August 1993. England, Little Whinging. Harry James Potter
There were two wands on the table in front of Harry. His wands. Made of particularly strong materials, imported and rather exotic for Europe.
The one he was used to holding in his right hand was lighter and longer. It was made from sacred Japanese cryptomeria, or sugi wood, as it was also called. As Harry had read in some wizarding magazine he had found in the Hogwarts library, the Japanese made almost all their wands from various kinds of "sacred" trees. But cryptomeria, as a symbol of the entire Land of the Rising Sun, was used especially often.
The Japanese stick was filled with hair from the tail of a kitsune: a multi-tailed werefox, a magical creature originally from the same Asia. As he found out from reading the same magazines and a couple of books, the more tails a kitsune has, the older, more powerful and wiser it is. And the more powerful the stick with the hair of such a fox was.
His particular wand was unlikely to contain more than three or four fox tails. Powerful enough to be a gift to a colleague in England, but nothing special.
And in other respects it was no different from other wands. Well, except for the increased conductivity of psychic energy - without this it would not have been able to withstand the flow of Chaos entropy that began to flow through it as soon as Harry took his tool in his hand.
Harry used the Japanese wand to cast active spells: it was his main tool in Transfiguration, Charms, and partly Defense Against the Dark Arts. The latter subject, however, had been limping on both legs in the past school year - after all, the late Lockhart practically didn't teach them anything. Surely memorizing the biography of this overdressed scribbler wasn't teaching?
The situation was partly saved by Alastor Moody and that intern girl named Tonks - at least thanks to their rare lectures there was no need to worry about falling behind the program. Besides, Harry regularly visited the library and read a lot on Defense Against the Dark Arts on his own - so even without them, in principle, he could solve any test on this subject. The practice of Defense and the standard program began to be taught fully only from the third year - so one could say that he even went ahead of all his classmates.
Well, the cryptomeria wand was perfect for the effective use of almost any spell! Snappy and nimble, it allowed Harry to perform ordinary magic with precision and power, with almost no effort - which invariably earned him high marks in class.
Вторая палочка, всякий раз когда он брал свои магические инструменты, обычно покоилась в левой руке и служила скорее противовесом, отводником, ну и просто "на подхвате". Как понял Гарри из того, что сумел узнать и понять Умник, так как палочки было две, то и влияние энтропии распределялось между ними, ослабляя наносимый им вред. Не давая распасться или взорваться, как все те обычные палочки, что он "примерял" в магазине Олливандера перед первым курсом.
But, despite the fact that the wand made of African puhutukawa served more as a kind of additional "lightning rod", Potter nevertheless sometimes performed magic with its help - although not as often as with the first one. The second wand was especially good at the Protego shield, from the fourth-year Defense Against the Dark Arts program: according to the description, few people could hold this spell for a significant amount of time - it took too much energy. Usually it was cast a moment before the attack that the caster wanted to defend against flew at the caster.
But with the help of his new abilities, increased endurance and strength, as well as the properties of the African wand, Harry could easily hold a regular Protego shield for almost a minute without getting out of breath. He had not yet tried more powerful versions of this spell - after all, there was not much time for training in regular magic, there were more interesting activities. But he planned to make up for this shortcoming.
After all, historical examples of wand use with both hands - in Macedonian, as it was popular to say among Muggles - were mere units! Magic wands - or sticks - were too individual a thing, which wizards carried around like a written bag, changing only a couple of times in their lives. And sometimes not parting with their first wand until death.
So, to pick up two sticks at once - and even such unique ones for Europe - was a great success and a clear sign of the Dark Gods' favor!
The latter is much more correct. Although the professionalism of their creators, coupled with Ollivander's instinct, should not be discarded. After all, it was this mad scientist-wandmaker who eventually picked up these tools for Harry.
The boy deftly twirled his sticks, quickly moving his fingers: each hand its own. The coordination and dexterity granted to him by the Gods were amazing for an ordinary person - and therefore he could pull off even more than such a trick. But that's the point, all of these were just tricks !
At some point, Harry had been missing a real case. He didn't understand what kind! More precisely, he guessed from the slips of his "spirit-advisers", but until now he hadn't thought about it.
Here in Little Whinging, in the house of his aunt and uncle that he hated so much, there was certainly nothing worthwhile for the boy to do. He hated, despised this house and its inhabitants. And he regarded the opportunity to speak to the Dursleys from a position of strength - even if they perceived his "strength" only at the level of primal instincts - as a true blessing from his new Gods!
He looked at his sticks and frowned more and more.
Harry had previously expressed interest in the possibility of performing classical magic during the holidays - and even then he had been turned down by the fact that, according to the law, witchcraft in the Muggle world is monitored and punished! And this especially applies to young Muggle-born wizards.
