The blueberry soufflé was incredibly delicious. It melted on the tongue, making all the taste buds literally explode with pleasure, and the brain scream in frenzy, demanding more and more!
Harry's tongue curved strangely at the very base and seemed to release several smaller tongues-branches - all for the sake of piercing and grasping a piece of delicacy from all sides, pressing against it as much as possible and enjoying the taste.
If Harry Potter knew the meaning of the word "orgasm", he would agree that this word perfectly describes his current state.
"Oh, this is simply divine!" moaned the Sweet Tooth in the depths of his mind. "Next time we'll take more of this delight – ten is clearly not enough!"
The boy nodded in agreement. Ten portions of soufflé that he had "borrowed" from one of the family-run bakeries in Little Whinging had disappeared in just five minutes! Of course, this was primarily due to the fact that only the last two of them Harry had stretched out longer, savoring each piece. The previous eight he had simply gobbled up, choking with greed! Years of forced abstinence, but at the same time watching his vile cousin guzzle, had taken their toll.
Licking his fingers thoroughly, Harry took a deep breath and reluctantly turned away from savoring the remains of the soufflé on his tongue. There was much to consider.
The ritual with Mrs. Figg's "cat" brought him the same vivid and incredible sensations from absorbing the soul of a sentient being as the first one! The Dursleys did not take Harry to church on Sundays, preferring to leave him in the care of the same Figg - after all, it was a status weekly event, they did not really want to show off their puny nephew to half the city. Therefore, the boy did not experience any religious prejudices about devouring other people's souls. What's more, he did not really understand what a soul meant! In the end, the cat simply died (terribly suffering in the process), and Harry received a grain of power and great pleasure. He felt good - so what's wrong?
But the consequences of the ritual were different. He and Smarty had hoped that if they performed it closer to their neighborhood, practically in the backyard of their cat-loving neighbor, the wizards would simply be forced to react somehow - and therefore reveal themselves and their plans for Harry. Ideally, Dumbledore himself should have arrived - that was the name, according to Figg and the mysterious Alastor, the strange old man in the gaudy robe who had cured Potter after his Fall. But a whole month had already passed, Christmas was approaching, and there was still no reaction.
And yes, for some reason the four spirits really liked to call that moment with the ladder the Fall, laughing at something, like an old family joke. Although Harry didn't really understand what the joke was. Well, yes, the process of flying from a height is called falling - what did they find so funny?
Sweet Tooth giggled again at the direct question and apologized, promising that the boy would understand everything in due time, and they would be happy to explain. It's just that right now he would hardly be able to comprehend the humor - for that it would be necessary to delve into the ancient history of their native world, give a bunch of analogies and so on - why burden your head with unnecessary thoughts if there are more important things to do?
"Maybe we should have left some material evidence of the ritual?" Smart Guy drawled. "If they had found a figure covered in blood and a dismembered cat, they would have definitely run around."
"Strange," replied Dobryak. "That man, Alastor… You felt his pain too, didn't you?"
"Yes, and madness!" giggled Sweet Tooth. "And paranoia!"
"He's a warrior. And a good one!" Ruffnut put in his two pence. "He's killed many, maimed dozens! He's got a lot of marks himself! I liked him."
"Strange," repeated Smarty after Dobryak. "He's such an experienced warrior, with such a developed intuition and inflated paranoia - and ignored Figg's words about the dark ritual. People like him don't brush off anything, preferring to check again than to receive unexpected blows later. Either this Figg has already gotten on his nerves with false calls, or..."
"Or it's a trick," Harry nodded, voicing their shared thought out loud.
"Exactly ," confirmed Smarty. "During the conversation with our neighbor, he sensed our attention, and so he loudly turned Figg down. And then he probably secretly returned and searched the area for who had been eavesdropping on their conversation! But, naturally, he found nothing."
"Except for the object of protection. That is, our Harry ," giggled Sweet Tooth. "And decided that the spy had managed to escape."
"So, he studied the ritual site too?" the boy frowned.
"Most likely ," the Smart Guy chuckled. "Reminds me of the work of an experienced inquisitor. People like them usually don't rush headlong into things, but distract attention, pretending not to be interested in the problem, not to notice it. And at the same time, they conduct a secret investigation."
"Yeah. And you realize that you've been "guarded" all this time only when the inquisitor himself appears on your doorstep with his retinue and a bunch of support arbitrators ," Sweet Tooth muttered somewhat offendedly. Apparently, he had already found himself in such a situation in his world.
- Wow, - the boy was worried. - But, Smarty, you said that I wouldn't be discovered for the next five years!
