Autumn 1993. Hogwarts, Headmaster's office.
"To be honest, I was afraid that Harry would have a much more… banal fear," Dumbledore breathed out almost with relief. "But the fear of Dementors that we assumed he had after the shocking encounter on the train would also have been an alarm bell."
- Profe... I mean, Albus, - corrected Remus Lupin, who was present. He was not yet used to addressing his former mentor and simply a person much older than himself. - Many met a dementor that day - but few were so impressed by its presence. If the boggart had taken the form of this creature in Harry's turn, it would have meant that the boy was a bearer of high moral qualities, truly Gryffindor courage...
Snape's contemptuous snort was heard from the side - the Potions teacher was also present during the discussion of the first DADA lesson of the third year Gryffindor. But Severus did not put his contempt into words. For which Remus was damn grateful - he was already in some confusion.
"With Harry's talents, his burgeoning ambitions and, let's face it, his vanity," Dumbledore glanced at the werewolf over his half-moon glasses, "the news that he is the exclusive bearer of a certain 'Gryffindor courage' and that his only fear is the presence of fear itself… I don't think that's very pedagogical, Remus."
"The boy could have become proud of his supposed fearlessness and done something stupid," Snape added in his trademark icy voice. "Like he did in his first year," a quick glance towards the headmaster. "Or his attempts to get into trouble in his second. We don't need any more trouble, Lupin!"
"In general," Dumbledore cut off the impending squabble, seeing Remus frowning, "be that as it may, Harry demonstrated the presence of those moral qualities that only befit a… a decent wizard," he corrected himself at the last moment, coughing embarrassedly.
And no, he didn't make a slip of the tongue on purpose: both Snape and Lupin understood this with all clarity! The headmaster looked too pale, too dissatisfied. And there were too many heavy bags under his eyes: lack of sleep and a nervous breakdown were obvious. No energy potions would help him to travel around Europe with impunity and without interruption, to perform his duties at the Ministry, while fighting off annoying journalists, and also to run a school. Even the Great Light Wizard would start to give in. At his age!
But no matter how obvious the director's fatigue was, they did not fail to seize on his slip of the tongue.
"So you are preparing the boy to be your political protégé after all," Snape said with barely noticeable fury in his voice. "Albus, he's only thirteen! He already shows an absolutely inflated self-importance, and if he realizes that you're covering for him..."
- Severus! - the headmaster sternly reprimanded the potion maker. - I have said this many times before, and I will repeat it again: I have the situation under control! And believe me, no one is going to throw a schoolboy onto the barricades before the time.
Lupin was clearly satisfied with this answer. Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the phrase "ahead of schedule" - it was clear that Dumbledore still had some plans for the supposed Chosen One. But the potion maker preferred to remain silent - the Mordred headmaster would dodge direct answers anyway, giving them only when he wanted to.
"Harry's Boggart has demonstrated to us one of the best versions of his moral development," Albus leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. "Not some philistine, personal fear, like Mr. Ronald Weasley's fear of spiders. And not a heroic and pathetic 'fear of fear', as would have happened if the Boggart had really taken the form of a Dementor, as we predicted," a nod towards Lupin. "Not selfishness and philistinism, but not pride and excessive bravery either. Just concern and fear for loved ones..."
"'Careful,' Albus, is not the word I would use to describe the horror Mr. Potter showed us," Snape said harshly. "Maybe his boggart means he's afraid for his girlfriend. But to me, it just means he's got problems with his head!"
"Severus!" Remus exclaimed indignantly, turning sharply to his fellow teacher.
"I don't recall our being familiar, Lupin!" Snape hissed back. "And what is it that upsets you? You yourself became a direct witness to the appearance of Potter's Boggart - and the Boggart takes its form from the consciousness and memory of the person standing in front of it at the moment! Can a healthy mind give birth to THIS?!"
"Severus, it's just an image of a wounded Miss Granger…" Dumbledore tried to interject, but Snape was already carried away:
- Wounded ?! The Boggart took the form of Miss Granger, who seemed to have been eaten alive! - he spat in the headmaster's face. - Or had chunks of flesh and some of her entrails cut out while she was still alive - it makes no difference! Do you understand that such an image, especially such a detailed one, is abnormal in the brain of a thirteen-year-old schoolboy?
There was a tense silence for about a minute. Then Lupin's quiet voice rang out:
"Severus, I know it's wrong and unhealthy. But Muggles are quite inventive in their popular entertainment. I mean... Well, moving pictures..."
