Episode 12. Part 7

Episode 12. Part 7

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Neville couldn't believe his eyes. Several dozen students he knew had responded to Ronald, Dean, and Seamus' proposal to form a club. Either they just wanted to do well on their S.A.T. exam, or they believed that the threat of a revived Voldemort really existed and war was coming. But that was okay. What surprised him more was that everyone gathered was ready to see him, the quiet and humble Neville Longbottom, as their leader.

Ron had already spoken, but it was his words that everyone was waiting for. And all the lodgers and regulars, and even Abefort Dumbledore, seemed to be listening to the far corner of the pub, where at the shifted tables, Hogwarts students were plotting something.

- Okay, look," Neville sighed, rising to his feet and secretly envying Harold, how he could easily say anything to anyone without embarrassment or fear. But his natural shyness and reluctance to stand out from the crowd prevented him from even breathing a full breath (when so many people were looking at him expectantly), let alone talking. Still, his friendship with his cousins hadn't been in vain, and he pulled himself together to say truthfully, clenching his fists: "I never thought of myself as a hero, nor have I ever been one. I didn't see Voldemort's rebirth with my own eyes, so I can't say that it happened. But we need to pass the SOB in ZOTI, and we can't do that with Umbridge. And besides, isn't being able to defend ourselves useful in the future? I think it's useful.

- What about Potter? - Someone shouted out to the assembled students.

Neville, stunned that he didn't falter once with excitement and the sudden question, didn't even realize who it was.

Ronald was quicker to respond: "He has his own club," Weasley snorted defiantly and dismissively. At that moment he felt that he was "on a roll" because he was secretly manipulating Dumbledore's new hero, albeit with his permission. And with Neville's help... He felt that his hour of stardom was almost upon him, and so he proudly proclaimed: - "We'll have our own club. And a hero of our own.

- Who's gonna teach us? - Someone else asked. A girl, a Puffundu girl, but Neville didn't know her. He'd only seen her a few times. And her question was very embarrassing, because as much as they were planning to form a club, and none of them were willing to teach anyone magic. However, it seemed to Longbottom that he could still do something, so he modestly suggested, "Potter is the best at Defense Against the Dark Arts. You know, we were friends. He... taught me a few things. - The students looked at each other: Potter and his Pied Piper were indeed the best, not just in Defense, but in most subjects in general. Even the professors last year said that in some areas of magic they were ahead of the school curriculum by a course, if not several. And Longbottom was indeed among them. Yes, he wasn't Potter, of course, but maybe he really could teach something! At least there were no other candidates among those gathered for the role of leader.

- And I'll help," came a familiar voice from a dark corner nearby. The students instantly turned there, frightened, but all they saw was a smirking Dudley Dursle. There was no more doubt: since Potter's cousin himself was on the case, they would pass the exam. Never mind that he probably couldn't be trusted... One by one, the boys signed the parchment Dursle had enchanted beforehand. None of them noticed the tracking curse placed on the piece of parchment. No one noticed Neville's sigh of relief. No one noticed the small but terribly poisonous scorpion behind the beer mugs on the bar...

***

- Cool! What is this place? - The students asked Dudley, almost in unison, when one of the abandoned classrooms they'd entered split open and expanded in size. Moreover, the classroom they had entered had completely disappeared. For it was evening outside the windows and only a few hours before lights out, and the room that the students, led by Ronald, Neville, and Dudley, had entered was lit up by the rays of the morning sun. And it had everything they needed for their classes: a stone floor lined with soft mats so it wouldn't hurt to fall, a pile of reusable targets and dummies piled in the corner, and all sorts of equipment for teaching martial magic.

- This is the Wandering Classroom," Dudley explained. - "It's like the Room of Requirement in Hogwarts History, except it's strictly for training. The Class arises when it's summoned. And it has exactly the equipment that's needed. Say, if we decided to practice potions, the whole place would be littered with ingredients and cauldrons. Harold and I found it in our sophomore year, and that's only because it's so late because it never shows up in the same place twice during the school year. That's an advantage for us. Umbridge probably wouldn't like our endeavors... The students looked at each other: they still didn't trust Dudley, but they still understood that without him they would have to study in a regular classroom. In that case they would have been quickly found out and punished. This was a chance to study for exams, at least for a little while.

Neville was almost happy to have like-minded people. Dudley, on the other hand, felt lonelier than ever. And both were misguided in their feelings...

***

- Harold, I asked you to spend the evening with me here at Madame Rosmerta's because I have... a conversation to have with you," Minerva McGonagle chose her words carefully, knowing that with her former favorite student and now colleague, word games did not work. - First, I wanted to talk about your cousin. You don't seem to be getting along lately. And, since you've been less in touch, Dudley's grades have taken a big turn for the worse. He got a "B" on his last test essay! - Harold sighed: why did they all ask him that? McGee was the fourth person to ask him about Dudley's grades.

