My nightmare was unfamiliar: a sterile emptiness enveloped me from all sides, clogged my hearing and vision, did not allow me to move, took away my will ... The dream left reluctantly, leaving behind a disgusting viscous weakness. A predictable outcome for someone who dozed off at the lab table after two days of insomnia.

After a few minutes, my stiff muscles finally deigned to obey me. I got up and went to the window. The dawn outlined the silhouettes of the buildings, painting the windows in a false blue. The windows of Granger's house were left dark and empty... I hope she's smart enough not to get into trouble in Australia? Although, when it comes to Granger: I hope she has the mind to extricate herself from the troubles in which she will no doubt find herself in.

"I robbed Gringotts!"

That's how she said it! Whatever Miss Goblin-Robber does in the future, she will always miss the insane courage of war. From feat to feat. Weasley will become angry that everyone knows him only as the husband of Hermione Granger; Potter will try to advise her not to work too hard, Ginny Potter will permanently grumble and demand that Hermione changes her job to a calmer one ...

And Granger... Granger will keep pushing forward. And will undoubtedly reach new heights in any endeavor.

If she chooses to pursue academic research, then an internship in my lab would be a welcome bonus. In an article for the Potions Herald, I detailed Granger's assistant's role in the design and creation of a memory potion. But will she consider it possible to mention this fact of the biography?

Granger's smile was reflected in the window, and I closed my eyes to rid myself of my obsession. Granger didn't disappear, but smiled again, cheekily and defiantly. No, I need to sleep. These hallucinations are too much.

My head was spinning, sleep overtook me. Almost by touch, I went upstairs, pushed open the door, and only then realized that I had lost my bearings and was standing not in front of the bedroom, but in front of the next door leading to the closet. Here lay the abandoned possessions of strangers who once lived in this house. I've only looked in here once to make sure the rubbish didn't contain anything dangerous. It is high time to throw out this disgrace. A couple of strokes of my wand - and in the vacated area it will be possible to arrange an additional pantry for potions ingredients.

I switched on the light and looked around the dusty shelves and boxes. Ordinary things that had been left when moving in. Here is a sewing machine, quite old. By Muggle standards, it's a rarity. A tin box with threads. Men's shoes. Knitting magazines. A stack of issues of the Times. A skein of twine. A heavy plywood box painted black...

I did not immediately notice the chess on the top shelf. Trying not to raise a cloud of dust, I opened the box. It was completely new. Under the carvings, a sheet of paper had turned yellow - a page from an unfamiliar book.

"You become a man's Friend without knowing or caring whether he is married or single or how he earns his living. What have all these "unconcerning things, matters of fact" to do with the real question, Do you see the same truth? In a circle of true Friends each man is simply what he is: stands for nothing but himself. No one cares twopence about anyone else's family, profession, class, income, race, or previous history. Of course you will get to know about most of these in the end. But casually. They will come out bit by bit, to furnish an illustration or an analogy, to serve as pegs for an anecdote; never for their own sake. That is the kingliness of Friendship. We meet like sovereign princes of independent states, abroad, on neutral ground, freed from our contexts... "*

And further in the same spirit: vague reasoning about sublime things. Pure pathos and distilled self-righteousness. In the lower right corner of the sheet, in sweeping handwriting, was written: "Jack".

I returned the chess to the shelf, walked out of the room and closed the door.

It's been a lousy day. Although…no. Lousy is the one in May. The ninth of January was rather an unnecessary day. It was always. Long before school, I realized that my mother was weary of having to find money right after the Christmas holidays, and I suggested that she limit herself to one gift. She agreed. At Hogwarts, it was easier, except for my second year, when Lucius decided to arrange "something big". It all ended predictably badly. A drunk Nott was caught by McGonagall ... And Lily was offended by me.

She knew that I preferred not to remember my birthday, but still every year she managed to arrange a surprise gift and hand over some little thing. "Sev, don't pout. You'll like it. Open it, open it, please! Do you like it?"

Later it was time for gala dinners at the Manor. Old Malfoy never made a secret of the fact that he considered the poor half-blood a third-class creature, but Lucius needed a "retinue" that he could graciously warm with his luxurious grandeur and bestow patronage ... The phrase about Malfoy's peacocks was born long before Tom Riddle gave Lucius the birds.

