Apparating over such a distance was, as always, quite difficult. I staggered a little, grabbing a gnarled tree branch nearby. I even started to get short of breath. It's good that at least I don't have any extra baggage today. Dragging a centaur corpse too... I'd have to split the route into three jumps and give myself a two-three hour rest between them. It's not worth it. Of course then I'd have a chance to study these creatures. If only I had a suitcase like Newt's... Oh, my dreams. Such happiness costs as much as a hundred-meter yacht, if we draw parallels.
I had an idea to borrow the structure of the part of the body that is mostly human, i.e. the upper one, to create a chimera or necrochimera in the style of an arachnid - half-human, half-acromantula. It would be an interesting experiment, in my opinion. A spider centaur, heh. Judging by the bestiary, someone has already come to this idea and implemented it quite successfully, which means it is possible. Even if the secret of their creation was long lost, what prevents me from trying to recreate it from scratch? Especially since I have a clear example of the successful and long-term existence of such a species, albeit an ungulate, not an arthropod. Maybe they survived, but the arachnids did not, because centaurs are much less aggressive? Although, I am like a death flag to them, so I will not judge. Suddenly a great idea is born.
In general, for short distances, apparation, or transgression, as it is more convenient for someone, in different countries it is called differently - an excellent thing, but for long-distance travel ... Well, there are port-keys and a fireplace network, right? I have no plans for a fireplace yet, but local port-keys, within one country, I can make myself, although it turns out to be not cheap.
There is another option - to mature and gain strength. But I will not become strong enough to jump, for example, even across the English Channel, not to mention other continents, any time soon. If I do not die in the process of becoming great. It is customary to crush upstarts like me with all your might, regardless of the losses. Luck is finite, after all. One day it may end and an avada will find my back.
Now I can easily carry triple my weight, and this almost does not affect the efforts I expend. That is, I can transmigrate two teenagers of fifteen or sixteen years of age and a small build, or one adult at a time. For my age, this is a great result, however. Although it can be better. In any case, not all wizards can transmigrate at all. And those who can transfer someone else with them are far from simple. You have to be careful with these, because this is an indicator of not only a large reserve of magic, but also its filigree control.
There is nothing to be done about it, the sphere of my talents lies in a slightly different plane. Being a dark ritualist magician, with a touch of a novice artefact maker, does not make me omnipotent.
I wouldn't say I'm particularly good at potions, and Caroline even less so. Combat magic that isn't labeled "dark" isn't that good in my performance either. I'd say it's ordinary. Although my stupefy is a sight to behold, I must admit.
I've specifically practiced it to absolute automatism and can cast it with such speed that only skilled duelists like Flitwick could react to a sudden attack from me and repel it. It's a pity that the spell itself is weak and only works well on people who aren't protected by a magical shield.
However, not everything is so rosy. The passive protection of amulets of aristocrats can easily withstand the first and even the second blow before going into recharge, so it's far from a superweapon. The power of money, as always, gives incredible bonuses to those who possess it. But to quickly knock down their shields... Mmm-yes, a very good thing.
Caroline is not a fighter at all. Blood curses and blood magic that enhances both the body and the magic you cast, yes, it is a power, in the long term. However, it is even more dangerous to show it off at Hogwarts than with dark curses and the magic I use.
Our superhuman strength and speed should not be shown off too much either. Even I do not use blood magic in school duels. I have not used it on people, I mean. Why would enemies know that a drop of their blood can turn into a blood plague for their entire family? I am exaggerating, of course, but blood curses are actually much more difficult to remove, so you need to use them wisely. Otherwise, the Auror guys will come and give me a slap on the wrist. And then they will take me to a resort, to the sea, without trial or investigation, like Black. Fresh sea air, single-room apartments without any amenities, once a day meals of slops and cheerful animators in the form of dementors are included for free. Thank you, I will abstain. Better to die right away. It will be much better than becoming a food/battery for the demonic creatures living there.
Transfiguration is a solid average. But here you need to take into account that I am talking about the entire school as a whole, and after all, pure-blooded wizards are the absolute majority here. So this is a very good indicator.
And damned Dumbledore and Minerva can't stand me. A dark wizard... There was too much darkness and pain in their lives for them to treat people like me normally. I understand them, of course, but I do not forgive them. I took this path because of your indifference, dear administration, so chew this lemon and don't grimace.
