To Professor McGonogall, we are a colorful sight. My cheerful life motto is written on my chest. Pat is in his favorite old ripped jeans and his T-shirt shows Snoopy hugging a surfboard. Well, and Lou, of course, like a clear sun among these stone walls - in stupid short pants, funny orange-red striped knee-highs and a jacket with the inscription "Yes, I'm a witch!". I have no idea where she got it. Especially for us. But at Hogwarts it would look pretty... Screaming.

"Hallo," Lou drawled a little bewildered under Professor McGonogall's stern gaze. Snape stepped out of the fireplace just after Hermione. Thank God, Merlin, Allah and someone else - so he and Sirius did not kill each other. Snape doesn't give a damn to me, but I think Pat will be a little against, despite all his statements. The professor nodded slightly in the direction of our dean (did he, as it were, take his leave?) and, having briefly looked at my friend, left. A real Englishman. And does not forgive. And he doesn't say hello.

"The headmaster is waiting for you," McGonogall looked at us.

""You" is Harry?" Pat stated.

"You are the four of you, Mr. Random," she explained sternly.

We exchanged glances.

"Your things will be delivered to your rooms. I don't think it's necessary to walk you to Professor Dumbledore's office? The password is "acid lozenges"."

"Of course, Professor McGonogall," Hermione murmured, and we left her office.

"Acid lozenges?" Pat made a face.

"These are sweets," Lou explained.

"That's disgusting!"

"Harry, what happened in the living room?" Hermione asked in shock. "Sirius and Professor Snape..."

"I told you they hate each other," I chuckled.

"Yes, and I noticed it!"

"Honestly, I didn't expect such agility from them!" my friend said mockingly, "meeting of graduates, damn it!"

"Yes, you expressed your emotions in a very popular way," I said.

"You should have seen it from the side! I almost fell off the stairs! Everything looked like..."

"...they wanted to curse each other with something stronger," Hermione finished.

"I don't know how to curse," I said, "but I think Sirius just wanted to punch Snape in the face. I don't know who provoked whom more - both were good."

"That would be a sight," Lou said suddenly.

"You're crazy," I muttered, "this is not a friendly brawl for you – they would cripple each other at least. If not worse."

"Well, if without wands, then Snape would have had little chance," my friend began to vividly present the situation, "Sirius is both taller and heavier. But if with magic, then, I'm afraid, the result..."

"…would have exceeded all expectations," I finished.

"And what a game they interrupted," Pat drawled angrily, "I had a full house in my hands..."

" What is at stake?"

"And at stake is a boggart. Sirius said he has one on Grimmauld, in his desk."

"Pat, why do you need a boggart?!" Hermione frowned.

"I do not know. Isn't it nice to have a boggart in reserve?"

"Yes, not bad," I agreed dreamily, "you can slip it on someone..."

"Boys!" Hermione rolled her eyes.

And Lou, not from that, not from this - however, as always, she said:

"Pat, do you know what I can advise you?"

"What?"

"Never let your hair grow out!"

On the way from the director's office, I ran into my friends just around the next corner. Everyone had a clear intention to interrogate me written on their faces.

"Are you still here?" I was surprised.

"No, we seem to you," Lou laughed.

"Did the principal tell you anything?" Hermione asked hopefully.

I sighed, looked at them one by one and said:

"Hermione, do you remember Professor Quirrell in your first year…"

"Harry, is there anything you want to tell me?" Dumbledore looked at me inquiringly as soon as my friends disappeared outside the door, and the headmaster asked me to stay for "a few words." That's it. No pressure. No demands or threats. Sheer benevolence. And you, professor, have you told me everything I need to know?

"When Voldemort was on Grimmauld, I..." I began, "I felt it. It was like what you asked before. Pain in the scar and… how it feels. I saw Sirius' house..."

The director carefully looked into my eyes, and for a moment it seemed to me that fear flashed through his eyes.

"Did you see it through his eyes, Harry?"

"Mmmm…" I drawled, remembering, "it's hard to say whose eyes I saw everything… Everything happened so chaotically and quickly... He was very angry."

Dumbledore fell into thought.

After a couple of minutes of silence, I quietly asked:

"Does that mean he's coming back, professor?"

"I'd like to ask you, Harry. I guess you know more than me now," the headmaster said softly.

I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but then closed it. Time to get used to Dumbledore's way of talking.

"I felt his loneliness and hopelessness," I said, "this is not like the feelings of a person preparing a triumphant return.

