Harry was glad that Flamia had finally shown signs of life. Of course, for now she was too weak even to simply remain constantly conscious, and therefore soon after her request she fell asleep. Now all that remained was to wait until her strength returned to her.
The conversation with Lupin had nevertheless disturbed Lily Potter's son. What could Remus know, what could have given rise to SUCH fear? Harry did not remember people behaving like that even when he had tried to find out about his godfather in third year. And after all, everyone had considered Sirius Black a murderer, a traitor, a servant of the Dark Lord… for which, however, there had been some weighty reasons. Not to mention that the Black family had always held ideals very close to Voldemort's ideas, and Sirius himself had been caught at the scene of the crime, which in fact he had not committed…
What was known about Lily Evans? Evans, specifically, since it concerned her school years… She had been one of the best students, everyone who knew her spoke of her as the kindest and most understanding person… By the way, what was strange about Lily also being the best in Potions? Hermione, before this year, had been the only one in their year who consistently completed all assignments precisely within the school curriculum… Maybe that was the difference? There was knowledge, but no talent? But that again did not explain how Gryffindor differed so much from Slytherin, since the Hat chose the "direction" depending on a person's personal qualities… Of course… Gryffindor courage, bordering on recklessness, combined poorly with the calculation and calmness necessary for a true potioneer… Those were the qualities of the Snakes, striving to achieve greatness by no means through feats and self-sacrifice! So how had his mother ended up among the Lions, if, according to Slughorn, no one had worked better in his lessons than she had, not even Snape! And a Muggle-born could hardly have had such prejudice against the house founded by the great Salazar, unless… Stop. That was illogical. If Lily Evans had been Muggle-born, then the path to the dungeons would have been closed to her. But who had she been?..
… Harry was racing through the corridors, scattering enemies with spells. Han Lupin and Chub… that is, of course, Hagrid, were already waiting for him by the portal. In his path there were only recruits, who did not even know how to hold a wand properly… And then HE stepped out to meet him. Black robes, a familiar wand in hand, a snake-like face and… strange rasping breathing. The battle began without needless words. The most varied spells were used, starting from the simplest Stupefy and ending with Avada. Harry was retreating along a side corridor, having already lost all hope of breaking through to the saving exit. In the end he found himself on a narrow platform suspended at a height of fifty meters above a network of ventilation openings. His strength was already running out, while Darth Voldemort seemed only to be growing stronger. And now Potter was standing at the very edge above the abyss, barely holding back his opponent. The latter waved his wand in a very intricate manner — and the right hand of the Boy-Who-Inexplicably-Ended-Up-Here, together with his magic wand, flew off into the unknown. The youth howled in pain and stepped back even farther, one more step — and he would share the fate of his right hand. But Darth Voldemort did not want to kill his opponent:
"Join me, Harry! Together we will be invincible!"
"I will never stand on your side, Dark Lord! You killed my parents!"
"I had to, Harry… Join me, and together we will bring them back to life!"
"You are Evil! We have nothing in common!"
"You are mistaken! Join me, and I will reveal to you all the secrets of the Dark Side!"
"What could connect ME with YOU?"
"I am your grandfather, Harry!"
"NOOOOO!!!!.."
Harry woke up in the hospital wing in the middle of the night. Looking, just in case, at his right hand, which was in place, and making sure that Flamia was still peacefully sleeping beside him (the beds had been pushed together for the night, and the nurse had once again been subjected to a weak Confundus… one could only hope that this had not affected her mental abilities), he finally calmed down. What a thing to dream! And it seemed he had only watched "Star Wars" once, when Dudley had been ill and he had been forced to fulfill all his cousin's whims… that is, to bring him food, hand him tissues and so on, while that unfinished pig watched what was his favorite film at the time (his passions changed as often as new films appeared). That is, from the point of view of fans he had not watched it at all, only had some idea of it… It was good at least that Voldemort had not tried to introduce himself as his father… His father had definitely been James Potter and no one else, and he had nothing in common with the Dark Lord. And his mother was Lily Evans… Stop. He just did not need to think about that. Lily had been Muggle-born, so everything that had happened in the dream was merely the fruit of an overactive imagination. Only why did he know nothing about his grandparents on his mother's side? Even about the Potters he knew only that they had always been Gryffindors, a fairly well-known magical family with a history no less ancient than that of the Malfoys… And the Evanses? Who had they been? Why, if Petunia ever remembered anyone, was it her nightmare sister… All right, he would have to sort this out somehow later. And now — sleep!
