Rem once told me that Snape is a strong legalist. And just any schoolboy is firmly convinced that the professor can read minds. But now his skill was not needed - and without this, the whole look of my friend expressed a readiness to say whatever he thought. Snape silently looked into his eyes, and Pat smiled.
"Did you really think I didn't know that?" he said almost laughing, "look at us - we are alike! And you couldn't figure it out without outside help... Half the school guessed you ahead! It's not like you, Professor!"
Snape took a deep breath, as if regaining his normal heartbeat, and rapped out:
"You're drunk, Patrick, and talking nonsense." "You're right," Pat grinned, "I'm drunk! Only here I say what I think, but not nonsense at all!"
"You are not responsible for your words. You need to get some sleep," Snape said, looking at him.
"And then what?" my friend was feignedly surprised, "will you give me a lecture on the dangers of alcohol? How diligent Daddy? Or expel me from school? Yes, the second one is better for me! I didn't want to come here," Pat said suddenly harshly.I very rarely saw him so angry "and a minimum of relatives suited me perfectly. And if you want to kick me out of here - let's go! I'm not against! I don't care about your magic! And your fucking Hogwarts!And you," he almost poked Snape in the chest, "I don't give a damn either!"
Pat literally spat these words in the face of his father, for which he received a parental slap in the face.
It happened so unexpectedly that I shuddered. Pat clicked his jaws, and, as he told me after, he sobered up a little. Snape was also angry. Very angry. He approached Pat in his favorite menacing manner and spoke. But he spoke not Snape-quickly, with notes unfamiliar to the students in his voice.
"You can despise me as a father - your right! But nothing, especially the fact that you are my son, gives you the right to wander around the school drunk at night, in the company of Potter, like..."
"Like who?" Pat asked calmly.
He stared boldly into the professor's eyes and refused to show any signs of fear. Or remorse.
Yes, apparently it's still in my humble person. Well, our gloomy professor cannot accept the fact that his son is friends with Potter. About my person, by the way, until this moment they had generally forgotten, but at this point Snape turned sharply to me and barked:
"Potter? You're still here?! Get out of here to your l commonroom!"
I looked at Pat. He shook his head with gloomy drunken merriment, as if saying - come on, go, we'll figure it out ourselves.
"I said. Out!" Snape repeated clearly and menacingly.
That's it, I understood - I turned around and went. Until, after a couple of steps, the professor's hard hand grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and sent me in the opposite direction.
"Thank you, prose…fessor," I managed to say, and heard my friend chuckle. How I hobbled to the Gryffindor tower - I do not remember. Honestly, I found myself already at the portrait of the Fat Lady. They say the truth - God saves drunks and fools. And I am both, and, apparently, the other. How did you get through all the moving stairs, the falling steps, without bumping into Peeves or Filch? I do not remember. I also remember the disassembly of Pat and Snape with gaps - it was for me later that my friend himself restored some of the details. The fat lady looked at me with displeasure.
Apparently I woke her up.
"Well?" She said unfriendly.
"Uh…" I drawled like an idiot.
I completely forgot my password.
"Diligrout? Degenerate? Oligophrenic?" I listed everything that came to my mind, "Dumbledore rules? Vivat Gryffindor?"
"No, no, no," muttered the Fat Lady, rolling her eyes and yawning.
Exhausted, I leaned my hand against the wall and looked angrily at the portrait.
I was rocked.
"Slytherin is a bastard? Will the snakes get through here? Godric's sword? Greatsword of Godric? Big… Oh no, that's inappropriate..."
The Gryffindor conductor just clicked her tongue.
"Courage? Bravery? Fools everywhere we honor?.. Oh no, that's not something... Lion is the king of the animals? Leo is the coolest? Does the lion kill everyone?"
"No," the fat woman replied simply.
I groaned.
"Well, you know me! Why can't you just let me through? At least once?!"
"At least once!" She snorted, "if you only knew, honey, how many times I've heard that over the years! Do you think I'm just hanging here? Do you have any idea how many undergrads I've seen in this condition?"
"Well, I do not remember the password! I do not remember!" I exclaimed.
"And if you don't remember," the Fat Lady was indignant, "you can spend the night here!"
I just opened my mouth in indignation as I watched her leave the portrait. So, how to whip wine with the monks from the next picture is possible, but helping a person in a difficult moment is against the rules!
