September 1993.
The return of consciousness was akin to a splinter being pulled out. Or the feeling when a person finally has the opportunity to stand up and stretch sweetly from an unpleasant, even painful position. The same relief, the pain receding, the consciousness clearing up… And all this – against the background of a soft silvery light that literally healed Harry's soul!
"Expecto Patronum!" a voice said, and the light grew stronger, driving away the chilly shadows that filled the compartment and corridor.
Harry took a sharp breath. It was as if he hadn't been able to breathe at all the entire time the creepy shadow had been in their compartment, and only now was he able to force some air into his exhausted lungs.
"...a window into the warp! Literally a small vent, but what an effect! And also Mordred's pariahs!.." - as if through cotton wool, the voices of his personal demons reached him. More precisely, only the voice of the Smart Guy sounded more or less clearly, who, choking with delight, reasoned on the topic of everything he saw. The other three of Harry's companions did not say anything intelligible, clearly stunned and disoriented by the sudden and terrible blow from the unknown creature.
An unconscious Hermione groaned nearby, causing Harry to turn his attention to her. Glancing sideways at the door and not noticing either the attacking monster or their strange protector, he simply and without fuss lifted the girl's light body and carried her to the bench from which they had jumped up before.
"What was that?!" Potter finally asked, blinking a little.
"Pariah!" Sweet Tooth squealed in panic. However, it became clear almost immediately that this was not an attempt to answer Harry's question. "Mordred's pariah! Where did this creature come from?!"
"Let's stay calm, he's already been driven away ," Smarty sighed heavily as Kindly and Ruffnut joined the Slaaneshi, one gurgling in fear, the other roaring in rage. "Whether it's a Pariah, or something else just like them, remains to be seen. I'm far more interested in the light our new DADA teacher has summoned. Harry, you need to find out how he was able to summon the warp!"
Potter frowned at this, but nodded anyway. He himself had already realized that it was that same Professor Lupin who had been sleeping in the next compartment who had saved them. But what kind of spell had he used…
- Children? - Here he comes, speak of the devil. - Are you okay?
Professor Lupin - and the man who quickly entered the compartment was precisely him - looked a little shabby. And this had almost nothing to do with the confrontation with the unknown creature that had just taken place. In the light of the lamps that had come back on, a man of about thirty appeared before Harry Potter, with a thin, slightly exhausted face, as if from frequent lack of sleep. His reddish-brown hair was slightly disheveled, and his mustache of the same color bristled like a brush above his lips, pressed together in tension. The gaze of his light brown, almost amber, eyes was focused and tenacious.
"It's all right, Professor," Harry nodded. And immediately realized that he had been lying. Because inside that very soul, a strange feverish chill had settled, making his hands tremble and his voice give a fair amount of "cock". "Although, maybe not quite…"
"I see," the professor smiled slightly and put his hand somewhere in the inside pocket of his grey-blue frock coat. "Here, take this!" he held out the chocolate bar he had taken out. "The ideal remedy after the effects of the Dementors is magic chocolate!"
While Harry looked at the chocolate bar in his hands with slight disbelief, Lupin stepped decisively into the compartment, straight towards Hermione, who was fidgeting restlessly on the bench.
"Miss…" he shook the girl slightly, causing Granger to jump up nervously and stare at him with a dazed look. "Eat this, it will make you feel better!"
He also handed her a bar of chocolate of some magical brand.
Harry shook his head and took a bite of the treat…
...And he sighed in surprise. It really helped!
The cold grip on his heart loosened, it warmed up inside, and his hands stopped shaking like a hard-drinker's. The boy almost physically felt the remains of the imaginary ice plug that had blocked his channel to the warp melting away completely.
"Amazing!" exclaimed Hermione, who had also come to her senses. "How is this possible?..?"
"Magical sweets have their own subtleties and peculiarities," Lupin explained, smiling as he looked at the reviving schoolchildren. "Unlike their Muggle counterparts, they not only affect the human tongue through a pleasant taste, but also emit a stream of waves of pleasure and happiness directly into the brain. Few people are interested in subtleties," he chuckled. "But among experienced people, this trick is very popular in cases where they have to deal with dementors or other necrotic creatures. Well, that's just," he clasped his hands, "by the way. Consider this your first lecture on DADA.
With these words, he winked at Harry and Hermione and left the compartment: you never know who else on the train needed help.
"A trick, huh?" Potter drawled thoughtfully, looking at the closed compartment door.
"Let's find out more?" Granger asked rhetorically.
"Of course," he nodded in response. "After such a shake-up, we will need any weapon, any chance that will help to overcome the influence of… such things," he nodded with a shudder at the door, referring to the terrible "dementor" that visited their compartment and was banished by Lupin. "But there is something I can find out already now," the boy added, causing Hermione to nod knowingly.
