Summer 1994. London, Ministry of Magic.
"Snape?" A surprised exclamation was heard next to them, and Severus, having counted to three, turned with a sigh. "McLaggen," he said evenly, looking at a short, puffy man with an extensive bald spot—Baxter McLaggen, his classmate from Hogwarts. Tonks, who was walking arm in arm with Snape, looked at the man they had met with curiosity and nodded affably.
"Well, officer," McLaggen, having noticed the ceremonial Auror robe on the girl, came to his senses a little and smiled greasily, "have you finally caught this Death Eater? Are you taking him to trial?" On Baxter's broad face, arrogant triumph and some kind of vulgar playfulness were mixed in a strange cocktail—he was clearly trying to show off in front of the pretty Auror girl.
Severus chuckled to himself: McLaggen, back in school, considered himself almost a sex symbol of the entire Hogwarts and sincerely believed that no woman could resist him! For which, by the way, he was beaten more than once or twice by the same Marauders in senior years—his "irresistible gallantry" and "daring assertiveness," as he called it himself, were most often expressed in banal and rude harassment. And this was, perhaps, that vanishingly rare case when Snape's sympathies were completely sincerely on the side of Potter's gang!
By the way, Baxter's eldest son, who graduated from Hogwarts a year ago, was an exact copy of his father. He behaved in exactly the same way, like a brute, ran into a scolding from his classmates and endless detentions from the teachers. Especially Snape! For which daddy bombarded Dumbledore with abusive letters about how "a nasty Death Eater was picking on a nice boy." Truly, an uneducable family.
Snape, as a person who studied and worked at Hogwarts, had the opportunity to observe many schoolchildren—and did not remember other people as vile and scandalous as the McLaggens! And therefore he said the following phrase with special pleasure, without taking his eyes off Baxter's face: "It was nice to see you, McLaggen, and I would be happy to chat, but, unfortunately, we are in a hurry," he smiled thinly. "Tonks, the marriage registry is open until two in the afternoon, so we should hurry."
"Oh! And indeed," the girl perked up. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. McLaggen!" she beamed in turn at Baxter, whose face was rapidly stretching into a completely indescribable expression. His mouth opened involuntarily, but he didn't have time to say anything: Tonks was already pulling her fiancé further, into the depths of the Ministry, towards the Department of Marriage Registration and Annulment.
"You're positively glowing!" Tonks playfully poked her fiancé in the side with her elbow. "You know, at school, many people used to whisper that you got a kick out of humiliating people. And yes: I categorically denied that opinion!" she declared importantly. Snape chuckled. "But now I'm a little hesitant…"
"You mean how I put McLaggen in his place?" Severus said quietly. "Oh, believe me, he deserved it. If what I heard about that asshole is true, then it's the least I could do for all the Muggle and half-blood girls he's ever hit on or even... although there's no proof of that last one," he winced. "So the least I can do for now is put Baxter and his vile offspring in their place!"
"Well, the youngest McLaggen can still be re-educated... I guess," Tonks muttered uncertainly.
"Believe me, Nymphadora," Snape emphasized the girl's name with sadistic pleasure, immediately receiving a jab in the rib. And not paying attention to it. He had already developed a habit. "Junior McLaggen will now enter the fifth year. Four years behind him—and I watched him in each of them. There is no and will not be any difference from his asshole dad and older asshole brother."
"Severus..." Tonks said strangely quietly. "Are you swearing? What a joke!" she snickered into her fist. Snape coughed embarrassedly, and then they walked in silence. But the parade of surprised exclamations was only beginning.
"Snape?!" exclaimed a slender black witch in a beautiful blue dress, who met them in the reception area of the marriage department. "Tonks?!" "Alicia Johnson," Severus said in an even voice. A cheerful thought flashed through his mind that the visit to the wizarding registry office would smoothly flow into a meeting with the students' parents. "I'm glad to see you too. I see you're acquainted with Tonks."
"What?" Johnson didn't immediately freeze in surprise. "Of course I'm acquainted with her! We often saw each other… at work," she hesitated slightly. Severus smiled wryly: he knew perfectly well that Johnson was one of the Order of the Phoenix's sympathizers, one of its informants. And therefore, most likely, they had contact with Tonks by no means through official channels. Of course, Alicia didn't know that Snape himself also worked for the Order. "What are YOU doing here?!"
"I'm not working today!" Tonks answered instead of Snape, smiling cheerfully. And, taking him by the elbow, she finished off the stunned woman completely: "We came to register our relationship!"
"Ahem!" Alicia Johnson choked. "I... somewhat... How are you?..." the woman was unable to give birth to anything right away.
"It's simple, Johnson," Severus said with his trademark sarcasm. "This is the Department of Registration and Annulment of Marriages, right? Here is Tonks, exactly as abbreviated R.A.B., wants to officially become my wife."
"Hey! It sounds like I'm selling myself to be your house elf!" the metamorph was indignant at this. "But the basement is so clean now..." Snape rolled his eyes mockingly, referring to the time Tonks used his lab and left a complete mess behind. After which he made the girl scrub the entire basement, as if she had gotten detention again, like at school.
Alicia Johnson had already come to her senses a little, watching their humorous and almost familial squabble with curiosity and surprise. By the way, about "almost". "Well, if you're determined to legitimize your... ahem, relationship," she still hadn't fully digested the reality that had fallen on her, "then you'll need to undergo several tests... you know the procedure, Tonks."
"Yeah!" the metamorph answered cheerfully. "Amortentia, Imperius, mental artifacts, the Zabini List—and everything under the protocol. That's exactly why we're here!"