"Wonderful! Just wonderful!" I shouted to no one, and slammed my fist on the wall. I was really about to go to bed right here, when fate had mercy on me and appeared in the form of a disheveled Hermione, who appeared in the opening of the opened portrait.
"Hermione," I drawled happily, "you look great!"
I don't remember who, where and when told me that a girl should be complimented if you are afraid that you will fly into it from her now. Hermione, as it turned out later, wrote a complex work on numerology, her lush hair was disheveled, and there were small specks of ink on her cheek. How they got there, I don't know. "Thanks," she said, a little surprised, "Harry, aren't you asleep yet? And I heard a noise and went to check..."
At this time, I went with her into the living room. Crookshanks, curled up in his favorite chair, lifted his red muzzle and looked at me accusingly. Or so it seemed to me? I dreamed of only one thing - to get to bed.
"I forgot password," I told her confidentially.
"The password is moderation," she replied.
"Oh! This is the irony of fate..."
"Harry," Hermione frowned and sniffed, "you... Why are you drinking?"
It was foolish to deny the obvious.
"I drank," I nodded my head, and swayed slightly, "a lot. And he hasn't sobered up yet."
She opened her mouth, no doubt about to burst into an angry, indignant tirade about drinking and me personally, but I put my palms forward, as if in defense.
"Hermione," I said, "please. Tomorrow. You will say everything you think about me - tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is here!" My curly-haired friend pointed at the clock indignantly.
"N-yes... And the time is already an hour..."
"Why can't Snape sleep at a time like this?" I drawled philosophically, referring to the clock.
"Oh, mom," Hermione sank into a chair, almost crushing her pet in the process, "did you bump into him again?"
"Yeah," I agreed, "why are you looking at me so strangely?"
"Looking for bodily harm," she muttered absently.
"Yes, I'm fine" I waved my hand, swaying, "but Pat got..."
"Well, yes," Hermione chuckled, "where would we be without him."
"He won't kill him, will he?" I doubted.
"Go to sleep, it hurts me to look at you!"
I stood in a red tailcoat with the Gryffindor crest in front of the altar.
Hermione, in the role of the bride, in a filthy white dress, in a wreath of thistles that crowned her disheveled hair, furiously beat me with a bouquet on the top of my head and said: "Fool! We're not dating!" The bouquet was heavy and it hurt a lot. Behind the altar itself stood Professor Snape in the robes of a priest, grinning grimly, promising me a merry life. Behind him, in the clothes of church servants, Malfoy and all his witch were trampling around, and, waving thick candles in all directions, they nasalized church hymns, managing not to fall into the notes. Behind the organ was McGonogall, dressed in a Greek robe. And when Pat leaned out from behind my shoulder, all so neat, collected, in a strict black robe, and cheerfully declared: "But I tried to dissuade you from all this obscurantism!", I finally woke up. I have never had such a terrible hangover. Although they didn't beat me with a bouquet anymore, the back of my head stubbornly continued to burst with pain in time with non-existent blows. There was a desert in my throat. I found myself naked, with my head wrapped in a blanket, and judging by the hardness of the cover, on the floor. For a long time he tried to get out of the blanket and stand up. For some reason, my legs didn't work very well.
"Ooooh…" I moaned as bright sunlight hit my eyes.
Where are my glasses? Ah, here they are... Proudly lie on neatly folded clothes. This folded it like that yesterday?! I do not remember.
Where is my wand? Everything went cold for me at the thought that I had sowed it somewhere drunk. Here will be the number. I frantically rummaged through the clothes, then the blanket, and already completely desperate, I found it under the mattress. It remains only to think, why did I need to put it there yesterday? There was no one in the room, so no one was able to look at the hungover Harry Potter. But this story could be sold to Skitter for a lot of money... "Harry Potter's teenage alcoholism and brawls at Hogwarts" I drank almost half a jug of water in one gulp, dressed somehow and sat on the bed, trying to at least slightly restore yesterday's events. Yeah, Dumbledore, I remember that. Then a bottle of firewhiskey. Oh, but we don't need whiskey now, I thought, struggling with nausea. And then - Snape... Oh, mother... He's pissing me off now... Carefully, trying not to shake my head too much, I descended into the Great Hall. My calculations turned out to be correct - it was the end of breakfast. I hobbled to the Gryffindor table and quietly sat down beside Hermione, ready to listen to everything that I didn't let her say yesterday. She looked up from the casserole and gave me a mocking look, which still showed pity. I pushed the goblet of pumpkin juice towards me. Hands trembled slightly. Come on, Harry Potter...
