The back of your head suddenly turned cold, as it always does when some terrible thought hits you instantly. My heart skipped a couple of beats, and then beat at an incredible speed. And one thought in my head - "WHO???"

Pat turned deathly pale, and as far as I know him, he was as frightened as I am. And there was something to be afraid of! But Pat wouldn't be Pat if even at the worst moment his brains didn't stop working. Therefore, at the moment when we looked at each other, his lips almost silently whispered:

"An angel without a head."

Even if the Minister had heard what he said, he still would not have understood anything. But in the eerie silence where McGonogall stared blankly at Fudge, no one paid any attention to us at all. And even more so did not hear what my friend muttered there. And I understood. In those seconds, when our freedom hung in the balance, I didn't have to be a legislator to understand Pat's thoughts. The fact is that in one village on the Pas de Calais, where we spent one pleasant summer vacation with Pat's distant relatives, there is one old cemetery. And in its depths, above one of the tombstones, there is a statue of an angel with a broken head, unknown by whom and when. Everyone called him that - an angel without a head. And Pat's idea was easy to understand - at the first opportunity to apparate there, to a place that only we know about, and only then... And then where God will send, because none of us wanted to thunder in Azkaban for the next five years. And for a fraction of a second, fear receded, and my heart contracted in some kind of sweet foreboding of adventure. And in my crazy boyish elation, I really wanted it to happen. Pat and I, two young illegal animagus, on the run from the law, trudge around the wide world... McGonogall's voice returned to reality.

"This is complete nonsense! Absurd!"

"I thought you would shield your students!" Exclaimed the Minister.

"It's impossible!" She boomed. "It took me seven years—seven years! — to become an Animagus, and that's after graduation! And you want to tell me that these boys, who cast their first spell less than a year ago, have already managed to become animagus?! I've been teaching Transformation for over 30 years, so please tell this tale to someone else!"

And then I realized that there was some uncertainty in the behavior of the Minister, as if he himself had some doubts about his own words. I, of course, saw him for the first time in my life and, perhaps, this was his usual demeanor. But my desire is to proudly declare - yes, I am an animagus! - and get out of here as soon as possible was replaced by a feeling that you need to go into complete denial. Was not, did not know, did not participate... And the fact that he came here alone somehow did not fit into the picture of the arrest. Either he was so sure of his innocence, or the trustworthiness of the Hogwarts professors, or he simply decided that the sudden appearance of a major government official would scare the hell out of us and we would confess to all mortal sins.

"Indeed, Mr. Minister," my friend said, as if he had read my thoughts, "and where did you get that from?"

Pat's voice was full of shock and confusion. But here, I believe, he did not play. My throat is completely dry.

"So you deny it, then?" Exclaimed Fudge, in an incomprehensible tone of indignation or relief.

"Yes, I still can't turn a teapot into a turtle," my voice finally came up, "what kind of animagus am I, are you kidding me…"

"And I'm not interested in magic at all," Pat said proudly, and ended awkwardly, "and I study here only out of necessity, here."

"Is that how?" Fudge grinned unpleasantly. "So you don't have to worry, Mr. Random. Consider that you have got rid of this importunate duty. From what I've heard, you two have broken so many school rules that you could have been expelled three times already! Here is the order to expel Harry Potter and Patrick Random from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, - he shook some paper menacingly in the air, - and whether you are animagus or not - it's easy to check!"

"There is nothing to check here!" McGonogall fumed again. "You can't become an Animagus in such a short amount of time! And questions about the exclusion of students, Mr. Minister, from the moment of the founding of Hogwarts and until now, have been within the competence of the director, and this is a period of a thousand years!"

"That's exactly what "until now"!" Fudge snarled, "Which brings us back to the original topic of headmaster Albus Dumbledore being fired!"

"Hogwarts independent of the Ministry of Magic," it seemed that now steam would pour out of McGonogall's nostrils, "the Ministry has no right..."

"Now — has!" Fudge interrupted her imperiously, "and it was high time to stop this farce. Just think - werewolves! Former Death Eaters..."