"What is this pariah?" he asked the four spirit advisors, sitting down on a bench. The train slowly moved on. It was still about two hours to Hogsmeade.
"That's what they called people in our world who have no reflection in the warp. In fact, soulless ," explained Smarty in an even voice.
"The most horrible horror!" added Sweet Tooth. "Invisible, inaudible, disgusting perversions! In their presence, the likes of us - and you, Harry - are in terrible danger!"
"The Pariahs are not only immune to the warp ," Smarty explained. "They can block communications with it and the warp itself."
"How can you block the warp itself?!" Harry was amazed.
"I must have expressed myself incorrectly," the Tzeentchian corrected himself tensely. "More likely, these creatures… stabilize it. Reduce it to a common denominator. Nullify it. The seething ocean turns into a monolithic piece of motionless ice, movement turns to stasis, Song becomes Silence, Chaos becomes Order."
"And the riot of Life freezes in the embrace of final Death ," boomed Dobryak.
"Exactly ," the Smart One nodded dryly. "Many enemies of the Great Ether use such creatures. Including those for whom the Immaterium itself is disgusting as a phenomenon. For whom it is the first and most terrible enemy."
"Star Gods! Hateful C'tan!" Ruffnut rasped with hatred. However, the other demons inside Harry echoed him.
"You already told me about them once," the boy thought. "But you said that they couldn't penetrate my world!"
"And we also said that your world could probably have some kind of analogue of the K'tan ," Smarty corrected him. "Or those who have come up with the same principles of magic as the Star Gods. After all, the local witchcraft is very similar to that..."
"We need to find out what kind of creature has come to us!" interrupted the Tzeentchite Ruffnut. "And how to kill it!"
"That's right," Harry nodded. "We need to find Lupin. And question him in detail!"
The commotion on the train died down after about fifteen minutes. Five minutes later the express slowly moved on: there was no more than an hour left to Hogsmeade station.
"Well, how are you?" asked Professor Lupin, who had returned. He no longer looked as belligerent as he had during the fight with the unknown creature in their compartment. In addition, as Harry noticed, his eyes had now changed color from amber to gray-blue. In general, the professor became more sullen and thoughtful than ready for battle.
"What was that… professor?" Hermione asked carefully, as if doubting.
"Professor Lupin," the man smiled back at her. He didn't know they'd already found out his name and new position. "And that, as I mentioned, was a Dementor."
"But they guard Azkaban!" Hermione exclaimed. "How did they get here?"
Under the proud chuckle of the Smarty, Harry was once again convinced that his friend was a real walking encyclopedia. Tzeentch had not marked her with his favor for nothing - that was obvious. Because Potter himself had no idea what a Dementor was, apart from the empirical sensations from this vile creature!
"They are guarding," the professor immediately darkened. "Only, by order of the Minister of Magic, some of the Dementors will now also guard Hogwarts."
Harry narrowed his eyes slightly. He couldn't help but think of that conversation between Dumbledore and Fudge in the Leaky Cauldron, when the Minister mentioned some "forces" that he would "certainly attract."
"It's because of Sirius Black, isn't it?" he frowned.
Lupin looked at Potter with an incomprehensibly sad sigh, but still answered:
"Yes, Harry, because of him," the professor smiled awkwardly. "It is possible that Black is hunting you for some reason. At least, that is the official version," he clarified.
The boy merely nodded. He already knew this, and therefore did not consider it necessary to comment on the teacher's words.
At some point, Ron and Draco flashed in the compartment door, but, seeing an adult wizard inside, they retreated with a groan.
"Okay, I'll go and see if everything is okay in the other carriages," Lupin chuckled and delicately retreated, not interfering with the reunion of Harry's company any longer.
Harry met his two friends with a dark look: it was too bad they had appeared at the wrong time! He still wanted to ask the professor about the spell he had used against the Dementor - it had suddenly become one of his priority goals. But Malfoy and Weasley, excited by what had happened, did not notice Potter's mood, and for the remaining hour before arriving at school they vied with each other to discuss the events on the train.
He was, however, somewhat surprised to notice another source of burning irritation: when the compartment was crowded with Ron, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle, someone ran away down the corridor in a very distraught mood. And Harry could even guess who it was.
He and Hermione rode to the castle separately from the noisy company of the chess club - each carriage could only fit four people, and so they managed to move separately from the boys. Which, however, did not mean that they went completely alone.
"Hello," the girl with long platinum-blond hair and a Ravenclaw tie nodded slightly and smiled. And also - with strange pink glasses on her nose and radish-shaped earrings in her ears. "How are you, Harry?"