They never explain anything to me beyond the pale in Transfiguration lessons, no matter how much I stretch my hand, only the material that is given to everyone, and only strictly according to the lesson program. I'd rather not even mention the extra ones. This situation applies to almost all the teachers, by the way, thank you, old cocksucker, for such a disservice. Even our dean, Flitwick, grimaces when he looks at Carol and me, although before there was sympathy and understanding in his gaze.
And all because of Dumbledore's influence, who pours his propaganda of light into their ears! Doesn't he understand, doesn't he see that I simply have no other way to live, no, survive? Bearded bastard. But a very strong bearded bastard. Such a wizard can only be killed in one way. By cunning. Well, with a touch of very dark magic, of course. As it was in canon. Something like that.
And I really don't feel any darkness in him. I don't really feel the light either, to be honest, but with such an approach to educating children it's not surprising. An "ordinary" great wizard. And a politician. Yes, mostly a politician, so is it really worth being surprised? I'm probably also ruining some of his statistics. Amos, the previous one, was very offended by the director before, having almost written him down as a traitor, but I personally didn't care anymore. I realized long ago that in this world you can only count on yourself and your closest people. The government, the Auror, teachers, friends and acquaintances? HA HA HA.
So, what was I talking about? None of the teaching staff wanted to teach me additionally. They fear me and dislike me, even despise me. And Dumbledore probably insistently asked them to do this. They don't want to allow the birth of another Dark Lord without properly getting rid of the previous one. Fools. As if Dark Lords are springing up like mushrooms after rain. I'm still a long way from such a title, and getting it is like drawing a target on my back, so screw it. I don't want to be a Dark Lord! I'll be, uh, something else. Even a grey one, that's it. Grey Cardinal is an honor, so Grey Lord is also not bad.
Flitwick, at first, I think, even thought about teaching me combat magic when I started progressing on the dueling platform, but he never decided. A big minus for him. I thought better of him. Although, to be honest, I don't know all the circumstances of the half-goblin. Perhaps Dumbledore holds him by his little balls, so tightly that he can't take a step without his approval. To be thrown out of his position in his old age... I don't think he needs such happiness. Okay, I'm not going to impose myself.
Snape, despite being a colleague in the dark craft, can't stand me, because the bulk of my conflicts now occur precisely with the students of his faculty. Mine have already calmed down a little, for the most part having tried me enough to understand me.
Ravenclaws are generally not as aggressive and radical as snakes. They are characterized by pragmatism. As soon as they realized that the time and effort spent on this "war" does not pay off at all, but only brings losses, they almost stopped pestering me. Well, except for the especially gifted ones. Several seniors still can't come to terms with the state of affairs. Never mind, I'll teach them to love dark wizards.
That's why Snape often has to stay in the infirmary for a long time, removing from his snakes the nastiness that I shamelessly gave them during each provoked duel. I sent them rays of goodness, but for some reason the opposite ones reached them. Because of me? No, they're just evil, that's all.
Perhaps his hatred for me stems from much more mundane motives than Amos had previously thought, and this time he really was to blame. I take up the potion master's precious time, and he really doesn't like that, because for him "Time is money" is a completely non-figurative expression. Every couple of hours of downtime for him is a lost hundred and fifty galleons.
Anyway, Snape gives me shit for this and gives me lower marks in potions, so I don't even know my real level in potion-making. Maybe not complete mediocrity, but a pretty average wizard. According to Snape, I'm a brainless starfish at the bottom of the sea, but I don't really believe him. And anyway, I hope that wasn't a reference to Spongebob, because I read about people who were reborn as Snape... No, please. Just not Snape...
In fact, from my point of view, the professor even acted fairly towards me. Every year my curses become more and more sophisticated and I constantly refine and modify them out of pure enthusiasm, because it's interesting, so he has to spend a lot of time finding a new key to a new-old curse every time. This is our competition. I'm sure it irritates and annoys him terribly, he-he-he. But his curse-breaking skills have improved a bit since then. If Dumbledore kicks him out into the cold, he'll get an immediate offer from Gringotts.
So there you have it, no one wants to teach me, such an evil, heartless Muggle-born upstart. Even Binns avoids me, and he's a ghost. A ghost, for fuck's sake!
No one, except for one wonderful, lovely teacher. My favorite and the only one who gives me extra lessons and helps me, despite the disapproval of her colleagues. Bathsheda Babbling.
A young red-haired witch, quite attractive in appearance, by the way. She braided her fiery red hair into two thick, tight braids that fell slightly below her very tempting hips.
