Wizards are incapable of sensing the manifestation of his magic without special artifacts or special abilities - that was the final conclusion Harry had made by September 1, 1991, when he approached the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross station to get on the Hogwarts Express train to the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. No, if the warp began to affect them directly or, say, magic was performed right in front of them, then even a dullard would figure out that something was wrong! But to detect warp magic from a distance - no.
Before that, there was only circumstantial evidence: for example, the fact that Alastor Moody - that was the name of the scarred veteran wizard who was hanging around Little Whinging - was never able to catch Harry, let alone determine the direction of the mysterious warlock's rituals! In addition to the fact that they were supposedly "dark" and that they smelled of... something. Brazenly using his incredibly heightened senses, Harry heard the old man's conversations with Figg perfectly well, without arousing suspicion. Of course, he could have said this purely to calm the Dursleys' neighbor - but who would calm a woman with words about a dark ritual?
But he either couldn't or didn't want to do anything, and so Harry concluded that if he didn't specifically bother people like Moody, there wouldn't be any problems.
The boy's conclusions were also indirectly confirmed by the laws of the Ministry of Magic on the control of magic in Great Britain - they were included in the brochure "A Brief Guide to Behavior in the Wizarding World for Muggle-Borns", taken from the bookstore in Diagon Alley. It was written there in black and white that the law enforcement agencies of the Ministry reserve the right to monitor particularly strong outbreaks of magic in the Kingdom and immediately appear for inspection. So, either Harry's rituals did not reach the concept of "strong outbreaks of magic", or the Ministry officials were monitoring completely different magic. Although, if even after the ritual with a human sacrifice, Harry was not immediately attacked by wizarding cops, then one could consider that he was relatively safe.
Sacrifice…
He sacrificed the addict to Chaos in a forest a few miles outside of South Helens, among the dense thickets of wild raspberries. Now more or less skilled at making cuts in the skin, Harry covered his back with terrible signs, among which the symbols of the Gods dominated.
The three circles with three arrows he had already used were the symbol of Nurgle. The circle with two tongues of fire, long on top and short on the side, was the rune of Tzeentch. The square rune, resembling a schematic grinning skull, was the sign of Khorne. And the sign, similar to the male gender symbol, crossed by a crescent and ending in a sickle-shaped claw, was the mark of Slaanesh.
And in the very middle of the back there is a large circle with eight arrow-like rays extending from it.
The tramp only moaned dully into the tight gag that Harry had inserted into his mouth, and writhed in the spiked bonds glowing with warp fire. He only tried to scream when Potter slowly plunged his dagger into the flesh the entire length in the very middle of the carved structure, easily cutting through the spine, but the scream quickly turned into a strained wheeze.
Sweat poured into the boy's eyes, but he continued to recite the dreadful litanies, twisting the dagger and thereby turning the vertebrae and entrails of the man prostrate before him into mush. Unnatural flames flowing from the runes on the blade poured into the torn wound, devouring the victim's body from the inside.
As before with the kneazles, the warp energy artificially kept the victim alive, preventing him from losing consciousness from pain or bleeding - but it was unrealistic to keep a living creature in such a state for long, at least at the current level of Harry's training. And so after about five minutes of slowly burning out the entrails of the captured drug addict, the boy abruptly pulled a dagger from his back and chopped off his victim's head, ending his suffering.
"Ha-ha-ha!" Ruffnut laughed hoarsely, rising again in Harry's head. "Blood... Blood! Blood!!"
Harry swallowed and exclaimed in a trembling voice, holding up the addict's severed head in his outstretched hand:
- Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne! Khorne, I bring you this sacrifice that fought for its life! - in the thin and trembling voice of a child it sounded quite funny, but there was no one in the area to laugh. Only the warp stirred, bringing a distant and barely noticeable, but clear wave of approval. And a blessing for further achievements.
The boy didn't bother to clarify that the tramp had fought more for a bag of coke than for his life - but he had fought! Even if the fight, to the taste of the same Bully, had been weak - but a bad start was better. Khorne's approval of his actions was unambiguous.
The soul and body of a living human brought many times more burning energy of the warp than half-intelligent kneazles or even more so ordinary cats. And although the victim was ultimately dedicated to the Blood God, the Smart One promised that the raw power received would be enough to teach them the basics of the necessary skill.
And now, more than a month after this sacrifice, Harry was able to create simple illusions and illusory copies of himself, capable of deceiving an ordinary person or a simple wizard who did not have training in countering mental magic behind him. So now Mrs. Figg would hardly be able to see the flashes from Harry's spells, even if she was standing right next to the ritual circle.
