"Uh... good morning," greeted a shaggy, scrawny monster in black worn jeans and a slightly stretched t-shirt with the movie poster design of "The Commitments" in a hoarse, cracking voice. Water was still dripping from his hair: Harry had found the shower almost immediately.
"Morning, Potter," Snape, with his hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in a soft dark gray home outfit, turned from the sophisticated black stove, and the boy once again lost the power of speech. He was directed with a nod toward the table, and Harry cautiously settled into a comfortable chair next to Professor Flitwick, wrapped in a fluffy green-blue striped robe. The latter cheerfully greeted him and immediately began examining him with his wand and the same pendant as yesterday.
"How glad I am that everything worked out, Harry, you're a real lucky fellow! Tell me, how did it all happen, what did you feel when you apparated? What were you thinking about before apparition? And when the flame burst out of you? If, of course, it's not difficult for you to talk about..."
Harry shook his head and began his story, periodically interrupted by clarifying questions from the professor.
He felt like he was in a dream. He was chatting almost like a friend with Professor Flitwick and the dean of the smartest house, sitting in the kitchen of the home of the Terror of the Dungeons himself, who—oh, Merlin and Morgana!—was preparing breakfast for them! And yesterday... Harry even squeezed his eyes shut. He had set one person on fire, smacked another with ice cream... And they had healed him and... seemed to be genuinely worried about him. "Lord, thy power!" he remembered Aunt Petunia's words when she saw the roses in the backyard that had tripled in size. He probably had the same expression on his face now as she did then... What if he told them about that incident, especially since they already knew about the dragon anyway? Harry smiled, imagining how he would entertain the teachers with his story, and finally found his inner balance. Only... would it be proper to start the story right at the table? He shifted his gaze from Flitwick's smile to Snape's straight back. Perhaps it was better to postpone it.
A minute later, a plate of steaming croutons, butter, apple jam, and an absolutely stunning omelet with herbs stood before them. Harry grabbed his fork, but caught Flitwick's slightly reproachful look: the host hadn't sat down at the table yet. So everything he remembered after waking up had really happened. But this was... this was some completely different life. However, he couldn't say he didn't like it. And the unexpected favor from the most malicious, what am I saying, simply nightmarish professor, it would be good to use while nothing had happened yet. He regretted that his precious notebooks weren't with him—they could discuss... at least shooting with those same potion pellets.
At this time, the professor leaned over, a tray of scones smoothly flew out of the oven, and a divine aroma of fresh pastry floated through the kitchen... Harry goggled his eyes and gulped loudly. Flitwick laughed:
"Did you really think that a brilliant potioneer could be incapable of cooking?"
Harry wasn't quite up to speed on the genius part (except perhaps yesterday's journal could have led him to some conclusions), but if they say so...
The blushing boy found nothing better than to lower his gaze and mumble:
"I'm just very hungry..."
"Well now," Flitwick touched his hand. "So go ahead. Everyone's already at the table."
Snape, already buried in his newspaper, sat leaning back in his chair, pleasantly crunching a bun of his own making. Harry decided and grabbed two scones at once.
"Mmm..." he barely managed to swallow when it unexpectedly burst out of him: "Will you teach me?"
Snape choked, sniffed with his prominent nose (Harry managed to think that for the profession of potioneer this was undoubtedly a valuable tool) and emerged from behind the newspaper sheet.
"If you behave like you do in Potions..."
"I will never behave the way I did before!" Harry assured him ardently.
"Now, this question we need to discuss as soon as we finish breakfast," and Snape disappeared behind the newspaper again.
He really knows how to... Harry's thoughts about food temporarily evaporated, and something in his stomach suspiciously clenched.
Professor Flitwick rescued him with a story about how he saw Harry coming out of Gringotts completely alone, how surprised he was and decided to escort him at least to the necessary transport just in case, how he noticed what was happening in Fortescue's candy shop... Well, and about everything that happened after, of course.
