Harry stirred the brew in the cauldron, periodically checking the notes he had made under the dictation of Kind and Smart. The potion was thick, dark green and stank terribly - of course, considering its composition! And it was worth stopping stirring it for even a second, as a disgusting brown film appeared on the surface, difficult to cut even with a knife, let alone a ladle.
This was Harry's fourth attempt at brewing the potion himself - all previous attempts had ended in failure. But he took up the task again and again, collecting the necessary ingredients and cleaning out a large vat found in the ruins of an abandoned factory outside the city specifically for his purposes.
"Good ," Dobryak hummed with satisfaction. "Now stop stirring and leave the potion for an hour."
"But again, the film will gather," Harry frowned, but stopped using the ladle.
"Before this, it was a hindrance to us, that's true ," his interlocutor agreed. "But now that the potion is thoroughly mixed, it needs to simmer a little under this film, to steam, so to speak ," Dobryak chuckled good-naturedly.
"Okay," the boy answered hoarsely, noisily sniffing snot into his nose.
In fact, his cold was the reason why Dobryak volunteered to help him.
Harry generally didn't like to get sick. Perhaps because his delicate body always took even a common cold very hard. Or perhaps because as soon as he got sick, the Dursleys would either accuse him of malingering or, on the contrary, of being contagious and dangerous to others. Although, Harry couldn't imagine why he was more dangerous than everyone else who, like him, suffered from seasonal acute respiratory viral infections and flu. But these were the Dursleys, and it was useless to look for logic in their attitude towards his nephew! So, in addition to the fever, headache and other unforgettable sensations characteristic of illness, there was the irritating mumbling of his relatives.
November 1990 passed for ten-year-old Harry Potter under the banner of an incessant cold - as always. But unlike previous years, this time Harry endured the disease with much less consequences - the general strengthening of the body and the advice of Dobryak, who, as it turned out, was a great expert in everything that concerned all and any contagious diseases, had an effect.
And now, despite the snot down to his knees and a painful cough, Harry stubbornly brewed another batch of potion that was supposed to put an end to his constant colds once and for all! At least, that's how he understood Kindly One's words when he said that after using this potion, colds and flu would no longer be a problem for the boy.
Interestingly, Smarty clearly didn't like their actions, but he was in no hurry to explain his attitude. Moreover, after he stopped grumbling about "digging in shit together with this stinking rotten thing", the spirit-sorcerer even deigned to throw in a couple of tips and ideas - mainly concerning how to get this or that ingredient.
As for the ingredients themselves, if it weren't for those six months in the company of four spirits and several rituals Harry had performed using his new dagger, he would never have been able to bring himself to even touch some of them! Let alone brew something from them or taste them.
But after the boy had finished off a few more cats and even one mangy pigeon, which had been shot down by a well-aimed stone throw and caught by Harry, handling such nastiness no longer caused the same disgust as it had in the beginning.
Harry sighed. When he thought about what he was doing, he sometimes fell into a real stupor! Not only did he, as if confirming all the nasty things the Dursleys had said about him, become a thief, but he also cruelly killed defenseless animals that were unlucky enough to fall into his hands. But what amazed him even more was the fact that almost nothing stirred in his soul, as if everything that was happening was self-evident!
Although no, he was lying about nothing moving in his soul. It moved - and how! Particularly stunning sensations overwhelmed him during the first ritual, at the moment when he plunged his palm into the ripped belly of Mrs. Figg's tied-up cat and it began to thrash in cruel agony, wheezing and writhing in unbearable pain. As if something incredibly sweet, pleasant and slightly tingling flowed through Harry's veins, from the fingers tearing at the animal's insides, along his forearm and to his heart.
When the cat died, this warm flow was interrupted, pushing forward with the last, most powerful wave and as if... saturating Harry's soul?
Perhaps the feeling he experienced could be called just that - satiety. As if he had eaten something very nutritious and tasty, but not with his mouth and stomach, but, as it were, with his soul and mind. After which, contented and full, he began to slowly digest this something.
Interestingly, his four companions also felt a spiritual uplift after that ritual, were cheerful and happy. Even the eternally angry Ruffnut laughed and sang something in his growling voice on the edge of Harry's consciousness.
More than once or twice the boy returned in his thoughts to these strange and frightening sensations. To say that he liked it is to say nothing! This feeling simultaneously excited him to the point of trembling and frightened him to the point of convulsions. But despite the fear, Harry knew for sure that sooner or later he would risk performing another ritual.