"Well, first of all, I didn't say that," the spirit chuckled in response. "Most likely, you won't be discovered for the next five years — that's what I said. You yourself have seen how the lines of fate are intricately twisted and untwisted — you should understand that any forecast can change at any moment if you somehow influence it. Make a mistake or expose yourself, for example."
"What should we do?" A wave of panic rose in Harry's soul.
"Calm down ," the Smart One hastened to speak again. "For now, my prediction about five years remains in force. We have not done anything that would link the actions of an unknown wizard to a boy named Harry James Potter. Moreover, as we understand, you were sent to... Muggles ," the spirit said, as if tasting the word. "You were sent to Muggles to protect them from some Nameless One and his servants. They may suspect that some dark wizard may be looking for you to kidnap or kill you. But that you yourself practiced some rituals? They can hardly assume such a thing ," the Smart One snorted.
Harry calmed down a little and scratched his scar - lately it began to itch every now and then, especially during communication with the four spirits or in some emergency situations. As if warning about something or giving a hint. But the boy preferred to attribute this oddity to his new amazing abilities, of which he had acquired quite a few.
Harry smiled and stretched contentedly. He remembered how he had finally taught Dudley and his idiots a lesson…
Basically, it all started quickly and boringly to the point of banality. If you can call the process of beating up four rather strong boys by their much slimmer and lighter-looking peer "banal and boring".
"Let's dance!" Sweet Tooth laughed loudly as Dudley and Piers, the second bully in the gang, moved towards Harry with nasty grins and clenched fists.
"Slaughter!" echoed Ruffian. "Smear them in the name of Khorne!"
And Harry smeared. Having tried, however, not to seriously injure anyone - Smarty and Kindy intervened in time in the rampage of Sweety and Bully, reminding everyone that in the event of serious injuries or even deaths, they would have big troubles!
And yet, Dudley, Pierce and their two friends remembered this day for a long time!
First, Harry suddenly lunged forward and punched Pierce hard in the solar plexus. Pierce didn't even have time to be surprised before he was lying on the ground, wheezing in pain, unable to breathe.
Next up was Dudley, who just stood there, mouth open, not understanding what was going on. Ruffnut's enhanced arm muscles worked as they should, and Harry's fist connected with his cousin's fat face, knocking him out cold.
The two remaining bullies who were approaching Potter from behind, blocking his escape routes, stopped abruptly, blinking in surprise like Dudley. He knocked them out with one blow, simply spreading his arms wide and using another dash, literally knocking them both to the ground.
And then it was time to have fun!
"No, no, please!" Pierce whined, covering himself with his hands.
"Come on, Pierce, we've only just started," Harry sang melodically, raising his fist sharply but not striking. But the whining bully at his feet was enough for this movement - he immediately began to whine disgustingly and curled up on the ground, covering himself with his elbows.
- Hey, what's wrong? - Dudley spluttered through his broken lips. It seemed that he still couldn't comprehend such a sharp overturning of the entire universe as Harry, who was fighting back against them. - What's wrong with you, Potter? Your dad will lock you in the cupboard for a month! And give you a spanking! He'll...
"Oh, yes, Uncle," Harry grinned. "He might try. Or maybe I should spank you, Dudley?"
- W... what?! - the fat man turned pale, jumping up abruptly...
...And again falling on his ass, after a powerful slap from Harry.
"I didn't think I gave you permission to leave!" he hissed. "So, Dud, what do you think? Should I take your pants off and beat the shit out of your fat ass?"
Dudley looked at his cousin in horror, not recognizing him. It was unthinkable, wrong, that anyone – especially that crazy Potter – would fight back! And the thought that he would actually take Dudley's pants off and…
"N-no need!" Dudley muttered, throwing up his hands in a defensive gesture, like Pierce.
- Or maybe we should? - Harry pretended to "think". Sweet Tooth and Ruffnut continued to rage in his head. But if the latter was only howling in disappointment because the fight ended almost before it had even begun, the former was openly laughing at what was happening and was having a lot of fun. - Especially since you freaks don't understand it the good way... So - take off your pants, Dudley! - All the fun disappeared from Potter's face, replaced by a terrible grimace, from which the unfortunate Dursley junior even began to hiccup. - Or maybe I should start getting angry? - again a "sweet" smile, from which everything inside Dudley turned over with fear!
"I won't… I won't!" the fat man tried to crawl away from his suddenly crazy cousin, but Harry quickly stopped this attempt.
And then for about five minutes he just beat up Dudley and Pierce. But he beat them wisely, not like in the beginning! Sweet Tooth happily suggested how to beat them so that it would hurt like hell, but at the same time not leave marks and not damage anything critical.
