December 1993. Hogsmeade.
Something was wrong. Andrei could feel in his skin that something was wrong, although outwardly everything was going as planned! Sunday, a day off, when the streets of Hogsmeade are always crowded - the perfect time to carry out an operation. Especially after the mistakes taken into account, when he was almost spotted by two Hogwarts teachers at the same time on the same day. And yet, the intuition of the former serviceman was screaming that they had missed something!
This time there were many times more schoolchildren on the streets than on previous weekends: the management of the school of witchcraft and wizardry finally allowed the third through fifth years to go for a walk in the village. Although, with a population of almost one and a half thousand people, it could already lay claim, according to the Soviet classification, to an urban-type settlement a la "tourist town" - but this was purely Andrei's opinion.
"Russian classification! It's time to get used to it," he winced mentally. Of course, for a person who was no longer planning to return to the Motherland that had abandoned him, all these formulations and names should be indifferent in everyday life. But Andrei felt a burning annoyance every time - after all, he had dedicated almost his entire life to the deceased state. Andrei did not like thinking about it in the past tense, and even more so seeing what had replaced it. And so he preferred to think about it less often. After all, the former KGB agent now had other concerns. But he still could not get rid of such sudden associations.
As for concerns, it would seem that they had taken into account almost everything that could be taken into account. Black and Fletcher's advice, which significantly enlightened the two squibs in the realities of the wizarding world, helped them develop a fairly viable plan for capturing and delivering Peter Pettigrew to a safe place, who, according to Sirius, was hiding in the guise of a mangy rat that belonged to a schoolboy. How he ended up with this Weasley and how he managed to hide his true nature all these years, Andrey also tried to find out through new connections, but... it didn't work. Again, as in the case of some strange blocks in Fletcher's own mind, they ran into an information dead end, not allowing them to find out anything even by indirect signs!
Thoughts flowed to those very "connections" that they acquired in Knockturn Alley and other seedy places with the help of Mundungus. A harmless swindler and smuggler, as it turned out, had very harmless acquaintances. Hidden dark wizards, underground alchemists, traders in living ingredients, unregistered vampires and werewolves - who wasn't there! How he hadn't gotten rich or died with such connections was unclear. Although, perhaps, Fletcher's secret was in the instinct of self-preservation. It was as if he subconsciously sensed his limits: he knew that if he tried to jump above his head and grab a piece beyond his teeth, he wouldn't live long. So he hung around at the mid-low level of magical crime, not trying to take off, but not letting go of their own. For Andrey, this situation evoked an association with who knows what in an ice hole, but Mundungus, apparently, was satisfied with it.
So: all these sometimes completely unexpected connections gave nothing, it was worth trying to find out something about the Weasley family. The most ordinary, it would seem, family, although well-known among purebloods and the like - but rather due to the fact that in the last couple of generations this family became famous for at least two scandalous marriages, for which they were contemptuously called "blood traitors". To Andrey's taste, they did not become "special" from this - but the devil will sort out these British with their "scandals" out of the blue. So, this was the most ordinary family of wizards. At first glance. At second glance too - because it was still possible to "try to find out something" about them. But only the most elementary and simple information. Names, origins, even the family tree - all in one piece. The places of work of the head of the family Arthur Weasley and the two eldest sons - too. Even the reasons for the idiotic aristocratic persecution of "blood traitors" were found out, albeit with difficulty! But individual details, like the history of payments and so on, were already impossible to get. Although he and Sam had already managed to see for themselves that for the right fee in the wizarding world you could get almost anything and for anyone. Except for Weasley.
Andrey shook his head. They had already decided that they would not stick their nose in further than necessary. If you stick your nose where it doesn't belong, especially in the wizarding world, you can lose your nose. Along with your head! Someone clearly did not want certain aspects of the red-haired family's life to be known - so it was not worth going against the wishes of this "someone". After all, if whoever was "protecting" the Weasleys in this way had not recognized the supposedly dead wizard in their pet for all these years, then his disappearance would hardly be a reason to pay attention to the team of two squibs and an escaped prisoner. Unlike irrepressible curiosity. That's why they stopped trying to undermine the Weasleys almost at an early stage — so as not to attract attention. Full information is, of course, good. But not always.
Otherwise, the operation to remove the rat was organized and prepared in the best possible way. Special potions that masked the smell — against the werewolf Lupin's sense of smell. Mental amulets that did not close the mind, but imitated the "gray noise" in the head that is common for ordinary people — in case that black-haired Snape or someone like him showed up. Well, and a couple more gadgets, mostly not very legal, from the arsenal of magical criminals. But without any particular fanaticism: judging by the explanations of their "staff" wizards, many amulets and charms conflicted with each other, and therefore it will definitely not be possible to hang yourself with protection for all occasions. And hardly anyone in the world could take these "all life events" into account to the full extent - and therefore it was worth concentrating on the main points. In principle, everything is like in a regular special operation.
Black watched their preparations with some kind of gloomy amazement. "You're definitely nuts," he started his hurdy-gurdy again when they showed him the entire set of collected amulets and potions. "Sometimes, of course, I like that Mordred-ish thing about you guys! Only," he frowned slightly. "Half of all this is classified as the Dark Arts."
"You still haven't been able to describe what these 'Dark Arts' of yours are," Dillinger chuckled at this, sorting through his set. When Sirius remained sullenly silent, he continued: "You see? It's a murky and unclear concept that mainly serves to limit the average person's opportunities and expand the punitive capabilities of the government. We are not bound by official bureaucracy, and therefore have much greater freedom of action."
"The Dark Arts are dangerous not only because of the punishments from the government," Black winced at this, clearly not wanting to leave the last word to his opponent in this matter. "Their main danger is the negative impact on the soul and body, and sometimes on the caster himself."