"Interesting," Snape said a little later, when Johnson left them in the reception area and went to prepare everything for the tests. "You know such concepts as the Zabini List—and this is not just high potion making, but a rather narrow list of rare poisons that subjugate the will. Although, what was I talking about?" he grinned. "You wouldn't expect anything else from the student of the paranoid Moody."
"Well, yes, the mentor sometimes overdoes it with his 'Constant Vigilance,'" Tonks snorted. And then she stopped and became sad: "More precisely, he used to overdo it."
"Chin up, Tonks," Severus unexpectedly even for himself put his arm around the girl's shoulders. "You're a good student, and the old paranoid would probably be proud of you. But one could still expect such specific knowledge from you. And when did the Ministry manage to add the List to their tests?"
"On Moody's recommendation," the girl shrugged, not hurrying to free herself from the embrace. "He then made a real scandal, having learned that these potions were not on the list of the Ministry's tested potions. I was told that then the Minister himself almost decided to include the List in the list."
"That's right, and I completely agree with Moody on this," Snape shrugged. "Zabini is a famous European potion maker and alchemist, but the main thing," here he raised a finger, showing the importance of his words, "he is known for his passion for Muggle sciences: fingerprinting and forensics. To which he very creatively applies his alchemical talents. No wonder B.A.G.E.T. values him so much and invites him to participate in almost all of their major affairs."
"B.A.G.E.T.?" Tonks was surprised. But, seeing Snape's puzzled look, she explained her exclamation: "Well, I'm just not very up to date with things in Europe*," she was embarrassed. "What kind of BAGUETT?"
"Well, well, there's no life beyond the Channel**..." Severus shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I was just admiring what a wonderful replacement Moody has grown up to be—and here you go, we don't know elementary things."
"Hey!" Tonks was indignant, poking her fiancé in the ribs. "Turn off your signature 'minus five points because you're an uneducated idiot'! You could have explained better."
"Tonks, B.A.G.E.T. is an association of all magical law enforcement agencies in Europe created two years ago," Snape began to explain in what he thought was a patient tone. In reality, it sounded as if he was back in Potions class, explaining basic things to lazy schoolchildren. "It stands for the Fighting Association of Nations in European Territory. Do you even read newspapers other than the Weekly Prophet?" he winced.
"Well... Yes," the metamorph blushed, and not just her face—her hair also quickly changed color to match her face. "You saw for yourself: I signed up for subscriptions directly to our home! But in the last year, somehow..." she faltered again.
"Okay, we can write off the last year as some… worries," Severus chuckled, deciding that the moral scolding about "Constant Vigilance" could wait for now. Besides, he unexpectedly liked the phrase "to our home" in relation to the Hogsmeade cottage. "Did you know that the Muggles on the continent united into a single European state a year ago?"
"Er… yes?" Tonks answered unclearly.
"Well, the wizards took this step one year earlier. E.L.D.A.—have you heard of anything like that?"
"I've heard of this!" Tonks perked up triumphantly. "The European League of Friendship and Association. Even then, I was surprised by such an absurd name," the girl giggled. "The mentor laughed really hard at it, saying that the Russians would be making fun of such a name for a very long time."
"Well, yes, in most Eastern European languages this abbreviation sounds... peculiar," Snape chuckled at this, without going into details. "But we have deviated somewhat from the topic."
"Zabini's list," the girl nodded. "Seven ingredients and small household artifacts that, in theory, any ordinary person can get hold of... And which, in a certain combination, are capable of producing an effect slightly weaker than the Imperius Curse." Tonks was very proud of her knowledge—studying with one of the best Aurors of the twentieth century did not go in vain for her. Minor subtleties, articles in seemingly unspecialized publications and even in the frankly yellow press—Alastor Moody could extract the necessary information from anywhere. And Nymphadora Tonks taught it.
Severus was about to throw in something sarcastic, but looking at how his bride was almost glowing from the fact that she was able to demonstrate her knowledge... and did not say anything on this topic. He only chuckled. "Zabini pushed his List through the Italian Auror Office, when there was no B.A.G.E.T. And then his work was adopted by the rest of the European Aurors—bypassing the usual bureaucratic obstacles in such cases. A big name combined with the desire of the European Aurors to 'become united, new and more effective'—everything came together. But how Moody managed to push through our stone-assed officials is a mystery to me personally," the potion maker chuckled.
"Well, he had a lot of old connections in the Aurors and the Ministry... he did," Tonks winced. "I don't know the details. The Zabini List was added to the tests before I joined the service. But, as I understand it, the opinions of famous Aurors were listened to much more back then than they are now."
"The impressions of the uprising of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were still fresh, of course," Snape nodded at this. "Then it is understandable. Only things like this could prompt Fudge's administration to do anything useful."
"Ahem!" a disgruntled cough was heard next to them—Alicia Johnson had quietly returned to the reception room. "I understand everything, of course, Snape, but having such... unreliable conversations in the very heart of the Ministry of Magic is not the smartest thing on your part, don't you think?"
"Only the most apolitical and lazy wizards don't discuss the competence of the current Minister and his Cabinet in their kitchens," Severus looked at her coldly.
"Well, in their own kitchens," Alicia wasn't the least bit embarrassed. "But here it's his fiefdom! And you're a former Death Eater."
"He was acquitted on all counts!" Tonks stood up for the groom.
"You know, Tonks, there's a saying: the spoons were eventually found, but the aftertaste remained," Severus winced, getting up from the sofa where he and the girl had settled down earlier.
"Very apt, Snape," Johnson chuckled in turn and turned around, invitingly gesturing to the door behind her. "Now please undergo the required checks. What time did you invite the witnesses to the wedding?"
