- Have a seat, Caroline, - I didn't mind getting up from my usual place, putting a cup of good Brazilian coffee on a saucer, pulling out a chair for the girl and helping her settle down at our table. For the Amos of the past, this was already the limit of politeness and gallantry, which he was capable of only in relation to his closest people, but the new me had the manners of a real British gentleman, so I acted according to protocol. Moreover, Caroline was still on this short list, of only two people, close people.
- Sunhide! - a beautiful red-haired girl with an impassive face greeted me coldly in response. Her cherry-colored eyes dug into me like the sharp teeth of a piranha, which even made me feel a little uneasy.
Bad. She called me by my last name, which meant she was still very offended, and the hope that one letter would be enough for reconciliation melted into thin air like smoke from a dying fire.
I sat down opposite her, crossed my legs, and with my fingertips pushed a huge bowl of one cunning witch's favorite type of ice cream towards her.
The first step to appeasement was taken. I don't think she will be able to resist this miracle. This is one of the best pastry shops in London, so everything they sell here is top-notch. At least, this statement was true for the non-magical part of London. Fortescue's ice cream was much tastier, but we were both limited in funds. On the magical side, at least.
And I was not mistaken in betting on a simple as a stick method of reconciliation. It has worked at all times and will work.
Sharpheart looked skeptically at the huge bowl, which held five of the largest scoops of ice cream, and, pretending to be extremely disinterested, as if doing me a favor, silently took the spoon and scooped up some of the sweetest caramel poured into the bright purple scoops of blueberry ice cream.
Her face was still impassive and showed no emotion, but I was a talented mentalist, so I easily sensed her superficial emotions, which were now flowing from irritation to peace. The edge of her plump pink lips twitched, indicating a barely noticeable smile, and her sharp tongue licked them, anticipating the imminent pleasure for her taste buds.
When she tasted it, she even closed her eyes in pleasure. The sour blueberries contrasted strongly with the sweet caramel, but I did not pry into my friend's strange taste preferences, preferring to do more important things for now.
Simple homemade artifacts that I had enchanted myself were placed on the table. It was more profitable to buy the material for artifacts for pounds, in ordinary pawnshops. There you could find antique jewelry at ridiculous prices and, after careful processing, turn them into simple artifacts. I had a lot of them.
From wiretapping, distorting the image, creating magical and radio interference, eye-catching, standard Muggle-repelling, and even one simple stationary protego shield and its kinetic analogue, especially relevant, considering that we are in the world of ordinary people.
We might be in an upscale tearoom, but we still had to be careful, as the things and topics we might bring up could immediately send us to Azkaban. Paranoia is my best friend. Right after Caroline.
I quickly finished building my defenses and sat and waited for the girl to finish her entire portion of ice cream. This should have put her in a good enough mood, and then it would be possible to begin the reconciliation process. Witches or not, but almost all girls like sweets, and if at someone else's expense...
It reminded me of how you make peace with a cat whose tail was stepped on. First, you slip her a saucer of milk, then new toys, try to pet her, even if she bites and scratches. Then you buy her a whole empty box so that she can sit in it and stare at you angrily, necessarily with condemnation... I shook my head, driving stupid comparisons out of it.
Sharpheart is not a cat, she is much more vindictive and quarrelsome. The only way to resolve a conflict is extreme honesty. Amos' ex had little chance of making peace with his girlfriend right away, although she would probably forgive him over time anyway. Carol simply had no other options. They were both outcasts and communicated normally only with each other. Everyone else looked at them askance and suspiciously. It's funny that even the children of aristocrats, whose parents were almost always dark magicians, were also afraid of him.
And I just don't want to marinate in solitude for the next six months. Humans are social creatures, even Dark Lords need to communicate with someone. And I'm not even a Dark Lord yet, so I can be forgiven.
Well, I'm not sure that communicating with my infernals will benefit my mental health, so I will speed up our reconciliation as much as possible, sacrificing some dividends.
- Caroline, you know me well, for four years now, so I'm sure that you, like no one else, understand how much I don't like to apologize. And I don't know how, to be honest. But I'll make an exception for you. - I paused and looked at the girl carefully.
She put aside her almost finished treat and stared back at me, crossing her arms over her flat chest. We looked eye to eye. I felt a simple probe of her legilimency on my mind. No aggression, just curiosity and a desire to know the truth. She didn't even try to penetrate inside and get into my head, she just wanted to feel the sincerity of my emotions. What a cute red-haired lie detector.