The wands that Ollivander created had some kind of observation charm placed on them, allowing one to track the fact that magic was being used through them. And Harry was very interested in this subtle reservation: not the ones he sold, but the ones he created !
And so he sat, thoughtfully twirling his wands in his hands and pondering whether he should try to cast a spell or wait until he found himself in the wizarding world? In the Weasley house, for example...
Harry gritted his teeth in sudden anger.
Another glaring injustice he discovered was the unequal educational conditions for Muggle-borns and natural-born wizards!
While his friends Malfoy and Weasley could fearlessly practice magic during the holidays, train and do their homework normally, Harry was forced to resort to all sorts of tricks to at least write a normal essay on potions!
And the empty house of old Princeton was not particularly helpful. Because, as it turned out, while Harry was at school, the heirs of the deceased owner of the house decided to sell the property. And so realtors began to frequent the place, showing the house to potential buyers - which meant that there was no longer any talk of privacy.
"We need to buy this house ourselves ," whispered the Smart Guy in his head. "It's conveniently located, spacious enough, and besides, we've already begun to imbue it with our power. It would be a shame to miss such an opportunity and start work from scratch."
"But how do you do that?" Harry asked quietly. "I can just picture it: a thirteen-year-old schoolboy comes into a real estate office and dumps a wad of pounds out and says, 'I'm buying the Princeton house!'"
"Well, that's a suspicious picture ," the Tzeentch demon chuckled in response. "In that case, we need front men ," he immediately suggested. "And we even have excellent candidates for that role!"
"Our smelly "reverend" will look even more suspicious!" - Slastyona snorted at this. "A decently dressed schoolboy is one thing - he can act on behalf of his parents or something like that, who knows what kind of unique people there are? But a creepy homeless priest will raise many more questions! What does he need a house for? To set up a homeless shelter combined with a drug den? They might even call a bobby here."
"I don't think Smarty means the Reverend," Harry smiled. "But your own charges."
"Oh?" the Slaaneshi wondered. "Little Megan Cornhill and her slutty friend? Sure, they're pretty mature, but... Will they agree to help us? Officer Cornhill, a strict policewoman, is involved in strange, semi-criminal deals with obviously dirty money..."
"And is there really no way to blackmail them?" asked the Smart Guy ingratiatingly.
"You know, it's possible!" Sweet Tooth exclaimed cheerfully. "Recently, a soul was sacrificed in honor of the Dark Lady. Oh, yes! After several years of abstinence and half measures – and such a feast! I enjoyed every bite..."
"What if it's business?" Smarty nudged the Slaanesh.
"To be honest, Megan and her friend sucked the life out of the poor guy like succubi ," snorted Sweet Tooth. He clearly wanted to brag about his devoured soul a little more, but he still returned to the topic. "To hint to them that we know and..."
"Add a bit of public condemnation of such immoral relations!" the Tzeentch daemon exclaimed sanctimoniously, but Harry felt that it was just sarcasm. "And as a "carrot", we add answers to questions and supernatural powers that allow you to hide your passions for as long as possible - and voila! Little Meg is ours, lock, stock and barrel. We give her the money, provide her with instructions, and we have a fully-fledged base on the remote outskirts of Little Whinging!"
"The only thing left to do is," Harry winced. "Catch them at a time when no one will interrupt our conversation. And no one will follow our movements."
The last clarification was quite relevant. Because Mrs. Figg and her kneazles were still watching the life and existence of the Boy-Who-Lived. Although, it must be said, she and her creatures had become much more careful and cautious - especially considering the resignation of her friend Alastor Moody and the close attention of the press to him.
Oh, Harry Potter enjoyed reading and rereading the article about the "inadequate old psychopath, dangerous to himself and to society"! It was nice to realize that his plans and actions had such far-reaching consequences. Of course, it was not possible to completely remove Moody from the game - but now, at least, the ex-Auror would not risk directly following the boy and being seen in Little Whinging. Which was very, very pleasing, because it greatly facilitated Potter's activities.
There was still the extremely strange dog, which had flashed a couple more times in the gateways and bushes around Privet Drive - and Harry had almost no doubt that this dog had at least the beginnings of intelligence and was purposefully watching him. This, of course, was not an adult veteran wizard, trained to detect and capture Dark wizards, but it was clearly not worth showing off his peculiarities in front of this animal. Who knows what it was? Just a very smart dog, or someone's familiar spy, through whose eyes the same Moody could see!
But this was already a much more favorable scenario, and therefore it became much easier to slip away to the boy's dear South Helens.
