Indomitable (Harry Potter/World of Darkness)

Bland Eggplant · Mar 4, 2020

A/N: This is a translated version of the fanfic 'Несгибаемый', written by 'Птица_в_шляпе', which I... not love, but like very, very much.
The translation is being done under the author's permission.

Word of caution: there will be swearing, some colorful language and the fanfic is generally a little edgy. Also, the translation, while mostly correct on the grammatical side, is somewhat janky. I can only ask you to bear with it until I fix the stuff fully.

This fanfic was previously in Creative Writing on SpaceBattles but I decided to transfer it here just in case. At the current moment, I have 17 chapters translated and will post them two-three days apart.

"You know, a friend of mine – the one in the next barrel – he wanted a lot of money for this stuff! The drugs, I mean," the madman spoke nasally while filling a syringe with a strange blue liquid. He spoke like that for a reason – I broke his nose real good! He still hit me in the head with a pipe and tied me up, though. And here I am, sitting in the middle of an abandoned furniture factory, tied up and neck-deep in a barrel. It wouldn't have been so bad if not for the seven other barrels around me, each of them with a dead head sticking out of them.

Meanwhile, the crazy turned on some smooth jazz right out of the fifties and pulled out a bottle of vodka. He poured the contents into two shot glasses, then brought one to me.

"A lot of people wouldn't have agreed with how I carry out research and stuff. But I don't have a choice! This is my first time researching anything!" He sat down on a crate near my barrel. Leaning in, he whispered conspiratorially: "I only had eight years of school, so how should I know the 'right' way to research things? I don't have any desire to waste time until they let me in in those universities and give me a lab coat. What if someone will try to research my precious instead of me?"

He handed me the glass.

"I don't want to scare you, but out of eight subjects, seven have died so far – and I am the eighth one! Wait, no, I was the first one. Maybe me and you get lucky and you'd be the second survivor? But, just in case, let's drink for it! I'm going to pull out the gag now, so don't scream."

I nodded, after which he pulled the dirty gas- and oil-smelling rag out of my mouth.

"So what, Mengele, no chances at all?"

"Chances for what?" He asked compassionately.

"For escape."

"Well, those seven couldn't. Don't you worry, everything will be fine! And if it won't, you wouldn't be able to worry anyway, right?"

"Then gimme the glass."

The 'scientist' gave me a look of respect.

"Excellent! Working with you is such a pleasure! Well, for success!" He drank his glass, helping me at the same time.

"Eh, look at you go. It would've been real good for you go, too; to go bravely and directly to a sadistic proctologist."

"Ha-ha, I see you have a sense of humor, eh? I like a good joke too, but now's not the time – we need to work!" the madman exclaimed and went for the syringe. "Alright, let's do it." Without further fanfare, he stabbed the syringe into my neck.

The consciousness started to slowly swim away. Hm, it works fast. The thoughts, by the way, are still clear, but I understand that I'm going to lose it any second now. Oh, look, it's ha…

***

I woke up in a rush. The complete darkness interfered in seeing things, but there was a sensation that my vision isn't that good too. It was somewhat unclear compared to my normal one, but it was hard to say in the dark.

He didn't kill me? I mean, did I survive? I wonder if I was saved by our noble policemen and then went half-blind or it's just dark in here and soon that star academic of alternative science will come in and bring the light?

And then somewhere, maybe behind the door, about which I could only speculate, I heard knocking and shouting:

"Wake up! Wake up and make breakfast! Right now!"

Hm. Well, I am not tied up, thanks for that, but who's the brave one? It's not very smart to order around a grown 25-year-old man in such a way. Well, I'm not going to rough them up; they saved me, after all… I think. Time to go talk to the well-wishers.

The moment I exited the cupboard and entered a clean and neat house, I learned some funny things: first of all, the windows, flowers, items – everything around me – was too big; second of all, my body proportions were definitely not what I was used to. Fuck the screeching woman, gonna look for a bathroom – I need to look in a mirror.

The mirror showed me as a tiny brat dressed in rags and with a scar on his forehead. I remember hearing this story somewhere.

"What is this shit?"

A clear, white sheet of text appeared in front of my eyes. Excuse me.

Name: Harry Potter;

Age: 10;

Concept: Unloved Child;

Nature: Balky. You will win at any cost. Willpower restores when your egotistical motivations lead you to success.