"I know what cinema is, Lupin," Snape responded sarcastically. "But how does that relate to—"
"The most direct," the werewolf shook his head. Then, after thinking for a moment, he grinned. "You could watch Hellraiser or Dawn of the Dead sometime. Or, from the new releases, The Living Dead," here Remus grinned almost vilely, glancing at Snape, who shuddered at such titles. "Very eloquent examples of Muggle Hollywood creativity, which are probably shown on television at late hours… and which Harry could well have watched."
Severus just gritted his teeth, suppressing his irritation. Of course, he knew what cinema was… But he didn't really understand cinema itself. Although Tonks had already hinted a couple of times that she wouldn't mind going to see a movie, but that was beside the point.
"Even if Potter fantasizes such pictures for himself, having watched too many Muggle movies, this does not cancel out his mental instability," the Potions Master said coldly, although he already understood that these two would not listen to him. Not on this issue.
"Come on, Severus," Dumbledore drawled wearily. "Teenagers often seek out all sorts of forbidden literature, seek out specific spectacles – even if they are Muggle. No one has gone mad yet. But, of course, I will try to influence Harry's adoptive family," he drawled with a sigh, seeing the implacable gleam in Snape's eyes. "Petunia should pay more attention to her nephew…"
"That's right," Snape said heavily, but said nothing more. The phrase was more intended to leave the last word in the discussion for himself.
"Harry is quite a good young man," Lupin said conciliatorily. "He has a wide variety of acquaintances and connections, he doesn't push anyone away and he doesn't…" here he hesitated slightly, glancing sideways at Snape. "…poison anyone. He has no prejudices about blood purity, belonging to a certain faculty or family. The unprecedented truce between the faculties that I have seen in Hogwarts today is undoubtedly largely due to him!"
"Oh, please…" the potion maker winced at this.
- But it's true! - Remus exclaimed with conviction. - Remember, Se... Snape, how Gryffindor and Slytherin used to squabble in our time - regardless of our personal differences - on this phrase the werewolf managed not to stumble in embarrassment, as he had done before. He only corrected himself on the name of his interlocutor, so as not to be accused of familiarity again. - What are the peaceful communication of the Weasleys and Malfoy worth! I think this is a very good sign. A sign that we can finally finally reconcile the different groups in British wizarding society ...
"Lupin, this is a school," Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose irritably. "A school. Not a Muggle parliament or a wizarding Wizengamot - just a school! Just because a couple of third-years have enough brains not to start fights and make the right connections doesn't mean that their parents will suddenly run to fraternize with each other."
"You are too skeptical, Severus," Dumbledore shook his head good-naturedly at this phrase. "But, despite the fact that I agree with Remus, we have not gathered here to discuss the moral qualities of Mr. Potter or his positive influence on the relationships between the faculties," at the end of this phrase the headmaster was already openly frowning. "Sirius Black is looking for Harry."
"Which has not been proven," Severus pursed his lips. "He has not been seen in the vicinity of the school or Hogsmeade."
"There's such a crush there now, thanks to the elder Malfoy, that Mordred himself would break a leg," Lupin sighed. "He could have gotten lost in the crowd. Especially with his talents," Remus said, glancing sideways at Dumbledore.
"Even if he's not going to break into the school, we shouldn't let our guard down," the old headmaster shook his head. He stood up, walked to the window and began to look thoughtfully at the Forbidden Forest. "I called you two for a reason. You're the only members of the Order of the Phoenix at Hogwarts right now, besides Professor McGonagall and me. But Minerva, despite her undoubted talent in many areas, is still not a fighter.
"Flitwick is the best duelist among us," Snape said dryly.
"He is not a member of the Order. Besides, you know, Severus," Dumbledore turned to his former student, "that goblins always have their own agenda. There is no point in informing Filius of our concerns beyond his normal duties."
"Okay, Professor," Lupin nodded seriously. "We'll triple our vigilance."
"That's good," Dumbledore smiled. "Okay, Remus, go. I need to check a couple of things with Severus."
Remus glanced at Snape and left the office, leaving the Potions Master and the Headmaster alone.
"Tell me, Severus," Dumbledore said, looking at Snape over his half-moon glasses. "How much do you trust Miss Tonks?"
"And you don't trust her?" the Potions Master answered the question with a question. "I thought she was your old friend Moody's student."
"My boy," the Headmaster shook his head. "Just because she was an intern with Alastor doesn't mean she couldn't have been... um, indoctrinated at the Ministry. Of course, I have a rough idea of Miss Tonks's character and aspirations, but you're still... much more familiar with her."
