He had counted to eight when Hermione's joyful and enthusiastic voice sounded in the receiver.
"Harry, hello! The Dursleys let you call? I'm so glad!"
"Hi, Hermione. I'm alone, the Dursleys are in Manchester, or rather, on the way there, and they'll be back very late in the evening. And I have news for you."
"Really? What kind? And why didn't you write?"
"Important. But this isn't even a phone conversation. Could you come over?"
"Today? Just like that?"
"That would be ideal. But if not, let's arrange another day, I'll be able to come out to see you in any case. We just need to arrange it now. One question definitely needs to be resolved before school starts."
"Why? Will they really let you go? Ah... Have your relations with your relatives improved? Nothing will happen to you?"
"Yes, yes, no. You really can't make it today?" Harry nearly drowned in her questions and preferred to insist on meeting as soon as possible.
"Is it that important?"
"Why else would I have spent a whole hour yesterday looking for your phone number in the directory?!" he was beginning to get annoyed.
"Harry, give me your number, I'll ask my parents right now. I don't know if Dad can... They won't let me go alone anyway. I'll call back soon!"
An hour and a half later, Mr. Granger brought his daughter to Little Whinging, easily finding the parking lot near a small neat park by the description, where a shaggy, thin boy in slightly worn clothes, somewhat stained with earth, was already waiting for them.
"Sorry for how I look, I worked a bit in the garden," he smiled amiably and very sincerely.
***
Of course, that wasn't the real reason: although they had indeed fussed around in the garden today, calling it work wouldn't be quite accurate. In the morning, the Dursleys with the bulldog had indeed set off for Manchester (they had prepared a "human" Polyjuice potion for Black this time and were planning to show him to a psychologist: the incipient depression of an English bulldog turned out not to be something Mrs. Dursley and her boys could endure for long).
And while Mr. Dursley was preparing the car, the dog together with the boys was trying to dodge plastic balls from that very toy pistol. With Black's appearance, they had to stop the "real shooting": uncle insisted that showing such things to mentally unbalanced wizards wasn't advisable, and it was hard to disagree with that. They managed to practice every other day—Sirius couldn't stand being at Grimmauld for more than a day and always returned "home," obviously still considering the Dursleys' garage as such. So the kids came up with a game to shake up the dog at the same time. Aunt Pet now shot accurately with anything, so Harry, to "survive," had to roll on the ground several times.
***
Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise but limited herself to simply introducing her school friend to her father. The polite boy immediately made a pleasant impression on Mr. Granger, so he, having assessed Harry Potter's upbringing as quite good, stepped away, leaving the children to themselves as soon as they had settled on a bench in the park.
For Harry, responsibly performing his peculiar "homework," this was his first trial of the persona... and something else. And that something had clearly succeeded. Now he knew perfectly well where and how to look and what to pay attention to. He began by questioning his friend first: about her vacation, about France, about continental magic, about new books she had acquired... interrupting with sillier questions: about broom models, Quidditch and magical pranks. The sadness in Hermione's eyes was completely genuine, but after the question about books it changed to surprise mixed with joyful pleasure—she loved talking about such things. It seemed she wasn't very good at pretending in general: Harry was becoming more and more convinced of this, watching the changing expressions on her face. And when after another silly question a shadow flashed across it again, he decided to go for it.
"Why do you sometimes look at me so strangely, as if you pity me?"
"Harry, I... What makes you think that?"
"I asked first."
Hermione sighed. She really wanted to answer honestly, but she had been warned not to do that, even before first year: her perfect memory didn't give the slightest possibility of forgetting her first and only tea party with the headmaster. But you can't lie to friends, otherwise it's no friendship at all... That's what her father says, and she still believes him. Though there was another truth... and at the same time her biggest fear: to be left completely alone again. And yet she decided.
"I'm sorry, I don't want to tell you all this, otherwise you'll stop being friends with me..."