And so it happened. Just a week after the first ritual, he caught a stray cat and repeated his act - only this time using a dagger imbued with warp energy.
And... I was disappointed.
No, the captured cat was also in agony and also gave Harry a bit of that strange and pleasant energy that he liked to feel so much. But it was not even a quarter as bright and "tasty" as the energy of the first cat.
It was then that they finally became convinced that Mrs. Figg's cats were far from ordinary and possessed considerable intelligence. It was their limited intelligence that Smarty explained such "nutritiousness" of their energy.
An additional bonus of absorbing the strange power was the stimulation of Harry's psychic abilities. This energy not only saturated him, but also allowed him to learn everything that the boy was taught by Smarty at an accelerated pace for some time, to easily perform Ruffnut's exercises, and in the last month, to brew a cold potion that Kindy suggested to him.
True, there was a slight hitch with the potion. The good man listed a not particularly long list of ingredients, and it turned out that a third of them were either unfamiliar to Harry or simply impossible to get.
What was the "sediment from processed promethium fuel" worth! According to Dobryak, in the world they lived in before, it could be obtained at any dump, simply by gutting some old generator. But considering that Harry didn't even know the word promethium, he had to look for a replacement. Which unexpectedly turned out to be the remains of machine oil taken from Vernon's garage.
Other ingredients were far more unpleasant. For example, the liver cut out of a live cat - Harry did not simply "drink" the last animal, as before, but carefully gutted it with the help of Smarty and Kindy.
To be honest, on the edge of Harry's consciousness there was a thought that everything he was doing was horrible, disgusting and wrong! Before, even in his worst nightmares, he would not have been able to imagine that he would absolutely calmly cut out the entrails of a cat, using the energy of the warp to keep it alive and conscious. His spirit advisors especially insisted on the latter, especially for some reason Sweet Tooth. The Good Man explained this by the fact that the ingredients obtained in this way acquire the necessary properties.
But all the doubts that overcame the boy were shattered by the ironclad - as it seemed to Harry - arguments of his new friends. He was reminded of all those times when he was humiliated and beaten, of all the injustice and vileness that reigned in his life. And that he was doing this not for his own entertainment, but in order to become stronger and finally fight back against evil!
To an adult's taste, such self-justifications might seem overly pompous and childishly naive, but Harry considered them quite convincing.
And it must be said - he liked learning those amazing things that the four spirits showed him! Chaos magic - that's what his advisers called it - was not very easy for him, but Harry learned some tricks and skills.
The same ability of small telekinesis, with the help of which he learned to open almost any lock - the result of Smart Guy's lessons. Or the increased physical characteristics received from training with Ruffnut. And of course - the ability to enhance the taste and smell of what he liked, and vice versa, weaken those that he did not like - a gift from Sweet Tooth.
The latter, by the way, when asked what spell he used to do this, snorted mockingly:
"It's not witchcraft, Harry. It's a mutation."
"A mutation?" the boy wondered to himself - he was washing dishes in the kitchen at the time, and so he didn't dare answer out loud, fearing that the Dursleys would hear. "Is it like the X-Men or Spider-Man?" he remembered the comics he had once found in the school library.
"Better!" exclaimed Sweet Tooth. "All of your X-Men have only one innate ability, which hinders them more than helps them in life ," Harry only chuckled in disagreement, but did not interrupt. "And you, if you become stronger and if you want, you can make yourself almost any mutation you want! I changed your senses a little - and here you go, you can regulate your sensations from food and smell yourself. Just imagine what you can change in yourself in the future!"
"Cool!" Harry was really inspired, promising himself that as soon as he learned enough magic, he would make himself some epic and very cool mutation! He hadn't yet thought of what exactly, but logically assumed that before the moment when he would be capable of such a thing, he still had enough time to decide.
Months passed, summer ended and autumn came. At the end of which, as already mentioned, Harry came down with a cold. And now for a whole month he was trying to brew a potion that was supposed to rid him of this long-standing and annoying hassle!
"I hope I don't have to drink this swill," the boy shuddered, looking towards the cooling cauldron. "I've stuffed all sorts of things in there!"
"Of course not ," Dobryak explained patiently. "You're not strong enough yet for your body to withstand its internal use. So for the first time, it's enough to simply wipe yourself with it in a certain place at a certain time . "
"What place?" Harry frowned.
