Hogwarts. Headmaster's office. Somewhere between Halloween and Christmas.
Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore, bearer of many titles and ranks, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, settled into his chair and thoughtfully looked at the former student sitting opposite him. Severus Snape, the current potions teacher and head of the Slytherin faculty at the same time. And not just looked, but also listened as he sharply and abruptly told him everything he thought about the current situation.
"You can bury your head in the sand as much as you like, Headmaster," the Potions Master said heavily. "But Quirrel is behaving monstrously suspiciously! I don't know who he's working for - maybe he's gone mad with greed - but he's clearly and unequivocally set his sights on the Philosopher's Stone!"
Dumbledore sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead with his palm. How tired he was of all this stupid behind-the-scenes squabbling!
"Quirinus could have released the troll through an oversight..." Dumbledore answered colorlessly, not believing his own words.
- Then why did you put this amateur in such a dangerous position? - Snape raised an eyebrow with his trademark sarcasm. But then he switched back to a heavy and serious tone: - Albus! Quirrell spent the whole summer somewhere in the Carpathians. Do you need to remind me WHO is still hanging around there? Gangs of vampires, werewolves, remnants of militants from the war with Grindelwald! Who knows who he could have met and what he signed up for? Who could have bribed him, knowing about Nicholas Flammel and his difficulties?
The Headmaster sighed again. Severus had started his chorus again! Only two months had passed since he had started pestering Albus with his suspicions - and this story about "which Carpathian group Quirrell was working for" had already become quite boring.
But Severus was right about one thing. It was hard to believe that Quirinus Quirrell could have been so careless as not to have recorded the captured mountain troll sufficiently for it to escape. And his entire behavior since the beginning of the year…
No, overall the picture looked quite logical.
Quirinus is an excellent specialist in a variety of disciplines. He is well versed not only in Muggle Studies (which is not surprising - he is a half-blood after all), but also in charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts! There is just one problem - he has never seriously gone "into the field". After the seventh year, he worked in some research sector of the Ministry, gained a lot of theoretical knowledge and got an internship at Hogwarts. Then - first a full-time job as a Muggle Studies. And now, this year he was supposed to get something like a promotion - to become a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!
To be honest, Albus partly blamed himself and Severus for Quirrell's departure to such a dangerous region as the Balkans and specifically the Carpathian Mountains.
Snape - because he never hid his doubts about the dreamy Muggle scholar's true ability to actually apply his DADA skills, his caustic remarks on the subject must have made poor Quirinus rush to prove him wrong!
Albus reproached himself for not first reprimanding Severus, and then not stopping Quirrell from taking a rash step.
And there, in the Carpathian Mountains, where poor Quirinus had gone to prove his competence, he met... someone. Apparently, a vampire. At least, that was what the indirect signs suggested. In any case, this meeting had a negative effect on the young professor!
If earlier he stuttered only when he was very worried... now he was worried all the time. Under his clothes the poor guy obviously wore bunches of garlic, and in his ridiculous turban he probably stuffed it mixed with silver essence and a couple of amulets.
One of which was clearly mental - Quirinus had previously been able to more or less cover his brain from unnoticed scanning, and now he had completely closed it off. Again, this is understandable - no vampire would be able to penetrate Hogwarts itself, and it would be unlikely that he would be able to lure out a victim by means of mental suggestion. But the latter - only if he had not yet marked the victim. If Quirinus had received his mark...
Then his paranoia became clear.
But if that were the case, Quirrell would have come to Dumbledore. He would have asked his former mentor for help, just as he had done many times when he couldn't cope with problems on his own!
Which means...
Albus didn't want to believe it, but it seemed that Severus was right. Either Quirinus had been recruited by one of the Carpathian gangs. Or the same vampire had made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Or - and Dumbledore was trying to push this option away - he had decided to steal the Philosopher's Stone for himself.
But there were other reasons why this news did not please Albus.
