«Hi, apple codling moth!
Listen, there's so much going on here! For starters, I've got myself a pet snake now. Beautiful—absolutely stunning, and venomous as hell. But, of course, I can't take her home, you understand... And get this—I can talk to her! Actually, I can talk to all snakes, believe it or not, like that Dark Lord guy. You-Know-Who is freaking out about it and insists I keep it a secret, but I think it's safe to tell you. Remember when we used to catch grass snakes? Turns out I might've been calling them without realizing it...
Classes are the same old nonsense. Defense this year is a total circus—I went to one class, gave up, and stopped wasting my time. Our curly-haired teacher can't do much of anything; he's busy writing romance novels, and that's about all he's good for.
Halloween's coming up soon—I can't wait to see the headmaster's reaction.
Luna really is a treasure. I remembered those Eastern tales about the moon rabbit and all that, remember when we read those? She's been publishing articles on the topic for three weeks straight in the journal. I'm pretty sure she's writing them herself...
P.S. I've embarrassed myself. I fell asleep on You-Know-Who's couch. Worse, on his shoulder. What do I do now?»
*
«Hello, lemon eater!
At least take a picture of your snake; I want to see it! Huh, when we caught grass snakes, I managed to catch more. Maybe I can talk to them too? Come over in the summer, and we'll test it out, ha!
Dad finally quit his bank job and joined our toothy friends. Mom fainted about five times but couldn't change his mind. Now he's barely home—comes back unshaven, exhausted, starving, but absolutely thrilled. They pay him way more, too, so Mom has accepted it. And you were right—they gave him an assistant, some recent graduate. I made Dad swear not to mention you at all; let's hope it's fine. He's definitely taken your problem seriously.
You're so lucky with girls! I've been trying with Marta for two years, and nothing. But you've got someone great—and I hear her dad's quite impressive!
P.S. Well, what can you do now? Remember what I said about him? Maybe he actually liked it..."»
*
«Hey, apple codling moth!
There's a kid running around with a magical camera; I'll try to borrow it and snap a pic of the snake. And yeah, we'll test out the grass snake thing...
Your dad's awesome; I've said it a hundred times already! But yeah, better keep quiet for sure.
What luck? I just figured out right away that Redhead wasn't an option—she'd spy on me and blab everything to everyone. But my Moon Girl? Never. She already knows where I've been. It's unreal... People are saying it's just two loners finding each other, but so what? Her dad is amazing—he's been publishing that journal for years, never running out of ideas! He'd be a millionaire author here in no time. Actually, that's an idea—I'll pitch it to him through your dad. What's it called? "Ghostwriters"? We'll hire a couple and get rich off his ideas! And it's not even breaking the Statute since all the monsters in these stories are made-up! What do you think of the plan?
P.S. He didn't know what to do with himself! By the way, he told me about this amazing room. It doesn't exist unless you need it, and then it just appears, with everything you want. For me, it had a reading nook with a lamp in one corner and a gym in the other! Too bad I can't fully train yet, but I can still do some light workouts. Even a pull-up bar showed up when I thought of it!»
*
«Aloha, lemon eater!
Wow! What a snake! I searched everywhere—there's nothing like it! You've definitely lucked out; it's got to be magical...
Don't worry about Dad; he'll keep quiet. I told him someone might spike his drink or use enchantments, and he went straight to his boss. The guy bared his teeth, handed out some amulets for the whole family (even my brother, who doesn't live with us), and said it'd take a lot more to interrogate the bank's staff or their families. Otherwise, the bank would've gone under ages ago.
Mom loved the book idea—apparently, it's all the rage now! She's calling literary agencies, attending young writers' meetings, and hunting for talent. I think this could really work! We'll cut in your girl's dad, of course—he won't object. And if he does, our toothy friends will help out.
P.S. Don't overdo it. Magical rooms are great, but take care of your eyes—you'll need them.»
*
«Hello, apple codling moth!
