Yesterday we returned to Hogwarts, and today owls are bringing students and professors the Prophet with Skeeter's scandalous article.
"Sirius Black is innocent! 12 years of hell—who is to blame?"
It seems Sirius is haunted by the number 12. The house number, the number of Muggles Pettigrew killed, years in Azkaban...
I steal glances at the staff table. Dumbledore is absent from breakfast today, which is a pity. Snape has lost his composure for the first time, his emotions changing with enormous speed.
The trial will take place in three days. That's enough time for the Ministry and Fudge to be flooded with letters and howlers, but not enough to interfere with the trial.
Three days later, an emergency issue of the Prophet came out. Sirius is completely exonerated, the Ministry will pay a thousand galleons compensation for each year in Azkaban. Harry and I received packages from a happy Black. The owls brought me a huge box of sweets and a rare book on rituals used in healing magic—I see Sirius has already started squandering the family library, but in this case I don't object. Now there's no reason not to let Harry go to Hogsmeade, and this weekend he's going to meet his godfather.
On the same day, something happened that was much more incredible than Black's exoneration. Neville melted another cauldron in Potions, and Snape said nothing! What's Black compared to this—both houses are in shock.
***
A whole week passed since Black's exoneration before the Dementors were removed from the school. The most joyful event of the year! It was worth helping Sirius just for this. Sirius continues to correspond with Harry and me and throw money around. He sends Harry all sorts of nonsense for pranks or at best for Quidditch—I'm not sure he, as a future guardian, is ready for his role and will think to take Harry shopping when his trousers become too short. Though Harry is already old enough to figure it out himself, but alas, he sometimes has problems with figuring things out. He sends me more useful things—a beautiful self-writing quill, a hair clip that prevents hair from being pulled out, and books from his library. I had to send back the book on blood magic—better I read it at his house later than have someone discover literature worth a couple years in Azkaban in my possession. But mostly the books are permitted, though simply impossible for a person off the street to obtain.
After Harry and Ron complained that the evil Ministry was going to execute Buckbeak, Sirius simply bought the ill-fated hippogriff for himself. Now Harry is anticipating how he'll fly this summer. Well, I don't know, I don't trust that creature—if someone immediately tries to rip open a person's chest at the word "ugly," that's not good.
Professor Snape somehow found out that Harry and I had been taking extra lessons with Lupin and, keeping me after class, said I could return to the optional class now that the Dementors were gone.
"Next time, Miss Granger, we'll be brewing wolfsbane potion. With your skills it's still too early, but alas, there are special reasons why you should learn this recipe as soon as possible."
I wonder if there's anyone left in the school who, after half a year of Snape's hints, still doesn't know that Lupin is a werewolf? I seriously doubt it.
What's particularly offensive here is that Lupin, that hairy beast, abandoned me as soon as Sirius was exonerated. Now he runs to him every free minute to beg forgiveness. Harry can already produce a corporeal Patronus, and I'm apparently not worth spending time on alone.
Throughout the lesson, while we brewed wolfsbane potion, Snape walked in circles around the classroom and reasoned that young unreasonable girls sometimes like to spend improper time with suspicious wolves, and then before they know it, their hairiness has suddenly increased. The Slytherins openly watched my reaction—they're definitely in the know, the two Ravenclaws didn't care. I rolled my eyes but held my ground. At the end of the lesson, when everyone had left, I said:
"You know, Professor Snape, Professor Lupin isn't giving me lessons anymore anyway." Snape's facial expression was delightful. It practically screamed: "Well what the hell was I going on about then, you little pest?" But he quickly composed himself.
"I don't understand what I have to do with it, Miss Granger," he raises an eyebrow questioningly.
"Just came to mind. Goodbye, sir."
***
In early May, a panicked letter came from Sirius that all was lost, and he was lost, fire, flood, end of the world—Rita is pregnant!!! What should he do now?
What to do—good question, as if there are options in his case. Wizards don't recognize abortions. And even if they did, it's already great luck that Sirius managed it after Azkaban. And Rita isn't a young girl, she's about forty, surely morally ready for motherhood. Maybe this is exactly what she planned. I write Black a reply:
Dear Sirius,
I congratulate you, this is wonderful news! Don't doubt it, you'll like being a father. When you have money and house-elves, children are no problem at all, only joy and tenderness. Sleepless nights and breastfeeding will fall to Rita anyway, and you'll get the best part—you'll fuss with him, play, teach mischief... I'm sure in twelve years Hogwarts will be groaning from a new little Marauder!
Have you already proposed to Rita? If not—don't drag your feet, get a ring from the family vault, buy flowers, balloons and go! Okay, you can skip the balloons. The main thing is the ring and your words that you're asking her to be your wife and are happy that she'll bear your child.
