January 1994. Teddingale, base of crime boss Shalom
Alastor Moody, breathing heavily and clutching his wounded side with one hand, lay behind the bar of the destroyed club, trying to collect his thoughts. Which, given the loss of blood and the complete surrealism of what was happening, was not particularly easy. Another bout of searing pain cleared his mind for a while, and the retired Auror once again, once again, began to analyze what had happened... What he certainly did not expect from Black's puppets - and what else could you call two either mercenary Squibs or confused Muggles - was that one of them would jump out of hiding and rush at the three Order members with a roar. After all, Alastor had personally trained Sirius in his time: he couldn't have gone so crazy in Azkaban that, having forgotten all about science, he sent one of his accomplices into a frontal attack? He knew that such diversionary maneuvers wouldn't work with Moody! And they didn't work, despite the element of surprise: two beams of spells crashed into the man rushing towards them and... And nothing happened. And this was what came as a complete surprise to the old Auror! Of course, neither his partners, nor especially himself, were newbies, and therefore could have fought back in any situation... but not when magic simply ceases to have any effect on the target! The moment of confusion of the wizards at the moment when their main weapon - magic - suddenly did not work, was enough for the strange squib-muggle to close the distance and lower his weapon. Which turned out to be a strangely shaped pick made of some metal. However, the victim did not care what metal the enemy's weapon was made of: one of Moody's partners collapsed to the floor, splashing pieces of skull and brains around him.
To give Alastor credit, he managed to retreat. Purely on reflexes, almost without the participation of the brain - because this organ was disabled by the impossibility of what was happening. What was happening, what to do?! He simply did not have even a second to analyze and understand the answers to these questions. However, very soon Moody was still able to come to his senses and start thinking with his head. Right next to him, a man was swinging a bronze club, on whom magic simply did not work! After the second partner of the one-eyed Auror fell with a scream and a torn chest, there were no more doubts about the correctness of the retreat. Moreover, the comrades of this maniac had already come to their senses, so bullets whistled and beams of spells sparkled above the retiree's head.
Alastor, in the end, already in a somersault, tried to get the creepy squib with a couple more killer curses - and again zero effect! The man with the pick only growled something madly, trying to free his weapon, which was stuck in the body of the last killed. Only, as it seemed to him, something flashed crimson in the area of the berserker's neck, but the Auror could have imagined it. It was possible, of course, to assume that this was either a squib, or maybe the muggle had some kind of magical shields that absorbed spells. But a dozen curses in a row? And not just ordinary ones, like at the very beginning, but downright illegal ones, and even a couple of Dark ones? That can't happen. Because it can't happen, ever!
At the very last moment, during the very same somersault that Moody made to get out of the line of fire, moving from the corridor into the nightclub, he was hit simultaneously by Black's cutting spell and a bullet from his second hanger-on - fortunately, both hits were tangential. As a result: he was wounded, two of his comrades died. The enemy's losses were zero. But everything should have gone exactly the opposite way! How did everything turn upside down in a matter of seconds?!
And so he sat, hiding behind the bar and trying to stop the bleeding from the wound in his side from the curse of fucking Sirius, motherfucker Black - it was clearly not an ordinary Seko, otherwise it would have succumbed to medical charms. The bullet hit his arm, fortunately his left one, which is why his mobility was not affected as much as it could have been. At least this particular wound was the most ordinary one, and the hemostatic and painkilling potions he swallowed in time allowed him to retain at least some of his combat capability. But "some of his combat capability" was clearly not enough here.
Almost a minute passed. And then at some point the hair on Moody's head stirred: someone entered the club. And something told the old Auror that he knew, Who is it! Something was scraping along the floor, as if a metal club was being dragged along it. Although why "as if"? Glancing over the counter, Moody was convinced: a creepy squib in a blood-spattered Muggle army unloading vest was slowly approaching the bar, dragging his weapon along the floor behind him - the same bronze pick with which he had recently cut open two experienced fighters of the Order of the Phoenix, like sprats.
Think, Alastor, think! Apparating in such a state? Not funny. This should have been done earlier. So - a portal. These thoughts took him less than a second, and his hands were already rummaging through his pockets, taking out the portal. Moody sighed. Now there were only a couple of utter trifles left: to survive for five minutes before the portal was activated, and at the same time to escape from the influence of the strange influence of this Muggle squib. Teleporting dangerously close to such an anomaly - no fool. The plan is desperate and, most likely, completely hopeless. But Mad Eye is not used to giving up even in such seemingly hopeless situations!
