Before arriving at my door, I heard someone yelling and realized that my plans for a calm day were no longer feasible. My body reacted automatically: Disillusionment Charm, shield, diagnostics... The world stopped spinning, and I saw Potter. The future head of the Auror office stood a little obliquely from the entrance and heartily convinced the lower right corner of my house:

"Let me in! I know that you live here! Open up, Professor Snape! Hey!"

Having made sure that Potter was really in front of me, that he was alone, and there were no passers-by yet, I went down from the porch to take a closer look at him. Glasses on one side, jacket open, scarf hanging almost to the ground. Not Imperius? No, not Imperius. Not a Polyjuice? No. Potter himself.

His performance was undoubtedly amusing, but it was not worth dragging it out, especially since Potter had moved on to more assertive actions.

"Professor Snape!" he yelled and slammed his fist into the wall. "I'll still stand here and yell until you let me in."

The strong smell of good old Ogden's wafted down the street.

"Professor Snape…" the defender of Wizarding Britain repeated listlessly. - "Although, what the bloody hell, Professor. Snape!.. Open up..."

Potter sat down right in front of the porch and put his head in his hands.

"I can't open the door," I said, removing the spell. "A drunken boy has lain down in front of the entrance, having forgotten about the Statute of Secrecy".

Potter instantly jumped to his feet.

"S-sorry Professor, I thought you couldn't hear me, so…"

"To be clear, Mr. Potter. You yelled my name in the Muggle street and banged your head against the wall of my house, hoping I wouldn't hear you? I'm afraid I have bad news for you".

Potter grinned wryly, got up, trying to keep his balance, and handed me a decent-sized piece of wooden board. A thick smell of soot was added to the vapors of alcohol.

"Here. Happy Birthday".

The board stained my hand with soot. A wild thought crossed my mind that Potter was trying in such a peculiar way to get my fingerprints.

"How nice of you, Mr. Potter. This is the kind of gift I dreamed of. Colour, size, texture... Anything else for?"

"Yes," Potter nodded and swayed. "But you didn't understand where it's from. This is all that remains of the Shrieking Shack. There is now only ash. I... Aberforth and I have been running around all morning. It didn't want to burn for longest time, but then how it flared up! .. Professor? Can you hear me?"

Finishing the sentence, Potter carefully remembered what he had said. And that was enough.

The Shack blazed against the dawn sky, scattering fireworks of sparks. My memory obligingly added details: almost forgotten sharp teeth dug into my throat, I caught my breath, and I again collapsed to the floor of a dirty shack, pinching a lacerated wound with my fingers.

"Professor Snape?"

"What the bloody hell professor," I managed to croak out. - "Come in, quickly!"

Handing Potter a bag of groceries, I gestured for him to follow me to the kitchen, while I went up to the pantry in search of painkillers. The discovery of the location of my dwelling worried me surprisingly little. Potter knew enough from the start that it was only a matter of time and persistence. But the "gift" impressed more than the giver expected.

When the nauseating green circles stopped swimming before my eyes, I went out into the corridor. Hermione Granger stood there nine days ago. She fought me in front of the mirror with her stubborn hair, chattered and beamed with happiness. It was difficult to be near her, as difficult as it is to face winter's wet and snowy wind ... What gibberish. Sentimental poetic gibberish.

I went to the mirror and looked at my reflection. The man who failed to die gave me a courtesy in return. A very sobering sight. And speaking of sobriety, while I'm here looking at my ignoble grey hairs, Potter must be hosting my kitchen.

Potter didn't host. He stood with his back against the door frame, smelling of alcohol and grinning.

"I t-tried not to touch anything," he explained. "Even that thing looks like a grocery bag. You never know what kind of signaling charms you have cast here. And I really need to eat".

"So Aberforth got you drunk but forgot to feed you?"

"Something like that," Potter agreed, and sat down at the table without any further invitations. "By the way, I'll cook. Omelette and pancakes. Maybe porridge".

"I can cook too. And get by with one omelette. When did you manage to get in with Aberforth?"

Potter grinned again.

"Long time ago. But today Abe outdid himself. Would you like to see..."