"That is, any experimental magic," Dolokhov, standing there, shrugged. "Muggles brand any scientific direction that concerns something that modern ordinary people consider wrong, inhuman or simply "devilish". Genetics, nuclear physics — these are modern analogues. And in the Middle Ages, even medicine was considered "black magic"!"
Sirius only shook his head at this. It was clear that he still stuck to his opinion, not considering the comparison with Muggles correct, and that only the sullen concentration before the final hunt for Pettigrew prevented him from continuing the argument...
...And now they are completely ready and equipped. The hour "X" had arrived, and he and Sam went out into the streets of Hogsmeade to look for the Weasley boy in order to discreetly take the rat from him. But no matter how prepared they were, no matter how much they had discussed the plan down to the last detail, Dolokhov still felt anxious. His intuition - the same intuition that had guided him most of his life - was screaming about impending trouble.
They walked along both sides of the street, casually looking at the crowds of schoolchildren, paying special attention to their red ties and hair to match - thanks to Sam's source in Mrs. Johnson, they had a verbal portrait of the Weasley they needed. All that remained was to localize him and "process" him. Of course, they had also undertaken all their previous "promenades" through Hogsmeade with precautions: makeup, changing small details of their wardrobe, and sometimes just Polyjuice Potion - so recognizing them this time was problematic.
At some point, Andrey braced himself: a red head of hair flashed in the next group of schoolchildren walking towards him. But almost immediately he relaxed again: long hair, shorter than described - it was the subject's younger sister, Ginny Weasley. Dolokhov frowned and watched the girl leave with a surprised look in her eyes in the company of her girlfriends. For a moment, he thought he saw something… familiar in her. An irrational feeling, absolutely inexplicable! However, just like his already sensitive intuition, which had become more acute in the last six months, or his uncharacteristic mood swings, so for now he decided to ignore it. Andrei shook his head slightly, driving away the obsession and focusing on the mission again.
To be honest, the magical world was starting to irritate him: in his entire life, he had never committed so many unprofessional acts as he had during these few months in Britain. Unfortunately, there was no time to delve into himself. Not yet. They continued their patrol. And only fifteen minutes later they reached their destination.
Andrei was the first to see the object: a red-haired boy of thirteen, leaving the Three Broomsticks pub in the company of his peers. True, two of them looked two years older, which surprised Dolokhov a little. A girl with lush chestnut hair with a colorful bauble woven into it and a brunette boy with bright green eyes and a noticeable lightning scar on his forehead. They stood out from the rest of the group, at least in height: half a head taller than the others and more developed in appearance. Not to mention the loud fame of the boy with the scar. All this flashed through Dolokhov's head in a split second: the peculiarities of the appearance of these two had nothing to do with the mission, and therefore it could be sorted out later. If it was worth sorting out at all.
And so he simply and without fuss gave Sam, who was standing on the other side of the street, a prearranged signal: he rubbed his neck with his palm in a special way, simultaneously tilting his head towards the object. Dillinger scratched his ear with three fingers: it meant that the Russian's signal was understood and accepted. All that was left was a small matter...
...And Harry Potter watched the unfolding action with interest and even, perhaps, excitement. Two adults, and clearly not magicians, possibly squibs - since they did not use magic, but still ended up in Hogsmeade - played out a whole performance, aimed, as Foresight suggested, at Scabbers - Ron's rat. Who, by the way, dragged her along again: well, of course, the animal needs to breathe air! Although the rat itself - or rather the man hiding under the guise of a rat - was clearly not particularly eager to go out anywhere. That this was not an ordinary rat, Harry was finally convinced in the last month. In no hurry, however, to expose the secret animagus. All the same Foresight vaguely hinted that very interesting events would soon be outlined, connected with Scabbers - well, or whatever his real name was?
"And these guys are professionals," Slastena even whistled slightly admiringly, while they were quietly watching the actions of the two "spies." "They act clearly, without fuss, and they are magically shielded quite competently."
"They could be sent for our souls!" Kindly became nervous at once. "The Department of Mysteries? The local Inquisition?!"
"Unlikely," Smarty answered slightly contemptuously. "Then they would rather show up in South Helens, where the most suspicious stuff happens," he added with malicious pleasure, feeling even more afraid of the Nurgle.
"Let's kill them!" Ruffnut growled, as expected. "Let's lure them to that vacant lot near the abandoned house - and finish them off! There's no need for all sorts of spies to hang around us!"
"We'll wait," Harry rejected radical measures. In the end, this was damn interesting! Especially since the secret of the strange rat animagus would finally be revealed. It was an intrigue, after all.! Much more interesting than a direct interrogation of the animagus himself. "Let's see where they drag the rat - and then we'll follow unnoticed." Ruffnut grumbled discontentedly, Kind was worried, Smarty and Sweetie unanimously supported Harry - but in principle no one objected to such a plan. And the show went on.
The disguised "spies" - although it was still unclear whose - skillfully took them in a kind of pincers. One of them, looking like a dark-skinned Indian, of which there were enough in Britain to not pay attention to such a type, allegedly "accidentally" falling out of the crowd, touched Ron at the very moment when he found himself on the edge of their company - and in such a way that he turned sideways, where Scabbers was hiding in his bosom, to the second "spy". Who meanwhile completely unnoticed crept up close to the boy. Even Harry missed the moment of the rat's "extraction", despite the fact that he was closely watching the development of events and his abilities. A moment - and the second "spy" had already slipped into the crowd with Scabbers in his hands, while the first was verbosely apologizing to Weasley, distracting attention.
Harry nudged Hermione with his elbow, drawing attention to himself. The girl, who had also noticed the ongoing maneuvers, only nodded slightly: she did not need to explain what her friend wanted. "Oh, we won't make it to the bookstore in time!" she hissed irritably, looking at Ron and the incessantly apologizing "Indian".
"Yes, exactly!" Ronald, ready to even go to the bookstore in order to get rid of the annoying apologist, immediately agreed. "It's okay, sorry, I have to run," he rattled off, immediately moving away at a quick pace. Interestingly, he didn't even check whether his classmates were following him.