"Very well, my boy," the Headmaster frowned, steepling his fingers in front of him. "What do you propose? Call the Aurors? And what will we present to them?" He raised an eyebrow, copying Severus. "Conjectures and assumptions? And even if there is ironclad evidence, can you imagine what that will turn into?"
"Albus, your games of politics…" Snape immediately grimaced, but was interrupted.
"For you, these are games, Severus!" Dumbledore said harshly, slapping his palm on the table and flashing his eyes over his half-moon glasses. "But for hundreds and thousands of wizards, and magical creatures, this 'game of politics' of mine is the only hope for a normal life!"
Snape frowned, pressing his lips together, but said nothing.
"Your friend Lucius has been quiet for the last decade," the Headmaster continued. "And I hope that after close contact with the Dark Lord in an inadequate state and familiarity with the life of Azkaban, he has learned his lesson. But there are others – dozens of them! Who did not participate in Voldemort's terror, but absolutely share his pernicious ideas! What do you think they will do if a half-blood ," Dumbledore emphasized the last word, looking directly at the pale Snape, "who, moreover, taught Muggle Studies, and advanced to the elite position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher only thanks to me – should he stumble, should he be involved in a dark story. What will they do?"
"I'll tell you," Albus continued grimly. "They'll raise a terrible howl in the press, at the Ministry debates, wherever possible!" "Muggle criminal scum," Dumbledore muttered, clearly copying someone. "They need to be controlled, marked, sent to special closed schools for re-education" - familiar rhetoric, eh?!
They were silent for a while, staring at each other. Then Snape asked in a cold voice:
- Very well, Albus. The easy way is not for us. Then tell me: what do you propose ?
"What you call 'burying your head in the sand,'" the grey-haired director snorted in response. "And I call 'patiently watching and waiting for the right moment.' Quirinus is unlikely to have the patience to wait for several years, feigning a stutter and wearing a turban. He will act this year..."
"Albus, we're at school!" Severus interjected. "There are children around! If something happens—"
"I am sure," Dumbledore said emphatically, "that Quirinus, no matter what deals he makes or even his personal greed, will not harm the students! You can't fall so far in just one summer."
- Oh, this boundless faith in people... - Snape in turn tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose. - Okay, Albus. Good! I will continue to simply keep an eye on Mordred's Quirrell. But if he gives me a reason - just one reason, - he narrowed his eyes, - I will grind him into dust! But, so be it, - he grinned, - I will do it secretly. So as not to harm your... games.
"I don't ask for more, my boy," the director smiled accommodatingly.
They drank tea and sweets in silence for a while. There were still a few topics to discuss, but before moving on to them, both needed to calm their nerves.
"What do you think of Potter?" Snape finally broke the silence. It wasn't that it wasn't an important topic - on the contrary, it was one of the most important! It just seemed a bit lost against the backdrop of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's antics. "Have you managed to find out anything?"
"No, Severus, so far it's quiet," Albus frowned, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. "Ten years have passed. Ten! But even I – I dare say, a very knowledgeable person in magic – could find very little about that ritual."
"And yet?" Snape tensed. All these years Dumbledore had been denying it, avoiding the conversation on the subject of that fateful night of October 31, 1981, repeating about "insufficient data" - and now... Really?
"James Potter had nothing to do with the protection placed on Harry," the headmaster began slowly, as if uncertainly. "Whatever it was, Lily performed the ritual. But the only thing I can say for sure," a glance at Snape's tense face, "is that the ritual was performed on blood. Something dark, evil… but absolutely not detectable by magic!"
"That's why you put him with the Dursleys?" Severus asked tensely. "Blood relation?"
- Yes... and no, - the old man shook his head. - To be honest, I was afraid to leave him in the wizarding world. In addition to Lily's ritual - which is dark in itself - there was some part of Harry left... something that belonged to Voldemort! As soon as someone other than a small circle of people felt it... Can you figure it out yourself?
"And the boy would have been deprived of his magic at best," the potion maker frowned. "After which he would not have lived very long."
- Exactly, - the director nodded. - And of all the initiates, you had more or less the opportunity to raise the boy. But I thought that...