Occasionally, when she was in a good mood, she wove into her braids all sorts of simple decorations made of thin silver threads and small fragments of chrysolite and alexandrite the color of fresh grass. Perhaps there were emeralds among them, but it is unlikely. Too expensive a pleasure. This composition was somewhat reminiscent of twisted poison ivy, just like the one that twines around the astronomical tower from top to bottom, trying to get closer to the warm sun. And the jewelry stretches up through her fiery strands, toward its sun. She preferred to wear small earrings in her ears - in one ear in the form of a crescent moon, and in the other a small star.
Beautiful, expressive eyes the color of spring foliage attracted the gaze of anyone who had already reached puberty. Like witchcraft swamp lights, they beckoned the seeker to follow them, to the bottom of the swamp, from where there was no escape. Unconsciously, you wanted to follow them, in order to eventually drown and dissolve in the calm green waters, choke and go to the bottom. I tried to avoid looking at them for a long time, if only briefly.
A few cute freckles under her eyes did not spoil her appearance at all, because her regular oval face, slightly upturned, small and neat nose and well-groomed snow-white skin harmoniously combined with each other, giving her face a certain spring freshness and natural beauty. She almost never used makeup, or I just did not notice it. Only on weekends she slightly painted her lips with barely noticeable lipstick, as if giving them a little more volume. Although without it they looked extremely attractive.
By the way, Bathsheda's figure was also very attractive. So much so that even a very loose robe could not hide her tempting curves from observant eyes.
Many older students drool over her, especially her lower body and slender long legs. In her free time, she preferred to dress quite openly and modernly, by the standards of the wizarding world, of course, attracting the greedy glances of students and even some teachers. Snape was clearly drawn to red-haired, green-eyed beauties, but he had no chance with her, as far as I got to know her. No chance. She rather disliked the Potion Master, but behaved, as with everyone, quite friendly.
Students, it seems to me, lost their heads because of her favorite white lace stockings, which she pulls on her slender legs on weekends. They look great on her together with a green satin knee-length skirt and a light white blouse with short sleeves. When her legs flash on the stairs and in the corridors of the school, many guys almost twist their heads. Cases of "accidents" are becoming more frequent, when students crash into each other or into armor standing by the walls. I think she is flattered by such attention, otherwise she would wear completely closed robes to the floor, like McGonagall.
By the way, they had one shared passion for both of them - wide-brimmed witch hats. Although, as for me, they suited Babbling much better. If Minerva looked like an old and strict witch from fairy tales, then Bathsheda personified a young, cheerful and rebellious witch, from fairy tales about fairies, light as the wind and smiling as the sun. But this was a deceptive feeling. It was worth someone really angering the witch, as from a light breeze she turned into a real hurricane. In my memory, this happened only once.
Last year, another DADA teacher decided that he could get his hands dirty, putting them where they weren't wanted. Well, she showed him that he was fundamentally mistaken and not fit for the job. Not only did she mercilessly break both of his arms, but she also cursed him so much that even Snape could only shrug his shoulders. Although, maybe he didn't try, he can do it. He is extremely vindictive. Luckily, it was already the end of the year, exam time, and we didn't need a replacement, so we finished our studies without a DADA professor, because the hapless wizard had to leave the school and go look for a way to remove the curse that turned his nose and ears into pig's. Transforming them on a very deep level. This is not a partial transfiguration, but a conceptual change, most likely supported by runes or a ritual. All this, both appearance and character, excited the young minds of wizards, especially those from the conservative aristocracy. I am sure that if Bathsheda had not been a half-blood, she would have had no end of suitors. But as it was, the eminent aristocrats and pure-blooded wizards considered it shameful to marry her, and approaching her with indecent proposals was dangerous. After all, she was a master. So they could only swallow their saliva and watch from the sidelines. Let her family reject her good-for-nothing father, who married an ordinary red-haired beauty from Ireland, and refused to recognize Bathsheda as the daughter of his family. But the knowledge of her father, who previously belonged to a very ancient pure-blood family, and her own talent were enough for the girl to carve out a good place for herself in the sun on her own. For the position of professor at Hogwarts, one of the best schools of magic in the world, mind you, they don't take just anyone. Except for the DADA teachers, yes, but that was a special case.
Amos also sometimes looked at the young teacher, but he respected and valued the professor too much to allow his thoughts to constantly slide into debauchery. He was one of the few who always listened attentively to her in class and did not live in the clouds.
I suspect that it was this attitude that served him well later and determined the choice of the Ancient Runes teacher, when he timidly, without much hope, first asked whether he could hope for additional classes. Well, or it became one of the determining reasons, but not the main one. Nevertheless, for the first time he received a positive answer from a Hogwarts teacher.