Harry sighed. He was definitely going to be away from home for the next week or so. Firstly, he had a lot of things to do, and secondly…
Secondly, as already mentioned, the Dursleys were expecting the arrival of fucking Aunt Marge! And Harry, in order not to lose his temper with that fat bitch and tear her to pieces, decided to leave early in the morning and come back later in the evening - anything, just to avoid seeing her smug mug!
Potter decided that simply disappearing would be much more suspicious than telling his relatives everything and making arrangements. And, it must be said, Uncle Vernon took this idea with noticeable relief! He was still terribly frightened by Potter's abnormality - the otherworldly horror that emanated from the boy. And he absolutely did not want any magical devilry to happen during his sister's stay in their house - who knows when it might explode?
Harry framed the conversation with his uncle as if he were doing him an incredible favor: after several years of communicating with the Smarty, he had become quite skilled at this. So Vernon not only agreed to let Potter go on "health walks," but also agreed to sign permission for the boy to visit Hogsmeade. This was exactly what the guardians needed a note for.
Taking a deep breath, Harry put his wands away in his ever-present backpack—he would be testing the Ministry's response to magic in the Muggle world elsewhere. At least, not on the eve of Marge's arrival.
The short sword-scimitar, which the once stolen camping knife had finally turned into, no longer fit in the backpack, and so Harry packed it in a spinning rod case, stolen in the same way a week ago from the same store. He did not take any ingredients - it seemed that he was not planning to conduct rituals or brew potions today. Andy's cultists were not yet finished preparing for the attack on the Lord's laboratory, a couple more days were needed. Perhaps tomorrow he needed to attend a service in the "garbage temple" and help the reverend turn to the warp - but this could be done without additional materials.
Harry slipped out of the house in the early twilight. The mists that hung over the ground barely stirred as a figure, invisible beneath a magical cloak, vaulted the fence into the Dursleys' back yard and took the now familiar route to the underpass beneath the highway, where he would then, after infusing his limbs with the power of Khorne, gallop south towards South Helens.
August 1993. England, South Helens. Helen.
Helen stood in the small kitchen of her apartment, making coffee and humming a pop song to herself with a smile. She was in a great mood!
To begin with, her friend Megan recently gave her a real cezve! Helen always dreamed of how in the morning she would stand like this in her own kitchen and brew real coffee in a real cezve. And then she would enjoy drinking this coffee with her boyfriend…
Or girlfriend*, in her current case. It didn't matter.
Another significant source of good mood was the strange euphoria from life that had not gone away for almost a year now! Since she and Megan started dating, having sex and coming up with more and more sophisticated ways to have fun, Helen constantly felt amazing inspiration, even excitement from everything. If earlier, in order to achieve such a state, she needed alcohol or dope - and even then, they only gave the illusion of euphoria - now this feeling was constant.
This excitement - and not only and not so much sexual - gave incredible brightness to literally everything around! The curves of the copper cezve, its color and shape, as well as the smell of freshly ground coffee, brought Helen almost to the edge of a real orgasm!
The strangest thing is that the source of this excitement was her friend Megan. Not in the sense that she excited Helen - that goes without saying. But in a much more mystical and large-scale sense.
At times Helen caught herself on a strange feeling, as if she saw some kind of radiance emanating from her lover. A strange mystical light from beyond the edge of reality, forcing the world to fill with painfully pleasant colors, and all the senses to howl in the agony of pleasure!
That's why Helen loved to run her hands over the chains of tattooed runes on Megan's skin during intimacy - then this glow was felt especially keenly.
And yet, Helen suddenly began to enjoy her work.
When they met Megan, Helen was a typical street prostitute: a cynical, tired girl, forced to do what she does - there were no other options for her anyway. Especially since she was heavily into "gloomy" at the time and even started trying something heavier! In many ways, that's why Lord's "bulls" kept her on the hook, not giving her a chance to jump off.
But now…
Now all this began to give her some kind of terrible, painful pleasure!
Of course, that time when she and Megan suddenly decided to try something "harder" in that hotel was a whole other story. But even before that, Helen had started looking for, so to speak… overtime earnings.
The petty officer of Lord, who supervised the boss's business in their "area", was only amazed, seeing how much money the previously unremarkable whore began to bring in. If in most cases the "girls" were extremely reluctant to service several clients at once - "hardcore" was a painful, difficult and traumatic business - then Helen began to almost specifically look for exactly such "orders", paid at double or triple the rate.
In most cases, such intensive exploitation would quickly make an ordinary prostitute wither away. Even from ordinary work, they quickly turned into apathetic and worn-out pieces of meat. And considering the passions of most girls for alcohol and drugs, even more so.
But Helen, on the contrary, suddenly seemed to blossom! Which attracted even more clients to her, and, in turn, brought in even more money.