Harry was surprised to discover a lot of new information about apparition and the dangers it posed to careless beginners. He himself shared thoughts about why he had been thrown to that oak tree—for many years it had embodied the safest place for the boy. It turned out that the fact that this "anchor" was the only one had saved him from splinching. Yes, now, after everything the professor had told him, he would probably refrain from further experiments.
After breakfast, Harry amazed both wizards by rushing to clear the dishes, and stopped only when he heard Flitwick's cough behind him. He turned and nearly dropped the pile of plates when he saw Snape's sarcastically arched eyebrow.
"Reflex!" Harry blurted out, looking the potioneer straight in the eyes.
"You shouldn't look legilimens in the eyes," the latter sighed, but couldn't hide his surprise. "However, for now, as you wish..."
And then the dishes rose from Harry's hands into the air and, already cleaned, smoothly flew to their places.
"I want to do that too!" he mentally pronounced, not taking his eyes off the professor's black eyes.
Snape sighed:
"Yes, I'll teach you, I'll teach you. Or, I think, better Professor Flitwick—he's our Charms Master," he turned to the half-goblin and asked: "Do you think it's worth continuing our last year's experiment?"
The latter nodded cheerfully.
What last year's experiment? With whom? With him?! Harry tensed up and completely forgot to mention that he seemed to have learned to protect his mind. And then a bunch of information fell on him... He understood that the professors really had been friends for a long time, so harmoniously they told him and even showed him—a small pensieve was discovered in Snape's office.
The principle of this device was immediately explained to the boy visually, to his joy. And Harry had the rare opportunity to look at himself from the outside—in the memories of both professors, of course. He emerged with a completely sour expression. No, he had already suspected before what he represented in his first two years at school, but to be such a blockhead...
"Didn't like it?"
Harry grimaced as if he had bitten a lemon.
"Now you can imagine what kind of behavior... er... others expect from you? The way you've changed now, I'm afraid, some people won't like."
"The Headmaster?"
"Why do you think so?"
"What a goblin Flitwick really is, answering a question with a question again..." for some reason this slightly irritated Harry.
"Yes. And maybe not only him."
"Snape. Short, clear, the very essence, but in such a way that it didn't make things any easier," Harry continued his thought. "Who else is there after my soul?"
"What do they all want from me?" Harry nearly exploded. And then he got completely angry, realizing that he would hardly like the answers to any of his questions to the headmaster.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk..." Flitwick patted his shoulder. "Professor Snape's supply of ingredients is limited. Can you feel it? It already smells like smoke."
"Yes, Potter, I wouldn't want to treat you again. Or did you like it?"
"No-no-no," Harry shook his head in horror and coughed, feeling the heartburn slowly receding, "I've already calmed down. This... thank you. Very simple, it turns out. Some water would be... thank you."
"Really? Then keep yourself under control from now on. At least until you learn to fully control your undoubtedly outstanding animagus form and its individual functions."
"And..." Harry exhaled again: such a gorgeous opportunity dawned before him, "what, can you do it separately like that too?"
"Breathe fire without harm to yourself? No one has studied this question yet, you know, your dragon animagus form is the first in the world of wizards and I'm afraid the only one. Although..."
"Harry, if you don't mind, I'd like to work on this remarkable ability of yours. I think we could try some charms to preserve your internal organs from the flame. And maybe such potions exist, eh?" Flitwick turned to Snape, and then unexpectedly threw at Harry: "Will you come to me as a student?"
"How's that?" For some reason Harry looked at Severus. Another time he would have agreed without even thinking, but not after almost a whole day of dealing with goblins. Still, some of their traits were too evident in the professor. "And what's your form?"
"I don't mind helping," Snape deliberately ignored the question about apprenticeship, "I even have thoughts about stone skin potion, but testing this on you... excuse me. First on other living objects. But there's one 'but': I'm not a Transfiguration Master, alas. And not even an animagus."
"You're not?.. But..."
"I too, dare to disappoint you."
"And you didn't try?" Harry was surprised.
"There were other matters," Snape said indifferently.