Then Igor appeared, and stiff gatherings in the hall with a fireplace gave way to cheerful parties in Hogsmeade and Knockturn Alley. Life around young Igor was always seething. Punch, poems, disputes, dreams of a change of power in Europe, united into a single whole power. Who would have thought that Muggles think in the same direction? Europe then united without Igor's help, the Dark Lord sank into oblivion, Igor and I remained pitiful remnants of ourselves...

Then… Then there was nothing. Albus suddenly showed surprising sensitivity, and at school I was spared the show of attention. Minerva tried to remind me last year. But I managed to quarrel with her before the start of the congratulatory speech. I hope she learned her lesson.

I went down to the laboratory again. I took an unopened vial of Invigoration Draught and drank the prescribed ten drops ... Stupid. It would have been more useful to take a good sleeping pill and get a good night's sleep, but the words from the paper upstairs irritated me no worse than Granger and completely discouraged the thought of sleep.

A friend sees the same truth... No more and no less? And what was the truth that united me and Lily? The fact that we are wizards, and this is more important than all the differences?.. Once Lily stopped believing in me?… I habitually listened to myself, looking for echoes of the old bitterness... awakening neither longing nor pain.

A moment later, the Invigorating tincture flowed through my veins, enveloping the mind in false euphoria. Why am I whinging like a teenager? It won't change anything.

By noon, I sent my last letter to the Guild, got Slughorn's enthusiastic response, filled out all the necessary paperwork, sent the tired owl back, and was finally convinced that I did not like making money inventing new potions. The effect of the stimulant was already ending, there was again a fog in my head and scraps of thoughts swarmed. For example, that the day before yesterday I almost killed four people. Simply because I underestimated the enemy. Not Weasley, of course. After that spontaneous session of Legilimency, I almost felt sympathy for Mr. Needs-a-Strong-Wand. It must be bad that all his life he was the weakest link in the chain and understood this. In any case, now he was ready to fight, and dreams of greatness and superiority have dissipated for a long time. Miss Granger would surely be able to... Yes. Thinking of Granger... Again. Everywhere. I should have talked to her, not put on that show.

"What are you talking about, Harry? Everything is great! Professor Snape helped me a lot. That's so chivalrous of him and you. And I'm immensely grateful... to the both of you."

She figured it out. Of course. And now I have to remember that Severus Snape was a coward after all, and that Granger knows that fact.

But maybe it's all for the best.

Potter's errand was done, no matter how badly it was done. Potter acknowledged the debt fulfilled. From that moment on, he and his entire squad lost the opportunity to appear into my Floo and attack me with owls. Ordered freedom and peace, sir? Here you go, bada-bing, enjoy!

Pleasure was clearly delayed. The silence crushed and deafened, as in a morning dream. On impulse, I removed the silencing charms from the house. The sharp sounds of the street leaked through the walls as echoes of someone else's life: the rustle of car tires, the conversations of rare passers-by, music ... What they call music: a rhythmic roar and mournful meowing. And Lily was always singing The Beatles. Simple lyrics to simple melodies. Four sugary Beatles boys. Their buzzing was heard then from everywhere.

"Come on, Sev!" Lily laughed. - "They are awesome. You can't help but love someone just because others love them." Then one of them went somewhere, someone married someone else ... Lily tried to keep me informed, but she could not interest me. But when she sang, her wand drew intricate luminous lines in the air. Lily knew how to live in two worlds and was not going to give up either of them.

Later, in the 1980s, the Beatles were back in the news, but for a different reason. The lead singer of the group was shot dead. I saw his picture in the newspaper. Mordred and Morgana! He even had glasses like Potter's!

The persistent scratching sound distracted me from yet another dive into the past. An owl sat on the windowsill. I threw open the window and he flew heavily into the room.

The letter was from Draco.

"Hello Godfather!"

"You know, I'm starting to get a little nervous about your reclusive nature. My parents tried to send you a traditional bottle of elf-made collectible wine, but the bird returned with the shipment untouched. Mother immediately imagined God knows what, and now she is eager to save you from Azkaban. I could hardly persuade her to wait at least until the evening, promising that I would find a way to contact you".