And she didn't even hide her intentions, making a hand gesture for me to continue. Well, Carol should have a rough idea of the difference in our levels, so it's logical that she didn't hide it. She wouldn't have succeeded anyway. I taught her mental magic. I taught her well, by the way. After all, she knows a lot of my secrets, just like I know hers. And secrets need to be protected.
With this action, she was rather asking me to prove to her that these were not empty words and to let her determine the degree of my sincerity. And I do not regret it. I did not intend to lie to her, so I simply let my emotions leak through the Occlumency barriers, exposing them to her judgment. Having collected my thoughts, I continued.
- Caroline, I was wrong and I sincerely ask for your forgiveness. I should not have said what I said, and I am more than sorry for my words. Frankly, jealousy was talking. For a moment I forgot that we were friends. That was a big mistake. I am a lousy friend, and I let you down. I am deeply ashamed of the way I reacted to your affair with Corner, and I really do not want to lose the friendship and trust that has been built between us over the years. In the name of all the shit we have been through together, and in the name of all that we have yet to go through, I ask you to give me a chance to redeem myself. I have little idea of what could possibly merit forgiveness, but if you have any thoughts on the matter, I would be happy to hear them. And here, - I pushed a black velvet box towards her, - this should serve as material confirmation of my intentions.
Sharpheart silently opened it and pulled out a simple silver bracelet, consisting of many small links, each of which was engraved with symbols that were once used by the ancient druids. They glowed slightly with a turquoise light if you looked closely. The bracelet was fully charged and its real value was enormous if someone suddenly decided to put it up for auction.
The Ancient Princes left behind a lot of interesting things in the mounds, taking all their goods with them to the next world. Yes, I dug through their remains. They were long dead, they don't care, but I needed them desperately. I was able to find a lot of interesting things there, but the most pleasant was the special runic alphabet of the druids, with which they enchanted their places of power and staves. It was also suitable for artifacts. Adapted, so to speak. I had to suffer, but for creating all sorts of soul traps and other things, it was just perfect.
Actually, I enchanted this bracelet for myself, creating a passive intelligent defense that could withstand sudden attacks from a blind spot, relying not only on my perception, but also on the magical core, the artifact in which the subordinate nature spirit was enclosed, but ... I can always make myself another, even if it is expensive, and the ritual of binding the nature spirit to the amulet is very dangerous, first of all for the artifact maker himself, and it is very difficult to find them, these nature spirits. Usually. But I know where these little bastards live in large numbers. It is easy to break their will, they have little brains, it is not for nothing that the druids often used them for their own needs, endowing their most important magical artifacts and places of power with pseudo-intelligence.
Inside there was a handwritten instruction. The spirit could be "programmed". I knew that Carol would not put it on or study it right now, so I prepared the "documentation" in advance. She'll check everything thoroughly and only then put it on. Such distrust would offend anyone, but not me. I understand that when accepting a gift from a dark wizard, even your best friend, you need to check everything damn well. There's a reason dark wizards have such a bad reputation. Many people go crazy over time, and it can be difficult to determine whose brain is still in order and who has a hole in it. So he plays it safe.
I taught her that, even with a practical example from life. True, I showed the danger of dark gifts not on her, but on one bastard who decided to wipe his feet on me and ruined my final assignment in Potions at the end of the semester. The gift was anonymous, by owl post, so it was also a lesson in the fact that anonymous gifts and letters can be even more dangerous. Of course, he was a pureblood wizard, so he knew safety precautions, but... He was also the Seeker of our Quidditch team. And you can't just erase the Seeker reflexes from yourself.
That day, the owl "accidentally" dropped her parcel, which she was supposedly carrying to another person, and he, with animal grace and dexterity, caught the round object flying by at high speed. The grasping reflex, so to speak. And then he bragged all through dinner about how clever and a good catcher he was, prancing like a riding horse. A clown. They predicted a great sports career for him... But the curse worked and his hand withered overnight, heh-heh. Since the curse was very, very Dark, even Mungo's healers couldn't restore his hand. The moral of this story is that you shouldn't grab everything if your hands are dear to you.
After carefully examining the silver chain, the girl slammed the box shut and calmly put it in the pocket of her jeans. Her expression didn't change, but I felt that she was pleased and accepted the gift with joy.
Caroline has always had a special attitude towards gifts. Apparently, she receives them very rarely. I suspect that I am the only one who gives them to her, if you don't count the little things that we exchange between classmates at Yule. True, it was more of a game, who would poison, curse or send someone to the infirmary more successfully because of a magical illness they had caught.