"Harry, why aren't you eating?" Asked Ron, sitting nearby, surprised.
"I don't want to," I croaked.
Do not explain to him that the word "food" makes me sick. Why did I even come down here? Oh yes, Pat... My friend was sitting at the Slytherin table, grim as death. Sensing my gaze, he saluted me with a goblet, smiling wryly. At least he's alive and apparently unharmed. I somehow didn't want to look for his unsmiling dad at the teacher's table.
"Harry, have you forgotten that we have practice today?" Ginny asked cheerfully, "I've reserved the field for three hours"
"Ooooh…" I escaped against my will, and I put my head in my hands, because the thought of broomsticks, Snitch and Quidditch made my head spin.
"Harry, are you okay?" Ginny asked worriedly. "You don't look good. Maybe you got sick?"
Hermione snorted loudly.
"What?" our good captain did not understand, "maybe you should go to Madame Pompfrey's?"
Oh yeah. This is a great idea. Hello Madame Pompfrey. You see, here is the thing - I got drunk yesterday and I have a severe hangover. Don't have a pickle? Or get drunk on something?
"No," I said ruefully, looking into Ginny's eyes, "I'm fine. I just didn't get enough sleep."
"Well, yes" Dean winked at me, "was it hard to sleep on the floor?"
"On the floor?" Ginny wondered, "how did you get there?"
"He fell off," I answered without expression.
I followed the two of them from the table with my eyes and turned dejectedly to Hermione.
"Come on. Get me."
"They don't beat the recumbent," she said, strictly, but with irony in her voice, opening the textbook on Transformations, "I could say a lot, but you punished yourself. I'm just wondering - yesterday, what, was some kind of Celebration?"
"Celebration? I repeated languidly, "Yes, I am in grief!"
My friend looked at me incredulously and a little mockingly.
"Which?"
I moved closer to her, leaned over and in a few words outlined in a few words what "grief" I had. Those who were still sitting at the table looked in our direction with undisguised interest. When I finished speaking, Hermione gave a stifled gasp and slammed her textbook shut with a loud thud.
"Do you understand?" I asked dejectedly.
"Oh…" she said dumbfounded, but then Hermione, who she knew, got the better of her amazement, "and you, of course, found the best way to solve the problem!"
I chuckled awkwardly and shrugged. I did not want to answer because of the nausea that had risen up in my throat again. If I were a woman, I would have thought I was pregnant.
"Ah, Harry," Hermione muttered, and stared into my eyes, "are you scared?"
"No. I'm not scared. I suck..." I drawled, not pretending at all. "Now ten Voldemorts won't make my condition worse."
Hermione was silent. I sat with my fingers in my hair, and sadly realized that I forgot to comb my hair today. And what? Snape walks around with an unwashed head, and I'll walk around with an uncombed one. Knightly vow - do not comb your hair until I finish off Voldemort. No, so I will soon begin to resemble a porcupine... I'll have to come up with another vow. I felt a little better and I decided to ask a question that intrigues me:
"Hermione, I... Is it… did you get to the bedroom on your own yesterday?"
"Yes. What, you don't remember?"
I shook my head vaguely and chuckled.
"What?" she didn't understand.
"Estimate what kind of thing it turns out," I looked at her with a wry grin, "I came yesterday to the firewood, went up to the bedroom myself, undressed, folded my clothes in a neat pile, put a wand under the mattress, wrapped myself in a blanket, lay down on the floor and fell asleep."
Hermione buried herself in her textbook, her shoulders shaking in a fit of silent laughter. But I haven't told her yet how in a dream she hit me with a bouquet on the head at the altar... "You're an impossible man, Harry," she finally laughed, "you've got a prophecy here, Voldemort, and you're surprised at such nonsense."
"What is it?" I shrugged, watching my friend rummage through her school bag.
Hermione finally found what she was looking for and handed it to me... Pack of aspirin. I was amazed to the core.
"I always bring with me," she explained, "I don't have to run to Madam Pompfrey's for a potion every time I get a headache."
"You know, Hermione," my throat went dry with gratitude, "you're the best."
She chuckled in embarrassment.
"Must be remembered for the future. To be the best, you should not scold the guy with a hangover, but put him an aspirin."
"Yes, we are men, very easy to use," I answered, drinking two pills at once.
Just then, Ginny and Dean returned to the table.
"Listen, Harry," Dean said, "Snape is calling you."
I got cold. Well, everything. Here is the end.