Amos-past never thought about it, but... I, having looked through his memories of practically private lessons (in most cases Amos really was alone with her and received private lessons on a very advanced course of ancient runes) with Professor Babbling, was able to notice something interesting.
First - she was a Legilimens and an empath. That's absolutely true. And a very strong Legilimens, I must admit. But it seems she didn't get deep into the students' heads. At least, certainly not with Amos. He didn't give a damn about the others, except Carol. But his girlfriend also had a high level of protection. She would have felt if someone got into her head without asking, so he was almost not worried about his secrets. They are stored too deep and it is simply impossible to open them without irreversibly damaging the mind.
Moreover, Bathsheda Babbling for some reason could not stand Caroline, unlike Amos. So they kept their distance from each other, and that was fine with everyone. To be fair, some of the other older girls didn't like Babbling either. Especially the Slytherins. Especially the ones with boyfriends who occasionally glanced at the young teacher when they thought their crushes weren't looking. But they did, heh-heh.
But Bathsheda accurately read the superficial thoughts and emotions of the wizards and witches around her, using this skillfully and carefully, easily establishing contact with almost all students and teachers. She knew how to find an approach to almost anyone, and even Dumbledore treated her favorably, turning a blind eye to many things.
There were already few specialists in runes, there was no choice, and then he got his hands on a young and talented talent who could stay in her position at the school for a very long time, freeing him from the need to waste his time on finding a teacher of runes. Before her, every year he had to persuade all sorts of personalities to take this position at least temporarily.
Second... I suspect that this sweet woman is actually my colleague in the dark arts and is also very knowledgeable about rituals. A number of small details and specific reservations, spells that she used in my presence, but not in the presence of other students, indicated this. Was it a coincidence? Or was it a test and a hint? This would have been another brick in her motivation to help me a little. No, not the mythical solidarity of the dark, of course, but something else.
Perhaps she was, so to speak, laying the foundation for a good relationship for the future with a promising dark wizard. It costs her almost nothing, except a drop of her precious time and knowledge, but for me her lessons were very, very important.
Ancient runes were one of the foundations in rituals and in artifact making. I studied them myself, but without her it would have taken me much more time to figure everything out on my own. There were too many double and triple interpretations and all sorts of professional tricks hidden in this subject. I won't even mention that there were a great many runic languages and each one was better suited for certain tasks than the others.
In any case, I hope that her motives are limited to this, and she doesn't see me on her sacrificial altar right after finishing school. The suspicion of all people around me that I developed at Hogwarts didn't allow me to seriously trust a person with whom I didn't bury a corpse in the forbidden forest. I trust Sharpheart. Guess why.
I really wouldn't want to be disappointed in the only professor who showed concern for me and began to teach me her science for real, despite the fact that she could have problems with the management because of me. They probably would have appeared, but for some reason Dumbledore didn't pester Bathsheda with his sermons. Probably. In any case, when I return to school, it will be the third year since she began teaching me.
Amos was afraid to approach her directly with serious questions about dark rituals, breaking the rune chains into separate blocks and sometimes showing them to her, asking the fire-maned beauty for advice when he really reached a dead end.
Naive, she certainly understood the essence of his rituals even from separate blocks. If I'm right about her, of course. Maybe these are all my idle speculations. But my intuition tells me that I'm right and she really is knowledgeable not only in ancient runes, but also in ancient rituals and dark magic.
And the third thing, which partially overlaps with the second point - there is a possibility, and quite a significant one, judging by Amos's memories, that Babbling likes younger boys. And I'm clearly her favorite. I don't know if she's the only one, but certainly in our year.
Separate classes in her private chambers, light flirting that Amos didn't even understand due to his inexperience, unobtrusive conversations on abstract topics, fleeting touches... We sit, again, not opposite each other at the table, as expected, but side by side, on a soft sofa.
Babbling often pressed her gorgeous breasts a little longer and a little tighter than the educational process required, and she smelled so pleasantly of jasmine... And although Amos kept himself in check, practicing occlumency at the same time, he would occasionally glance at the beautiful teacher with a very interested look. At such moments, she smiled especially slyly, and imps danced in her eyes, but Amos believed that she was simply teasing and provoking him. Joking.
Well, maybe it was so, of course, but one does not interfere with the other. It was entirely possible that Bathsheda had been sending him clear signals, giving him the opportunity to make the first move, but Amos had ignored them in the past.
I think it was important for her from an ethical point of view. If she had made the first move, it would not have been very nice of her, because she was older and more experienced, and also a professor. Babbling would have looked like an unprincipled seductress, a lover of younger boys, corrupting her own students. But if Amos himself had made the first move... That would have been a completely different matter. At least in any case, it was Babbling who was taking the risk, not me. Okay, let's see.
I need to see for myself. What if the memories and feelings of old Amos deceive me and he was simply passing off his sweet fantasies as reality? Could that be? It's entirely possible. Memories are very subjective, and human fantasy is such that it has a pernicious habit of finishing the picture in accordance with a person's desires. Soon we will meet alone again and I will be able to evaluate this lovely woman and her real attitude towards me from my own experience.
After all, if she really likes younger boys, Amos in particular, then... I certainly won't complain. On the contrary, I'll be only too happy to deepen our teacher-student relationship. Am I a fool or something to refuse such a thing? A good half of all students dream of an affair with a beautiful teacher! The male half, of course. Although, maybe some girls, too, who knows?..
Okay, problems need to be dealt with as they arise, and there's still plenty of time before our first private lesson this year.
Why did I suddenly remember her? Oh, I just finally got to my secret hideout, located in the forest. I had to Disapparate at some distance, and then make my way across rough terrain, avoiding my own traps.
No, I was not in the Forbidden Forest, but in an ordinary one, in the north-east of Scotland. What's so special about my base that I remembered the seductive teacher of ancient runes? It's simple. Her lessons were of great benefit to me and I used the runes I had learned with her to the fullest in building my small secret house in the forest. At least it wasn't on a tree, old Amos had such a childish idea... Glory to Morgana, he changed his mind.
The most complex and important rune complexes, applied to the internal walls and supports, were for expanding the space.
Although an extremely weak expansion, compared to a professional one, even such an expansion of space significantly simplified my life, increasing the internal area of a small one-story house made of gray brick by almost three times.
But it was stable, and I was sure that the internal space would not collapse, because Bathsheda herself helped me with the calculations. She gave me something like a small exam on this topic, but... I suspect that she specially chose this topic for him, since she guessed what exactly I needed at that moment in time.
Professional intuition, personal experience, or simply my thoughts were so obvious that they were easy and straightforward to count, I don't know, but I was sincerely grateful to her for such a gift.
I myself would not have figured out such a complex enchantment as spatial expansion even by the seventh year. It turned out that you can't just place runes in the house anywhere. They won't work on the bare strength and skill of the one who drew them. It's a useless undertaking. So we had to draw up an entire architectural plan for the house. Although no, it was more of a design drawing that formed the basis for the construction of the house and its interior layout.
The runes of space were barely noticeable and covered mostly the interior decoration of the base, but the outside walls and roof were already covered with runes of a completely different purpose.
I got them from the help book and did all the calculations myself, although it was damn hard and the formulas started to give me a headache. These runes were too important to reveal their presence even to Bathsheda. Amos finished this work only this summer, a few weeks before his "rebirth".
Their purpose was to hide my base from magical detection. Any.
I could not trust such a secret to anyone, because they completely shielded this house from everything, including even the seers from the Department of Mysteries with their annoying prophetic gift. Fanatical centaurs were enough for me.
However, I also had something for non-magical detection. Muggle-repellent artifacts of my own production. I hung them around the perimeter of the site, on pine trees, like New Year's toys, which served as the basis for simple artifacts. Thick glass held magic perfectly, oddly enough.
Having stepped onto my territory, I felt the strings of control of the undead, which were lying in ambush here, waiting for uninvited guests, reaching out to me. Controlling the acromantula infernals reminded me of weaving a magical web from a spider web. I was the largest and most important spider here, sitting in the center of the web, pulling the strings, giving certain orders to my dead through the "vibrations" of magic. It was difficult to describe in words the process of controlling this arthropod undead. The most interesting thing is that it was completely different from that for the infernals created from people.
There were so many of them here simply because there was nowhere to put them in the Forbidden Forest. A large accumulation of undead would certainly attract the attention of the ministry, so they were scattered there in small groups, and there was nowhere to put the extra ones except for placing them in the vicinity of their house, protected from surveillance. Most of them were already hiding in the Forbidden Forest.
I dragged the same dead acromantulas that were here when I was making new ones. They could protect the base if necessary, but it was hard and tedious work. Well, safety was more important.
What if someone could track my movements? Jump after me, and then, bam, good evening. Welcome to the spider picnic. If more than two or three stars of well-equipped Aurors with artifacts show up here for me, then the guests will stay here and keep the spiders company. For a while. Until I process them. Aurors, not artifacts. I will definitely need them. Although, you can use the surviving Aurors to strengthen the security perimeter. Infernals from wizards are an order of magnitude stronger than those from ordinary people.