Having cast a disillusionment spell on himself - well, at least it turned out that he could cast something on himself - he crawled to the other side of the counter, hoping to emerge from hiding far enough away from the approaching enemy. Alastor, despite the absence of a leg and wounds that caused serious pain, somehow managed to do it silently. Fortunately, the bar had not been destroyed like the rest of the premises, and there were no expected shards of glass or glasses lying on the floor. But it did not help him. When Moody had already crawled to the end of the bar, the same bastard with a bronze pick calmly came out from behind it. And now, when they were separated by no more than half a meter, Alastor was finally able to examine him in more detail. Or rather, his neck. Which was lumpy and oozing ichor, breaking through the skin with creepy-looking appendages, as if a huge spiky caterpillar was wriggling under it, trying to get out! And the eyes. The eyes of the creepy squib were burning with real hellfire!
The retired Auror had enough time to understand: it was useless. It was all useless: he would not have time to crawl away, much less use the portal! At least not in a way that would work as it should... Here Moody's scarred face twisted into a mad grin. But did he need it - "as it should"? Unstable portals sometimes really like to explode in the hands of careless wizards - of course, if these are not standard Ministry-approved stamps made by an ordinary, albeit powerful "Portus". And his portal was not one of those...
Die, scum! - Alastor wheezed right in the face of his opponent, who, with a brutal expression on his face, raised his pick above his head, intending to finish off the former Auror. He wheezed - and squeezed the portal with all his might! A loud, wet bang was heard in the club hall…
February 1994. Hogwarts.
Hermione carefully closed the door behind her, entering the room at the top of one of the Hogwarts towers, in the Gryffindor wing. Harry had stopped wandering around the castle for some time now, preferring to stay in the vicinity of the faculty common room. Ever since Blargolag had dealt his vile blow. As she had expected, he was right here: sprawled in a chair, with his long hair carelessly tucked behind his ears and an absent look in his emerald-green eyes. He was looking at the old desk in front of him, on which a chessboard was laid out. Interestingly, the wizarding chess, which he played alone, remained deathly silent. Although usually, if a player delayed a move, they would begin to vied with each other to give advice, to egg him on, and if the owner did not show any particular willpower, even to swear. This trick didn't work with Harry: almost from the first days that he was given this set, he made it clear to the enchanted figures that he was not to be trifled with. And they understood. That's why they were in no hurry to advise or, even more so, to express displeasure.
"Still playing alone?" the girl asked rhetorically. Harry didn't even glance in her direction, but Hermione knew: he had paid attention to her. He was simply too busy with other thoughts, and with the game too. "Are you still acting defensively?" she asked after him. And indeed: the white figures, for whom Potter played, lined up in a defensive order, fighting off the attacks of the black ones, who acted independently, according to the spells embedded in the set. And naturally, this led to slow but inevitable losses on his part, although Hermione had no doubt that the Boy Who Lived would be able to defeat the soulless thing even like that, playfully. At any moment. If he wanted to. Harry hadn't risked playing with people in the last month.
"I already told you," the boy finally condescended to answer, raising his gaze, in which an anxious crimson gleam flashed for a moment. "I need to think. And it's better to think in a defensive game..." Hermione only pursed her lips and glanced at Harry's left arm, currently covered by the sleeve of his robe. She knew perfectly well what was going on there, under that very sleeve. And who set her friend in such a melancholic mood!
You stopped experimenting, - Hermione sat down opposite Potter. - The elves are worried, asking when the "Great Harry Potter, sir" will return - she deliberately said the last phrase in a squeaky voice, parodying the house elves. The boy only winced at this. - The centaurs, led by Bane, caught a whole company of Muggle tourists and ... But you are not too interested in this now, are you? - she suddenly narrowed her eyes and hissed.
Herm ... - Harry winced again in annoyance. - I'm fine. I'm just resting a little ...
Trying to hide from problems and hiding in the far corners of Hogwarts? - she clarified sarcastically. - Afraid to stick your head out further than the Gryffindor wing? You understand that this will not save you from a second attack by Blargolag!
