Chapter 47. Yesterday was the war of tomorrow.
Fujimaru looked closely at the students with his incredible eyes, which expressed something deep and completely different from his usual expression on his face. Judging by his face, he was burning with impatience and desperately wanted to tell something, and that something seemed to him to be the most important information on the agenda. He looked like a warrior today, eager to break free from the mundane world and boldly rush into battle on his faithful horse, unsheathing his sword and slaying enemies with all his might.
His mind relived the events experienced together with Mash Kyrielight. The white desert sun shone again above his head, and his body felt its intense heat. He could already feel the merciless burning and bone-drying wind, carrying only the omen of imminent death to anyone who didn't bother to bring enough food and water, as there was no game and no flowers bloomed in his domain. In the places where that wind reigned, every guest could only satisfy themselves with hot, coarse sand. But far on the horizon, Fujimaru saw a colossal citadel. A huge, well-fortified city with high walls and a majestic tower, the famous residence of King Arthur, the great Camelot, gazed at him from behind the dunes. Perhaps from the top of that marvelous tower, in response to Fujimaru and the entire army that had come with him, the great master of this impregnable fortress himself was looking, personally...
"King Arthur!" he exclaimed simultaneously and wrote the inscription on the board. "What do we know about him?"
The students exchanged glances. Hermione raised her hand.
"The famous king, his legend begins as a rise from the commoners and is inseparably connected with the sword in the stone. According to legend, the person who pulled out the famous sword Excalibur had all the rights to the British throne. This is exactly what Arthur Pendragon did. It is also known that he had the great wizard Merlin as his first counselor and mentor. From Hogwarts history, it is known that the great Merlin studied at the Slytherin house..."
"...and thus, we have a legend dating back more than a millennium," Fujimaru summed up. "What do you think this gives us?"
"Are you saying that the celebrity from the recent news is a Servant?" Hermione was the first to guess.
Fujimaru lowered his face, and then swiftly sketched two portraits on the board - one male and one female. Even Dudley gasped at how skillfully both illustrations turned out. Fujimaru pointed to the female portrait with his hand and wrote underneath it - Arturia, and under the male one - Arthur.
"Actually, there are several Servants with that name and surname. Legends - no matter how real they are - have taken form in the image of Servants. Arturia is the Great Servant of the Holy Grail, and this fact makes her one of the strongest Saber-class Servants. I have fought alongside her, but once I had to fight against her and take Camelot from her."
He spoke these words without lifting his head. His mood was reflected in all his gestures and voice - gloomy, sad, as if he was being engulfed in the sea of his most dreadful memories. Bloody and fierce battles of those days flashed before his eyes. He saw Mordred charging at him, the sound of his armor echoing, wielding his sword for a strike. He saw the same figure in the white cloak with a fluffy collar on the fortress wall again and again, unable to see only the face covered by a mask.
"How did that adventure end?" Neville asked.
Arturia reared her horse, which let out a thunderous neigh, threateningly swinging its hooves, then jumped high. Fujimaru couldn't even catch up with her movements as Mash shielded him with her shield from Arturia's shining lance, emitting a warrior's cry in that moment.
"Arturia proved to be a formidable opponent..."
Hassan stealthily passed through the secret route behind the walls of Camelot. He was a master of stealth, moving like a giant black shadow, with a sinister helmet shaped like a skull with horns bent in the middle. The secret path Hassan walked on was narrow and lost in the depths of Camelot's walls. He carefully overcame each obstacle, trying not to make any unnecessary noise. But an unexpected attack from the shadows awaited him on his path. Life had forged him into a prepared fighter, so when Sir Gawain emerged from hiding, he was ready. The Green Knight fell on Hassan from a great height and struck his head with his sword. The stone floor of the fortress level he was walking on cracked and gave way beneath the feet of the grand progenitor of all assassins, but the great assassin himself showed no reaction. Although the sudden attack stopped Hassan, the opponent did not break or injure him - only briefly delayed him. His hands and legs did not tremble, not a single muscle in his entire body twitched. Only the shining blue lights in his eyes moved under his skull-like helmet, following the gaze of the knight attacking him, demonstrating inhuman reserves of patience, courage, and composure. Hassan didn't say a word - his inquiring gaze spoke for him. He silently looked at his opponent with a cold and bone-piercing gaze from his eyes, and his unspoken question echoed: "Is that all you've got?"