Luna Lovegood, that was the name of this second-year, as Harry remembered. Ginny Weasley's friend... And here she is.
"Oh!" the youngest Weasley froze in the carriage door, staring at Potter and Granger. The redhead's face immediately flushed, and she herself flared in the warp with a mixture of different emotions: from confusion and fear, to irritation and even anger.
Harry chuckled to himself: Ginny Weasley cast a very rich shadow in the Ether. The passions boiling in her soul were like balm for the boy's soul - especially after his encounter with the dementor, which sucked out any bright feelings and emotions from the space. A real chocolate girl!
He even chuckled to himself at the last thought, and Sweet Tooth echoed him. But something had to be done: Ginny, frozen in the doorway, was slowing down the carriage's departure.
"Gin, hi!" Harry smiled warmly at her, lowering his Love Gaze slightly. "Come on in, what are you standing there for?"
The girl blushed even more deeply - although, it would seem, where else could she go? - and nevertheless climbed inside, sitting opposite Harry, on Luna's left hand.
As the carriage moved towards the castle, Harry looked with interest at the second-year girls sitting opposite him. And they, in turn, looked at him with interest. Lovegood - directly, not considering it necessary to hide her curiosity. Weasley, on the contrary, tried to pretend that she was damn interested in the landscape outside the window. However, given the darkness reigning outside, this idea was, to put it mildly, implausible.
Harry chuckled slightly and casually raised his arm and put his arm around Granger, who was sitting next to him, pulling her towards him. She froze in surprise for a moment, then relaxed and settled more comfortably on the boy's chest. She only briefly glanced at Ginny, who was sitting opposite. Despite the fact that she was simply pleased by Harry's attention, Hermione, like him, was also interested in Weasley's reaction to such a demarche.
And the redhead did not disappoint them. She instantly turned pale as a sheet, jerked her head in their direction and clearly gritted her teeth. And what an emotional bouquet flared in the warp - and there is nothing to say!
Lovegood, with a strange expression on her face, looked at her tense friend and said:
- You and Harry have the same brain scams.
Weasley's surprised look and Harry's interested one crossed paths with the ash-blond girl with the strange glasses on her nose.
"Harry's already shared his Brain Slithers with Hermione," Luna continued. "And now he's started sharing others - with you, Ginny. Just don't get too angry," she shook her head, "or a huge, angry Brain Slither will crawl into your head and make you build a giant chair."
At this phrase, Harry burst out laughing, and Weasley was clearly embarrassed and finally turned away to the window, demonstratively ignoring the couple of third-year students hugging opposite her for the rest of the journey.
Harry, with a slightly disappointed sigh, returned to his thoughts. The more gloomy they became, the closer they got to the gates of Hogwarts.
The moment the carriages reached the banks of the Hogleik and began to roll along it, the boy shuddered.
"Look," Hermione said in a hoarse voice with pale lips.
And there really was something to see.
Dozens of black figures hovered above the surface of the lake, in the light of the dying sunset. From a distance they looked like scraps of black shroud flying in the air - and the feeling of cold and hopelessness emanating from them even at such a distance only intensified this impression.
"Calm down, Harry!" the Smarty's voice sounded a little sharply in Potter's head. "They're far away now. And even if they get closer, they won't catch us off guard this time."
"But what if they get closer?" Harry swallowed nervously.
Even the usual sorting through the threads of fate did not help much: the boy's mind was in disarray, and therefore he could concentrate with difficulty.
"We'll find something!" Bully barked. "Pull yourself together, kid! Let your rage guide you - and no creation of ugly necromancy will be able to stop you!"
"And remember, " boomed Dobryak. "The main weapon against pariahs is emotion. Despair is not a synonym for indifference. Don't be indifferent, Harry!"
"That's right ," Smarty chuckled. "The emptiness you felt when you met that... Dementor is a lack of emotion. For any person, and especially for someone sensitive to the warp, it's like salt in a wound! That's why the reaction is so strong."
"I felt like I died at that moment," Harry winced, looking again at the eerie picture of the creatures hovering over the water.
"For a moment, it was," the Tzeentchite confirmed. "Not physically, of course, but you were dead. In a spiritual, psychic sense, dead. And the only way to prevent that from happening again is to feel as intensely as possible !"
Harry frowned. No, the task itself was simple and clear: after all, his creepy hobby itself implied vivid emotions and feelings - the Immaterium essentially consisted of them. But being in constant tension and fear, holding back the paranoia that one of these terrible creatures was behind you... it was not pleasant.
