I dreamed of horses. Black and snow-white, bay and apples. There were many. They came up to me, looked into my face, poked their warm lips into my hands, fawned like cats, and neighed softly, as if trying to tell me something. I stroked their wide necks, sorted out the tangled manes with my fingers and understood them perfectly. Waking up was like driving up an ice slide.
Vzhzhzhih - a sharp sigh and I open my eyes. Dark. So dark that, as they say, gouge out your eye. For those who do not know, waking up in absolutely impenetrable darkness is very scary.
And a terrible thought came to me - I passed out, everyone thought that I had died and they buried me. Imagining that I was lying in a coffin, goosebumps crawled up my back, and I stretched my trembling hand up in fear. I breathed a sigh of relief - there was a lot of space above me, and on the sides too. Only now my hands did not obey me well and were shaking, like those of a seasoned alcoholic. I must be in the Hospital Wing! - it dawned on me. Well, where else would I be. After some exploration of my surroundings, I found myself lying in a hospital bed, dressed in pajamas, with a bandage on my forehead. The right hand habitually climbed onto the bedside table in search of glasses, and, of course, found nothing. They were lost somewhere in the forest, I remembered. Yep, you'll have to buy new ones anyway. And why do I need them now, in the dark? Lying and staring into the void quickly bored me.
"Hey," I called out into the darkness for no reason.
My voice was unusually raspy and disgustingly hoarse. How long, I wonder, am I laying around in a sedated state? After lying for a while longer thinking about life in general and about how this mess ended, in particular, I resolutely threw back the covers and sat up on the bed. Nuuuu ... Or rather, I struggled with the blanket for several minutes, trying to pull it off me, and then I tried to sit up on the bed for the same amount of time, struggling with dizziness. Slippers were not found. So I walked barefoot, holding on to the backs of the hospital beds, groping like a blind man without a guide, towards the supposed side of Madame Pompfrey's office. After counting all the corners along the way, I finally got to the place. Only when I saw the dim strip of light under the door, I thought, why did it occur to me that she was not sleeping at such an hour? I knocked for decency, and then slightly opened the door. The dim light of several candles seemed unbearably bright to me, I closed my eyes. The school nurse did not really sleep, but enthusiastically scribbled something on parchment, absolutely not noticing me. Maybe she writes a novel at night? About real life at Hogwarts? It would be a bestseller. I cleared my throat diligently. I never thought that Madam Pompfrey at her age could squeal so loudly and jump high in a chair.
"Potter!" she shouted loudly, staring at me as if I were a beloved second cousin who had risen from the grave.
"Yes, I…" I mumbled, "here…"
The nurse quickly pulled herself together and, immediately jumping up, began feverishly examining me, pulling back her eyelids and feeling my pulse.
"Quickly to bed!" she barked, "what kind of self-will is this - you just regained consciousness, and immediately jumped up, wandering around here... BAREFOOT!"
"Yes, I... this..." I finally lost the power of speech, trying to explain what I actually came up with in the middle of the night, "I woke up, and it's dark here... Here's what I thought..."
All the while she was quite successfully pushing me back to the hospital bed, lighting a few candles along the way.
The room was illuminated exactly to the extent that it did not hurt my eyes, weaned from the light. The nurse almost forced me back under the covers, continuing to mutter under her breath.
"And... when will I be discharged?" I sighed, folding my arms over my chest.
Madame Pompfrey looked at me for a long, strange look, and then sighed ruefully.
"Mr. Potter," she began formally, "you spent eight days in a deep coma.
"Wow... I somehow feel uncomfortable" I admitted.
"Rest, Potter," she advised with a nervous laugh.
"Are you kidding me?" I raised my eyebrows.
"Not at all. Do you want me to bring you sleeping pills?"
"Not!" I was scared, "I'd better lie down like this, thank you."
The nurse snorted, shook her head disapprovingly, and, muttering under her breath, went to her office. I was left alone again, looking longingly at the disgusting Hospital Wing. It turned out that total darkness was a harbinger of dawn. The windows slowly let in a dim, ash-grey light. Eight days... Damn, I missed my exams. I hope at least Voldemort really leaned back. On the bedside table, instead of glasses, there was an ordinary Muggle postcard with the inscription "Get well soon!", leaning against an empty jug. I smiled. How she could help a person in a deep coma, I did not know, but I felt pleasantly warm somewhere in the chest area. I inspected the jug and was not mistaken in my suspicions. At the bottom, curled up, my snake slept.