"I wouldn't. And I don't want to. The only thing that interests me is who came up with the idea of your ... gift?"

Potter thought for a long time.

"It's hard to say," he drawled at last, "you see, I went to H-Hogwarts the day before yesterday. I wanted... "

"You wanted to make sure the portrait of Albus wasn't burned in the recent events?"

"You poured me too much milk. And you should add one more egg," Potter retorted, poking his finger in the direction of the bowl with the future breakfast. "An omelette isn't a potion. Here I am, the omelette master ... thank Aunt Petunia!"

The provocation was too obvious, so I ignored it.

"Let's circle back. What's going on with Aberforth and your unique present?"

"Consider we gave it together," Potter sighed. "Ab said that 'that junk' is blocking his view of Hogwarts, and he will somehow survive without the nosy tourists … I thought you might like it… Uh, it's time to take it off the heat, otherwise it will burn".

The omelette came out watery, but Potter had the good sense to keep quiet about it. After the meal was finished, he looked at me expectantly.

"Any news about Miss Granger?" I asked.

"She wrote to Ginny. Just three words: "It worked out." N-nothing else".

" Excellent. And stop pretending that you're drunk".

He shrugged and smiled wryly.

"When did you guess?"

"Straightaway. Before your performance outside, you placed a silencing and distracting charms around the house. Drunk people aren't that smart. At the same time, take into account that firewhiskey smells completely differently if it is not drunk, but poured down your collar".

Potter pulled back the collar of his sweater and sniffed carefully.

"I'll keep that in mind for the future. And when we were looking for Karkaroff, you didn't tell me that... well, it doesn't matter. So. Now this".

He laid out a narrow case on the table.

"Hermione asked me to return the wand and thank you again."

Of course. Going to the Antipodes, having a wand just recently purchased and almost untested, was not very reasonable and cautious. However, what's the difference now: she did it! The wand was carefully polished and packaged. Any notes were not included in the box. What did I expect, I wonder? An accusatory speech written on three feet parchment?

After a moment of silence, Potter continued:

"Hermione hardly spoke to me before leaving. I tried to explain why we did what we did, but she didn't listen. She said the plan was great. And that I had learned a lot from Professor Dumbledore".

"Miss Granger overreacted," I protested. - "Get that out of your head. You're years away from the Headmaster".

Instead of answering, Potter chuckled and glanced at the window.

"If only she knew… How did you end up in Wandsworth? Don't tell me this is another great Dumbledore plan".

"As you wish. I think it's my turn to ask questions. How exactly did you guess to look for me here?"

Potter perked up.

"When I discovered that my Floo no longer responds to the phrase: "Professor Snape's house", and the owls believed that the addressee with the last name "Snape" does not exist, I remembered your strange reaction to Hermione's story about her suspicious neighborhood. And I began to think on that ... Yes, yes, thinking sometimes happens to me, don't make such a face ... I found an old telephone book, found the name of the former owner of the house, went in search of him and found out that according to the documents, neither the owner nor the house exists anymore. Not a single mention since 1995. This meant that I was not mistaken".

I shrugged.

"That didn't mean that it was I who lived in the house. Perhaps I just knew the owner. There are better ways to track where one lives, but are you too noble to use them?"

"Right you are," Potter agreed. - "But I didn't begin to establish surveillance of a friend".

He took off his glasses and stared stubbornly at me, not caring much about using Occlumency. Insomnia and abuse of an Invigorating Draught probably played a role, but the fact remains. I looked down first.

"Harry..."

"Yes, I know." Potter didn't let me continue. "You will say again that we made up all sorts of nonsense for ourselves. Only you are lying. You lie to yourself… And you fled from Grimmauld Place, because Hermione told the truth. And by the way, if you're going to drink that bottle of rum alone, I'll join you".

His speech was obviously premeditated and written to sound like a drunken Potter. But the reaction was also calculated on Standard Snape, and now I was disinclined to portray an enraged professor. I contented myself with opening the bottle and taking two snifters out of the closet.

"Let's assume that you've already given a toast".

"Why rum?"