The morning of the next day greeted him with bright sunshine. It was hard even to believe that some fifty meters from the castle stood hordes of dementors. And they were standing there, since the fog had already begun creeping up to the very walls of Hogwarts. Praise Merlin, everyone had managed to be evacuated. In any case, those who had definitely been in Hogsmeade at the time of the attack. Though the cold spreading together with the fog had not yet chilled the rooms, an unusual silence for a Sunday reigned in the castle. Even the first-years, looking at those who yesterday had been THERE, did not dare to make merry in their free time. However, Harry learned about what was happening around him later — in the Hospital Wing silence almost always reigned, and if it was broken, it was immediately restored thanks to strict Madam Pomfrey. Flamia was still sleeping, but her appearance indicated that she was recovering. The terrible deathly pallor had been replaced by a shade of sickly fatigue, her breathing had become deeper, and her heartbeat more steady. All this could not help but please him. Only it was interesting, were the sick supposed to be fed breakfast? It seemed the headmaster had not taken into account all possible consequences of the request "not to disturb"… Well, never mind, it seemed there was an opportunity to get something to eat even without the nurse's help. Especially since she would start pestering him with another examination…
"Dobby!"
"Yes, sir, Harry Potter, sir! How can Dobby help?"
"Please bring something for breakfast for me… and, just in case, something for Flamia…"
"Yes, sir!"
The elf disappeared, but returned practically at once. And not with food, but with a stack of ancient folios:
"Forgive me, sir, Professor Dumbledore asked me to give you this… I will bring you breakfast at once!" — and Dobby finally headed off to the kitchen.
The books the house-elf had brought were reference books, manuals and guides on Animagery. A note was attached to the first book:
"Once, your father studied from these books. When he told me of his secret, I took them from the library in order to reduce the likelihood of new unregistered Animagi appearing. It took James almost a year, but he was younger than you and did not have clear guidance for action. I have left some notes here so that you could learn everything you need more quickly."
As soon as Harry finished reading the note, Dobby returned with a tray, the food on which would have been enough for six, and, taking into account the condition of Madam Pomfrey's prisoners, perhaps even for twenty people. Having thanked the obliging house-elf and received in response a series of laudatory speeches and bows to the ground, the youth finally managed to satisfy his hunger. Flamia, for now, did not even think of waking up, so Harry, setting the tray aside, took up the first book: "Know Your Beast." Dumbledore advised going straight to the chapter containing the practical part, especially since the author of the manual clearly suffered from an excess of encyclopedic knowledge. He commented on every type of a person's character, that is, of a wizard's, described in detail the various animals into which certain mages transformed, spoke of their disadvantages and advantages… In short, if one extracted the essence from this book, what would remain from a folio of a thousand pages would be a little brochure like a Ministry one… Potter began attentively reading the instructions, also flavored with a large number of comments, fortunately collapsed and containing links to other pages of this opus, after which he regretted that he had not asked the elf for paper and a quill with ink as well. Only this time Dumbledore had overcome his absentmindedness and had placed everything necessary under the book's cover. In general, the calculation was simple; it came down to systematizing one's physical, psychological and magical characteristics, after which one was to turn to the table at the end of the manual. Having written down the data about his height and weight (fortunately, the restless nurse kept checking the students now and then — what if someone had anorexia or obesity?), as well as about his character, Harry turned to the chapter "How to Determine Magical Potential?" Besides the expected spell, there were also some notes there regarding special abilities, such as Legilimency, Occlumency, Parseltongue…
"This cannot be… THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!"
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