I didn't have to go anywhere. Lupin turned out to be adequate enough and was able to convey his point of view to Sirius. At least in the morning he wasn't here, and Kreacher walking around the house muttered, reasoning about how good it would be if all sorts of werewolves did not return here, even at the invitation of the "unworthy master Sirius who broke mother's heart". In general, the house-elf has his own tragedy of cosmic scale, and he willingly shares his opinion about what is happening with everyone, whether wizards around want it or not.
On the morning of the tenth, I finally wrote to Cedric and agreed on a meeting. He offered to drop by me and pick up the goods, but for obvious reasons, this was somewhat unacceptable, and I suggested he wait for me at his house. He agreed, and five minutes after receiving this letter, I left the house on Grimmauld and Apparated to the clearing next to the Diggory house. His house, by the way, was quite decent, albeit in the countryside. Immediately visible that professional designers had a hand in it, although this is not a monstrous stone manor, but a rather large English house, with a large plot, garden, vegetable gardens and other necessary nuances, but that's not the point.
"Cedric," I nodded to the former prefect as soon as I appeared in front of the fence.
"Hector."
We shook hands and began to transfer finished artifacts from my backpack to his bag with Undetectable Extension.
"Here's more," I handed Cedric two sheets, where amulets were very accurately drawn and functions of each were signed. "So as not to get confused. I wanted to sort, but ran out of time..."
"Ah, forget it," Cedric waved it off, smiling. "I'll figure it out. Moreover, the drawings are very high quality, and artifacts are not similar to each other."
"Also true."
"About money... Don't know how it will be more convenient for you. Immediately after the sale of all goods, probably?"
"That will be easier. Both keeping records and agreeing on one meeting."
"Excellent."
Having finished shifting amulets, pendants—it doesn't matter at all what to call them—I returned to the house on Grimmauld, because time for breakfast is about to come.
Life in the house on Grimmauld was in full swing. At least, if compared with the stagnation that, apparently, was here for many years—unprecedented activity.
Looking at how things are progressing in cleaning and putting the house in order for the Molly-Sirius duo, I would not be surprised if they tried to fulfill this impossible task for another month, now and then arguing with each other about what and how needs to be done. As a result, only Ginny and I did real work, and the twins in those rare cases when they were not sent to the Burrow or they themselves had time—no one forced anyone.
In general, work was in full swing. And when not working, I did homework, Sirius wandered around the house, Mrs. Weasley cooked for everyone, and sometimes more—almost every day a bunch of wizards gathered and wove their conspiracies in the living room, closing themselves from everyone. Ginny—amazingly hardworking for someone I considered a girly-girl, which turned out to be not entirely true, probably because of life in the Burrow, where there is always something to do—went to her room, doing her own thing.
Approximately so almost a week passed. I corresponded with Daphne. Conversations about all sorts of little things, and the like. She approached cakes with great responsibility, and managed to stretch the pleasure for almost the whole week, quietly eating the stash in the evenings. Of the not very pleasant—the date is postponed for at least another week and a half, and the reason is simple—Daphne did not pass a peculiar exam in charms conducted by her mother. In general, the girl is struggling with the granite of science in a voluntary-compulsory manner. By the time she is released from these duties, my parents will return with Hermione, and I will safely end up in my home, and not in this visiting booth... Although, I'm exaggerating—thanks to our joint efforts, the house on Grimmauld acquires a really worthy appearance, and I personally made a considerable contribution, restoring everything in a row almost to its original appearance. Even Kreacher, usually one way or another trying to be an eyesore and interfere with remarks, does not climb to us for work.
Why do I help in all this cleaning at all? And why not? Here is experience with recognizing various enchanted old things, the purpose of which Sirius hardly remembers, and I correlate what I feel in them with what they do. Useful? Useful. Constantly apply household magic for certain issues, of course, after potentially dangerous things are removed. Useful? Useful. And generally, should understand that I wasn't called here, but I asked to live. It would be incorrect to sit and do nothing.
On the twenty-second, a couple of days before my departure, our honest company finished with another room, bringing everything to perfect condition. The twins and Ginny immediately ran off on their business, and I, Sirius and Mrs. Weasley inspected the results of our labor.
"You know, Hector," Mrs. Weasley looked at me. "Don't even know how long we would have been doing everything without your help."