Potter glanced at his empty glass and reached for the bottle, but I caught it and set it aside on the far side of the table.

"Enough".

He chuckled but didn't protest.

"So why rum?"

"A habit. Once I got drunk with it quite successfully. With the rum. Since then, I hope that I will be lucky again".

"So I can't?"

"Mrs. Potter will be upset. But that's up to you".

I poured him rum, no more than a quarter of an ounce. He silently saluted me, drank and immediately continued:

"Speaking of Ginny… I've wanted to ask for a long time. Why didn't my Patronus change when I...uh...fell in love? Other's did…"

Potter coughed and blushed.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand the essence of the Patronus".

"Tonks' Patronus has changed," Potter pointed out stubbornly. "And I can give you another example".

"No more examples needed".

The topic was clearly chosen poorly. However, any questions in the performance of Potter slipped into uncomfortable notes. I got a strange painful satisfaction, teetering on the edge.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, why didn't you run away after your sixth year with Miss Weasley to the Continent, leaving the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix to deal with the problem of a deranged dark wizard?"

Potter gasped for a long time before muttering in puzzlement:

" Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. You had fallen in love! But at the same time you left the girl to her fate and went to save England in the company of your friends".

Finally, a spark of understanding flickered in Potter's eyes.

"So my feelings for Ginny didn't change anything in me? That sounds embarrassing".

"You are just being yourself. And the change in the image of the corporeal Patronus demonstrates a radical change in priorities".

Potter reached for the bottle again. I did not interfere, but warned him:

"Are you planning on pretending to be drunk again? Nothing will come of it. So be careful with your questions".

"Well, I'll try. Could a Patronus partially change?"

"Potter, you're scaring me. I don't remember you being occupied with such speculative things at Hogwarts".

"You have to be Hermione to be interested in goblin uprisings at eleven," snapped Potter. "Never mind… er… just speculation. I just saw this".

On the third try, a book wrapped in transparent film was pulled out of the inside pocket of his jacket, and Potter solemnly pointed at the cover with his finger.

"Here! Hermione said you would understand. This is her gift to you ... And in the picture - a winged cat. Isn't it a Patronus?"

I took the book in my hands. Edith Nesbit. The Princess and the Cat. What was her Meaning? Yes, the meaning of the gift was clear ...

"It's not a Patronus, Mr. Potter. Just a fairy tale".

"I think about a fairy tale. A Muggle one" Granger's voice popped into my head without any effort on my part. "My mother used to read it to me as a child. About a princess in a tower on a lonely island in the middle of the sea. And about the winged cat that helped her. The cat placed a lamp at the window every night so that the king could see the light, sail on a ship and save the princess. But when the cat flew away, the princess put out the lamp. She was afraid that other ships would mistake this light for a beacon and be broken on the coastal rocks".

I repeated the story. Potter looked dumbfounded at me, at the book, back at me...

"You can close your mouth," I advised. - "And try to formulate your question. Has anyone changed their Patronus?"

Potter shook his head.

"I just thought the book was about that. But you still haven't explained what that means".

"I have no idea," I answered honestly. "A chimerical Patronus? that probably reflects the conflicting values and views of the owner. I have not seen this in practice".

"Yes?! Well, okay. Do you have any candy?"

The serene tone of his question, the swollen look and the wavering of his mental shield illustrated the simple fact: Potter was drunk after all.

"Of course, can't you see it all? Pumpkin pie, chocolate cauldrons, Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans... but only the omelette flavour remained".

"Sure," Potter grunted. "Ginny said right away that I would have to take everything with me".

He again reached under the sweater with his hand and took out a heavy bundle, which definitely could not fit there.

"I don't have pumpkin pie. There's a treacle tart. And more fairy cakes. And this is Muggle chocolate, Belgian".

When all of the above was laid out on the table, Potter got up, flung open the cupboard and pulled out a large plate.

"Your behavior is unacceptable," I said lazily. - "Not only did you break into someone else's house by deceit, but now you are rummaging through the cupboards. Close this box. Knives are in the next".