"They'll arrive in half an hour."
"That should be just enough time," the Potions Master replied evenly, walking arm in arm with Tonks behind Alicia.
"Excellent! Well, let's see how you'll do on the Ministry tests, Mister Know-It-All," the woman smiled cheerfully, making it clear that she was just joking. But Tonks still jumped at this phrase: "Mrs. Johnson, I would ask!..."
"No offense, guys, but a reputation is a reputation. Remember about the spoons?" Alicia glanced meaningfully at Tonks from behind the table, covered with different-sized bottles and measuring cups. "And yes, Snape, I have nothing against you personally. Moreover, if it makes you feel better, know that at school, when you were fighting those idiots the Marauders all by yourself, many girls were rooting for you."
"All they had to do was catch Potter's gang in the ladies' room trying to plant a dung bomb," Snape snorted in the same tone, sitting down on one of the chairs opposite Johnson.
"At least they didn't hang out with scum like Mulciber," the woman shrugged. "Okay, if you're ready, then let's get started…"
They left the room with the test preparations exactly half an hour later, holding an official-looking parchment in their hands, certifying that both parties to the marriage were absolutely clean, were not under the influence of mental charms, potions, or other "unnatural compulsion." Snape was about to ask Johnson what "natural" compulsion was in the understanding of the ministry bureaucracy, but he didn't. Especially since a whole group of people were already waiting for them in the reception area of the marriage department!
"Here, officer! As I was saying!" Baxter McLaggen was practically jumping with excitement, while tenaciously holding the sleeve of the scarlet robe of the burly Auror standing next to him. "Arrest this vile Death Eater and rapist immediately!"
"Mister McLaggen," the Auror glanced sideways at the hand on his sleeve with disgust. "You pulled me out of my post, telling me that Death Eaters were raping a girl practically in the middle of the corridor and that we urgently needed to run and save someone... and here I see only two wizards who are about to get married. By the way, hi, Tonks," in contrast to the way he spoke to Baxter, the Auror greeted the girl in a much more friendly manner.
"Hi, Chuck! What's going on?" the metamorph frowned at this.
"Well, Mr. McLaggen came running to the Aurors screaming that this was almost the second appearance of You-Know-Who," the Auror named by Chuck snorted at this. "And if I was simply surprised, then imagine how shocked Scrimgeour was."
"And what about the boss?" Tonks drooped slightly.
"Well, he couldn't help but react to the 'outraged voice of the public' right in the middle of the Ministry!" Chuck grinned wryly at this, and then much more sharply: "Let go of my Mordred sleeve already, McLaggen!"
"But, officer..." Baxter stupidly blinked his eyes, shifting his gaze from the Auror to Tonks, from her to Snape and back. "He's that... Death Eater... slimy slug!... a girl can't be with him..."
"And why did you decide," Chuck said almost affectionately, with all his considerable stature hanging over the not particularly tall McLaggen, "that a free, adult witch cannot marry an equally free," here he slightly glanced sideways at Snape, "adult wizard? Do you have any arguments against it?"
Baxter stood, silently opening and closing his mouth under the narrowed gaze of the Auror, the angry one of Tonks, and the mocking one of Snape. Severus could roughly imagine what kind of collapse of the world was now happening in McLaggen's head! Of course, how could it be: all his life he had clearly distinguished for himself between the "brave Gryffindors," whom girls were simply obliged to throw themselves at, and to whom he counted himself, and "those vile slugs," who never got anything, and whose lot was to delve into their dark deeds and create petty intrigues, without thinking about the fact that a normal woman would pay her favorable attention to them. Voluntarily, at least.
Considering that Severus had already managed to get acquainted with three generations of the McLaggen family, there was nothing surprising in such a reaction for him—Baxter and his brood were simply phenomenally unteachable in this regard.
"Well, if Mr. McLaggen has no more questions, then perhaps we will go," summed up Chuck, in turn tenaciously grabbing Baxter by the sleeve and confidently pulling him towards the exit.
"But, how..." McLaggen hesitantly tried to object, awkwardly hobbling after the Auror dragging him.
"Johnson, did these two pass your tests?" Chuck turned to Alicia instead of answering.
"Everything is fine, no charms or potions were detected," the marriage registrar commented on this with noticeable malice. But it was not so much her words that finished off the departing McLaggen as the new faces that appeared in the doorway, one of which immediately said: "Oh, my boy! I see there are already a bunch of guests here to congratulate you without us."
Of course, it was none other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, one of those whom Snape and Tonks had invited as witnesses. He entered, slyly squinting his eyes and clearly enjoying the sight of a completely stunned McLaggen. And when two more entered the doorway...
"Dawkins, what happened here while we were walking down the corridor?!" the second of those who entered demanded—none other than the head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour. Behind him loomed the figure of a dark-skinned wizard in a characteristic national costume—Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"Well, boss, Mr. McLaggen thought that someone was forcibly dragging someone into the marriage department," Chuck reported. "But it turned out that Tonks was just getting married."
"And because of this I was distracted from my work?" Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes dangerously, casting an unkind glance at Baxter, who had shrunk even more. On the hard, horse-like face of the head of the Aurors, this looked especially menacing. "Mr. McLaggen, please explain yourself!"
"Well... I saw... Snape... he is... he is a Death Eater!" apparently, there were no other arguments left in Baxter's stalled brain.
"Fully acquitted on the guarantee of Professor Dumbledore and senior officials of the Ministry," Scrimgeour cut him off harshly. "Not wanted, has not been seen or charged since his acquittal. Or do you have any evidence to the contrary?"