Pat and I stood like two idiots during a tennis match, hardly moving, only our heads going back and forth, back and forth. Part of me was faint-heartedly saying that before they forgot about us again, we had to get out. Then it might be too late. But this would be a direct confirmation of our guilt, and, apparently, the Minister did not have irrefutable evidence of our crime, and therefore there was still hope. I was not afraid of deductions in the least, although I was already used to Hogwarts. I didn't want to get used to Azkaban... And it was clear to the fool that Professor McGonogall was no match for Fudge. Nothing but his sincere contempt and indignation. Which is exactly what she showed. What can be done to help Hogwarts, except to carry out a military coup and force a change of power, I did not know. My head hurt about my problems. But, as always happens in all stupid stories (and our life, in fact, is a very long stupid story), someone had to appear who would solve the situation. And this someone did not hesitate to appear on the threshold of the office of the deputy director in the guise of Albus Dumbledore, with Professor Snape looming behind him, gloomy as a merciless Reaper.

"Oh, Cornelius, you are here," the director noted as if nothing had happened, "it's very good that you stopped by."

"I'm glad you finally deigned to show up," Fudge said sarcastically. "Fudge said sarcastically, "I'm here to inform you that you've been suspended from your position as headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Very well," Dumbledore said in a seemingly even tone, but there were echoes of metal in the depths of his voice, "but now I have more important information that should be of interest to you, as the Minister of Magic, in the first place."

"I don't understand what you're talking about!", The Minister snapped.

"I'm talking about the recent werewolf attack on Rushden Bridge," the headmaster (or ex-headmaster?) said clearly. We stepped aside as he strode through the office and stood next to McGonagall."

"The fact is," Dumbledore continued in the same tone, "that at my request the respected professor Lupine went to the north of Scotland, to one of the werewolf settlements, and gave me the most interesting details of this, so to speak, attack."

"Oh," Fudge grimaced, "I'm not at all interested in gossip between werewolves!"

"And very in vain, Cornelius," the director's voice became even an octave heavier, "otherwise you would know that a group of attacking werewolves were previously drunk with a wolf's potion, and set as their goal to scare the local residents. For this, they were paid a lot of galleons by a group of wizards, which includes very famous and high-ranking persons!"

"What the hell are you talking about!" exclaimed the Minister, "provide proof!"

"Evidence is not the most important thing now," the director said even more harshly, "but the main thing is that most werewolves are equally outraged by both the behavior of their relatives and the reaction of the Ministry. And if you don't want a war between wizards and werewolves, I'm afraid you gotta listen to this crap."

The pain came on suddenly, though not as much as the last time. It was as if someone invisible suddenly jumped out and, with all its foolishness, hit me on the forehead with a fiery hammer, so much so that circles went before my eyes. I must have swayed. For a few seconds, the room, with all its present, dimmed before her eyes.

"Harry, are you okay?" Pat whispered.

He looked at me with concern. I blinked and shook my head. The pain went away as suddenly as it came.

"Looks like it," I said softly.

Here the director seemed to be aware of our presence in the room for the first time.

"I would like to know, Minerva," he said in a calm voice, "what are these students doing here?"

"Because Mr. Minister," McGonogall said, pursing her lips, "is making some ridiculous accusations against them…"

"They're not ugly…" Fudge began to protest, but I didn't hear him.

The second attack of pain went through my head in a fiery wave, disconnecting me from what was happening again.

"What's wrong with you, Potter?" McGonogall's worried voice broke into my mind.

I exhaled and felt a trickle of cold sweat running down my temple. My heart was ready to jump out of my chest.

"A migraine attack," I muttered, and looked the headmaster in the eye, "I get it. Sometimes."

Naturally, Dumbledore understood what migraines are being discussed.

"I'll take Potter to the Hospital Wing, Headmaster," I heard from behind me.

Snape opened his mouth for the first time that evening, and said it with a strange hoarseness, like a man who hasn't spoken to anyone for a long time. The headmaster looked at him.

"Yes," he agreed with a slight nod of his head, "take the young men away, Severus."

He jerked his head towards the door, and we went out. Fudge no longer objected to our leaving. In the corridor, Snape unceremoniously grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the Hospital Wing, paying no attention to my friend.

"Professor, you…" Pat opened his mouth, but he interrupted him sharply.

"You can go to your common room."

"But…"

"I said," Snape raised his voice, "you can be free!"

Pat stared dumbfounded at him for a couple of seconds, then narrowed his eyes unpleasantly and said:

"Okay. Byе, Harry"

"Bye..." I replied.

It started to piss me off. I was sweating all over, my heart was beating somewhere in the region of my stomach, and my head seemed to be pierced with ice needles. I didn't know what Voldemort was doing there at that time, angry or happy, rising or dying - but I was scared. With some part of my consciousness, I understood one thing - this will not pass like last time, it means that it started. What I expected and feared. Something I didn't even know the name of. That, sooner or later, it all had to end.