However, Dudley's split lip will still be visible - after all, he shouldn't have succumbed to Bully's influence and punched him in the face. Now he definitely won't escape punishment, and a very serious one at that!
Although…
With a nasty grin, Harry pulled out the brand new Polaroid instant camera he had stolen not long ago. Dudley and Piers could no longer resist what Potter was about to do, so he, still grinning, began to pull Dudley's pants down himself.
From that moment on, Dudley not only didn't bully Harry, but on the contrary, he shied away from him! And when asked about his split lip, he mumbled something about how he and Piers had gotten into a fight with some guys a couple of years older.
Petunia, when she saw Dudley's split lip, almost went crazy - she was so actively clucking and running around her "beloved son"! And Vernon, as usual, cursed the "street hooligans" and expressed the hope that his son had given them a good beating, too.
Dudley didn't say anything, but he didn't deny it either, glancing fearfully at his cousin, who was silently vacuuming the carpet at the time. The fat man knew that if he hinted with even a word or a gesture at his cousin's participation in their beating, the damn Potter would immediately post photos of them in their underwear and in shameful poses all over the school. If not all over the city!
All in all, everything worked out for Harry. Moreover, it seemed like he had one less headache. At least, there were no problems to be expected from Dudley and his gang in the near future.
But there was a problem with wizards. Because when Harry carefully, from afar, observed the place of his last ritual, he noticed surveillance!
"How interesting ," drawled Smarty as they peered out from the gateway and peered into the corner with the garbage bins opposite. "Some form of invisibility, and based on a physical principle at that."
"Physical?" Harry asked mentally.
"Refraction of light in such a way as to hide a person visually ," the spirit explained. "In our world, such magic was not usually used in its pure form - it was easier to use a similar technique. More often, physical invisibility was combined with a distraction and mental deception - such an illusion could confuse even most psykers, not to mention ordinary people."
"Do you think this is that Alastor?" Sweet Tooth drawled lazily.
"I don't think – I'm sure ," Smart Guy chuckled in response.
"Then let's fight him!" Ruffnut roared. "I can smell his soul! He is strong! A true warrior! His head will be a decoration for the Skull Throne!"
"Even if we emerge victorious from this fight - which is far from guaranteed - we will have exposed ourselves ," Smarty commented discontentedly. "We'll wait until next year at least - we should be invited to some "Hogwarts", whatever that means."
"Oooh! Waiting again!" Harry thought he heard Ruffnut's teeth grinding at that phrase. "How much longer?! Harry!" he turned to the boy. "You've already had a taste of battle! You've felt your strength! But the victory was incomplete – you couldn't collect the trophies and you didn't present any heads to Khorne! Now is the chance for a real battle! Are you really going to let it slip away?!"
Harry himself didn't know what to do. On the one hand, it was pure madness to go after a grown, seasoned wizard, relying on his incredible, but still far from revealed talents and abilities. But on the other...
On the other hand, Zabiyaka's offer was very tempting. During the fight with Dudley's gang, he really felt his strength! His hands, previously thin and disgustingly weak, were filled with elastic strength that pulsed along with the blood flow. And he wanted to release this strength! Which didn't work out very well during the beating of the four hooligans.
And if, as Zabivaka promised, he brought his patron Khorne the head of some strong warrior or wizard, then he could give even more power! Enough to deal with anyone!
Harry shook his head. He no longer saw anything wrong with lying, beating someone up, or "borrowing" things from his neighbors—there were plenty of "borrowed" things like that Polaroid piled up under his bed in the cupboard under the stairs. But killing someone… That still gave him the creeps.
And besides, he was very afraid of revealing himself to anyone, especially to wizards! Especially since, as it turned out, they had been watching him all his life with some unclear goals. So the choice in the current situation was obvious.
"Rotten!" Zabiyaka snorted in disappointment and fell silent.
"Reasonable caution ," - on the contrary, the Smart Guy praised the boy. "We'll watch from the sidelines. In the worst case, next year everything will probably be revealed."
After such evidence of ongoing surveillance, it was decided to cease active activity for now and lie low. By "active" activity was meant the performance of rituals and other things that could lead to the trail of the unknown warlock killing cats in Little Whinging. Including a raid on the hospital.
However, by that time Harry's seasonal cold had subsided. But he suspected that it would return with renewed vigor in the spring - and so he hid the jars of potion among the things he had stolen. The good man assured him that it could not spoil, moreover - it would become even more powerful when it was properly infused!
But the boy did not stop making up for everything that Harry had been deprived of his entire life - that is, sweets, toys and other pleasant things. As well as learning to meditate, practicing viewing probability lines and doing physical exercises.