"So you know what he's up to?" I asked cautiously after a couple of seconds.

Dumbledore looked up at me.

"I'll be honest with you Harry..."

Honest, don't hold your breath, Harry Potter!

"I have no idea what Voldemort is up to," the headmaster said, a little surprised, "I don't understand his actions, and I don't understand what he's trying to achieve with them."

"What, and even no assumptions?"

"Oh, there are many suggestions," said Dumbledore, "one worse than the other."

After a short silence, he said in a suddenly weary voice:

"He already tried to come back, Harry. Five years ago, with the help of his servant Professor Quirrell, who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts that year, he attempted to acquire the Philosopher's Stone."

"Philosopher's stone?" I could not resist a suspicious tone, "a stone that turns lead into gold and gives immortality?"

The professor raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"In fact, it is not the stone itself that gives immortality, but the elixir that is prepared with the help of the stone. But I'm surprised you know about the philosopher's stone. Are you interested in this issue?"

"No, but," I hesitated a little, "everyone knows that. The philosopher's stone was searched for by alchemists of the Middle Ages. True, they never found it, but they discovered a bunch of all sorts of laws... Thus, chemistry was born. Ahhh... Does the stone actually exist?"

"Or rather, he existed," the headmaster said, "Lord Voldemort wanted to steal him with the hands of Quirrell, first from Gringotts, then from Hogwarts. After all, his goal is not only power, but also immortality... Luckily, he was able to stop. The stone has now been destroyed."

"So Voldemort knew I didn't go to Hogwarts?" I said thoughtfully, "then why… If he knew about the prophecy, why didn't he try to get to me? Or," I drawled, "I just don't know about it?"

The Dumbledore shook his head with a slight smirk.

"Harry, I told you that as long as you can call your aunt's house home, you're safe." And he added, seeing how I tried to protest, "as far as I know, Voldemort didn't try to harm you while you lived among the Muggles."

I think he would just be afraid.

"He already tried to kill you," Dumbledore began to explain to me, watching my amazement, "he failed. Moreover, he was in a pitiful state, as close to death as possible. I suppose, Harry, he will plan his next move with more care."

Thank you Headmaster! This makes me incredibly happy!

"But now Pettigrew is with him," I broke down, "he has an assistant. And Voldemort is not sitting still - he is plotting something. What he stole from Sirius' house is something important, isn't it?"

"Yes," the director agreed, looking into my eyes, "this is an extremely important thing. Regulus made a truly heroic act, deciding to steal it from his master. He went against the will of the Dark Lord, it's a pity that I found out about it so late..."

"What was it, sir?" I asked hopefully.

Dumbledore smiled softly and said apologetically:

"Unfortunately, Harry, I can't answer your question right now. Let's leave this topic for the next conversation. I hope by this time the situation will become clearer."

Get it right, Harry Potter, they won't tell you anything here. I, disappointed, but not surprised at the answer, turned my gaze to the phoenix - Fawkes had grown up and looked quite decent, and not like a burnt chicken.

"And again, Harry," Dumbledore continued, "it's been a while, but you've thought about the prophecy, I take it?"

I swallowed, looked at the Headmaster, and nodded. He looked at me expectantly.

"I…"

What? I agree? Signing a contract to kill Lord Voldemort?

Damn…

"I'll do whatever it takes, Professor," I muttered, "to be honest, I don't feel capable of defeating Voldemort... But if that's the case, there's no other way..."

Dumbledore, watching my confused explanations, stroked his beard and, looking at me over his glasses, asked with a strange intonation in his voice:

"After everything he's done... After he killed your parents... Wouldn't you like to take revenge?"

I thought about it. Many times since I found out that my parents were killed and not killed in a car accident. And I knew that I would answer. I was even glad that I would finally say it out loud.

"I don't remember them, Professor," I said in a hollow voice that was not my own, "you know, they didn't leave me of their own free will," I added for some reason, "and I was familiar with people whose parents threw them out of the door like garbage... I've lived my entire adult life with the thought that they don't exist. Do not think that I do not grieve for them, or do not want them to be alive - I would give a lot for everything to be different, but... They died and I resigned myself to that fact. Because in my case there are two options - either feel sorry for myself and think how unhappy I am, I have no parents and a crazy wizard who imagines himself the center of the universe wants to kill me, or accept it and live on. And I chose the second option, Professor. You said they died saving my life. And do you think that's what they wanted? For their son to run his whole life obsessed with a vendetta for the death of his parents? They would like me to just live and be happy... They're dead, Professor, and they'll never, ever come back. And no matter how much I kill the dark lords, it won't bring them back. So my answer is no, professor. I don't want to take revenge on anyone."