"Er, no," McLaggen swallowed, finally realizing that the situation was clearly not in his favor.
"Wonderful. In that case, let me remind you of the article on falsely calling Aurors," Scrimgeour was almost hissing. "Should I remind you of the responsibility for such... incidents? Or perhaps we should remember that you were also a suspect in a similar episode?"
"N-no, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I think I'll go, I'm in a hurry!" McLaggen almost immediately perked up and rushed to the exit, almost leaving a piece of his sleeve in Chuck Dawkins' palm.
When the door closed behind him, Rufus Scrimgeour turned his sharp, displeased gaze on the others. "Mordred take that McLaggen and his 'vigilant public'!" he cursed angrily. "Well then? Are we going to stand here and wait for God knows what? Kingsley, you asked to be a witness at this wedding, didn't you?" He turned his ironic gaze to the Auror in national costume who had come with him.
"Yes, sir, that's exactly it. Sorry for having to pull you out," Kingsley Shacklebolt said slightly embarrassedly. "Tonks warned us about everything in advance, but I didn't think such... complications would arise."
"Well, since they have arisen, I will be present as well. You don't mind, do you? Miss Tonks, Snape?" He stopped his gaze on each of their faces in turn.
"No, boss... definitely not!" Tonks answered, a little taken aback by such attention. Snape simply nodded dryly.
"In that case, let's begin," Alicia, who had been silent all this time, coughed, trying not to stand out during the ensuing proceedings. "So, I ask the bride and groom to take out their wands. By the power vested in me by the wizarding community, the British Ministry and Magic itself..."
Then came the standard wording of a magical marriage. To Snape's some surprise, it was quite simple. A couple of ordinary vows, promises and so on, almost no different from that of Muggles. Well, perhaps it was a little more difficult to dissolve something like that, but not much. Although on such a day, neither he nor Tonks wanted to think about it at all.
As soon as the modest ceremony—or rather, just a procedure—was over, and he and the bride signed in the magical Marriage Register, everyone present simply began to disperse. Scrimgeour was the first to leave, having dryly congratulated the newlyweds. In fact, he did not hide the fact that he stayed "just for the company." After him, having shaken Snape's hand (!) and hugged Tonks, Kingsley left.
Auror Chuck, who had been standing right by the door, said goodbye a little more fully: "Congratulations, Tonks! Look, don't forget to buy yourself a drink," he grinned. And then, with a serious face, he turned to Severus: "And you, Snape, watch out! If you offend our Miss Chaos, the entire Department will beat you up so badly that you'll have to sit on your potions for the rest of your life! Got that?"
"Quite clear," Snape answered evenly in the same tone. And that was how they parted.
Only Dumbledore remained. "Congratulations, children," he smiled kindly. "I'm glad everything worked out so well for you. Will you invite an old man to the celebration?"
"Professor, of course!" Tonks exclaimed and, overcome with emotion, hugged the headmaster, which made him groan in surprise under Snape's mocking gaze. "And you're still very much alive!... I mean, not that old," she was embarrassed by her impulse. And then, even more embarrassed by her own words: "Well, not in the sense of not old, but you're still so cheerful... Oh, forgive me," she blushed, almost hiding behind Severus.
Dumbledore only laughed at this: "Well, in that case, I'm waiting for an owl with an invitation," the headmaster nodded at this. "I'll leave you, you probably need to take a walk, get used to your new status. Yes, and to relax alone—after such a crowd," Dumbledore winked at them, chuckling into his moustache, and left.
"Well, where would you like to go to 'get used to the status'... Mrs. Snape?" Severus said with a grin, turning to his newly-made wife.
"Can I still call me Tonks, as I used to?" the girl asked almost plaintively, sniffling. "Otherwise, I feel... strange."
"As you say, Nymphadora," Snape smiled in a completely snake-like manner, to which he received another quite natural poke in the ribs. "Fool! I'm already shaking!" she was indignant, but was immediately interrupted: in a fit of strange fervor, Severus simply pulled her to him and kissed her.
Twitching a couple of times in surprise, Tonks hugged his neck and responded to the kiss. Finally breaking away from each other, the newlyweds stood there for a while, trying to catch their breath.
"Sometimes I wonder where you get all this from," the newly-minted Mrs. Snape said thoughtfully, snuggling up to her husband's side. "What if someone were to walk by and notice us snuggling in the corner?"
"Next to the Marriage Office, that should be a normal sight," Snape chuckled. "Besides, it's a weekday, there shouldn't be a crowd here."
"Yeah, except for the fuss we just caused," Tonks giggled nervously. "By the way, speaking of a weekday… There shouldn't be any particular crowds in Diagon Alley right now either."
"And?..." Severus raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"And that means we can sit in Fortescue's Café in peace!" the girl finished, pulling him towards the Fireplace Room of the Ministry. "Let's go! After all the excitement, I need a ton of ice cream!"
Summer 1994. Ottery St Catchpole, The Burrow.
A bright green flash, accompanied by a loud crackle of discharge. Someone's scream: "Lily, grab Harry and run!" Another flash—and the screaming man is dead. The approaching measured tramp of iron feet, the rustle of a robe, more like a black shroud, pierce the brain, a deathly cold envelops everything around. Hoarse, as if forced out of a hoarse throat, laughter. A grave stench, hitting the sense of smell. Metallic clanking of joints, another crackle of discharge and a green flash. A piercing female scream screws into the ears and...
...And Harry wakes up, breathing heavily and clutching the scar on his forehead. Nightmares again. And again childhood memories mixed with terrible visions from the world of spirit advisers and the image of dementors.
