirty and almost ran into McGonagall."

"I wonder," I said, looking around the room once more, "if I want to study black magic…"

"Ugh, Potter! Pat interrupted, "what are you thinking? I didn't even think about it!.. Hogwarts will probably kick you in the face for having inappropriate thoughts. Or maybe a room with black walls and a pentagram on the floor. Basically, this room doesn't only provide food, potion ingredients, and cigarettes."

"Where do you get them from here anyway?" I asked a question that had been of interest to me for a long time.

"My aunt sends it to me," my friend replied calmly, "I wrote to her that if I can't smoke, I'll go crazy here. Moreover, this is true. I dread to imagine her reaction when she read that my dean is Severus Snape."

He took a long look at the book in my hand.

"By the way, I have a suggestion…"

"Don't even think about it, I won't be involved in an attempt on your father's life."

"Ha, ha," Pat said, "very funny. I'm talking about what you're holding in your hands right now."

"Become an animagus?" I said, looking at the dark blue cover.

"I've been thinking the same thing," my friend drawled cryptically, "ever since Sirius did that dog trick at our house."

"Yes, it is certainly interesting. The only thing that bothers me is that you don't know what you're going to turn into. Maybe I'm in the shower... well, I don't know… A penguin? Or a jerboa?"

Pat choked with laughter.

"What did I say? Stop laughing," I said.

"Jerboa Potter!" Pat managed, "That's strong!"

"Laugh, laugh," I said grimly, "and you can't guarantee that you're not a kangaroo by nature, either!"

"So what?" Pat asked me when he'd finished laughing.

"what?"

"Become animagi?"

"This will take years..."

"And you're in a hurry somewhere?" my friend chuckled.

"The years of Azkaban we'll be locked up in, because I can see by your face that you're not going to write an official complaint to the Ministry."

Pat gave me a sly look.

"We," he repeated, "are more fun in company."

"We'll just laugh in the company of dementors," I said, giving him my darkest smile (I have a lot of them, for all occasions).

"Oh, come on! Just try it for fun…"

"Did I say no?"

Well, the weather!" I said grimly, shoving my hands deep into my pockets, "a good owner won't turn out a dog"

Pat chuckled.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. I just remembered Sirius. I now immediately think of him at any mention of dogs."

"Shall we go to the Three Broomsticks?" Hermione suggested — "that's where everyone usually gets together…"

"Everything?" I winced "that means we won't go." It was still not enough for the whole institution, packed with schoolchildren, to stare at Harry Potter drinking tea in unison. "Let's go to the Boar's Head," I suggested.

Hermione winced: "You know, this is not the most suitable place for schoolchildren."

"Let's go all the more!" Pat was inspired, "I hope they sell beer there."

"Butterbeer" said Hermione.

Answer to any questions, especially when she knows the answer, has long become her second nature.

"Beer with cream is a local exotic," I recited.

Hermione was indignant: "there is no butter there! It's just called that. It is generally non-alcoholic!"

"Truth?" sour Pat.

"Why drink it then?" I asked a rhetorical question.

Hermione looked at us like we were drunks, but said nothing.

"What do you want from me, Malfoy?" The skirmish took place an hour later, in the area of the Three Broomsticks pub.There was no particular reason for her, just Draco Malfoy, who immediately became bold in the presence of his two bodyguards, could not pass me and Pat calmly. The worst part was that some of his Slytherin "crew" had joined Malfoy, and the Gryffindors were right there. I had a premonition that a wall-to-wall battle would begin now. Which is why I decided to just ask about the Slytherin prefect's claims to me. Immediately, he could not find an answer.

"Maybe he just likes you, Harry?" the familiar confident voice of Deirdre sounded loudly. It turned out that not only the Gryffindors were on our side. Pat, who was standing next to me, laughed.

"O!" I was pretending to be upset "I'm sorry, Malfoy, but nothing shines for you here!"

"How witty," Malfoy shouted, evidently regretting that he had started this quarrel. "Potter, the Mudbloods, and the blood traitors - what a sweet company!"

"And you, Malfoy, apparently will never reach that your opinion no longer interests anyone!" Deirdre smiled impudently.

"Don't listen to him," Ginny suddenly cut in. "He's upset! Realized that blondes are not Harry's taste!"

Those present openly whinnied, Crabbe and Goyle clenched their pound fists, but had no idea what to do, and Malfoy blushed terribly and opened his mouth, but the restless Ginny interrupted him:

"O! You're blushing, you naughty! Just don't cry, you will still meet the man of your dreams!"

She already openly scoffed.

"As much as you have to cry, Weasley," spat Malfoy.

"It's not likely," Ginny said cheerfully, "Quidditch is coming soon, and if you get hit by a bludger, I certainly won't weep over your grave."

"Well, of course!" feigned surprise Malfoy, "you now captain. Did you take on the team those who are like? Why were you appointed captain? Compensation for Poverty?"