What, in the US you can shoot at people if they enter private property, so why am I worse? I even hung a sign on one of the trees on the approach to the base that the territory is private and guarded by a dog, fenced the perimeter with barbed wire... Those who do not understand the hints will be gobbled up by my furry friends. Acromantulas, of course, are not dogs, but they are no worse at guarding their "nest".
The area around my house within a radius of two kilometers was covered with a thin web, which should have scared off any intelligent creature that nevertheless passed the barbed wire, and if it did not scare away, it would be able to signal the furry ones about the impending danger.
I climbed the steps to the porch, put my wand to the keyhole and allowed the magic to flow freely through me into the protective contour on the door. Soon I was recognized by the house as the owner and the door in front of me swung open, letting me in.
The house breathed warm air on me invitingly. Autumn was getting closer and closer and the difference in temperature inside and outside became more noticeable by the end of summer. Home, sweet home.
Stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind me, I finally relaxed a little and stretched, cracking my neck vertebrae.
Throwing my black cloak on the hanger next to the door and taking off my dirty boots, replacing them with warm soft slippers, I slowly walked further, heading to the kitchen-dining room, from where I could smell spices and something edible.
My dream is to get myself a house elf. They cook simply superbly, and in general they are very useful intelligent beings. It's a pity, but they cost a fabulous amount of money, and their maintenance without a magical source falls too heavy a burden on the shoulders of a wizard. Although my base had its own magical source, it was so tiny and frail that it could barely support the cascade of runes that barely expanded the space and the mass that hid this place from the outside. Aristocrats would not use such a thing even for building their barn, but for now it would do. A creature like a house elf was beyond my means in any case, with or without the source.
I slowly walked through the "living room/laboratory" - the largest room in the house. Here I worked only with large projects and rituals, the area of the circles of which took up a lot of space and required adequate space. The living room was almost empty, since the center of the room was reserved for the drawing of ritual figures, and only near the walls were various nightstands, cabinets and tables huddled, piled high with reagents, compatibility tables, star maps and multi-colored flasks and bottles, in which you could find almost anything. Or rather, almost anything, limited to the magical flora and fauna that lived in the Forbidden Forest, where I stocked up on useful ingredients, openly poaching, like a good fifth of the population of magical Britain.
Bunches of herbs, magic mushrooms and all sorts of roots were drying under the ceiling. I had especially collected a lot of wild mandrake. The smell in the house was pleasant, like in a spice shop or at some village healer's. Not that I have seen many healers in my life, but in my head I imagined it exactly like that.
Entering the kitchen, I found Caroline sprawled on a comfortable chair with a soft seat, throwing her slender legs up on the table. In her hands was a plate with steaming noodles seasoned with spices. There was also a teapot on the table, which was clearly already brewed and was just waiting for me.
I plopped down tiredly at the table, taking a seat on the opposite side, directly across from Carol, and looked into my full plate.
"Caroline, are these instant noodles? Honestly, I expected something more…" I snapped my fingers, as if trying to find the word on the tip of my tongue, "refined."
"Fuck you. The only food you had here was these damn noodles and the water you use to brew your tea for rich snobs. I suspect you also use the water to brew the noodles, don't you?" Sharpheart boiled like a kettle, almost choking on her noodles and desperately jabbing her silver fork in my direction, making her well-founded accusations against me.
I had indeed run out of all normal food except tea, but that didn't count. The magical equivalent of a refrigerator, using a stasis spell, was chock-full of all sorts of creature blood, poison, and perishable ingredients, but completely devoid of food. Well, tomatoes don't fit in there! What's more important, precious kelpie mucus, or fresh cucumbers? For a dark mage, the answer is obvious.
I only had a strategic supply of noodles and water for a rainy day (for each), if I was so exhausted after another ritual that I didn't have the strength to return home. I preferred my mother's cooking, because even someone like me could appreciate its excellent taste and quality of products. Why go to the trouble of cooking yourself lunch or dinner in what is essentially your own laboratory, which is not intended for this, if you can always transmigrate near your home when you get hungry?
- But you're a witch, Caroline, you would have come up with something, - I continued to tease her, gradually getting mad. She flared up quickly, but cooled down just as quickly.
In response, Carol showed me her middle finger with a new red manicure and continued gobbling up noodles, muttering something unflattering about me under her breath.