I felt that she had already forgiven me and let go of the resentment in her heart. I felt her relief. It seemed that this whole situation weighed on her no less than it did me. Too much was tied to the two of us. To our friendship. How to do without supervision, when one is insuring the other, we had already forgotten. How many times had we pulled each other's asses out of really bad situations, when the seemingly hospitable walls of a majestic and warm castle closed around us in a stone labyrinth of traps, through which we were driven like wild animals? From how many unpleasant mistakes and set-ups had we saved each other? From many. Even too much, for our pathetic fifteen years. I feel like some Vietnam veteran who wakes up in the middle of the night screaming, "Those bitches are in the trees!"
Fucking aristocrats with their hunting games. True, in the last year we have switched places a little, heh-heh-heh. Now in the dark corridors on a moonless night they are the ones looking around, not me. I did not press too hard. Just shooting them one by one, scaring the shit out of them. Maybe casting a couple of non-lethal, but very unpleasant curses, like they did when I was weaker... Now many have stopped walking the corridors alone. They follow my example and Caroline, ha-ha. Trendsetters, damn them.
Why did Carol accept my apology so easily, although she would rather spit in the face of anyone else? It was not even about the very valuable hand-made artifact, but about my words. Even such an icy and mean girl as Caroline can be touched by simple words, if they come from the heart. This beautiful but unhappy girl has seen too little good in her life. Or maybe I could only achieve such an effect in a complex, using all the stages of an apology and the reputation I have been building for myself over the past years. Amos Sunhide never apologized. She knew it, so for her it was a shock and a pleasant surprise. No matter what anyone says, it is nice to be so appreciated.
— To be honest, Amos, I didn't expect you to apologize at all. It's not your style. I thought that I would have to spend the next six months to a year completely alone, surviving only on casual sex with some scum who can't even control their libido, and instead of coherent speech can only drool and moan, weakly bringing me everything I ask for on a platter. These aristocratic Puritans of ours are too uptight and squeamish. No guy will get sex with them before marriage for a long time, so they climb the walls, poor things. Hormonal teenagers, ready to drag even silver spoons from home for the sake of simple affection, if necessary. I'm glad that at least you pulled yourself together, otherwise I was scared for a moment. — Caroline paused and took a sip of hot coffee from a cup. She grimaced because of a toothache from the temperature change. She wrinkled her pretty nose a little, either reacting to the pain that shot through her teeth from the instant transition from cold to hot, or remembering the lust-filled glances that those same excited teenagers cast at her. I used to look at her like that, too. Periodically, towards the end of my fourth year. What can I say, she was damn beautiful, this witch. And now... And now I understand that friendship between us is more important.
Yes, she is beautiful, but the world is full of beautiful girls, I will find someone for myself, without the risk of ending up in Azkaban because of my friend's jealousy, for example. With my appearance, this will not be such a problem. I am not an aristocratic snob, I can hook myself an ordinary girl, without a drop of magic, but beautiful and smart. You won't find such among the noble "ladies" here with a lantern. Incest and consanguineous marriages never led to anything good. That's how our aristos sagged in appearance and strength over time. No, of course, not all of them were real pearls, but almost all real wars began for them... Do I need it?
Why get into a bottle, ruining a wonderful relationship for the sake of sex? The past Amos didn't care, his second head thought for him, but I, as a more experienced person, could perfectly control my impulses. In any case, those directed at Caroline.
I gave myself an ironclad installation: "Caroline is a Friend!", and I will adhere to it, no matter what happens in the future. Even if Carol suddenly grows normal boobs, and not these mosquito bites of hers, I will not give in to this.
I had completely different, very big plans for her. A dark wizard can be as strong as he wants, but if he is alone, sooner or later he will be crushed by numbers. Even such mastodons as Grindelwald and Voldemort understood this. And I am not such a monster of magic as they are. For now.
So I need reliable allies. And Carol is reliable, that's a fact. Even despite the quarrel, I was sure that she would not turn me in to the Auror, although she probably knows enough about me for me to suck up with a Dementor right there on the spot, in the classroom, where the "guardians of law and order" would grab me by the gills, organizing a raid on a real dark wizard.
In fairness, I also know enough about her to put her next to me for life, if not for privacy from the Dementor. The way she masterfully uses blood magic... I have some merit in that too, but it's mostly her talent. She's already even overtaken me in this matter, and that aristocrat was very unlucky to run into her in a bad mood.
That old pedophile shouldn't have tried to rape her in a dark alley of Lyutny... While I went to the store for just five minutes to stock up on all sorts of semi-legal ingredients, leaving her on the lookout, the man grabbed her and dragged her into a dark alley. Only she came out of there quite pleased, not him.