"Oh come on, Mrs. Weasley," I smiled. "I got a lot of useful things for myself."
"Everywhere you try to find some benefit. Just like some Slytherin."
"If believe the Sorting Hat and description of various traits of this or that house, a place would have been found for me on Slytherin too. But diligence won."
"Diligence?" Sirius was surprised. "Excuse me, but I thought that on Hufflepuff are fools and gardeners."
"Well, about fools I can insert a sarcastic comment, but you will be offended."
"And you try."
"For the last hundred years not a single puff has ended up in Azkaban, so..." I spread my hands.
"Got me," Sirius smirked without malice.
"So, everyone to the kitchen, gentlemen," Mrs. Weasley smiled. "In the morning I just made sandwiches for a snack."
Entering the kitchen, where everyone still prefers to eat, we saw the twins and Ginny. These three were already sitting and waiting, almost with forks and spoons at the ready. Only lacked them tapping on the table, chanting: "Din-ner! Din-ner!".
During the snack Sirius noted that now Potter can be invited, or else he sat too long there with his relatives, and they don't favor him. Collectively everyone came to the conclusion that it really is time—sat there for a whole month, just as Dumbledore asked.
"And what does Dumbledore have to do with it, if not a secret?" I clarified, finishing the sandwich and taking a glass of juice in my hands.
"Hmm..." Sirius leaned back on the back of the chair, running his hand through the shock of wavy hair. "Can't say in two words here. But briefly—special protection, which specifically or not, but created by Lily, his mom, before her death. Or during it..."
"Sounds, no offense, doubtful."
"Understand," Sirius nodded, and the others listened attentively, clearly trying to isolate something important or interesting. "But I myself know at least one way to create something similar, and Lily was always much smarter than us. I mean, me, James and Remus, and treated knowledge much more reverently. Wouldn't be surprised if she really found some way. Perhaps, if we weren't such stubborn mules, everything would have turned out differently..."
Seeing that Sirius is ready to slide into memories, Mrs. Weasley began to collect empty dishes quite loudly.
"Go write to Harry," she told Black.
"Indeed," he perked up and got up from the table, as did all of us. "Or else almost became despondent."
Literally three hours later, while Mrs. Weasley decided to make a good dinner, Sirius gathered a whole rescue team in the person of Moody, Tonks, Shacklebolt—that dark-skinned severe uncle—and several other people, and went to "rescue" Potter. They performed this clearly simple task for quite a long time, and Mrs. Weasley, almost finished with cooking, even began to worry. How do I know? I was sitting in the kitchen and reading a book, wanting to personally see how it all ends.
Soon this rescue team returned. Quite noisily returned, I must say. I even went out of the kitchen into the hall to witness the appearance of the national hero of magical England.
Shacklebolt dragged a trunk, Tonks—a cage with Potter's snowy owl. Potter himself—some bags and bundles. In general, only Moody was loaded only with his staff and among the first broke into the hall, cheerfully limping away from them, muttering something obscene under his breath. And Sirius... Became Sirius, turning from a black dog into a human. Hmm, Animagus. Not bad.
What can I say? Potter like Potter, nothing unusual. Same shaggy, bespectacled, in simple clothes and a gray windbreaker on top. Looked back and forth, smiled a happy smile, and showed great clumsiness, touching the curtain on the wall, and it flew off, revealing to everyone a large frame with a portrait of an elderly lady in a strict black dress, who was sitting on a painted armchair, smoking and drinking wine from a glass. The portrait was clearly alive, and only now I smelled characteristic magic from it.
Everyone immediately stared at it, and this painted lady clearly did not expect that the curtain would ever be removed at all. Stirred, demonstratively quickly cleared her throat, put the painted glass of wine on the table by the armchair and inhaled deeper to...
"Ah-h-h!!! Scoundrels! Rabble! Spawn of vice and filth! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks! Get out of here! How dare you defile the house of my ancestors..."
The first second I was surprised, and then it became damn funny to watch this spectacle, and the point here is in nuances. This lady seemed to give expression to her remarks, and emotions on her face were appropriate, but something elusive in details of facial expressions and other things said that she is simply playing out a long-rehearsed and run-through many times performance, simultaneously peering into each of those present.