Of course! Magical—it was made by You-Know-Who himself, and he didn't even realize what he created. He wanted a grass snake, but it's... well... not. It's already grown to about five feet. But hey, it's wiped out all the rats.
Wow, your toothy friends are incredible! I'd love one of those amulets... though they'd spot it here in a second. Oh well, I'll manage... Remember how I said you could defend against mind reading? You-Know-Who is teaching me little by little. He says I can protect against surface reading, but the headmaster would break through in no time. Apparently, he's the only one who can counter him. Imagine that—what a teacher I've got!
Luna showed me a letter from her dad: he's in. He doesn't even care much about the money; they're both like that. He's suggesting promoting the books on his end. So tell your mom to hurry up and find a hungry, fearless young writer, someone completely crazy, and our Goldilocks will lose her crown as the most popular author in no time!
P.S. Don't worry, I'm careful. I do eye exercises, use drops, and You-Know-Who gave me some concoction for quick recovery.»
*
«Hello, lemon eater!
Has it eaten your redhead friend's rat yet?
Yeah, your teacher's amazing. Just don't wear him out—I know you. And send me that math assignment already; how much longer do I have to wait?
Mom found some guy, gave him the materials and an assignment—just a short story for now. We'll see what he comes up with and whether it sells. Then we'll decide whether to keep him or find someone new.
P.S. Good job! No point ruining everything after adventures like these!»
*
«Lemon eater, damn you! I'm writing through my dad now—respond already! I'm losing my mind over here!...»
*
The Halloween dinner, unusually, was rather modest, and despite the teachers' efforts (Lockhart, in particular, tried to shine), the event lacked its usual grandeur.
"Here we go," Harry thought, locking eyes with a gloomier-than-usual Snape. "It's fine. We'll manage."
The summons to the headmaster's office didn't catch him off guard—he'd even managed to dress up. However, Harry had no clue what to do next, couldn't consult with Snape, and decided to improvise. The key was to eat and drink nothing and, most importantly, not to meet Dumbledore's eyes. That way, he might just wriggle out of it—and cover for Snape, of course.
"Your Wrackspurts are particularly restless today," Luna said, crossing his path.
"Got any advice on how to calm them down for a bit?" Harry asked, surprisingly seriously. "They'll give me away otherwise."
"Try thinking of something good, something unrelated," she shrugged.
"Can I think about you?" he joked.
"Of course. Or about your friend. Though…" Luna pressed her index finger to the bridge of her nose. "Maybe not him. Unless it's about the past, before you started studying here."
"Got it…" It sounded so much like the techniques Snape had tried to teach Harry that he couldn't help but wonder—how did she know? "Thanks."
"I'll wait for you here," she said, sitting against the wall on her bag.
"Don't catch a cold," Harry muttered. Luna only shook her head, smiling dreamily, and stroked Mrs. Norris, who had appeared out of nowhere.
"Oh, the cat... Sorry, I don't have anything on me. Next time, all right? Keep watch, will you?"
"Meow," said the cat, climbing onto the girl's lap.
"Madness," thought Harry, climbing the spiral staircase to the headmaster's office.
"Harry, my boy!" Dumbledore greeted him warmly. "Do sit down. Tea?"
"No, thank you, sir, I just came from dinner!" Harry blurted.
"A lemon drop?"
"Sir, you know I don't like sweets!" Harry grimaced, pulling out a lemon and dramatically biting into it.
"Tell me, Harry, what do you know about the inheritance your parents left you?" the headmaster began smoothly.
"I know it exists," Harry replied tersely. "When Hagrid took me to the vault in that… what's it called? The place with the goblins?"
"Gringotts."
"Right, Gringotts. There seemed to be a lot of gold there, but now I think I imagined it. You know how it is when you're surprised—it looked like a treasure trove, but it was probably just stuff shoved into corners for effect," Harry said enthusiastically. "And there's supposed to be a house where my parents were killed, but it's probably a money pit for repairs. That's all I know."
"Interesting…" Dumbledore stared at him, but Harry stubbornly looked anywhere but at the headmaster.