Traits: Fearlessness, Selfishness;

Demeanor: Undefined;

Resonance: Dynamic, Radiant;

Strength: * - Your limit is twenty kilos. Wuss.

Dexterity: ** - No clod, but no ballerina either.

Stamina: *** - You are fit and ready for trouble.

Manipulation: * - Poker isn't for you.

Charisma: **** - You make an impression right off the bat.

Appearance: ** - You don't stand out in the crowd and blend in with walls.

Intelligence: ** - Not an idiot, but nothing exceptional.

Perception: *** - You are attentive to people, items, and surroundings.

Wits (Always Ready): **** - You are perceptive and ready for unexpected. (Your first action is always ahead of your opponent's by Initiative, if Wits are involved.)

Fuck. I know this name. It's from that sob-story fairytale about the wizard boy, there were even movies about it. The more important thing is that I know these stats!

Specialization in Lore gained: "World of Darkness Lore"

World of Darkness Lore: ****

I played the shit out of this game, for sure, but that was a long time ago.

So, does this I mean I got inserted into the fairytale with this English housewife, but with 'World of Darkness' rules? Maybe I'm lying in my bed at the madhouse and seeing a colorful delusion after that wonderful concoction in the syringe? Eh, screw it. If I get to watch an interactive movie then I am going to enjoy it until the end, and if this is a new life – then there's no point in crying and reflecting. A pity that I barely heard about the Potter-stuff. At least I know some things about 'WoD'.

"Potter!"

Eh, that borehole? Really not up for that now.

Hm, in the 'WoD' there were also abilities aside from attributes, can I see them? And, by the way, what am I? There's a large variety of creatures: vampires, werewolves, mages, changelings, and more. I might be a changeling judging by the age, although – since I'm Potter – I'm most likely a mage. Oh, a little more text! It's all thought-controlled, am I right?

Abilities:

1) Talents:

Vigilance: *** - You keep your surroundings under observation.

Athletics: *** - You are competent, resilient, and training-capable.

Brawl: * - You can try punching an opponent. 'Try' is the keyword.

Dodge: *** - You gracefully evade dangers.

Subterfuge: *** - Your lies are believable.

2) Skills:

Stealth: *** - Shadows are your friends.

Survival (social hell): **** - Your experience makes you very hard to harm.

Etiquette: * - You try not to get involved in the affairs of others.

Meditation (Resonance: Radiant): *** - Your mind is streamlined.

3) Knowledge;

Academics (World of Darkness): **** - You know how this world REALLY is. (Can tell a Lasombra from a Sluagh and much more).

Occult: * - You saw a couple of weird things.

Additional:

Fate: ***** - You will turn the world upside down or die trying.

Mana: ** - You can store/use two notional points of magical power.

Status (Magical Britain): ** - You are recognized and valued in your community.

Paths of Sorcery:

Telekinesis and Summoning: *** (dex+occ) – Can summon spare shoes from the other room? Lift a fallen book with your gaze? You are the greatest sorcerer that ever lived!

Movement: ** (sta+occ) – For those who don't like to walk.

Oneiromancy: * (wits+occ) – At least you have access to lucid dreaming.

Willpower: 8/10 – Unshakable.

Mana: 2/2.

Advantages:

Iron Will. Your emotions can be affected. Your body can be affected. Your intentions cannot.

Disadvantages:

Short-sighted. Sight is not your strongest sense. All rolls for perception that involve sight are harder by +2.

Mistaken Recognition. Some people – many people – tend to think you a hero. Are you mad yet?

Hard Lot. You are pretty sure that nothing good awaits you. You have every reason to.

Nature formed according to hero's character.

Demeanor has not been formed.

Stats formed according to character's biography.

Paths of Sorcery formed according to character's biography.

Traits formed according to character's biography.

Health: 5/7/7 (Bruises (Bashing)) Penalty to Rolls: -1;

Right. Riiight. So I am not a mage? I am a goddamn sorcerer? You know, the one without an avatar, spheres, and with only weak linear sorcery? Fuck that! I need an assault rifle, right now.

"Potter! You worthless brat, why isn't breakfast ready?!" Screeching sounded again, but this time it was accompanied by footsteps. That woman is coming for me?

She is very much like a broom. What's her name, I wonder?

"Where's breakfast, you freeloader?!"

No, I really don't like her attitude. And when I don't like something, I see no reason to stay silent about it.

"At social services, I think. What do you think, Flat-as-Board?"