"Harry," Hermione said worriedly, "I looked in the morning - only fifteen points were taken from Gryffindor and Slytherin during the night."
Ginny and Dean looked at her in puzzlement at the word "only".
I silently got up from the table and tried to smooth my hair a little.
"Well, I went" I said in a sepulchral voice "do not remember dashingly."
"He won't do anything to you, will he?" Said Hermione uncertainly. I shrugged vaguely and went to the execution.
On the way, Pat caught up with me. He had noticeable bruises under his eyes, a slightly haggard face, and a general gloomy appearance, but in principle he looked more cheerful than me. Now can you imagine what I looked like? How did you feel?
"To Snape?" my friend asked briefly.
"Yeah," I replied just as shortly.
"He won't expel you," Pat said quickly, "I mean, he should, of course—but then he'll have to throw me out too, and as you can see, I'm not packing my things yet.
"How are you?" I asked, "what wanted Snape yesterday?"
Pat rolled his eyes.
"Well, what will he do to me?"
"You, I see, are using your position impudently," I chuckled.
"For once I have something to use," Pat grimaced, "how are you? Totally shitty?"
"And do not say. Hermione gave me an aspirin, but it didn't work yet. And you are cheerful."
Pat waved his hand and grinned sourly.
"I'll explain it later. But, believe me, I would now swap places with you without hesitation.
"What, did you compost your brains for a long time yesterday?"
"Oh, I'll tell you everything later. Yes, and there's not much to tell, "my friend laughed mirthlessly," there, we've almost reached it. Listen, friend, you're on your own somehow, I don't want to bump into him again."
"Do you remember yesterday's incident, Potter?" Snape said slowly and with the taste of a hardened sadist.
"Yes, professor."
No, of course I don't remember everything. There are significant gaps in the memory of last night.
But the main thing I remember is...
"Do you understand that such behavior is unacceptable at Hogwarts?"
"Yes, professor. Of course I understand."
Judging by the words of the fat guard in the portrait, taking a little by the collar among seniors was not such an exceptional thing. But, apparently, Pat and I managed to get caught in this state by Snape first. Yes, this is really unacceptable...
"It is foolish to remind you that this should not happen again."
"Yes, professor."
What to repeat, but now I can't even look at alcohol! Well, at least three months...
"Do you understand that you will be punished?"
"Yes, professor."
Oh, professor, I've already been punished. The head went away, but the throbbing didn't stop. But why do you have some unappetizing banks on the shelves, at the mere sight of them you feel sick...
"Are you kidding me, Potter?"
"Yes, prof ... Oh, no! How could you even think that!"
"Stop yelling!" Snape yelled and I shut up.
He did not finish, because some strange sounds were heard from the fireplace, and after a couple of seconds something covered with soot climbed out. It was an owl with a letter, and the soot made it hard for me to recognize Hedwig.
"You have a letter," I informed the professor.
"No," he hissed angrily as Hedwig fluttered past him, dousing him with dust and soot, "this is a letter for you, Potter. Have you completely lost your brains? Can't teach your stupid bird when to bring letters?!"
"This is not mine" I snapped, unable to resist, when an extremely disgruntled owl sat on my shoulder, and I removed a letter from her paw, "all questions are for the hostess."
It wasn't even a letter. Yes, a little note. What happened? I began to have a bad feeling.
"Well, then - read" the professor said harshly, - "what your girlfriend wrote?"
I looked up at him incredulously.
"Come on," he grinned nastily, "I want to know what happened so important that you can interrupt our conversation so tactlessly. Probably a matter of life and death. Read, read, Potter."
I seem to clench my jaw and unfold Lou's message. She could write anything - about surveillance, and about a conspiracy, and about animagus...
"Guys!" I began to read aloud.
Well, again she sends a letter to both of us, and the owl, for one reason known to her, chooses me. I took one look at the short sequel, and everything inside me tightened, and I immediately forgot about the hangover, and about Voldemort, and about Snape. Which, by the way, immediately decided to remind himself.
"Well?" he hurried me. I took a deep breath and read the entire note aloud.
"Guys! Old Archie died tonight in the hospital. Take some time off from school. Funeral Tuesday."
It was not a password or a secret encrypted message. Everything was very sad and prosaic. Archie Goodwin, an old friend of the late Uncle Pat, a committed socialist, a man of ideas and just a lonely old man, went to a better world. A lump formed in my throat that had nothing to do with a hangover.
"Did I satisfy your curiosity?" I asked quietly.