And then I could not resist and punched him with all my heart. Malfoy gave a short cry and fell into the mud. From the surprise of my act, no one simply could keep him from falling. Crabbe and Goyle immediately moved towards me, but they were dragged back, because Professor McGonogall was rushing to the scene of the impending scuffle like a hawk to prey.

"What does this mean?…" She exclaimed, looking at me menacingly, "what is this Muggle massacre?"

Well, the carnage is a strong saying.

"Would it be better if they got their sticks?" Pat asked.

"Shut up, Mr. Random! And you, Potter? Why did you hit Mr. Malfoy?"

I myself did not know why. It just so happened...

"You see, professor," I said, "if he had insulted me, I could have endured, but he had insulted the girl, and I could not resist."

For a second, I thought her gaze softened.

"Ten points from Gryffindor (somewhere behind you heard "Again?!"). And the punishment, Mr. Potter."

It seemed to me that I had already come to terms with the fact that any event in which Harry Potter participates (even if I stood on the sidelines and did not touch anyone) becomes famous and everyone immediately wants to know the details. In the morning at breakfast I heard out of my ear the conversation of two first-graders and was horrified to learn that I had beaten up Draco Malfoy, and he was sobbing at my feet and begging for mercy. Ron was poking around in his porridge thoughtfully and staring at the Slytherin table, where he could hear laughter. Ron shook his head.

"Amazing," he said, "never, in the entire history of Hogwarts, has Slytherin behaved so strangely!"

"As if you read it!" muttered Hermione because of the next book for easy reading in a thousand pages.

"Is it true," Ron said to me, ignoring Hermione's comments, "that on Friday at Potions, Random told Snape that he was unfairly removing points?" And then he quickly added: "Ernie told me."

I confirmed the information and Ron recited absently:

"Stunned! I even regret not going to Potions anymore."

Hermione snorted from behind her tome. Ron ignored it again. It is clear, again they do not speak.

"There is one thing I don't understand," Ron continued to reason, "why does Snape not bring him down? In the sense that Snape, yes, put up with this, but from his own student... "

Hermione slammed the book shut with a loud bang and looked at Ron as if he were a moron.

"Ron! It is obvious!"

Then, picking up this thick tome, she proudly left the hall.

"I hate it when she says that!" Ron looked after her "what is obvious? Do you understand anything, Harry?"

"No," I muttered automatically, "I don't understand."

I found Pat and Hermione in the library. Hermione wrote an essay on Potions, and Pat thoughtfully leafed through some huge decrepit book.

"Hi," I said to them and pulled an already rather plump folder out of my bag and put it in front of them.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"Look for yourself," I said.

Pat opened the folder, scanned the contents quickly, and whistled. To show my friends my own painstaking work, I was prompted by an unexpected meeting in the bedroom. When I went up there after breakfast to take a library book (the one about poisons), I found Ginny there, carefully examining the contents of the notorious folder.

"You know, when you want to rummage through my things, you better warn me."

Ginny flinched and looked up at me with horror-filled eyes.

"Sorry," she muttered, blushing rapidly, "I didn't want to, it was just in plain sight, and I..."

"It's not a diary. It's also a pretty personal thing, though. It's also a pretty personal thing, though."

"I actually stopped by to say thank you. Well, for punching Malfoy... For me…"

"Not a problem" I smiled. "Thanks to my cousin and Lou, I have a lot of experience."

"It's a shame she didn't come with you," Ginny was delighted at the change in topic.

"It's a shame, of course," I agreed, "but it's unlikely Pat and I were able to drive half of the Hogwarts guys away from her."

I was immediately struck by two thoughts.

The first is that there is no need to say that to a popular girl about another girl, and I immediately added:

"It's just that someone constantly sticks to Lou, and Pat and I get in the face for it."

Ginny laughed.

"I just understood. She is, after all, a Veela. Almost."

The second thought was that Ginny and I had never spoken in private before.

"Well, I'll go" she said, but already at the exit from the bedroom, she turned around.

"Harry... why are you collecting information about You-Know-Who?"

"You need to know the enemy by sight," I smiled.

"You think he's really... Returns?" Ginny asked, her tone as serious as possible. This was conducive to frankness.

I shrugged.

"I do not know. But I think I need to know more about him. After all, we have so much in common" I pointed to my scar.

"If you need help..." she said "you have someone to count on."

"Thank you," I said, and she left the room.

"So that's why you asked about copying methods," Hermione muttered, looking at the copies of articles on Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

"Not a bad job," my friend praised me.

"This is bullshit," I winced, "I'm sure most of it is bullshit. The Prophet is either exaggerating or hushed up. If you could get to the official documents..."

"You can," Hermione straightened, "the court records can be found in the public domain in the archives of the Ministry."

"I'll have to do this on vacation."

"Why didn't you show it to me earlier?" Pat looked at me attentively.

"I don't know," I shrugged. "It's kind of personal. It was personal. Now, apparently, general."

Hermione looked me in the eyes and asked in an agitated, fearful voice: