Chapter 1 Prologue
It’s evening again. It’s annoying to come home to an empty apartment. I can’t even get a cat. With my job, the animal would starve to death, and it’s a shame.
Allow me to introduce myself—Elena Ivanovna Ivanova. Yes, in the 80s, imagination was scarce in orphanages; now we have Stefannas, Zlatas, Yaromirs, and other Mstislavs. It’s like we’re preparing to repel the Tatar-Mongol invasion… I’m the captain of justice for the Kirov district of the city of N. I’ve been serving for twelve years now, and during that time I’ve earned a reputation as a principled bitch. So what? I have no family, no relatives, not even friends or lovers. How can you put pressure on someone like that? I don’t take money. Basically, yes. Because getting a juvenile car thief out of jail is one thing, but a scumbag or a rapist is quite another! Rapists… How they fear and hate me, and I reciprocate their feelings completely! I was raped at 19. I was walking from university (I studied at the Faculty of Culture and Arts) to the dorm and never made it. I’m a petite girl, 165 cm tall and weighing just 50 kilos, and I was often mistaken for a teenager. When three people started following me, I didn’t pay it any mind, and as it turned out, I shouldn’t have…
There was no coaxing, no offer of a drink—just a blow to the back and head. They picked me up and carried me somewhere, and then there was pain. A lot of pain. I tried to scream until I felt the cold of a knife blade at my throat. Out of fear, I wet myself, for which they knocked out three of my front teeth, and then they continued…
I woke up at dawn, with a nagging pain in my lower abdomen and between my legs. I felt my burning face and burst into tears. Those bastards even cut me!!! My second thought was: what will I tell Lyoshka? Who needs me now? A raped, mutilated orphan… That’s when I lost my faith in God.
Passersby found me. It turned out that instinct and the thirst for life overcame the desire to die, and I crawled out of that damned basement, although I don’t remember how.
Passersby called an ambulance and the police, and then there was shame. I couldn’t remember their faces or names, and how my would-be mother-in-law learned of what had happened is beyond me. But she came, hugged me, and cried. From the very beginning, she had disapproved of the relationship between Lyoshka—a boy from a family of hereditary military men—and me, “orphanage rabble,” as she called them. And that day, she promised to use all her connections and find them, and she wasn’t lying—they were found, they were tried, three years in prison for one, suspended sentences for the others. We were shocked, as they say: long live our court—the most humane court in the world. Lyoshka was astounding—he didn’t deny it, didn’t insult me, said he loved me and would find everyone when he returned. But he didn’t return, he died in the line of duty. Zinaida Karpovna then pulled me out of the noose, saying that she had lost her son, but she wouldn’t let her adopted daughter die.
A shared grief unites. We cried for a long time and pondered how to move on, and eventually, with her help, I transferred to law school and decided to punish rapists. Incidentally, these three didn’t live to see their thirties, and some criminal acquaintances and a detective helped. Even though I’ve earned the nickname “bitch” over the years, I’m a respected bitch in all circles.
Put the folder in the safe, all the documents are ready. Testimony from the victim, witnesses, and forensic materials. All that’s left is to send the case to court, and this overgrown rich kid will go to jail. And daddy won’t help—the bastard was practically taken off the girl, and he beat her up badly. I hate people like that; I’ve almost gotten used to it over the years, but I always treat such “people” with disdain and incomprehension. He raised a moral monster, so don’t deny it! And this daddy, a major businessman in our city, started out as a nobody in the 90s, and now he’s a millionaire and an honest citizen. He offered a lot of money, then threatened. According to him, this twenty-three-year-old degenerate is the kindest person, who stops his Porsche Cayenne at every intersection and waits for his grandmother to cross the street. In the end, he said he wouldn’t let anyone hurt his son, and I’ll regret it! Everything is business as usual, nothing changes.
“Elena Ivanovna! You’re late again, it’s already late. Let’s get you a car, the guys will get you home in no time!” said Dimka, the duty officer. A good guy, even if he’s a real slacker.
“Dim, you know I live nearby, 20 minutes and I’m home. And who’s going to hurt me?” I smiled at the guy.
“Even that Smirnov, the absolute jerk, the way he yelled in the chief investigator’s office… I don’t like him, and his son is a complete freak. Let me at least send an escort, let the patrol officers take a walk.”
You’re restless, I just want to take a walk alone on a warm summer night. It’s only eleven o’clock at night.