- Find yourself a girlfriend finally, and she will cook for you whatever you want. True, I remember well how Aunt Hecate cooks... Finding someone even close to your mother's cooking level will be very difficult! - my comrade and student glanced at me thoughtfully.
She guessed, apparently, that I was just making fun of her and decided to change the subject. Everyone knows the basic rules of transfiguration from the first year, one of which says that creating food is prohibited.
There were reasons for this, of course, although, if you really want to, you can create a hamburger for yourself from a chair leg. The problem is that you chew this hamburger, swallow it, and then the transfiguration in your stomach stops working and instead of a hearty meal you get a stomach full of sharp wooden splinters. It must be an unpleasant death. And stupid. As for eternal transfiguration... With the destruction or serious damage of the object, it loses its power and "eternity". So it's useless anyway.
So I couldn't expect a miracle from Sharpheart in terms of cooking. Carol was still a terrible cook, although my mother honestly tried to teach her to cook several times when she visited us. So these noodles, which you just had to pour boiling water over and pour in seasonings from a packet, would still be her crowning achievement, even if the refrigerator was bursting with food.
- I'm just thinking about visiting some decent club in London tomorrow evening. Maybe I'll meet someone interesting there, who knows? — I grinned at my thoughts. Well, yeah, I'll find someone interesting at the club? Ha. Just a girl for one night, most likely.
I looked at the shelf with ready-made potions of my own making (yes, the taste is not great, of course, but they work).
A nonverbal action, and a bottle of light aging potion jumps into my hand.
"I'll add five years to myself, otherwise they won't let me in," I explained to Caroline, who was surprised by my choice of potion, "and who can a fifteen-year-old boy find there, even if he's well dressed and has money? But a young guy of about twenty, with the same input and with my appearance, is a different matter."
Carol looked me over skeptically from head to toe, but then reluctantly nodded, admitting that I was right. I liked my twenty-year-old self more than the still developing teenager. Pitch black hair and eyes, predatory regular features and a well-built athletic figure, tall stature, confident look. Everything suited me.
We finished our noodles in silence, and only then began pouring hot tea with honey into cups. Caroline finally deigned to sit down normally, and I no longer had to look away to avoid staring at her legs. I always had honey on hand. For tea. An inseparable combo. Now we could talk about my midnight adventures. I can see that she is interested.
"So how did it go?" Carol, who did not like to drink tea in silence and always insisted on talking during tea, started the conversation with feigned disinterest. Just like Babbling. This was our main difference, but I was ready to put up with these shortcomings of theirs.
"Overall, it was quite fun. We shot a little, waved fists, played tag... It's a pity, but out of five infernal spiders, only one remained "alive". The centaurs were all killed. — I took a sip of tea and closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling of warmth spreading through my insides. Unfortunately, I was not allowed to enjoy the peace and quiet for long, as they fired an elegant foot under the table at my long-suffering knee. It's good that the fate of receiving an arrow in the knee passed me by tonight.
— Well? Why are you silent, go on, tell me more! — Carol pouted, who also wanted to take part in the fun, but she was not yet strong enough to do so without serious risk to her life.
— What is there to tell? I lured them into a trap, the infernals jumped on them from above, a mess began, I covered their leader with avada and finished off his henchmen, some with magic, some with claws. I collected some blood, yes, I took some for you too, took the bowstring that these deer make from unicorn hair! More precisely, not deer, but horses, but it doesn't matter. From. Hair. Unicorns! Carol, can you imagine? Bloody barbarians. Hagrid is not there. Ahem. — I tried to calm down and took another sip of tea. Now that's someone who really uses resources irrationally. — By the way, I've found out through experience that Avada has a negative effect on the health of the user, so refrain from using it. Only if things are really bad. I think this applies to the other two Unforgivables as well. We need to test them.
— Okay. Share your memories later. Did you at least remember to extract the poison from the acromantulas? — the girl asked, smiling at my indignant tirade. She had never dabbled in the Unforgivables, so she ignored my discovery. These Unforgivables are too mana-intensive. Not everyone can throw them like pearls. But any Hogwarts graduate has enough strength for one Avada, that's what makes it so dangerous and why it's prohibited by law. It equalizes everyone, like death.
— I have everything. — I patted the pouch on my belt, where the extracted poison glands filled with extremely dangerous and expensive poison were stored.
Sometimes I traded it, but I didn't get carried away. I don't need unnecessary questions. Only when I needed truly rare ingredients for something serious, I wrapped myself in a cloak, drank Polyjuice and went to Knockturn Alley.