"What?!" She tried to catch me by the ear. I tried to punch her in the liver. I was somewhat good at that, but it seems that my stats are all pretty accurate; I couldn't fight her, my punch only making her hiss in discomfort but not hurting her bony body at all.

I did manage to dodge her grabby hand. Oh, I have an idea – I'm a sorcerer, right? I am very light myself but, by pressing my legs against a toilet bowl, I pushed the woman-like skeleton out of the bathroom and locked the door.

Oh, I hear some movement.

"Vernon, the brat has gone insane! He punched me, Vernon!" the woman screeched.

"Potter! Open the door, right now! You haven't tasted my belt yet only because this door costs more than you!" roared the deep, but at the same time unpleasantly croaking, voice.

"You haven't tasted my cock yet only because it won't get hard for you!" I answered and smashed the mirror. "Well, I'm too young for it to work properly, but it wouldn't get hard for you anyway!"

"You bastard!" my companion screamed at the top of his lungs and started shaking the doorknob. "Open the door, you scum, or it'll be worse!"

"I'm coming, my friend, gotta put on some lipstick!" I answered while trying to lift a glass shard with telekinesis. It wasn't working out. Come on, it's important, my sensitive butt cheeks are just begging my hardhearted magic to save them from the punishing belt.

Yes, got it! Two mirror shards lift up from the floor as I controlled their movements with my hands. This would've been possible even without it, but it was psychologically easier like this. I have a funny feeling in my body, you know – the one when you lie on the beach and the sun is shining down on you and you're all warmed up? – kind of like that but with my guts instead. What about my character sheet?

Mana: 1/2.

Alright, good. I remembered that sorcerers spend both willpower and mana, but wasn't sure if I can spend only mana. Turns out I can.

By the way, the door is being breached. It shook real good for the last two minutes; it looks like that Vernon guy is pretty big.

"Ver-nooon?" I drew out in a mockingly kind voice. "Why are you so angry? Go to café, eat a pie. Pick only fresh ones, though, 'cause the bathroom is occupied."

"I'm gonna get you, brat!" the man roared again and finally burst through the door, but he immediately froze as soon as he noticed the fairly large mirror shard floating right near his eye; the second one floated a bit farther away.

"Fucking hell, you're so fat." I couldn't help but stare in awe. "Hey, Petunia, tell me how you… well…"

"Wh-what?" the woman mumbled as she saw the shard.

What a bunch of cowards.

"Well, how do you fuck? Make children? Play rabbits? The jasper gates with the nephrite key back-and-forth, eh?"

"Harry!" She looked at me flabbergasted – even stopped fearing me for a second – and for the first time called me by name.

"Hey, I wanna know, I'm very interested! He weighs two hundred kilos! It's like a hippo with…"

"I am not going to listen to this filth!" The mustached hippo started boiling from the inside.

"Then talk." I swayed the mirror shard in front of his eye while placing the second one near the woman's neck. "But in the living room, 'cause we have no place to sit. What kind of shitter is this, doesn't even have a sofa."

Slowly and very carefully we walked downstairs and into the living room, where a very worried Vernon-2 waited for us.

"Fuck, do you reproduce by fission, fatty? Then the question of your inter-species porn has been removed."

"Harry, what's going on?" the woman suddenly said in a worried tone. "You're not yourself."

Huh, so I am myself when I cook breakfast on the pig farm, in her opinion?

"Petunia, from my point of view – everything's fine. Some evil people put me in the cupboard and force me to cook breakfast as if I'm a bare-assed sweaty black on a coffee plantation." This won't matter anymore. I'm not going to stay in this house – they might smother me with a pillow at night after such a delightful morning. "Alright, you little seal, stand near daddy."

"Whaaaat?" the little fatty mooed dumbly.

"Twooo steeeps fooorwaaard," I couldn't help but parody him.

The seal obeyed and I put 'father's' shard to his throat.

"Daddy-boar, your little piglet will shit himself out of fear soon. Why don't you go and bring me all the cash you have in the house, pack me some food and clothing, together with money – and I'll go away?"

"You wouldn't dare!" Vernon reddened from anger.

"I guarantee, Vernon, if you don't start running to get the money, then your overfed sperm," I nodded at Dudley, "will never know the feeling of a real manly hard-on." For better persuasion, I moved the glass shard towards brat's crotch.

"You're bluffing!"