"P-Professor," I suddenly came to my senses, looking around the corridor, "Professor, the Hospital Wing is on the other side."

"Let's go," he urged me back.

A terrible idea crossed my mind. I stopped abruptly and looked into Snape's face. And at the same moment, I felt the tip of the professor's magic wand painfully buried under my ribs.

""Come, Harry Potter," my guide whispered with a mad gleam in his eyes. "he is waiting."

I had to fight back, scream, lash out, knock, make at least something... But could not. The pain that flared up in hundreds of needles in the scar made me scream and recoil. From my head, it spread in waves through my body, twisting the insides, breaking out the joints. I didn't hear, see or feel anything anymore. I just passed out.

A person gets used to everything. Such is his nature. And if every minute you hit him on the forehead with a heavy sledgehammer - and that is exactly what I felt when I came to my senses - then he will get used to this too. And when that wild pain from which you lose consciousness becomes too much, then the pain receptors are somehow dulled, and you kind of begin to realize the reality around you. In such cases, then the reckoning necessarily comes in the form of a nightmarish state of the whole organism, but now I already doubted whether this "later" would ever come for me. I found myself on the ground. I am lying on my left side in an extremely uncomfortable position, my hands are tied behind my back, my glasses have flown away somewhere. Or they were thrown out by good people as unnecessary, which is also quite likely. From the fact that under me last year's foliage and grass, I realized that we were in the forest. In the Forbidden - and, maybe, in any other. Night, obviously. But the clearing was lit by torches stuck into the ground along the perimeter. Around me, I found at least two more. Tossing and turning on my side, helping myself with my feet, squinting, I tried to see them. It was like they didn't notice me. A black professorial robe flickered nearby, but as I expected, it was not a professor at all. I recognized this face, despite the lack of glasses and poor lighting. I saw him in a photograph in the old Prophet, although he looked older and more haggard. So that's who he is - "bad man"...

"Barty Crouch," I hissed through clenched jaws, "junior…"

He turned sharply and stared at me, baring his yellow teeth in a grin. And suddenly, with surprise, I dug into the depths of my soul the hope that this idiot had not killed Professor Snape.

"Nice to meet you, Harry Potter," he drawled with the same crazy gleam in his eyes. Another character appeared in my field of vision.

A short man with some fussy habits, who seemed to be afraid to look in my direction. I did not recognize, but rather guessed who it might be.

"Peter Pettigrew," I identified him.

He was obviously busy with some hasty preparations, but, hearing his name, he shuddered noticeably, although he did not turn around at me. It was only then that I noticed that some grooves were drawn on the ground around the entire perimeter of the clearing - either a pentagram, or some other. This meant that some kind of ceremony was being prepared, and I did not like it at all. Although in my position it was already clear that I would hardly get out of here alive. When Pettigrew ran past me, I gave him a very good kick. Something told me that I could not achieve more retribution. It remains only to lie and put pressure on their psyche. They did not shut my mouth, but in vain.

"Why don't you say hello, Wormtail?" - I finally became impudent, but was again ignored.

I knew that some people are missing in this campaign. I had no idea WHAT Lord Voldemort was now, he wasn't supposed to have a body. He is not a disembodied spirit, indeed. But my imagination was not enough to imagine it.

"Hurry up," Crouch yelled at Pettigrew.

He sat down next to me on the ground and began to lay out some junk - I saw a book, some kind of crown and medallion. Medallion! Damn, what am I doing among this rubbish? There must be some connection? And then Pettigrew appeared, holding a bundle in his hands. And in the bundle was ... was ...

"And here's our Tommy!" I suddenly exclaimed, extolling a new attack of blinding pain in the scar.

"Crucio!" Crouch shouted furiously, and I was not up to the new image of the Dark Lord.

The first Cruciatus is like the first kiss. It is remembered for a lifetime.

"Enough!" stopped his high icy voice, "I need him... Alive."

"But my Lord..."

"I said."

"It also talks!" I giggled hysterically, barely catching my breath.

It was really hard to imagine that freezing, commanding voice coming from that... This... something. After a short torture, everything completely blurred before my eyes, and I had no idea what these psychos were thinking of doing. He said - take off my glasses..."