I looked the Headmaster firmly in the eyes, feeling relieved that I had spoken out.

"But if really no one but me can kill Voldemort, I will, Professor."

I didn't tell him that I had healthy doubts about everything that was going on. The Headmaster looked at me for a long, appraising look, and then smiled. The director looked at me for a long, appraising look, and then smiled.

"Voldemort spent almost a year at Hogwarts, hanging on the head of one of the professors?" exclaimed Lou, "well, you have a madhouse here..."

"What do you want?" Pat shrugged, "if Pettigrew has been hanging around here for so many years…"

"Did the Dumbledore tell you what kind of medallion it is?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Of course," I nodded. All three of them hatched at me in shock.

"He told me everything in colorful detail, what and how Regulus stole from his master, and then we carefully discussed the plan of action to capture and eliminate Voldemort."

"Not funny," Pat said after a couple of seconds of silence.

"Am I laughing?"

"It was silly to think the headmaster would tell you that," Hermione agreed dejectedly, "but what is it anyway?"

"I don't think it's a seventeen-year-old gift from my second cousin," Lou muttered.

"Did you ask him why he left the Dursleys for you instead of preparing you for a meeting with Voldemort?" Pat turned to me, "you were all indignant about this."

"I asked" I laughed ironically, "now I refuse to ask the director anything at all. Such answers, by God, are worse than two questions."

Such answers are worse than two questions. I clasped my hands in front of me and assumed the form of a priest delivering a sermon.

"You know, my boy," I recited, "to defeat evil, one does not have to become a powerful wizard who knows all the possibilities of magic. There is a power that is stronger than any spell, and it will help you win."

"All you need is love!" for some reason, Lou sang to me quite enough.

"Darling, are you related to the Dumbledore?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Harry, but the headmaster knows what he's doing," said Hermione wisely.

"No doubt. But this does not exclude the need to think with your own head. Hermione, I don't like riddles. At least those that relate to people's lives, including mine."

"Maybe," Pat said thoughtfully, running his finger over his lips, "but, no… Nonsense..."

"What a stupid habit of saying A and not saying B!" Lou was indignant, and pulled Pat's hand, "what do you "maybe"?"

"Yes, all this nonsense!" he muttered gloomily, but he met our inquiring glances. "Maybe you shouldn't beat him?" Pat said.

There was silence again. The girls looked at my friend as if he had just delivered a heretical speech. Some bad idea stirred inside me that Pat, in fact, rarely makes mistakes.

"Thank you, friend," I said in a sepulchral voice, "at first you assumed that Voldemort would possess me, now that he would finish me off, moreover, according to Dumbledore's scenario. You are as optimistic as ever."

"Possess?" Hermione murmured suspiciously and looked at me carefully with an expression on her face, as if I had the last stage of leukemia.

"Hey!" exclaimed my friend, "I told you it was nonsense. And I didn't say that Voldemort would possess you. Can you believe me no one will possess you!"

"Why?" Lou was surprised.

"Yes, you just remember all the relevant stories!" Exclaimed Pat, "because the devil always tempts with something!"

"I think Voldemort is a long way from the devil," Hermione grumbled.

"It doesn't matter," he waved it off, "the principle is the same. Well, tell me, Harry, how can he bribe you? Money? Power? Knowledge?"

"Oh, guys, what are you doing here?" Neville asked in surprise, emerging from around the corner. His gaze rested eloquently on Pat, because we had almost reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Oh shit!" my friend rolled his eyes, "really, and what am I doing here? It was you who spoke to me" he accused us, and turned to Neville, "is anyone from the course from Slytherin here?"

"No," he answered cautiously.

"There is a God in the world!" said Pat and went down the stairs.

When we entered the living room, Hermione gave me a long look, and advised:

"Harry, please take off that T-shirt, you're like a target in it, honestly."

"Harry, I'm afraid of her."

"Whom?"

I looked distantly at Lou, who sat down on the bench next to me, and ran my hand through my hair.

It was at breakfast, a few weeks after our return to Hogwarts. Lou was sent to live in Gryffindor. The hat did not distribute it, but only muttered from the top shelf: "Yes, she will turn the whole school over for us, Headmaster!". Apparently, Dumbledore credited the ability to turn the whole school over to purely Gryffindor qualities, and asked Hermione, as the head girl, to provide all possible support to the new member of our friendly team. Perhaps he identified her in Gryffindor by the color golf. Pat later admitted to me that he was glad about this - he could not drive half the Slytherin idiots away from her.