"Hi," I greeted, and only after a couple of seconds I realized that I had said it in English. Haven't you guessed where your Praseltong came from? The viper raised its head and, hissing something, crawled out of its shelter. I took it in my palms, carefully examining it, as if for the first time, and listened to the sounds that now meant nothing to me. For some reason, I felt very sad. It's like I just lost a very close friend. I didn't look up at the sound of the door opening. I already knew who came. Madame Pompfrey was simply obliged to inform him immediately of my awakening. Unless, of course, Dumbledore was still Headmaster of Hogwarts, and I had no doubt about that.
"Welcome back, Harry," the headmaster said softly.
"I don't understand her," I muttered, raising my head.
"Sorry, what?"
"I don't understand her anymore, Professor."
"I assumed it would happen," he smiled sadly, and sat down on the edge of my bed.
I softly stroked Saamah on the head and gently put it back into the jug. Then he glanced at the director. Perhaps due to the poor lighting or the gray pre-dawn hour, Dumbledore now looked like all his long, long years. Sitting in front of me was a weary old man, not the shrewd, cunning and all-knowing Headmaster of Hogwarts, the all-powerful wizard Lord Voldemort had always feared. Sighing, I sat down comfortably, drew my knees up to me, clasping them with my hands, and decisively asked:
"Professor, I believe you are going to tell me something."
He nodded his gray head.
"Ask, Harry. I will answer any of your questions."
"Any?" I asked incredulously.
"Absolutely."
"He died?"
Dumbledore folded his fingers into a lock.
"Yes. Tom Riddle accepted his worldly death."
"Crouch and Pettigrew?"
"Pettigrew is under arrest," he said, then sighed, "and Crouch… No, no, he didn't run away. He committed suicide as soon as he learned of the death of his master. Therefore, unfortunately, nothing can prove the connection between him and Lucius Malfoy."
Who would doubt that. Even I, an almost apolitical person, know perfectly well that such people are never put in jail. Steal a wallet and you will be arrested, steal ten billion and no one will touch you. Such laws of life operate regardless of magic.
"How is Professor Snape?" I asked myself unexpectedly.
"Oh, Severus is fine," the Headmaster said, a little surprised.
"But I still don't understand why there were these stupid assassination attempts?" I thought of the manticore and the poison. "Did Malfoy Sr. really order Crouch to kill Snape?" Dumbledore nodded his head and said:
"Your friends told you how far you got in your guesses. I guess that's how it was. Lucius mimicked the signs of the Dark Lord's return very well, intimidating Fudge, and began to twirl him around like a doll. We learned from Pettigrew that Voldemort had no contact with Malfoy. But I don't think Malfoy didn't realize that the Lord was gaining strength - the Dark Mark was becoming clearer throughout the year. I guess he figured he was going to win anyway. If Voldemort returns, then he presents him with a subordinate Ministry, where he himself will occupy not the last post. If he doesn't come back, it's even better, which means that he will get all the power. And then Severus really got in his way."
"But it was still stupid," I said, "this manticore… A poison that the professor would surely recognize."
"Agreed, but," the headmaster waved a finger in the air, "Crouch knew about the real impending revival of Voldemort. And told him about everything Lucius was up to. And, you see, Harry, Voldemort didn't want Severus dead. He had always trusted him... that is, as far as he was ever capable of trusting. Voldemort originally sent Severus as a Hogwarts teacher applicant to spy on me. And the fact that he refused to participate in Malfoy's intrigues only assured the Lord of Professor Snape's loyalty. I was silent for a few minutes, peering into the gray windows and trying to find words, and then I said quietly:
"Professor… There, in the clearing, he told me... About horcruxes. You knew about them, right?"
He nodded slowly.
"And I should have died," I said softly.
"Harry…" the headmaster began, but I cut him off.