"Really?!" Harry was amazed. "Why?"
"Because always, when I did that... before... well, when I studied at a regular school, I honestly told people about their shortcomings, and they stopped talking to me. I don't want that anymore."
"Seriously? Let me give you an oath that I won't stop!"
"What are you doing!.. That's... that's..." Hermione was in complete confusion.
"This will help. I read about it."
"You read about magical oaths?" his friend was amazed, it seemed, to the depths of her soul. "Where? When? Will you show me?"
"After you tell me everything honestly," Harry raised his palm and solemnly pronounced: "I swear that everything I hear about myself from you now will not affect our friendship!"
A warm yellowish-orange glow appeared between his fingers and immediately went out. Hermione opened her mouth slightly and carefully touched his hand.
"A real magical oath?.. Without a wand... How?"
"Come on, tell me, I want to know all my shortcomings!"
"Why?"
"To fix them, of course. Come on, tell me already, or I won't show you the book..."
"You..." Hermione took in more air, she already had many questions for her friend, but for now... "Are you blackmailing me?!" she exclaimed.
"What won't you do when you really want to know something..." Harry smiled brightly. "But actually no, of course, I'm just teasing. Is it working?"
"You... seriously?! You... Something's wrong with you, you've been replaced!" the amazed girl exhaled. The smile on her friend's face was completely disarming.
"Want to ask me about something? For example, what it was like to wipe the wand after the troll..."
"Ew-w..." Hermione grimaced. "That really is you. But what happened to you?"
"Maybe I finally grew up?" Harry suggested.
"You know... it does seem like it. And I find this very interesting..."
"Me too!" he smiled again. "And how did you come to that conclusion?"
"You're reading, you learned something new, you invited me over yourself! You ask such questions and use wandless magic! But how did this happen? And what did you want to tell me?" she was almost bouncing with impatience.
"It seems I do have one friend, or rather a girlfriend, for sure," Harry thought, but said aloud:
"You first."
When Hermione, blushing and embarrassed, finally laid out the whole truth about how she had pitied him, so silly, not very bright, and most importantly, not interested in anything except Quidditch, how his carelessness and laziness killed her, how she sometimes got tired of explaining the same thing over and over, how bored she was chatting about all kinds of nonsense because she had many serious questions that she had absolutely no one to discuss, and adults didn't answer, Harry wanted to both laugh and cry at the same time. So that's how it all was... How pathetic he had looked in her eyes. Such big and beautiful ones... Hmm. Why did she continue to fuss over them, two half-wits? No, he'd ask that later.
"So you knew everything about Flamel? Then why... Ah, no, wait, I get it. You just wanted us to read more and spend more time in the library? And learn to search for the necessary information?"
She nodded and sighed.
"Good thing you figured it out. You really have... gotten smarter. That's so great."
"It's damn nice to hear that from you."
"Really?" she looked at him shyly. "Harry... you're really not offended? Honestly?"
"Honestly! Not at all!" he smiled, completely not expecting the catch.
And Hermione suddenly covered her face with her hands and sobbed... And then again, and again.
This was terrible. Harry turned his head hoping to see his friend's father, it was obvious that he was somewhere nearby watching over them, and when he quickly walked up to them, Harry was relieved. But Mr. Granger was far from it.
"What happened here? Why is my daughter crying?!" he loomed threateningly over the teenager.
"I don't know, sir..." Harry was confused, having grown unaccustomed to aggression...
"I... from happiness, Dad!" the girl finally managed to say and raised wet but genuinely happy eyes. "I told Harry everything I think... thought before about him, and he," she smiled through tears, taking out a handkerchief, "remained my friend. Can you imagine?!"
Mr. Granger looked attentively at Potter. He shrugged. The man extended his broad palm to him, Harry stood up, and they silently shook hands.
"Maybe I'll wait here, and you go to the ice cream café?" Mr. Granger suggested to the children.
Hermione blew her nose and quickly nodded. But what was her surprise when Harry objected.