Harry and Hermione pretended to take a few hurried steps after Weasley, then turned into the nearest gateway and, hiding behind some boxes, threw on the invisibility cloak. "Do you see him?" Harry asked. However, he was confident in his friend's ability to read traces in the warp.
"Yes," Hermione nodded. "He takes a long way, clearly confusing possible pursuers, but this path ends at the Shrieking Shack." After all, Hermione's reading of local probabilities was at its best - Harry accepted and acknowledged this. And he even almost stopped envying her, as before - especially since he had much more abilities and opportunities. Although it was offensive to realize that his vaunted "prediction" two minutes ahead was a common self-deception. Because what he saw two minutes ahead could change radically two minutes later. Hermione saw a picture of constantly changing probability lines literally non-stop, managing to adjust her own actions during those two minutes. And Harry was glad that he was able to put such a talent to his service.
They made it to the Shrieking Shack before the fake "Indian" - according to Hermione, in the warp, his disguise looked like a cosmetic charm that changed his facial features and hairstyle without affecting his skin color or overall body composition. But it only said that the person hiding behind them was also dark-skinned - that's all. In any case, they expected to see his true face soon.
The "Indian" cautiously approached the front door of the cottage - this house was called a hut purely because of the gloom it created to attract tourists - and knocked in a special way. When the door opened silently a few moments later, Harry and Hermione firmly held hands and performed what Smarty once called with a grin "The Leap of Faith." That is, they stepped through the warp into the cottage.
And there a couple of Squibs were already busy around the third member of their strange gang: a short-haired, blue-eyed brunette in an expensive suit and robes, who was tearing with almost animal fury towards an unconscious rat in the hands of one of the "spies". A simultaneous guess pierced both Gryffindors, which made them sigh in unison: "Sirius Black!" No one heard them: they came out of the warp rift in the far corner of the room, and besides, the three men were sorting things out loudly enough not to hear the surprised whispers of two invisible teenagers.
"Give me that lying rat! I'll skin him alive!" raged the wizard in the expensive robes, clean-shaven and with a neat haircut. His appearance in no way resembled the hairy savage who grinned from wanted posters all over Britain. Only now, when he was growling and almost spitting with rage, did this resemblance become apparent. And, of course, the super-intuition of the two Chaosites allowed them to identify the unfamiliar wizard with sufficient certainty.
"Mr. Black, calm down," one of the "spies" said in a calm and cold voice – the one who was holding the stunned rat at arm's length, while easily holding the enraged Black at a distance with his other hand. All the masking charms had already flown off him, and so Harry and Hermione saw him: his chopped-off features, short brown hair and cold gray eyes. "If you do something irreparable now, our entire plan to legalize and justify you will go down the drain!"
Somehow, with great difficulty, Black managed to calm down. Glaring at the unconscious rat in the hands of the "spy", he walked to the other corner of the room and collapsed into a sagging chair.
"Well, there were no destructions," the second "spy" chuckled mockingly, his disguise having already flown off, revealing his characteristic African appearance and short hedgehog black hair. "I thought this meeting would be more temperamental."
"What next?" Sirius Black jerked his head irritably. "All that's left is to hand over Mordred's Pettigrew to the Aurors and that's the end of it!"
At these words, Harry and Hermione exchanged glances under the cloak: this was something new.
"Wait, Mr. Black," the first "spy" with light skin winced at this. "We still have a couple of questions to ask Mr. Pettigrew. You remember that we also have a small target?" He raised an eyebrow.
"And I still don't see how the show with my disguise will help with this," Sirius muttered. "If I'm going to be legalized soon, then what was the point of this farce with the masquerade?" At the same time, he ran his hands over his robe in irritation. "Mysterious rustling, flirting with criminals and dark wizards — why?"
Harry almost literally heard the warp creaking from the tangle of secrets curled up around this trio. And to a lesser extent — around Black. The two strange squibs were clearly keeping him in the position of a mushroom: they kept him in the dark and fed him shit. Well, that is, they didn't spread about their true plans, whatever they were, and openly confused his brains.
"As soon as the Aurors get Pettigrew, he will be lost to us," explained the tall, grey-eyed "spy," placing the rat on a rickety chair in the middle of the room. "It's unlikely that we will be allowed to question him ourselves…" Carefully opening the rat's mouth, he poured the contents of a small vial into it and stepped aside, waiting for the effect.
Which effect immediately followed: the rodent on the chair jerked strangely, turned over and began to grow. Grow and transform! Of course, if it weren't for the "spy's" backup, the fat man in shabby clothes that emerged from the rat would have fallen to the floor: he was still unconscious. But the man with the chopped-off features harshly stopped his fall and immediately, with the help of the second "spy," began to deftly tie the animagus to the chair.
"Incarceration would have been easier," snorted Sirius from his corner, who was in no hurry to join the process. Apparently, he was afraid that he would lose his temper and strangle the man he apparently hated.
"Easier," the black "spy" nodded at this. "Only easier to take him off. Besides, this rope," a nod towards the fetters with which they tied up the fat wizard, "is soaked in the same potion we just gave him. It will be much harder for him to turn back while he's tied up."
"Mordred's Squibs," Black muttered under his breath, somewhat discouraged, grumbling for some unknown reason. Apparently, he was surprised by the thoughtfulness of his accomplices' preparations.
"Well, if no one has any objections," the white-skinned "spy" glanced around at those present, "then I propose we begin our… conversation." With these words, he took out another bottle, but this time with some kind of powder, which he held to the nose of the bound man. The fat man on the stool winced and sneezed, almost immediately opening his eyes with a groan.
"Mordred's boy, where are you dragging me again?..." he groaned, this time articulately… and froze in fright, blinking furiously. "Did I say that out loud? Did the spell wear off?! Where am I anyway?!" he darted his eyes around the room and at the same time tried to break free from his bonds. Unsuccessfully, of course.