- Merlin forbid! - Snape was indignant and shuddered when he imagined the picture of raising the cub of the hated school enemy! - I see! But what about his mental block? Or other... oddities?
- The block is clearly a consequence of that protective ritual, - the director nodded. - The oddities... - Dumbledore sighed. - I assumed that Petunia would not be able to raise the boy normally, but I still hoped for her prudence. Yes, all my faith in people, Severus! - he snapped irritably, seeing a smirk on the Potions Master's face. - But, to be honest, I did not expect such... self-admiration and a sense of his own exclusivity from the son of Lily and James...
"Oh, that last one was just like that, Headmaster!" Snape hissed, with a venom so concentrated it could have poisoned a basilisk. "Don't tell me you never noticed. And Potter is just as spoiled a little shit as his daddy!"
"We will not go back to your old dislike of James Potter and that stupid school feud now, Severus!" the Headmaster snapped, his eyes flashing menacingly. "I had enough of that back then!"
Snape pursed his lips but said nothing. He realized that he had gone too far, and so he hastened to apologize - without much sincerity, however. But Albus, satisfied with this, nodded and returned to the discussion:
— As for Harry... It's good that he's not feuding with anyone yet and doesn't bully anyone. That's a good sign, especially at his age! Yes, he likes to show off, to be the center of attention, to brag and demonstrate his superiority, but that's all. And notice, — a glance over his half-glasses, — he communicates with a wide variety of students from two opposing faculties! In my opinion, that's pretty good. Perhaps, by being friends with him, the same young Malfoy won't be so susceptible to the... destructive influence of his father.
Oh, Snape wouldn't count on that! Lucius was damn domineering and intolerant of other people's opinions within his own family. It's no wonder that Severus' godson grew up under his father's enormous influence. The desire to be the perfect heir, the pride of the Malfoy house, to show himself in the best light to his parents - Draco will do anything for that!
So it wasn't even friendship, but simply the communication between the godson and the youngest Weasley, that shocked Snape incredibly! Of course, having learned the background and the nature of this "communication", he calmed down a little. But the fact itself!
And again - Mordred Potter must have done his best!
To be honest, Snape waited every day, every hour, for James Potter's offspring to finally get caught doing something... Something! Considering his dad's habit of breaking the rules and wandering around the school at night, doing mischief, he was bound to get caught sooner or later!
But no. The boy made nasty, mocking, arrogant or smug faces, coped with his studies with stunning ease, sometimes made sarcastic remarks or even tried to manipulate those around him... but that was all. Snape even caught himself thinking that with such habits, Potter's place was by no means in Gryffindor.
Slytherin, and only partly Ravenclaw, but not Gryffindor!
The only thing that confirmed his right to be under the canopy of the scarlet banners with the lion was that flying lesson, where he and Draco first staged a farce with flights, and then James's offspring also caught the Reminder ball with a dashing pirouette! And yes: Severus was watching that lesson - it would be a shame to leave the younger Malfoy unattended. Under invisibility, of course.
By the way, regarding flights. Quidditch season is about to start. And the first match will be Gryffindor vs. Slytherin!
Well, let's see if Potter is as good as he tries to seem! Innate abilities are innate abilities. But experience and a well-coordinated team behind him, to Severus' taste, meant much more! The boy had the first - you can't take away from him. But the second and third - no. Unlike the Slytherin team...
Potter again.
- A-ha-ha-ha-ha! In the name of Slaanesh, this is brilliant! - Harry burst out laughing, walking away from another Bludger that passed literally a couple of centimeters from him. He could allow himself to mention the names of the Chaos Gods - after all, in that jumble of wind, the roar of the stadium and the motley cries of the players, few could hear his own incoherent screams. And the elusive courage of the forbidden excited him no less than Quidditch itself!
Harry was flying around the Quidditch pitch almost faster than Bludgers, without any system or plan, enjoying the feeling of flight and the emanations of delight emanating from the players and spectators. Despite all the instructions from Wood and the usual tactics of a Seeker, simply circling in the air or even hanging in one place was terribly boring. And so Potter was having fun, under the astonished gaze of the Slytherin Seeker and the disapproving one of his captain.