It was this last fact that became the argument for the supervisor of their area not to make claims against the slut for having a civilized girlfriend with whom she does not take money for sex. Although he spat contemptuously when he learned about Helen's passion.
"Little slutty pervert!" the observer thought then, but left everything as it was. "After all, we all need to have some kind of hobby in our free time," he snorted mockingly and forgot about the matter.
And then a big showdown with the Pakistanis broke out and the observer had no time for it at all.
Helen never really tried to sort out and analyze her feelings and aspirations. She lived as she lived, trying to snatch at least a piece of pleasure from life! But only after meeting Megan, she could finally taste this piece properly.
Speaking of Megan, Helen turned her head slightly towards the bedroom, where her naked friend was sitting on the bed, apparently trying to meditate.
Helen giggled merrily. Megan could be so funny sometimes! And strange. She would start rearranging things in her flat or objects on her desk – in search of "perfection", as she said. Or she would suddenly get fixated on some spot on a peeling wall or listen to the wail of a fire siren nearby – and so on for five minutes!
And ever since they returned from that motel, where they first tried the "hardcore" style, she has taken to "meditating" like this.
True, Helen still thought that people usually meditate in clothes and by tuning into some kind of peaceful mood. And not by pinching their nipples and running their hands over their stomach and clitoris. Because that looked more like masturbation!
But Helen felt: it had some hidden meaning. Because the strange glow emitted by Megan, during these moments of "meditation", seemed to intensify. So much so that sometimes the girl felt that it was breaking through into reality!
Helen was about to go and invite her friend for coffee. But suddenly she herself burst into the kitchen with a completely stunned look.
"Oh, my God, baby!" Helen said, jumping up to Megan. "You look awful! Sit down and I'll—"
"I saw," Megan interrupted her friend. "I saw… an angel. The very one, yes, the very one!"
"Meg, what are you talking about?" Helen began to get wary, seeing the obvious inadequacy of her girlfriend. "What angel, what nonsense are you talking about now?..."
- An angel! - Megan almost screamed. - A black-haired angel with bright green eyes! He... he saw us... He wants to talk... Damn it! - the woman grabbed her head and shook it. - Damn it, where did this shit come from?
"What's wrong, Meg?" Helen asked, her back pressed against the table, in fear.
"D-damn…" Instead of answering, Megan narrowed her eyes and sank into a chair, breathing heavily. "The devil and all of Hell! So much for meditation…" she breathed out. And then she noticed Helen's frightened look. "Can you imagine… I think I just had visions," she chuckled. "Remember what I was telling you about the kid I saw at Andy's dump? You know, the one who kind of brought you along the first time. Well, it seems…" she rubbed her forehead uncertainly. "It seems like he's been watching us somehow this whole time. Don't ask how – it's just a vague feeling! And now…"
Megan narrowed her eyes again, pinching the bridge of her nose. Then she took a deep breath and finished:
- Now it looks like he wants to talk in person.
At that moment there was a polite knock on the door.
The women looked at each other with a mixture of fear and surprise in their eyes. Was all this unhealthy mysticism really going to become clear now?
Throwing a robe over her naked body, Megan swallowed and opened the door. Behind which stood HE!
Angel.
"Good afternoon, Officer Cornhill," the green-eyed Angel said, smiling brightly. "We haven't been properly introduced to each other yet," with these words, the long-haired boy of about fifteen extended his hand to shake hers. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter! It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
August 1993. England, South Helens. Potter again and more.
Truly, the invisibility cloak was a versatile and extremely useful thing! Harry couldn't be happier with its presence, because now he could penetrate almost anywhere.
With its help, by the way, he also learned to get money with much greater efficiency than in the summer before his first year. He had already cleaned out a dozen ATMs in three cities, including Little Whinging, simply by cutting a hole in the side of a steel box with his mini-scimitar while invisible, then opening the cassettes with bills and stuffing the contents into a prepared hemp bag. And considering that each cassette could hold up to twenty-five thousand bills, Harry's stash now had accumulated a simply indecent amount of money!
And it was no trouble at all to slip past the already not particularly vigilant concierge and go up to the right floor, to the apartment of the prostitute Helen.
…— So you… uh…— Megan Cornhill, wrapped in her short robe, clearly didn't know how to talk to the teenager who had suddenly appeared before her. — You… Andy called you Angel for some reason.