"P-e-ettigr-ryu!" Black growled, again approaching the fat man, who had frozen in fear. "How many years have I dreamed of this meeting!"
"Huh?! You... Who are you?" the prisoner recoiled in complete confusion. And then the expression of fear on his face was replaced by recognition... and full-fledged horror. "S... Sirius?" he squeaked and again thrashed in the bonds.
"Me, a rat!" Black gritted his teeth. "You can't even imagine that I'm with you now!..."
"Mr. Black," the tall "spy" blocked Pettigrew from the enraged Sirius. "Remember: he must answer questions."
"Back off, Dolohov!" Black growled in response, trying to get around the obstacle. Well, at least now Harry and Hermione learned the white-skinned Squib's surname. As well as why they didn't give the escaped prisoner a wand — in such a deranged state, he would have certainly caused a pogrom.
"Black!" Dolohov shouted and, to Harry's surprise, Sirius Black gave in. Apparently, he understood that no one needed a scandal right now.
"Excellent. And now you, Mr. Pettigrew," he turned to the tied up and bewildered fat man. "I hope you understand that nothing good awaits you if you refuse to answer our questions?" At the same time, he glanced sideways at the angry Black so eloquently that there was no doubt about this "nothing good". And so the fat man nodded rapidly, expressing agreement.
"Excellent," Dolokhov chuckled at such compliance. "Then, I think the first question will be from Mr. Black. And I advise you to answer truthfully - as you can see, our mutual friend is not known for his patience."
"Why?" Black growled, when the "spy" had not even finished his sentence. "Why did you betray James and Lily, you sell-out rat?! How could you?!"
Pettigrew watched this fit with growing panic in his eyes - there was no other way to describe it. But after ten seconds, Black lost his breath a little and Dolohov spoke again:
"Mr. Black expressed himself somewhat emotionally, but overall, yes, we are interested in this, among other things. Who, when and under what circumstances recruited you into the Death Eaters, Mr. Pettigrew?" he asked evenly.
Silence. Finally, swallowing with a disgusting gurgle, the fat man spoke: "Who are you anyway?" he asked in a trembling voice instead of answering the question. "You have no idea what kind of shit you're getting yourself into, guys..."
Andrey frowned. To be honest, he wanted to start the interrogation with this relatively harmless question specifically: so that Black could let off some steam, and Pettigrew would get drawn into the conversation and be imbued with the shit he got himself into. But for some reason the damn fat man did not live up to their expectations, immediately starting to assert his rights.
"I won't say anything!" Peter Pettigrew shook his head, turning terribly pale. "Do what you want with me, but I won't say anything!"
"You!..." Sirius tried to get to the prisoner again, but was stopped by Sam.
"Really?" Dolohov raised an eyebrow, not even paying attention to Black's jerk. "Is this such a shameful act that you don't even want to remember it?"
"Go to Mordred!" Pettigrew squealed. "You don't understand! They'll come for me! If I tell about them, they'll kill me... Even worse than kill me!"
Even Black was surprised by such panic and stubbornness. What was so special about the question about the moment of recruitment? Was Pettigrew really so afraid of the Death Eaters that he was incapable of even answering that?
Andrey's anxiety grew stronger and, just in case, he checked the portkey in his pocket that the goblins had given them. According to them, this one-time thing could even snatch them from under the dome of anti-apparition and anti-portal charms that local lawmen usually cast when capturing criminals. They explained something about the difference between goblin magic and human magic, but Andrey understood little. The main thing was that the portals worked and at any moment the three of them could get out of here in one piece, taking that boar Pettigrew with him.
And yes: a couple of months ago, an owl from the wizarding bank "Gringotts" flew to them - or rather to Sirius - with a request "in connection with the return to business" to renew the rights to the Black property in the bank. To say that Sirius was surprised is to say nothing. According to him, he was disinherited in his senior years at Hogwarts - so even the death of all the other British Blacks could not give him access to the family safes, they should have simply been blocked forever! And, of course, he was surprised by the behavior of the goblins: the toothy shorties had never acted with such excessive impudence. Just think: behind the Ministry of Magic's back, to contact a fugitive criminal and offer him access to the family safe. In fact, this was real treason - at least from the point of view of Andrey and Sam and any Muggle government. And it is unlikely that the wizarding Ministry would have treated such a prank differently.
However, during a short meeting with the bank's director Knoxkull, they were explained that this was the usual policy of Gringotts: a client remains a client even while sitting in Azkaban or escaping from it. And the goblins did not care that he was a wanted criminal - this is the business of wizards, not goblins. And the latter are only interested in gold. As for access to locked safes, Knoxkull, with a strange smile, mysteriously mentioned "new opening techniques", but did not specify anything else. He only offered to choose a couple of small but unique artifacts as compensation for the unauthorized opening of Black's cells. That's how they got hold of the goblin portals.
However, they didn't refuse regular money either: in fact, all their vigorous activity in recent months was essentially paid for by Black. Although he didn't object. But if before these portals seemed like overinsurance even to Andrei, now his screaming intuition said the opposite.
"So," he said tensely, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Now this is more interesting. Who are these mysterious "they" that you are so afraid of, Mr. Pettigrew? The Death Eaters?" he asked purely for the sake of form. "Unlikely - now most of them are either in Azkaban, or dead, or simply have no influence on anything. Besides, they, like their opponents from the Order, think you are dead. So it wasn't them..." he drawled evenly, watching the fat man's face stretch even longer. This meant that Andrei had hit the mark!
"So it was someone else," Dolokhov nodded contentedly. "And now we are with you..."
The house shook noticeably and several loud bangs were heard, characteristic of Apparation. They were heard right behind the door of the hut!