— There are still two hours left until dawn. I understand you plan to return home by eight o'clock, as usual? — my interlocutor clarified.
— Yes, I'll come home and go to sleep until the evening. In the meantime, we still have enough time to continue our studies. Even though we've finished raising the undead for today, due to the unexpected intervention of the hoofed savages, we can start preparing a new ritual for you. — Now I've poured myself some tea. One spoon of sugar and one spoon of honey were quickly stirred into the water with magic and I continued. — It would be best if you calculate everything yourself, and then I'll just check and correct it. You need to gain independence. If I'm gone or sent to Azkaban, you'll have to perform the rituals yourself. — I tried to parody Flitwick's serious mentoring tone, but it didn't work out well. The voice was completely different, and without it it came out rather comical.
- Ha, we have a deal. If one of us ends up in Azkaban... And by some incredible miracle the other one stays free, then he or she must free the loser from prison no later than five years from now. So don't worry, if anything happens, I'll get your skinny ass out of there, - Caroline laughed, pouring herself some divine nectar into a porcelain cup.
- Yeah? And how are you going to get me out? Seducing a Dementor will be difficult. His level of French kissing is higher than yours. - I snorted in response, hiding my smile behind a cup of tea. Maybe her chances are slim, but at least I'll be sure that she'll at least try.
- Fool! Dementors aren't the only jailers on that damned island. - Carol instantly became a little more serious. It seemed that she really had already worked out the initial details of the plan.
- You're right, but I hope it won't come to that. And... If they get to us, it won't be prison that awaits us, but a Dementor's kiss or a slap on the neck in the Auror's dungeons. If they can crack us and find out how much we've really done, I mean. There's one ritual that completely deprives the truth serum of its effectiveness once it gets into the body, but... there are side effects.
- Fuck, and when were dark rituals without side effects? It's only in your performance that the damage and return from dark rituals is minimal, but all sorts of little things still remain. Normal people would have kicked the bucket long ago from the amount of crap you tried on yourself. And on me, too. But here we are, sitting and drinking tea, alive, healthy and stronger than before. Yes, of course, there are some small side effects... But nothing too terrible. So, minimal side effects from a long list of all possible ones. In some ways they are even useful. My fangs can be put to use if necessary, and your furry problem is generally more of a big plus than a minus.
- Mmm, the thing is that they gradually accumulate, these, as you say, minor side effects. So far they are mostly positive, but will it always be like this? And this time, it will most likely not be possible to avoid the recoil, since the side effect is not at all fatal, which means it may completely pass. - I nervously licked my lips, feeling the taste of sweet honey on them.
- Well, so what are these terrible punishments that will fall upon us in exchange for the opportunity to lie to the entire Wizengamot, with Dumbledore at the helm, right in their faces? - Carol, folding her fingers into a house and resting her elbows on the table, looked at me intently.
- Loss of some taste sensations. To be more precise, we will no longer be able to feel any sweet, sour or spicy tastes... The bitter taste is also questionable, but it seems that the creators of the ritual decided to leave us with the feeling of bitterness. Symbolic. — I looked at the lonely tea leaf floating in the cup of tea and thought about the difficult choice. Taste or lie?
— So, no sweet tea for you, huh? Hmm, how about coffee? — Carol perked up a little. It seemed she thought there would be something much more serious, but... Where more serious?! How can I drink tea if it becomes tasteless?! What's the point? She doesn't quite understand what she's losing yet. Losing the taste for food and drink... It's very unpleasant. I seriously doubt that my black luck will consider my taste buds worthy of saving... although, if I really, really wish for it... Maybe it will work.
— Only bitter coffee... black, like my heart.
— Will do. When do we start?
— Not until I drink ten more full teapots of tea. And eat five more cakes, too — I sighed tiredly, rubbing my temples.
— Let's have five teapots, shall we?
— Ten, Caroline, ten. What's your rush? The ritual is being postponed for a couple of days, so cool off. You still need to collect the non-yielding ingredients. Maybe buy some more. Eh.
— Okay. You're the boss here, you decide. This other side of the ritual only concerns food and drink, conceptually, right? — The girl asked in a businesslike tone.
— Yes, everything you consider your food or drink will lose for you that spectrum of taste sensations I've already talked about. — I answered, raising an eyebrow, not quite understanding where she was leading.
— Ha, I don't get it? You'll understand when you hook yourself a girl. — The little chick winked. I froze for a second, thinking about her words, and then I understood. I burst out laughing. A second later, Caroline echoed me.
Okay, maybe we won't completely lose the taste of life. Let's live!