"Show me those... you spoke of earlier," he thought suddenly. He jerked his head and clenched his teeth. "Show me... the C'tan and the Necrons!"
For a while the spirit-advisers were silent. And then Sweet Tooth carefully asked:
"Harry, are you sure?..." but was interrupted by Smarty's slightly cheerful voice:
"Our student wishes to know the Horror? Very well ," the Tzeentchian daemon chuckled. "Let him see it. A most useful experience, if you ask me."
...The opening feast and the sorting had passed, to which the pale and frightened first-years were this time brought together by Snape and Hagrid. Both this fact and the dementors hovering over the lake on which the boats with the first-years were sailing - all this must have left an absolutely unforgettable impression on the newcomers!
But Harry didn't care about that for the most part. His thoughts were occupied by the Dementors themselves. And the pictures that the demons sitting in his head had shown him in passing. Monstrous, terrible pictures! And yet they promised to show him much more at night, in his dreams.
Needless to say, Harry slept exceptionally poorly that night. He tossed and turned in his bed, breathing hoarsely, drenched in cold sweat and uttering long moans - if it hadn't been for the silencing charms cast on the closed canopy, he would have woken up all the neighbors!
He was haunted by visions of angular figures with eyes burning with cold fire, mechanical limbs and with terrible weapons in their hands. Flashes of green light brought death, and the oppressive aura of emptiness did not allow him to do anything in response, but even just move!
And above the advancing ranks of mechanical dead, a figure hovered, somewhat reminiscent of a giant dementor: a black, torn robe, a smoky aura and even more concentrated emptiness around. And darkness, darkness everywhere!
Now the figure turns its gaze on him, and Harry freezes in horror! The monster's hands raise the reaper's huge scythe above his head and!..
...At that moment the boy woke up, breathing hoarsely and trying to find his glasses. Having come to his senses a little, he decided that the idea of asking the spirit-advisers to show him visions of their past world was not the best one this time. Although useful.
In general, everything that happens happens for the best, right? One way or another.
September 1993. London.
A small eatery on the edge of one of London's many squares was about to close. In fact, it was a regular cheap fast food place, on the level of McDonald's or even lower - just a quick and relatively tasty snack, nothing more.
A sleepy waitress was wiping down plastic tables set out in the open air – while the capital was enjoying relatively good weather, the eatery had set up some tables outside, operating as a "summer cafe."
She glanced sideways at a couple of students, a guy and a girl, who had been sitting at one of the tables for the last half hour and destroying the contents of their tray. A few hamburgers, cola, French fries - the standard set. But the waitress was more displeased because the students were already getting ready to leave - but did not even think to carry the tray with the scraps to the trash can themselves.
Sighing, she continued wiping down the tables. After all, it was her job to clean up the leftovers of such young slackers! And overfed ones at that, judging by the barely-eaten hamburger the couple had left on the table.
But to some, the "fattened" students must have seemed downright benefactors! Because as soon as the couple left and the waitress turned away, a swift black shadow shot up from the nearest bushes, deftly jumped onto a chair, grabbed the half-eaten hamburger with its outstretched mouth, and rushed back under the protection of the shadows. At the last moment, the diner worker turned around and only snorted indignantly, seeing a dog's tail flashing in the bushes.
A large wolfhound with dirty and matted black fur, meandering between the bushes, ran away from the cafe to a fairly safe distance and looked around. Not a soul. Although, it is understandable: this was a fairly closed part of the park, a side street surrounded by trees and far from bright streetlights. A couple of flower beds, garbage bins and a single bench - consider it the farthest corner.
Having made sure that there was no one around, the black dog carefully placed his prey on the bench, twitched his whole body strangely and...
...And he turned into a tall, thin man with an unkempt, shaggy beard, long, greasy black hair, and mismatched clothes, either found on the street or stolen from clotheslines.
However, the clothes were at least clearly male. Which, given the magical origin of the man, was even surprising: his relatives most often treated Muggle fashion with complete disdain. Which sometimes led to outright embarrassment.
It's good that the man often showed up in the world of simpletons in his time, and therefore could more or less navigate here. Not like a fish in water, of course, but at the level of elementary things for sure. Enough to somehow survive and at the same time manage to hide from both magical Aurors and Muggle cops.
He sat down on the bench and impatiently unwrapped his loot. Convulsively inhaling the aroma of almost fresh food, the man greedily pounced on the stolen hamburger, biting off almost half of it on the first try.
Sirius Black was so damn hungry!
Maybe that's why, maybe for some other reason, but he shamefully missed the appearance of that person.
"Good afternoon," someone said in a low, even voice above the seated Black. He froze for a moment, then slowly looked up at the speaker. "May I sit down?"