But the boy didn't care - he was having fun!
To rush past, diagonally crossing the trajectory of one of the opponent's players, causing him to turn aside with a curse and crash into the stands with all his might. To accidentally get in the way of the Quaffle when the Slytherins were passing, causing the ball to end up in the hands of Angelina Johnson, the Gryffindor Chaser. And when one of the enraged Beaters tried to hit the insolent Potter with a Bludger, he at first almost "exposed himself", but at the last moment turned around the axis of the broom, letting the iron ball pass him by... Right into the head of Flint, the captain of the Slytherin team!
And then - slowly fly up to the Gryffindor stands and pull the snitch out of thin air! In the end, they had had enough fun. Harry could have continued to have fun, but he logically reasoned that soon there would simply be no more Slytherins on the field - and he still needed them.
The roar and rage of the stands was indescribable! And as soon as Harry landed on the ground, he immediately found himself in a crowd of enthusiastic Gryffindors who began to rock the boy, chanting:
- Potter! Potter! Potter!
A moment of glory - his glory - as a worthy final touch to the past game.
It was only as he was being carried away from the field that Harry noticed two eyes looking at him.
Straightforward and studying - Severus Snape. And incomprehensibly surprised - Quirinus Quirrell.
But for the time being he decided to put them out of his mind and enjoy his triumph. Everything was too good to bother with strained thoughts today. He had won, and won brilliantly! Thanks to his exceptional talents, intense training and foresight.
Yes, foresight, which was working at full power again. And all thanks to little Quinky, who helped him finally perform a new ritual!
Oh, with what pleasure Harry plunged his fingers, trembling with excitement, into the pulsating insides of the kneazle obtained by the house-elf! With what rapture he absorbed the aura of horror and pain emanating from the dying animal! At the end of the ritual, he even, touched, hugged his beloved slave - so grateful was he for the gift of the opportunity to sacrifice to Chaos!
The slave herself, however, was not at all happy about this: when the boy, naked to the waist, covered in blood and entrails, suddenly hugged her tightly, Quinky sobbed convulsively and lost consciousness. But Harry did not care - he felt so good that he did not pay attention to it.
However, the idea that in addition to the usual coercion, Quinkie should be thanked somehow did arise in Potter's head. But how to do this - he still had to think about.
As he had done more than once in the weeks since her "recruitment", Harry thought with pleasure that the little elf had turned out to be a very valuable acquisition. Obeying his orders, reinforced by periodic attacks of pain from the Mark, Quinky showed very, very interesting places of the castle.
For example, the entrance to the secret catacombs that stretched several floors below the Hogwarts dungeons. And these were by no means wild grottoes or damp sewers - these included ancient, abandoned classrooms, halls with low ceilings, and even something like a dungeon!
The passage to this labyrinth was blocked by an old, dried-out door, nailed crosswise with much newer boards - apparently, Filch tried. But this obstacle, of course, did not stop the wizard of Chaos - and soon Harry, with eyes burning with delight, was exploring the mysterious catacombs with all his might.
Finding a place for a ritual in such a labyrinth was easy. Especially considering that house elves only showed up here on direct orders from the director once every ten years!
However, just in case, Harry ordered Quinky to additionally cover the old audience he had chosen with masking charms - as he found out, house elves were quite proficient in such, even such young and inexperienced ones as his slave. And to say the least - "young"! By human standards, Quinky corresponded to a girl of about seventeen or eighteen years old. It seemed really young, but compared to an eleven-year-old boy, she was much more experienced in various charms.
The elf stole Kneazle from some Ravenclaw - Smarty advised. Rowena Ravenclaw's students were individualistic and absent-minded enough to not notice the loss for a while. And then there would be no trace left.