"Oh, thank you, friend," I chuckled, "and of course I can fence her off from some McLaggen!"

"Come on. Hermione will be with her. And you still have Ginny Weasley there - did you see how they became friends? You know that Lou has a strained relationship with other girls. Would you like her to share a room with Parkinson? And with Bullsroad? Have pity on the poor girl."

"Or on poor girls," I continued in tone with my friend.

However, I didn't have a choice. Lou had really bad contact with the same sex. That is, she easily found a common language with those girls who, by generally accepted standards, were considered strange. Here Lavender and Parvati, for example, openly disliked her. I wonder why Hermione and Ginny communicate normally with her? Maybe you should think about their adequacy? Lou was at school in a completely incomprehensible position. Chosely went to classes - Runes, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, History of Magic. That is, none of those where it was necessary to use a wand. Which, as it turns out, she did have. And Pat once persuaded Lou to use it. For the sake of the experiment, as a result of which we understood why our friend should not conjure.

"Remember," Lou warned grimly, "my first wand shattered into splinters the first time I tried to cast the spell, the second one completely evaporated.

"But is this one okay?" my friend insisted.

"This," Lou showed us her wand, "I can at least safely hold it in my hands. It was custom-made by the Parisian craftsman D'Arsintal - linden, ten inches and my grandmother's hair.

"Veela?" I asked.

"Yes. In fact, she is the only decent person in our family. So, even with this wand, I am not responsible for the consequences!"

"Try something safe," Pat suggested, "I don't know... Lumos?"

"Is it really safe?" Lou hesitated.

"So much safer," Hermione snorted.

Lou bravely closed her eyes and honestly cast the spell... The flash of light was so powerful that we were all blinded for a couple of minutes.

"Try, try," mimicked Pata Lou, "I tried it for you! Is there anything else I can show you?"

"Put your wand away and never take it out again," my friend declared grimly, wiping his watery eyes.

"I know what weapon Dumbledore had in mind," I said, "not love, but you, Lou. Probably, when you say "Avada Kedavra", the effect will be about the same as in Hiroshima..."

"Professors McGonogall, Harry. I think she doesn't like me."

I propped my cheek on my hand and asked, "Lou, when did you care?"

After yesterday's workout, I felt like a bag of rutabaga. The whole team lived for only one thing - the upcoming match with Hufflepuff. Everything except me. I was thinking about the likely approach of the final Harry Potter vs. Voldemort. The other day I dreamed that Master Yodo gave me a lightsaber to cut off the head of the Dark Lord. The head had to be burned, reading a prayer for the expulsion of the devil... Now I began to wonder why Dumbledore had kept me in the dark for so many years. So that I don't go crazy too soon. If I had known all these years what I had to do, I would have gone crazy for sure. Or drink. Or addicted to hard drugs. Now, in those moments when I didn't have the strength to drive away thoughts of the inevitable, the fear that I had no idea what to do was sometimes replaced by a desire that the damn Lord would be resurrected as soon as possible, and then I would know exactly what I need to do. Sometimes we sat and the whole company wondered in what way we knew how to kill Lord Voldemort. Lou offered to burn it with the blessing of the priest.

She was very insistent on helping the church. Hermione very seriously replied that just such witchcraft, which was represented by the church, does not exist. And that there has never been a connection between dark wizards and Satanism anywhere. Pat said that it would be best to shoot him I eloquently pointed to my own forehead. My friend shrugged and stated that he couldn't think of anything else but the stupid idea of jumping Voldemort around the corner with a chainsaw. "Has anyone ever tried to kill him without the help of magic?" He argued. But often some boring voice inside me, for some reason similar to Hermione, muttered that everything was not so simple, and if the Lord did not lean back after his own Avada ricocheted into him, then it would not be so easy to finish him off now. This voice constantly added that the stolen medallion also plays an important role here. This medallion, by the way, did not give rest to Hermione - she searched the entire library in search of at least some key to the solution.

"Harry, why is she always looking at me like I'm a disgrace to her house?"

"She can't forget your golf. Hermione, do you think McGonogall is treating Lou badly?"

"Nonsense," she said, sitting down at the table, "Professor McGonogall, of course, is strict, but good. And treats everyone fairly."

Hermione pulled out a gloomy tome and placed it on the table in front of her. I craned my neck, interested.