Harry hastily compressed his lips that were spreading into a smile. Well yes. He too would never admit it. But how could it be that deans, and suddenly couldn't do something? It's not difficult after all. Just scary sometimes. But it's also so much fun! And he did tell the professors about the "golden day" he had found... And not in vain. The sight was definitely worth it. Simply oh, how worth it! It's great that he learned to tell stories so well.
Just the sight of the Dean of Ravenclaw choking with laughter and then wiping away tears was worth something. And when Snape started to be overcome by laughter, and he endured with all his might, puffing out his cheeks, and then couldn't stand it and how he snorted... Laughing Snape! Harry would never forget that! Who would have thought that his school teachers could be such... normal people. And then he thought: what would happen at school? They would... collapse! All the joy instantly evaporated.
And he met Snape's eyes again. The latter instantly made a serious face and nodded. So something would happen...
Right, they offered him a choice—Obliviate or a memory-blocking potion. They provided him with a vial for memories—so he could return them to himself as soon as he learned to completely block his mind. Right, he hadn't told them!
"I can!" he proudly declared and immediately received:
"Legilimens!"
And he felt Snape rummaging around in his head. Funny and a little ticklish, like goosebumps running around.
However, soon the latter emerged and looked at Harry with more respect than ever before.
"Bravo, Potter. You're a good boy. To organize your brain like that is not within the power of every adult. And ignorance, your inquisitive mind and reading 'not to the end'—quite a dangerous mixture, although..." he sighed, "quite promising, I must give you credit."
"You... are you really praising me? Cool..."
"But you couldn't close yourself off."
"I didn't try, sir. Let's try again!"
"Keep in mind, no one will warn you about the intention to climb into your brain. By the way, this is a criminal offense. If, of course, you can present evidence of interference with your mind to the court."
"How to do this??? Will you tell me?" Harry rounded his eyes, remembering his notebooks and the pile of questions in them. Of course, this was interference! Those bastards, he was still so little... Yes, Snape is just a treasure trove of valuable information!!! Who was it that said he was nightmarish and should be kept away from? A conversation with Snape? Give me two! No, twenty-two! This is who he'd go to with all his questions... only would he agree?
Snape looked at the emotions changing each other on the boy's face and understood: here it was, their weakest point. His personal trap. Because erasing all this, even partially and masterfully, as he knew how, was still like losing most of the boy's new personality. And he... was against it.
"Filius, teacher and friend... I'm afraid I won't fulfill what we planned. Will we find a way out together, or will I have to act against you for the first time? And what to do: Potter will give everything away with just the expression on his face when he simply looks in my direction in the Great Hall. The Headmaster will only have to look at his memory—and that's it. We're finished, all three of us."
"Are you really so naive, Mr. Potter, to suppose that after interfering with your mind, the one who knows how to do this would leave you even the slightest opportunity to tell about it? You wouldn't even remember what happened to you. And several Obliviates, or one more prolonged one, will completely erase your personality."
"Wow, how serious everything is, all the more reason to train," Harry decided. "Now he would gladly release both the Alien, and the Predator, and the Toothed Ones on anyone who decided to wander around in his brain..."
"Let's try again... Only be more careful, Professor, okay?"
Snape frowned: what to expect from this Potter was unclear, but...
"Legilimens!.."
...He was rushing with such leaps that he never would have thought possible, if he hadn't met a monster on his way, apparently born from the feverish delirium of this boy. And now another one appeared nearby, with a long elongated skull... And he thought it couldn't get worse. An insect? And they were both chasing him straight at... nothing good could be expected from SUCH a clown. Gasping, Snape managed to break contact and fall back into reality.
"Professor, how are you?" Flitwick's sincere concern didn't surprise him, but Potter?
"Excellent, Harry. Fifty points to Gryffindor," Snape recovered surprisingly quickly and watched with pleasure as the shocked boy silently, like a fish, opened his mouth, finding no words, and then broke into a completely disarming smile.
"Really? Then maybe I won't have to... forget anything?"
"Potter, quite recently you were quite good at constructing even complex sentences, what's the matter now?"