"What made you jump?" Ron muttered discontentedly from the next bed, sleepily squinting at Potter. "It's the holidays, let me sleep..."
Harry didn't answer that. He just turned over and took a deep breath, trying to reach his "mind chambers"—a corner in the warp that he had arranged for his own needs. And where he kept his prisoner. Of course, it was difficult to enter the warp as a full-fledged spiritual projection without the appropriate ritual and ingredients. But he didn't need a deep dive—just a fleeting touch of the mind on that fragment of someone else's soul that was now chained and imprisoned inside the boy.
A fleeting touch—and the fragment began to thrash in cruel agony, emitting a silent scream in the boy's mind. Harry Potter probably didn't even notice how his perception of the world around him and the intelligent beings surrounding him had changed in the years since his encounter with the four demons. The times when he himself was horrified by the actions, sacrifices and murders were long gone. It was necessary—and he did it, thinking less and less about such useless things as morality or conscience. It's another matter to torment someone so gratuitously, simply because of fleeting anger or irritation. In the Boy Who Lived, this trait was finally formed in the summer between his first and second years at Hogwarts, when he took great pleasure in disfiguring and condemning to eternal torment the elf Dobby, who dared to incur his displeasure. And then—more! More and more often, the torment and fear of the victim brought the boy pleasure in themselves, despite the practical background of this torment.
Of course, crushing with your mind an already tortured fragment of someone else's personality is not so much pleasure. But it is always available, does not take much time and does not arouse unnecessary suspicions in others. Almost ideal if you want to let off some steam after a nightmare. Especially since this particular victim of Harry Potter, as he himself believed, fully deserved his fate. After all, it is because of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that he has these terrible dreams, filled with the screams of his dying mother, the deathly cold and the crackle of gauss guns...
A nasty chill ran through him and Harry stopped torturing the shard of Voldemort. Taking a deep breath, he threw off the blanket and stood up—he didn't feel like sleeping any more anyway. And he didn't need sleep as much as ordinary people did.
"Let's go for a cool flight?" Sweet Tooth's cheerful voice immediately rang out. "The Weasleys have the Quidditch gear in the hallway, so we can just come and get it."
"They've been put away in the garage," Smarty chuckled in response. "Anyway, we don't have much time while we're at the Burrow—and we still wanted to look at Arthur's car."
"A machine spirit?" Harry said, going down.
"Exactly, apprentice! A machine like the elder Weasley's could well contain more than just a set of nuts and charms," Smarty purred. "If all this works so well, then the machine must have developed its own personality. Its own Spirit!"
"Maybe we should wake Hermione up?" Harry asked, already walking through the foggy haze across the Burrow courtyard towards the garage.
Hermione Granger was also present at the Weasley house, invited at Potter's request. They hadn't yet had a chance to talk privately about the latest news—for example, about the girl's parents, whom she had mentally subjugated and with whom she had spent the last couple of weeks. Or other matters outside Hogwarts, like Flitwick's adaptation in the Lord's gang. But talking to Hermione wouldn't be difficult. After all, they had only been here for a couple of days. Summer was in full swing, a whole month ahead! He also planned to go to Teddingale and South Helens once: to visit Andy's sect, talk to the Lord, admire the Precious a little more...
Harry blushed slightly and chuckled embarrassedly, remembering his meeting with the daemonette Slaanesh... The spawn of She-Who-Thirsts, when they descended into the underground sacrificial chamber, met Potter in the middle of the room, sitting on the altar. The boy's emerald eyes met the daemonette's anthracite-black eyes, and for some time they silently looked at each other. And then the Precious slid off the altar with a smooth, smooth movement and quickly darted towards Harry! However, the young chaosite did not flinch, even when the grinning mug froze a couple of inches from his face and noisily sucked in air.
"Powerful..." said Precious, opening her toothy mouth and licking her tongue covered in jagged thorns. "You smell delicious, boy. Tender flesh, sweet soul!" with these words, she lightly ran a sharp claw along Harry's cheek, leaving a bleeding cut. "But I can't take it, I can't get it... What a pity," sighing sadly, she moved away from him and, wagging her chiseled hips and tail, walked back to the altar. "Indeed—Precious," Potter said with a wide smile, wiping the blood from his cheek—the cut on it almost immediately healed. "You are beautiful, dear Precious!"
The demonette arched seductively and laughed loudly—like a silver bell rang. "You're flattering, little Champion," Precious said again, tilting her head to the side, smiling. "But it pleases me. Come back in a couple of years and I'll show you everything I can do! You might even want to take off all those shields that are hung on your sweet soul," she cooed, biting her lower lip. Somehow this gesture looked damn sexy when performed by Charming, despite her terrible mouth.
Harry exhaled convulsively, feeling simultaneously a tightness in the area of the fly, a heat in his head and an equally burning annoyance. Now, more than ever, he understood the indignation of Sweet Tooth, who all these years never tired of sneering at the Sorting Hat and its blocks! They have not yet found a way to break them without attracting attention, and even Smarty could not help them. Or did not want to—in all his time communicating with the Tzeentch, Harry was never able to fully understand the demon's motivation and way of thinking, even a simple conversation with which could include several semantic subtexts. He and Sweet Tooth considered the issue from a variety of angles, but they still could not figure out how to prematurely end the Hat's influence without Dumbledore and the Ministry immediately jumping in to check what had happened.