The older Dursleys looked at their nephew strangely, but lately they were in no hurry to pester him, as if they sensed danger. Although Harry tried not to stand out too much and continued to occasionally help Petunia around the house, she, too, was not eager to burden him with anything - and not without reason.
He and Vernon exchanged glances, remembering that the boy would soon be eleven, and "those" were supposed to come for him and take him to their school for the abnormal. Was this what had caused the changes in Potter? Maybe that was how it was supposed to be for the abnormal?
And Dudley had somehow gone quiet, although he had never missed an opportunity to put his cousin in his place. Vernon was puffing with anger, assuming that the damn Potter had used some of his abnormal abilities, which was why their son was afraid of him - but Dudley denied everything. True, he did it with such an expressive face that the conclusion was the exact opposite!
But she and Petunia didn't interfere - there was no evidence. And so it was decided to simply ignore the nephew.
And they sincerely hoped to eradicate the abnormality from the boy! But no - apparently, the bad blood in him was too strong. Marge was right, a thousand times right, convincing them to give the puppy to the shelter! But no, Petunia's family feelings flared up - he was a nephew, after all!
And now the elder Dursley cursed himself for having followed his wife and those crazy freaks who had left a baby with a note at their door. Because that damned Potter had received that very letter!
Vernon sat there, red with anger, twitching his walrus moustache as he looked at his nephew, who was sitting calmly across from him. He didn't know what to do. In the past, he would probably have tried to ignore such letters. Or even contact the police - he knew it was useless, that these bastards could fool even Bobby - but in the worst case, he would have contacted them.
But now... Now it was clear that they had failed. The boy turned out to be the same as his crazy parents had been - a damn sorcerer!
Vernon himself did not even suspect how much his evil thoughts corresponded to reality! What for him was just a swear word - for young Harry was already the very difference that separated him from other wizards.
However, he himself probably did not yet have a clear idea of how far apart it was. But he still had to face it.
Finally, after a good ten minutes of silence, Dursley, gritting his teeth, handed Harry his letter.
"I'm warning you right away, kid," he growled, giving vent to his irritation. "Even one oddity – even one! – in my house, and you'll regret being born. No devilry, no friends in colorful dressing gowns and other hippies! Understand me?!"
Harry just looked at his uncle from under his brows. And then he said:
- You knew about all this magic crap from the beginning, right?
Petunia, who was also present at the conversation, gasped. Not so much because Harry swore, but because he said his phrase before even opening the letter!
"Where are you from?!..." the stunned aunt began.
"I guessed," the nephew answered caustically, breaking the seal on the envelope and immersing himself in reading.
And Vernon had a fleeting feeling that he had done absolutely the right thing by giving the boy the letter. There was something so creepy and disgusting about Potter! It would be better if the freaks took the boy to themselves - otherwise who knows what would have happened if they had tried to restrain the devilry pouring out of him any longer?
"How did this letter arrive?" the boy suddenly asked.
"By mail," Vernon muttered discontentedly. "Why do you need it?"
"It says here that a response is expected by owl," Harry shrugged.
"Bloody idiots!" Vernon spat in disgust, standing up and leaving the living room. "Sort it out yourself, lad, we're definitely not getting involved!"
Harry just grinned in response - he didn't expect anything else from his relatives. Well, that would suit him just fine: after all, this matter only concerned Harry and the wizards, and he didn't want to run into conflict with the Dursleys once again. He would really disappoint them if a conflict did arise, but then again - why show up ahead of time and break the established way of life, if you could wait and avoid most of the problems to your advantage?
As it turned out, the letters were indeed delivered by owls. And not just any owls, but magical ones!
"Interesting creatures ," said Smarty, while Harry looked with interest at the four barn owls sitting in a tree near house number four. "Ordinary owls, but with artificially enhanced intelligence, trained and modified. And what's interesting is that there is almost no sense of warp power in them! And such chimeras should carry at least an echo of the Immaterium, if this is magic as we understand it."
"And if it's not in ours?" Harry thought, glancing sideways at Mrs. Figg, who was casually peeking out from behind the fence.
"Well, if not in ours… The powers of the C'tan are very close to the concept of magic - but here's the catch, these powers are based exclusively on the material world and its energies, without the slightest involvement of psychic potential ," explained the Smart Guy. "And it can't be the power of the C'tan. This is another world! And if the warp is a warp for all worlds, then the Star Gods could hardly get here. Does anyone like them exist in your universe? But then again - it's completely unlikely! You can expect some kind of near-mechanical or energy creatures from the C'tan, but certainly not living owls."
"Maybe I should catch one and try it?" Sweet Tooth suggested predatorily. "Those little creatures, the kneazles, tasted pretty good!"
And Harry mentally agreed with him - because he not only butchered the kneazle they had sacrificed at Figg's house, but also ate some of it. And it really did taste pretty good! Seasoned with the feeling of the soul of that same kneazle, the meat was simply superb.
"I don't think that's a good idea ," Goodfella interjected. "If these owls are from Hogwarts, they'll have some kind of tracking charm on them. It'd be awkward if Harry was caught eating school property."
"Yeah, coming to a new school and getting a reputation as a pervert right from the start isn't the best idea," Harry muttered. "But we've got to catch one of them somehow. The last thing we need is for them to keep bombarding us with letters!"
The smart guy had already told him what a geometric progression was - namely, the number of letters per day increased in that order. First one, then two, and today four at once! And all four owls remained sitting on the tree branches, in no hurry to fly away - they were obviously waiting for an answer.
"Um... can I ask you to come down?" Harry asked carefully, not really expecting an answer. But a miracle happened: one of the owls finally deigned to swoop down. After which the impudent bird tilted its head to the side, spread its wings and hooted mockingly. As if to say, well, I came down, but did you write a reply, smart guy?
Harry cursed under his breath and rushed into the house, only throwing over his shoulder: "Right now! Please wait!"
It didn't take long to write the answer, and now the boy is already tying it to special straps on the owl's legs.
There were no more owls - and thank the Gods, in Harry's opinion! Despite everything, he was still not quite ready for a conflict with the older Dursleys. After all, he was only eleven - where would he go if he broke with them? It was unlikely that any of the wizards would want to take him in, even if he had some relatives among them. And even if they did - wouldn't they be the same as the Dursleys? No, the boy was in no hurry to burn his bridges completely - as his new friends advised. Well, three of them, except Ruffnut. He was not at all averse to open conflict.
And a couple of days later there was a knock on the door of house number four on Tisovaya Street.
"Is this where Mr. Potter lives?" asked a stately lady with a strict hairdo, dressed in a prim, closed dress, with glasses on her nose and a light coat.
- Boy! It's for you, - Vernon immediately called out to the boy, looking suspiciously at the guest - apparently looking for signs of "abnormality", but did not find any. However, he tried to quickly retreat to the living room, avoiding communication even with such a decent, at first glance, woman. This was exactly the agreement - the Dursleys interact minimally with all sorts of magical devilry, and Harry gets the opportunity to calmly do his own thing.
"I'm Harry Potter, ma'am," Harry smiled as he approached the door.
Minerva McGonagall - that was the woman's name - coughed in surprise as she looked into the face of the son of her former students, whom she had finally met after so many years.
No, of course, she was not at all surprised by the behavior of the elder Dursley - she knew the character of these Muggles and their intolerance to everything magical. And therefore, demonstrative ignoring was, perhaps, even preferable - certainly better than open hostility! To be honest, she expected resistance and a refusal to send the boy to a school of magic.
What surprised her was something else - the boy himself. More precisely, the impression he made!
Minerva was no longer young. Fifty years for a sorceress is certainly not as long as for an ordinary woman, but still, she was far from a girl! And still, looking into the bright green eyes of Harry Potter, McGonagall lost her breath for a moment. The boy's face seemed to her somehow surprisingly sweet and even beautiful - so much so that even her heart began to beat faster, and her cheeks turned pink.
But she immediately shook herself and mentally cursed herself. She's come to this, the old hag! She's already starting to look at eleven-year-olds - shame and disgrace! The last person the woman expected such frivolity from was herself. And towards whom? Harry Potter, the son of her dead friends and a celebrity in the entire wizarding world!
Having come to her senses, Minerva frowned slightly and looked at the boy more calmly.
Well, she expected the worst. But otherwise, everything was great! A smart, developed child, in neat, if somewhat simple, clothes – nothing special. Well, except for those bewitching green eyes and such a sweet face…
What was wrong with her today?! Mentally slapping herself, Minerva hurried to invite Potter on a shopping trip to the wizarding quarter. And after, she promised herself, she would take a cold shower and drink a sedative.
Harry and the Sweet Tooth inside him were openly laughing at the reaction of this strict class lady, who introduced herself as Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. A simple Love Glance - and she was almost floating!
However, to give credit to the woman's will, she threw off the induced glamour almost immediately. And when they were about to leave, Harry completely dispelled the spell - enough of a good thing, so to speak.
"Uh, ma'am," he drawled as the woman pulled him into an empty alleyway. "Where are we going, exactly?"