"A hospital would be best ," the spirit explained. "Specifically, an infectious diseases ward – that way the effect will be much more reliable."
- How does it work anyway? - the boy suddenly frowned. The scar on his forehead suddenly itched, and a strange paranoid feeling arose in his head, as if Kind was trying to hide something from him. But Harry immediately rejected this thought, and rubbed the itchy scar furiously. Indeed, where is the lie and where is Kind! The four spirits that settled in the boy's head all this time brought him only good, and it was difficult to suspect this particular spirit of anything bad. The nickname Harry gave him, as it seemed to the boy, very accurately reflected the essence of his friend. And therefore, even the thought that his inner voices were deliberately hiding something from him seemed ridiculous!
Moreover, Dobryak immediately willingly explained:
"It will build a connection between you and other people who are also suffering from illnesses. And in this way, you will all be able to bear them more easily."
"Oh. I see," Harry nodded, although he didn't really understand what Kindly meant. The main thing for him was that the cold would stop bothering him - and the details were basically unimportant.
After the stated hour had passed, Harry carefully moved the film aside with a ladle and began pouring the resulting potion into previously prepared glass jars. However, there was not much potion itself: about two liters. One jar was supposed to be used in the near future - Harry was very tired of being sick.
Already approaching the Dursleys' house in the autumn twilight, Harry became wary. Something was wrong!
Having walked along the probability lines and found nothing potentially dangerous, he frowned and resolutely took a step towards the fence that separated the Dursleys' plot from Mrs. Figg's garden. And, to his surprise, Harry heard the furious whisper of the cat lady, who was feverishly proving something to a strange man.
— ...And I'm telling you, Alastor! There's some kind of hell going on in the city after Mr. Scratchy disappeared! It's pure madness! And cats keep disappearing!
- Merlin the Wise, Arabella, - the man, whose voice was hoarse and unpleasant, clearly grimaced. - You've already been pestering both me and Albus about your cat! And now you've pulled me out of the service - and for what? To tell me about the disappearance of stray cats?! In my opinion, this is beyond good and evil...
- And what do you say about the fact that all my neighbors, except the Dursleys, complain of nightmares? And what nightmares! Many people even in reality see shadows, whispers in the dark...
"You know, I suspect that you're imagining things," the man muttered discontentedly. "You need to drink less!"
"You know perfectly well that I don't drink," Figg pursed her lips.
"Sometimes I think it would be better if she drank," the man called "Alastor" muttered barely audibly, so that his interlocutor could not hear. But Harry heard it perfectly!
"Your tricks, Sweet Tooth?" the boy chuckled to himself.
"No," he waved it off. "This time it's Smart. You don't like it?"
"Is that a mutation too?" Harry asked.
"Yes, and also a small one ," the named spirit nodded. "A useful ability, right?"
Harry just nodded at this, once again focusing on the strange conversation behind the fence.
"Your job is to keep an eye on Potter and alert Albus and me if he's in any danger," the man cut Figg off abruptly. "He's going to Hogwarts next year, remember? Merlin forbid anything should prevent the boy from returning to the wizarding world! Do you understand the consequences, Arabella?"
"I understand," the woman replied sullenly. "But what's going on in the city… Alastor! Can't you feel this strange… tension? Even I feel it, and I'm just a squib!"
"Hm," the man hesitated for a moment, clearly lost in thought. But then, shaking himself, he exhaled: "Forgive me, Arabella, but I can't be distracted myself or distract others based solely on vague feelings and suspicions."
"And what about the fact that I saw clearly witch lights on the territory of an empty house on the outskirts?" Figg decided to play her trump card.
Harry held his breath.
She saw?! She saw his ritual?!! Of course, he cleaned up after himself: erased the drawn figure, burned away the blood stains and scraps of flesh with warp fire - but the light show there was still bright enough for someone to notice...
"Since when can you tell witch lights from regular lights?" Alastor snorted. "Muggle kids love abandoned buildings and empty houses. All those…" He snapped his fingers, remembering. "Oh, right! Goths, punks, metalheads and other mundane cultists - who knows what they burned there?"
"I know what I saw, Alastor," Figg said, her lips clearly pursed. "And they were NOT Muggles!"
- All right! - the man blurted out irritably. - I'll send a specialist I know to look at this empty house of yours. But only in my free time! - he clarified.