"Sir," Harry said suddenly, "I've been meaning to ask, but the opportunity never came up... This gentleman named Black—he was also a headmaster, right?"
"Yes, young man," replied the portrait itself. "Phineas Nigellus Black, at your service."
"Harold James Potter," Harry stood and bowed courteously.
"What about my humble self has piqued your interest?" Black asked.
"You seem to have a sense of humor, sir," Harry admitted honestly.
"Hmm… Perhaps. By the way, Potter, we are related, though not very closely," the portrait headmaster said nonchalantly. "Did you not know?"
"How could I, sir?!" Harry convincingly lied. He remembered his godfather's surname and guessed he might be a descendant or relative of this Black, but he wasn't about to say so in front of Dumbledore.
"Shocking lack of education!" Black said loudly, raising an eyebrow as if performing. The other portraits murmured softly. "Not knowing one's own family! Appalling! Albus, I've told you many times…"
"Phineas, not now," Dumbledore replied gently. "We're having a serious conversation."
"Oh, of course," Black sniffed and fell silent, occasionally glancing at Harry. For some reason, that look made Harry feel calmer.
"So, about your inheritance, my boy," Dumbledore continued. "You see, I am your magical guardian. It's standard practice for those who have lost close relatives…"
"Wait a minute, sir, but my aunt and uncle are alive!" Harry protested.
"But they are not magical, and the Potters have no remaining magical relatives…"
The portrait snorted so loudly that Harry knew the headmaster was lying again. Oh, right—on his father's side, he was a Black! Maybe there were no Potters left, but the Blacks definitely were. Surely they would have taken part in raising a relative?
"You are the last of this family's line. You had to be protected," Dumbledore was saying. "And I handled your affairs. You understand, your father had a modest fortune—not large, as you rightly assumed, since he contributed much to the war effort, but sufficient to ensure you wanted for nothing upon your return to the wizarding world."
"And before that, I could want for anything," Harry thought, exchanging a glance with Black. The portrait narrowed its eyes so menacingly that if it weren't a painting, it would've probably yanked Dumbledore by the beard. "Curious what would've happened if Aunt Petunia really had kept me in the cupboard and starved me. No, nonsense—she's mean, but not evil…"
"Everything was fine until I decided to give you a gift," the headmaster lied without batting an eye, "and discovered that I was no longer your guardian!"
"You don't say?!" Harry goggled at him. "How could that be?"
"I have no idea," Dumbledore spread his hands with genuine sorrow on his face. "The goblins deemed my management of your assets insufficiently effective and simply removed me!"
"Cheeky little—oh, excuse me, sir…" Harry covered his mouth with his hand. "What now?"
"Now your funds are managed by Gringotts," the headmaster replied sadly. "The goblins appointed a manager, someone named Higgs—I don't recognize the name, to be honest…"
Harry stifled a laugh.
"So, my boy, I'm afraid you'll need to go to the bank personally if you require funds," Dumbledore sighed.
"Great excuse. I can't leave here, and during holidays I can't get into Gringotts. Good thing I planned ahead!"
"It's fine, I have everything I need," Harry shrugged. "I'm sure they'll cover my textbooks and clothes, and I don't need any sugary nonsense—that's bad for your teeth."
"Just hold on until you come of age," the headmaster said kindly. "Then…"
"Then you'll try to fleece me for everything I've got. Yeah, right!"
"Sir, I do have my aunt and uncle," Harry beamed. "If I urgently need money, they'll send it. And I hear you can exchange it, right?"
"Yes, my boy. But I'm afraid you'll need to temporarily stop corresponding with them," Dumbledore said sweetly. "There's word that the Dark Lord's followers are hunting you, and you wouldn't want to put your family at risk, would you? I'll inform your aunt, don't worry."
"Of course, sir," Harry said obediently.
"You sly old fox! I suspected this, but how do I communicate with the outside world now? I should've planned better… Idiot!"