Severus frowned, but still did not respond harshly - there was not a trace of mockery in Dumbledore's words, he spoke completely seriously. And so, swallowing the caustic comment that was about to burst from his lips, he answered almost normally:
- Tonks is quite loyal and certainly won't run to report anything to her superiors at the Ministry.
"Okay," the director nodded in response. "By the way, are you comfortable in your apartment?" he suddenly asked, deliberately carefree.
"Quite," Snape became wary again.
"It's just that, given your new circumstances, you may find them a bit tight," the Headmaster smiled faintly. But just as Severus was about to burst into an angry rebuke, Dumbledore's tone changed to a much more serious one: "My boy, I beg you, treat your relationship with Miss Tonks with sufficient responsibility. Oh, no, I'm not talking about their character or your purely personal plans for each other!" He raised his hands in a protective gesture. "I'm talking about you… refraining from demonstrating this relationship within the walls of the school. At least until it is, ahem, legitimized."
"Albus, I have never given you any reason to doubt my understanding of teaching methods until today," Snape said coldly. Irritation was practically spilling out of him. Of course: he had just been told, like some senior student, that it was unacceptable to openly cohabit within the walls of the school with an unmarried person. Who, moreover, was practically a recent senior herself. "And don't worry, our... relationship," "which should be none of your business," as he thought at the same time, "will not affect the school.
"Okay," the director nodded wearily and sank into a chair. And when Severus was already approaching the door, he added: "I am very glad, my boy, that after everything you have experienced in the past, you still have not lost the ability to truly love. Love is a great power," a sad smile. "A power that can cleanse the soul and even save a life."
Snape was silent for a few seconds, his face impassive. Then he said:
- I'll remember.
After which he effectively turned around and left the office.
Autumn 1993. Hogwarts.
"You yourself have been buzzing my ears about how important it is to prompt Megan to take more active actions as soon as possible!" Sweet Tooth snapped back discontentedly. "So I had to… force her perception a little. The goal has been achieved: she has practically formed a full-fledged cult! Rituals are being held, sacrifices are being made…"
"They've attracted unwanted attention!" Goody boomed worriedly. "A kidnapping of children in a relatively prosperous town isn't something the local cops can ignore. What if they go to South Helens?"
The bully only growled furiously, unable to express in words the full extent of his irritation and contempt for the Slaaneshi methods.
Harry and Smarty smirked to themselves: everything was clear with these two. Nurglite, in his manner, was afraid of the consequences for his cult in South Helens, and Khornite was simply infuriated by the manner of acting secretly and against those who could not fight back. Although neither of them were against cannibalism in principle.
In fact, there was nothing particularly strange in the actions of the newly-minted Slaaneshi: in the former world of the spirit-advisers, the Pleasure Cults, most often consisting of the rich who were satiated with life, almost always practiced cannibalism. And the choice of children as victims was also quite understandable: adult meat was tougher and not so pleasant to the taste. And the kidnapped schoolgirls, not spoiled by years of consuming fast food, alcohol and tobacco, as well as numerous diseases, were just right!
The latter, however, was not very clear to Dobryak and Zabiyaka - for them, meat is meat. The more of it, the better, taste qualities did not matter to them. Why go to such trouble for the sake of a couple of skinny girls? It would be better to kidnap some pumped-up bodybuilder or someone suffering from obesity for these purposes. It doesn't matter that the first one's meat will be like a sole and smell of steroids, and the second one will just have a few liters of fat instead of meat: it's food! Taste is unimportant.
The Sweet Tooth's aestheticism was deeply alien to them.
But Harry had long since gotten used to the fact that sometimes real verbal battles thundered in his head on almost any issue - and he was not surprised. It was just strange that the newly-minted Cult had so quickly rolled down to eating people.
"Don't forget, Harry ," whispered Smarty, pushing Kind and Bully's argument with the feebly kicking Sweetie into the background. "In that world of ours, cults formed mostly on their own, gradually sinking to new depths of vice and forbidden pleasures. And only after that did the Dark Prince finally descend upon them."
"It's the other way around with us," Potter nodded, understanding. "First, I gave Megan the mark of Slaanesh, thereby opening her mind to the whispers of the warp and the Sweet Tooth. Spurred on by the dissatisfaction of her life, the desire to quickly compensate for all the grayness of existence that weighed upon her, Megan went on a rampage. Got it."