Of course, such illusions, if they worked on experienced magicians or special artifacts, worked poorly. True, with exceptions, but Harry did not risk going to Alastor Moody - that was the full name of the crippled old man - for the sake of dubious experiments to find out. And after much thought, Smarty gave an assessment of the magic of local wizards.
"Their magic is at once akin to the warp, yet at the same time completely grounded in the real world ," he began to explain. "Compared to our past world, the Immaterium around us is now very calm – no warp storms, not so many spirits. But in the past, things were clearly far from this."
Harry listened to him very carefully - he had long ago understood that Smarty wouldn't talk about anything in vain, every word of his carried a certain meaning or message, even if now his words seemed unimportant.
"The Immaterium is not called the Ocean of Souls for nothing ," the Tzeentch daemon continued. "It does consist of spiritual energy - a collection of myriads of souls. And every living creature has a soul - which means that any such creature is at least a little connected to the warp. The local magicians are no exception ," he said, trying to express himself more simply - after all, Harry's ability to perceive and understand the knowledge he had received was not yet too much greater than normal for his age. "But in our world, psykers used their abilities by directly connecting to the warp and constantly maintaining a balance between two extremes: on the one hand, risking falling and becoming prey to the creatures of the Immaterium in the event of a weakening of control, and on the other, not being able to use them to their full potential due to an excessive amount of self-restraint. Such is the eternal balancing act on the edge of the blade , - he drawled mockingly, clearly remembering something. "Here, the source of power is not so much the warp, but the souls themselves!"
"But one soul must be much weaker than an entire ocean!" Harry frowned.
"Depends on the soul, of course, but generally true ," agreed Smarty. "But not in the case of this world. You see, your world is fenced off from the warp by some barriers that can only be broken through from the inside, using a very powerful ritual! But its inhabitants still haven't forgotten how to cast spells - and all thanks to the Beacons."
- Lighthouses? What lighthouses? - the boy was surprised.
"For lack of another name, I called this phenomenon exactly that ," explained Smarty. "Certain artifacts, places, or even creatures of this world that direct and enhance the personal power of each gifted one — I see shadows of dozens of such objects in the warp! Thanks to them, even on the reserves of a single soul, one can work miracles. Of course, only a few can achieve true power in such circumstances, and the locals should not even dream of reaching the level of even an average psyker. But wizards are still capable of changing reality — and strongly!"
"So wands are the same Beacons?" Harry was confused.
"No ," Smart Guy sighed wearily. "When I said that these objects strengthen the gifted, I didn't mean that they are in the hands of the gifted! They are simply present in your world and emit some kind of… light. That's why I called them Beacons. But they don't necessarily have to be artifacts or objects. They can be places. Creatures. Particularly powerful mages or even gods!"
"Gods?" Harry asked, surprised. "But aren't the Gods in the warp?"
"Not Gods, but gods ," corrected Smarty. "This has happened in many worlds I've visited. Reality itself has given birth to beings so powerful that they could be considered gods. They don't reach the Lords of Chaos, of course, but it would be stupid to deny their power."
Harry felt the skepticism coming from his scar again, and the strange thought that "every snipe praises its own swamp." He didn't quite understand the thought, but he scratched the mark on his forehead thoughtfully.
The boy had already thought about discussing these strange clues from the itchy scar with the four spirits, but for some reason he put this conversation off each time and decided to think a little more. Who knows, maybe these are really just consequences of listening to the warp? Harry considered it unnecessary to be distracted from training and distract his companions over such a trifle.
"Their power comes from physical reality, but is reinforced by the faith and actions of sentient beings, their spiritual aspirations ," continued the Smart Guy. "Thus, even without direct contact with the warp, the existence of magic, magical artefacts and wizards is possible ," he explained. "The C'tan were somewhat similar. Despite their categorical rejection of the Aether directly, they still drew their power from the drained souls of humans. The principle, in essence, is almost the same. Only with the Chaos Gods it is simpler and more effective."
And Harry agreed - Smarty spoke too logically. And a small study of the purchased wands confirmed his words.
"Now I understand why ordinary wands fell apart in your hands ," the Smarty chuckled as Harry twirled his new tools in his hands. "These are conductors of spiritual power, its filters and amplifiers ," he explained. "The raw power of the souls of local wizards is unstructured and, in the absence of restraining factors, bursts out of them in uncontrolled protuberances of power - the so-called emissions ," he recalled the contents of the same brochure. "The wand directs this flow, amplifies and restrains it at the same time."
"She is the key, and she is the lock!" Harry recalled Smarty's previous phrase.