Harry sighed and leaned his head on the palm of his right, healthy hand. Of course, they were both healthy in his mind, but after what had started happening to him lately, Hermione did not consider the Nurgle influence to be something normal. Although, she had not thought so before. Harry Potter's left limb periodically took on its true form: covered in scabs and ulcers of rottenness, dotted with small buboes and dotted with dark veins. This was the hand that had accepted the Gifts of Nurgle. And only Chaos One knew how deeply this corruption had spread into the rest of the body!
Herm, did it seem to me, or are you really starting to doubt my ability to maneuver between the different currents of Chaos? - her friend's ironic voice suddenly sounded. Which made Hermione look at Harry in amazement and... ran into a mocking look in his green eyes.
I... - she couldn't find what to answer, Granger.
I know what it looks like, - Harry Potter winced, leaning back in his chair. - As if I got scared, fell silent and don't dare to do anything again. Despite how many cases I managed to start, how many intelligent people I tied to these cases... But tell me: have the Threads of Fate been restored yet?
Ahem! No, - the girl cleared her throat before answering. - It's still hard to keep the forecasts even together with Smarty. The blow was really...
Strong? - here Harry grinned. - That's true. A real God struck us, Hermione! - he straightened up sharply and said crisply. Which made Granger flinch for a moment. "My two companions are still coming to their senses," he meant the Khornite and the Slaaneshite, as she understood. "The Smart One is busy planning his next steps and experimenting with that same Fate. That leaves," here he finally raised his previously hidden left hand to his eyes and sniffed the air over the flesh riddled with ulcers, "only Kind. Who is currently keeping me company." At the last words, he plopped down on the chair again and closed his eyes.
They were silent for a while. Potter was the first to break the silence again: "But I have you," he grinned. "I'd rather not stick my neck out until the summer: it's not safe, and there's no point. But you can help me out."
"Your fame?" — referring to the fame of the Boy Who Lived in the Wizarding World and the reputation of a rather rowdy student at Hogwarts, Hermione asked.
— Exactly, — Harry nodded in response. — Now the Aurors have finally gotten distracted from tracking Sirius Black. And they can pay attention to the unhealthy stirrings among the inhumans and other... unreliable ones. Why do we need such difficulties?
— Something large-scale should happen in the summer, — Hermione said, pursing her lips in displeasure. She did not like the obvious instability in the warp, which did not allow her to clearly foresee the near future. But globally, in general terms, something was already visible. For example, general events that emerged in broad strokes from the surrounding chaos. — And in the coming school year there will be some major event... right here, at Hogwarts, — she clarified, rubbing her temples.
"You see how clever you are, Hermione," Potter smiled softly at her, causing the girl to involuntarily lower her gaze and blush. Although she could have sworn that her friend had definitely not used the Love Gaze! "You yourself can see the light and understand that now is not the best time to stick your neck out and get into trouble. The cults of house elves and centaurs act independently, you just need to make sure they don't go too far." Muggles… will take care of themselves, - he grinned. - I have faith in the talents of Megan and Reverend Andy.
And Lovegood? - Hermione shook her head. - Don't forget: you opened her mind to the warp and the Brainy! And the prisoner of Erised too, - she leaned forward. - We can't leave her to her fate!
Well, you're her best friend, aren't you? - Potter raised an eyebrow. - You talk to her all the time, encourage her, help with the… nargles, - here he grinned nastily. - So keep helping.
They both knew what kind of "nargles" they were. The Ravenclaw girls who stole things from the strange "crazy" and hid them. Ever since their leader Cho Chang ran into a basilisk last year and almost died, they've calmed down a bit. But, in the new year, they slowly returned to their favorite toy.
Teach them a lesson? - Hermione asked herself. - Perhaps. I even have a couple of ideas!
But again: so that Snape and Tonks and especially Dumbledore do not suspect anything, - Harry corrected her, causing a heavy sigh.
Of course, I understood that everything is fine with you, but... But what a bore you have become under the influence of your Nurgle friends! - she hissed and, turning on her heels, left the room, leaving Harry to continue thoughtfully sorting through the figures on the board.
He smirked at the back of the girl who ran away. The influence of the Smart One, and through him - Tzeentch, was increasingly felt in Hermione. And her impatience coupled with the thirst for action were understandable: the followers of the Architect of Fates never sit still, constantly being on the move, in the process of the next intrigues and conspiracies, creating coalitions, ruining other people's plans and building their own. But this was more likely explained by the fact that Granger was a relatively new follower of the Great Schemer, a neophyte who had barely gotten a taste of Power, who could not sit still and wanted to act.