"You know, Mr. Granger, it would be better if you were present during our conversation. I'm asking you. Your daughter is dear to you, isn't she?"
Two pairs of amazed brown eyes stared at Harry... But they still made it to the summer café, which had almost no visitors.
"Tell me, what clothes does Hermione use at Hogwarts, where do you buy them?" Potter addressed them both when they had settled at a table.
Mr. Granger didn't know what to think. The boy had strange interests...
"Robes—at Madam Malkin's..." his daughter answered, also clearly not expecting such a question. "And why are you interested in this?"
"And other clothes?"
"I just take mine from home. What difference does it make what's under the robes? Harry..."
"What a difference indeed!"
And Harry began to educate the Grangers, starting with the features of certain magical fabrics, gradually moving on to magical seams and threads. Dan Granger was diligently calculating how much it would cost them to "properly dress" their daughter, and cursed himself for not thinking about this earlier. After all, when they learned about her gift, they had a whole year, and they read many different fairy tales, but they didn't draw all the conclusions. And by the way, why didn't they buy the necessary books for a family with a little witch at Flourish and Blotts?! Where had their common sense gone?
At first, of course, he wanted to treat the information about special clothing for wizards skeptically, but for a teenager, a boy, to make this up? And then Potter quickly ran home and brought back a completely unique manuscript, authentic, Mr. Granger was good at that, even though he was a dentist. Not by chance did he and his wife have such an expensive and quite exquisite hobby, after all, they met in a used bookstore... If only she were here... He reverently opened the bookmark and immersed himself in reading. Even Hermione fell silent, burying herself in the text over her father's shoulder. Though not for long.
"Harry, you read early modern English?!"
"They let me use Cawdrey's dictionary... But there doesn't seem to be anything particularly difficult."
Mr. Granger, who had almost finished studying the text, nearly forgot how to breathe.
"This is... This is the rarest, most unique thing!"
"I apologize, I expressed myself incorrectly, of course, not the dictionary itself, but a copy of it. It's fairly new, a century and a half old. And these aren't my books, they just let me study them."
"Who?!"
"I don't have the right to talk about this yet."
Hermione appreciated the greedy gleam of a passionate collector that immediately lit up in her father's eyes. It's a pity she didn't see her own facial expression, but Harry did. Oh yes, school definitely won't be boring for him.
On the covered veranda it was still sparsely populated. Harry quietly answered the questions with which his friend literally bombarded him, and gradually lost patience.
"I don't know what exactly happened to me, Pro... " Harry caught himself by the tongue that had become too long, and corrected himself in time, "Master Smethwyck believes it's because certain things have now appeared in my blood... Ugh, Hermione, I'd be glad to tell you everything, but... only under an oath. A real one, understand?"
"Unbreakable?"
"Not necessarily. There are others, simpler ones. Let's talk about that later."
"Wait... How did you end up in the hospital? Did your scar hurt?"
Harry nodded. Without an oath, which, if anything, would also protect Hermione herself, he wasn't going to divulge any details. Though he could talk about the mask as much as he wanted, which meant... Stop, today the main topic is completely different!
"Do you want to know why else I called you?"
"It's not just about clothes? I suspected! Of course I want to! But how did you..."
"If you're going to ask me ten questions after every word, you're unlikely to find out anything, even if I really want to tell you! Look, I specifically wrote this down, otherwise I couldn't figure it out. And I still can't really. Will you help?"
And he took out that very first notebook of his with a torn cover and a bookmark on his questions about Diagon Alley, school purchases and the first days at Hogwarts.
"Harry, even your handwriting has changed! What is this?"
Hermione buried herself in his notes and disappeared for some time. And when she raised her huge eyes to him, the first thing she asked was:
"Are you sure?"
He nodded silently.
But then Mr. Granger joined them, having finally finished his calculations and looking not entirely pleased.