"To Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said sternly, apparently annoyed at her own lack of restraint. "And you may call me Professor McGonagall. I will answer all your questions while you purchase the necessary supplies. We will move using Apparition. As far as I know, Muggles call this phenomenon 'teleportation', although this is not entirely correct."
"Oh. I see," Harry nodded, obediently taking the woman's hand.
"Excellent!" Smarty jumped up enthusiastically. "Now she'll show us how they do magic here! And we'll see how the local magicians teleport."
The excitement of the spirit was transmitted to Harry - he was simultaneously scared and interested in what would happen next.
Making sure that there was no one in the gateway, McGonagall twirled her wand intricately, slightly twisting her body, after which they seemed to be spinning in a strange vortex! Pictures of the old place were superimposed on pictures of the new one, and the body was squeezed, as if Harry was being squeezed through a rubber hose!
Overall, the feeling was... strange.
"Hmm… Amazing ," drawled Smarty. "Of course, more data and experiments are needed – but even now we can say that if this resembles any kind of magic from our previous world, then it's very, very distant!"
"How profound, otherwise we didn't know!" Sweet Tooth snorted ironically at this.
"You irritate me!" growled Bully. "It would be much better without your abstruse reasoning!"
"I already told you what happens when a Tzeentchite starts spouting platitudes ," Dobryak chuckled. "New, incomprehensible games..."
Harry, as usual, tuned out their squabble, only half-listening to it. And all because Diagon Alley was spread out before him!
The street was not particularly wide, covered with cobblestones, surrounded by houses and shops with amazing signs and bright shop windows. There was a shop with a mountain of all sorts of cauldrons, among which Harry was surprised to recognize even a golden one. Another shop sold ingredients for potions - and the boy promised himself to stay there a little longer. And in the window of one of the shops there was a real broom!
"Nimbus 2000! The newest sports model!" the boys slightly older than Harry, huddled around the display case, whispered excitedly. He also looked at the display case with interest.
"Flying on broomsticks?" snorted Sweet Tooth when they saw a sports poster on the wall of the same shop with a moving picture, which depicted two wizards riding broomsticks, throwing a red ball to each other. "I wonder if they beat their own balls with the shafts?"
This question, like many others, remained unanswered.
The professor accompanying them had already managed to change her clothes, turning her summer coat into a long-skirted black robe, and taking out a wide-brimmed pointed hat from a small-looking handbag.
"Stereotype after stereotype ," the Smart Guy chuckled strangely. "It's as if they specially dress in robes and pointed hats, and fly on broomsticks, exactly as Muggles imagine!"
"Or maybe Muggles formed their own stereotypes after meeting wizards," Harry suddenly answered.
"Hmm… Yes, that's much more likely ," the spirit laughed in response.
Suddenly Harry frowned.
"Professor!" he called to McGonagall.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" she pursed her lips in displeasure; she clearly wanted to get things done as quickly as possible and was not happy about the delay.
"I looked at the price tags… Um, I just took only pounds sterling," the boy shrugged guiltily. "And here are some sickles, knuts…"
- Oh, you're talking about money... Don't worry, Mr. Potter, - the woman said. - Your parents left you a sizable inheritance, so you can rest assured that we'll go to the bank now and withdraw the necessary amount.
Harry exhaled. This was great news!
Harry hadn't felt the need for money for some time now. Not after he'd robbed an ATM with his new power! But it turned out that there was some sort of currency in circulation among wizards, and if it weren't for the inheritance that had suddenly surfaced, Harry might have found himself in a stupid situation.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. He suddenly had so many questions for the damn Dursleys! The parents were alcoholics and drug addicts, right? And where did the inheritance come from then?
Speaking of which...
"Professor, ah…" he hesitated slightly. "Will you tell me about… your parents?"
McGonagall's expression darkened. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded in agreement.
- Of course, Mr. Potter. But let's not walk - first we'll do all the shopping, and then we'll sit down in Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and I'll explain everything to you in detail. Is that okay?
- Good! - the boy beamed. Not so much because he would finally hear the truth about his family, but because of the news that they would try the magic ice cream!
Sweet Tooth squealed with delight, and Harry felt like he was jumping up and down like a goat. Potter himself could hardly keep from skipping along – this day couldn't be any better!
At the entrance to the bank they paused, looking at the massive bronze gates and the inscription written on them.
"Oh, Blood God!" Ruffnut suddenly gasped, stunned. "I can smell His footprints here! He - or someone like Him - helped create this place!"
"Indeed, these doors are positively emitting blood and malice ," Smarty said, also puzzled. "And this is already much more like classic warp magic. These... goblins ," he called the creatures standing guard at the gate, "are very interesting creatures. There is also a trace of some very strong de... that is, spirit in them ," he corrected himself in time. Despite the fact that they gradually switched to their usual terminology, telling Harry more and more about Chaos and the Gods, they still avoided some formulations.