"That you're fine, but... But what a bore you've become under the influence of your Nurglite friends!" she hissed and, turning on her heels, walked out of the room, leaving Harry to continue thoughtfully sorting through the pieces on the board. He grinned at the back of the girl who had run away. The influence of the Smart Guy, and through him, Tzeentch, was increasingly felt in Hermione. And her impatience, coupled with a thirst for action, was understandable: the followers of the Architect of Fates never sit still, constantly being on the move, in the process of yet another intrigue and conspiracies, creating coalitions, ruining other people's plans and building their own. But this was more likely explained by the fact that Granger was a relatively new follower of the Great Schemer, a neophyte who had barely gotten a taste of Power, who could not sit still and wanted to act.
"She's hot and young ," the Smart Guy's voice chuckled in his head, brushing aside the discontented gurgle of the Kind One. "She has yet to learn that sometimes His Majesty the Manipulator only needs to sit quietly by the river for an enemy's corpse to float by... Although more often than not, it's just an illusion."
"Sometimes you just need to sit and sort yourself out ," the Nurglite countered, dissatisfied with such a rude interference in Harry's mind, which had been at his complete disposal for so long. "Calmness, silence, leisurely contemplation"...
"Contemplation is good when you're waiting for something ," the Tzeentch chuckled. "When you've done the preparatory work beforehand, so that you can now just watch its result. But at this particular moment, he has a completely different goal - safety."
Harry had already rounded off the game by then: against the primitive game patterns built into standard chess pieces, he could win at any moment. He answered the voices in his head only when he slipped out into the corridor: "So in my case, contemplation means that we are simply lying low?"
"Temporarily, only temporarily!" the Smarty grinned again. "We have a lot of plans, a lot of ideas and unfinished projects - but for a while they can all simmer in their own juice. At least until the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix calm down a little after Black's disappearance and until they restore order among the Muggles."
The demon of Tzeentch mentioned order in the Muggle world for a reason: in the world of mundane things were really going on! According to Hermione's story, and his own observations in Teddingale, small towns even in the suburbs of London were turning into hotbeds of crime and becoming almost battlefields between unruly gangs and servants of the law.
"I don't think anything like this has happened anywhere else outside of our cozy South Helens ," boomed Kindly, as they were already walking along the corridor towards the Great Hall - it was just about lunchtime. "Gang showdowns are a matter of life. But only in this town did they get real weapons and motivation.
" "Oh, yeah!" chuckled Smarty. "Several Chaos cults at once, maturing on the fertile soil of a criminal war. It's been a while since I've had such a trump card start!"
"And what were they?" — Harry chuckled at this, sitting down at the half-empty Gryffindor table — lunch had just begun, and on weekends the students of the lion faculty were not particularly in a hurry to have common meals.
"Lone wolfs, mostly. Downtrodden monastery librarians who accidentally found a book of magic," — as if diving into memories, the Smarty began to list. "Unrecognized geniuses trying to understand the unknowable. Well, and unregistered psykers persecuted by everyone. The latter, by the way, were the most difficult.
" "Really?" — Harry was even half-heartedly surprised, picking at the vegetables. "I thought that you shouldn't have any problems with psykers — Tzeentch favors them.
" "On the one hand, yes, on the other — not at all!" — the Tzeentch answered vaguely in his usual manner. "The Architect of Fates patronizes magic and magicians, but this is perhaps one of the hardest groups of the population to interact with in any Universe, heh-heh ," he laughed at his own definition. "Like other unrecognized geniuses and geniuses in general. Control them? Order them? Oh, that would be extremely self-confident, even for a demon of the Herald of the Gods level ," he chuckled again. "Will you continue the chain yourself?"
"Powerful mortals, capable of changing reality and warping the warp with the power of their minds - they are not so easy to lasso, right?" the boy suggested.
"Right. And wrong at the same time, " the Smart Guy "nodded" favorably. "Small fry, downtrodden and therefore dreaming of just getting a little lift - that's simple and boring at the same time, " he clearly "grimaced" here. "Beckon them with your finger - and they are yours. You'll spend more time on conspiracy. But someone stronger, oh-oh..."