"Exactly ," the spirit-adviser confirmed. "But your flow is many times stronger! And that's why the entropy of Chaos simply burned out ordinary sticks, they couldn't withstand your pressure - after all, your flow of power is connected to the Ocean of Souls! If we take naked strength, you are already much stronger than many of the wizards here ," the Smart Guy flattered the boy a little, causing him to chuckle smugly. "But don't get your hopes up ," the spirit immediately brought him down to earth. "Naked power is no substitute for skills and the ability to perform subtle manipulations!"
"Even a dumb orc can swing a club, but a well-aimed shot will easily finish him off," added Sweet Tooth, who was listening to their conversation. "And if you add strategy and tactics to this, then no matter how strong the orc is, he will lose before he even has time to pick up a club!"
"That's right ," confirmed Smart Guy. "And therefore – study, study, and study!"
"But why don't these wands fall apart?" Harry asked anyway.
"They are much stronger than all those you tried in Ollivander's ," Sweet Tooth joined in again. "The one with the fang of an unknown "nunda" is very tight for warp entropy, its body is as if it were made of iron, not wood!"* , the spirit admired. "And the second one seems to have been specially made to contain and control the Ether!**"
"So that's why they cost almost fifteen times more," the boy nodded.
"Well, yes. It would be strange if Ollivander charged such prices for wands he got for free, even if they were imported ," the Smarty chuckled. That was the end of their conversation.
And so Harry walked along the platform between platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross Station, tensely counting the columns, checking the information that McGonagall had given him.
"Five, six… seven," he paused. "It?" he asked in a whisper.
"Very similar ," the currently active Sweet Tooth responded benevolently. "Especially since those weirdos are clearly going the same way as you!"
And indeed, a group of strange-looking people had gathered at the right column, and the Muggles were walking around them, as if instinctively not noticing them.
A plump red-haired woman was talking to three equally red-haired boys of different ages and heavy carts similar to the one Harry was pushing. Next to the woman was a girl about a year or two younger than Harry, in a light summer dress and… pink rubber boots.
"What a cutie ," Sweet Tooth laughed, either touched or mockingly. "She'll grow up to be a real beauty! And her boots are cute."
Harry snorted, agreeing with the spirit: from certain behavioral peculiarities, dropped phrases and other indirect signs that he noticed in Diagon Alley, the boy realized that the wizarding world was still very much isolated from the ordinary one! And therefore, many wizards had an extremely vague idea of the fashion and customs of modern Muggles.
Although, considering that the rest of the red-haired family was dressed rather... modestly, one could conclude that the girl was dressed in whatever was at hand. Although it was strange - the dress she was wearing was quite nice.
"Strange quirks of consciousness ," drawled Smarty. "It's a pity you can't get into their heads yet. You could clarify a couple of things."
Harry didn't answer, concentrating on what was happening. After all, despite McGonagall's detailed explanations, he was still quite nervous. More precisely, he was nervous, among other things, thanks to the professor's explanations!
Now that McGonagall was gone to shield him from the spotlight, the sudden fame of the Boy Who Lived could be a bit of an inconvenience. It excited Harry and scared him at the same time, and he wasn't sure which was more.
"In any case, no one knows us by sight yet ," said Dobryak. "We can keep quiet until the Distribution procedure..."
"Draco Malfoy already knows," Harry shook his head, making up his mind. "So there's no point in hiding any longer!"
"That's right, boy ," Ruffnut said cheerfully. "Determination and pressure! Khorne has not marked you for nothing."
Without answering, Harry pushed the trolley he had taken from the entrance to the station, on which all his bags and suitcases were placed, and then resolutely moved towards the red-haired wizards.
- Uh... excuse me? - he carefully addressed the mother of the family, drawing attention to himself. - Could you tell me, isn't this the passage to platform 9 and ¾?
"Oh, dear, are you going to Hogwarts too?" the woman smiled back and blushed slightly - as already mentioned, even without the Love Stare, Harry looked incredibly cute. And then her gaze fell on the scar on the boy's forehead, which he made no effort to hide. "Oh, Merlin, and you?...
"My name is Harry," the boy smiled broadly. "Harry Potter, ma'am! It's a pleasure to meet you."
For a moment there was a stunned silence - only the station, oblivious to them, was making noise around them.
The first to die were two boys who looked remarkably similar to each other, two years older than Harry:
- Myself!...
- Famous!...
- Harry!...
"Potter!" they blurted out, amusingly complementing each other - as if one person was speaking, but from two different sides. At the same time, an identical mischievous expression appeared on their faces, which made Harry unable to resist - and he himself smiled.