"...but we defeated her."
"What's the point of all this?" voices came from behind.
"I don't know whose side Saber Pendragon is on now," Fujimaru answered. "She could have been summoned by a randomly chosen Master assigned by the Grail on your side. Or she could have been summoned by any of the Death Eaters, or even Voldemort himself."
"But King Pendragon was a good and very intelligent person!" Colin Creevey intervened. "How could he serve Voldemort?"
Fujimaru moved away from the board and approached Colin.
"You're a clever guy, Colin," Fujimaru replied. "But believe me, even King Arthur can be deceived. He will do whatever the Master commands him to do, until he suspects something is wrong. It's unknown how long it will take for him to recognize the deception. And how he will act afterwards is also uncertain."
"But what's Arthur's phantasm?" Ron pondered.
"A powerful stream of energy from his sword," Fujimaru explained. "With this stream, the Great Saber destroys enemy formations and demolishes structures. The invincible Excalibur is capable of killing any enemy, even the strongest ones."
"But according to legend, King Arthur was killed when he lost the sheath," Hermione added. "Up until that point, he was invulnerable."
"That's why, under no circumstances, challenge him if you see the sheath on his belt," concluded Fujimaru.
Harry was lost in thought about this during the whole way home. The voices of the crowd cheering and Dudley knocking Malfoy off his broom still echoed in his mind. Nobody knew when Dudley's moment of glory would come, but everyone anticipated it eagerly. Some dreamt of mocking him to their heart's content, while others expected him to shine brightly in the match. Nobody was disappointed, and the first ones were shouting the most vile songs they could think of, but Dudley didn't pay them any attention. He dared to substitute Angelina, who had been hit by Slytherin's Beaters, and he watched the field closely, not letting anything distract him. Only once did he smile at the triumphant banner held up by Jeanne, Sam, Fujimaru, Mash, and Fou. The banner read:
"Dudley, our mighty force,
Will swiftly catch the red ball, of course,
Gryffindor will thank him with a cheer,
And Slytherin will lose the Cup this year!"
Luna, who had come to the match wearing a huge lion-shaped hat that occasionally roared at her whim, added a bit of spirit. Meanwhile, on the other side of the stands, Dudley saw a pattern of dancing colorful shapes overhead, as if made up of thousands of tiny stars swirling in a waltz together. In this pattern, Dudley read the words: "Dudley, our hero!"
Feeling notably encouraged, Dudley jumped up and rushed off after the Quaffle without caring who he was or where he was going. Nothing else mattered to him anymore - not who he was, where he was, or who was around him. Even a few blows from bludgers to his head and back couldn't faze him, and when he flew towards the Slytherin hoops with the Quaffle, he didn't care if anyone got in his way. His only goal was to score. In a moment when the atmosphere was charged to its limit, with the shouts of the other players and the crowd merging into a complex cacophony, he threw the Quaffle straight into the hoops. Within seconds, the Quaffle hit something, but Dudley didn't notice it - all his attention was focused on the large red ball flying towards the golden circle. Holding their breath, the whole stadium waited to see how the keeper would react, how he would respond to Dudley's challenge. And the keeper leapt to catch the Quaffle directed at the hoops. He had already thrown out his hands and stuck out his tongue when the Quaffle missed him by a hair's breadth and the goal rang. The keeper cast a bewildered glance in Dudley's direction, rolled his eyes, and spat on the ground in disappointment.
"Harry Potter caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins today's match and receives the Quidditch Cup! This is your commentator, Lee Jordan!"
Now Harry was sitting in a compartment with his friends and Dudley. Despite the calm and quiet, there was still something that troubled him.
"Each of you will have to practice drawing the Summoning Circle," Fujimaru assigned them a summer task.
"But how big should it be exactly?" Ron pondered.
"At least ten feet in each direction. There aren't many Servants that won't be affected by that," Fujimaru calmly replied.
"For example?" Hermione asked.
"Hercules or the Minotaur," Fujimaru replied, unperturbed.
Despite his outward composure, the students had mixed reactions.
"Hold on," Colin Creevey muttered. "Did you say Hercules or the Minotaur?"
- Exactly. Heroes from myths have also become Servants over the centuries. It doesn't matter if a Servant actually existed - as long as people remember them, as long as there is fame surrounding that Servant among people, they will undoubtedly exist.