Harry nodded thoughtfully at this. The Smart One had already shown him visions of truly powerful people whom Tzeentch had lured into his nets. And they weren't necessarily even psykers - there were also some very interesting specimens! Like a particularly ardent Confessor in the faith, completely absorbed in the eradication of heretics in some war-torn space Sector. Or a puritanical Inquisitor who not only never came close to sorcery - he burned any hint of psykerism a mile away! How the Smart One and his master managed to seduce even such stubborn fanatics to the path of Change, Harry didn't know - the demon only showed the images of his victims "before" and "after". And the very fact of the fall of such people was enough to impress upon the scale of the work done! So yes. Here, in a world closed off from the outer warp, where a bunch of quasi-psykers hide from ordinary people behind a barrier of spells, the four demons had their best time.
"Potter," a familiar voice sounded overhead. Harry silently counted to three to calm his heart a little, and only then turned around. To look with a smile into the black eyes of the Potions teacher, Severus Snape, who had just approached the Gryffindor table.
"You haven't shown up for the chess club meeting… five times in a row," the Potions Master narrowed his eyes. "Of course, it's none of my business, Potter," his voice became more sarcastic, "but I remind you that in a month we have a flight to Spain, for a tournament. And if you're not prepared…"
Harry barely listened to him. He was absorbed by a sight that was astonishing in its wrongness. The sight of a bright blue shirt visible from under the unbuttoned collar of the teacher's black frock coat. Always buttoned up, but not now! And an item of clothing other than the classic "black on top, snow-white shirt underneath" worn by the gloomy teacher… Harry looked respectfully after Severus Snape, who was moving away from him. It was obvious that someone's personal life had clearly improved.
A mournful sigh was heard on the edge of consciousness. The sweet tooth could not yet fully communicate, since he was still very weak. But the fact that someone was doing well on the personal front, while they were literally not doing well, even in this state drove him into melancholy. But Harry himself, surprisingly, cheered up.
A lull? Boredom? Of course, if you judge by the standards of his "roommates" and their gigantic and rich experience - yes, the life of a teenager is quite boring. But not for the teenager himself, right? Potter was still looking at the professor's retreating back and thinking that it would be nice to live the most ordinary life of an ordinary schoolboy for a change. Wasn't this what he had dreamed of when he wanted to escape the boring everyday life at the Dursleys'? And hadn't he had the same thought when he had just met the four "spirit-advisers"? Well, he would live a little. Moreover, the realization that soon his numerous opponents would relax again, and he would be able to strike a new, sudden blow - brought delight! For this, it was worth being an ordinary schoolboy. For this, it was worth waiting.
Hey, Harry! - Ron Weasley's voice was heard very close. - We've finally found you! Professor Snape has been practically spraying poison for the last two weeks, and it's like you're hiding on purpose!
Well, Potter, - Malfoy, standing next to him, echoed him in his usual drawling manner. - Your godfather doesn't like you much anyway - and it's like you're asking for it! The last two years, though, you've had some tough competition in terms of annoying him, - the blond chuckled.
Harry only laughed cheerfully at this. He knew who Draco was talking about: the DADA teachers of the past and present years. Lockhart annoyed everyone, in principle, except for his empty-headed fans - that was nothing new. And he especially annoyed a man of action like Snape. But what Remus Lupin had done to the Potions professor so much was another question. Which, however, did not interest the boy much. Maybe Professor Snape was allergic to wolf fur?
He looked around the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling, across which clouds ran, floating candles... and laughed again. He was surrounded by a wonderful world, which he had only just begun to fully understand. He had friends nearby, and in his hands he was accumulating power that even Great Wizards like Dumbledore could envy in the long run! Despite the difficulties that lay ahead of him and powerful enemies, Harry Potter was happy.
To sit quietly for a couple of months? No problem! At least he would prepare for the chess tournament, regain his strength, rewrite the Forecasts... And then there would be summer and its newborn cults. And also strange, unknown and very interesting events that were ready to happen. Dangerous, exciting... Isn't that life?
April 1994. A town somewhere in Wiltshire.