“Sergeant, don’t worry so much. I’m not afraid of anyone, and my service weapon is always with me, even loaded!” I laughed.
“Well then, good night! Will you be back tomorrow as usual – at the crack of dawn?” the guy calmed down.
“Of course, the case needs to be brought to court. Well, bye, see you tomorrow!” I ran out into the street. Dimka is such a big talker.
I was walking home. Silence, a warm breeze, the rustling of the trees, seemingly beautiful. But a strange premonition tingled, and I was used to trusting my intuition. Under my coat, my hand rested on the hilt of the Finnish knife my would-be father-in-law had given me, the one who arranged my KMB (Young Fighter’s Course) every year. He’s a good man—a retired Airborne Forces colonel. He explained that I should be able to stand up for myself, and he taught me conscientiously himself, and he found instructors too. And I soaked up the knowledge and skills like a sponge, because the fear and feeling of helplessness from my youth had never gone away, and the reminder stared back at me every morning from the mirror—four ugly lines on my face from forehead to chin, two on the left and two on the right.
I walked through the archway of a nine-story building, into my courtyard. I heard hurried footsteps behind me, and my intuition screamed like crazy! I crouched down and stabbed backwards, then turned around—I saw a huge bull with a noose in his hands. He looked from me in surprise to the knife sticking out of his stomach, his gray eyes glassy. Yeah, the knife was twenty centimeters long, and the blow landed in my liver—I was just lucky. There was a rustling sound behind me, and two people were entering the alley, and how the service pistol ended up in his hand, I couldn’t figure out myself.
Stop, I’ll shoot!” I scream, immediately jumping to the side. Two bullets hit where I was standing a second ago, and one hit the loser with the knife in his stomach in the chest (may the earth be like glass wool for you). I immediately unload almost the entire clip at those two. The distance is ten to fifteen meters, it’s hard to miss. The result: three bodies, I’m shaking, the adrenaline kicking in, and with it the thought that Smirnov hired some idiots. And then a burst of automatic fire crackled from behind, and a hellish pain pierced my shoulder, chest, and left thigh. I fell. The salty taste of blood appeared in my mouth, but I somehow rolled over onto my back and saw Smirnov Sr. standing at the entrance to the arch, holding an AKM. Where did he even get that???
“I told you I wouldn’t let anyone hurt my son. You’ll die like an ugly bitch, and another investigator will be smarter than you! You want to say something?” he said with a smirk and pointed the gun at me. Like a movie villain, honestly. I was already choking on blood, but my feet were facing this freak, and there were still two bullets in the clip. I aimed the pistol and pulled the trigger twice: one shot to the chest, the second to the belly. I hit. The “honest businessman” flinched and began to sag, and I will remember the surprise and disbelief on that creature’s face forever. As my father-in-law used to say, you have to finish off the enemy right away, but dead men don’t shoot in the back!
I heard the sirens wailing as if through cotton wool, the cold was enveloping me, and breathing was becoming increasingly difficult—I knew I was dying. Finally, I would see Lyoshka; he’d been waiting for me for a long time. My breathing changed from ragged to measured, the pain went somewhere beyond the pale, and understanding and peace came. With my last breath, darkness enveloped me.
I came to with a jerk. My whole body ached, especially my back and lower abdomen. My crotch was on fire, and for some reason, my anus, too. I tried to move, and a terrible pain shot through my head, and I lost consciousness again. My last thought was, “Have they really resuscitated me?”
While unconscious, I lived the life of a little girl. A very short life, full of pain, fear, and humiliation. I grew up in an orphanage and know all too well what cruelty and indifference are, and I’ve seen all sorts of things as a result. But I simply didn’t expect this. I was in such a mess – a complete isekai, only worse! I ended up with the sister of a boy who just won’t die! One New Year’s Eve, they were showing all the parts on TV, and I only managed to watch the first four films – such nonsense and idiocy! And from the very first film, I realized that despite the cheap pictures, that fairy tale was based on the works of the Brothers Grimm. And this one is much worse…
Memories swirl like shards of colored glass in a kaleidoscope: a sweet red-haired woman holding me in her arms, and next to him a young, brown-eyed boy with round glasses and a shock of jet-black hair. He’s holding another child, also black-haired, but the boy’s eyes are bright green, like the woman holding me. So this is what you’re like, Potters! Then the children are placed in a playpen and Mom reads us a story, which I don’t remember. Then books with moving pictures and my brother flying around the room on a small broom. The guests are laughing and joking. Speaking of guests, there was a tall guy with long black hair and regular features—the kind they call “simply handsome.” He also turned into a huge black dog and gave us piggyback rides. I realized that this was Sirius Black. There was also a plump guy with wheat-colored hair and rat-like features—apparently Peter Pettigrew. I also somehow remember a tall, gray-haired, long-bearded old man in a brightly colored robe (I know it’s a robe, but it looks more like a robe). After he left, there was a tense feeling in the house; even the little children felt it. My mother often cried and begged my father to leave, but he said he could protect us. He couldn’t…
The next passage, as I understand it, is from that very night of Samhain. I heard a crash, my brother was crying nearby, and my mother, with us in her arms, ran up to the second floor to the nursery.