"What an honor!" continued the twin—and they were clearly twins—standing on the left.
"What incredible luck!" his brother echoed.
- Fred! George! - their mother shouted at the twins, frowning sternly. - Enough! Can't you see, you've completely embarrassed the boy!
Harry wasn't particularly embarrassed, quite the opposite - his straightforward red-haired brothers seemed to have restored his spirits and dispelled his doubts before stepping onto the platform with their positivity. The same couldn't be said about their younger brother - Harry's age - and younger sister, who suddenly turned pale and tried to hide behind her mother's skirt.
- Ginny, what's wrong? - the woman looked at her daughter in surprise. - You wanted to meet Harry Potter - well, here he is, in front of you! At least say "hello".
"What amazing sensitivity and delicacy!" Sweet Tooth let out a long snort. "This little one would fall through the ground from such revelations!"
"Yeah, I would have failed," Harry agreed, watching the girl Ginny had named change her complexion from pale white to crimson red. "What do I do?!"
"Give me some kind of compliment, you blockhead!" Sweet Tooth snorted again.
- Um... It's very nice to meet you, Ginny, - Harry smiled charmingly, holding out his hand to the girl. She, with eyes widened either from shock or horror, shook it and looked down. - Beautiful dress - it suits you very well!
If Harry hadn't been so sure that it was impossible for the girl to blush any more than she had already done, he would have thought that her complexion had just turned an even more pronounced shade of scarlet. She squeaked something unintelligible and immediately hid behind her mother's back.
- Sorry, Harry, Ginny is so shy! - the girl's mother laughed good-naturedly. - Oh, what am I doing? I'm Mrs. Molly Weasley, the mother of these kids, - she gestured at her offspring. - This is Ginny, as you've already figured out. This is Fred and George... And we're late - does everyone remember? - she suddenly remembered.
The twins snickered derisively, and then one of them—Harry never knew which—pushed the cart forward and quickly approached the barrier… then disappeared into it.
"Now you... son!" Mrs. Weasley said, looking meaningfully at the second twin. Catching her small slip of the tongue, Harry realized that Molly herself was not very good at distinguishing between the two. Although, considering their emanations in the warp, the twins really were so fused with each other that it was somewhat difficult to tell one from the other. At least for a novice wizard like Harry.
When the second of the twins disappeared into the seemingly solid wall, it was the turn of Harry and the third boy, his age.
"I'm Ronald. Well... Ron," he said, frowning at his mother. "Ron Weasley. I'm starting my first year this year, too."
- Ah... - Harry was a little surprised. - Sorry, I didn't notice you right away.
"It's nothing, they always forget to introduce me," he snorted.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Ronniekins," Mrs. Weasley said apologetically, but somehow fleetingly. "Okay, hurry up! Harry, you first."
Potter drew his eyebrows together and tried to banish from his mind the image of himself accelerating and smashing a cart full of all sorts of goodies into a brick wall. Remembering that the Bully God, who had bestowed his attention on him, was clearly expecting more decisiveness from his new follower after such an advance, the boy sniffed and, gripping the handrail of the cart tighter, rushed forward, accelerating.
He forced himself to keep his eyes open when he came into contact with the illusory wall, but at the same time he clenched his teeth until they ground!
And the very next moment he jumped out of a practically identical brick column on a completely different platform!
There was a buzz here too. But unlike the chrome modern station on the other side of the barrier, there was an atmosphere here that Harry had already felt when visiting Diagon Alley. Something elusive, old-fashioned, amazing… magical! Something that he missed like air in dull Little Whinging.
A bright scarlet steam engine was heating up its boiler, puffing out thick clouds of steam that hung beautifully above the platform. Many wizards and witches had gathered here, seeing children off to school, giving last instructions or simply waving to those who had already managed to occupy a compartment in the carriages. Cats, toads and God knows what other animals from the pets allowed in Hogwarts flashed in the clouds of steam.
Harry didn't stop at the aisle, remembering that Ron Weasley's trolley could crash into him from behind at any moment. Quickly rolling his luggage to the side, he slightly closed his eyes and began scanning the space through the warp, analyzing the lines of probability and at the same time trying to feel the general direction of the emotions and feelings of the people around him. The smart guy had long ago accustomed him to this exercise, allowing him to assess the situation and find something not very significant. For example, a free compartment. In such a crush and with a heavy, unwieldy suitcase, it was better to understand in advance where to move.
"Oh, we still have to find a place!" Ron said sadly as he stood next to him. Harry glanced at him and grinned:
- Already found it. Follow me!