"That's all I ask for, Alastor!" the woman blurted out with relief. "Ever since Albus gave me this task, I've been living in constant anxiety. I'm a Squib! What can I do if one of the Nameless One's remaining servants shows up here? Try to beat him to death with a ladle? Or set the Kneazles on him?"
- Hey, Ella, - Alastor said softly, in a homely manner. - We believe in you. You know, no one expects heroism from you. You are here secretly and only to watch the boy and protect him from troubles associated with simpletons - like falling down the stairs. No one requires you to get involved in battles with seasoned dark mages!
"And I'm still scared and uneasy, Al," Figg also called the man in a familiar way. "I understand that you and Dumbledore are powerful magicians, professionals in all this mystical nonsense, and I'm just a weak Squib woman… But please, send your man to look at that place, okay?"
"Okay, I'll send it," Alastor assured the frightened woman and hobbled toward the backyard of her house. There was a bang… and the man disappeared.
Only now did Harry realize that he had not been able to see what was happening beyond the fence. But he had nonetheless clearly sensed both the movements of Mrs. Figg and this Alastor, and had distinctly felt when he had left.
"Very interesting ," drawled Smarty. "Am I the only one who understood what I understood?"
"The guy's hidden!" Zabiyaka growled like a dog. "From some Nameless One. Good."
"What's good?" Harry asked, surprised.
"We have a battle ahead of us! And not just one ," the demon of Khorne drawled in satisfaction. "They won't call just anyone the Nameless One - which means he's strong! It'll be fun."
But Harry wasn't amused at all. The only thing he understood from the conversation he overheard was that he was in big trouble! He and Smarty had already calculated the attitude of wizards towards him and his new friends, as well as the rituals he performed - and the result was sad. I mean, in any case, this attitude was negative!
But suddenly Harry's scar itched again. And again a question arose in his head, out of nowhere.
"What did Figg say about the neighbors having nightmares?" the boy asked. "Is it somehow connected to the ritual we performed?" he asked, worried.
"Don't be afraid, student ," the Smarty chuckled. "Nightmares can't be attached to a case, so you don't have to worry about the police. The only people who might suspect your attitude towards them are the Dursleys, but we've protected them from nightmares."
"Why is this happening?" the boy was surprised as he walked towards his relatives' house.
"The line between the real world and the Immaterium has become thin ," the Smart One explained. "And those who are not strong enough in mind begin to see the creatures of the warp in their dreams or even in reality. This is normal."
"Well, I wouldn't say so..." Harry scratched his scar.
"Weaklings who can't even protect their own brains deserve their fate!" growled Ruffnut. "Who asked them to be born so insignificant and weak? It would be better if they didn't exist! And if we can make them truly disappear, then so be it! The strongest survives. The weak perish!"
Harry thought about Ruffnut's words and nodded suddenly. He remembered Dudley: the capricious, stupid, fat mama's boy who had hunted him and beaten him since he was a child. What had that worthless thing done to deserve life? He, Harry Potter, who had always known and been able to do more than his stupid cousin, deserved all that the fat man got for free! Only the prejudice of adults and the gang that Dudley had put together allowed him to gain the upper hand.
"Why did you protect the Dursleys from nightmares?" Harry muttered sullenly.
"We figured it might give away our... special relationship to the local wizards ," Smarty explained. "If they were watching you and your relatives, they might become overly concerned about the strange dreams that plague them. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I think so," the boy muttered, still discontented. He wasn't exactly satisfied with this reasoning, but at least he realized the danger. "So, I understand correctly," he continued. "The operation at the hospital is cancelled?"
"No ," the Smart One answered after a pause. "It's just being postponed. Until that strange "specialist" examines the ritual site and we see the consequences. But I can only say one thing ," the spirit chuckled. "They won't see you or suspect you of anything, student, for at least another five years."
- A prediction? - Harry even held his breath, immediately forgetting all the insults. The ability of Tzeentch's servants to predict the future amazed him more and more.
"Yes and no ," the Smart Guy answered vaguely. "I saw many possible futures, and then I applied what you mortals call logical thinking and deduction. And voila, a ready-made forecast. And yes, to answer your unspoken question, I will teach you this too."
Harry immediately beamed - under the guidance of the Smart Guy, studying became very exciting and fascinating! Where can we compare with boring classes at school.