Instead of me, it was Petunia who responded this time with a scream. Vernon turned only to see that a mirror shard made a noticeable hole in his wife's leg.

"Start running, Vernon," I repeated one more time.

Now pale white – he changes colors so quickly! – the man carefully went up the stairs.

"Now, you, elephant's rape victim, how much money do you have at home?"

"Harry, why are you doing this?" the woman sobbed, "We cared for you..."

"Seriously? Folks in Aushwitz would've liked such care. How much money?"

"One thousand three hundred pounds."

"I really hope that Robin, the Bobbin would bring that much."

He brought three hundred pounds. I didn't appreciate the joke and added, for symmetry, a wound on Petunia's other leg. Then he returned with a double-barrel shotgun.

"Vernon, do you really want me to maim your family?" I sighed.

"Go to hell, freak!" the fatty screeched and pulled the trigger. Thankfully – all according to stats – I dodged, although it was scary as hell; but, since I started in this fashion, I shouldn't go soft in negotiations.

Petunia's mirror embedded itself in Vernon's right arm. He's going to have a lot of trouble shooting, now.

Hm, I can't hold my weapons that long. Gotta remember that feeling of the light inside me…

Mana: 0/2.

Yep, back in business. Hey, we're in the living room and it's combined with the kitchen. Knives! Three large knives floated to me from the kitchen instead of mirror shards. Petunia, you really are a dedicated housewife, they are all so clean!

"Vernon, I'm giving you one last chance. One more trick like that and I'll start cutting fingers off your ugly-as-a-baboon's-scrotum family. I'll start with the son, he is way too unharmed."

He finally brought the bag and money. I took my stuff, wore a more-or-less fitting jacket in the hallway – it was way too large for me, but still better than nothing – and left the house.

Nature replenishes your Willpower.

Willpower: 9/10.

Demeanor formed: Cutthroat – Might makes right.

Chapter complete.

Experience points: 3.

A/N: Heya there, folks. This is Eggplant speaking. Thanks to me not being a native English speaker, some things just kinda slip through my grasp. Therefore, I am in need of a ~~poor~~ brave soul to stand as a bulwark between my incompetence and you.
In other words, I'm looking for a beta. If you, for some reason, wish to sacrifice some of your free time and energy to help - PM me.

Bland Eggplant · Mar 5, 2020

Cardiff, seven P.M., the sun is going down. On the open veranda of a popular cafe sits a ten-year-old boy and waits for his order, while slowly writing something in his notebook and mumbling something under his nose.

"…Well, I can't go to Sabbath, they'll eat me first and ask who ordered food later. Should I go looking for demons?" I tiredly leaned back in the chair and rubbed my eyes.

The problem is that I am at the bottom of the food chain. A sorcerer, theoretically, can fight off a young vampire or a ghost, but only if it's an experienced and skillful sorcerer. I wonder how Harry Potter developed in his original story? Or did he really run with only telekinesis and levitation until his death?

You can join the stronger creatures either by chance (mages, changelings, demons), by the creatures' own desire (vampires, demons), by birth (werewolves and, kind of, ghosts), get killed, eaten, or become a bondslave. Nah, I don't like these futures.

By that time I got my tea and dinner. Here's a problem too, there isn't that much money left. Eh, fuck it. One adventurous ten-year-old gentleman can easily get himself money for a comfortable life in this oh so welcoming country.

***

I spent some time running from the police. Dursley Senior didn't give up without a fight and, while looking for money, with me holding his family at knifepoint downstairs, managed to call the boys in uniform. So, when I was two blocks away from Privet Drive 4, I heard the police sirens and rushes as far away as I could from Dursley and Little Whinging as a whole.

The police tried to catch me for two months straight. They probably would've calmed down faster, but, since I had no idea how the local law enforcement works, I screwed up at every opportunity: a street brawl here, tried to get a part-time job but lipped off the employer there. The police weren't the only ones looking for me: one time I got in big trouble and was forced to, using my abilities and a pipe, break an arm of one respectable-looking gentleman with a gun.

Yeah, I have a gun now! An excellent 'Victory Arms Mk-5' and sixteen rounds for it, yep. That English banditos shot one time at a cat making noise in a dumpster, while looking for me in an alley.

It's almost July now and they mostly left me alone, so I sit and think about how I should build my future career. And I have precisely two obstacles in my way: I am weak (compared to, say, vampires), so going anywhere near supernatural creatures is a bad idea; and I am ten years old, so I can't really make a living among normal people.