Weasley stared in amazement at the retreating back of his new acquaintance for a couple of seconds, but eventually hurried after him - he did not intend to miss the chance to become friends with the famous Harry Potter.
And Harry himself confidently climbed into the carriage, dragged his huge suitcase with a couple of bags and his ever-present backpack inside, and then dragged all this stuff to the place designated in the visions. Which really turned out to be a completely empty compartment!
"Wow," said Ron, squeezing into the same compartment. "How did you spot the empty seat from the platform?"
"Logic and deduction," Harry lied, slightly condescendingly. "Elementary, Wat... er, Weasley!"
"Cool!" the red-haired boy didn't bother to ask questions, instead starting to stuff his things onto the shelves.
When they finally sat down and began to calmly wait for the train to depart, Potter was able to take a closer look at his new… friend? Well, sort of a friend.
As mentioned, he was a bright red-haired, freckled boy about Harry's own age. His broad, bulbous face and bulbous nose gave him the appearance of a simple-minded oaf - but the four voices in Harry's head had taught him not to trust appearances over the past year and a half.
What was much more striking was the dirty spot on Weasley's nose, as well as his old and obviously many times mended and altered clothes. It must be said, so neatly and skillfully mended and altered that if it were not for Harry's unnaturally heightened senses, he would not have noticed such details.
In general, Ron Weasley did not look presentable. Not exactly poor, but certainly not very well off. And it seemed that the boy knew about it and was terribly embarrassed!
Harry caught his admiring gaze. And smiled smugly to himself. Because, in addition to his tremblingly beautiful appearance, the Sweet Tooth made him tidy up his wardrobe too!
For example, he went to an optician and bought himself new glasses - elongated and strict halves with a thin frame, much more suitable for his new image with a long haircut. However, he did not throw out the old "bicycles" either, keeping them as spares.
As for the clothes, they weren't the most fancy, but they were elegant and stylish - at least that's what Sweet Tooth claimed. Comfortable blue jeans, sneakers, a white T-shirt and a black jacket. Everything seemed simple, but quite expensive - and you could feel it, especially against the backdrop of Weasley's colorful house sweater, his old trousers and broken boots.
And Harry had two more of these everyday sets, plus two sets of school uniform. Also made of the best materials that Madam Malkin could provide - well, within the limits of the school rules. Sweet Tooth would have persuaded him to buy a cloak of acromantula silk, but, firstly, McGonagall would clearly be against "such unjustified expenses", and secondly, as already mentioned, the list clearly stated in black and white what materials the students' uniforms could be made of.
So, against the backdrop of the Weasleys' shabby appearance, Harry himself looked, if not like a prince, then certainly like some kind of lord. And he really liked this feeling of superiority over someone!
"Your sister, as I understand it, didn't just come here to see you off to school," Harry began the conversation, deciding to end the process of mutual gazing for now. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, clinging to her, just appeared outside the window, waving somewhere to the side.
"Yeah, right," Ron sniffed, apparently still feeling awkward. "She's been obsessed with you for the last year, I think. 'Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that,'" he snorted. "A fan, in a word!"
"She's so cute when she blushes," Harry blurted out. He couldn't tell if he'd said it himself or if Sweet Tooth had said it out loud. "Well, I mean," he corrected himself, seeing Ronald choke. "It's weird being looked at like a celebrity. It's embarrassing and… funny at the same time."
"Yeah," Ron perked up a little. "It must be cool to be famous!"
"Well, not really… yet," Harry lied slightly, shrugging his shoulders. "But Professor McGonagall shielded me from unnecessary attention when we went shopping, so I'm not complaining."
Gradually they started talking, and soon the compartment was filled with cheerful laughter and ringing voices. While they were talking, they didn't even immediately notice that the train had started moving and the platform was already behind them.
And then Harry was struck by an old man's voice coming from the next compartment, as if by lightning:
— Sweets! Who wants sweets, boys? Bertie Botts, new flavours. Chocolate frogs with inserts. Sweets!
However, all this listing was not necessary. In Harry's head, the voice of the demon Slaanesh sounded like an alarm, repeating one word after the unknown old woman like a clockwork:
"Sweets! Sweets!! SWEETS!!!"
And Harry, ignoring the sour and unhappy expression on Ron's face, quickly looked out into the corridor, almost knocking down the door in the process.
As a result, after this, both the compartment table and both benches in it were covered with a variety of delicious things, which Harry generously shared with Weasley. Exploding licorice, moving chocolate frogs and - Potter's favorite - Bertie Bott's sweets with absolutely any flavor.