"By the way, happy birthday! I know you hate all these formal wishes for happiness, health, good luck and easy spells. So let's assume that I wrote all that, you sent me to the kelpies, and we will immediately move on to the next part".

"I decided not to fantasize with a gift and give you a card to visit our restaurant for a party of two. Conditions are on the back. I will be glad to see you there. I'm very serious. Just don't give the map to Potter, please".

"Oh yeah... I feel compelled to let you know that I'm going on a date with Astoria Greengrass tonight. If you have anything against her, tell me now or never. I'm not sure if I'm in love, but there's something in the air that makes me do stupid things. Since you are my godfather, you are partly responsible for my future. And since I need advice, this letter will definitely get to you".

"P.S. If you still want some elf-made wine, just call for Dinky, she will deliver the bottle to any place".

After reading this impudent letter twice, I finally understood it's meaning.

Despite the frivolous tone and the deliberate disregard for the rules of House Malfoy, every letter said that Draco was winning the fight for his place in the sun. He made a bet on zero and did not lose. A useful ability. Not everyone is given it.

The owl hooted, reminding me he was still there and flew to the cabinet with laboratory instruments.

"Don't you dare walk around here," I warned him. - "Sit quietly and wait".

The answer was short.

"I don't know about women. But Miss Greengrass is well-bred and intelligent. Didn't notice any of her other flaws. I will use the invitation to dine at your restaurant."

The winged postman glanced condescendingly at the note, allowed him to tie it to his paw, and flew out the window.

I hope this was the last guest. It's strange to celebrate what you don't know how to use. If Potter had read more books as a child, he would have known that some characters were supposed to die on time.

My gaze swept over the shelf with my most valuable potions and lingered on a vial of herbal distillate.

"Which of the obtained liquids was the purpose of today's work?"

"Each one, Miss Granger."

"So all three?"

I shook the vial and the transparent substance swirled as if in a pool of memory. What did Granger say? "A peculiar smell, not related to the raw material base."

The tightly closed cork did not yield immediately, and then slipped out with a quiet pop. A barely perceptible aroma spread throughout the room, causing me complex associations. For want of a better word, I described it as perplexing, provocative, and restless. It smelled of something vaguely familiar, but elusive. Wet wind? Snow? No matter. Such a smell is just a consequence of emotions dictating the desired parameters to the mind.

The minimum effective dose will have to be established empirically. Perhaps it will take weeks, and the result is unlikely to be stunning. But the safety of the subject is guaranteed. After all, the subject clings to it so much ... And for the purity of the experiment, the subject must absolutely not be poisoned on an empty stomach.

The kitchen was empty. The buffet had never been taught to produce food on its own, and there was no house elf either. An empty cereal box and an equally empty milk bottle made a good still life painting, but they were not suitable for the role of breakfast. And, therefore, the Byronic-minded birthday boy would have to put aside memories of memories and prosaically go to the store.

Granger couldn't run into me today, so I left the house through the front door and headed to the nearest supermarket. Despite the early hour, there were quite a lot of people on the streets. They even said hello to me a couple of times, and the owner of the pub on the corner, who was cleaning the windows of his establishment, waved and shouted that he was glad to see me.

In the store, I chose a standard set of products, then I remembered Igor and added a bottle of rum to the basket.

The cashier took a long time to gather the courage, but nevertheless blurted out:

" Nice day today, sir. Haven't seen you in a while".

I tried to smile at her, which made her confused, lowered her eyes and silently punched away at the cash register.

Half-familiar passers-by, the cashier, the innkeeper - all these people perceived me as "our guy". Wonderful, strange, but "ours". Just because I walked the same streets for a year and a half, drinking in a pub and buying milk and cereal at the store. They were not interested in who I am, what I do, what I think about. I didn't bother them, they didn't bother me.

There was a new day ahead, and I was free to spend it as I pleased: go to Brixton and rummage through the used bookstore, drop in on Aberforth ... Or, taking advantage of the unexpectedly decent weather, leisurely walk down the street, occasionally nodding to the indifferently friendly neighbors.

Quickening my pace, I made my way to the nearest empty wasteland and Apparated to my porch.

*C.S. Lewis The Four Loves