"What the hell?" Sam exclaimed, immediately grabbing his gun. "This hut is reliably protected — we checked it ourselves!"
"From Apparation directly inside — yes," Black answered, grinning like a dog. "But from detection or surveillance — no."
"So, they found us," Andrey calmly commented, also grabbing his gun and rushing towards the tied up Pettigrew. He grabbed the goblin portal on the go, intending to retreat immediately — and this was very relevant, considering that someone was already breaking down the door, and the amulet, tuned to the magical protection of the house, was clearly heating up, signaling the imminent destruction of this protection!
"Open up, in the name of the law!" a loud voice was heard behind the door. Apparently, the attackers realized that they would not be able to break through the defense right away, so they decided to put psychological pressure.
"Portals!" Andrey hissed, setting up his. Already reaching out to grab Pettigrew by the scruff of the neck and teleport, he hesitated a little and...
And then the events took a completely unexpected turn: the ropes on the prisoner seemed to flare up by themselves and fell to the floor like weightless dust. A moment of stupor - and the outwardly loose and clumsy animagus rolled like a swift ball into the far corner, rapidly changing on the go and already in the form of a rat slipping into some crack! Sirius rushed after him, but was grabbed by Dolokhov and disappeared in a flash of the portal after Dillinger, who had already teleported.
A couple more seconds - and the door of the hut flies off its hinges, letting in a squad of wizards in scarlet Auror robes...
..."Empty, sir," reported the last of the assault squad operatives. The others before him reported the same. Senior Auror Robert Copper, who was in charge of the search, only hissed in irritation, but refrained from using strong language. Although he really wanted to express himself! Mordred's Sirius Black, who had escaped six months ago, had not shown up for several months. Months! No traces, no evidence, no crimes that could lead to his trail - nothing! And now, finally, a real signal, as it seemed to them, about his appearance was received and... And again, nothing! But Robert - however, his colleagues usually called him Bobby for short - knew for sure that this time the call was not false. It wasn't some senile old lady with a vigilantism syndrome who suddenly imagined that Black was in her backyard, and it wasn't another joker who decided to make fun of the guardians of order who sent an anonymous letter - no. The signal came from some very... trusted informants. Of those who are not very accepted to talk about in the Department of Law Enforcement, but whose services are always happy to be used if necessary. The Department of Mysteries.
He winced and glanced sideways with displeasure at the representative of the Department, who, by the way, did not even introduce himself! Although, perhaps, it was for the best: Robert did not particularly want to start a personal conversation with the Mordred special agent - not at a time when they had screwed up so badly, and especially with such an operational tip! The special agent: with a nondescript face, like all of them, and long dark chestnut hair touched with gray - was currently interestedly sorting through the black ash left on the floor around the stool standing in the center of the room.
"Did you find anything?" Copper asked, slightly grumpily, realizing that communication with the Department representative was inevitable.
"Possibly," he said thoughtfully. His voice, by the way, was also gray and colorless. It seemed that it was precisely for this very grayness that they were recruited into the Department! The Specialist sifted the ashes once more, took a small pinch as a sample in the extracted flask, but showed no further interest. At least not externally. "Did they find anything here?" he suddenly asked, stepping into one of the corners of the room, which seemed completely empty.
"The emanation of magic, and not very legal magic at that, is evenly emitting throughout the entire room," the Auror winced in response. "This corner and all the others make no difference."
"I see," the Specialist simply nodded and turned to the exit. "Carry out all the required activities, Senior Auror Copper. I will make sure that the Department issues a bonus to all participants in today's operation—you did an excellent job!" After these words, the Specialist left, followed by Robert's completely dumbfounded gaze. A failed assault, a missed escaped criminal, the inability to find any evidence—that's what he calls SUCCESS?! Although, if we assume that the Department of Mysteries was actually trying to achieve something else... Copper shrugged and spat. And then he allowed himself to curse - Mordred's nerves were not his! And if he didn't want to fray them even more, then he clearly shouldn't have delved into the nuances of this case, let alone even thought about them. Meddle in the affairs of the Department of Mysteries? Merlin forbid!
Turning to his subordinates waiting for him, the senior Auror began giving orders. It was time to wrap things up.
December 1993. Hogwarts.
"Do you realize what this all means?" Hermione asked as they slipped out of the Shrieking Shack using the same Leap of Faith and returned to the lab in the abandoned Hogwarts classroom. "Sirius Black and two Squibs… mmm!" She narrowed her eyes and rubbed her temples, trying to squeeze the maximum out of her prophetic abilities. "It's strange. One of them is definitely Russian, and the other is from overseas… American, for sure," she nodded to herself. "Also: they're both new and long-timers in the world of magic. It feels very strange, but that's how it is."
"It's okay," Harry smiled at his friend, not even trying to use the Love Stare. He didn't want to play so roughly and clumsily with Hermione; he wanted to build a more subtle relationship with her. On the one hand, it was more honest towards Granger, and on the other, the multi-layered chess game between them, consisting of words, feelings, and hints, was also very interesting! It is much more interesting to defeat an opponent who is on the same level as you, than to stupidly crush with the Slaaneshi aura. Love is a complicated thing...
"Prophecies are always very vague, aren't they? And the warp is as fickle as it is beautiful - but is this a reason to refuse His Gifts? No. And so continue to meditate and tell me the results."
"Okay," Hermione said, a little absentmindedly, mindlessly twirling the colorful bauble woven into her hair around her finger. "We're preparing a rebellion, aren't we?" she asked suddenly. More precisely, she would have asked "suddenly" for someone else, someone who didn't deal with the Immaterium, Forecasts, and other predictions. Harry was hardly surprised by her question.
"More like a border buffer," he chuckled. But he decided to clarify: "Lubrication for enemy blades and a distraction. All these centaurs, goblins, and house elves, as well as cultists in South Helens and other places, when they appear, will serve one purpose – to distract attention from the main goal."