"Ear wax ," Harry Sweet Tooth laughed inside as he tried another candy. It seemed he didn't care what the candy tasted like - the main thing was that it was bright and unusual. "But try the green one. Wow, fresh grass!"
Somewhere on the periphery, Ruffnut grumbled, but did not come forward - Harry Potter was in a different mood. Kindly made something like a sad-understanding laugh, and Smarty remained mysteriously silent.
"Have you thought about which Hogwarts house you'll be in?" Weasley asked with his mouth full. To be honest, this habit of his irritated Harry - life with Aunt Petunia had taught him to always be neat not only at the table, but also in everyday life. And the changes made to his Sweet Tooth image, on a subconscious level, did not go well with slurping and splashing pieces of food around himself.
And of course, was it really a thing to shove everything into your mouth without distinguishing between individual tastes, quickly and greedily swallowing huge pieces, not giving yourself time to savor the delicacy? Harry strongly condemned such a thing!
He had already forgotten how greedily and not particularly pickily he devoured sweets when he had fully got his hands on them - he was already trying on the image of a person who was superior to most others. And therefore he simply ignored some of his shortcomings and previous unsightly features.
"Well... I've thought about it a little," Harry answered carefully, currently concentrating, his eyes closed, savoring another Bertie Botts jellybean. "There's not much data, of course, but we can already draw some conclusions..."
"I'll definitely get into Gryffindor," the red-haired man said as if it were something self-evident. "All my brothers, even my mom and dad at one time, they all got into this faculty. And what, do you think you'll get into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?" Ron was surprised. "Were the Potters also all in Gryffindor, too, I think? Or not?" Ron thought. It was obvious that he was not particularly well-versed in either history or wizard relationships.
"Ravenclaw..." Potter drawled thoughtfully. "Ravenclaw, as they say, has a much more sophisticated approach to teaching methods and mastering skills. They have their own internal library and generally encourage the acquisition of knowledge, but..."
...But the faculty was run by a half-goblin - and they hadn't yet figured out what strange entity of Chaos had spread its patronage over their bank and the entire race. And everyone, except for the once again mysteriously silent Smarty, expressed their "fie" to Rowena Ravenclaw's faculty.
"Yeah, boring nerds, why would you want to be one of them?" Ron Weasley snorted contemptuously, as if he knew everything there was to know about that. "And the Huffles... well, it's obvious that they recruit the most stupid ones, everyone knows that!"
...Hufflepuff. Despite the stereotype, the representatives of this faculty were not particularly stupid compared to other faculties. The most friendly, the most attentive to each other, the most, perhaps, friendly... to their own. But if you remember that the badger that adorned their coat of arms is an aggressive predator that becomes especially dangerous when defending its burrow... It becomes clear that it is better not to quarrel with those who were contemptuously called "huffles" and considered slowpokes and idiots. It is not for nothing that the founder of this faculty - Helga Hufflepuff - was the daughter of a Scandinavian king, a drottning, and led her own squad of frostbitten berserkers into battle! This squad - with its brotherhood, drinking and unity - served as the prototype of the Hufflepuff faculty.
Tempting. If you don't know that there are no secrets among the warriors – hirdmanns in the Viking language. That the elders in the "hird" – the warriors – look after the younger ones, thus interfering in their affairs. And even Hufflepuffs of equal age and status often interfered in each other's affairs, trying to help and support!
Which was a problem. Harry wasn't prepared for such... personal attention to be focused on him. Being an unattainable idol, looked at from afar by the entire school, ignoring the essence - that's good. But when such a "family" carefully watches almost your every move - no thanks! The Dursleys were more than enough for him!
And he was afraid of his abilities being exposed. This was, perhaps, the most powerful argument.
Although Dobryak was delighted with the badger faculty.
"Well," Harry said, finishing savoring another candy and carefully licking his fingertips. "There's still Slytherin left."
And then he realized he had said something wrong. Because Ron Weasley suddenly almost choked on his witch's cauldron cupcake and hissed furiously:
- What are you talking about?! This is an evil snake pit! The students there are all dark magicians and all sorts of bastards!
"Hey! What does this little shit have against snakes?!" Sweet Tooth flared up furiously.
"Remembering your creeping youth, reptile?" Ruffnut suddenly replied mockingly. Ever since Harry had earned the attention of Khorne himself - however fleetingly - the spirit had gained a distinct self-confidence and a sense of superiority over others. Well, perhaps Kindly felt more self-confident to Harry than the Blood God's daemon.
"I hear it from a mangy dog ," the Slaaneshi snapped back. "But apparently Slytherin is not in favor here..." he chuckled.