Should I start a gang? I checked my stats not that long ago and found the following changes:

Experience Points: 0.

Intimidation: * - You know how to push so people would leave you alone,

Just what a novice sorcerer and a couple of his friends with bats need, eh?

A letter fell into my lasagna. It looked really outdated, because was sealed with wax, was written by hand and a carrier fucking pigeon brought it. Oh, wait, not a pigeon – a carrier owl, which, of course, changes things. Yeah, sure.

Mister Harry Potter

The table on veranda

Cafeteria 'Dinnerland'

Cardiff

Wells

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf Warlock, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31st July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

And just like that. You wanted a teacher, Harry? Here's a whole school for ya.

How the fuck did you even found it under Technocracy's watchful eye?! Or this world doesn't have Technocracy? Would've been real nice to never meet them.

The owl, by the way tried to escape. I quickly took a tablecloth from the nearby table and threw it at the bird, helping a little with telekinesis.

Mana: 1/2.

The bird didn't expect that and got successfully tangled in the cloth, falling down. Good thing it didn't manage climb too high. Well, on the other hand, now I won't have a roasted owl for dinner, which was my secret dream for a long time.

I wasn't going to untangle the pigeon just yet. After giving several pounds to the server for an undocumented usage of the tablecloth, I quickly wrote a reply that I am not against studying there, but have no idea where to buy all that fuckery from the list that came with the letter (pointed hat, magical wand, books, other stuff) and asked for Hogwarts' address, because I have don't know how to reach it.

"Hey, pigeon! Don't give me that look, bird, if you are carrying mail then you are a pigeon, not an owl. So, deliver the letter to…uh, what's her name…" I checked the letter. "…Yeah, McGonagall, to Hogwarts. Can you do that, pigeon?"

The bird looked at me with the eyes full of resentment. Stop looking, morsel, it was you who chose to deliver people's letters.

The owl flied away and I returned to eating my lasagna. Looks like now is not the best time to start a gang since they are offering me to study sorcery in a respectable institution. The more important question is – did the hotel's owner call the police about a 10-year-old brat without parents staying at his place or can I sleep there one more night?

***

On the next morning there were no polite people with badges coming to tie me up, so the owner is still a soulless asshat, but a very useful soulless asshat.

Instead of the abovementioned people came a mole fur coat-wearing giant hobo. He reeked of booze, his mane was enormous and so ungroomed that the hobo could be confused with a huge hairy mushroom. His fists were of very impressive size – each one as big as my head. The only thing that ruined the picture was an ugly bitch umbrella. Although, the umbrella was so dirty, that I could only guess about his pink color by rare somewhat clean spots.

"Phew, it was real hard to find ye, Harry." The hairy wheezed.

"Uh, who are you, man?" I decided to first introduce myself, while I was looking for a gun in my backpack and tried to remember who I could insult so much that they sent a murder-hobo after me. This man couldn't possibly be a copper.

"I, uh, came to you. Whew, you sure forced me to run around the country. Dursley, ye hear, didn't say anything and were angry as hell."

"Listen, you overgrown bear, I am asking one more time who the hell are you?" I already found the handle and felt much more comfortable. Although, I didn't shoot the gun, conserving ammo (with English draconian laws it would've been hard to get more rounds). However, the man didn't react at all when I aimed at him, as if he didn't even understand what the gun was.

"What? Harry, it's me, Hagrid! I remember you when you were this small!" Boomed this 'Hagrid', making gestures, as if showing me how small he remembered me. Judging by the size, her remembered Harry when the brat was an embryo. "I'm from Hogwarts, yes! The Keeper of Keys and Grounds."

F-u-c-k m-e. Do I even need that Hogwarts if I will look like Hagrid after it?

"Listen, you maypole, I'm happy to see you and all that, but what do you need?" I asked, lowering the gun. If he's from that magic school, then he isn't a bobby or a bandit. I could calm down a little.

"You are enrolling in Hogwarts, right? I gotta walk with you to buy the school stuff. You know what Hogwarts is, right?"

"More or less. Come on, tell me who sent you, where are we going, don't be shy."

"Uh, where we're going? To Diagon Alley, where else? Everything's there: books, cloaks, cauldrons… And a real good wand too, yeah!"