Harry's story about his first independent visit to Diagon Alley turned out long and quite entertaining. His friend listened to him with her mouth open, her father quickly wrote something down. And then he unleashed so many questions on the guy that he immediately understood who Hermione took after.
They talked for several hours, once breaking for food: Mr. Granger, despite being quite engrossed, didn't forget about the rest and took the children to a small restaurant near the pond.
"Harry, this is all so amazing and even a bit scary... I felt the same thing in the bookstore that you did! So strange. And I didn't think about anything then and didn't tell anyone, not even Mom and Dad. But what if the sellers made it up, just so people would only go to them?"
"Well, daughter, but we adults didn't think about anything either. And we didn't even buy your books for ourselves! We behaved as if we knew perfectly well where and how our daughter would live, who would teach her and what—but everything was completely different! It's just unbelievable..."
"You'll probably say I made up this whole story myself," Harry muttered. He wasn't offended at her father, but he expected his friend to trust his words faster.
However, Mr. Granger answered him.
"No, of course not. It's impossible to make up something like this. You're right, practice is the criterion of truth. Harry, could you accompany us to Diagon Alley? I'm ready to talk with your guardians. When would it be convenient to do that?"
Harry thought. After the trip, uncle would be quite tired, and it was generally unknown how everything went for them there: Sirius Black, alas, was a completely unpredictable variable.
"What if I call you tomorrow morning and call my aunt or uncle to the phone?"
"Good, agreed. And the day after tomorrow in the morning we'll be ready," Dan Granger turned to his daughter. "We'll have to take out a small loan for your outfit."
"But, Dad..."
"It's necessary!" Mr. Potter and Mr. Granger said in unison.
"I can't argue with the two of you, of course..."
"And you don't need to."
"It was very nice to meet you," Dan Granger shook the boy's hand. "I'm happy that my daughter has such a friend."
"Likewise, sir," the slightly blushing Harry bowed his head.
Thus, a visit to Twilfitt and Tatting's and a modest used bookstore was scheduled for the day after tomorrow. And meanwhile Hermione learned that by Dumbledore's order Professor Snape had been working with Harry almost all summer, that he was completely different from how he was at school, and Harry was getting quite good at many things. Potter liked his friend's reaction so much that he almost spilled the beans about the mentorship...
And they also laughed together, imagining what colors the physiognomy of one of their mutual friends would turn when he realized that there was no more enmity between Harry and the Potions professor.
Hermione wanted to learn as much as possible, but it was time to go home, and Harry unambiguously hinted that he wouldn't tell anything more for now, even though he himself couldn't wait to share with her.
"Never mind, after the oath, tomorrow or the day after tomorrow," he reassured himself. "And it's time for her to go home too."
***
While Harry was "walking," another "war council" took place in the Dursleys' living room, having returned quite early. Enough time had passed for Professor Flitwick to manage to untangle and partially redirect the tracking charms from the house on Privet Drive, so wizards could now appear here together, though the half-goblin always stayed under Polyjuice. They only didn't risk it with Black: the Auror Office was still looking for him and even "found" him several times, which the Daily Prophet joyfully trumpeted on the front page, inserting modest refutations on the last page every other day.
Flitwick and Snape faced the task of protecting Potter's Muggle guardians from wizards. When the Dursleys showed the official guardianship documents, Flitwick's eyes lit up, and he explained to the surprised Harry and Snape that, it turned out, this could and should be pursued in the wizarding world.
The attorney, a real Muggle lawyer, Mr. Fox, a gray-haired balding man with a solid belly, and also a weak wizard, vaguely reminded Harry of his own attorney, Blordak, though he was not a goblin at all, but a real pureblooded wizard. And he even had roots in quite interesting wizarding families, Abbott and Fawley. He completed the registration of the Dursleys as Potter's guardians in the wizarding world in just a couple of days. And most importantly—without unnecessary fuss.