"Go to your dormitory; I can see you're tired, Harry," Dumbledore said, patting him on the shoulder. "Go on, off you go…"
He stayed silent until they stepped into the corridor, then placed a finger to his lips at Luna's questioning look and continued walking. Mrs. Norris led them to a dusty, abandoned hallway, glared at them with her glowing eyes, and vanished.
"That old hag!" Harry growled, punching the wall. It hurt, but the pain helped him calm down a little.
"Your Wrackspurts are acting up," Luna said sadly, gently patting his head. "Is it really that bad?"
"Awful! Can you imagine—they've forbidden me from writing home! Sure, they'll tell my aunt I can't write for now, but how am I supposed to get a message to Terry?"
"I'll write to him," she offered calmly. "Just give me the address. Oh, wait, never mind. My dad has it."
"Merlin's beard! Why didn't I think of that?" Harry gaped at her. "Of course—they correspond with each other!"
"See? Your Wrackspurts are making you slow. That's why it didn't occur to you."
"You're amazing, Luna!" He grabbed her in a hug and lifted her slightly off the ground, as much as his strength allowed.
"Potter!" A familiar voice came from behind them. "I believe it's too early for you to be embracing girls in secluded corners. And you, Miss Lovegood, isn't it past your bedtime?"
"Yes, sir," Luna replied serenely, straightened her robe, picked up her bag, and left with a soft, "Goodnight, Harry."
An awkward silence followed.
"What was that, Potter?" Snape asked darkly. "She's not even twelve!"
"I was thanking her for a good idea," Harry shrugged. "Sir, what do you take me for?"
"Is it really that bad?" Snape asked without preamble.
"Well… I think I managed to pretend I know nothing about the size of my inheritance or how the estate is managed. That's a plus. But being forbidden from writing home is a minus. Still, it's solvable."
"I'm not writing for you, Potter, so don't even dream about it."
"I don't need you—I've got Luna," Harry smirked. "It's a beautiful arrangement, really. The goblins assigned Mr. Higgs as my estate manager. Mrs. Higgs corresponds with Mr. Lovegood about all those… Wrackspurts. And I hang out with Luna. Perfect, isn't it?"
"A family enterprise," Snape muttered. "Can she be trusted not to expose you?"
"Luna? Even if she did say something, no one would believe her," Harry chuckled. "You have to listen carefully to understand her, and almost no one can manage that."
"And you can, I assume?"
"Well, she's spending time with me, so apparently, yes…"
"Hmm… Go to bed, Potter. Try not to get into any trouble—at least until tomorrow!"
"Goodnight to you too, sir," Harry quipped, walking off and already planning his next steps.
He didn't make it to his dormitory, though. A portrait called out to him—or rather, the former Headmaster Black from the painting, who was now standing against a scenic backdrop.
"Potter," Black said. "Turn the corner, skip three hallways, and go up two steps. There's an old painting there—I'll move to it."
For some reason, Harry didn't think of refusing.
"Well, Potter…" Black began thoughtfully, now occupying a faded canvas that once depicted a sleeping old man. "I remember your father. And your mother too."
Harry listened respectfully in silence.
"You don't resemble them much," Black finally concluded. "Not outwardly—your face, your eyes, that's trivial. It's your character that's different. You have a healthy sense of pragmatism, something they unfortunately lacked. Tell me—was that stunt with the bank your doing?"
"And how do I know you won't run straight to Dumbledore with this?" Harry asked cautiously.
"I don't approve of his methods," Black said grimly. "And besides, I remind you, we're family—not all that distant, either. And you're the godson of my good-for-nothing descendant—may the Dementors have him!"
"As I understand, that's exactly what they're doing right now," Harry muttered darkly. "In Azkaban, right?"
Black's expression shifted.
"Disgraceful!" he whispered. "Heirs of the oldest and noblest house… One vanished, one in Azkaban, a cousin in the same place, another married to a Muggle, and the third… Well, at least she's fortunate."
"Who's the third?" Harry asked curiously.