"Hagrid, do I look like a phonebook? Or maybe I have the map printed on my ass? I remember my ass well, there ain't no maps on it. What is this Diagon Alley?"

Hagrid, obviously, expected the dialogue to go some other way and grew silent for a a couple of minutes, digesting my very simple, really, question.

"Uh, Harry, why are ye swearing? That ain't good, your parents…"

"Are in the land of Eternal Hunt or on the Canaries drinking mojitos and eating burritos. Either way, they don't care about me and I don't give a shit about them. Again, Hagrid, Diagon Alley. How it looks, where it is, how do I get there?"

"It's in London, yeah. Only wizards can enter it, that's right! I came to drive you there."

Shit, London. One and a half months ago, when I got out of there, the police posted flyers everywhere about a missing boy, brunette, ten years old, short-sighted, scar on the forehead. Eh, my balls are made of titanium, I'll come in and I'll come out, easy-peasy.

"Well, Hagrid, walk me then if it's your task. How are we going to get there?"

"I have, uh, a motorcycle parked just around the corner. We'll fly on it."

Well, flying is flying. Must be a real powerful artifact, that flying motorcycle,

It was an old unkempt Royal Enfield with a sidecar. A good bike, but looks like it was last repaired ten years ago. Screw it, if it can bear Hagrid then it won't fall apart under me.

Funny thing is – we flew very fast and were in London at 3 P.M., with us departing at 11 o'clock. Then Hagrid grounded the motorcycle and kept riding like a common biker, just a very beardy and furry one. Why the hell does he need a fur coat at summer?

We stopped near some scuzzy bar labeled 'Leaky Cauldron'. A dark, smoke-filled facility, smelling like beer and food.

"Hagrid, you bloody drunkard, I understand everything about the dry throat after riding, but let's do business first and fill the stomach with beer later."

"Harry, what's the… Ah, yeah, 'Cauldron'. A well-known place, yes. It's the entrance to the Diagon Alley."

I am really fucking interested in this Hogwarts place now, with its representative being a hangover hairy biker and supplies being sold somewhere beyond this… tavern.

"Oh, hello Hagrid. The usual?" The barmen hailed my companion.

"No, Tom, today I'm on Hogwart's business." The beardy grinned and clapped my shoulder.

Health: 6/7/7 (Bruises (Bashing))

Thank you, you fucking imbecile. I'll remember this.

"This is… Harry Potter!" The barmen dropped the glass he was holding.

Everyone around us instantly grew silent and then rushed to me. On the one hand, most of them were women. On the other – they were uglier than Petunia.

Hagrid, you son of a bitch, you have a lot to tell me after this.

"It's such an honor to meet you!"

"You have returned!"

"I'm so happy, Mister Potter, so happy!"

I really wanted to shoot someone, but I still needed to make business with sorcerers. Thankfully, there weren't that many people, so we were left alone soon.

The only person left was a guy wearing a cloak and a turban. He's white, but he's wearing a turban. What a weird guy.

"Harry, this is professor Quirrel, he teaches DADA at Hogwarts."

"Never heard of it."

"De-de-defense ag-ag-against D-Dark Ar-Arts." The professor answered, stuttering all the way. "N-n-not that you ne-ne-need it that much?"

"Dark Arts? What's that?"

The professor looked at Hagrid in surprise but still answered.

"Very us-useful sub-sub-subject. About f-f-fighting dark cre-creatures and wiz-wiz-wizards. I'll wait you o-on my lectures."

He finished his speech and walked away. I really hope that he teaches better than he speaks. Although, if this stuttering man can give me a working algorithm about tearing apart, say, a vampire – I'll endure and even thank him.

Hagrid walked me through the bar to its backyard, poked a wall with his umbrella, after which it turned into an arc with a street behind it.

The alleyway was fit for its name – winding, with rickety buildings, too short to be a proper street. Still, it fascinated me – there were hundreds of sorcerers! They traded, argued, discussed news and novelties, they fucking were a proper society! Where the hell Technocracy looks?!

They are not even hiding! Their clothing is from past centuries, there were signs of a flying brooms shop and 'Flowers' Potions', which is totally an alchemic shop.

There is a sky above us! There are satellites in the sky! And they don't care, they have a magic street in the middle of London!

The burly man walked me to a crooked marble building, with some strange creatures guarding the entrance. Ugly short sacks with huge axes and cruel faces. I almost took them for red caps, but I barely remember changelings' line, so I might be mistaken. All those damn fairies are crazy about honor and how others treat them.