"Dark relics and artifacts. An overview from ancient times to the present day."

"Restricted section?" I asked.

"Yeah," Hermione replied.

"I don't think we'll find anything about this medallion," Lou said in a lowered voice.

"Thanks, that's a great piece of advice for the search," Hermione replied sarcastically.

"Why do you think we won't find anything?" I asked Lou.

"Because the Lord wouldn't trade on trifles," she said, "and books about really powerful dark artifacts are unlikely to be in the school library."

It must be admitted that there was a certain logic in Lu's words.

But one evening an event happened that I had been waiting for a long time.

Closer to dinner, the Quidditch team gathered by the fireplace and tirelessly discussed the strategy, tactics, techniques and methods of the future game, as well as the chances of all the school teams for the Cup. The Slytherin-Ravenclaw game was supposed to take place on Saturday. I never figured out the system of the school-wide tournament - I just realized that one thing was required of me - to catch the Snitch. They pulled up their sleeves. I turned around knowing who it was — Lou has his own peculiar way of pulling on his sleeve. Her hair was wet from the wet snow coming outside, and she had an expression written on her face that she knew something but would never tell anyone.

"Harry, can I take you for a couple of minutes?" She said softly.

"Of course," I replied, and stepped aside with Lou to the accompaniment of heavy, interested looks from my team.

"What's wrong?" I asked quietly, "why are you holding on to your bag like that?"

"There's your snake," she hissed.

"Snake?" I did not understand.

"Samah, fool." I almost stumbled on the spot.

"She woke up?!"

"Yes, don't shout like that. I went for a walk, met your forester, and he told me to tell you that the snake had woken up. Well, I took it myself and brought it."

"Well done,"

"Oh, I'm glad to see you alive and unharmed," I greeted my beloved snake, being in the Room of Requirement, "how did you sleep?"

"Very well," hissed Samah, sticking out her forked tongue and wrapping herself around my wrist.

A normal person would see, be scared to the point of hiccups, but I would have nothing.

"Well, who beat you up?" I asked.

"Monster," Saamah answered laconically, "something bigger, we are more."

"Manticore, I guess," I whispered to myself, "who were you talking about? Who's in the Forbidden Forest?

"Bad man", she just whispered.

Yes, it would be strange to wait for her to name her first name, last name and special signs. At this time, my friends fell into the room. Pat eloquently held a book in his hands, which turned out to be "Alchemy of the Middle Ages" - it's clear where Lou brought them from. They looked at me, sitting in a Turkish fashion on a fleecy carpet with a snake in an embrace, and silently sat down on round yellow ottomans. Only my friend, looking critically at the burgundy-orange walls of the round room, muttered: "Madhouse."

"The mad man," Saamah continued, "a dangerous man... hiding... dark sign... I got evil... darkness..."

"Dark Mark?" Forgetting who I was talking to, I exclaimed, "a skull with a snake?"

"But he wasn't alone... another person came... the rat man... abomination..."

"Damn," I hissed in Parseltongue. It felt like a piece of ice had been shoved into my stomach as I assessed the magnitude of the situation "damn. Pettigrew. But how? What were they talking about?!"

"Don't know. all people talk the same way"

"I thought you don't understand only Muggles," I said.

"Еverything means everything... there is no difference... beware of the bad man. he can bring something more...something that can devour us..."

The wise warnings of the snake led me into reverie.

"Well?" Pat's impatient words brought me back to reality.

I turned to them and came across three pairs of eyes that demanded an immediate response from me.

"Harry, not everyone speaks parseltong," Hermione politely reminded.

I took a deep breath.

"There is a man hiding in the forest. He's a Death Eater, he has the Mark. He set the Manticore on."

"Before that, we figured it out ourselves," grumbled my friend.

"It's one thing to guess," Lou objected to him, "and another thing is the testimony of a witness."

Pat squinted at the "witness", but said nothing.

"And the worst news," I continued grimly, "Pettigrew came to him."

There was silence. Each of us thought deeply about the situation.

Here Hermione suddenly said in a completely calm tone:

"This is bad."

"Yes" Pat agreed.

"I don't understand," Lou exclaimed in her heart, "this is not a school, but some kind of joke! Everyone glorifies the protection of the school, how – Hogwarts is the safest place on almost the entire planet! No entry or exit into the grounds! And in the forest, which is a stone's throw from the walls of the castle, anyone walks!"

"On the other side of the forest," Hermione took on a moralizing tone, "there are impenetrable mountains..."