Harry got into the catacombs without using Forecast - it was too expensive a spell, and he was still not recovered from the previous time. No, he simply ordered Quinkie to carry him there, fortunately there was not a single picture hanging in the corridor with the old boarded up door. It was an old dusty dead end, filled with broken desks and some boxes - it was unlikely that even Filch had been here for the last five years.
After the ritual, the boy was in high spirits and smiled openly at everyone around him, causing smiles in return, as well as a slight blush in the girls. He wanted to sing and joke, hug the whole world and share his joy with it!
Of course, this joy was slightly diluted by the fact that Quinky couldn't move Harry anywhere he wanted even within the castle walls: Hogwarts was full of places closed even to elven apparation. The same headmaster's office, common rooms of other faculties, a good chunk of the catacombs under the Slytherin dungeon and the entire eighth floor in the Ravenclaw wing - and this was far from a complete list.
And that's not even mentioning the area outside the school. For example, it was impossible to just teleport to the forester's hut with elven magic, much less to the Forbidden Forest or back, to do that you first had to cross the border of the anti-apparition barrier, which extended just beyond the castle walls.
But these were mere trifles compared to the rest of the prospects!
It was a shame, of course, that you couldn't get into the prefects' bathroom, which, as it turned out, had a swimming pool. Otherwise, Harry wouldn't have refused to bask in the hot water with fragrances and foam! But Quinky honestly warned that there was a mosaic in the bathroom in the form of a mermaid - with about the same function as living portraits. So, for starters, it was worth legalizing visits to the bathroom, which was almost impossible in the first year. On the other hand, he somehow got into the Quidditch team, and even got his own broom...
The bathroom could wait, though. Harry was too lazy to figure out how to get in there.
Winter came, and almost immediately - Christmas. Harry himself could not understand how this happened. Apparently, the principle continued to operate that when you are doing something interesting, time flies unnoticed.
And it must be said: in addition to studying the catacombs, exercises and training in the discovered hall, studying became more interesting than at the very beginning. They began to study real charms, practical transfiguration techniques and other, albeit still simple, but still funny techniques. Snape still hissed at the unbearable Potter in his lessons, every now and then trying to take points. And he sincerely wondered how Harry managed, completely ignoring the recipe, to get exactly what was needed - no more, no less! But he could not prove anything, he gritted his teeth and took it out on Longbottom.
Malfoy and Weasley were constantly disappearing somewhere, and when they met, as if by chance, they would stop in the corridor and whisper mysteriously about something. Harry didn't listen - he already knew that the two chess maniacs would gather their circle of interests again somewhere and would play their game until they turned blue! A couple of Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff had already joined them, and Potter could bet that soon there would be many more of them.
But something amazing happened on Christmas!
"An invisibility cloak!" Ron exclaimed in amazement as he watched Harry unpack the gift. "Wow! That's a Mordred rare and valuable thing!"
"Come on!" Potter exclaimed excitedly and threw the robe over his shoulders, standing in front of the mirror. And he laughed joyfully, looking at how the body below the neck simply disappeared: no ripples, no strange flashes - pure invisibility!
"Just think!" Harry Smart exclaimed in his head as the boy played with the unexpected gift. "Lighthouse!"
"The Beacon?" Potter froze, almost instantly retrieving a conversation from the beginning of the school year. "Those… things and things that kind of feed the magic of our world?"
"Exactly ," confirmed Smarty. "And this robe is one of them! It simply exudes what mortals like to call "divinity." Whoever created this artifact, they put so much energy into it that it would be possible to split and drown an entire continent in the planet's robe!"
"Wow!" the boy gulped, looking at the new thing with a completely new look. "And… what?"
"Nothing yet ," the Tzeentch demon seemed to shrug. "We need research, experiments… The only thing I can say for sure right now is that this thing is great for diving into the warp without the risk of picking up an extra passenger in your mind. It shields perfectly!"
"Wait a minute," Harry frowned. "But I can hear you."
"You let us into your mind, gave us shelter - so we are connected much more strongly ," the Smarty chuckled. "But for the rest of the inhabitants of the Empyrean, you are now invisible! A convenient tool, useful. With its help, you can practice immersion in the warp without unnecessary risk. I tell you - an excellent tool! Another question is how Dumbledore ended up with it ... " - he drew the boy's attention to the note attached to the gift.