And the next morning the Daily Prophet was full of headlines about some visiting vampire attacking and draining an important and respected member of society and philanthropist, Mr. Brian Ogden, the second younger brother of the head of the family, who sponsored Muggle orphanages where Muggle-born wizards and witches lived, and also sponsored preparatory courses for them before school. I don't even know how they prepared them there, but something tells me that after such preparation many of them would not have been hurt to visit a child psychologist. In short, she finished off the bastard and I know about it. Of course I would know, I helped her hide the body and cover her tracks. Then she helped me in a similar way, but more on that later.
That's how we live. In the future, I will help her become a powerful witch, on whose full support I can count on any matter. Whether it's overthrowing the Ministry, robbing a bank, or cleaning magical Britain of the lingering aristocratic taint. A partner, a friend, an accomplice, a student, that's who I need.
While I was thinking about my future prospects, Carol continued.
"You know, I would have forgiven you even if you hadn't apologized. Our friendship is much more important to me than any stupid relationships, quarrels, and sex, so don't even hope that I'll trade it for anything else. I'm just saying this just in case. I'm not stupid, I've felt your gaze change a couple of times when you looked at me. It's good that you've finally decided who I am for you, so now we won't have any awkward moments or misunderstandings. You are my first and only friend, let it stay that way from now on. — Caroline relaxed and leaned back on the soft back of the chair, placing her hands on the armrests of the chair, tapping her nails on the wood. Her face seemed to come to life, and the cold mask melted. A predatory and slightly evil smile appeared on her lips, and her eyes sparkled with adventurous mischief. Now I recognize my friend. Even thugs would be afraid to approach her in a dark alley. This half-crazy smile of hers is so similar to the one I see in the mirror in the morning.
- Thank you. Our reconciliation means a lot to me. But I'm not done apologizing yet. You don't have to sleep with those assholes for their meager scraps of knowledge anymore. I'll give you any books you want for free, except for a short secrecy oath... you understand. This knowledge shouldn't go further than you and me.
- Great, so I can switch to earning Galleons. What? - She looked at me questioningly, raising an eyebrow when I stared at her with a blank expression. - Or are you going to provide me with Galleons too?
- No, I barely have enough for my own needs...
- Well, don't make that face. Merlin, if I didn't like it, I wouldn't be doing it. Or do you think I gave my virginity to that lovesick fool, Corner? Ha-ha. I'll disappoint you, my virginity flew away long ago, waving goodbye to me. I'm grateful to you for your care and knowledge, but let me decide for myself how to live, okay? - Having waited for my nod, she continued. - I'm good not only at blood magic, but also at love magic. Yes, yes, don't be so surprised. Do you think I seriously needed that book? I would have just climbed into the forbidden section of the library with you at night, if I was so eager for this idea. But I combined business with pleasure. I sucked a little of the fool's magical power and potential. That's how it is. You have your own way of getting stronger with these dubious dark rituals of yours, and I have mine. - Caroline chuckled, seeing my surprised face and slack jaw. She reached out and covered my mouth.
I shook my head, trying to come to my senses. Love magic... Fuck... Why can't I just get stronger by fucking? I have to risk my life, spend a ton of resources and time, do complex arithmetic and astronomical calculations to get a little stronger, and all she needs is to seduce another idiot aristocrat with big balls, which with her looks is as easy as boiling water incendio. That's another reason to keep Caroline away from my bed. She'll suck my dark power out of me - and I'll be left with nothing. But blood magic also helps her get stronger in a similar way. Yes, blood magic doesn't work quite like that, and makes her stronger physically, not magically, but still... She's already drunk enough strong magical blood to match her characteristics of a young vampire. Not as strong and fast as me, but her magical resistances are almost as good. Simple curses just slide off her, and any weak spells are unlikely to cause serious harm. However, it is better for her and me to keep a respectful distance from the bombardment. You can still survive the fragments, it will cut, of course, but we will regenerate somehow, but a direct hit is death.
- I have previously avoided the topic of family and we have not talked about my life outside of Hogwarts, by the way, thank you for not insisting on this and not pestering me with questions, but, apparently, the time has come to talk about it. I will tell you a little about my past and present. What I live, what I breathe, how I ended up in this life. I think that we have known each other for a long time and know each other well enough to reveal some secrets to each other, right? And in return, you will share with me your global plans for life, how you see our future. What place can you and I take in this cruel magical world? I know you have some kind of cunning plan, it just can't not be, because I see that you've already started preparing for something. I want a share, partner! - the girl narrowed her eyes slyly and moved closer, looking with her bloody eyes into my black pools. Darkness and blood. A good combination, the right one. It is with darkness and blood that we will flood Britain, if necessary. Not all of it, of course, we will only spill "blue" blood.