Severus noted that the house was not protected by any strong charms other than the standard Muggle-repelling ones. At first he chuckled in displeasure, but then he pulled himself together: not all wizards had to be as crazy and paranoid as he was. Moreover, as a professional potion maker, the design of the little house suited him perfectly. By "design," he meant the arrangement of the dwelling with the expectation of professional potion-making in the conditions of Muggle neighborhood. There were no complaints here: a specially designed exhaust hood that allowed him to imitate the exhaust pipes of muggles, several separate sheds in the yard of the cottage, and a couple more factors. Once he even raised an eyebrow in surprise: an imported technomagical filtration system was perched against the side wall of the house. In the old days, it was only possible to get one for an absolutely exorbitant price - they were produced only in the territory of the former USSR, whose magicians were quite skilled in combining magic and technology. Now, after numerous customs concessions due first to the large-scale thaw, and then to the collapse of the Union, it has become noticeably easier to acquire such equipment. But even so, Severus himself could not afford something like that. The one Tonks brought him to...
However, all of Snape's thoughts about the design of the house evaporated when they unceremoniously entered the hallway and Tonks joyfully shouted:
Mom, Dad! I'm home!
"Mom?" - feverishly pounded in Severus's head. "Dad?!"
A daughter! - a man in his forties, with dark short hair and in an ordinary Muggle house suit, joyfully exclaimed who came out to meet them. - She's finally here! And this? ... - here he turned his gaze to Snape.
This? — Tonks was a little embarrassed, taking the dumbfounded Severus by the arm. — Well, this is my…
— Dora! — a loud voice was heard from the depths of the house, and Bellatrix Lestrange entered the hallway.
"Calm down!" — only with a titanic effort of will did Snape suppress the desire to roll to the side, snatching his wand. "This is Tonks's mother. Andromeda. Bellatrix's sister. The real Bella in Azkaban. The sisters are just very similar…" However, he was so discouraged by such a treacherous betrayal of Tonks, as a sudden acquaintance with her parents, that the problem of the similarity of the Black sisters did not bother him much.
— Well, why are you frozen on the threshold? — Andromeda smiled slightly slyly. — Please come to the table! Dora has written us so much about you, but I would still like to hear it all first-hand...
"Come on, Severus, I'll introduce you to a great potion maker," Snape irritably replayed the conversation with Tonks. "She taught me everything, thanks to her I was accepted into the Aurors... And she didn't lie a word, the intolerable girl!"
Severus thought with a mixture of indignation and admiration, while Nymphadora's parents sat them down at the table and had the usual introductory conversation. As is customary in England - about the weather, London traffic jams and tea varieties. Outwardly, Snape was politeness itself - after all, despite his difficult character, life forced him to learn acting like nothing else! But in his head, he was playing out one scenario after another of the terrible revenge of his insidious passion.
Dinner passed in a blur: they ate, talked, Severus even managed to joke - and in such a way that his interlocutors even laughed. How he ended up in Edward's office - it seemed that was how Nymphadora's father introduced himself - with a cigar in one hand and a glass of Firewhiskey in the other, he did not remember at all.
You know, Severus, - here Snape vaguely remembered that somewhere in the middle of dinner he and Edward decided to call each other simply by their first names, - I never thought that my daughter would start building some kind of serious relationship so early ... you have a serious relationship, right? - Tonks suddenly and menacingly clarified, as it seemed to him.
Quite serious, - Snape answered cautiously. What was he hinting at?
Ahem! - Tonks chuckled and sipped from his glass. - Girls quite often choose men who are older than them as their partners - it's normal. And I wouldn't say that I don't know you — I've heard about you, including from Headmaster Dumbledore. I wouldn't say that I'm so happy with her choice… but I wouldn't say that it's wrong either… — Tonks began to confuse her words until she finally fell silent.
"He said 'wouldn't have said' three times," Snape laughed to himself for some reason. Anything but the topic of their conversation came into his head. If only Mordred's Tonks had warned him where and why they are going, then... Although then he would not go anywhere - this is exactly the guess that suddenly popped into Snape's head. He would resist with hands and feet, but he would not go! Well, or he would delay this trip until the last minute. And Dora had calculated this... "Hufflepuff clearly does not deserve her," - for some reason Severus became even more cheerful. Apparently, the firewhiskey warmed him up much more than he could have imagined. "How did she persuade the Sorting Hat to send her to the badgers and not to the snakes, with such talents for intrigue?! Or do all women become a little Slytherins in the matter of lassoing men?"