"Do you already have a Main Goal?" Hermione asked ironically, deliberately emphasizing the last two words with a capital letter. However, Harry realized that the irony was feigned – she really wanted to know the answer.
"Yes and no at the same time," Potter shrugged, just as vaguely as she had earlier. "I know that it exists, but what exactly it consists of," he closed his eyes for a moment, "I don't know yet. The gods will tell me."
Granger only nodded at this - you can't argue with that.
"However, those same house elves and cultists can become something more than just "meat," Harry drawled thoughtfully.
"It's understandable why you don't take centaurs seriously," the girl snorted at this. "Although there is also the potential to use them with much greater benefit..."
Harry only rolled his eyes at this. Granger was increasingly becoming a true Tzeentchite: in any piece of guano she saw the potential for a multi-move strategy designed to squeeze the maximum benefit out of even such useless lustful animals as centaurs. But sometimes it was necessary to distract herself from abstruse plans in favor of more straightforward and simple ones.
"For now they are useful," he managed to get out of it diplomatically. "And then we'll see. Although, to be honest, such an easy victory over their leaders is infuriating," he nevertheless winced. "I cultivated the house elves for almost two years, expanded the cult, constantly on the verge of discovery and destruction - and then literally wave your finger, and half the herd rushed to satisfy their primitive needs, forgetting the covenants of their ancestors," he snorted contemptuously. Of course, the same Sweet Tooth defended the centaurs in every possible way in any dispute and each time began to prove that very little time had passed for them to be sufficiently imbued with the true light of Slaanesh. That primitive violence against human women, with which the canine-men satisfied their elementary lust, was only the beginning of a long and fruitful path, and so on. But Harry saw in them, as they say, a dead-end branch of evolution. Both biological evolution and spiritual evolution - that is, the evolution of understanding the warp and Slaanesh in particular. Savages with primitive needs. The most they deserve is to become toys for true Slaanesh cultists or guinea pigs for Potter himself. Especially since, unlike the goblins, they have completely forgotten their ancient Gods, and now believe in whatever they want.
But as for the goblins... "You also felt goblin magic when this "Dolokhov" and company teleported, right?" he asked Hermione.
"Do you want to ask Flitwick about this?" Granger asked without looking up from her meditation.
"Definitely," he chuckled in response. "Especially since it's time for us to establish contacts with more civilized non-humans."
"I remember that among the xenos who have the potential to rise above the rest in your plans are house elves... but not goblins. Why?"
"Goblins worship their own God. Who will almost certainly try to screw me over as soon as he learns of my existence and has such an opportunity," Harry winced. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't have some kind of dialogue first."
Hermione just smirked. Well, yes, that was very... Chaotic. First shake hands, assure each other of eternal friendship and cordiality, and then at the first opportunity stab each other in the back.
"Why does everyone immediately blame Chaos and its inhabitants?" Smarty grumbled grumpily at this. "This is, in fact, a deep and natural instinct of any intelligent being, and not some special influence of the warp."
"Deep instinct?" Harry chuckled at this. "To plot against each other? To betray previously made oaths?"
"Exactly," Smarty shrugged, as if this was something ordinary. "Only a complete naive idiot with a head filled with ideology or an oligophrenic with a rotten brain would reject the idea of betrayal as a principle. Would even think about such a heresy as, excuse me, principles!" Smarty clearly twisted in disgust. "There is nothing more natural than betrayal!" the Tzeentchite said firmly. "To betray always, to betray everywhere – that is the meaning of the Existence itself! To betray others, your neighbor and yourself – that is the only way you will remain yourself. The Universe itself betrays itself every time in order to become better and more perfect! Physics, chemistry, Evolution itself – everything is built on betrayal! To leave everything old and obsolete behind in order to move on – that seems like a pretty good idea to me."
Harry chuckled, but said nothing in response to this – the statement was debatable… albeit quite interesting. At least, this concept suited him quite well, even amused him: the unpredictability of the world around him and himself – what could be more interesting?
"The goblins have started to act actively. And in spite of the Ministry and in secret from it," he continued his thought. "And this means that very soon they will begin to interfere in what is happening much more than now."
"Where much more: they help a supporter of You-Know-Who," Hermione snorted. But she did it a little... uncertainly.
"Or a supporter?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Remember their dialogue and the visions that the warp sent you."
"They are unclear," Hermione winced. "If we could use the mirror without risk..."
"Yes. The Mirror," Harry nodded. "And its inhabitant."
The Mirror of Erised and the demon that lived in it, which Harry enslaved after learning its true name, had essentially been standing almost dead weight for a month now. "Almost" — because the very fact of conversations with Calesh-Kash and the information learned from him were worth quite a lot. And considering that the demon could not lie to someone who knew his name, it made questions easier. But simple questions - as well as the energy given by the demon - were damned insufficient! Kalesh-Kash was locked in the mirror, and the mirror itself could not serve as a full-fledged portal to the warp for the same reason - it was intended as a prison for the demon, designed to prevent the release of the Immaterium into the world. It lets everything in, and lets nothing out - that is why the Philosopher's Stone with the soul of Nicholas Flammel locked in it turned out to be doomed already at the moment when Dumbledore had the "brilliant" idea to hide it there.
But this was a solvable problem: it was enough to peer into Erised, enter it and, having passed through the changing mirror labyrinths, open it from the inside. Oh, well, yes - and you still had to survive! Personal "Reason Hall", as Harry called the patch of relatively stable warp in his head, was maintained by four demons led by Smarty - it was relatively safe and explored. And beyond the edge of the Mirror of Erised, a completely "wild" space awaited him, in which you could get lost and die in no time! Unless, of course, you were a sufficiently experienced and powerful psyker.