"Impassable?" I chuckled.

"All right," Hermione agreed, "almost impassable. Pettigrew could easily have entered the forest in the form of a rat. And this person… also, somehow could. You understand, that's why the forest is called Forbidden - there on the full moon you can easily meet werewolves!"

"Nice and cozy place to build a school," Pat grunted ironically, "maybe this psycho is an animagus? Or a werewolf?"

"I don't remember any werewolves among the Death Eaters," I said.

"We can't know everyone," Hermione said logically.

"I heard that the Lord attracted werewolves in the past," my friend remarked, "but after all, not all of his supporters received the Mark, but only the chosen ones. I doubt that werewolves were among them."

"What is going on here?" Lou shook her head, staring at the floor.

"I think I do," I said. Everyone stared at me "in principle, everything is as we expected..."

"Oh, now you will say that this is a plan to kill my father..." Pat rolled his eyes.

Now the three of us looked at him in surprise.

For the first time in my memory, Pat called Snape that - without irony, mockery or sarcasm.

"What?" he was a little embarrassed "I honestly try to come to terms with this fact."

"Okay," I said, "here's the picture: Malfoy and company want to get into power. To do this, they spread all sorts of dark rumors about the revival of the Lord and how scary it is to live in general. Do you remember Mr. Weasley talking about how Lucius Malfoy's influence over the Minister has increased a lot lately?"

"Of course," Pat agreed, "because he helps him solve problems that he himself creates."

"Exactly. But the issue is that in order for everything to work, it is necessary to involve all the former Death Eaters who are walking free."

"Why?" Lou didn't understand.

"Because they already know for sure whether Voldemort is reborn or not," the smart Hermione replied.

"Igor Karkarov either did not want to participate in the case," I continued, "or did not agree on the price. It is unlikely that the professor would risk a secure position at Hogwarts for the sake of Malfoy's dubious enterprise. And he really gets in the way - because not only is he not participating, but he is also next to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore is not Fudge, whose brains to powder - easy. I don't think Malfoy even let Snape in on the plan.

"Do you think he killed Karkarov?" Lou pointedly ran her finger along her neck.

"Yes, of course," I chuckled, "Malfoy Sr. is a politician, not a serial killer. He wouldn't get his hands dirty for no reason. Remember - "that's why we need him"? I think this psycho sent him to visit his ancestors. Now the Potions Master is next in line."

"Okay, everything is logical here, Mr. Holmes," Pat grimaced, "but what about Pettigrew and Voldemort? Damn, let's call him Tom? By the time you speak, you'll forget where you started..."

"And this, my friend, is the other side of the coin. Parallel to Malfoy's maneuvers is Voldemort, longing to be reborn. I suppose Malfoy himself has no idea about this, and, most likely, does not dream of a real return of the owner. Lord is furious with his own impotence and all this mess that comes from his name. True, we cannot explain what he does.

"And Crazy-From-Forbidden-Forest can be both a link between two parties, and simply work for two parties. Yes?" My friend raised his eyebrows.

"Yes," I agreed.

"Can l ask you?" Lou waved her hand. "Then who tried to kill you and why, Harry?"

I didn't have an answer, and I fell silent.

"Maybe they didn't want to kill you," Hermione began cautiously.

"I almost got strangled," I reminded him.

"Maybe the goal was to get you to use magic outside of school? This is a serious violation! Can you imagine what kind of article Skitter would roll? And how many attacks on Dumbledore lately? I think they are all links in the same chain!"

"But this guy ran away as soon as he saw the wand!" Lou objected.

"That's because he's a Muggle," Pat said authoritatively. "Muggles very often react to Imperius the wrong way. For example, one Muggle politician, having fallen under the Imperius, imagined that he was a cuckoo clock..."

"I thought it was called schizophrenia," I chuckled.

"How do you know about it?" Hermione asked.

"I'm in Slytherin," my friend drawled, rolling his eyes.

The bell rang for supper. I let Saamah crawl into my bag and we went out into the corridor.

"Are you going to carry it with you now?" Pat asked.

"Yes," I agreed, "an excellent means of self-defense.

"Not in the front pocket of your trousers," my friend grinned.

"Listen," Lou stopped suddenly, "do you understand that we are all in danger?"

We turned to her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Think about it - if Pettigrew can come to the Forbidden Forest, then he can easily sneak into Hogwarts. He knows all the secret passages!"

"Why would he sneak into Hogwarts?" I asked.