"Hagrid, who are they?"

"These are goblins. They don't like staring." He whispered.

Goblins, huh? I don't remember those, but I don't remember a lot of stuff.

We walked, as it turned out, to that marble building, which was, by the way, a bank. No, these short sacks are totally not red caps, because they worked here on all posts: clerks, guards, work with client specialists… Can you imagine a red cap politely telling a client about the current credit programs? Those bloodied killers and butchers? No, I don't like goblins. A battlefield is better than a bank contract.

Hagrid talked about something with a goblin, then we walked to the next room, boarded a cart and rode into some caves under the bank, until it stopped near a huge metal door. Goblin then gave me the key and asked to open said door. Behind it were several very respectable piles of gold and silver, with some bronze here and there, but who thinks about bronze when you have gold?

"This, Harry, was left to you by your parents. Did you really think they didn't care about you?"

Wait, stop. This is from my parents?

"Beardy, is this inheritance?"

"Ah, eh… Harry, why are you being so rude? We are friends!"

Since when we are friends, I wonder? In any case, my friendship is Hagrid's problem, not mine. The only thing that makes me happy is that looks like all my money problems are solved.

Addition gained.

Resources: **** - You are very wealthy. The summary value of your capital and bank cells is 500'000 pounds. Your monthly income is 4000 pounds.

Feels good, damn it. Thank you, woman, for giving birth to me. And here I was thinking that you just spread the legs in front of daddy, but you actually left me a whole safe with money!

After I took 500 gold coins, just enough to fit into the backpack's large compartment, I returned to Hagrid and the goblin.

"Harry, are you done? Good." I nodded. "Then give me the key."

That's funny.

"Hey, uh…"

"Griphook, mister Potter." Goblin said in a strained tone.

"Yeah, that's me. Shouldn't the key stay in the bank?"

"No, he belongs to the safe's owner and stays with them."

"This safe is mine, right?"

"Yes, mister Potter, it is yours."

"That's good. Let's roll out then."

Hagrid stood there with an extended hand and open mouth, looking from me to the goblin and then back at me. However, when we boarded the cart, he unfroze, quickly sat on the backseat and asked again:

"What about the key, Harry?"

"What about it?"

"Uh, return it. Headmaster Dumbledore told me to keep it safe."

"Hagrid, are you fucked up in the head? Tell me, we are friends, right?" I decided to hit the enemy with his own weapon. As good of an option as any.

"Uh, yeah."

"Then I ask you as a friend to shut your food-hole. Because it seems to me that while your tongue licks my ass, your hand robs my purse. A shitty situation to be for two friends, eh?"

The beardy didn't answer and the rest of the ride we spent in silence. Then he just as silently took some pouch from a safe, then we just as silently reached the surface.

Nature restores your Willpower.

Thanks, I guess, it felt good, but my Willpower is already maxed out.

By that time we already left the bank and those incomplete red caps.

"Eh, Harry, listen… I'm gonna go and wet the whistle, you know. Feel kinda sick after that cart…"

"Yeah, sure. Just be careful with booze."

"You, uh, meanwhile go to Ollivander, there's his shop. He sells wands, the best ones!" The drunkard expressed his opinion with a raised big finger and headed out to 'Leaky Cauldron' to drown the failed Dumbledore's task in a bottle. Hell, Dumbledore… Familiar name. Where did I saw it… Oh, I remember – in the letter. Albus Wulfric – that guy. He's a headmaster.

Why did he have my key?

Alright, what's with the wand? Why do I even need it? To pretend to be a young fairy godmother? Or so that no woman ever would say: 'Harry, your wand doesn't work?'

This is so stupid.

Ollivander's shop looked good. Yeah, he looked like an old, almost abandoned building, but the whole Diagon Alley looked like it. This shop at least had a gilded sign. Feel the difference, or so they say.

The shop was dark and empty. No customers, no sellers, no showcase, nothing. Only a counter and a small ringer to call for someone. The moment I rang it, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turns out, behind me stood an old man with crazy eyes and a tousled hair.

"Have you hit your head recently, man? What if I have a weak sphincter? Or a habit to carry a knife?"

"Hm, mister Potter, never thought about my little fun from that angle. But in that case, you still would've been the first customer with such problems in fifty years. You came for a wand, I assume?"