"Oh, so that's how it is... well, get this," Harry straightened up and cheerfully delivered:
"Sharp change in emotional state in connection with the first experience of applying mental technique, causing temporary stress, sir! The consequences have already been eliminated," Potter reported and beamed contentedly.
Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose with his index finger, and Flitwick no longer restrained his laughter.
"Now once more and slower, I'm writing it down... By the way, how do you define the word 'reflex'?"
A small notebook really appeared before the potioneer, but Flitwick stopped them.
"You're both getting too carried away, forgetting that Harry is undoubtedly already being waited for. And the completely identical expressions on your faces right now hint at the possibility of calling you relatives."
Potter and Snape looked at each other suspiciously. Relatives?
"Yeah righttt," Harry mentally hissed and immediately realized that he had done it out loud after all, and in chorus with Snape. Well, that's... But the annoyance that so much remained unsaid and unclear wouldn't let go, and he would gladly stay here longer.
Stay. At Snape's. With pleasure. Tell someone—they won't believe it. Ron would definitely suggest going to St. Mungo's right away. Ugh, it's time to get used to it!
"Under no circumstances," he heard Snape's voice. "You won't stay here, and you won't get used to anything. I'll bring the potion now, and Professor Flitwick will escort you home."
"Still, he read me... and I didn't even notice. I'll have to drink it..."
"Would it be too bold if I asked to read something, sir?"
Harry had noticed the library long ago: in the professor's living room, three walls from floor to ceiling were occupied by books, which he very much wanted to get to, but hadn't managed to yet. And what, would he just leave like that, without even looking? No way... And inside, a sensation was growing, very similar to what he felt when entering Flourish and Blotts. Something was definitely wrong with the professor's books... Or was something wrong with him?
After all, what was he risking? Both professors had already sworn not to disclose his secrets... Actually, the oath was threefold, so Harry probably wouldn't be able to share information even with his closest friends. Friends... He hadn't even thought about them for a long time, except maybe about Hermione.
And still he asked one more question. Yes, precisely about the books, about how they "called" him to themselves, which once again stunned both professors. Snape recovered first and made an inviting gesture. Harry immediately flew to the shelves, not noticing the hope and joy with which his formerly hated teacher looked at his back.
He slowly examined the shelves, reading some book titles, but something drew him further, further... When he pulled out "The Complete Guide to Advanced Artificing," the owner only grunted.
"Yes, Potter, you're an intuitive... Your father's family are hereditary artificers. By the way, in their library, which I hope will become accessible to you in a few years, one of the best literary collections on this subject is kept, as well as on many related disciplines, for example, charms and potions."
"You... Have you been there?" Harry was amazed. "You seem to... hate me because of my father?"
"No, I haven't been. Your mother told me. We're having a day of surprises, it seems. What made you think I hate you because of your father, Potter?"
"Well... how could it be otherwise. You always compared me to him when you were displeased with me. And you were displeased almost always, sir," Harry hurried, rushing to get to the main point. "And how will it all be going forward? When we're at Hogwarts? You'll... again, yes? But..."
Then he remembered yesterday's words from Flitwick.
"Is it true that hating me is your job?"
Snape pierced his colleague with a look.
"Come on, Severus... I won't start smoking anyway. And your potion is almost ready, and the oath has been taken—what are you losing, except for a couple of hours of quite valuable, but still our common time?"
"No, this won't do. Potter, would you really prefer to stay?"
"Of course, sir, if possible, sir!"
"How polite you are... when you need something," Snape ironized. "The Hat didn't happen to offer you Slytherin, did it?"
"First thing!" the Slytherin boy cheerfully declared.
"That's it. Enough competing over who can surprise whom more. Write a note to your relatives that you're staying until evening, so that..."
"So that you can help me catch up in potions, sir."
Snape measured him with an unreadable look, summoning paper and pencil. Harry quickly jotted down a few lines.
"I'll send it. Talk."
Flitwick took the note and went off, apparently to call his own owl.