"Yes, the Reverend loves all sorts of religious paraphernalia," Harry chuckled, sipping a surprisingly excellent black coffee from his cup. Closing his eyes for a moment, the boy felt his tongue curl like a stretching cat and release small tentacles-thorns, trying to taste the divine taste of the drink as fully as possible! "And, to some extent, he's even right…"
- Damn it! - Megan shook her head. - Then explain what the hell has been going on for the last damn year! I feel like I'm going crazy! First these tattoos, - she waved her hands vaguely along her body, not even doubting that the "Angel" would perfectly understand what she was talking about. - Then strange desires, some kind of unhealthy passion - and now even visions! - she threw up her hands, almost shouting. - I felt like I knew you were coming an hour ago. Where the hell did this come from?!
Harry smiled brightly, pretending to be completely absorbed in the aroma of the coffee. Although he didn't need to "pretend" – the coffee really was excellent. But after a couple of dozen seconds, when the silence was already starting to weigh heavily, he finally spoke:
"Where should I start?" Potter tilted his head thoughtfully. "Oh, yeah, the tattoos." He glanced at Megan's chest, making her feel uncharacteristically self-conscious. After everything he'd done with Helen, the embarrassment was rather... inappropriate. "I did them. Before Helen came at Andy's request a year ago, I had half an hour to do it.
"But even then they looked as if they had been applied a long time ago!" Helen, standing next to him, leaning her hip on the table, was amazed.
"Of course," Harry shrugged, taking another sip of coffee, as if surprised by his interlocutor's lack of understanding. "Because these aren't just tattoos. This is a Mark! A blessing from the Deity."
The way Megan frowned and tilted her head indicated that she was deep in thought.
Perhaps, the same year ago, Officer Cornhill would have perceived such a statement as particularly delirious nonsense. But given all the mysticism that has happened to her and around her in the last year…
- Okay, let's say... Damn, I can't even believe I'm saying this! - She rubbed the bridge of her nose harshly. - Let's say that all this isn't hormones boiling over from a long abstinence and not someone's stupid joke - although who would think of joking like that? - She chuckled nervously. - And... what kind of Deity is this, because of which I'm slowly but surely going crazy?
— Slaanesh.
The hissing word made Megan shudder and gasp. Three syllables, forming a completely unfamiliar name, strangely pierced the woman, as if opening a door to somewhere outside. A light discharge of electricity passed along the lines of small runes that inscribed her body, making her arch and bite her lip from the wave of pleasure that rolled over her!
"What?!..." Megan croaked under Harry's smug gaze and Helen's admiring one.
- The name of the Dark Prince... or Princess - as you wish - in the mouth of an initiate is capable of calling a part of his power. And you, Megan, even have the receiving "wires" for this power drawn on your body! - the boy giggled.
Having somehow caught her breath from the terrible attack, Megan leaned back and stared at Harry with wide eyes.
"You know, when we first met, I felt really… sorry for you," Potter finally said, seeing that the woman was in no hurry to continue the conversation. "You were so passionate about your work, so eager to be strong, professional… useful . It was obvious to the naked eye! And what happened in the end?" Harry smiled in response to Megan's gloomy and attentive gaze. "Before that Mark, did you have anything in your life other than your work? Family, leisure, hobbies – anything at all? Nothing," Potter spread his hands. "You laid your life on the altar of your career. But they don't let you build it properly either, do they?"
— Откуда ты знаешь такие подробности? — чуть сипло проговорила Меган в ответ. — Я даже ей, — кивок в сторону Хелен, — не все из этого рассказывала!
- Oh, just like that, - the "Angel" tapped his temple, - I have a couple of consultants. But let's get back to you, - he leaned forward. - Can't you see? Your life has changed, Megan! And it's changed for the better! The grayness, boredom and meaninglessness are gone, replaced by brightness and richness. You can finally live , not just exist! This is the blessed gift of Slaanesh!
Megan shuddered again, but not as much this time. And she thought.
It was very tempting to think that she herself had gone crazy - it was a very comfortable and all-explaining thought. Moreover, after that strange corpse on the highway, she had been vigorously cultivating this idea in herself!
There was no mysticism, no paranormal pedestal-jumbo. She just started going nuts due to her hormones breaking through - that's all.
But deep down she knew that it wasn't so. That it didn't happen that way - people went crazy in a completely different way! And there was certainly no such madness that would make sensations - any sensations, from sex to fast driving - so vivid!
And even more so, it was impossible to explain the madness of a very real guy sitting right in front of her, who was seriously talking about some Goddess... or God? And he clearly didn't mean Jesus Christ!
But what's most important is Megan's absolutely amazing indifference to where this guy came from, what he was doing at the "garbage sect" dump, and how he pulls off all his tricks. She was interested in something completely, completely different!
For example, that same grayness of her life that the guy mentioned. More precisely, the desired absence of this grayness! No matter what Megan thought to herself, no matter how much she admitted to herself that she was crazy, she liked this damn madness!