- And anyway! - Weasley flared up. - This is the most evil, the most terrible and the most disgusting faculty of Hogwarts!...
"Does anyone here have something against the greatest and noblest House of Slytherin?" a cold boyish voice came from the door, clearly trying to copy someone else's intonation.
And it was precisely this feeling of being "copied" that made Harry laugh indecently, after which he turned with a wide smile to the stunned boy who stood in the doorway of their compartment:
- Draco, here you are! Come in, the feast is in full swing!
To say that Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley, sitting opposite each other, were out of their element is to say nothing! This fierce cocktail of mutual hostility, fierce amazement at the behavior of the famous Harry Potter and simply the absurdity of their being in the same compartment - Harry could not convey the full extent of those strange feelings that he experienced, "sniffing" at his neighbors through the warp.
"They both dislike each other based solely on what adults say. How adorable!" Smart Harry suddenly burst out laughing in his mind. "One despises some "blood traitors," not understanding what they're talking about. And the other hates the supposed "dark wizards," again not understanding what that means. Oh, and yes, the redhead's hatred is more directed at the golden buttons on the blond aristocrat's frock coat — pure envy. And Malfoy himself is genuinely perplexed as to how anyone can wear something that costs less than a hundred Galleons — and that's why he hates Weasley's outfit. As they say in many worlds — not a platitude, but an ageless classic of psychology, ha-ha-ha!"
Harry, however, was becoming increasingly irritated by the encroaching, angry silence. Because Weasley and Malfoy were glaring at each other and making faces. They probably thought these expressions were majestic or menacing, but Harry, obsessed with four companions at once, judged them as ridiculous. At least he had the sense to knock Malfoy's companions, two large guys, off course in the middle of the corridor. Fortunately, his powers were enough for their primitive minds.
"Uh… Chess?" he suggested with a forced smile, in order to somehow defuse and dilute the situation.
"Do you play wizard chess?" Weasley suddenly turned away from the confrontation of their gazes, turning to Potter with interest.
"Um... Well, I bought a set," he muttered. For some reason, the smart guy chuckled extremely mockingly at this.
"Let's play?!" Ron suddenly blurted out, completely ignoring the frowning Malfoy.
Harry had no choice but to unpack his chess set.
To be honest, he himself didn't understand why he needed chess. More precisely, Smarty claimed that this game greatly contributed to the development of tactical and strategic thinking, as well as intuition and other things that the boy didn't quite understand. And the local magical version also "the ability to convey your values and goals to warriors so that they would follow orders and not run away at the most inopportune moment."
Harry shrugged and began to set up the pieces.
It was the third of four items he had argued with McGonagall over, the first being expensive robes from Malkin's, the second being further reading from Flourish and Blotts.
The fourth was his pair of wands - but in Ollivander's, Professor McGonagall had almost resigned herself to the young Potter's lavish spending. And there were no other options - the other wands had turned to dust before her eyes.
The third was chess. And this was really more of a luxury item than a necessity!
A board carved from black and white Divine marble, rare materials from magical Greece that were mined from the magical anomaly zones called the "Gates to Hades" and "The Foot of Olympus".
Most likely, it was a common tourist trick - but the spirits in Harry's head estimated the type of marble as very valuable. Emitting some magical powers - but nothing more.
The figures were made of the same material with bronze and silver decorations, which made them look like Greek hoplites, kings, queens, chariots and ancient towers.
And in the very first game, Harry… lost.
"This Ron clearly has a very sharp analytical mind ," said the Smart Guy thoughtfully, while Potter stared in disbelief at the board, where his white king stood with his hands up, under the spear of the black "Spartan" bishop. "Looks like my type."
"The boy is clearly unloved and unhappy ," boomed Dobryak. "He is sloppy, indifferent to his appearance and does not pay attention to manners - he needs a bit of care! Only I can give it."
Harry didn't listen to the squabble of the spirits. After all, he had lost ! And to whom?! That wretched Weasley, who had never even seen such chess in his life! And this despite the warp scanning and foresight!
The Bully immediately came to the forefront, suggesting a universal way to win at chess - to hit your opponent over the head with a board. But the Sweet Tooth scornfully spoke about how only primitive creatures win this way, and you just need to develop the skill of the game, develop a strategy and hone it.
And then Malfoy intervened:
"Pfft!" he snorted. "This is Martinson's Gambit, isn't it? A pretty primitive strategy."
"Simple doesn't mean primitive," this time Weasley copied someone's intonation.
"Oh, really?" Draco raised a white eyebrow. "Prove that it's not true?"