"No, you don't have to say anything. What's the difference now? But I still don't fully understand what Voldemort wanted to accomplish with this ritual? Is it possible to reunite the soul?" I was amazed.
"Maybe. But I only know one way to do it. This is remorse. But the pain from this will be so strong that a person will not survive it. And he found some ancient rite, which I honestly never heard of, and tried to connect the fragments of his soul again. He would never have believed in repentance, and he would never have repented. But he believed in himself so much, in his strength... And he really managed to reunite the fragments of his soul, but as a result, all this horror, all the pain that he caused people in his life hit him with such force that he died instantly. As paradoxical as it sounds, Lord Voldemort died of fear."
"So…" I muttered, "but it looks quite fair. I wonder if he survived, who would we get? Repentant Tom Riddle?"
"Who kknows it" Dumbledore shrugged.
"Tell me, Professor... I was left among the Muggles because I was a Horcrux, right? Because of the association with Voldemort?"
Dumbledore shook his head with a slight smile.
"No, not because of that. I left you at your aunt's door, Harry, in the absolute certainty that I would see you in ten years within the walls of Hogwarts..."
"But?…"
"But a few months before your eleventh birthday, I met a centaur we knew."
"Are you talking about Firenze?"
"Yes, Firenze. From time immemorial, centaurs have been reading the future from the stars, however, they believe that people do not have the right to know what fate has in store for them... But Firenze saw fit to enlighten me about the future... About future troubles. That a new war is coming. That many people will die in it. And that the chances of winning are not so great... But he also said that it could be avoided."
"Avoid the inevitable?"
"No, no, Harry. Not inevitable. The same centaurs believe that there is no inevitable. What the stars tell us about what could be just so we can avoid it. The future is not linear. There are permanent forks. Choice, Harry. There is always a choice. Everyone has. Tom has it. Too bad he chose the worst option. We were silent again for a couple of minutes, and then I realized what Dumbledore was getting at."
"So Firenze said you could avoid the war by simply not taking me to Hogwarts on time?"
"That sounds crazy and pointless, I agree. After all, you have always been the main guarantee of our victory over Voldemort. But I began to think... and can I be blamed for this?.. What if there really was such a chance to avoid all these deaths? And I dared to take the risk. Merlin sees, I could not have imagined how amazing the results will be!"
"Are you talking about Voldemort's death?"
"Actually, I was referring to your friendship with Patrick Random."
"It's more like a twist of fate," I snorted.
"So did Severus," Dumbledore chuckled slightly.
I chuckled, and suspicion crept into my head.
"Professor, did you know that my best friend is Snape's son?"
"Professor Snape, Harry," the headmaster corrected me and chuckled too, "you know, for some reason people around me think I know everything in the world."
"Isn't that right?"
"Actually," he said with the air of a man revealing a huge secret, "I guess about more than I find out. Always trust your intuition, Harry. But honestly, I had no idea who your friend was. But I want to believe that there is some measure of justice in this. I would even say historical justice."
Catching my uncomprehending look, Dumbledore explained:
"Believe me, you have accomplished more in the matter of reconciliation of the faculties than anyone in the last hundred years. Maybe a hundred and fifty."
"So we didn't do anything," I muttered.
"A living example is sometimes more eloquent than a thousand words," he smiled, "not that no one has ever been friends between Gryffindor and Slytherin before, but in my memory it has never been so… Significant."
"To be honest, I still don't understand what the difference between the faculties is," I admitted, and then I remembered one thing, "But... At the end of the gallery on the eighth floor, Pat and I saw such a strange portrait... There were two wizards..."
The headmaster raised his gray eyebrows in surprise.
"You're lucky. They rarely appear there. I personally have never seen them. They are very young, aren't they?"
"Uh… They are really…"
"Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin. Yes, this is their portrait."
"So they were like... Enemies?"
He shook his head with a grin.
"Are there really two friends like Gryffindor and Slytherin?" he clearly quoted the Hat, "they founded Hogwarts together. A lot of people forget, Harry, that they were best friends... Until they quarreled over ideological differences."
We fell silent. The director got up and, apparently, was about to leave, but I stopped him.