However, as the four demons suspected, soon young Potter would be ready to move on to the next level of perception of reality, and the subtleties in names would no longer bother him so much.
Once the gate with the quatrain hinting that goblins were not very fond of thieves was behind them, Harry and the professor entered the main room of Gringotts Bank, as it was called. Desks stretched along the walls, behind each of which sat clerks - all goblins, as you might guess.
They walked to the very end of the hall, where a particularly imposing goblin in pince-nez sat behind a high lectern—apparently the hall's chief administrator.
After carefully examining the key given to the administrator by McGonagall, he nodded and called a younger goblin to him, ordering him to take the visitors to Mr. Potter's safe.
Harry, along with the four demons, looked around with interest, trying to feel the forces and flows of magic that were floating here.
"There's blood coming from there!" Ruffnut seemed to inhale through his nostrils, drawing the others' attention to the door to which the goblin who had introduced himself as Griphook was leading them. "Someone is being killed here regularly and bloodily! And not just like that - but by sacrificing the souls of victims to someone who looks like my master!"
"Oh?" Harry asked curiously. "Can you tell where and…"
He didn't have time to finish the thought before a sharp pain pierced his head, and a wild scream that went right to his liver began ringing in his ears!
"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall jumped up to him worriedly. "What's wrong?"
Harry blinked, kneeling right on the stone floor. It only hurt for a moment, but from the surprise he lost his bearings and almost fell.
"I'm f-fine, Professor," he shook his head. "I just suddenly felt dizzy - after all," he glanced sideways at the sharply descending tunnel of the cave they had entered, "it's a bit gloomy here. And a bit high," he rose slightly on tiptoe, trying to peer into the darkness.
"It's okay," the woman smiled softly. "Not everyone takes goblins and their dungeons calmly the first time."
"What was that?" Harry asked as they loaded into the cart and started moving.
"A scream from the death of a psyker ," Smarty drawled thoughtfully. "Apparently, an uninitiated one, otherwise we would have known about it. I can assume that these creatures just sacrificed some wizard in their dungeons."
"Goblins kill people?" Harry frowned. He was becoming less and less attracted to the idea of going into the depths of dungeons teeming with bloodthirsty xenos who sacrificed wizards.
"It could very well be a goblin sorcerer ," Smarty explained in response. "And a sorcerer in the true sense of the word, that is, one who directly manipulates the warp! But I don't think it's worth raising this topic in a conversation with our guide."
Harry nodded - he understood that himself. It was worth taking the necessary amount of money and getting out of this place as soon as possible! But that didn't mean that he wouldn't try to return to the topic of goblins, their unknown magic and strange, Khorne-like patron. Harry had been communicating with the four spirits for over a year now, he was too immersed in new sensations and possibilities to ignore something related to all this. And Smarty and Ruffnut would definitely return to this topic.
He breathed a sigh of relief only when the snow-white building of Gringotts was left behind and they had almost reached Madam Malkin's atelier, where standard robes were sewn. Including school ones.
- Come in, come in! - the owner of the shop smiled at those who entered. - Oh, son, to Hogwarts, huh? Stand here, on the chair. There's another first-grader already here - now you can meet him!
Harry looked curiously at the "second first-grader" who was standing on the same chair as himself. And he felt the Sweet Tooth stir inside him.
"What a blond angel!" he sang. Harry was surprised: well, he's a guy, well, blond, well, cute. What's wrong with that?
And then he grinned and in a fit of mischief turned on the Love Glance, looking into the eyes of the boy on the next chair and smiling.
- And... er... to Hogwarts too, huh? I mean, that's not what I meant... I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy! - the blond boy finally found himself. - I mean... And mom and dad decided to look for wands and stationery... - he awkwardly waved his hands around himself and blushed with embarrassment. And then he turned as red as a tomato: - And in general - stop looking like that!
"How so?" Harry snorted, amused by the situation.
- Strange. And embarrassing, - he finally came to his senses. However, his cheeks, still burning, betrayed that Draco Malfoy was still thrown off track. - And by the way - you still haven't introduced yourself. That's impolite, by the way!
"I'm Harry. Harry Potter," the young wizard snorted in response and turned off the Look. Then he thought and extended his hand to the blond.
He, unsuccessfully trying to hide his surprise and curiosity, shook the outstretched palm and said:
"That Harry Potter? Cool!" he blurted out. After which Malfoy blushed again and corrected himself: "I mean, I wanted to say... Nice to meet you!"
"Me too," Harry replied with a mischievous smile. "Are you going to Hogwarts too?"