Harry pulled out the May newspaper again and looked at the photos inside. Studying the photo of the famous London Beast closely, Harry noticed that it was holding a gigantic club in its hands, almost surpassing the creature itself in size. He began to speculate which mythological creature could wield such a weapon. His pensive expression caught Hermione's attention.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Look," he showed her the newspaper. "Ritsuka said that there are different Servants from myths and legends. See the club this creature has? Who do you think could have used such a club?"
Hermione scrutinized the photograph and then passed the newspaper to the others in the compartment, one by one.
"To be honest, I don't know," Ron smiled, glancing at the picture. "I've only read the Bard Beedle's fairy tales."
"Ron, how ignorant can you be!" Hermione exclaimed. "We're not talking about creatures from his tales right now!"
"Maybe it's..." Luna began, but nobody paid attention to her - they all knew she would cite another article from the magazine her father managed. None of them trusted that publication, except for Mash, who wisely believed that the magazine printed hardly more than half of the truth, generously seasoned with various fabrications and outright foolishness.
"I've seen different Servants," Mash began. "But I can't say for sure who is depicted in this picture."
"Why?" Dudley was perplexed.
Mash looked at him with a puzzled expression, adjusted her glasses, and answered timidly, "It's dark there."
Dudley sighed in response and thoughtfully scratched his head.
"It's hard to say, Harry," Ginny replied, looking at the photo. "With equal chances, it could even be an ordinary mountain troll if you don't know that Muggles couldn't see it."
"It can only be a Servant," Jeanne interjected.
"And specifically who?" Harry inquired.
Jeanne held up the newspaper over the table and stared at the photo intently for a couple of seconds.
"I'll flatten it in no time if necessary," she answered without further explanation, and immediately burst into her uproarious laughter, causing everyone around to flinch.
When the train slowed down, approaching Kings Cross station, Harry felt incredibly difficult to force himself out of the carriage. He even briefly thought about not doing it at all - just to stay in his seat until September and then go back to Hogwarts. But when the train finally stopped, Harry obediently took Buckbeak's cage and prepared to drag his heavy trunk onto the platform.
Upon the signal from the ticket inspector, Harry, Ron, and Hermione passed through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten, and then it turned out that there was a surprise waiting for them on the other side: people whom the trio did not expect to see here at all.
There was Mad-Eye Moody, dressed in a spacious travel cloak and clutching a long staff in his knobbly fingers; with the magical eye lowered over his kettle, he looked no less intimidating than with his uncovered head. Next to him stood Tonks, wearing patched jeans and a violet T-shirt with the emblem of "The Tornados" - her brightly pink hair shone in the sunlight streaming through the dirty glass roof of the station. Lupin was next - pale face, gray hair, a long worn-out cloak partially covering old pants and a jumper. And leading the company were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in their best Muggle outfits.
"Ron, Ginny!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, rushing to hug her children tightly. "Harry, dear, you're here too! How are you?"
"Fine," lied Harry.
Mrs. Weasley gave him a heartfelt hug as well.
"Hello, Harry," said Lupin when Mrs. Weasley let him go and turned to Hermione.
"Hi," Harry responded. "I didn't... expect to see all of you here."
"Well," a light smile touched Lupin's lips. "we decided to have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before they took you home."
"I don't think it's worth it," Harry blurted out immediately.
"Indeed, it's not," Dudley intervened on their behalf. "We've all changed since last summer, and I think..."
"But I believe it is," Moody interjected, dragging his leg and coming a bit closer. "They are the ones, right, Potter?"
He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder; apparently, his magical eye had been keeping track of what was happening behind him, straight through the back of his head and kettle. Looking over his shoulder, Harry indeed saw the Dursleys - they were clearly looking at the surrounding delegation with evident apprehension.
"Well, Harry!" Mr. Weasley said, turning away from Hermione's parents, whom he had just warmly greeted, and letting them hug their daughter one by one. "Shall we get started, I suppose?"
"Let's, Arthur," Moody agreed.
They were the first to head towards the Dursleys, who seemed to be glued to the platform. Hermione gently broke away from her mother's embrace and followed the rest.
"Good day," Mr. Weasley politely said, stopping right in front of Uncle Vernon's nose. "I suppose you remember me? My name is Arthur Weasley."