Sirius quickly covered the portrait with a curtain, and everything quieted down, and the feeling of magic disappeared.
"My dearest mother," Sirius grimaced. "Even after death she shares her malice with everyone with great enthusiasm."
"Wow!" Potter was surprised, just recovered from what he saw. "She loves us all."
"Here's 'wow' for you," Sirius smirked sourly.
"So, Harry, don't stand in the aisle," eternally cheerful Nymphadora pushed through in this crowd, holding a cage with an owl in front of her. "And generally, come on, unloading here, or dragging his things upstairs in a crowd?"
"Here," Shacklebolt possessed a low voice, almost bass. "Not made of sugar, won't break."
"Yes-yes, of course," Potter immediately nodded. "I'll handle it myself, bring in. Only... Show where."
Here he noticed me.
"Oh, Granger," judging by the face, Potter didn't know how exactly to react to me, but the fact that I am also here gave a reason to smile timidly.
"Yeah, in person," I smirked.
It was this moment that Mrs. Weasley chose to literally fly out of the kitchen, joyfully opening her arms to Potter, but hugs didn't work out, just patting on the shoulders.
"Harry, we are all so glad."
"Potter?" the twins, Ron and Ginny appeared on the landing, only increasing the degree of chaos in what was happening. Wonder what Ron was doing at all? He didn't really do anything and didn't even help us. Only ate.
In general, I decided to wait out this pandemonium near the stairs, and from somewhere out of the closet under it Kreacher got out, smeared a glance over this crowd, grimaced and went about his business.
"Rabble..." he muttered under his breath, causing a smile in me both with his attitude and how much it, to a certain extent, is true.
Twenty minutes later all wizards in this house, including Moody with Shacklebolt, sat in the kitchen, where there was still a lot of space at the table, had dinner, simultaneously asking Potter about this and that. I did not participate in this conversation, and it was not interesting to me—I was waiting for my parents to return from the trip, because two days were left.
After dinner the youth went upstairs, as, actually, did I. And adults decided to arrange another meeting, and even the Headmaster came, if I heard correctly.
Entering the room, I approached the phoenix, who continued to sleep safely in his nest from my scarf. The bird definitely grew up, and now this black miracle is the size of a chicken. And ideally, it will become five times larger, and this is the minimum—so my instinct tells me, and I have no reason not to trust it.
Spending fifteen minutes checking if all summer assignments were done, and generally, going through the to-do list for the summer, noted with surprise that almost everything is ready, and what is not done depends no longer on me. For example, those wizards with whom I communicated have not contacted me yet. Well if they don't come out—good luck to them, not critical for me.
Not knowing what to occupy myself with, I decided to conduct an experiment with the phoenix after all. Yes, he absorbs curses and third-party dark magic, but will he absorb dark magic that I will produce personally, and will it bypass my consciousness without affecting it? Ideally, tight control over magic should contribute to the fact that no one in the house will detect such a machination.
Just wanted to start the experiment, when a knock on the window sounded. Turning my head, saw a large owl sitting there. It seems this is the Malfoys' owl. Wonder what they could need? Generally, all these owls, correspondence with their help—creepy thing. It is enough to imagine how in the middle of the night, in the rain, someone knocks on a black-black window, you look, and there sits an owl and looks at you with its big eyes. For a complete picture need only add a flash of lightning, and that's it, heart attack. And generally, how do they find a house under Fidelius? Why can't other wizards find the house, but owls—can? What prevents tracking the owl? Or does it not help?
Thinking about all this, I went to the window, opened it and took the letter from the owl. It immediately flew away. Well okay.
Lady Malfoy wrote. If rid this letter of nuances required by etiquette, then its meaning is simple and brief: "Our women's club did not inform you on what specific issues you can contact whom. Unfortunately, this is not something that can be discussed in a letter, and therefore will inform only at a personal meeting, for example, during shopping for Draco for school, on August first". That's all. In fact, I really don't know whom and about what to write. Well, except Amber, however the concept of "Dark Arts" is too extensible, and simply impossible, as it seems to me, to be an expert in all its directions.
Shrugging, burned the letter with magic, and was about to start the experiment with the phoenix, when a knock on the door sounded. Exhaling, I decided that providence itself does not let me do this not the most thoughtful act, which means need to stop.