"The ways of the human psyche and behavior are sometimes inscrutable ," the Tzeentch chuckled. He said it so ironically that even Ruffnut could hear between the lines "for everyone but me. " "I have seen all sorts of situations, Harry. And often people have done truly strange things without any interference from Chaos! In fact, Chaos has never forced anyone to do anything, has not put anything of itself into the heads of humanity - all actions and aspirations were already there. Everything that people do, they do completely and exclusively of their own free will! It depends only on you what and how you do it, and only you decide what is evil, what is good. We only give the power for this!"
Harry sighed: another portion of demagogy and ambiguous reasoning from the Smart Guy. But he even liked it: untangling this web of half-truths and omissions was truly interesting.
He frowned, his thoughts returning to his visions and memories of those dreams that had plagued him.
Of course, the image of the boggart that crawled out of the closet in front of Harry during his first DADA lesson was a simple illusion - Potter needed to test the possibility of influencing the werewolf. He wanted to understand for sure: would his enchantments, which he left in his bedroom in his place every time he went for a walk at night, work on the new teacher.
Of course, now that his capabilities had grown significantly thanks to the house elves from the Cult of Liberation under his control, the issue of spying on him had somewhat lost its relevance. But Harry still left an illusory double in his bedroom every time, in order to avoid even the slightest accidents. Their dean, of course, very rarely inspected the Gryffindor dorms personally - but why not Mordred? And the neighbor factor should not be discounted. Weasley, seeing that Potter was disappearing somewhere at night, could try to follow him. And Longbottom was too worried about the faculty points and, as a result, the observance of school discipline by his fellow students. Having learned that Harry was wandering around the school at night, he could cause problems.
Lupin was an unknown quantity. Harry skimmed through the textbook to the end, to the chapter on werewolves, and read some additional literature - but he still wasn't sure his taunts would work on the new DADA teacher.
And so, during his very first Defense lesson, he had the opportunity to test it. And he did – and with absolute success! The illusion of a wounded Hermione was a sight to behold. So believable that several students who were in the classroom at the time threw up on the floor. And all he did was use warp visions of the deeds of Megan and her cultists, who had cut up the kidnapped girl for their feast in exactly the same way.
Harry wondered if he should have made the illusion less shocking - after all, the fear for his friend could have been depicted with a much more aesthetically pleasing image. But the images transmitted to him by the Slaanesh in Little Whinging were too vivid! He simply could not resist reproducing this image.
At the moment, he and Hermione were back in their lab in the Hogwarts catacombs. Harry was simultaneously listening to the squabble of voices in his head, reading a book he had stolen from the Restricted Section, and thinking. And he was also looking at Hermione's actions, who was at that moment completing a ritual that allowed her to temporarily open a window into the warp and contact the Neverborn hovering there.
The problem of finding demons in reality was still relevant: Snot was their only achievement in all these years. Of course, Megan and company were soon to catch up, but it was still not enough! So the solution that Hermione found really pleased Harry - because now they could speed up their research into practical demonology.
The boy squinted, peering at what was happening in the warp. Under Hermione's hands, it took the form of a thick black liquid, like fuel oil, in which tentacles, pincers and eyes flashed. Right now, the girl was collecting this "liquid" in special vials, which they had previously covered with symbols of Chaos.
"What she does is called diabolism in the Word Bearers Legion," explained Smarty. "Partial integration of daemonic substance into the real world, its collection and use. In fact, a diabolist does not even need to be a psyker - it is enough to believe and be ready to sacrifice. Like now."
He was talking about the kneazle Hermione had stolen from an older Ravenclaw girl, which now lay disemboweled in a Chaos star drawn on the floor. The big ginger cat had been an excellent sacrifice, its torment, its life and soul feeding a host of smaller Neverborn, rippling the warp and allowing Granger to collect a dozen or so vials of daemonic substance.
"So these are liquid demons?" Harry chuckled.
"Unborn, " the Tzeentchite clarified. "No longer just a homogeneous warp, but also unformed daemons. With this substance, we can now move forward in solving the problem of the stability of the new "guests" in reality."
Harry nodded contentedly: that was good. At least now he knew what he was getting Megan and Helen for Christmas.
For about another half hour, he and Hermione enthusiastically experimented with the resulting "potion." When asked what would happen if the "potion" was drunk, Smarty chuckled.
"Nothing special. You'll just be possessed by a weak Neverborn and it'll take you some time and effort to digest its soul. Under normal circumstances, it's a complete waste of time, especially considering the four of us. But under certain circumstances, it could be extremely useful," Smarty replied vaguely.