Suddenly the woman realized that this whole damn year, in addition to the eternal euphoria and unusual satisfaction with life, she had also felt another feeling. Fear!
Fear that everything she has received and experienced since meeting Helen is temporary! That if she blinks again, Alice will fly out of the closing rabbit hole, saying goodbye to the magical Wonderland forever. Plunging back into the grayness…
"I don't want to!" Megan suddenly thought in panic, completely forgetting about the surrounding space. "I don't want to, I don't want to go back again!" the woman almost cried. "Better suicide, anything – but not this senseless grayness and boredom!"...
It was then that something clicked in her head, giving freedom... to grace.
A painful spasm of agony, but at the same time - the already familiar peace and satisfaction, literally tore her mind apart! Her ears were filled with a terrible, unnatural cacophony of sounds, and her eyes were ready to burst from colors completely unimaginable for an ordinary person!
But through all this bacchanalia, from which she fell to the floor and began to foam at the mouth in terrible fits, one single Voice sounded!
"Dear, dear Megan ," the voice murmured. "So rational, so determined. And so unhappy!"
Megan writhed on the floor, not noticing Harry Potter smiling at the sight of this and Helen blinking her eyes in fear. The whole being of Officer Cornhill was absorbed by the terrible Voice! that tormented the very soul of the woman!
"There is absolutely no need to give up on anything, dear Megan ," the same voice vibrated in her skull. "You have been giving up on happiness all your life! For what? "No luck," "didn't work out," "no time"?! Bullshit!" he barked. "You deserve more! More, better!"
Megan's state was like being drunk, having a prolonged orgasm, and that post-orgasmic state she had been chasing for the past year. She looked at her chest with a detached expression: an otherworldly purple glow was escaping from under her half-open robe. No longer caring that she would be naked before the "Angel's" eyes, Megan finally threw back the hem of her robe and stared at the glowing symbols tattooed on her body.
"No prohibitions. No restrictions!" - the voice poured into her ears like molasses, simultaneously causing her to gag from its cloying sweetness, and at the same time - forcing her to greedily catch every word. "Everyday life and boredom will no longer have power over you! There will be no more routine, no more boring peace. Only pleasure, passion, strength - with them you will defeat the disgusting grayness around you. And with this victory - your shackles will break!"
It was as if liquid fire was flowing through Megan's veins - and she screamed with delight, pleasure and pain! Her muscles were filled with burning, cutting energy, washing away all doubts, fears and prejudices.
Her previous fears and worries suddenly seemed so insignificant, so stupid and insignificant that the woman burst out laughing. All those idiotic "propriety," all the whispers behind her back, the sympathetic and condemning glances that she had feared – what nonsense it was! Those who had limited her since birth: her parents, classmates, colleagues – in her mind she sent them all to Hell with pleasure and relish!
Because now, finally, Megan Cornhill was free.
She rose from the floor as a completely different woman. Although at this point Megan snorted mockingly: woman, man, human in general - these concepts were now so primitive and distant from her current state that it was funny to even remember them! On the wave of mystical euphoria from that divine power filling her, it seemed that if she wanted - and she could be of any gender, age, shape and get the whole range of sensations from it!
If you want…
"What do you mean, if?!" her new interlocutor snorted mockingly. "Certainly and definitely want! Want – and get!"
It took about ten minutes for Megan to finally come back to reality, regaining relative control over her thoughts and her body. Then she drank Helen's coffee with pleasure, more than she had felt in even the last year. All this time, the boy named Harry Potter waited patiently for her to collect her thoughts.
"Damn," she said evenly, looking at Harry with a slightly dazed look. "Okay, that was convincing… Angel," for once she said the word clearly without quotation marks, smiling slightly. "What do you want?"
Harry smiled back. To be honest, he expected much more resistance from this lady. But, apparently, Slaanesh had already penetrated her soul very deeply, so it would be easy for the Sweet Tooth to infiltrate the mind of Officer Cornhill and begin to completely reshape it for the needs of Chaos. So the move with blackmail was becoming somewhat... irrelevant. Simply because from this moment on, Megan and Helen would gradually stop perceiving that corpse as a crime - and would be ready to make new ones!
As for Megan's question...
— Me? A mere trifle! — Potter smiled again, taking out his backpack and taking out several thick wads of bills. — First, we'll need to buy a couple of houses. You're not going to hang around in this hovel any longer, are you? — He looked around Helen's apartment with disdain, causing the latter to sniffle in resentment. However, she was offended only until she glanced at the bills lying on the table. — You, officer, have probably encountered money laundering schemes and all sorts of such machinations? So register these purchases in the names of front men or something else: we don't need any unnecessary questions ahead of time either. I wrote down the addresses of the proposed properties for you…
After twenty minutes of explanations, counting money and other instructions, Megan leaned back in her chair and thoughtfully lit a cigarette, looking intently at Harry. He responded with a clear and innocent look in his bewitching green eyes.