Sirius swallowed, quickly looking the newcomer over. A tall, athletic man, he looked down at his interlocutor with a calm gaze of light gray eyes. Chiselled features, a square jaw, a wide and hooked - clearly once broken - nose. Muggle jeans and sneakers, a dark turtleneck and a brown jacket over it. In general, a simpleton is a simpleton, except...
Sirius stopped believing in coincidences twelve years ago. Right when someone first started leaking information about the members of the Order of the Phoenix to the Death Eaters, and then the Dark Lord learned about the location of the Potter family.
And the stranger, apparently considering the silence a sign of consent, simply and without fuss sat down on the bench next to Black. The latter, still looking warily at his unexpected neighbor, tried to think of what to do or say.
He didn't have his wand with him now: the last one he used was stolen by him - and so he immediately threw it away after a couple of uses, so as not to be found out. The former Auror knew all the protocols of the Ministry's law enforcement machine on this matter very well: if the former owner of the wand reported it to the DMP about its loss, its parameters would very quickly be added to the list of monitored magic in the British Isles and the first spell cast after that would indicate its location to the Ministry. And given the fierce paranoia that reigned on the Island after his escape, there was no doubt about the likelihood of both a report of theft and a prompt response to it by the servants of the law.
Therefore, Black's only magical trump card was his ability to animagus. There are plenty of stray dogs in his native Britain. Moreover, this talent was quite rare, and Sirius himself never registered it.
And even more so, few wizards knew about his knowledge of the Muggle world, even superficial! And therefore, his pursuers probably seriously believed that he was still continuing to cut through the prison uniform and kept close to the magical settlements. They hardly allowed the thought that he would try to dress up as a commoner, especially so skillfully - the Blacks had a reputation for being hardened, even maniacal, conservatives. And as for the supposed adherent of blood purity and seasoned Death Eater, in their opinion, he would rather bite off his own hand than dress up as a Muggle. At least, Sirius himself counted on such reasoning, having a perfect idea of the level of competence of ministry officials and high-ranking officials in the Department of Law Enforcement.
So now he had little choice: if the strange Muggle - or was he a Muggle? - took any hostile action, then Sirius would only need to roll off the bench, dive into the bushes, and, having transformed, run away. But...
He didn't have time to finish thinking what "only" was, because his neighbor on the bench sighed and reached into his inside pocket. The reflexes drilled into him in Auror training immediately pushed aside all extraneous thoughts, starting to implement the previously outlined plan. Roll, bushes...
A ringing "ding" right next to his face made Black freeze in mid-motion. And stare at the colorful dart stuck in a tin bin right in front of him. He knew that mundanes used such things to calm stray animals - he had some unpleasant experience with Muggle vets in his youth. Swallowing, Sirius turned back to the Muggle, who was still sitting serenely on the bench.
To his chagrin, the man on the bench pulled out of his inside pocket not a wand, or even a Muggle gun. He pulled out a pack of regular cigarettes – Camels, a Muggle brand familiar to Sirius. He himself had smoked them for pleasure in his time, shocking many purebloods. Once upon a time, this was…
And the strange muggle - or was he not a muggle? - calmly took a drag and turned to the frozen animagus and, as if nothing had happened, exhaled the smoke.
"Don't twitch, Mr. Black," he said. "If my friend had wanted, that dart would have stuck not in the urn, but in you. And believe me: it doesn't matter what form you were in at that moment - the dose of tranquilizer in it is enough to knock out both a man and a wolfhound."
Sirius's eyes darted nervously from his interlocutor's face to the nearby trees and bushes, and then back again. If he had been less tired, less hungry and cold, he would probably have been able to react somehow or just think better. But he didn't have much strength, and so he simply coughed hoarsely and, gritting his teeth, sat back down on the bench.
"Okay," Black said warily. "Did you want to tell me something?"
"You are a reasonable man. And that is good," nodded the interlocutor. "Would you like to take a walk with us, Mr. Black? I am sure you are tired of running all over Britain, sleeping on the street and eating scraps?"
Sirius looked even more warily at his sudden neighbor on the bench.
- Who the hell are you? - he almost growled. But almost immediately, without waiting for an answer, he muttered: - Definitely not Aurors. And not wizards at all. Although they know about our existence. Exactly! - he nodded to himself. - You are squibs, connected with some particularly crazy guys from Lyutny! Although why would such people mess with me...
- Well, you're right about the squibs, - the man next to Sirius chuckled. - But as for the Black Knight... No, we don't work with criminals. Almost, - Black's interlocutor chuckled to himself. - We have something like... personal interest. So what? - he turned to the wizard. - Are you going to go yourself or should we go back to the tranquilizer option?