""Professor Dumbledore... But why didn't I die? The rest of the Horcruxes are..."
Crumbled into dust.
"Harry," the headmaster said softly, "a thing is just a thing. Regardless of who owns or previously owned it. She has no soul. She cannot feel. Man is not a ring or a cup. There is something that keeps him in this world... There is something that keeps him in this world... Courage. Strength of mind. Friendship…"
"Love," I finished for him.
"Of course," Dumbledore smiled happily, "of course, love. I'm glad you figured it out."
I smiled weakly and said nothing. I realized that I had not yet asked everything I wanted, but nothing more came to mind. The director was finally about to leave, but I called out to him again at the door.
"Professor."
"Yes, Harry?" He turned around.
"So the prophecy was a lie? After all, I didn't defeat Voldemort. I didn't fight him."
"Prophecies only come true when we believe in them," he said with the air of a good-natured Gandalf, "and you don't have to fight to win, Harry."
With these words, he quietly walked out the door, leaving me alone with myself. Eventually, I managed to doze off. I didn't dream at all, only somewhere in the back of my mind two annoying voices were arguingarguing:
"...ideological differences?" one laughed, "all because you cheat all the time!"
"Me?"strangely familiar indignant another "I NEVER cheat! The game is serious business. You always have three extra dice up your sleeve!"
"My honesty has become a proverb!"
"Ha-ha! We know this honesty! And about the nobility, too, have heard!"
"Go to hell, Sally!"
"Fack off"
I was awakened by a beam of sunlight, unceremoniously shining directly into my right eye. I felt refreshed and sleepy. But just as I was about to get out of bed and demand that Madam Pompfrey be released immediately, I heard voices approaching the door and immediately recognized them. On full automatic, I instantly crawled under the covers, folded my arms over my chest like any decent corpse, and tried my best to freeze. The latter was the most difficult - as always, at the most inopportune moment, I wanted to laugh out loud.
"He seems to be healthier," said Hermione's not very confident voice above me.
Yes, everything is clear. No one has yet told them about my miraculous resurrection. The beauty!
"I don't know," Lou said thoughtfully, and immediately said, "I caught a glimpse of Madam Pompfrey before breakfast, but did not have time to approach her. She looked so… enigmatic."
I bit my cheek. My wild imagination played a trick on me again - I tried to imagine a school nurse with a mysterious look.
And again Hermione:
"I heard her talking to McGonogall yesterday..."
"You overheard," Pat's voice said politely.
"Yes, I overheard," she admitted irritably, "they want to send Harry to St. Mungo's hospital."
There was silence for a few minutes. The nasty ray of the sun continued to shine into my eye, making me want to close my eyes, but I held on courageously.
"I know what to do!" Lou suddenly yelled so that I myself almost jumped on the bed.
"You're giving me such a heart attack," admitted Pat.
"I know how to wake him up!" Lou exulted. "Hermione, kiss him!"
In an attempt to hold back the laughter that burst out, I almost bit off my own tongue.
"Lou, these are not fairy tales," said Hermione seriously, "Harry is in a coma!"
"Snow White was also in a coma!" she confidently declared, "all fairy tales are based on real events!"
"But that's not all! And why me?"
"Well, not Pat."
"Why not you?"
I was already seriously offended why no one wants to kiss me, even if only to bring me out of a coma, as Pat unceremoniously kicked the foot of the bed and declared:
"Idiot, stop fooling around, we were worried!"
"Pat, what are you doing?" Lou freaked out.
I sighed and squinted at my rather grinning friend sitting on the bunk next to me. I sighed and squinted at my rather grinning friend sitting on the bunk next to me. Or rather, on his blurry image.
"Well, why did you break my whole buzz?" I asked softly in the silence that followed.
"Harry!!!" the girls immediately squealed in sync and with their joyful hugs almost knocked me out of bed.
Pompfrey let me out of her hospital chambers with a terrible creak after dinner. The main reason was the fact that tomorrow all the students had to go home. So she would have lasted a week or two, that's for sure. In the depths of my soul, I understood her healthy fears - in eight days I lost a lot of weight, and when walking I swayed slightly from side to side. But, of course, I didn't tell anyone about it out loud. The nurse, by the way, kicked my friends out of the room pretty quickly. And after she stuffed me with various restorative potions, Sirius appeared.