Anyway, to Harry's great surprise, the two pushed him away from his own chess set and began to sort things out in a game, all the while shouting excitedly, waving their arms and arguing about things that Potter was completely unfamiliar with!
Harry chuckled ironically, moved to the window and paid attention to the sweets - of which there were still quite a few left. As it turned out, just watching such different boys from the side was also very interesting and entertaining. And when the twins he had already seen earlier looked into the compartment and, instead of blurting out something, simply gaped in amazement, looking at the idyll reigning there - Potter completely understood that the spectacle was worth it.
They silently retreated into the corridor, where they began to talk.
"Do you see this, Dread?" one twin asked the other quietly.
"And I don't believe my own eyes, Forge," the second confirmed. "It's Malfoy, if I'm not mistaken?"
- That's right, brother. And our Ronnikins is no slouch! He makes such acquaintances even on the train...
— I wouldn't be surprised if he gets into Slytherin!
"Oh, that'll be a most entertaining scandal! I'll bet six sickles that's exactly what will happen," Forge chuckled.
"I accept and bet on Ravenclaw," snorted "Dread" in response.
"Are you kidding?" Forge said, feigning surprise. "Ronald in Ravenclaw - that sounds crazy!"
"No wilder than Ronald in Slytherin," his brother chuckled.
Harry didn't listen any further. Sweets won't eat themselves...
He himself did not notice how these two - meaning Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy - followed him and continued their chess dispute even in the boats that ferried the first years across the lake at the foot of the castle. To be honest, Harry was already starting to get tired of them. But he was determined to learn to play chess well without relying on foresight and warp vision - to the delight of the Smarty.
As for the castle, it was truly stunning!
In the darkness of the night, under the light of the stars, Hogwarts itself glowed with hundreds of magical lights from the windows and stained glass. The waters of the lake that stretched out near the walls of the castle swayed majestically, cut through by dozens of boats on which first years sailed to meet their destiny.
In the front, the largest one, sat a huge man with a shaggy black beard - he introduced himself as Hagrid, the Keeper of the Keys of Hogwarts. Harry felt like he knew him from somewhere, but it could also be a trick of his mind, which was already getting used to diving into the warp in search of answers.
In the boat that Harry found himself in, in addition to the arguing Weasley and Malfoy, there was a chubby boy of a shy appearance. Potter had already seen him on the train: when he got bored of sitting and listening to Ron and Draco argue, he went for a walk in the corridor. There he ran into this boy, who was looking for a missing toad together with some bushy-haired girl. After lazily listening to the problem of these two, Harry took Neville - that was the boy's name - by the hand, and immediately figured out the fugitive by the warp trail from his soul. To the surprised question of the girl, Hermione Granger, how he did it, Potter answered the same as Weasley earlier. That is, he referred to deduction, logic and observation.
That was basically where the interesting events on the train ended, and for the rest of the journey, all Harry did was try to meditate, eat sweets, and listen to the voices in his head. After all, he wasn't going to listen to two chess players, was he?
As for Malfoy and Weasley, they only separated from each other when Professor McGonagall appeared in front of the first years and gave a short lecture about what Hogwarts was and how the Sorting would take place.
And this last topic really interested Harry!
"A mental artifact, if I'm not mistaken ," muttered Smarty, looking at the shabby hat lying on a simple stool in the middle of the Great Hall of Hogwarts. "It scans the general spiritual background and key points of character to determine the most comfortable faculty for the individual."
"But you said that they don't sort just anyone into Slytherin?" Harry asked nervously.
"Well, I only went over the basic contours of the artifact ," the spirit waved it off. "In order to fully understand the mechanisms of anything in the material world, I need to incarnate in it. As an ephemeral spirit, I can't do much ," he chuckled.
"I see," Harry swallowed, watching as the first of those who had arrived with him began to try on the Sorting Hat and head off to their house tables. "Will this thing find anything… odd in my head?"
"You mean us?" Smart Guy chuckled in response. "No ," he seemed to shake his head. "It scans characters and emotions. You're nervous - but that's normal in a situation like this. And this thing won't go any deeper. If it does... Well, the four of us can give it a decent fight . "
After these words of the demon, Harry calmed down a little. And so, when his turn came, he stepped forward without hesitation or fear.
The hall fell silent. As Potter himself understood, everyone was holding their breath - where would the legendary Boy-Who-Lived end up?
But he wasn't going to prolong the wait. After all, under the Smart Guy's guidance, they had analyzed all four faculty options, weighed up the options, and calculated the reactions of those around them. And so, there was only one way left...
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat screamed, barely touching Harry Potter's thick curls.
The hall exploded with applause.