Sirius gritted his teeth again, trying unsuccessfully to figure out where the invisible shooter was hiding. Finally, he nodded frantically, and they got up from the bench and headed towards the exit of the park.
A couple of times Black thought he would have a chance to slip away, but... But Mordred's squib very cleverly stopped not only every attempt, but even a hint of an attempt to twitch left or right, to the saving bushes. In the end, Sirius abandoned his attempts. At another time, his active and rebellious nature would have forced him not to give up, but he was too exhausted. And the half-eaten hamburger remained there, on the bench, and therefore hunger returned with renewed vigor.
Finally, they reached a small street next to a park, paved with cobblestones and with a single lantern. Twilight had not yet fully come into its own, and therefore there was nowhere to hide here at all.
At the exit from the asphalt path of the square, a Muggle van was parked by the sidewalk. It looked like a Volkswagen, but Sirius wasn't sure. Twelve years ago, he could confidently name the make and specifications of almost any Muggle transport, especially if it was a motorcycle. But now, after so much time in Azkaban, a lot had changed for muggles, so he could only guess. And did it really matter now, if he was on the run, and even in the clutches of a couple of strange squibs?
An accomplice of the strange Muggle who had captured Sirius was already waiting for him in the van. A black man in the same casual clothes as his partner, he was just putting a disassembled Muggle rifle into a bag.
Black only winced in annoyance. He realized that while he and the first kidnapper were walking to the car, the sniper had not tracked their route, having returned to the van. However, he had no illusions about his chances of escaping on the way from the park - the first Muggle would also obviously knock the pixie down on the fly*, so it was not worth twitching in his condition. Especially since they did not look like Ministry ones at all. Even the Department of Mysteries, according to the rumors that had reached him at the time, acted much more... "magically".
Already in the van, Sirius felt a sharp claustrophobia for a second. A wave of panic and paranoia, like a dog locked in a box, rolled in… and disappeared. More precisely, he drove it away using special breathing exercises that Alastor Moody had once taught him. This, by the way, was one of the reasons why he hadn't gone crazy after so many years in the company of Dementors. Besides his animagus.
"I see that many of the tricks of wizards and ordinary people are the same, huh?" the black man smiled cheerfully with all thirty-two teeth, looking at the measuredly breathing wizard. Interestingly, he had no weapon in sight. It hardly meant that Sirius's captors were such simpletons. Rather, they were well aware of his deplorable state and unenviable situation: without a wand and completely exhausted, he could do little to oppose them.
Andrei Dolokhov - and it was he who was the strange Muggle who sat down on the bench next to the fugitive criminal Sirius Black - calmly drove the Volkswagen away from London, to the CIA safe house that he and Sam had occupied.
To be honest, he didn't expect that he would be able to track down Black so quickly, let alone catch him! But perhaps the stars aligned. At least the initial bet on tracking a boy named Harry Potter paid off - they tracked down the fugitive wizard in less than a month.
By the way, about the boy. To be honest, he raised many more questions for the former KGB agent than the "especially dangerous" criminal Black. First of all, because tracking him outside the town of Little Whinging, where the kid lived with his relatives, was practically impossible! Considering his and Sam's skills, experience and abilities, it was somewhat… surprising.
Of course, it could be attributed to the fact that the boy was a wizard. But they had no problems tracking and capturing fully grown wizards, even if it was the worthless Fletcher or the weakened and wandless Black. And here…
However, these suspicions and oddities passed almost by. First of all, because their attention was focused on Sirius Black himself - and he, as soon as Potter moved to the wizarding quarter after the incident with his aunt, stopped hanging around the boy.
It might also seem strange from the outside that only two squibs, albeit former employees of the secret services, could do what the entire British law enforcement system could not do. Even two: magical and ordinary! After all, the search was on the largest scale, with the distribution of the criminal's descriptions to all police stations, broadcasts on TV and so on - and the criminal himself did not even have a wand. But the total inconsistency of these two systems, the separation of wizards and Muggles, had an effect.
Even that short observation of the subject's actions was enough for Andrey to understand that this individual was not at all the crazy and degraded psychopath that the propaganda of the local Ministry of Magic portrayed him as. Sirius Black acted, although not very professionally by their standards, but quite competently.
If he was hiding from Muggles, he would use simple wandless charms, like a weak version of the persuasion tricks the Jedi used in the Star Wars movies.
He hid from the wizards by simply changing into different Muggle clothes and disappearing into the back alleys of London - the wizarding law enforcement officers were trained to identify and track magic, and therefore they were practically incapable of finding a non-magician. Unless, of course, he showed up in one of the wizarding districts - and Black did not make such mistakes.