"Ask away, officer," he suddenly grinned. "You probably have a lot of questions?"
"That's an understatement!" Megan snorted. "I just came into contact with the real God... or the devil pretending to be him," she chuckled nervously. "But what he... she... it gives... It's all worth making a deal with that devil!" She exhaled smoke, stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, and reached for another. "That part doesn't raise any questions... yet. Unlike everything else.
Harry waited patiently until the woman sitting opposite him knocked a cigarette out of the pack and lit it.
- What is it? - Megan waved her hand vaguely, not noticing Helen staring at her in a stupor of silence. - What I saw. It looked, felt... like an entire Ocean! - She closed her eyes for a moment. - It whispered, promised and beckoned with hundreds of thousands of voices... It was eerie and strange! But the voice of the Deity drowned them all out...
"It's called the warp, Miss Cornhill," the boy nodded again. "You called it the Ocean very correctly – that's what it is. The Ocean of Souls! The dimension that contains all the emotions, feelings and aspirations of all sentient beings. The Abode of the Gods!"
"Okay, it's too complicated for me for now," Megan shook her head. "But all this damn mysticism, warp, Gods and other crap – it doesn't go well with banal crime. And that's exactly what you're offering me, Angel," she narrowed her eyes.
Harry laughed, throwing his head back. Slaanesh or not, a police officer remains one to the last. When he had finished laughing, he said:
- Moreover, Miss Cornhill, - Potter continued to chuckle, - you yourself will gladly engage in this very crime! Under the noses of your own colleagues. And you will love it! By the way, - Harry made an innocent face. - I think you have already realized that, in fact, you have closed the case with the Steel Reaver?
Megan didn't answer, she just frowned at the boy for a moment. But then her face smoothed out and she tilted her head to the side and asked:
— To consider the case "solved," I need to understand how you did it, Angel. Is that also mysticism?
"A little bit of warp energy, a little magic, and a special piercing and cutting tool," Harry smiled. "If you want, I'll teach you too - it's fun!"
"Magic?" Megan seized on the word, squinting her eyes again in a suspicious expression and painfully listening to those whispers whose echoes reached her on the edge of consciousness. "That is…"
"I'll tell you all about it in due time," Potter interrupted, suddenly becoming serious. He, too, was listening to something, frowning more and more. Finally, putting down his cup, he said: "Miss Cornhill, Helen, I'm afraid our get-together will have to be interrupted for today. An acquaintance of mine has signaled that the Reverend Andy has had some trouble."
Megan and Helen exchanged glances but said nothing, simply saying goodbye to the boy who had quickly run off and returning to the kitchen. They remained silent for a while, fiddling with their cups of now cold coffee.
Finally, Megan said, somewhat out of place:
— Do you think that Andy became such a fanatical "pilgrim" also because of the influence of some "Deity"?
"But certainly not the same thing that marked you!" snorted the prostitute. Oddly enough, it was Helen, unlike Megan herself, who took the incident as if it was supposed to be that way.
"Yeah," Megan chuckled in response, remembering the feeling of unnatural disgust that arose every time she found herself in the vicinity of Andy Tetchfield's "trash church." "Damn!" she stretched sweetly. "I feel like I can move mountains! On the one hand, I'm so wildly delighted that I was chosen by the real God… But on the other hand, the question "why me?" still itches.
- Don't bother, baby! - Helen waved her off cheerfully. - You know the saying: "if they give you something, take it, if they beat you, run"? Just an hour ago you couldn't even imagine the real existence of some Gods, and now you're trying on the role of the messiah of one of them! And certainly a more fashionable and attractive messiah than that same Andy, - she snorted. - So don't think - take it and enjoy. If they chose you, it means you're the best!
"Hmm," Megan chuckled smugly. She had never done this before, but now she really enjoyed any praise of her virtues and achievements. After rolling this feeling around on her tongue for a bit, she suddenly asked: "And you, baby, it seems like you weren't surprised at all by such twists of fate. Crazy talk about "oceans of souls," gods and other "mamba-djamba" from the lips of a boy who came from nowhere, seizures and visions..."
- Oh, come on, Meg! - Helen snorted. - This crazy "mamba-jamba" thing started a long time ago - you just refused to notice it, - thoughtfully turning the cup with the remains of coffee, the short-haired prostitute resolutely pushed it aside and climbed into the cupboard above the stove for brandy and a couple of transparent glasses. - So it's even good that Angel finally set your mind straight!