"Absolutely unacceptable," Potter agreed as he sliced the pie. - "Hold on. Ginny baked it. It'll be delicious".

I took a piece of cake, a fairy cake, I chose a sweet from the box. Almost like a Hogwarts dinner. Hello nostalgia.

"Spatula. For. Cake!" Potter said solemnly, and lifted the object with two fingers. "I'm wondering where the cake spatula and all the saucepans came from in this Potions Professor's house. "

"It will do," I sighed.

Somewhere on the edge of my consciousness, the thought flashed that Potter was not Granger. Sooner or later he will exhaust all his questions and calm down. In the meantime, let everything go as it goes. Just don't fall asleep.

The sweets turned out to be quite decent, and the pie was beyond praise ...

Potter coughed, reminding himself. But I didn't speak until I had finished the tasting.

"The family that used to live here. Probably a man was a wizard. I have no idea what exactly they were doing for Albus, but in 1995 the house was hidden by Fidelius. I arrived here in 1998. There were no residents left. Almost their all things remained, furniture, but no documents, no photographs ..."

"Do you think they survived?" Potter asked quietly.

"Death Eaters didn't kill them. All seven London attacks are known to me. But I don't know what happened to them".

"There were only initials in the phone book," Potter muttered. - "Here. See".

Scrawled on a piece of paper was: "J. R. Jones".

I took out a strange text with a quote about friendship from my pocket.

" His name was Jack".

Potter carefully examined the sheet and confessed:

"Didn't understand that. Is it a cipher?"

" I do not know".

Potter seemed about to learn the text by heart. Finally, he hesitantly remarked:

" Looks like the truth".

"What truth exactly?"

"Everything that is written here. Whoever wrote this is right. Just…" Potter stammered, searching for the right words, "he used too many words. It's like he's convincing himself".

" Would you say otherwise?"

He nodded thoughtfully and then shook his head.

"I wouldn't say anything".

Bitterness cut me with sharp pain. The irony of fate. Potter talks about friendship. Friends got him just like that, by pure chance. They met on a train, got into the same house, did a bunch of stupid things, and went off to save the world, not really thinking about their friendship. They quarreled, fell in love, parted and returned to each other again, like magnets. It had nothing to do with Igor's friendship, and certainly nothing to do with Lucius' "friendship", Mulciber's short friendship and Dumbledore's seventeen years of agonizing service. Searching for truth? What nonsense...

"What is truth, Mr. Potter?" I inquired. "What amazing truth made your trio look in the same direction?"

Potter answered without thinking.

"In my first year, when we thought we were saving the Philosopher's Stone from you, Hermione told me one simple thing: friendship is more important than magic. Do you feel that? Six words. We didn't talk about it anymore. But I know for sure that she will not betray me, will not deceive me and will not fall behind until she saves… That's it".

It became quiet. I could hear the clock ticking in the lab. This time, the silence was not annoying. Potter was silent correctly and shielded the correct thoughts with a shield. However, not for long.

" What have you been doing these days, Professor?"

"Me? Having a great time. I signed up for knitting courses, a French bulldog club and an oriental dance group".

Potter chuckled.

"And you look like you haven't slept or eaten in a week. You losing your voice again. How did you manage to bring yourself to such a state?"

"Are you going to babysit me? That will not work. Firstly, I have long been an adult, and secondly I'm a bastard".

"Surprised," Potter snorted. "Listen, I have a plan. Remember when you asked me to teach at Hogwarts? The internship is over, the term starts in three days. I have a lot of free time, and I want to lead the Defense Department. It's time for Neville to return to his beloved Herbology..."

"Great," I agreed, relieved to talk about another topic was so safe. But the joy was premature.

" I would take the junior classes, and you - the senior ones!"

An attempt at a contemptuous smirk failed miserably. They went crazy, didn't they? Albus and Minerva - understandable, but Potter?! If he burned down the Shrieking Shack, then he must at least understand something. Senior classes! Wow, what happiness! Take it, Snape, while they give it! Elective courses... Double lessons - no more than twelve hours a week, unless, of course, Minerva changed the curriculum. Without duty on the floors, without my nightly vigils...