And of course, if all else failed, he still had the ability to turn into a dog. To be honest, this targeting talent was a bit of an unpleasant surprise for him and Sam - tracking a stray yard terrier was a bit more difficult than tracking a person. At least they were trained to hunt people, not dogs! But they managed - and now Sirius Black is sitting in their van and won't go anywhere.
They were helped by the fact that they were neither wizards nor ordinary people. Unlike ordinary cops, they knew where to look and what to look for - and they saw what they did not see. They surpassed wizards in training, skills and operational experience. At least, none of them thought that they could catch Black with bait - that is, with Harry Potter! If the British had worked together - wizards with Muggles - the escaped prisoner would not have had a chance from the start. And so...
The tires of the car crunched on the gravel driveway of their cottage - they had arrived. Pulling up behind the house, Andrei unbuckled his seat belt and stepped outside, opening the cargo area of the van and quickly surveying the arrangement.
Black leaned back tiredly against the wall of the car and looked at his captors with a hopeless expression. Sam smiled back at him, as if by accident, holding his hand near the hem of his jacket - his pistol was there in a hidden holster.
"Problems?" Andrey asked, not addressing anyone in particular.
"None, my friend," the black CIA officer smiled even wider. "Mr. Black is showing miracles of compliance and prudence! It's unusual."
Волшебник лишь скорчил недовольную рожу и сухо раскашлялся. После чего без обиняков полез прочь из фургона.
"Nice little house," he said hoarsely, smiling. "Yours?"
"Almost," Dolokhov smiled slightly in response. "In any case, here you can tidy yourself up, rest, wash up, and get some sleep."
"It's a real attraction of unprecedented generosity," Sirius muttered as he entered the mansion. "But until I figure out who you are and what kind of Mordred you want from me, I won't budge!"
At these words he turned towards the two Squibs and, scowling, crossed his arms over his chest. True, this turn was clearly not easy for him: Black swayed and was forced to lean his hand on the wall of the hallway.
"Mr. Black," Andrey spread his hands in a conciliatory manner. "Maybe we should go to the kitchen first? You haven't eaten anything for two days except for the chicken bones you gnawed yesterday and a piece of today's hamburger.
"So, you were following me," the wizard grinned. To feel so helpless that ordinary squibs could capture him like that and take him away to who knows where was damn humiliating! Although, you couldn't call them ordinary. "Okay, show me your kitchen. It can't get any worse anyway..."
About a quarter of an hour later, Sirius was sitting in the cottage kitchen, eating greedily. Rich chicken broth with pieces of meat, a chicken leg, mashed potatoes - all of this disappeared instantly, devoured by the starving fugitive.
However, he did not forget about his wariness and kept glancing at the fair-skinned kidnapper - the same one who sat down next to him on the bench in the park.
"I know you from somewhere," Black suddenly said hoarsely, having finished his dinner and leaned back in his chair. Andrey only looked questioningly at their "guest." "Your mug, I say, is painfully familiar... Are you sure you're not a wizard?"
He wasn't afraid to violate the Statute of Secrecy. Firstly, he already had enough crimes to warrant three Dementor's kisses; one more or less wouldn't make any difference. Secondly, these guys were obviously aware of magic anyway, so there was no violation.
"Perhaps you do," the kidnapper smiled complacently. He sat opposite Sirius, leaning his elbows on the kitchen table. "Although, most likely not me personally, but my brother. You were in the same organization with him, if I'm not mistaken."
- Were you in the organization? - Black frowned. - I don't remember anyone like that in the Auror, boy. And there were certainly no ones like you in the Order.
Andrey frowned. Something was wrong here. It was very strange that a member of the odious Death Eaters group would first of all remember his official position as an Auror and a certain "Order".
- The Order? You mean the Walpurgis Knights? - Andrey said the official name of the Death Eaters. Sirius looked at him in bewilderment.
- What?! You mean the Death Eaters? Wait a minute... - here he leaned forward too, so that his greasy hair fell on his forehead, and smiled bitterly. - You also consider me one of them? A Death Eater, yes? Ha-ha-ha! - he laughed a little hysterically. - Mordred and Morgana... And I thought that Dumbledore sent you - no, I really did! - he grinned. - Although no, it's unlikely that he did, - Sirius began to mutter under his breath, forgetting about his interlocutors. - He's so pure, so infallible... Why would he get involved with someone who himself confessed to killing the Potters?...
"Mr. Black," Andrei tried to bring him back to reality. He was frowning, puzzled and displeased. "Perhaps if I introduce myself, you could enlighten us a little about everything you've said? As I understand it, you claim that you were never a Death Eater?"