"Narcissa Malfoy," the portrait smirked. "Surprised?"
"Yeah! So that means I'm related to Malfoy Junior too? Even if distantly?"
"We're all related around here, young man," Black said grumpily. "Except for the Princes—they hardly married into anyone. And look what's left of them."
"What?"
"Your beloved professor, that's what," Black snorted.
"Wait, but he's a Snape!"
"By his mother—a Prince."
"Oh…" Harry recalled. "Right. He did say his mother was a witch. So that means…"
"They ruined a great family!" Black sighed heavily and suddenly looked stern. "You're the last of your line too, Potter. I'm not counting your mother—she was Muggle-born. But your father… Do you understand me?"
"I won't disgrace the family name, don't worry," Harry replied firmly. "By the way, are the Lovegoods a respectable family?"
"Quite. What, already picking a bride?"
"Not picking, choosing," Harry corrected. "Isn't it a good idea? By the time she finishes school, I'll be on my feet. We can get married then. I don't think she or her father would object."
"Take a Weasley instead," the portrait said venomously. "Purest blood. And also related to us."
"Oh sure, with the whole family in tow? What's a wedding without a brawl, right? No thanks!"
"Well, well…" Black chuckled. "Good luck with that. Just one thing…"
"Yes, sir?"
"The Blacks have no heirs left either. Married women don't count, and the last man is rotting in Azkaban."
"Sir, I gather he was imprisoned for something serious…"
"Boy, I've heard whispers he wasn't even given a trial! So do an old man a favor—find out what really happened, and why that idiot ended up in a cell!"
"Alright," Harry nodded after a moment's thought. "I'll try, ask around. Though if the professor whacks me over the head with something heavy, it'll be your fault. Not that anything can be done about you. Still… If there's something fishy, I'll consider it a matter of honor to get my godfather out, no matter how much of a fool he is."
"Words of a man, not a boy," Black snorted and vanished.
"Great," Harry thought, rubbing his forehead. "Just what I needed—another investigation!"
*
«Hello, apple lover!
You don't know me. Below there's a lot—a lot—of blank space, but you know what to do with it. Give the response to your mom.»
Receiving this message, written in purple ink, Terry quickly put two and two together, remembered his and Harry's fascination with invisible ink developers, picked the right one on his third try, and finally managed to read the letter.
«Hi, apple codling moth!
They've forbidden me from sending letters. Well, we kind of expected that, didn't we? So I'll have to improvise...
This time, Luna sent the letter to you, but I can't keep asking her for help—too risky, they know we're a couple. So, she'll write to her father, he'll pass it to your mom, and from there, we'll figure it out. I'll be doing this the same way as now, but with different ink each time, so keep that in mind.
The headmaster couldn't get his greedy hands into my vault and got furious. You-Know-Who looks even gloomier than usual and threw a vial at me yesterday—thankfully, it was empty. Looks like he got chewed out too, but I have no idea why.
Oh, and one of the former headmasters got in touch with me. Remember the grumpy one I told you about from the portrait? Turns out he's a relative, same as my godfather. The godfather's been locked up for ages. I'm trying to figure out why he got thrown in there without a trial or investigation since I foolishly promised the old man I'd help get his sole heir out. If he's innocent, of course. (By the way, it turns out Draco is a relative too! What a laugh!) So yeah, things are lively here...
Say hi to your parents.
I'm afraid I won't be able to write as often anymore.»
*
«Hi, lemon eater!
Finally, you've surfaced! I was about to go mad here... Dad said not even our toothy friends can send reports to your school, but you're supposed to sign them, by the way, just so you know!
Your Luna is a treasure—if you lose her, I'll never forgive you! Especially since our business finally took off: that guy wrote a story, it got picked up by a magazine, and they said they'd consider a series because it's so fascinating, so things are moving.
Oh, and Martha lets me carry her bag now. Progress, don't you think? It's easier for you lot—fewer people, limited choices, and everyone's always in plain sight. Here, you have to be creative!