"What situations?" the boy frowned.
"Believe me, Harry, the risk of these "situations" that our Clever Girl hints at in his manner has increased many times over now," Sweet Tooth said, unusually seriously, distracted from the squabble. "Considering what happened on the train, these test tube half-demons will be very useful to us! Although, it would be better to study that strange spell that Lupin used that time."
"I'll think about it," Harry said out loud unconsciously, nodding to his thoughts.
"By the way, when are you going to ask Professor Flitwick for those 'favors'?" Hermione asked him a little later, when they were already making their way to the Gryffindor dorm.
Harry paused. He considered the time and schedule, their location… and grinned.
- You know what? Let's do it right now!
Harry was already familiar with some of the typical slang expressions that circulated among wizards. Including swear words, especially those applied to members of the "lower" classes or races. The word "Mudblood" was as common as it was indecent - it was formally unacceptable to mention it in polite society.
True, it wasn't always like that. To be more precise, before the war with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, everything was completely different!
Previously, pure-blooded aristocrats did not consider this word to be anything special, using it in and out of place. That is, not only to those who had Muggles or xenos in their family, but also to everyone who was not as rich or noble as they were. Tom Riddle, who later became Lord Voldemort, was also contemptuously called a mudblood at school - and Harry found this fact especially ironic.
But the terrible civil war died down, in which the pureblood party suffered a damn offensive and demonstrative defeat. And the embittered victors, those same "mudbloods", became extremely nervous about being called that. Of course, the entire ideology of their opponents, in fact, was based on a single insulting word! So it became not only indecent, but also simply dangerous to so rudely accuse someone of being a mongrel. They could curse you or just punch you in the face. Or even report you to the proper authorities. Why get into trouble?
Harry collected all this information gradually, from different sources. Draco Malfoy, Weasley, the fragments of Tom Riddle in his head - all of them allowed the boy to form a picture of the recent history of wizarding Britain and the current social situation.
And so Potter not only knew such indecent words as "mudblood," but also understood the nuances of its use.
For example, Professor Filius Flitwick, a half-goblin by origin. If we approach the issues of scientific-eugenic definitions scrupulously, then it would be a stretch to call him a mudblood. Rather, he was a XENOBlood - a cross between a wizard and a magical creature. There was no Muggle "dirt" in his blood - both parents were inhabitants of the magical world. But when did this stop various racists from insulting or persecuting him? Never.
Harry didn't consider himself a racist, and he never had been one. The Chaos Gods were generally quite tolerant creatures in his eyes, so they didn't object to interactions with representatives of xenos races, non-magicians, and basically everyone in a row - if they, of course, were susceptible to the influence of the Empyrean and were ready to accept the will of Chaos.
By the way, this was a positive difference between them and their antagonist from the previous world of spirit-advisers - the Emperor of Mankind, who sought to destroy all non-human races in the Galaxy. And about whom Harry, not without the hints of the four demons, had already formed an extremely negative opinion. As about some kind of star-struck pseudo-celestial being, striving to take a place among the Gods of the warp, but at the same time unable to understand and accept their wisdom! A selfish, insignificant Napoleon, who imagined himself to be God - what could be funnier?
At least, that's what his advisors whispered in his head. And Harry absolutely did not allow the thought that he himself fits this definition - like any other aspiring and continuing Lord of Chaos. Moreover, he fits much more than the otherworldly Emperor of Mankind.
Returning to the issues of racism, Harry, as already mentioned, had no prejudices against representatives of most non-human races. He treated house elves well - they were excellent servants. He loved giants - they impressed him with their strength and brute power.
He liked the goblins too. First of all, because, despite human dominance, they continued to perform terrible rituals in honor of their Blargolag. That is, they were, albeit with a stretch, something like Potter's co-religionists, indirectly helping him rise to the top of power!
And now it's time to show this sympathy.
Fifteen minutes later, Char's office. Filius Flitwick.
Professor Filius Flitwick was checking the homework of the senior students. To be precise, the seventh year of Hogwarts students, the most nerve-wracking and difficult year. True, it was mostly difficult for the students themselves, but he also got his share of the headache of the final year - and after all, for the teaching staff, every year was like that! Only the names of the graduates changed. Or "newt boys", as someone aptly nicknamed them.
But his experience and some... features allowed him to overcome such trials relatively easily. Unfortunately, not as easily as he would have liked.