Physically and even mentally, Harry was already approaching the magical age of adulthood—seventeen years old. But the same Smarty, with a mocking chuckle, destroyed this argument—explaining that many ordinary teenagers also develop faster than their peers, and much faster. And that the Founders probably took this into account when creating the Sorting Hat, so they can only submit to reality and wait for Harry to turn sixteen. But if before only Sweet Tooth was outraged by such arrangements, now their wearer himself has joined him. However, this fact could not help them in resolving the issue of sexual relations before the age of sixteen. For the time being, they actually almost resigned themselves to the necessity to wait.
But the meeting with Charm stirred up in Harry those desires and hormones that he tried to suppress and that were seething in him before. "And you… can't do anything… right now?" Potter said hoarsely, trying not to forget how to breathe.
Charm thoughtfully bowed her horned head and looked at the guy for a couple of seconds, as if calculating something. And then she broke into a wide fanged smile. "Yes, my dear Champion," she sang, walking slowly towards him, wriggling enticingly. "Slaanesh will always find a way to the heart of the sufferer! Always."
Meanwhile, her long claws slid down Harry's lower abdomen with light, caressing movements, running them from the bottom up along his abs, lifting his shirt and scratching him slightly. Then she knelt down in front of the guy and stuck out her spiked tongue to its full length. "This will hurt a little," she said. "Or maybe more than a little, ha-ha-ha!..."
Harry stopped near the workbench in Mr. Weasley's garage and thoughtfully ran his fingers over his toned abs covered by his shirt—over the place where the jagged spikes of Charming's tongue had passed. And, once again feeling the tightness in his pants, he cursed. Looks like he'll have to linger in the shower a little longer again, otherwise it will be difficult to walk without embarrassing anyone.
The jagged wounds from the spikes on his stomach healed almost instantly. Only the burning itch and painful sensitivity of the skin in that place hinted at a moment of peculiar closeness with the daemonette. Well, and also a small pink scar on the left under the ribs—in the shape of the symbol of Slaanesh. The beauty could not resist a little hooliganism and marked her new owner.
Harry smiled again when he remembered the expression on Flitwick's and Lord's faces when he returned from that hall: with a devastated look, glasses crooked on his nose, disheveled hair and an idiotic smile on half his face. In combination with bloody clothes, a T-shirt cut into shreds and trousers smeared with his reaction to such close contact with the daemonette, he probably looked impressive. But no one said anything to him about it—only Hermione kept glancing jealously at his trousers.
By the way, about Hermione. Harry grinned, feeling a familiar presence in the warp. Some of the others were also unable to sleep at such an early hour. "Do you have anything to tell me?" Granger said in a neutral tone. So neutral that some might call it tense.
Harry grinned and turned to his friend. "Come on, Herm, you and I haven't even snuggled in the corridors or made out in the dark corners of the living room! So what's the point of this jealousy?" At these words, he smiled mischievously, baring his fangs and lowering his Love Gaze. Which, however, didn't really work on Hermione—she only snorted independently and shook her shock of lush hair with a colorful bauble.
"Your vulgarities don't work on me, Harry James Potter!" Granger said in the tone of an inquisitor fencing herself off from a demon with the shield of Faith. And then, in a normal voice, she added: "But actually, I'm more interested in the question: how the hell did you do it?.. ?"
Harry understood her without further explanation. She meant how he got around the restriction on sexual contact before the age of sixteen. "It's simple," he shrugged, turning off the Look and hiding his fangs. "Precious didn't have a sexual subtext to her actions."
"Those pink creatures always have such a subtext, even when they're just chopping someone into pieces," Hermione answered skeptically.
"Have you ever wondered what exactly the Hat's restrictions mean by 'sexual interaction'?" Harry smiled slightly again.
"I have," the girl answered, pretending to be indifferent. But the way she turned slightly pink and barely noticeably glanced at Potter made it clear that her indifferent tone was feigned. But Harry tactfully did not focus on this.
"So: in the time of the Founders, there was no such developed… sex culture, let's call it that," he chuckled. "Wizards and Muggles of that time didn't think much about how to diversify their bedtime with some… excesses."
"There have always been those who enjoyed causing pain to others," Hermione objected. Although she already understood what her friend was getting at.
"But it wasn't associated with sexual desire!" Harry finished triumphantly. "The founders simply didn't have the idea to add a ban on causing pain to the Hat. Then the rod would have been unavailable for disciplinary purposes."
"That makes sense," the girl admitted. "So, this Charm…"
"She worked a little with her claws and… tongue," he again mischievously glanced at his friend, causing her to snort again. "And the fact that I got very specific pleasure from it is already a detail. After all, the Hat didn't forbid us from being alone with ourselves. Apparently, her blocks perceived what happened exactly like that."
"Ugh!" Granger said flatly, pursing her lips in such a sanctimonious expression that Harry couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Oh! Her...mione... you look so... like... old lady McGee right now... Oh, I can't! Ha-ha-ha! Oh!... Just not on the points!" He said the last phrase, because Hermione started slapping him on the head with her palm and Harry was forced to run laughing around Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia parked in the garage.
At some point, the girl cut a corner with an indignant snarl and managed to catch up with Potter, who was still laughing—and he wasn't really running away. But she didn't have the same grace and agility as the demon-carrying Slaanesh, and so she tripped and crashed into him at full speed, and they both fell to the floor, Harry on the bottom, Hermione on top. She raised her head and discovered that only a couple of inches separated their faces, and the guy reflexively hugged her bottom. Hermione swallowed and held her breath. They both, as if hypnotized, reached for each other...
And then a wave of fiery indignation crashed down on them through the warp, coming from somewhere in the yard, near the entrance to the garage. It was accompanied by the crash of something metallic—the source of indignation clearly caught them at the most crucial moment and hurried to retreat, knocking over a tin bucket or something like that on the way.