The boy winced inwardly. Of course, he had already learned a lot about warp sorcery, devilry, travel through the Immaterium, but... There was always this fucking "but"! He realized that he had not yet reached even a hundredth part of the true power of the psykers of the world from which his spirit advisors came. Those fragmentary, but vivid and epic in their scope visions that they sent him revealed pictures of incredibly powerful creatures, capable of changing the orbits of planets and extinguishing stars! Or at least to easily enslave entire nations, without much concern about being noticed ahead of time. Harry couldn't do that. As he hoped - only for now. So, as for all these "buts" and "for now".
He could afford to pass safely through the "wild" warp without harm to himself: the invisibility cloak, one of the Beacons of this world, perfectly shielded consciousness. The only trouble was, that she did not allow him to peer into the warp properly. If he tried to get into Erised wearing the cloak, he would simply achieve nothing. Of course, he could rely on the mental protection that his mother had given him with her ritual, but it was too unreliable! And so he needed someone who could peer into the Immaterium through the mirror surface of Erised even with the cloak. Someone with the talent of a medium!
"Sybill Trelawney is out of the question," Hermione shook her head when he voiced his reasoning to her. "Not only is she a teacher, but she is also clearly under the protectorate of the headmaster. And she always shies away from you," the girl snorted, mockingly glancing sideways at Harry.
"Yeah, you shouldn't bother her," the boy shook his head. "Flitwick, at least, can be blackmailed with his connections to goblins and the Dark Arts."
"Yes, and he is interested in our cooperation," Potter grinned. "And Trelawney will require too much effort to recruit. But we do have another option, don't we?" He looked at Granger suggestively.
"Yes," she smiled in response. "Someone whose mother once tried to repeat the ritual that your mother performed. Someone who can see the inhabitants of the warp with almost no preparation."
"Luna Lovegood," Harry grinned predatorily at this. "Good. Take care of her. I want Lovegood to be ours by the Christmas holidays!"
Same day, late afternoon. Hogleika shore.
At the edge of the lake, right on the snow, stood a tall figure in a gray robe and a three-piece tweed suit to match. In the pre-sunset twilight, his black tie and matching shoes especially set off the monochromatic attire, giving it a contrast. However, he was no longer as gray and nondescript as this man had seemed to those around him a little earlier in the Shrieking Shack. And this was exactly him: an employee of the Department of Mysteries, who had earlier been present at the "arrest" of Sirius Black in Hogsmeade. The long chestnut hair of the special agent moved slightly in the cool breeze blowing here, on the shore. He was waiting.
It would seem that nothing had changed on the shore of Hoglake, but the man standing by the water suddenly turned his head towards the bare bushes along the shore. "Are you going to hide for long?" he asked the bushes with a small grin. However, as it turned out, he was not addressing the thickets at all. The snow rustled under the bushes and a small tailed creature crawled out, which turned out to be a mangy grey rat. However, almost immediately the rat twitched and began to grow, returning to the appearance of a man.
"M-Mr. Rookwood," Peter Pettigrew said ingratiatingly, wringing his hands, running his eyes from side to side and swallowing every now and then. However, the man in grey almost immediately turned away towards the lake, demonstratively examining the scarlet path of the sunset on the surface of the water and ignoring the fat man.
"Mr. Pettigrew," the one named Rookwood answered dismissively. "You have a problem."
"Not my fault!" the Animagus immediately hastened to interject. "And I didn't say anything - do you hear, nothing! - to Black and his people."
""People," Rookwood winced. "To be honest, the very fact that there are some "people" next to Black should make us - and you - wary. The situation is becoming increasingly complicated, you understand that, right?"
In fact, Augustus Rookwood, an employee of the Department of Mysteries - officially, by the way, considered a Death Eater imprisoned in Azkaban - understood perfectly well that Pettigrew, standing behind him, was not directly to blame for what happened. A chain of coincidences, fate, evil destiny... But, thank Merlin, there was still a chance to correct this "destiny"! Well, really, who could have guessed that Sirius Black knew his former friend's animagus appearance so well that he could even recognize him from a newspaper photograph of the Weasley family! And now the multi-directional, multi-layered and elegant operation that they had been preparing for for over fifteen years was under threat.
"Mind you, I'm not trying to lecture you, Mr. Pettigrew," Rookwood continued with the same disdain. "Although, it would be worth it! Remind me of your instructions about sor— and ordinary photographs?"
"Stay out of the frame," Pettigrew said slightly hoarsely, feverishly adjusting the greasy collar of his jacket. "But, excuse me, it wasn't always possible! The Weasley boy sometimes simply didn't give me a choice - he dragged me everywhere, held me so that I couldn't bite or wriggle away..."
"We understand that perfectly well, Mr. Pettigrew," Rookwood smiled thinly. "And that's the only reason you haven't become food for these guys yet," with these words the Department of Mysteries agent turned to face his interlocutor and nodded upwards, to the tops of the Forbidden Forest firs standing above the lake. There, where figures in tattered black shrouds — the Dementors — were hovering in the gathering darkness.
"But I'm the only one, I'm the only one who suits you!" the Animagus squealed, drawing his head into his shoulders and turning pale. He glanced back at the forest wall several times, as if expecting the guards of Azkaban to actually appear from there. "No one can complete that task!"
"But that's where you're wrong, Mr. Pettigrew," Rookwood smiled predatorily. "Do you really think we don't have backup options? Believe me, there are plenty of them. There are no irreplaceable people."
For a while they were silent, only the labored breathing of the fat man Pettigrew broke the silence. But after about ten seconds the Specialist stopped staring at his interlocutor with a cold gaze and continued:
"So, the complications connected with Black," he said. "We will solve them – you should not worry about them any more. You, Mr. Pettigrew, are starting to carry out the main part of the plan."
"But…" the fat man said in a suddenly hoarse voice. "I'm not ready…"
"Don't worry," the Specialist smiled thinly at this. "We will prepare you. In the meantime…" again an indifferent and contemptuous look at the rat animagus and he takes an ordinary pencil out of his pocket. "For now, here is a portal for you. A safe house in the suburbs of Manchester. Standard conditions: do not leave the house, do not look out the windows. If anything is needed, all communication is through Proteus charms. The agent on site will explain the details."