Thinking, I did not immediately realize that I did not have time to send Potter to Mordred's relatives, and looking up from my calculations, I met his curious look.

"Professor, you're scaring me," Potter said mimicking my tone. - "Are you here now?"

"You're still here," I reminded him. - "And I can kick you out. What kind of codswallop is this? What makes you think that I dream of going back to school?"

"Because you loved Hogwarts," Potter replied calmly. "Before…before things got bad. And I loved it. Even Tom Riddle loved it. And now is the time to remember that".

"You've got interesting company, Mr. Potter," I replied, to answer something.

"You understand what I'm talking about," he was not embarrassed. "The school was our home. The best home".

"You see what's the matter, Mr. Potter," I began, "as an old, sick person, I now like a draft-free house and hot water in the bathroom next to the bedroom. I want to return to my bed at night, and not to guard teenagers preoccupied with hormones. I would also like a normal weekend, not butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks... Yes, I also hate Quidditch".

"That's great," said Potter illogically. - It's time to change the petti ... petri ... It doesn't matter. In short, everything needs to change. Let's go to McGonagall and say we're taking on DADA from next year on, but we'll be the guest stars. I mean, teachers".

"Not McGonagall, but Professor McGonagall," I said. "Ready to go right now?"

"We can go now," Potter shrugged nonchalantly. "Do you think she has her Floo open?"

"As a former headmaster of Hogwarts, I have a number of advantages".

The Floo powder blazed green, and in a moment the outlines of the study, the desk, and Minerva, leaning over the papers behind it, appeared through it. She looked at me, shifted her gaze to our feast, and finally asked:

" Severus? What's happened?"

"Nothing much, Headmistress McGonagall. Glad to see you in good health. Mr. Potter wants to make you a business proposal. Of course, if you are busy, he will come visit another time".

Minerva nodded sharply and straightened up in her chair.

" I'm listening".

Potter walked over to the Floo and waved his hand.

"Sorry to intrude, Professor McGonagall, I just wanted to say that I'm applying to the position of Defense teacher next year if Professor Snape takes over half the hours."

The whole phrase was spoken in one breath. I mentally applauded Potter's liver.

Minerva's face showed a whole gamut of emotions. But after a couple of moments it expressed only concentration.

"That's good news, Mr. Potter, but let me clarify: is your decision not made under the influence of the contents of the bottle that I see on the table?"

" Uh… No. I decided this a few days ago. Today Professor Snape agreed".

Minerva looked back at the bottle. Potter cleared his throat, trying to hide his smirk, and continued:

"I gave this decision a lot of thought. But there is one condition. Professor Snape and I would like to remain visiting teachers".

Minerva paused, studying our faces one by one. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but Minerva's gaze has always brought me down to a schoolboy level. Neither the years of teaching, nor my short "headmastership", nor our memorable duel has changed this. "You shouldn't try to earn an Outstanding in my subject, Snape. Exceeds Expectations is your lot."

But today, Minerva's eyes were pleased.

"I understand your point, Mr. Potter. Of course, in your case this is justified, but why such a schedule for Mr. Snape?"

Minerva deliberately used "Mr." Of course, now I'm just a job seeker. And it looks like I won't get the job.

"I'm not ready to devote my entire life to raising young wizards, Headmistress McGonagall. But I agree to spend a limited number of hours a week on this. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday is preferred".

I think I even was polite. But Minerva did not appreciate my efforts.

"Teachers are approved by the Board of Governors, Mr. Snape. According to the rules of Hogwarts, the teacher must live at the school for the entire academic year on full board. An exception can only be made for promising young teachers who have recently entered into marriage, or wizards who are solely responsible for young children or foster children".

"Minerva… Do I understand correctly that you are suggesting that I have a wife in order to earn the right to teach?" I was thoroughly horrified. "You can't be so cruel to any abstract woman".

Minerva gave me an icy look.

"No, Severus. I'm just reminding you that, unlike Professor Dumbledore, I can't convince the Board of Governors to approve any teaching candidate".