That is why the Dean of the Ravenclaw House could afford to be, as they say, in the clouds while checking papers. Or, to be more specific, to indulge in difficult thoughts.
The fate of half-bloods is hard. And not so much those half-bloods who were born from marriages of people with people - that is, human wizards with human Muggles! No. The hardest fate was that of those xenobloods who were born from the largely forbidden love of representatives of different races.
Filius sighed. Good for simpleton Hagrid! He probably didn't even think about what a pervert his father was, since he seduced a teenage giantess. And who cared that this fool, by human standards, had already reached the age of consent or even adulthood at that time? The fact that she was essentially a stupid giant girl did not change. Although, knowing the rough primitive customs of giants, it was possible that this "girl" simply hit the cute little man on the head and dragged him off to the cave for mating - under the influence of teenage hormones. It's a miracle that she didn't eat him...
He shook his head - you're thinking about the wrong thing, professor! You'd be better off thinking about your own fate.
Of course, he knew the circumstances of his birth very well. But "knowing" and "remembering" are slightly different things. Because he "knew" these circumstances from dry extracts from a pile of contracts, deeds of sale and enslaving agreements, which entangled the human part of his family.
Oh, yes. The Gringotts goblins had essentially bought his human mother as a breeding dam. To improve their gene pool, which had been decimated in recent centuries. But as far as he knew, she had only been able to produce him, and that was why she had died. After that, the goblin community had given him some allowance and lost interest in Filius—he didn't particularly meet the standards that the leaders of his people demanded of a true ghobb-uruk.
Yes, precisely HIS people. Because the representatives of the human species, his other, so to speak, halves, treated him even worse and more disgustingly. The status of, in essence, a half-animal, a funny little animal with a piquant story about "zoophilia" - that is what awaited him in his time in the society of wizards in the old days. But even in the current "progressive" times, he could only count on a status somewhere in the middle between a cripple or some odious minority - but nothing more.
The only thing that allowed him to somehow change this attitude was his exceptional intellect and talents. Well, and the support of the powers that be. Including representatives of that half of his blood that was responsible for the "animal" component. Goblins.
No, Flitwick was aware that he owed his status and achievements, among other things, to Dumbledore - a truly Great Wizard who could see talent and potential everywhere and in everyone! But it was also clear that without the participation of the goblin clan, to which, by the way, he belonged, Filius would never have been able to catch the eye of the heroic Albus Dumbledore. He would not even have been accepted into Hogwarts!
Of course, the clan wasn't exactly eager to welcome him with open arms. There had always been a certain distance between Filius and his kin. They helped him, but in a detached way, demonstrating in every way that he was more of a valuable resource for the goblins, an asset in which too much had been invested to be lost.
And so he lived. A freak and a runt, a goblin miscarriage for people - on the one hand. An important, but completely unperceived half-human by his relatives, who, although a valuable investment, is essentially more the property of the clan than its full member for goblins - on the other. Neither here nor there. As is known, in an ice hole.
But that was until a certain time. Until almost fifteen years ago, Flitwick showed up at Gringotts in London - he didn't even remember why he had come in the first place - and was suddenly summoned to the head of the Knoxcall clan. Who was also unexpectedly friendly and attentive to his younger relative. He offered him tea, started a conversation...
And then he dumped on Flitwick the fact that he had been tested all this time. For the degree of his "goblinness", so to speak. And that Filius, to their mutual joy, had passed the test! And that now it was time to introduce the professor to new, much more... elite facets of goblin culture.
Thus he became an adherent of the cult of Blargolag, the Divine Boar, patron of the goblin race, granting strength and showering his people with gold. And Filius, who had suffered from his cultural and racial uncertainty, joyfully immersed himself in a new religious experience. After all, he was also a curious mage-scientist, and Blargolag was, among other things, a source of strange, exotic magic. An unplowed field for a researcher!
Of course, Filius had already realized that all these goblin rituals and customs were downright dark! Sacrifices, even if only of animals, remained one hundred percent elements of the Dark Arts. And if you consider his suspicions that the highest hierarchs of Gringotts probably practiced the sacrifice of intelligent beings - all this was quite creepy. But Filius could not give up his long-standing dream - to be recognized as one of his own for at least someone.
He was brought out of his difficult thoughts by a knock on the door and a familiar, shaggy, chestnut-haired head poking through the doorway.
"Professor Flitwick, are we disturbing you?" the young Gryffindor, Hermione Granger, asked sheepishly. The slip of the tongue "we" was explained immediately, as Filius graciously allowed the girl to enter the office. Because another Gryffindor familiar to many came with her. And what do you mean "many"! Familiar to the whole country - Harry Potter.