"My father's mantle?" the boy frowned. "My family owned one of the Beacons?!"
"Well, the Potters were an old and respected wizarding family ," drawled Smarty. "Not the richest or most noble, but still old and respected! Who knows what other artifacts might be in your family's vaults or those of your immediate family?"
"There was nothing like that in our safe," Harry frowned.
"Most likely, it was a safe specifically with the inheritance of James and Lily Potter ," said Smarty. "Who knows what might be found in the stash of your father's parents? Or other relatives?"
Harry nodded, taking the information into consideration. Useless at this particular moment, but potentially useful in the future.
Another gift, unexpectedly given by the gamekeeper Hagrid, was also noteworthy. In a tall cage, standing out against the pile of presents, sat a magnificent white snowy owl.
"What a beauty..." - said Sweet Tooth, and Harry was inclined to agree with him. The bird was beautiful! He spent five minutes simply admiring his new acquisition with a stupid smile. And when he died - he laughed merrily! The boy himself was thinking about buying a postal owl: after all, how else would he write to his friends during the holidays? It was possible to send a letter from school using local owls, but from the Dursleys' house... Unless you lure other birds out again and ask for help. So Fulgrim - that's what he named the owl on the advice of the giggling Sweet Tooth - was a very, very timely gift.
But such a gift required at least a "thank you" from Harry. And it turned out that this Hagrid knew Potter - and this had to be checked. Well, the boy was curious to see a real half-giant, what can I say! So he planned to pay the forester a visit next weekend.
That's why he sent Fulgrim with a letter to ask Hagrid if it would be convenient - after all, he was a polite boy.
What's interesting is that he received a reply in almost half an hour. In it, the delighted half-giant wrote that Harry could come at any convenient time, and if he wanted, he could come with his friends.
Potter chuckled and put the scrap of parchment brought by the owl into his pocket. Whenever it's convenient, then whenever it's convenient. And what's convenient for him is... right now!
However, "right now" didn't quite work out. First there was breakfast, where Harry shared his intentions with Ron and Hermione. Who, after that, also decided to keep the boy company.
On their way out of the Great Hall, they encountered Malfoy, strangely without his usual entourage of Crabbe and Goyle. He, having learned where the trio of Gryffindors were going, suddenly tagged along with them.
Already knocking on the door of Hagrid's hut, Harry grinned. This should be interesting!
South Helens. A house somewhere on the outskirts.
- Shit! - a dark-skinned boy named Martin covered his nose and mouth with his hand as he stepped into his friend's house. - Andy, shit! What stinks in here? Andy?
The house was small and rather modest by the standards of London and even Little Whinging. One-story, with a couple of rooms, a kitchen and an overgrown little garden at the back - not the most presentable dwelling. But for South Helens, especially for such a poor area, it was almost a royal palace! Anything is better than being a tramp under the fences - at least that's what the same Reverend Archie said, calling for thanksgiving to God even for such a gift.
They joked back then that no one had ever called Andy's father that - and it was after old Tetchfield's death that the latter inherited this wreck. However, if you accept as a fact that it was God who took the old drunkard into his own hands, then everything fell into place.
It was just the threshold of this house that Andy's best friend, Martin Abdelradi, stepped over. He stepped over, immediately as if he had crashed his face into a soft, warm and sticky pillow of the suffocating stench that reigned inside!
"Andy, damn it!" Martin repeated. "What's that stench?! Where the hell are you?"
The house was filled with a stuffy semi-darkness and silence, broken only by the hum of the wings of the numerous flies that had covered the ceiling and furniture, crawled along the wallpaper with some kind of brown-green streaks, or simply circled in the air.
As for the walls, Martin, who slowly entered the living room, noticed with horror the inscriptions on them, made with something red! For the most part, these were quotes from the Bible and some strange drawings, as well as crosses and creepy symbols, when looking at which, the eyes began to itch terribly and hurt.