"Insolent," Voldemort's voice said almost in surprise, "are you not afraid at all?"

"Did you see yourself in the mirror?" I squeezed out, and felt his fury with my whole being.

OK it's all over Now. A historic meeting has taken place. Great start! I will definitely emerge victorious - for this I just have to stand up and kick him with my feet... There really was no more fear. I was seized by some kind of nauseating indifference to my own fate, to salvation or not salvation. One thought was - damn you, why are you attached to me?

"What a pity that it is not my hand that will kill you, Harry Potter," he hissed angrily, and I realized that this was a Praseltong, "and I would have done it with pleasure!"

"Well, try it," I said good-naturedly, "maybe it will work the second time."

"I made a mistake by coming to your house," he continued, not noticing my ridiculous barbs, "but now it will be corrected. No one has walked this path so far, no one will ever repeat it! I will return, I will return reborn and even stronger than before! Really... you won't see it anymore."

"Maybe you could at least enlighten me why you invited me to your little party, huh?" I hissed.

"Want to know?" He said almost thoughtfully.

I rolled over on my back because I didn't want to look at those faces and that abomination that was once Tom Riddle in the last moments of my life.

"Yeah, maybe it's better that way," Voldemort continued mockingly. It felt like his voice was right in my head, "maybe you won't even resist... I walked the path of immortality, Harry Potter, I almost comprehended it. Do you know about Horcruxes? Oh, of course not! I divided my soul into as many parts as no wizard before me dared to, and placed them in these objects. Do you see them? They are unique. Slytherin medallion, Hufflepuff cup... Do you know how you can share your soul? By killing someone. It's such a great feeling, but you don't understand... I connected a lot with your death, I would make the last Horcrux, and they would become the key to my eternal life. Immortality guaranteed. But your Mudblood Mom ruined everything!" The Dark Lord declared almost with resentment in his voice.

Out of the corner of my ear I heard the fuss of Crouch and Pettigrew preparing the ritual, but I did not miss a word from the speech of my main enemy. He, like a villain from a cheap action movie, liked to chat before a fight.

"I became completely helpless - the weakest creature of all living on earth... I had no hope of getting out... I did not have a body... But, however, all this turned out to be fixable. I knew what to do to regain my former strength, but what I found out... What I understood… amazed me., Only recently have I realized what a mistake I made in trying to kill you. You still don't get it, Harry Potter?"

I think I began to understand, but somehow I didn't want to realize it. An ice lump began to grow rapidly in the stomach. And he continued to hiss his revelations.

"To kill me, you would have to find all my Horcruxes and destroy them. In sequence. And then myself. But here's the problem! You would have to kill yourself because You became the last Horcrux! I didn't mean it, it happened by accident. Haven't you guessed where your Praseltong came from? Yes, I feel a wave of self-loathing rising in you, for the fact that you have been carrying a piece of me all these years... Yes, I can't kill you, Harry Potter. I dare not hurt myself. But I will do what no one has done before me. I will unite my soul again, and I will become even stronger, even more powerful! You will die, of course... But you would have died anyway. You probably don't want to live anymore..."

"Everything is ready, my Lord," I heard the voice of Barty Crouch.

"Start!" Voldemort snapped.

Crouch began chanting some incantations. It was Latin, but my knowledge of it was too poor to make out the words. And I had to admit that Voldemort was right about something. I really did not want to live with a part of his vile little soul in myself. At first I didn't feel anything, and so I had a few minutes to realize the irrefutable fact that I was about to die. I didn't believe it until the very end. I'm going to die, and this bastard will be reborn, and another war will start, and maybe all my friends will die. I did not feel sorry for myself, but from hopelessness and despair I wanted to cry.

At that moment, I realized that the objects scattered around me began to tremble in time with the beating beats in my head. Everything is stronger and stronger. Now the voice of Barty Crouch was mesmerizing, and I no longer thought about anything. It didn't hurt. There was only a moment of horror when I realized that I could not even take a breath of air into my lungs. This is death, I thought. And then reality crumbled before me in dazzling fragments, and I swam on the waves of something weightless, but utterly pleasant, dissolving, forgetting... As if I were present there and saw this clearing surrounded by torches. Himself, lying in an absurd position with his arms twisted, all so lifeless, dead... Crouch and Pettigrew, crouching on the ground, clutching their left hands... And the body of a man, about thirty years old, but with absolutely gray hair and a face distorted by such horror, as if what he saw killed him in an instant.