"You have no conscience at all," he declared, "you have to lie around so much!"
"What am I doing here?" I protested.
"Harry," the godfather began quietly and looked into my eyes very seriously, "to be honest, it was more like a slow death, and not like anyone. You were leaving. And everyone saw it, but no one could do anything. And Albus said that you yourself should want to come back... From there."
I thoughtfully chewed on a piece of casserole. This conversation was just during my lunch, although it was not quite appropriate for a meal.
"Sirius, I haven't been anywhere. And if there was, I don't remember. Only in the morning I dreamed of horses. A whole herd."
"Speaking of horses," Sirius slapped his knees slyly, "I must say I'm offended to the core."
I stared at him and my insides went cold.
"What does everyone know? Were we expelled? Put in Azkaban?"
"No!" the godfather was indignant, "no one knows. Well, almost no one. But you are great, of course - you could have told me. I would help advise. Otherwise, I'll be the last to know, and worse, from Snape!"
I choked. Sirius patted my back, laughing. His hand is light, so I was seriously worried about my ribs.
"And why from him?" I squeezed out.
"I have no idea," he shrugged, "I guess Pat told him. Thanks to him, by the way - it's thanks to your friend that you were found so quickly. He lifted the whole school up."
"Tell me, what's with the werewolves?" I remembered, "Rem will go back to school?"
"No," Sirius grinned contentedly, "he won't come back. He has come, he will now work in the Ministry."
"In terms of?" I didn't understand.
"We'll have a werewolf liaison department now. Dumbledore advised Fudge to meet them, and he, in a fright from the failed resurrection of Voldemort, agreed. Rem will work there - werewolves do not trust wizards, but he is his own, they listen to him. There, of course, there are some troubles, but at least you can not be afraid of the war of werewolves and magicians. Soon."
"It turns out," I chuckled and looked at my godfather, "everything is in chocolate?"
Sirius let out his characteristic barking laugh and folded his arms across his chest.
"Relatively, Harry, relatively. Of course, there are more pluses - you are alive, Voldemort is dead, Pettigrew is arrested, there will be no war with werewolves, Rem has a job, Dumbledore remains the director. On the other hand, Malfoy has lost all his trump cards and influence on Fudge, but there is no direct evidence against him. And he paid off everything else."
"I didn't expect him to be imprisoned," I shrugged lightly, "it doesn't happen like that. I grew up with Muggles, Sirius. They don't plant them there either. For me, everything is just perfect!"
The Hogwarts Express was a very comfortable train with a conducive atmosphere for conversation. The four of us occupied one compartment, and apart from the fact that everyone passing by stared at me through the glass door, then we were left to our own devices. How the students I met looked at me when I walked out of the Hospital Wing yesterday! At best, like a living dead. At worst, as a Hero Who Fought All the Monsters of the Underworld, Stepped Into the Abyss, and Managed to Come Back. Good thing I didn't see them well. No one was going to return my glasses to me. Worst of all, most of the students, for some unknown reason, believed that it was I who killed Voldemort. No, I understand that Horcruxes have not been told to the general public. The official version is that the Dark Lord wanted to be reborn and died during an unsuccessful ceremony, which was practically true. But many liked to think that Harry Potter had put his mighty hand, although I explained to anyone who wanted to, that I did not even have time to spit in his direction. Under the smooth rocking of the train, I listened from my friends to everything that I overslept. And in the first place, what did Pat do when the pseudo-Snape, and therefore his pseudo-father, rudely sent him to the Slytherin common room. According to Pat, he immediately realized that Snape was somehow not like that. Although to figure out immediately that it was someone under the reverse, he did not have enough imagination. And when Snape sent him, he didn't go to the dungeons, but went around the circuitous paths and went down to the Hospital Wing on the other side. Neither me nor Snape was there. He waited for a certain time, estimating how much it might take, even if he collected all possible cataclysms along the way. We were not there.
Then Pat realized that it was a pipe. And he ran nowhere, but straight to the Gryffindor tower.