"And… for how long?" Peter hung his head in resignation at this phrase. It is understandable: so many years almost all the time in the form of a rat, spying on Dumbledore's loyal Weasleys, only occasionally getting out into the Muggle world to rest - and then again. Isolation, secrecy, disguise…
"As long as necessary," Rookwood cut him off. "Remember: as soon as we eliminate the Main Target, you will receive amnesty, freedom and even a reward. You will go wherever you want, you will enjoy life - all that. With full awareness that they had served a good cause," the agent smiled slightly wryly at this phrase. "The Common Good - that's what Dumbledore seems to like to say?" he thought to himself. Of course, the Department of Mysteries had not planned for the survival of this fat little bastard from the very beginning. Before achieving the goal of the operation or after - he was planned to be eliminated along with all the most tainted or odious participants in the process. But let him console himself with hope. Let him think that all these betrayals, blood on his hands and double, and sometimes triple play - all this will someday end happily for him. It is useful when pawns work not only out of fear, but also for the future.
When Pettigrew disappeared into the portal funnel, Rookwood stood by the shore for a couple more minutes and thought. After all, it was good for the Muggles! More precisely - the Muggle analogues of the Department. The secret services of the commoners could manage their world much better than they could. Political technologies, monitoring and surveillance systems, recruiting agents and infiltrating all layers of society - and now you more or less control this very society, protect it from unnecessary shocks and lead it along the desired course*. And there is no risk that another psychopath of extreme power will suddenly appear, who with one snap of his fingers is capable of ruining all your many years of work! Rookwood sighed. And what about a powerful psycho: even without these regularly appearing Dark Lords of various stripes, the wizarding society itself is extremely difficult to control. Only in the last, in many ways blessed twentieth century, they partially succeeded! What is the system of tracking spells on the territory of the Island worth - and even that was stalled. Especially in the territories of pure-blood families. Well, or in Hogwarts. So they had to dodge. For example, send spies to both countries.
Of course, Peter Pettigrew was not a very promising recruit at first glance. But then, in the late seventies, Mr. Pym for some reason decided to recruit a fat boy - and at first Rookwood did not quite understand why. At that time, he himself was spying in the camp of the so-called "Darkness" - as a Death Eater. With the artifact equipment of the Department, it was not difficult to hide your thoughts from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, simulate susceptibility to the Mark's control and other little things - and therefore, Rookwood, who officially spied "the other way around" for the Dark Lord, coped with his task perfectly! They decided not to introduce their agents into the camp of the so-called "Light". They decided to recruit a young man who was already in the Order of the Phoenix. Namely him - Peter Pettigrew.
Then it became clear why Pettigrew. If he had already managed to secretly master animagus at school, then he was no dummy in other areas either. No influential and powerful friends would be able to pull someone who lacked talent for magic to such a level. Pull him up, throw in some materials and potions - and he was almost a full-fledged agent! Add to this his morbid vanity, shaded by the brilliance of his friends, his plain appearance and other complexes - it was no wonder that the recruitment went off with a bang! Involvement in a secret that even Dumbledore and the Dark Lord supposedly didn't know about. Welcome to the ranks of the secret world government, Mr. Pettigrew! Rookwood chuckled. Surely, these were exactly the thoughts - no less - that were spinning in the head of the vain youth when he agreed to work for them. But that wasn't particularly important.
What was important was that all their efforts were going to waste. However, it became clear even before Pettigrew was recruited - the entire Wizarding War was going down the drain for the British wizarding secret services! To put it simply: they were losing. The Dark Lord Voldemort was invincible. There was no way to catch him, no cunning operations or provocations helped - and there were not enough resources! The Department of Mysteries was shrouded in the despair of the doomed: everything they had built up over the course of a century, the entire system was ready to collapse in the confrontation between two powerful wizards - Albus Dumbledore and Thomas Riddle! That's when they clutched at straws. A prophecy. A prediction by Sybill Trelawney, hinting at the one who would destroy the dangerous arch-terrorist - and that's how, without any pompous "lordly" titles, the Department called Riddle. Considering that the established control system had a subsystem for collecting all prophecies on the territory of the state into a single database, the special agents learned about it almost immediately after it was pronounced. And then it was a matter of technique! Take advantage of the enemy's superstition, lure him into a trap - and disembody him.
Of course, the work was done in a filigree manner! First, they planted a ritual on Lily Potter, who was worried about her son. An ancient, evil and bloody protective ritual that she, without hesitation, performed on Harry Potter, thereby condemning herself to death! But at the same time, it was setting a trap for their prey. To activate Agent Pettigrew, turning him over to the Death Eaters with a gift for the Dark Lord - the location of the home of his enemies, the Potters!
And then... And then everything went wrong again. The Potters, as well as He-Who-They-Hunted, were supposed to die. All of them, not just the elders! The ritual Lily had cast did not provide for survivors. But the boy survived. As did the Dark Lord. The latter - in the form of a disembodied spirit, but still... And then there was no time for that: the purges began, searches of pureblood estates, confusion and running around. The operation was frozen, the agents became "sleeping" - including Peter Pettigrew. Although the fat man in the form of a rat continued to supply information from the "Light" camp.
While one thing, while another, the trail of the Main Target was lost. And now, after so many years, the Dark Lord has decided to announce himself again! Rookwood turned around and went deeper into the forest - to the point of safe apparation. He got some fresh air, time to call it a day. Not all the rats in their country - and he is not talking about Pettigrew - had yet been caught and crushed. They, like the legendary Pied Piper of Hamelin, had a lot of work to do in this regard. First, resurrect the main rat. Study it, catch it, lure it into a new trap and destroy it. Now - with a guarantee!
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