Among several thousand English wizards, the Potters quite naturally had several namesakes... And in one of Harry's earliest childhood records, compiled by a Muggle nurse and Petunia on the very first day of his life on Privet Drive, there was also a third name: Kay*, which he really quite liked. And all that needed to be done was swap the second and third names, so now he was Harry Kay James Potter.
Flitwick contributed to having the house and the entire adoptive family registered with the Auror Office as needing special protection. With the hysteria being whipped up about Black, this was easy. Incidentally, it turned out that all the namesakes had also taken care of this. And since the small professor had enough graduates everywhere, he managed to arrange for a personal curator without difficulty.
***
"Hector Savage," he introduced to the Dursleys a short, light-haired man of typical British appearance. "He and his subordinates will monitor your safety. Here's the contract, Harry, good thing you returned so timely, read it carefully and sign if you agree."
"Can I read the contract?" Mr. Dursley extended his hand.
"Of course, please. You and your wife will also need to sign, right here. But the non-disclosure clause is invisible to you, and only your nephew can evaluate and sign it."
Snape chuckled, silently took the document from Vernon's hands, took out another vial, from which he carefully dropped on the edge of the parchment, and handed it back. Mr. Dursley thanked him, and Snape did the same with the remaining documents.
"Excuse me, Master... Do you take orders for this compound?"
"No."
Savage sighed disappointedly.
"But for those I work with, I can make an exception..."
Vernon carefully read the text, passing it to Petunia, and both periodically asked questions, which Professor Flitwick and Savage answered in turn.
"What if danger threatens my son during his studies?"
"We'll add that clause right now. Could you formulate it?"
"Please..."
Within an hour all questions were settled to mutual satisfaction, and Mr. Savage introduced his subordinates, two young Aurors and two older ones, briefly but succinctly characterizing each. The contract was signed, and the tea and sweets served with it were beyond all praise.
"Do you trust us now?" Hector Savage asked, handing out beacons that looked like small pendants. "Always keep them near you, better to attach them to the inside of your clothes. They transmit about any danger connected with the presence of an outside wizard..."
"What if I myself end up, for example, under the Imperius Curse?" Harry asked. "Could I be dangerous to my family?"
"Don't end up there, young man, that's the best thing you can do. But in general, there are people who have high resistance to this spell, I've even seen those who could throw it off. Of course, much depends on the strength of the wizard who cast it, but nevertheless."
The boy looked at his mentors—they nodded approvingly.
"Can wizards hire Muggles? Those, um, hitmen?" Harry asked again, mentally rubbing his hands.
"Ugh... I told you, we're missing something. We need to supplement... Of course, it's unlikely, but possible."
"No need," Mr. Dursley said weightily. "We'll somehow manage with ordinary people. The house has the latest model security alarm. All the neighbors know each other, and the appearance of a new person here will never go unnoticed."
"And your dog won't let intruders get to you quietly," one of the young Aurors wanted to ruffle Black on the scruff, but ran into a strict and unambiguous look... and immediately raised both hands. "All right, all right, I thought, buddy, that you'd like it... I always got along with dogs," the Auror added a bit offended.
Black snorted reproachfully and put his muzzle on his paws.
"If there's a professional killer, he'll poison," another noted.
Dudley shuddered.
"Not him," Harry said confidently.
"So well trained?" Savage asked.
"More than," Petunia smiled, remembering the towel she had to use in the first days to discipline the Irish Wolfhound.
The dog sighed. Harry and Dudley looked down, hiding smiles.
"In any case they'll work it as burglary or ordinary theft, but most likely as an accident," Vernon stated authoritatively. "We're not involved in criminal circles or political ones, not connected with really big money. And a serious hitman costs very dearly."
The Aurors looked at the Muggle with respect and began to take their leave.
***
"Boss, what if in the case we're unraveling now, Muggles are also involved? Since there are professional killers among them, then..."
"Mr. Baker... consider this version already in development. Would you like to work on it?"