"Oh. Ginny saw us," Harry commented evenly. However, he was in no hurry to let go of the buttocks clad in jeans.
"Oh, now the twins won't leave us alone!" groaned Hermione, burying her forehead in Potter's chest. "And they'll talk at school too."
"Well, then let's not disappoint them!" Harry smiled cheerfully at this, which made the girl raise her head again and look into his eyes. With surprise and a little doubt. "Harry, did you just ask me out...?" she asked carefully.
"Oh, well, we are already dating," he smiled mockingly in response. "Constantly: in the living room, in the dining room, in our secret room. Let's just add to all this the hugs in the corners I mentioned!"
"You fool!" Hermione tried to jump up and hit the unbearable Potter on the head again. But he only made her fall onto his chest with a squeal and, grabbing her by the back of the head, kissed her anyway. After a second of reflexive resistance, the girl went limp and responded to the kiss. The demons in Harry's head were tactfully silent. Chaos or not, these two were still teenagers who were experiencing their first crush.
August 1994. Ottery St Catchpole, The Burrow and surrounding area.
Here, in the vicinity of the Weasley family home, it was always somehow sunny and calm. Harry Potter did not notice it, but in the same Little Whinging, all the time that he was there during the summer holidays, it was always cloudy and dreary: gloomy clouds pressed with their dark mass, slowly spewing out streams of rain, and the stifling damp stuffiness made people suffer from migraines. As if the Universe itself was writhing in agony in the place where the young wizard of Chaos spent his not very happy childhood.
The same was true of South Helens and other suburbs of London where Harry Potter appeared. Only there he appeared, as they say, "on business"—as the Champion of the Undivided and the leader of newly formed cults. During these visits, he was constantly in an unhealthy state of excitement, fueled by the whispers of the four spirits, which did not have the best effect on either the weather or the mental balance of those around him.
Here... here he rested. Not only physically, but also partly morally: even the spirits-advisers did not particularly bother him at such moments with their squabbles and instructions, with surprising sensitivity treating Harry's need to simply... calm down. Although, most likely, this sensitivity was quite forced: despite all the sacrifices, rituals and mutations, the boy Harry Potter was still not so immersed in Chaos as to devote every moment of his life to serving the Ruinous Powers. The world's closure from the warp still weighed on him, as did the aura of Hogwarts with the restrictions of the Hat.
He and Hermione sat on the top of the hill, spreading a blanket on the grass. The girl had already settled her head on Harry's lap as usual and was reading something from the "light reading" she had bought in Diagon Alley at the beginning of the summer. The boy himself was thoughtfully sorting through his friend's chestnut curls, simply enjoying the peace and Granger's closeness.
"Ginny's pouting now," Hermione said, without looking up from her reading, however. She had also mastered such tricks with multitasking perfectly.
"So has Ron," Harry chuckled in response. "He's become irritated, prickly, snapping at me... Did you see the way he looked at you?"
"As if I had ever given him any advances with even a word or a gesture!" the girl snorted. "Well, he seems to be pouting more at me," the boy shrugged. "Ron asked me something about you at the end of last year, but I didn't really pay attention. And now he thinks that I stole you from him on purpose."
"Fool!" the girl snapped categorically, sitting down and settling down next to Harry. "He came up with something himself, and now he's offended. And he has pimples!" she said without any transition, causing Potter to chuckle briefly. His friend's indignant face really amused him.
And Ron really did start to acquire the usual attributes for a teenager: explosive growth, interest in girls, and the already mentioned greasy pimples on his face. And all three of these components, with a spice of blossoming complexes, made him simply unbearable at times! His awkward attempts to attract Hermione's attention at the end of the year passed by Potter's gaze, but even from the girl's stories they looked rather pathetic.
"What did he want to prove by stealing the helmet from the armor from McGonagall's office?" she was either surprised or indignant when she told Harry about the latest prank of the middle Weasley. "And then he bragged about it in the living room! Idiot!" But let alone his attempts to "hit on" Granger! Now, after Harry and Hermione indicated the new status of their relationship, he demonstratively sulked and hissed at his friend. And this same friend would not have cared if everything had happened at Hogwarts—there they could hide from Ron in their secret place or set someone from his entourage on him. The same Chess Club would probably have done a great job of distracting the average Weasley from his grievances against Potter!
Here, in the close company of the red-haired family, there was almost no escape from Ron. Moreover, unlike Hogwarts, as already mentioned, the warp here was surprisingly calm, and therefore the two stars of indignation constantly burning in it in the immediate vicinity of Harry were felt especially brightly!
And yes: the second star was Ginny. Who, as Harry realized, had almost planned their relationship, their wedding, and thought up names for their children... And then such disappointment! Potter winced: as soon as he remembered those two, he reflexively found the glow of their minds in the Immaterium—they, as already mentioned, were nearby, and therefore it was not difficult to sense them in the warp.
"Concentrate, student," Smarty muttered mockingly in Harry's head. "Behind the small flashes of other people's experiences and your own irritation, you do not see the big picture. And you can miss something important!"
"Just kill them!" Ruffnut growled. "We haven't killed anyone for a long time! You've gone soft! You date all sorts of pink nastiness, make out with your girlfriend—while not a single head has been brought to the Throne of Skulls! So many months in vain!!!"
Harry sighed and tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose. The peace and quiet did not last long. And it was not because the Khornate was furious with inaction, he himself felt that time was literally slipping through his fingers! What was the reason for this feeling? Was Potter simply bored? It seems not: despite the forced break in dark practices, he was doing no less important things: he led the life of a schoolboy, made friends, loved... well, and in his spare time he organized Chaos cults, where would he be without that? Or was it something more global and dangerous for him? Something that was coming in the coming school year? Was it related to the Quidditch Championship? So many questions and so few answers...