- Come in, Miss Granger, of course come in! - smiled the little professor, coming out from behind his desk to meet the unexpected guests. - I am always glad to receive such inquisitive students. Your determination in gaining knowledge cannot but please me!
And he was not being disingenuous: Hermione Granger was indeed an outstanding student. Her intellect, her horizons and her thirst to expand them were sometimes even frightening - but with that "positive" fear, as he often said, which was heavily mixed with admiration. At least, that's what Flitwick thought. In any case, he often regretted that the girl had not entered his faculty, especially considering how often she dropped in to see him to clarify this or that question - as the half-goblin knew, it was not so easy to go to Minerva.
"Hello, Professor," Harry Potter smiled at him in turn. Incidentally, he was also a very outstanding student, including in terms of his studies. All his colleagues in the staff room vied with each other in praising the diligent and talented boy, who lived up to his loud fame one hundred percent. Even Snape, who disliked Potter, muttered something conditionally approving under his breath - and that says something!
True, after the first Divination lesson with Harry, Sybil was not herself - she kept muttering something about Grim and "dancing faces". But Professor Trelawney was not herself in life at all, so no one was particularly interested in her latest quirk.
"Sit down, I'll make some tea!" Flitwick waved his wand towards the tea table, summoning everything he needed from the cupboard. And when they had already sat down and sipped the aromatic Earl Grey, he asked: "Well, young men, tell me what brought you to me?"
"Well, Professor," Harry smiled broadly. It seemed friendly, but something in his smile and the strange glint in his eyes made Filius shudder. "We explored the castle, met ghosts and house elves... and they suddenly helped us find some very interesting literature!"
"Very interesting," Flitwick smiled in response. "I hope it's not something from the Restricted Section?" he narrowed his eyes slyly. It wasn't that he believed that the elves could break school laws on the orders of a junior, but he knew for sure that all students, young and old, had a desire to get into the restricted section of the library.
- Oh, no, Professor! - Potter smiled even wider and took out from the bag standing next to him... a thin book with a pigskin cover. And an inscription in Gobblyduck runes: "Blardungar".
Flitwick's throat suddenly went dry.
"We read it… well, we tried, as far as knowledge of the runes allows," Harry continued as if nothing had happened, taking a sip of tea. "But they are goblin, and so we did not understand everything. And we decided that who else but you could help us with this, right?"
"…How?" was all Flitwick could croak.
"How could we even open the book and see anything in it?" Potter chuckled mockingly. "Now that's a whole other story! You'll swear not to tell anyone what you see and hear here today, right?"
Filius looked at the boy, then at Miss Granger, dumbfounded, and was surprised by the sudden changes in the two schoolchildren! Or rather, no longer schoolchildren, no. In front of him sat two dangerous wizards who had somehow managed to overcome the dark spell of the goblin prayer book and now came to him with it.
He looked back at Potter and swallowed the thick saliva: the boy's eyes were glowing with an eerie crimson-emerald flame. For some reason, the thought of snatching his wand didn't even occur to him.
"I…" he cleared his throat. "I agree," the professor said more firmly.
He didn't think about what kind of oaths the third years might know, where they got his prayer book from, and why he wasn't doing anything. It was as if stone walls were pressing on Flitwick from all sides, squeezing their vice on his soul and mind. Not allowing him to take a step aside, or even think about it!
Using a jagged dagger covered in macabre runes - much like the ones used by the priests at Gringotts - Harry cut his own and the professor's palms, then extended his own to shake.
"Let the Ancient Powers witness this oath," the boy smiled again.
- Let them... be... - the professor nodded convulsively, responding to the handshake. And he almost pulled his hand away: as soon as their palms touched, he felt... as if the universe itself moved , accepting their oath!
"You are playing with very dangerous forces, Mr. Potter," Flitwick said hoarsely, regaining some semblance of composure for a moment, but still taking out his wand and healing the wound on his palm.
"Who said I was playing, Professor?" Harry raised an eyebrow ironically. "On the contrary: I study and use these powers far more seriously than anyone in known history!"
The half-goblin plopped down tiredly into his chair, where, out of old habit, he had placed a thick encyclopedia - his height did not allow him to reach the table without it.
Not long ago, he would have called the Boy-Who-Has-Not-Knows-Where-He-Got-A-Like-Here sitting across from him a cocky brat and found a way to immediately turn him over to Dumbledore… or, more likely, his goblin relatives. Because if the Headmaster found out about what was going on, he would also find out about the prayer book. But that was before.