– Lily, run! I’ll hold him off! – her father shouts from below.
– Avada Kedavra! – I don’t recognize this voice, but I can guess whose it is.
Mother puts us in bed, uses her wand to push the wardrobe toward the door, and, as I understand it, casts some more spells, after which she turns to us. I see tears in her eyes.
“Harry, Rigel, Dad and I love you very much. Everything will be okay, I promise!” Lily whispers.
Then the door and the closet literally vanished, and HE entered the room. Black robes, black hair, predatory features, and glowing red eyes. The intruder exuded power and an otherworldly chill.
– Get out of my way, I only want the children! – the voice is so chilling.
– Please! Not the children! I’ll do anything! Kill me, just don’t touch them! – the mother screams and points her wand at him.
“Avada Kedavra!” The green beam hits her square in the chest and she falls like a puppet with its strings cut. The man looks at the corpse and asks himself: “What did he see in her, a common Mudblood?”
The One stepped over Lily’s body and approached the crib. Harry and I were crying, looking between our mother and this monster. We huddled together in fear, both of us shaking. The Intruder silently examined us, then pointed his wand at me and said:
– Avada Kedavra!
At that moment, December 3.14 happened. Some kind of film flickered right in front of me, and the beam ricocheted back at that freak, but not all of it—a smaller portion hit my brother. And my parents’ killer literally began to crumble into black dust. The glow from his red eyes faded, and the contempt in his gaze gave way to surprise and fear. Then he let out a long howl, and a black, incomprehensible thing flew past Harry and me. That’s where the memory ends.
The next passage seems to be from Hogwarts: I was lying on my bed, staring at the white ceiling. Next to me was a woman in lime robes, waving her wand over me. Dumbledore and Sirius were also there. And I didn’t like the way they looked at me: the old man looked at me with pity, while Black’s face expressed disgust and contempt. The handsome man looked at me like I was dirt. Why? What happened?
“It’s absolutely certain, Albus, the girl is a Squib. The magical core is damaged, she won’t be able to perform magic. I’m very sorry. Poor child…” the woman began.
“Sirius, don’t do anything rash! She’s your godson’s sister and your best friend’s daughter! You must understand that you can’t separate twins.” This time the old man turns to Black, whose scowl deepens.
” That’s not a wizard anymore, but a pathetic squib! That has no place in my house, Albus, but I’m taking Harry and raising him like a son! And as for that ,” he nodded in my direction, “do whatever you want. As for me, it’s easier to finish him off so he doesn’t suffer! I’ve said it all!” Black turned on his heel and walked quickly out of the room.
“Well, I didn’t expect that,” Dumbledore muttered.
“What are we going to do, Albus? We can’t just throw a child out into the street like that.” The healer asked.
“Lily has a sister, she’s a Muggle. We’ll give the baby to her. Blood is thicker than water, after all. I remember they didn’t get along, but that’s okay. I think she’ll accept the child and raise her as her own daughter! That’s what we’ll do. Poppy, let her sleep here until morning. And in the morning, I’ll send the baby to her aunt.” The old man flashed his half-moon glasses and walked away.
And then I woke up to the shrill screams of a horse-faced woman and the mutterings of some fat, mustachioed man. It turned out it was a family meeting! And they were deciding “what to do with the degenerate child of Petunia’s wayward sister?” It would have been better to give the child to an orphanage, but they decided to keep it anyway. Even though they told this family I was normal, the Dursleys had a hard time believing it.
Until she was three, the child was pointedly ignored, with only small jabs and slaps in response to her questions or cries. The girl was taught to remain silent, and was addressed only with insults, mostly “Ugly.” The child seriously thought that was her name! And then came the turning point. One evening, Vernon came home from work very angry and happened to come across his hated niece. That was the first time he severely beat the girl, then threw the whining bundle into the closet. Apparently, some kind of magic remained in the child, because by the morning, most of the bruises had faded and she was able to leave the closet on her own.