The guy's gaze suddenly caught sight of something lying between the sagging armchair in the corner and the shabby sofa. The strange bloody bundle, like everything else around it, was covered in flies, but even so Martin was able to see its contents. And he almost threw up his breakfast right on the floor!
Because the package contained rotten beef liver, covered in a disgusting mold. Well, at least the source of the foul smell became clear!
Ever since that incident six months ago, when an unknown "angel" saved their asses by dragging the hell out of that drug addict who was trying to take away the goods, Andy immediately said that he was "giving up". I mean, with the work of a pusher. And no matter how much Martin tried to convince him, no matter how much he asked him to wait a little, Andy was adamant!
Moreover, the friend became very religious, started going to church, praying, fasting, and whatever else believers usually do. But even that seemed insufficient to him!
Andy began helping Reverend Archie, the rector of the local parish, with the children from the nearby orphanage, and with the housework. The old priest couldn't get enough of the suddenly "open-minded" young man, whom he had known before as a dissolute city slob, who dabbled in "gloomy" and sold drugs in the alleys himself - and now it seemed he had grabbed his head and decided to change his life.
And only Martin looked at his friend with concern - after all, they had known each other almost their entire lives, since elementary school! So it was he who noticed the unhealthy changes in Andy.
He became pale, somehow exhausted, as if transparent. The previously lush blond hair that he had grown to his shoulders and diligently looked after had now thinned, hanging in disgusting greasy clumps. Heavy bags had swollen under his eyes, and strange ulcers had appeared on his hands.
But the strangest thing was that Andy's face was constantly smiling in bliss, as if angels were singing right into his ears. Combined with his blackened and rotting teeth, it looked downright creepy!
At some point, Reverend Archie began to notice these changes in the guy, and then asked his best friend - that is, Martin - to look after Andy. Something was wrong with him!
But Martin decided to go directly to his friend's home only after he learned that Andy had not appeared at church for almost a month and a half.
In fact, if Martin hadn't been so sure that there was nowhere to find anything like that in their town, he would have definitely decided that his friend was hooked on something more serious than "gloomy". Heroin, for example - he'd seen ulcers just like his, from heroin syringes! But Lord didn't deal with that stuff, and there were no other drug dealers in South Helens.
But now, standing in Andy's filthy living room, the black kid wasn't so sure that hard drugs had anything to do with it. Because if not that, then what could have driven a person to such shit?
Hearing indistinct muttering in the bedroom, Martin rushed there.
"Andy?" he asked uncertainly, opening the door slightly… and freezing on the threshold.
If everything he had seen in Andy's house before had been disgusting or creepy, then what he saw in the bedroom was simply nightmarish!
Not even that. It was disgusting, scary, wrong… unclean !
— ...And I will come to Your Throne, and You will look upon me, Lord. And You will rejoice, seeing me, for I will be full of Your Mercy! And I will carry Your Grace to the nations, vegetating in the darkness of ignorance...
- Andy? - Martin's voice was muffled - another attack of vomiting twisted his throat. And this time he wasn't sure he could hold it back!
His friend was here, kneeling before some sort of altar, covered in the same bloody, brown-green stains as the living room walls. Scattered here and there were black feathers, either crow or pigeon, mixed with dirt and excrement, forming a disgusting mass on the floor. On the walls were the same Bible quotations and macabre symbols, written in blood - Martin was sure it was blood now.
But the most terrible thing is the crucifixion!
Behind the altar where Andy was muttering a strange prayer, there was a large wooden crucifix, slightly shorter than a grown man. An ordinary wooden cross, with a figure of Christ nailed to it.
But was it Christ? Because of the usual attributes of images of the Lord, this terrible figure had only a crown of thorns!
A brutal hand, with stunning—and horrifying—art, had carved a broken, hideous sculpture of a half-rotted corpse. Open sores like the ones on Andy's arms. Rib fragments sticking out from gaps in the sternum. A skin-covered skull for a head, missing its lower jaw and with one bulging eye.