I tiredly massaged the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. Communicating with people has always been a bit of a burden for me, and even with Carol I preferred not to talk for too long. The conversation would probably drag on. Well, no big deal. Sooner or later I would have to let her in on my plans anyway. Potter was about to enter school, and with him a whole bunch of heirs to the most powerful families of wizarding Britain. Our good Dark Lord showed us an excellent way and solution to the problem of pure-blood families who clung to their power with a death grip, not giving new blood, like Caroline and me, a chance to breathe. He used the "If you can't win, lead!" method, but it doesn't suit us. Why do we need a sinking ship? We will borrow from him a way to manage these hypocritical racist fascists obsessed with blood purity. The Dark Mark has proven itself well, as have the strings of oaths that have encircled the arrogant aristos like Christmas garlands around a festive tree. If they understand only the language of cruelty and violence, so be it.
We'll bring them to their knees, milk them for all their knowledge and money, and then... we'll figure out how else to use our "noble" friends. Honestly, thinking about all this, it increasingly seems to me that the Dark Lord himself acted in a similar way, until his brain was blown away by a hurricane of black magic. Black, not dark. I don't stoop to such nastiness, I've been taking care of my mental health since I was young. It's just... Seriously, he milked his supporters dry, squeezing out all the knowledge and resources they had, and then threw them to the slaughter, changing the system for him, ha-ha. If it weren't for Potter... he would have succeeded. So, I also need to be more careful with our hero, since a whole Dark Lord got killed by him. I'll act from the shadows, carefully.
- Carol, let's take a walk in Green Park then, since that's the case. The weather is nice today, and I want to combine business with pleasure. I promised my mother that I would go for a walk today, and not sit all day with books, and I keep my word. I'll at least walk in good company, since that's the case. - I didn't want to sit in a closed room and listen to someone else's story with a smart look and nod along to the beat.
I wanted movement. Perhaps one of the rituals that gave me physical strength and agility comparable to werewolves (alphas of the pack) affected me in this way. Sometimes I now wanted to walk like this, in nature. To run... "As if I'm walking myself..." - the thought flashed through my head. Thank goodness that the desire to mark the territory did not appear. However, the desire for physical activity is a small price to pay for immense strength, agility, speed, heightened senses, and magical resistance that rivals the original donor werewolf body I borrowed it all from. Almost voluntarily, by the way.
The deal was downright lousy for Rufus Mackenzie and very good for me, but what can you do, he needed help, not me. But his daughter is now living happily, and the curse that some purebred bastard she looked at sideways was lifted without consequences for the girl. True, she doesn't know what price her father paid for her healing, but that's for the best. Some things are better left buried in the dark forever. In the end, this is a story with a happy ending. She still had a loving mother and an enclave of werewolves who are all like family to each other, so the little werewolf princess won't go to waste.
- Well, let's go. - The girl waited until I collected the artifact complex, paid for us with the waitress, and, taking me by the arm, purposefully dragged me towards the spires of Westminster Abbey, visible even from here.
From there, we can easily get to the well-kept green park, using them as a landmark. I could immediately see that Caroline was nervous, because such hyperactivity was my style, not hers.
Apparently, what she wanted to tell me was so unpleasant that it offended even her. My friend generally had strange complexes when it came to family or home. Those who insulted her, touching the invisible strings of her soul associated with this, got hit especially hard and with a guarantee.
Caroline learned to fight back slowly, just like me, so we both had time to get to know each other's weaknesses and what insults are unforgivable for each of us. I walked a very fine line, by the way.
For a while, I seriously believed that she was an orphan.
The vengeful witch remembered everyone who had stepped on her sore spots, from the second year to the fifth. She had already paid almost all of them back in one way or another. It was just that not everyone could be so easily reached.
Unfortunately, our enemies were smart enough to unite in the face of dangerous and completely crazy users of the mystical art of curses.
It doesn't matter that we are mudbloods, danger is danger. They can turn up their noses, pour slop on us behind our backs, shit on trifles and spread dirty rumors, but fear has already settled in their hearts. I myself carefully sowed these seeds. Mudbloods or not, it doesn't matter in a duel. On the contrary, having lost to someone like me, they lose even more reputation.
We covered the whole short way to the park in tense silence. She was collecting her thoughts, and I was winding myself up, imagining all sorts of horrors that happened to my friend in the past. I have a great imagination, thanks to treatises on dark magic, which often included biographies and adventures of dark wizards of the past.