Don't mess with the professor for now—I figure he's had a rough time as it is. Well, no more than usual, at least.
As for your godfather, I can't give you any advice. No trial, you say? Start digging through old newspapers, even the trashiest ones. I'm sure your library has those? And I think You-Know-Who might know something, got it? But don't approach him just yet—it's too risky. Work with your sources! You're good at filtering info. Let's compare notes if needed. It's worth it.
P.S. How's your vision?»
*
«Hi, apple codling moth!
Luna says hi and loves those whatchamacallits—caps? She made earrings out of them and keeps showing off. I'll introduce you two over the holidays, but try to steal her, and you'll get a black eye! So, get moving with your Martha already—how long are you going to wait? Maybe gift her a bunch of cola caps (haha!), see if that speeds things up?
I'm too scared to approach You-Know-Who right now. I don't know what the headmaster whispered to him or what's on his mind, but his eyes are wild. If I ask about my godfather, he'll definitely tear my head off. Luckily, he still lets me sit quietly in the corner… The upside is, since I can't strain my eyesight too much, I either study or hang out on the tower with Luna—romance and all that. Who cares if she's drilling me on Transfiguration? It's still useful.
I've already dug through the entire library. I can't write plainly, there's still too much time till the holidays, so figure it out yourself. My parents hid the house so no one could find it unless allowed. Only one of their friends knew the secret, and everyone assumed it was the godfather. When they were killed, the godfather rushed to London for some reason, killed another mutual friend of theirs—only a finger was left of him—then caused a huge explosion that killed a dozen Muggles, and for that, he was immediately locked up. Does that logic make sense to you? It doesn't to me. But no one questioned it! They instantly said he was the Dark Lord's servant, and that was it. Case closed. By the way, he's a very rich guy. Got the picture?
P.S. All good! You-Know-Who made me suffer, sent me to the hospital wing just in case, but now I'm as good as new! Still wearing glasses, though—it's required.»
*
«Hi, lemon eater!
Dad said you're his best client ever, and it's an honor to retire with such a case on his record. When he finds out you're that guy I used to smash windows with at school, he'll probably have a heart attack! Or maybe not… They probably won't let him retire anyway—he looks like he's gotten younger!
Mom keeps writing stuff to Luna's dad, and it seems she might start writing books herself soon. Just hope she doesn't forget to cook...
I dropped by your family's place to see what's up. Your aunt looks awful, cries whenever she mentions you, says, "What a little monster he was, but life is unbearable without him, and he doesn't even write, the brat." So no one told her anything! I explained the situation—she calmed down a bit, then got angry. I wouldn't want to be the headmaster if she gets her hands on him! Everyone misses you, even Dudley. He told me, "I'd love a proper sparring match with Harry right now!" That's probably an acknowledgment of your skills...
About your godfather. It's definitely fishy, and there's big money involved. You need to find witnesses. You probably can't visit the prison for a chat, can you? That's bad... He must have had a reason to chase that guy! Press You-Know-Who. A couple of vials won't hurt your head, and he might remember something.
P.S. Glad to hear it!»
*
«Hi, apple codling moth!
Once again, let me say your dad is amazing! But let's not tell him yet who his mysterious client is—he might be disappointed. Thought it was some millionaire, but it's the kid next door!
Your mom is on fire! Luna showed me the proposals she's been sending to her dad—he's shocked himself. I feel things are about to get even more fun!
As for your aunt, I'll deal with the headmaster myself. He promised to inform her! Be a pal—once you get this letter, drop by and tell her everything's fine. I feel so sorry for her. Your uncle will survive, but she's really worried… Give Dudley a smack and say it's from me. When I visit, I'll do it myself since he's so keen!
I'm off to try questioning You-Know-Who. Honestly, I'm scared—if he loses his temper, he might kill me. He seems tough, but if you piss him off, he might really strike.
P.S. I'm thrilled too! I can fight again! Already broke Weasel's nose. You have no idea how much I missed this—it's just not the same as sparring with the guys.»