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The snow-covered platform of Hogsmeade was literally bursting with the number of students who wanted to leave Hogwarts for Christmas this year. This is logical and predictable. I rode in the compartment with Hermione. Lavender Brown and one of the Patil sisters tried to join our company. I’m an asshole because I can’t even remember the girl’s name, but sometimes it seems to me that they change places according to their mood. They tried to talk to us somehow, fish out some rumors, information about where Hermione learned magic to such a level. But everything, even an attempt to make some social “activities,” came across an absolutely sincere lack of interest on the part of Hermione and my soft smile. We just listened to them. They didn’t tell anything new anyway. It looks like the barter principle works here – your rumors for our rumors. In general, they left with nothing, and we continued reading books. Hermione went deep into two different bestiaries, and I found myself interesting in numerology for the senior years. It is good that we agreed with Madame Pince to take away some books – they were in many copies. In a regular library.

“Now you need to look both ways,” I began a conversation.

“I know.”

“You showed yourself pretty brightly then, defeating Malfoy.”

“I know.”

“There was no need to show off so much. Well, at least you could try to pretend it’s hard for you.”

“What do you want to hear?” She gave me a neutral look.

“That you promise to be careful.”

“When I’m home on vacation?” the girl smiled.

“Everywhere.”

“You say that once a day since that time. And we go everywhere together.”

“And I will continue to say it. Anything can be expected from proud and arrogant kids.”

“Okay. I will be extremely careful.” Hermione rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and returned to reading.

“Well, that’s great.”

In London, the girl was already met by her parents, with whom I greeted and wished them happy holidays. John also appeared in his BMW, he joined in the congratulations, and we all departed in different directions.

“You didn’t just come back on vacation, did you?” John asked me as we drove away from the station.

“Yes. Take me here.” From the back seat, I handed him a piece of paper with an address. “If everything goes well, I will spend most of my vacation there.”

“And if it’s bad?” He frowned, taking the sheet and looking at me in the rearview mirror.

“I don’t know. I’ll come home. What else could it be?”

“Will you take your things with you?”

“Just a bag.”

“Eh … And we haven’t celebrated Christmas for a long time.”

“I’ll come to the holiday anyway.”

At these words, John smiled happily, and I noticed that his gray hair began to show through. Yes, old age is not a joy.

“What’s new at school?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

I briefly described the situation, talked about Lockhart, his books, slovenliness, and unprofessionalism, greatly downplayed the basilisk’s danger, and so on. In half an hour, we got to the right address.

“Well, if nothing comes of it, I’ll be back home today. Anyway, send the Pirate back in three hours.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

I got out of the car, wrapped myself more comfortably in my winter coat, pulled up my scarf and hat, threw my bag over my shoulder, and began to look around. John had already driven away, and I was still looking at the identical windows with white frames in red brick walls. The eleventh house is here, the thirteenth too, but the twelfth is not visible. What should I do?

“Kreacher.”

Nothing, I looked around. There are at minimum people, it’s night, even the lights around are kind of gloomy.

“Worthless Kreacher!” I said louder. “You haven’t received a Cruciatus for a long time?”

Silence. Suddenly for myself, I realized that I was losing patience, along with stupid hopes.

“What does a wizard need …” a voice sounded nearby, but no one appeared — a creaky old voice.

“I need to go to the home of the oldest and noblest Black family.”

“What does the young wizard have to do with …”

“Are you blind?” I turned my head towards the sound.

“For a few seconds, nothing happened.”

“Old Kreacher will escort the young wizard into the house …”

Immediately after that, someone took my hand. The world turned upside down for a moment, and now I am already standing in a dark, gloomy corridor. No less gloomy and dark wallpaper with monograms faded, covered with dust, and moved away from the walls in some places. The magical lamps on the walls near the ceiling were dim and covered with spider webs. On either side of me were shelves for shoes, hangers for clothes, and a little further away – an oddly shaped umbrella stand.

“Whom did you bring there, you worthless little house-elf!” there was a sharp female shout from somewhere in the depths of the house.

So this is what you are, the house on 12 Grimmauld Place.