For a moment, Martin thought that the skin of the hideous figure on the cross was strangely lumpy and stretched - as if it were not skillfully carved wood, but real rotten flesh!
"W-what the hell is this?!" the dark-skinned boy exclaimed, still bending over in a fit of violent vomiting.
"Oh, Martin!" Andy exclaimed happily, smiling as he watched his friend mercilessly vomit on the floor. "I'm so glad to see you! You're just in time, man! Isn't this the work of Providence?"
"D-dude," Martin muttered in a trembling voice, somehow coming to his senses. "What the fuck is going on here?! What," he waved a slightly trembling hand around the surrounding horror, "is this?!"
- This? - Andy looked around, somewhat surprised. And then he smiled again. - This is the temple of the Lord! My little personal temple. Do you like it? - he asked, slowly rising from his knees.
- Andy, this is some kind of fucking unhealthy crap! - Martin shook his head from side to side. - Dude, you're clearly out of your mind, you're sick!...
- What are you talking about, man! - Andy laughed back. - What are you talking about? I've never felt better before!
"But what...?" Martin began, but stopped short when his gaze fell on his friend's stomach. "D-damn, man! Your guts are about to fall out!"
- Huh? Yes? - Andy looked absently at the mess of rotten flesh and intestines that was his stomach. It was bloated and moving horribly, making disgusting squelching sounds. - Don't worry, it's all right. This will be over soon. When the Lord sends his messenger here!
- What Lord, what messenger, dude? - Martin tried to get through to his obviously sick friend. - You're fucking rotting alive! You need help, dude! I'll run and let...
The words literally got stuck in the black man's throat when Andy suddenly wheezed and arched back, pushing out his rotting belly. The huge ulcer on it squelched and pulsated, as if the intestines had begun to move of their own accord, like disgusting worms. And then a disgusting lump of mucus and blood fell out of the guy's stomach and onto the floor.
- Your mother! What the hell is this? - Martin jumped back, feeling that his already empty stomach was about to turn inside out for the second time. - Fuck! I'm going to a pay phone - we need an ambulance here! Damn it, damn it, damn it!
He rushed out of the creepy bedroom and was about to run out into the street. But he was not allowed to do so - an iron thrown with terrifying force crashed into Martin's leg!
- A-a-a! - the guy screamed, his eyes bulging. - A-a, it hurts! Lord, it hurts so much!
"It's okay," a thin, creaky voice, completely unlike his friend's, came from the room from which Andy, still smiling blissfully, was now emerging. "The pain will soon pass. There will be no more suffering – ever! Grandpa will take care of it, Martin Abdelradi. He will take care of you !"
The sight of the speaking creature finally knocked poor Martin down, and he simply fainted, sprawled on the floor and awkwardly twisting his leg, which had been broken by the iron.
- Ugh! - the creature that had just been born from Andy's intestines spat with annoyance. - What feeble-minded mortals these days... Some, I remember, could live in corpse heaps for years, rotting alive - and nothing, they didn't break. They were rock-hard people! And this? Ugh! - the demon spat again.
And this was precisely a small demon. Short - just above the withers of a cat - a plump little bun of an unhealthy pale pink color with green specks. The wide mouth was strewn with small needle-like teeth, between which a long green tongue flashed. The huge bowl-like eyes were cloudy white, and a pair of small horns stuck out from the head.
- Mdya... - the creature grumbled, rubbing its fat chin, looking at the unconscious body. - Okay - drag him to the altar, my friend.
"What are we going to do with him, Messenger?" Andy asked.
- Conduct explanatory work! - the little demon replied instructively, raising a thin clawed finger - one of three on a small plump hand. - Come on, come on, get moving! We still have a lot of things to do. Eat, for example, - he licked his lips. - And then - find that wonderful, amazing little man who brought me to your world. That's it!
With these words, the newborn Nurgling tossed the deformed bullet in his hand and, kissing it, moved back to the bedroom.
More chapters on my P@treon: https://patreon.com/OOOTEN