Tal-Tagazon smiled broadly. It had been a long time since he had such an... docile student. The recalcitrant ones he had dealt with before were powerful sorcerers and psykers - and so their dialogue usually boiled down to a fight. Force against force, mind against mind - whoever wins, gets to order the banquet. And here... An amazing situation!
On the one hand, a completely untrained psyker boy with enormous potential. A tasty and incredibly desirable piece for any inhabitant of the warp!
On the other hand, it was impossible to simply take and pluck this fruit. Competition in the form of three servants of other Gods of Chaos, plus a strange protection, the key to which the demon had not yet found - all this made the usual and simple schemes inoperative. And the possible knowledge of local magicians in demonology and the warp remained one big unknown - this was worth considering.
But that made the task even more exciting! Tal-Tagazon had not encountered such a complex and interesting puzzle for many millennia. And with such a fat prize at the end.
And no, it wasn't just about the little psyker who accepted the gifts of the Ruinous Powers with such enthusiasm and childlike spontaneity. It was about the world he inhabited!
There, in that universe where Tal-Tagazon and his kind were accustomed to dwell and feed, lived far more intelligent beings, with far more saturated souls. There were thousands, hundreds of thousands of times more of them than on that miserable ball of dirt on which they found themselves by the will of Fate!
But this little world had some differences from the usual universe. Very pleasant and very promising differences!
Well, firstly, the warp here was much more stable and calm than in the world of the forty-first millennium. Of course, this meant that Tal-Tagazon would initially have fewer potential subjects and forces here than he could have had. But at the same time, there were no competitors, apart from the three who had arrived from the previous world with him. Slaves and toys could be wrought quite easily, with almost no fear of being interrupted!
There was just one "but".
To build your little empire in the warp, you needed resources. Souls, emotions, prayers and hopes of mortals! And that was the real rub.
This world was closed off from the warp in general and Chaos in particular. Not completely, but closed. Perhaps the damned C'tan had made it here, building their obelisks somewhere here - but the demon nicknamed Smarty wouldn't make such a claim right away.
But what could be established for sure was the existence of the only active psyker in this world named Harry Potter! A ten-year-old human, on whom his own mother performed a ritual from the School of Chaos, designed to protect him from any threat coming from mortals. But at the same time activating his psychic abilities and thus opening him to the influence of the Immaterium.
Such rituals required at least some basic training from their subject. So that the said subject could at least somehow resist the onslaught of the warp!
But, as the one called Smart understood, those conducting this ritual did not have the time or skills. And they did not understand what exactly they were doing either.
The Tzeentch demon was simultaneously licking his lips at the openness of this soul, angry at its inaccessibility, and at the same time delighted at the prospect of the upcoming incredible chess game to capture the very essence of Harry James Potter!
All the paths in the warp twisted into such intricate knots that even he, not the weakest of his kind, found it difficult to say how exactly this game would end. And it was so exciting that Tal-Tagazon began to sincerely love his student! It had been a long time since he had been so entertained - and especially not by underage human sorcerers. And what would happen when Harry grew up?
The demon even began to catch himself thinking that if the little sorcerer surpassed his teacher, that same teacher would gladly follow his lead and become an obedient servant! After all, it was not the biggest price to pay to watch a truly magical fate.
Provided that young Harry Potter didn't get killed in the process. Which was a very, very good possibility.
Take that potion adventure, for example! Trusting a damned Nurglite rotten thing and brewing some obviously infectious crap at his behest was the height of imprudence, in Tal-Tagazon's opinion! But he did not object. All paths lead somewhere - and Harry Potter's path was very special. Let the boy follow it himself, stumbling and bumping his head, without any unnecessary hints.
But something would have to be done about the annoying wizards. Neither the Tzeentch daemon nor his "colleagues" could say anything definite about what to expect from the local wizards in terms of knowledge about the warp and its inhabitants. They could either immediately notice their presence or not even suspect them! It was necessary to wait. And watch!
It would have been more logical to lie low and wait until this Alastor and his "specialist" had done their job and left - and then draw conclusions based on the data collected. But Tal-Tagazon would not have been a servant of the Lord of Change if he had followed obvious and simple plans.
And so very soon he will advise Harry something completely different! Namely, to kidnap Mrs. Figg's second kneazle and perform the ritual practically on her doorstep. And then see how the wizards react.
In the demon's opinion, it was a great plan!
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