"Come in!" I shouted, and the door swung open, revealing to me the faces of the twins, Ron and Potter.
"Hey, Hector," Fred addressed. "Don't want to listen to what they are talking about?"
"Hm? You about the Order meeting?"
"Well yes," the twins answered simultaneously, and Ron grimaced.
"Nope. Not interested in all this movement. Let them build their insidious plans..."
"Yes what do you understand," Ron was indignant. "The Order of the Phoenix was created by Dumbledore himself to fight against You-Know-Who."
"And what does it have to do with me?"
"You are—Muggle-born. This should concern you, because You-Know-Who will not leave such as you alone."
"Well," I smirked, "since you are such an expert on Dark Lords, go and fight him."
"And will go," Ron pouted and went to the stairs together with Harry.
The twins only shook their heads.
"So what?"
"No, guys, as I said, the less you know—the sounder you sleep. And in case of anything, nothing to blab out."
"Logical," Fred nodded. "Then, won't disturb."
They closed the door behind them, leaving me to think alone. But no matter how much I thought, came to nothing, because for this need to possess some information, and without it can only sit, and think: "I think, think, think". Everything is too indirect, everything at the level of rumors. Yes, there were a number of specific crimes for which Death Eaters were convicted, but if abstract from such, crimes were committed by other wizards too, moreover their list is noticeably larger, and class affiliation of these wizards is quite wide. Maybe they just didn't reveal themselves? Quite likely. Even so it is, most likely. And about "many victims" and other things—difficult to judge. Wizards have no systems for counting wizards at all. The only thing that wizards "count"—approximate number of these or those creatures. That's all. So no one can name exact figures. In general, complete lack of reliable information allows only to reflect and theorize, based on rumors and conjectures, and this is bad. But there are simply no better options.
Half an hour later I left the room and heard how the youth was reprimanded downstairs for irresponsible actions. Smirking, I went to take a shower and prepare for bed—nothing else to do.
A couple more days in the house on Grimmauld passed exactly the same as the others. I was engaged in physical training, theorized about magic, using memorized material, practiced a little in the room allocated to me. Harry spent a lot of time with Ron and Sirius, whom the twins periodically joined, but not for long. And on the twenty-fourth a letter came to me with an unfamiliar owl. Hermione wrote from the post office in Diagon Alley—they just arrived. Means, time to return.
My things were practically packed, and packing did not take even ten minutes. It was afternoon, so going down I found three wizards in the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was finishing tidying up, and Sirius was communicating with Harry, and both looked quite pleased with each other's company.
"Hector?" Sirius shifted his gaze to me.
"Parents returned, so I am leaving this hospitable house. Mrs. Weasley," I nodded.
"Oh, dear, already?" the woman was surprised, looking up from arranging dishes. "How quickly time flies."
"So much to do," I smiled. "Hope I didn't cramp you all with my presence."
"Ha," Sirius barked. "Yes you helped very much, so don't worry, guy."
"Yes," Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I don't even know how long we would still be fussing here. Merlin grant, would have managed by the first days of August."
"Potter," I politely smiled at the guy and held out my hand. "See you at school. Or on Diagon Alley."
"Yes," he nodded and shook hands.
"Say goodbye to the rest for me."
The twins with Ron and Ginny, sort of, were supposed to go to the Burrow with father on their family business, so now all wizards in this house are present in the kitchen.
Turning around, headed to the exit from the house, and meeting Kreacher on the way, released a large amount of neutral energy, directing it to him. He straightened up, cheered up, but didn't say a word to me, going somewhere on his business. But didn't forget to grumble:
"...still not worthy unworthy master... knows nothing... understands nothing..."
Hiding myself with magic, went over the threshold and, inhaling fresh air after just passed rain, went to a dark alley near the house, from where Apparated to a familiar minimarket. A few minutes of walking, and here I am already standing on the threshold of my house, and in the windows I noticed parents. Ring, a couple of seconds, and mom opens the door.
"Hector, son," she immediately hugged me. "How was the visit?"
"With benefit," I smiled. "Last days burned with impatience to return."
"Come in quickly, we have so many stories."
"I have a couple too."
Entering the house, looked around and mentally agreed with one simple truth: visiting is good, but home—is better.
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