From that morning on, hell broke loose for the girl. Borov turned out to be a downright sadist and began beating the child regularly, not just with his hands and feet: he also used a wide belt with a metal buckle and even a fireplace poker. Auntie Horse watched the torture sessions with a certain pleasure and never once reprimanded her husband. This continued for about three more years.
The last time Vernon came home from work, he was angrier than usual and quite drunk. He was muttering something about curses and bad luck. When Rigel saw him, she immediately hid in the far corner of the closet, silently crying. The fat bastard had downed a couple more glasses of whiskey and decided to take his anger out on the foundling. He yanked the closet door open, grabbed the girl by the hair, and dragged her out. The first punch landed in the stomach, followed by a blow to the face. The sweet uncle threw the child to the floor and gave her a good kick, then began unbuckling his belt over his enormous belly and muttering incoherently. Then he ripped off the girl’s panties and fell on her from behind, squeezing her neck tightly with his hand. The bastard raped the child until she passed out from the pain!
It all played out in my head in a couple of hours. It was definitely night now, my whole body ached like crazy, my entire lower body ached like hell, especially between my legs and my anus. Every movement was so painful it made my eyes water, but my arms and legs somehow obeyed. And this is how screwed I was! I was overcome with a wild, primal rage at those bastards for what they did to the girl, and I decided—those creatures had to be killed as quickly as possible! My body felt a momentary heat surge through me, and the closet door swung open suddenly and silently. This was a sign!
I felt my body. My face was caked with blood, and the only clothing I had on was a T-shirt that felt like a dress. I felt myself lower and found bleeding—the blood showed no sign of stopping, oozing slowly but surely. It looked like internal organs were being ruptured. I tried to stand. I succeeded. Quietly, along the wall, leaving a trail of blood behind me, I wandered to the kitchen, where, as my new memory told me, the knives were kept. The Dursleys had crossed the line. All other thoughts vanished, and I was consumed by blind rage.
I picked up the two largest knives from the stand on the kitchen table, took a closer look, and hmm… Japanese steel, expensive and very sharp—just what the doctor ordered. Dr. Lecter, indeed. Slowly, almost on tiptoe, I climbed up to the second floor and approached the degenerates’ bedroom. Snoring could be heard from behind the door. No, that’s right, SNORING!!! They calmly went to bed, knowing that the child might not live until morning??? Creatures. I carefully opened the door, and the stench of fumes and sweat immediately hit my nose. A large knife in each hand.
First, the Horse. I walk around the bed and approach her—she’s asleep, the whore. I raise my hand and slam the knife into her eye socket—the Japanese steel went in almost effortlessly. The auntie twitched one last time and went quiet, and the smell of shit joined the “aromas of France.” I don’t even think about pulling the knife out—it suits her better, even makes her prettier. I need to hurry, I’ll soon pass out from blood loss.
I slowly made my way around the bed to where Borov was lying. He was fast asleep, so tired, poor thing, that he hadn’t even noticed his wife’s death. I took aim, plunged the knife into his Adam’s apple, and began twisting. My dear uncle wheezed and opened his eyes, and I smiled, enjoying the death-defying terror in his gaze. He waved his hand, and since I was standing almost right next to him, the swing sent my small body flying toward the wall. I fell, but with some kind of animalistic pleasure I continued to watch his panicked gasps, his attempts to pull the knife out and press his hand against the wound. The fat bastard’s blood spurted like a fountain. After about three minutes, he went quiet, the stench of shit even stronger, and the taste of salty iron appeared on my tongue.
Rigel Potter, I have avenged you. I hope you can see your mom and dad again, as you’ve dreamed of all these years.
Slowly, I climbed to my feet, my head spinning mercilessly – the massive blood loss had taken its toll. Dawn was breaking through the window, and I was standing in the middle of a blood-soaked bedroom, smiling at two dead bastards. They deserved it. It was time to get out of this damned house. Slowly, I climbed along the wall, staining everything I touched with blood, and walked down to the front door. I barely made it, my strength fading. Someone was making noise outside the door, probably the milkman – he always came early in the morning. The door was unlocked, so I yanked it open and met the gaze of an elderly man in overalls. He recoils in horror.
Leaving red prints of my bare feet on the asphalt, I made my way to the lawn and fell into the darkness.