But Potter knew that wasn't the only reason McGee wanted to talk to him and had chosen this particular pub in Hogsmeade for the conversation. He was curious, and so the questions about his cousin annoyed him: what did anyone care about their relationship?! Wouldn't it be easier to get right to the point?! - Have you tried talking to him about it, Professor McGonagle? - he answered sharply. - No, don't get me wrong. Of the two of us, he's actually the oldest. I'll let you in on a secret: he's an emancipated adult, too. I don't tell him what to do.

- Yes? I thought it was different..." Minerva pursed her lips at the tone of her student's voice. After all, her age was already respectable, and her equal status at school did not give Potter the right to treat her without due respect. Still, it was worth putting up with: as if any Potter she knew didn't have a cool temper.

Harold noticed the change in his companion's mood and hastened to rectify the situation, for McGee was neutral in the school wars, but could be a strong ally:

- Thank you for your concern. But don't worry, please. I can promise you that we didn't intend to cut ties, and I don't think we will. It's just that because I can't participate in school life as I used to, we have somewhat divergent interests," Potter was blatantly nattering on the ears of his former teacher. - I'm busy being a professor, and in my spare time I'm studying for an externship. You know (you signed the recommendation yourself), over Christmas break I take the SOB, and over the summer it's a Toadstool. I don't have time to participate in school life. Besides, I have other, no doubt understandable to you, responsibilities. Of course, I would make time for my brother. But he probably, understanding my workload, decided that he could handle the problems himself. Frankly, I'm very grateful to him for that. I have no doubt he'll pass the PSB just fine. After all, your test essays have no effect on your final grade. Dudley will do fine, Professor.

- Minerva rubbed her temples. She certainly didn't expect the boy to tell her all the details of his relationship with his brother, but she was still counting on more candor. Lord Potter, Boy Who Survived, was too important a figure in the arena of British magical society to have learned how to play with words. However, her feline nature didn't sense a lie in what was being said.

- Well. I'm glad you have faith," she said slowly and grudgingly. - I will allow myself to believe you, though I sense a certain faint slyness. I hope you will still tell your brother to try harder.

- Harold tilted his head slightly to his shoulder in agreement, mentally guessing at the depths to which his beloved cousin, who had grown up on the streets with him, would send him. He was sure it would be a very unusual place...

- The second thing I wanted to discuss..." McGee continued, hesitating a little and pondering how to say it. Decided Potter had better speak plainly," Harold, I hope you've registered your animagic form, as have your friends?

- Hm, I'm surprised. Where are you from...?

- I'm a Professor of Transfiguration," Minerva exclaimed proudly, with a touch of indignation and resentment in her voice. All because she was underestimated by her students. - Do you really think I could have failed to notice that some students were starting to get literally elemental in my subject? Did you know that animagy is the highest level of transfiguration, and once you've studied it, it just doesn't make sense to continue learning the subject in practice because animagi transfigure intuitively? - Harold didn't know, so he answered. He also told her that they had been taught animagy by Bem's teacher, an aboriginal mage. He made no secret that it was dangerous, and McGee could only sigh. She was proud of her students, though, which she reported. Harold was flattered by the praise, but also unhappy that the professor encouraged them to register. This was knowledge she could share with Dumbledore because of the "danger" that animagi posed to society. It was, and only for that reason, that he decided to confess that not in the Ministry of Magic of Britain, but registered both he and the Pied Piper were, after all, in the competent international bodies that keep records. True, he did not say exactly where they were registered and what animals they turned into, out of concern for his own safety and a desire to keep a trump card up his sleeve. Fortunately, Minerva did not insist.

But Harold understood that these questions were a prelude to the subject that really bothered McGee. Potter asked, bluntly, why the professor had invited him to the pub. Minerva didn't like the straightforwardness of the former student, but she answered nonetheless, "I wanted to talk about Neville Longbottom and Albus' plans for him. - Harold didn't hide, tensing up. - I'm afraid I was beginning to have doubts. And you are a Sutheran and his friend. Magic will not allow you to harm him. So I have decided to turn to you. Perhaps you could clear my doubts.

- I'll try," Harrold nodded, frantically contemplating the situation: was it possible to trust the professor, or was she now spying for Albus?! He decided to test this with a tricky question: - Only first, I want to ask: do you consider me dark? - Minerva smiled wearily, sighing heavily, senilely:

- You wouldn't call yourself a supporter of the light, would I not be right?

- You are, but that's not what I asked.

- No, I don't. You, Harold, have a very good expression of the dark side and a very good concealment of the light side. But you are neutral. At least, that's what my... feline instincts tell me. - Lord Potter breathed a sigh of relief: one could believe it after all. So it was worth trying to enlist the support of another influential in certain circles: "In that case, ask questions. And I'll answer them...

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