At first, I even had nightmares after reading such things. Compared to them, I am just a fluffy dandelion, and Voldemort is just a slightly stern guy with a dominance complex. The Middle Ages, what can you say. Blood, guts, mass sacrifices, all this was considered something as trivial as lunch or dinner.
Need to increase the crop yield? Bring a couple of peasant women, now we'll sprinkle the altar with blood and it'll rain for you. Are the cattle dying or are you just in a bad mood? Bring a couple more healthy men, now we'll torture them to death, and then we'll feed the altar. And they tortured them "for the soul", not for the sake of the ritual. Sick perverts. I can understand for business, but just for fun... I hope I won't become one.
We entered the park through the central gate and walked towards Buckingham Palace, passing a pond in which a flock of ducks splashed and white swans majestically cut through the mirror-like surface. Well-fed squirrels, who were not at all afraid of people, ran around the trees and just on the well-groomed lawn. Of course, they were fattened to the size of young cats by the visitors of the park.
It was sunny and there were quite a lot of people in Green Park. People of all stripes had come here with their families, picnicking and simply enjoying the summer sun and the light northerly breeze that brought coolness on a hot day. There were also many tourists from all over the world who had come to see the sights of London. Some even managed to sunbathe here, taking off their tops and putting on sunglasses. Looking at the happy faces of people, Caroline, on the contrary, became increasingly gloomy.
We had already walked a good half of the park, but she still could not start a conversation that was unpleasant for her.
I noticed a mighty ancient maple growing at a small distance from the main roads and paths of the park. In its wide shade it would probably be very cool and calm, nice to just sit and relax, reading some magical grimoire or making calculations for a new dark ritual.
I noticed a bench hidden near the maple, adapted for just these needs. In the shade of the oak, I saw someone sitting in a wheelchair and reading a book. The person was sitting with his back to me, so I did not even know whether it was a man or a woman. This made me think that someone is always even less lucky than you, and you should not forget about it. Never.
I couldn't make out the man, except for the long white hair swaying in the wind, but Carol dragged me along, not slowing down, like a miniature version of the Hogwarts Express train.
I remembered the place, though. Maybe I'll come here one of these days to read in the shade of the maple tree, like that grey-haired man did. Fresh air is good, as a dark wizard I say, it's very good for your health. I thought so, and so did the ancient druids, whose competence I have long since ceased to doubt.
"You know, the beginning of our stories is so similar to each other, but their development and the end result... When my first emission happened, I also set fire to something. Papers on the table. All sorts of little things, actually. I was four years old. And my mother and father saw it too, just like yours did in your time. My father also left the family, just like yours. He abandoned us, accusing my mother of witchcraft, and declaring me a child of Satan, with whom my mother allegedly fucked behind his back while he worked hard at the factory. Yeah, sure, it's very easy to blame someone who doesn't even exist for your deeds and escape responsibility. Very convenient... - the girl smiled sadly and adjusted her hair that had fallen over her eyes, casting a sideways glance at me from under her bangs. Having made sure that I was listening attentively, she continued.
- Our mothers are so different and similar at the same time, Amos. They had equal conditions from the beginning, but they used their natural gifts in completely different ways. Your mother used her sharp mind to take advantage of her beauty and get a good job, and mine... used her beauty to avoid working. In other words... she became an ordinary whore, over time. No, at first she tried to be a more or less decent woman, finding sponsors, but over time her sexual partners changed more and more often, and she herself became less and less picky. I think it was all because of those cheap drugs that one of her boyfriends got her hooked on. Drugs and a growing, groundless hatred for me. She got it into her head, and into mine, too, though in a different way, that it was all my fault. Guilty that my father left us. Guilty that my mother started taking drugs to forget. Guilty that she became a whore. Guilty that her new clients increasingly beat her, and so on... In revenge, she took out her anger on me. Beatings were the lesser of two evils. She was a pretty weak woman, fortunately. But I could go without food for a whole week, in bad times. That nasty feeling of hunger, when your stomach sticks to your ribs and the will to live pushes you to find food in anything… I hope you never have to go through that, Amos. Sometimes that damned bitch would make me thirsty too. That was even worse. But I had some help from magic, I think, because it's highly doubtful I could have survived those three days without water, locked in my room in complete isolation while she was wandering around God knows where. I was already weak and had a cold at the time. A nine-year-old child couldn't survive that, I think. I was sweating profusely from the heat, so dehydration should have set in even earlier. But I survived, in spite of that bitch. — Caroline stopped at the railing, leaning her elbows on the wrought-iron edge, and stared at the turtles lazily swimming in the lake, rhythmically shuffling their paws. I stood next to her and silently put my hand on her shoulder. They were silent. I saw how hard it was for her to speak. But she wasn't finished yet.