I remember from previous letters, you're good together. Taking the decisive step is difficult for many, believe me. Even those who dated for a long time before can have some doubts. It's just fear of change. But the decisive step has already been taken for you by your future little one. I think everything will be wonderful for you!
Kiss Rita for me and ask her to at least temporarily not take risks chasing her sensations.
Hermione.
Eh, Sirius is like a big child himself. But Rita will stand firmly on her feet for both of them and look pragmatically to the future. The main thing is that no one swats her with a flyswatter.
***
Today I stayed at Hagrid's until late—we were preparing his very last lesson of the year. Thestrals. I learned that Thestrals don't mind being sprayed with Aguamenti, they even like it. So we decided to stop on exactly this method of demonstration after the introductory lecture. Ask one of the students to pour a wide stream toward the Thestral, and from the water droplets settled on the smooth hide, a silhouette will emerge. And demonstrate a drawing, of course. Those willing can feed the creature raw meat. Satisfied with each other, Hagrid and I said goodbye until tomorrow.
I missed curfew, but nothing, there are no Dementors now and the Disillusionment Charm is my helper. No one will spot me in the dark. The moon beautifully illuminates the Hogwarts grounds, I walk unhurriedly to the castle and admire the view. Alas, my serene walk was most rudely spoiled. I see a student running from Hogwarts toward the forest, followed at some distance by another. In the moonlight I can't make out who it is.
"Scabbers! Scabbers, don't run away!" Ron shouts, now it's clear from his voice that it's him.
Scabbers?! My heart dropped to my heels and immediately jumped back to my throat. Damn, I almost stopped thinking about it, but my sins have caught up with me after all.
Two more are running from the school after the boys. Can't see, but most likely it's Snape and Lupin, we don't have other suitable men in the castle. Both with wands at the ready, obviously also after Scabbers-Pettigrew. Lupin breaks ahead and soon catches up with the boys, werewolves run fast even in human form. Speaking of werewolves, tonight is a full moon, and usually Professor Lupin sits in his room, after the potion wolves are peaceful and retain consciousness, but now he's run off to catch Scabbers-Peter. No way, if they catch him, let it happen without me. Peter won't have reason to point at me and scream that I drowned him. Lupin and Snape aren't some losers like Granger, if they're going to kill—then for sure, and since Sirius has already been exonerated, neither of them has reason to keep Pettigrew alive. I speed up and walk quickly to the castle. I feel I'll have another sleepless night tonight.
I was already halfway to my goal when I heard a two-voiced "Ahhhhh!" Turning around, I saw the boys running back, Snape hurrying after them, looking over his shoulder. Oh no, don't tell me Lupin forgot to take his potion in this reality too! What reason does he have for such carelessness now?
Yes, he forgot. A huge wolf is trying to approach the small group, Snape is throwing Stupefies and binding spells at him, so Lupin hasn't reached them yet, but magic works poorly on werewolves, so the charms hold on Lupin for no more than five seconds. These two idiots are staring mesmerized from behind Snape's back at the wolf, instead of running with all their might to the castle. Though who am I to talk.
"Avada..." Snape had long hesitated to take extreme measures, at first clearly not wanting to harm the absent-minded Lupin, but apparently realized there was no other way. However, he doesn't manage to finish the spell.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouts, hitting Snape with all his might. He has good reflexes, pity it's misplaced. And plenty of force too, so Snape is thrown right under the werewolf's feet, and Potter catches his wand.
Eh, Harry, what have you done? If we have to choose who lives, better us than Lupin. Snape tries to dodge, but clearly won't make it!
I stop Lupin with telekinesis two inches from Snape. Holding a resisting werewolf is much harder than a teenager, I don't know how long I'll last.
"Professor Snape, do something!" I shout breathlessly.
"Potter, give me my wand!"
"No, you'll kill him, it's Professor Lupin!" Potter, what an idiot...
"Harry, give him the wand!" my knees are starting to buckle, "brooms! Summon brooms!" I realize.
Snape gets his wand and casts something toward the broom shed, then again takes aim at Lupin. I see movement from the corner of my eye, but apparently I won't wait for the brooms. I can't anymore.
The freed werewolf makes a powerful leap in our direction. This is the end.
Someone's arm wraps around me across the torso and jerks me up sharply. Lupin's teeth snap a couple of centimeters from my boot.
I hang like a limp rag in the professor's arms. We're high. We're safe. The boys are flying beside us, sitting on one broom. Below Lupin rages, but he can't jump up to us. From the overwhelming relief, my body finally understood that it had exhausted its resources for today, and shut down.