Mister To... Edward, - Snape corrected himself, putting his glass aside. He had enough alcohol for today. - I can assure you that my intentions are most serious and...
Then followed the usual, as it seemed to him, noodles on the ears that newly-made grooms hang on their ears when they first meet their father. But Tonks seemed to be waiting for exactly this, because he reacted with deliberate joy and even shook Severus' hand, calling him "son" in a surge of emotion.
"Well, at least not "my boy" - and thank you for that!" Severus gritted his teeth, following Edward back into the living room to the waiting ladies. At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, the Potions Master noticed the elder Tonks's antics, as if he was giving some drunkenly joyful signals to his wife. Which made her even more welcoming and friendly to the guest. Which made the guest's own cheekbones almost crack - they were so tightly clenched.
The most annoying thing, although this annoyance will not come immediately and will rather be fleeting, is that during these "socially significant group movements for people" - this is how the Sorting Hat once characterized such rituals when Snape got her to talk - he never did what he expected when Tonks told him where they were going. That is, he did not talk to her mother about potions. However, at that moment he somehow forgot about them.
As soon as they left the Tonks' house and walked a little, Snape grabbed Nymphadora by the elbow and, dragging her into the nearest gateway, apparated to Spider's End.
Severus, what?! ... - Tonks tried to object, but he did not give her a chance to continue:
Silencio, - the Potions Master hissed vengefully, shutting Tonks's mouth with a spell and pushing her into a chair near the bed. For some time now - their bed. The girl looked at him like a rabbit at a boa constrictor, her head pulled into her shoulders.
"Potion maker, you said," Snape sang or hissed through his teeth as he slowly leaned over her, causing Tonks to hiccup in fright several times. "I'll introduce you to an excellent specialist, you'll have something to talk about, you said," he continued.
Tonks tried to answer, but for obvious reasons she couldn't — the mute spell was still in effect. Her hand, which reflexively reached for her wand, was stopped by a clear: "Expelliarmus!" Tonks's wand migrated to Severus's hand, and the girl herself found herself pressed even more firmly into the chair.
"You know, I'm not going to lecture you on mutual trust now," Snape said thoughtfully, twirling the other man's wand in his palm. "Especially since the prank, as they say, was a great success!" — He said this phrase with distinct venom. — The only thing that annoyed me — and has always annoyed me, I must say! — he hissed after him. — Well, I've always been irritated by the disruption of my plans. Although no," here he straightened up, towering over the girl, who was sitting, neither alive nor dead, like a black statue. — You didn't disrupt the plans. I just wanted to do it a little… more gently. More thoroughly, less painfully, — he sang almost affectionately. — But, apparently, we'll have to force the issue a little…
Tonks watched in horror as Severus — her Severus! — looked her straight in the eyes, slowly rolling up his sleeves, revealing the Dark Mark on his left forearm. What was he planning?! "A Death Eater will always be a Death Eater," one of the favorite sayings of the recently missing Alastor Moody inopportunely surfaced. "Dark magic is such that if a claw gets stuck, the whole bird is lost..."
When Snape began to make some deliberately slow passes with his wand over her, Tonks could not resist and closed her eyes. Through her eyelids she saw a flash of a spell!...
And nothing happened. She opened one eye. Then she closed it again and shook her head, and only after that did she open both eyes wide. And she stared blankly at the velvet box hanging in the air right in front of her. Open. With a gold ring with a ruby resting in it.
"Er... Eh?!" was all she could say, blinking her eyes.
And Snape, extremely pleased with the effect he had produced, casually got down on one knee and asked:
"Is that all you have to say while I'm proposing to you?" he raised an eyebrow in his signature gesture. But seeing that Tonks could only gape and widen her eyes, he sighed tiredly and said: "I'll put it more simply: Nymphadora Tonks, will you marry me?"
Tonks stared at him for a few seconds, then, closing her mouth and taking a deep breath, tried to protest:
Oh, you're impudent, spiteful, treacherous!...
Need I remind you how you set me up not more than a couple of hours ago? - Snape narrowed his eyes in response, causing the girl to stop.
So what?
Yes! - she blurted out. - Of course I agree! Fool! Now kiss me, otherwise I'll grow fangs in my nervousness and bite something off of you!
Snape smiled maliciously and followed her instructions. They had the whole night to discuss their "disagreements".