— Then, when I was ten, I started to look more like my mother in her teenage years. Started to mature, so to speak. And she used to be very beautiful, you know? Before she started taking drugs, drinking, fucking whoever she could and getting beaten up. It became a problem, considering what she did while "working" from home. I closed the door to the room at night, tried to distance myself from the sounds behind the wall, but… what could this plywood junk, which was mistakenly called a door, do against a grown man, very annoyed and completely drunk? Nothing. — Carol took a bottle of water from her purse and wet her dry throat. I think she just needed a little excuse to pause, to collect her thoughts. The girl turned her gaze to her red-varnished nails, sinking deeper into melancholy.
— The only thing that saved me was that this bastard had a ridiculously small dick. Otherwise, I don't even know what health consequences he would have left me as a souvenir. You know, he can even be understood. The guy paid money to get pleasure, and with his size and my mother's "experience", for him it was probably like sticking his pod into a bottomless barrel. She also passed out in the process, apparently. In short, one big disappointment. So he decided to compensate for everything at the expense of his whore's daughter. I won't tell you how it all happened, it's disgusting even to remember, but at least he left the money to me, and not to this drug addict, and in the morning he was terribly remorseful, begging me not to tell anyone. He turned out to be conscientious. Lucky. Another would have strangled me with a pillow and gone. I agreed. What else could I do? For even more money, of course. Even then I understood their magical power well. They were life in the truest sense of the word, because if they tried to starve and thirst me again, I would be able to exchange these useless colored pieces of paper for the food and water I needed to continue living. Then I began to wonder, why do I actually continue to resist and cling to life with all my might?
After standing in silence for a few minutes, Sharphart turned to face me and looked into my eyes from the bottom up. I don't know what she wanted to find in them, because it's hard to even find my pupil in this impenetrable blackness… Sympathy, pity, or contempt, but apparently she found something that she liked and didn't disappoint. At least, I can say for sure that there was definitely no contempt there. I myself had a hard time understanding what I was feeling now. The personalities of Alexander and Amos began to resonate with each other again, coming to a consensus of feelings. At that moment we were experiencing the same thing, although we could not put it into words. Caroline closed her eyes and continued her dark story.
— I never told my mother anything. Why? To give her the great idea of selling her own daughter's body for a pittance? No way. She could do it, and for me, once was enough. I had nightmares for a long time, and every time loud sounds came from her room at night, I became so scared that I hid under the bed and spent the whole night there. Over time, I adapted and began to put a sheet under the bed in the evenings, before going to sleep. All I had to do was grab a pillow before diving into the saving darkness. It was almost comfortable. At least I felt safe. — Smiling crookedly, she opened her eyes and turned away. Looking at the passers-by scurrying through the park, she was thinking about something of her own, immersed in difficult memories.
— Luckily, I was lucky the rest of the year before Hogwarts. No one tried to fuck me, although some of the looks were more than eloquent. But I learned to trust my intuition and run away from home on those evenings when my intuition screamed at me to retreat. Then I wandered the streets of the city, alone, in the dark. It was very bad in winter and autumn, I tell you. A couple of times I almost came down with a sore throat, which was like death for me, but magic saved me. And then there was the letter from Hogwarts and the first year. A real fairy tale. Everything was so good that I even began to forget my past life, like a bad dream. I could eat until I was full, sleep on a soft bed, with other girls in the room, without jumping up at night in a cold sweat, feverishly pulling a pillow under the bed ... I made my first friend - you. Do you remember how carefree and cheerful we were? Such ... children? Exploring the castle, studying magic in the library, communicating with other children. Yes, it was a good time, but it was short-lived.
I couldn't help but smile, remembering my first year. A slight smile crept onto Carol's face, but it quickly faded.
- You were the only one who didn't care what I looked like and that I was exactly what the term "homeless beggar" meant. I could barely read or write. It wasn't easy, but I learned quickly, feeling that my salvation lay only in knowledge. In knowledge and magic. You and I had a common interest and a craving for something new to us - magic, thanks to which we became close. The others perceived it as something mundane, which amazed me at the time. Later, I realized that you and I were the only new Muggle-borns who got into Ravenclaw that year. For obvious reasons, this brought us closer. We didn't have a choice then. That, and our disgusting characters, which turned the rest of the team against us. Now, after so many years, I understand that we were lucky to be in the same boat. Forced friendship grew into a real one. Even if we had behaved like model students, adapting to the concepts of social norms among aristocrats, it would not have changed anything about us. Blood status does not depend on anything else except the blood itself. We would have become outcasts anyway. I will not talk about the subsequent courses and problems, we went through them together, so you already know about most of them, but you do not know how much fun I had during the "vacation" after the first course.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, searching for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I smoked very rarely, but sometimes I really wanted to, even if my heightened senses didn't like it. Now I really wanted to.