"Why?" I asked.
"Behind the Marauder's Map," my friend rolled his eyes and began to talk further.
Pat knew the password. It would be strange if he didn't know him when Hermione repeated it three times in front of him the day before - I couldn't remember that stupid word. The fat woman could not help but open it, but still tried to resist:
"Young man, but you're from Slytherin!"
"Listen, this is important! A matter of life and death!"
"Whose?" the portrait chuckled.
"Harry Potter!" roared angry Pat.
For some reason, the Fat Lady believed him right away. I was not there, of course, but I have no doubt that the appearance of my friend in the Gryffindor common room made a splash.
"Pat came all disheveled, crazy eyes... " Lou said, "everyone hatched on him, and he came to us - where is the map? We seem to know where she is."
They ran to your room, where the devil himself will break his leg in your things, do you ever take them apart? Somehow found the map. When Pat saw that Snape was in his office, he looked at Hermione and me and how he yelled - quickly to McGonogall's office, the director is there, tell me that Potter was kidnapped!
"I didn't yell at you!" my friend was outraged.
"Screamed," Hermione confirmed.
"Well, okay," Pat agreed, "I was a little crazy. I just had so many options running through my head at once, one worse than the other. I sent them, and he ran into the dungeons. And, to be honest, at the thought that my dad might already be "that one," he eloquently ran his finger down his throat, "I felt damn uneasy..."
He ran into the dungeons, broke into Snape's office, and found him in a deep knockout. When Pat brought him back to consciousness, he did not have to describe the situation in detail - he already understood everything. The professor immediately appeared before the bright eyes of the director and the Minister, and said that Barty Crouch had attacked him. He, in the guise of a professor, took Harry Potter in an unknown direction. (In my opinion, here Fudge had to finally make sure that the hell is going on at the school and re-fire all the staff). Then Dumbledore suddenly had an insight, he realized where the dog was buried, and called for interrogation Winky - the former house elf of the Crouch - and then the whole truth was revealed about who poured poison into Snape's water, and about how You can escape from Azkaban. They also learned from her (Veritaserum helped a lot in the course of things) that Crouch keeps a base in the thick of the Forbidden Forest. Apparently, he proceeded from the principle - the closer, the more imperceptibly. This is where the massive search operation began.
"Now it's your turn to tell," Pat finished the story, looking at me, "because I would never believe that Dumbledore didn't explain anything to you. What did Voldemort want from you?"
"No, first you tell me who betrayed us with animagus?" I asked, looking at the slightly blurred faces of my friends, "Malfoy?"
I needed new glasses urgently. Lou had already told me the day before that even though I'm prettier without glasses, I stare at people so intently that it looks like I'm trying to read their minds. It usually makes people nervous.
"No," Pat shook his head, "you erased his memory qualitatively."
"It's such a stupid story," Hermione muttered.
"We don't know everything ourselves," Lou confirmed.
"But we believe," Pat began, "Lucius Malfoy, after listening to his son's stories, is concerned that you and I are muddying the waters at Hogwarts. We heat up the situation. Since they intended to depose Dumbledore, we were, sort of, potential revolutionaries. Well, we had to somehow withdraw from the school. After all, Fudge did not invent a voluminous list of violations - we would have been expelled long ago if not for Dumbledore."
"And the denunciation of you was anonymous," Hermione put in her word, "we don't know who did it. Either someone really found out, or it's just a stupid, ridiculous coincidence that both of you almost screwed up on. Given your established reputation, and your father's and godfather's history of illegal animagus, it might have occurred to someone on Malfoy's crew to accuse you of the same. In any case, you could always be accused of trying illegal Animagus, and then no amount of verification will prove anything, and the one who has the power will be right. And if the director was removed, you yourself understand."
"Wait," I interrupted them, "it turns out that the Minister of Magic believed some anonymous letter and immediately rushed to Hogwarts to arrest us personally?"
"It was a lot," Pat waved his hand, "his main goal was to remove Dumbledore from office. He himself did not fully believe that we were animags. And now, after verification, and even more so."
"So you were tested?" I was stunned, and my friend nodded smugly.