"Chaos will give answers to all questions," the ingratiating voice of the Smart One was heard again. "You really are relaxing too much, Harry, it's time to get back to business!"
"Predictions won't help us see the future beyond a certain sequence of actions," the boy lazily objected, in no hurry to leave his warm spot. "Even if we perform a full ritual with dedication to the Gods, it won't give us an understanding of what awaits us."
"True. And wrong at the same time," the Tzeentchite answered in his usual manner. "A forecast is a convenient tool in the short term, but it doesn't work beyond a certain framework—that's true. But certain rituals can help us see more global prospects. But for that we need..."
"Oracle," Harry said out loud, smiling. "Are you also worried about this shadow in the warp that seems to be creeping up on you from all sides?"
Hermione turned her head slightly towards him. She heard his dialogue with Smarty perfectly well, and she also caught echoes of the emotions of her boyfriend, who was sitting next to her. And therefore, she understood much more from a single word he said out loud than even some Legilimens mage could.
"Yes," Potter nodded. "We need to understand what is coming upon us in the future, and how we can prepare for it." Here he remembered the dreams that tormented him for the last few nights, and frowned.
"If this self-proclaimed Dark Lord comes for our souls, he will be in for a very unpleasant surprise," again, Hermione understood the course of Harry's thoughts from just hints and emotions.
"But that doesn't mean we'll be able to defeat him," Kindly One bubbled in the boy's head, breaking into his thoughts along with a heavy feeling of anxiety and uncertainty. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is an experienced warlock, who not only wields classical magic, but has also advanced in much more unpleasant arts! Necromancy, for example."
"Get lost, rotten thing!" Smarty snorted contemptuously. "We already have certain plans and, as one orc warboss used to say, ready-made tunnels," he chuckled. "So stop being sad! Especially since your friend Hermione has something that can be very effective in protecting us from our friend with a split soul."
"Hermione?" Potter turned to the girl who had come up to her. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"
Granger slammed her "light reading" shut and turned completely to Harry. Her cheeks turned slightly pink, either from embarrassment or excitement, or rather from both at the same time. "Actually, Harry…" she began. "I… analyzed the state of my parents and… together with Smarty we made some calculations." For a few moments she seemed to hesitate whether to continue. In fact, Harry knew that this pause was caused rather by the desire to better formulate what she wanted to say. Smarty could, of course, support her, but the demon of Tzeentch was silent, waiting for Hermione to speak herself.
"In general, I… I was thinking about how to fix what I did to my parents," Granger finally said, swallowing and slightly bowing her head. "Smartyr and I analyzed what I did on my own, went through everything step by step: all the mistakes and shortcomings of my actions. And… he gave me one ritual."
Instead of any comments on his part, the Tzeentch simply sent visions into the heads of the boy and the girl… Monstrous, ugly mutations distorting the bodies of mighty warriors in red and white armor... ...Despair, hope, the desire to do something with this curse!... ...And the solution to the problem, which became almost more bitter than medicine. Due to the misunderstanding and opposition of those who allowed excessive doubts to overcome them at the most crucial moment, the ritual was not allowed to be completed... But there was a result. And this result ultimately satisfied the creator of the ritual, having truly healed his brothers from the monstrous Flesh Distortion…
"I thought," Hermione swallowed nervously again, unconsciously fiddling with the colorful bauble in her hair. "I thought that if we don't try to chase the same scale and analyze all the mistakes made by our predecessors, we can try… try to catch the souls of Mom and Dad from the warp and attach them back to their bodies! After all, the essence of this ritual is to stabilize the positions of souls and bodies relative to each other. Everything should work out, I'm sure!"
Harry's eyes lit up with burning curiosity and a thirst for knowledge! What's more, with outright greed, too. If the visions that Smarty was broadcasting to them were to be believed, this ritual could be very useful to him too... Potter and Granger had already forgotten about Ron's behavior and the fool Ginny, completely devoting themselves to discussing the details, ideas and opinions about what they had seen in the warp. There was so much to think about, so much to prepare and understand—and they had to make all the preparations before they left for Hogwarts, even before the day of the Quidditch Championship!
After all, what was the main engine of the warp, its essence, fuel and the very root cause? The souls of intelligent beings. Their mind, their soul, their emotions... their pain. It was pain: physical and spiritual—that fed the dark inhabitants of the warp, the very Gods that young Harry Potter served. And that meant that any significant act, any ritual must be accompanied by sacrifices. A big ritual—big sacrifices! And where could two young wizards find so many sacrifices? And not just any kind of them—intelligent, strong, possessing a magical gift? Where would they gather in sufficient numbers in the near future so that someone's disappearance could be attributed to confusion during movement?
That's right—at the Championship! Especially since the same trends and visions from the warp that worried Harry so much promised a much greater commotion at this event than could have been expected. It could threaten… or it could help! The path of the Architect of Fates implied using any obstacles and threats for their own purposes. Which is what Harry and Hermione were going to do.
But what they didn't think about—and Smarty didn't mention such a "trifle"—was the most obvious thing. More precisely, they thought about it, but… briefly. Namely, about the extreme complexity and monstrosity of the ritual they had planned! In the end, two schoolchildren, half-educated wizards, that day decided to do nothing more or less than repeat what one of the most brilliant and powerful sorcerers in the entire galaxy had created and done in another universe! The Ariman column.
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