Spring 1994. Rome, Vatican.
"The British Isles are outside our jurisdiction, Fra Felipe, and you know it," said a figure in the scarlet robe of a cardinal, facing an open lancet window. The scene was taking place in a dimly lit salon in one of the palaces belonging to the Papal Curia. No one could overhear or lip-read what was said within these walls: the Vatican security service did not eat its bread for nothing. However, the meeting was unofficial. More likely, Cardinal Giacomo Sforza was receiving an old friend in between his numerous official and spiritual duties. At least, if any casual observer, capable of penetrating the many layers of security, were to witness the meeting, it must have looked that way. It must have.
"The damned Anglican heretics have addressed the Devil himself! Again!" — Meanwhile, the one the cardinal called Fra Felipe, a man of about fifty dressed in a simple priestly cassock, hissed furiously. — We have lost the Island, we have lost the New World, we do not control the damned sorcerers on half the globe! We only watch and gnash our teeth every time these spawn of Satan once again anger the Lord with their filthy black magic!...
— Felipe, — the cardinal winced, forcing the scandalous priest to shut up. — Should I remind you of our Treaty with the English kings and all Protestants? —
"Any Armada is victorious," Fra Felipe quoted, gritting his teeth and bowing his head.
— I see you remember, — Cardinal Sforza turned back to the window. — The Virgin Queen laid the foundation for what was later called the Statute of Secrecy. Wizards don't stick their heads out into the world of ordinary people - we don't touch wizards. Especially, - he emphasized the word, - on Protestant territory.
But signs!... - Fra Felipe began again, but was interrupted.
Enough! - the old cardinal shook his head. - Signs, omens, ancient texts - are you really trying to use the same black magic that you hate so much, Felipe? To punish innocent people? To fit the evidence to the accusation you made up? Like your ancestor?
No... Your Eminence, - the priest squeezed out of himself.
Felipe, - Giacomo Sforza continued more gently. - The British government, including their magical secret services, are quite capable of dealing with any threat. And if this threat tries to get onto the mainland, - here the cardinal smiled slightly, as if not believing in such a probability, - we have something to meet them with. After all, after the madness of Grindelwald and Hitler, we learned to prevent such incidents.
This is not just the usual darkness, Giacomo, which these depraved sorcerers indulge in under the cover of their damned Statute, - Fra Felipe tried again to reach his old friend. - How can you not understand?! This is an ancient, chthonic Darkness! Like in the days of the decline of Rome, like in the times of the Reconquista!...
Enough! - the cardinal interrupted his interlocutor again, finally turning away from the window. - As I thought: you are again trying to pass off your fears as the truth, speculation as evidence. But this is not the time, not the century, Felipe! The times of the unconditional power of the Church and the fires of the Inquisition are over! We will not meddle in British politics, especially in such a delicate matter as the life of the magical community!, - he snapped. - And so such a tangle of intrigues and confrontations is curling up in Europe and the world that my head is spinning... - he sighed. — The collapse of the Union was the surprise that everyone seemed to have been waiting for and seeking — but in the end, along with the elimination of the red threat, we received many smaller threats... and more painful ones. Should we meddle in the affairs of the English any more? — he shook his head wearily. — Dismiss me. Let the heretics sort out their own shit.
Having already returned to a small rented apartment in Rome outside the Vatican — Fra Felipe did not want to enjoy the hospitality of the Holy See, and paid for his own lodging — the priest stood in the middle of the room for a while and clenched his fists. Then he exhaled sharply and called out quietly:
— Benito.
A figure in a long robe that could be mistaken for a cassock emerged from the shadows. But any inhabitant of the magical world would recognize it as a classic wizard's robe. The man's head was hidden by a hood.
— Padre Felipe? — the man called Benito bowed questioningly.
— The Vatican will not help us, — the priest said in a dull voice. — These arrogant politicians are too preoccupied with the redivision of the world pie to fulfill their direct duties. That is, to bring Light to the flock and eradicate Darkness! So we will have to get down to business ourselves.
— Are we going to the Island? — Benito tilted his head slightly to the side.
— Yes. Warn all of ours, — Felipe nodded in response. — Announce... yes, announce to all our parishes and underground cells — the Holy Inquisition is being revived! And we will end the Darkness, if I were not Felipe Torquemada!
END OF PART THREE
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