There was some kind of aching emptiness in my head. The anger that should have woken up in me by now was somehow silent, curled up in my heart, taut like a spring. Like a cocked bolt, it was ready to release a dark curse on someone by sheer willpower, without a wand. Such is the power of malefics - they could do their dirty work even without magical concentrators.
My best friend's story devastated me. I thought I had it hard all this time, but it turned out that her situation was even worse than mine. At least I had a break between courses, an island of peace - a home where my loving and spoiling mother was waiting for me. And Caroline didn't even have that. But we had more or less the same amount of shit at Hogwarts.
I struck a lighter and, knocking out a sheaf of sparks, took a drag on the acrid tobacco smoke, coughing a little. My keen sense of smell was clearly not thrilled with my hobbies. The girl cast a displeased glance at me and wrinkled her nose, moving away a little. She didn't like it when I smoked. She said that afterwards I smelled like a burnt log, and I also soaked her clothes with my nastiness.
- Let's just say that was the first time I hated our ministry and its damned laws banning magic for minors. What kind of nastiness is this, to teach us magic, give us hope, and then take it away? True, I couldn't have done anything, even if I had a wand in my hand, because you can't cast magic with it, but I could at least try. My mother finally figured out how to earn some extra cash for her nonsense, because there was nothing left to sell in the apartment, and the number of clients was decreasing. Her beauty was fading very quickly, and with it the influx of pounds. Yes, you guessed correctly. The whole summer after the first year turned into some kind of continuous nightmare for me. I was locked in my room and couldn't even escape. She installed bars on the window before I arrived. And then came the second year. The nightmare continued, it just changed its tone. Then I began to hate the aristocrats too. But you know, it was still worse at home. But that summer I received something else, besides psychological trauma for life. I felt how life and strength were slowly flowing out of my rapists, flowing into me in a thin stream. This helped me hold on and even smile a little maliciously, feeling how I was shortening their life expectancy and undermining their health. Then I started looking for ways to use magic outside of Hogwarts without getting kicked out. I couldn't use regular magic, but I could use the products of the magical arts to cope with the situation or use some form of wandless magic. I brewed myself a lot of sleeping potion before the summer, and even added my own twist. Hallucinogenic mushrooms that grew in the Forbidden Forest. The new potion sent everyone into a wonderful sleep when you sprayed it in the face of anyone who wanted cheap pleasure. They wanted paradise, so I gave it to them. It wasn't my fault that they paid for one thing and got something completely different. A couple died in the process, though. Apparently, the magical fly agarics were a little more dangerous than their regular counterparts. An experimental potion, to say the least. The constables who came to collect the bodies registered them as drug overdoses. In general, it's quite logical and even correct. And then you showed me blood magic and I ran away from home, having received into my own hands the means of existence outside the damned walls of my home. Yes, I robbed, stole money and rented a room for myself from a nice granny who didn't ask questions. I didn't want to ask you for help in this matter, because I was afraid that, having learned the truth, you would turn away from me. Now I understand that it was in vain, but I was thirteen, eh. You know the rest.
— Fuck. — I put out my cigarette on the edge of the lake and threw it into the lake, despite the fact that I could have been fined a huge amount for it. The Muggle-repelling charm was still working on me anyway. I approached the girl who was hesitating and simply hugged her, gently resting my chin on the top of her head. She hesitantly hugged me back, squeezing my shirt on the back with her fingers. I felt her sharp claws digging into my back, and she herself began to tremble a little.
We stood like that for about ten minutes, until the left side of my shirt was soaked with tears. Ten minutes later, the only clue I could tell that Caroline had cried for the first time in my memory was the wet spot on my clothes.
It seemed that her mood had improved greatly as soon as she had unburdened herself, throwing out the negativity that she had been holding inside all this time. And she also managed to talk me into buying another ice cream, this time cranberry, but also with caramel.
In my dark heart, I promised that soon everything would change for the better. For me and for her. Soon we will push away from the privileged, those who have lived their whole lives in luxury and have known no troubles. We have the determination, cruelty and magic for this, we don't need anything else to gnaw out a place for ourselves under the Sun.