"They check with the Animus Bestia spell," Hermione found it necessary to inform, "it makes the animagus take its animagus form, and vice versa. That's how Pettigrew was tested when he was caught as a rat in his third year."
"At first, of course, everyone forgot about me," Pat continued, "they brought you half-dead from the forest, the Aurors swooped in – there's no time for any anonymous messages. And I think - after all, anyway, it will occur to someone to make sure that I am an Animagus or not. What to do - went the next morning to Snape."
"What is he?" I laughed.
So that's how Sirius found out our "secret". I have no doubt that Snape also thought that the godfather had advised us. Pat curled his lips into a grin.
"What he? Nearly killed me at first, of course. He yelled, calmed down, and cooked some terrible rubbish for me, seemingly completely illegal and probably black magic. It blocks all manifestations of higher magic for a certain period. And, of course, no Animus Bestia took me. True, I didn't pass the Defense very well, but it doesn't matter. Here are the things. You and I are clean, my friend."
"And I've been dreaming of running away from the law!" I said, "Is this what you thought in McGonogall's office? Where did you want to run?"
"To Goa," admitted Pat, looking thoughtfully at the English scenery outside the window.
"Why?"
"I don't know, do you?"
"Hawaii" I replied, and we laughed.
"It's time for us to rest," Lu concluded, "so what did the headmaster say to you?"
My story was not funny. On the contrary, at the end, my friends silently stared at me as if I were a person who successfully got rid of an inoperable brain tumor.
"And there's no reason to look at me like that," I finished my story, "I no longer have a fragment of his multi-part soul, I don't even talk to snakes anymore.
I touched the soft skin of my scar with my finger. I was told that during the ritual it opened and bled profusely, but now it healed quickly, only terribly itched.
"And the scar will probably become almost invisible," I added.
Lou suddenly clapped her hands, and we all jumped.
"I told you everything would end well!" She solemnly declared.
"Yeah," Hermione said distantly, "other than Harry almost dying and Voldemort almost resurrecting, it's just great."
"We can only be glad that neither of these things happened," I laughed.
...We drove up to London. Familiar suburbs were already glimpsing outside the window. I felt just great. Life was back to square one. It was the strangest year of my life... Although who knows what will happen next? I didn't get all the answers, but to make everything clear, it certainly doesn't happen. The last day at Hogwarts was filled with packing and farewells. In my coma, I missed two exams - in Defense and Herbology, and I was allowed to retake them at the end of August. The coveted School Cup was unexpectedly won by Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor and Slytherin shared an honorable last place with one hundred and forty-eight points each. But that didn't really upset anyone. The wheel of fate made another turn, and everything returned to their positions. Of course, in a qualitatively new form, but still...
I felt like myself again. That is, a stupid guy with no special talents and plans for the future - just Harry. Even breathing became easier. As if the most difficult work, which you didn't even know how to approach, you were graciously allowed not to hand over. Has anything changed in me this year? I have no idea. Partly yes, but in general, I remained the one who started this strange path. I am Harry Potter. I'll be seventeen next month. I am ordinary. It can be said... Oh, okay. I'm not exactly normal. I am a magician. And twice in his life he took part in delivering the world from the most powerful dark magician of the last centuries. But this does not make me the chosen one, but only says that I successfully get into all kinds of trouble. Someone considers me a hero, and someone considers me a complete idiot. There are those who like me, and there are those who can't stand me. And I myself absolutely do not care what they all think about me - these are only their problems, and I do not create a false image for myself. I just live so that every morning, looking in the mirror, I would not be ashamed to look into my own eyes. And it does not bother me that I do not have great ambitions, and that I do not know how to gracefully boil a horned snail and turn a teapot into a turtle. And I still continue to believe that it is not necessary to save the world in order to remain a good person. And you know what?
I like it!
this is the end of my story. initially, this fan fiction was written in Russian, and then translated into English. thanks to everyone who waited for it to end. I really translated it for a long time. I am waiting for criticism and comments. if there are mistakes, correct me - because English is not my native language.
P.S. fan fiction is a bit tedious, but there is nothing to do about it, such is Russian literature. we Russians always live like this, we are always worried about deep philosophical problems, like everyday problems