"Yeah," Draco replied, glancing sideways at McGonagall, who was looking at them strangely. "Um… well… See you again?"
- Certainly! - Potter smiled promisingly, turning on the Love Glance again for a moment, which made the unfortunate Malfoy jump out of the studio like a bullet!
Harry didn't know how ambiguous the scene between him and the blond boy was - he was just having fun with his new ability, enjoying the reactions of those around him.
He didn't yet know that Draco Malfoy wouldn't be able to sleep normally for another week, returning again and again to the scene in the studio.
"Mr. Potter, what were you talking about with Mr. Malfoy Jr.?" McGonagall asked him cautiously as they approached the last stop of their shopping trip.
- Huh? - Harry was distracted from communicating with his inner voices. - Just this and that. We met and decided to hang out at Hogwarts. He's a funny guy!
- Hm, - the professor looked at him strangely. It seemed that she wanted to say something or warn him about something, but at the last moment she said something completely different: - What did you tell him that made young Malfoy jump out of the studio faster than the wind?
"Apparently, he didn't expect to meet the famous Harry Potter there and was terribly embarrassed," Harry snorted cheerfully in response. His mood was getting better and better!
"Hm," McGonagall chuckled with obvious displeasure, but didn't ask any further questions.
Ollivander's wand shop was dark, dusty, and filled with hundreds of long boxes that were probably wands. Garrick Ollivander himself was a grey-haired old man with eyes that glittered strangely in the dark.
And with an absolute memory for the wands he sold! At least he remembered Harry's parents' wands perfectly. As well as the professor's wand.
"Minerva McGonagall, sixteen and a half inches, fir, dragon heartstring," Mr. Ollivander smiled, as if remembering something amazing from his past. "For the strong-willed and ideal for transfiguration. Even then I assumed that you would become an expert in this matter - but you went further, training new experts yourself.
"Thank you for your kind words, Garrick," the woman smiled warmly at him.
- Well then! - Ollivander exclaimed enthusiastically, rubbing his hands. - To tell you the truth, I've been looking forward to your arrival, Mr. Potter! Let's begin...
The first wand Harry ever picked up... exploded! Just like that, it exploded!
"What the?!..." Potter exclaimed mentally.
"Curious ," drawled Smarty. "This isn't just a guiding artifact, as we previously thought. This is the Key!"
"Key?"
"Exactly! The key to the powers of the local magicians ," explained Smart Guy. "And at the same time, a lock. I have a lot to learn on this subject - then I will be able to say more."
Harry frowned with displeasure, but didn't press for further clarification - he was busy "trying on" wands. Which he wasn't very good at!
They exploded, burned, dissolved into a stinking liquid - but they just didn't want to obey the boy!
But this only seemed to excite Ollivander! He thrust wands at Harry one after another, waiting for the result with the delight of a mad scientist in his eyes.
About fifty wands later, Mr. Ollivander was deep in thought, muttering something under his breath. Then he suddenly smiled and said a strange phrase:
- Eureka! If we can't get by with quality, we'll increase quantity.
After which he put two sticks on the counter.
"I was going to offer you a different wand, Mr. Potter," Garrick said sadly. "I thought it would be an amusing coincidence - but now I don't think it's worth risking such a memorable item."
"Memorable?" Harry asked curiously.
- Exactly. You see, Mr. Potter, - the master explained. - Phoenixes usually only shed one feather for wands - that's their nature. But the phoenix that donated its feather for the wand in question gave two feathers. It's rare, but it does happen. Well, the second feather of that phoenix was used to make the wand that gave you this scar, - he looked closely at Harry's forehead.
"Why don't you… want to give it to me?" he asked the old man cautiously.
"Oh. I think in your case you'd need something a little more... sturdy," Garrick smiled and pointed to the pair of sticks lying on the ground. "Puhutukawa, ten inches, nundu claw. And sugi wood, thirteen and a third inches, hair from a kitsune's tail."
"I didn't know you used any other materials than the standard ones," McGonagall said in surprise, looking at the wands.
"I don't use them," Ollivander chuckled. "My colleagues from Japan and Africa sent me these wands as an exchange of experience. Families like mine keep the secret of wand-making a secret – so for me this is more like a batch of original imported goods. Much more expensive than regular wands, unfortunately," he spread his hands as if apologetically.
Harry, without listening to the professor's answer, carefully took both wands in his hands...
And again I almost choked with delight!
Because again, as during the first meditation, I involuntarily opened my mind to the ocean of the warp!
"Oh, yes!" the Smart Guy's voice rustled cheerfully on the edge of perception. "This will be extremely interesting!"