Since two years ago Mr. Weasley single-handedly blew up the entire interior of the Dursleys' living room, Harry would be very surprised if Uncle Vernon had forgotten about him. And indeed, Uncle Vernon's face took on an even richer shade of brick and he responded to Mr. Weasley with a fierce glare, but preferred to remain silent - possibly also because the Dursleys were outnumbered by wizards three to one. Perhaps for another reason as well, since his own son was now studying alongside Harry. A few seconds later, the crimson hue in his face vanished, and to Harry's surprise, Uncle Vernon responded to Mr. Weasley with a friendly look, as if to say - there's no escaping from you. Aunt Petunia looked both embarrassed and scared; her eyes darted around as if she was afraid of being noticed in this questionable company. Dudley, on the other hand, tried to appear more important and serious, which he succeeded in doing all too well.
"We would like to have a word with you about Harry," Mr. Weasley continued, still smiling.
"Yes," growled Moody. "About how you treat him in your own home."
Uncle Vernon snorted lightly and only averted his gaze. Perhaps under the completely mistaken impression that the cauldron signified some sort of spiritual kinship between its owner and him, Vernon Dursley decided to address Moody directly:
"I did not know that my household affairs concern you!"
"If we were to write down everything you don't know, Dursley, it would fill a whole library," Moody snarled.
"Until last summer, I didn't want to know anything at all, but since you dragged my son into all of this..."
"Excuse me," Tonks intervened. "No one dragged your son anywhere, because there is no way to make a person a wizard unless they were born one."
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged thoughtful glances.
"Fine, whatever!" Uncle Vernon muttered. "Can't change anything now."
"None of that matters," Tonks interjected, whose pink hair, it seemed, outraged Aunt Petunia more than anything else, combined; she even closed her eyes so as not to see them; but at the same time, she looked much happier than ever before, and Harry couldn't explain her drastic change with just Dudley's return home. "The point is something else. If we find out that you mistreat Harry..."
"We'll find out everything, you can be sure of that," Lupin interjected amiably.
"Yes," Mr. Weasley added, "and even if you don't let Harry use the pelethone..."
"Telephone," Hermione whispered.
"Well, if we even catch wind that Potter is having a tough time, you'll answer to us," declared Moody.
Uncle Vernon began to swell ominously. Apparently, his anger outweighed his fear of this group of abnormal people.
"Are you threatening me, sir?" he barked so loudly that several passersby turned in surprise.
"Exactly," replied Moody, very pleased that Uncle Vernon had grasped the essence of the matter so quickly.
"Do you think I'm someone who can be intimidated?" Uncle Vernon snarled.
"Well..." Moody drawled, pushing the cauldron back and opening his wildly spinning magical eye.
Uncle Vernon recoiled in horror and painfully collided with a baggage trolley.
"It's hard for me to imagine that you're not worried about your son, while he's studying so far away from you and during such turbulent times," continued Moody.
"Not worried? Are you out of your mind? When things like this happen..."
"I think you have something in common, Dursley," Moody concluded and turned to Harry. "So, Potter... let us know when we need you. If we don't hear from you for three consecutive days, we'll send someone..."
Aunt Petunia looked completely bewildered. Without a doubt, she was thinking about what the neighbors would say if they saw such characters on her garden path. But at the same time, she inexplicably admired Dudley, who had spent a year at Hogwarts.
"Mum, I won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor, I'm a champion now," Dudley beat his chest with an important air, causing both parents to burst with joy.
"Well, goodbye, Potter," Moody briefly squeezed Harry's shoulder with his bony hand.
"Take care of yourself, Harry," Lupin said softly. "Stay safe."
"We'll get you out of here as soon as we can," Mrs. Weasley whispered, embracing him once again.
"See you soon, mate," Ron's voice sounded worried.
They exchanged a handshake.
"Really soon, Harry," Hermione said seriously. "We promise."
"Sooner than you think," Jeanne slapped him on the shoulder and briefly glanced at Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, her amber eyes making a strong impression judging by the change in their expressions.
"I'll write to you," Harry shyly smiled at Mash, with Fou on her shoulder again. The little fluffy creature jumped onto Harry's shoulder and patted his cheek with its paw.
Harry nodded with a sheepish smile. For some reason, he couldn't find the words to express what it meant to him to see them all here, by his side. He simply smiled, raised his hand in farewell, and, turning around, was the first to stride out of the station building onto the sunny street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, not pausing for a second, hurriedly following him.