"Wait, Professor," Potter interrupted. "Isn't it possible to come up with a story for the Board that Professor Snape has to take care of someone?"

The word "has to" elicited a predictable reaction from me.

"No, no and no. Even if it's just a formality, no guardianship, no orphans. Unless the Board is satisfied with a pet... For example, a cat? Potter, can you lend me your kneazle?"

Minerva slammed her book shut on the table with a bang.

" Enough! Mr. Potter, I look forward to seeing you in the coming days for a final discussion of details. Severus... I really want you back. I don't know what kind of game you got into, but on such terms we will not agree. And you understand me perfectly".

"You have absolutely no imagination, Minerva," I protested. "You didn't even try to present me as a family man".

"You're right," she nodded dryly. "And ten minutes ago, I couldn't have imagined you drunk. As soon as my imagination rises to the level you suggested, I will guarantee you twenty weekly hours at Hogwarts with the right to reside outside of school. Until then… gentlemen, it was good to see you. All the best! "

The flame went out. Potter glared at me.

"Is that why you agreed to meet her? Did you know she would refuse you?"

"I guessed," I admitted. "Come on, Potter, you'll be fine without me. Let Longbottom keep the juniors and get more hours on Herbology. If I were Professor McGonagall, I would suggest seniors to you. In the end, I can even send you my Defense notes. All the same, the hand did not rise to burn them".

For a second, I had a terrible suspicion that the newly minted professor was going to throw himself on my neck or do something of the sort. Fortunately not.

Potter just asked cheekily.

" How about professional consultations on Fridays? Exchange of experience, all that?"

"You can do without," I replied kindly. "We have different teaching styles. Plus, you'll be busy on Fridays".

"I'll try to free them up." Potter couldn't hide his wide smile anymore. "When you are not teaching, one can learn a lot from you".

I grinned back at him.

"Perhaps I'll come to your lesson one day, and you'll regret asking for my advice".

"I will remember that!"

Potter glanced furtively at his watch. Hmm. Solemn boozing had obviously dragged on.

"Let's do it," I suggested. - "Now you say everything that you planned to share today as quickly as possible, without introductory phrases and vague wording, and postpone the rest until next Friday. I want to sleep".

"All right," Potter agreed suspiciously easily. - "Until Friday. Then shall I go?"

"And walk drunk down the street? No way. Go through the Floo".

Potter shrugged his hands and obediently went to the fireplace. I handed him a can of Floo powder. He scooped up a handful, looked at me with an absolutely sober look and quickly said:

"Your Patronus has changed. It looks like you don't know about it".

And disappeared in a green flame.

It seems that someone greatly overestimated their ability to drink. Tomorrow I will send him an anti-hangover potion.

And now to sleep.

On the landing of the first floor, I again lingered at the mirror.

The grim, hook-nosed man looked at me with ill-concealed disgust.

"Well, did you get that all?" I asked him.

It is unlikely that I myself understood what I mean now.

The guy in the mirror smiled unpleasantly. No wonder the saleswoman was frightened by this face. You have to have Potter's hardening to endure my facial expressions. Also, you can be a Granger.

"Potter says my Patronus has changed," I informed the obnoxious man. - "It would be a fun story".

I closed my eyes. Ritual known to trifles. Almost a prayer.

"…Tell me more! "

"About what? "

"Doesn't matter. Just tell".

Did it seem or not that a strange double echo was reflected in the memory?

" Expecto Patronum!"

The light soaked the hand, seeped into the fibers of the wood, broke free in a blinding flash...

... A doe cautiously stepped over with her hooves.

A doe. And who was I waiting for? A winged cat? Some part of my mind almost believed Potter's prank. He was so convincing that I did not even have time to understand him: after that story by the lake, my Patronus appeared in front of him only once, when the hunt for Igor began. Of course, a doe. As always. When I received the Dark Mark, the Patronus briefly turned into a ball of light, but after a few weeks it returned in its original form.

I held out my hand, knowing that the magic would dissipate as soon as the light touched my skin. But that did not happen. The luminous air washed my fingers, the doe slightly turned her head, looked at me with shining eyes and spread huge silvery-white wings.