- Oh, my mother would be proud if that was the case! - Black laughed hoarsely again. And then he suddenly became serious, and his face acquired an angry expression: - But no, I was not. Moreover, I beat that scum everywhere I could! As an Auror and as a member of the Order of the Phoenix - and, Merlin, I will continue to beat! But you ... - he squinted in the direction of the same vaguely familiar man with white skin. - I definitely saw you in the Auror Office! But not as an employee, - he squinted. - But as an arrested person. Exactly! - His eyes widened slightly. - You!..
- Dolokhov, - the Russian finished calmly for him. - Andrey Dolokhov. And, as I already said, you most likely knew my brother Anton, and not me.
"Antonina," Sirius automatically corrected in the English manner, looking dumbfounded at the brother of one of the most powerful and cruel Death Eaters. "Mordred... Dolohov has a brother?! And a Squib at that! Things..."
They were silent for a while, and then Black shook his head and grinned again:
- Although yes, when I got out of Azkaban, your brother was definitely there. So you are definitely not him!
"But I'd like to talk about this in more detail," Andrey leaned forward. "What can you tell me about my brother?"
- That he's a fucking psychopath and a bastard dark wizard, - spat Sirius. - You started all this for him, didn't you, Andrew? - Andrey narrowed his eyes slightly at this phrase - he didn't like it when his name was mangled. And even more - when some wandering wizards figured out his motives and plans. - Let me guess: you're a Squib, you've lived your whole life somewhere on the outskirts of the magical world, never communicated with your family. And then you found a way to come and ask all the questions. Well, maybe also to chat with the Ministry about the inheritance. Right?
"If we don't go into details, then almost," Dolokhov answered evenly.
- But, boy, you got the wrong guy, - Black spat. - I wasn't friends with your brother and I didn't communicate. I took part in his arrest - yes. I was on the same floor in Azkaban - also guilty. But I'm afraid I can't help him or his family. No, sir!
"We already understood that," Andrey said in the same even voice, glancing imperceptibly towards Sam, who was standing silently by the wall. "But I think we can still help each other."
For a while Sirius silently looked into the Russian's eyes, as if he was thinking hard about something. And then he either laughed hoarsely or coughed again:
- You want to free your brother, huh? Not the best idea, boy! When he finds out he has a Squib brother, the first thing he'll do is try to kill you! But, so be it, - he suddenly looked at his interlocutor with a hard look, - I'll try to help somehow. But for that you'll have to help me!
Andrey and Sam exchanged open glances.
"And with what?" Andrey turned to Sirius again.
"I need to get to Hogwarts!" Black slammed his fist on the table. "Mordred's rat is hiding there, and I have to find it! And Pronglet..." he suddenly deflated. "All that's left of James and Lily... their godson... It's all my fault!..
Sirius clutched his head in his hands and began to sob dryly, as if he was trying to cry but couldn't. After a couple of minutes, he finally managed to pull himself together again. Not without the help of the same breathing exercises.
- My godson!..
"So that's who Harry Potter is to you," Andrey said. "Then it's clear why you were stalking him, Mr. Black."
"I wasn't following..." Sirius shook his head wearily. At Dolokhov's sign, Sam put a bottle of whiskey and three glasses on the table. As soon as the amber liquid filled one of them, Black immediately tossed it back. Holding his breath for a second, he grunted and nodded gratefully to his captors. "I just wanted to make sure Pronglet was okay. Mordred knows who else is prowling around Britain from among the former Death Eaters - I needed to make sure.
"I want to assure you that everything was fine with Mr. Harry Potter when he moved to platform 9 and ¾ this year," Dolokhov commented kindly, barely taking a sip of whiskey. "And it will be fine in the future, if we come to an agreement."
"Agreement…" Sirius said thoughtfully, taking a slower sip from his second drink. Finally, shaking his head, he said, "Okay. I'm really sick of wandering around the woods and eating out of the trash! And I still need to get to Hogwarts somehow. So I think I'm ready to cooperate, guys… whoever you are."
Andrey took a satisfied sip of whiskey. Despite the fact that the facts they had were not very reliable, everything had turned out well. They had hooked that slippery Fletcher, with his advice they had reached Black - and he, what luck, turned out not to be a stupid, half-mad chauvinist with manic tendencies, but a completely adequate person. More precisely, almost adequate - after all, there were some cockroaches hidden in his story with imprisonment and constant self-flagellation. But still, everything had worked out better than it could have!
They will enter the magical world. Black will help them. After which he will be able to deal with his relatives. One way or another, "sort it out"...
More chapters on my P@treon: https://patreon.com/OOOTEN