- Oh, you impudent bitch, - Megan grinned almost tenderly at her mistress. - Don't talk like you were the only one here who knew everything in advance, and I turned out to be the dumbest one in our company!
"Or else what?" Helen grinned, licking her lips insolently.
Megan's jerk was swift and fast - an ordinary person, no matter how trained, could not do so. In an instant - and cups and glasses flew to the floor from the table, knocked down by Helen, who had fallen on it. One of Megan's hands grabbed her tightly by the throat, cutting off the oxygen, and the other roughly twisted the nipple that had come out from under the robe.
Megan released her grip only when Helen was almost choking and had stopped kicking. Moving her hand from her lover's throat to her head and roughly pulling her back by the hair, Megan bit Helen's lips painfully - it was hard to call it a kiss.
"Otherwise we risk being stuck here for another couple of hours until I teach you some manners," Megan hissed ominously. Helen only smiled at this with bloody lips:
- So it seems like we're not in a hurry?
Megan chuckled in response and, roughly yanking Helen by the hair, dragged her into the bedroom. Freedom awakened fantasy, and fantasy demanded an outlet. And then it was time to get down to business.
August 1993. England, South Helens. Potter again.
The sounds of gunfire and the thick plume of smoke rising from the city dump indicated that the "trouble" of the "garbage cult" was much more serious than Harry had initially assumed. And Snot's inarticulate screams through the warp were a clear signal of this.
With a curse that would have made Aunt Petunia wash his mouth out with soap in the old days, the boy in the invisibility cloak ran as fast as he could towards the source of the noise.
"I wonder if incidents like this are the norm here?" Potter the Sweet Tooth chuckled in his head, looking down from the edge of the ravine at the figures flickering between the mountains of garbage, throwing themselves at each other and exchanging shots from various weapons. "Cops from all over the city should flock to this spectacle!"
"They don't care. Look!" - Smarty drew the attention of Harry and the other inhabitants of his head to the same columns of smoke and sounds of gunfire in the vicinity of the dump. "Looks like the Lord got into a serious fight with the Pakistanis."
"And the police are trying to plug all the holes at once ," the understanding Slaaneshi snorted. "I-I see... they certainly don't care about the landfill - they want to protect residential areas..."
"Finally! War!" - the roar of the Bully almost drowned out all the other voices. "Forward, boy! Forward! Into the whirlwind of battle!"
"They attacked your people, Harry!" - "wrung his hands" the Good Man against the background of this roar. "The Sanctuary is in danger! We must protect it!..."
But Potter didn't need prodding. A bloody rage was flaring up in his soul!
How dare these little creatures interfere with his delicate plans?! How dare they attack first, sneakily, while he was not around?! He was forced to abruptly interrupt such a promising conversation with the head of the newly formed cult of Slaanesh, rework his plans, postpone the proposed ritual to Nurgle and reconsider the plan to attack the Lord's laboratory!
He should have attacked first!!
Lord... Harry smiled like a beast. He had already finished off one "Lord" when he was a one-year-old baby - and he had been a powerful dark wizard, no match for some presumptuous Muggle!
He himself did not understand at what moment his blade appeared in his hand: the half-scimitar was blazing with a crimson flame, conducting through itself all the rage and malice that was now seething in the messenger of the Gods! At that moment, the voice of Khorne himself sounded in the head of Harry Potter, who was approaching the place of the fight between the Lord's fighters and the cultists of the "garbage church" in long jumps.
It was obvious that the bandits had not expected such resistance from the local homeless people: apparently, they had expected that three dozen thugs with pistols and UZIs would easily overcome a bunch of drug addicts who had fallen. But the "drug addicts," as it turned out, also had some kind of firearm. Moreover, they seemed to feel no pain at all!
The edge of Harry's consciousness, not yet flooded by the madness of the Blood God, noted to himself that, despite a rather impressive arsenal of firearms, the members of the sect tried to use close combat weapons. Rusty cleavers, knives or simply sharpened rebars - with these weapons they rushed at the Lord's fighters, as if possessed, trying to inflict at least a small wound. Inflict a wound - not kill!
Probably, only all this together - well, and much greater experience in gang clashes - saved a bunch of clearly scared bandits from death: there were ten times more homeless people from the "garbage sect"!
Causes, consequences, analysis of the situation - all this was finally washed out of the boy's mind, in which the demon of Khorne reigned for a time!
"Slaughter! Slaughter! Finally!" he raged. "Blood for the Blood God!!!..." the demon roared.
"...Skulls for the Skull Throne!" Harry Potter roared in the same tone, jumping right on the heads of the squad of seven people and beginning a bloody harvest.
The invisibility cloak had been thrown off his shoulders and had settled forlornly on the polluted ground. At that moment, Harry had absolutely no use for it.