Now, however, something was stopping him. Maybe it was a show of force from Potter - who knows what he could do? And considering that it was clearly a power akin to the energy of the goblin God, it was worth being careful. Or maybe it was just that for once the goblin half of Flitwick had gained the upper hand in him enough to at least wait before notifying his relatives.
Because two feelings flared up inside the little professor: terrible curiosity and all-consuming greed! The latent thirst for power, wealth and recognition came to the surface and seemed to howl in his head: this boy is your chance! He dug up something, he mastered those Powers that you unsuccessfully sought, he can give you much more than your cunning clanmates! And then, when you get what you need, you can always easily get rid of the naive schoolboy. After all, no matter what knowledge and power fell on this third-year student, he was and remains just a thirteen-year-old teenager.
...Do you hear, Professor Flitwick? That's your future power whispering! What did those mossy stumps say about the puny nature of human blood? About how a half-blood can never become a true ghob-uruk? Let's see what they'll sing now!
Do you see, little professor? That is the glitter of gold - your future wealth! You will show all these pure-blooded snobs and your own greedy relatives what you are worth! How much they themselves are worth! You will buy the whole world - and it will fall at your feet!...
Harry admired the professor's dreamy, absent expression for a while, realizing that he was currently listening to the whispers of the Immaterium. And if earlier in the half-goblin's mind there had been only a small hole leading to the warp - a consequence of his inept worship of Blargolag - now this hole had expanded into a whole crack! And in the future, Harry planned to expand it into a full-fledged door - a new follower, whose contact with Chaos he would control, was definitely not an extra bonus. And if this follower was not some house-elf or a Muggle, but a full-fledged adult wizard, and a strong fighter at that - that was worth a lot!
But it was necessary to complete what they actually came for.
"Professor?" Harry called out to the daydreaming half-goblin.
- Eh? Yes! Sorry, Mr. Potter, - Flitwick came down to earth a little embarrassed.
"I think we have understood each other well enough," the flame of the Immaterium lit up in the boy's eyes again, causing the professor to frown. "Mutually beneficial cooperation is what we need, isn't it? Hermione and I don't talk about your... religious interests," he nodded towards the prayer book. "Plus, we share with you the powers and knowledge we have managed to acquire. I think the deal is not bad.
"Yes," the half-goblin said evenly, feigning calm. But Harry could sense his excitement, his impatience, his thirst to get everything he had promised as soon as possible! Flitwick's restraint inspired even more respect. "But what do you want in return, then, Mr. Potter?"
Harry grinned. Finally!
"Little things," he shrugged. "First of all, your professorial favor… no, no!" he raised his hands in a defensive gesture when Flitwick raised his eyebrows in surprise. "We're not talking about inflated grades or cheating on exams! We can handle our studies ourselves, if only we had something to handle. We're more likely to be talking about little things like access to Hogsmeade and the Restricted Section of the library."
Filius snorted. Otherworldly powers, incredible knowledge - but schoolchildren will be schoolchildren! Of course, first of all they want to get into the Forbidden Section. Not so much for the specific knowledge, but because it is Forbidden !
"Secondly, I would like to know everything about the cult of Blargolag," Potter continued as if nothing had happened. And if the first condition was completely harmless, then this...
"Mr. Potter," Filius began carefully, "you realize that in some respects I am, how shall I put it… limited in divulging certain secrets?"
At this, Harry smiled and recited:
— He who has taken an oath must remember:
The gods look from the Empyrean
And they punish those who transgress
The Word given before Them.
"You were probably being a bit modest when you said you didn't know Gobblyduck well enough," Flitwick chuckled. He had finally come to his senses. "But that only confirms what I said earlier."
"But this quote has a continuation," Harry answered and recited again:
- But also the one who accepts
The oath that the Gods seal,
You must remember: if you deceive -
The word will lose its power.
Filius leaned back in his chair, surprised. Both quatrains were part of a single long poem, but taken from different places. If you read the entire ode, the meaning was somewhat lost. But if you pulled out two key passages and put them together like this…
It was worth considering: had his relatives at Gringotts deceived him in some way? If so, then it worked out…
"You will have time to think about the second proposal, Professor," Potter's voice brought him back to reality. "First of all, I ask you to pay attention to my third request."
"I'm all ears, Mr. Potter," Flitwick bowed his head slightly.
- Teach us the Patronus spell!
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