"What, people come for something else to a wand shop? And how do you know that I'm Potter?"

"No, young man, not often. About your second question – it is hard to not recognize you." He looked on my forehead. The scar? Yep, the scar.

In the original story it was a feature. Well, the boy got famous, so people recognized him by the scar, I guess. Why now though? I don't reckon doing anything special.

"Come with me, please." Ollivander lead me to the counter and started bringing cases with wooden pointers from the utility room, ten-fifteen inches each.

I then needed to wave them around and he determined if I waved properly. Well, it wasn't hard. In the process, he was talking about wands of my mother, father and some other guy.

Some wands didn't give out any effect, some gave out those that Ollivander didn't like. Finally, he brought a wand, mumbling something that 'it must be this one'.

When I waved it, some golden sparks appeared and the already familiar feeling of light spread out through my whole body, with a message popping out in front of my eyes.

Item acquired: a suitable wand made from holly and phoenix feather.

Resonance: Dynamic, Radiant.

Effect: Paths of Sorcery until the third dot inclusively doesn't need Mana or Willpower when using the wand. If resonances of the wand, the sorcerer and the spell's form match, roll's difficulty is lower by 1.

F-U-C-K-M-E.

This places sorcerers on one level with other supernatural creatures! This allows… I'm gonna be stronger than vampires soon!

…Alright, sorcerers still suck and swallow on their knees, but fuck it, the wand really made my day.

"Interesting. Very interesting!"

"What are you on about?"

"You see, mister Potter, I remember all the wands that I made. Every single one. And it pains me very much to say it, but it was I who sold the wand that made this." He pointed at my scar and shook his head.

"Alright, elaborate from here. What's the story about my scar?"

"You don't know?" He gawked.

"I know that I have it. That's all"

Ollivander chewed his lips like old men do and then invited me behind the counter. There were two stools, on which the owner offered to sit.

"It's an old story, mister Potter. Ten years passed since it ended. Back then, You-Know-Who was strong and…"

"Who?"

"You-Know-Who. You don't know about him?"

"No, if you are not about the Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts."

"We don't say his name, mister Potter. He was a powerful wizard, cruel and hungry for power. He wanted to rule Magical Britain and did not hesitate to use torture, murder, and black magic. Yes, he was horrible, but he was also great. Under his banner began the war which brought him infamy. You-Know-Who was close to his victory, but one day he just… disappeared. And that's all. We don't know how and why, but we know that the last thing he's done was murdering your parents and leaving you this scar."

Yep, that's it. The local Dark Lord disappeared, after a scuffle with a baby. Good advertisement for one boy.

"And you sold him a wand?"

"He was just a student then, enrolling to the first year, just like you. Who could've said that he would spill rivers of blood in the future? But what's interesting is that you are tied not only by the scar and that faithful night. You see, mister Potter, phoenixes are… quite peculiar creatures and it is huge luck to persuade one to give a feather, nevermind a second one. Still, the phoenix, whose feather is a core of your wand, gave off another one, many years ago. And, as you, probably, already guessed, it became the core for You-Know-Who's wand."

Oh, I really don't like this! Once is an accident, two is a coincidence, three is a regularity. I don't want to find anything else common with this Unmentionable, because my characteristics (Fate: ***** and 'Hard Lot') just scream that I am slowly sliding into Fate's asshole. I wonder what I should do according to the original plot: beat him or take his place? I think that 'Harry Potter' is a fairy tale about a good guy, so probably beat him.

Alright, I'll deal with that when it comes. Now I need to pay for the wand and finally finish this way-too-long shopping spree.

Hagrid waited for me when I exited the shop, with a huge white owl in a cage. The oaf tried to give the cage to me, but why the fuck would I need an owl?

"Hagrid, the hell? You bought the owl – you take care of it."

"It will deliver your letters."

"Oh, so it's not even a proper owl? Just another fucking carrier pigeon?"

"Uhu!" The bird looked insulted.

"Don't 'uhu' at me. Beardy, I don't need any of this. Why did you even decide to give it to me?"

"' Cause it's your birthday." The Keeper frowned.

I looked at my character sheet.

Name: Harry Potter.

Age: 10.

"Beardy, don't drink at that bar anymore. It's too early for my birthday."

"I know it's a week later, I wanted to do it early! I'll be in the castle by then, yeah!"

"In the castle?"

"Yeah, at Hogwarts."

So, the school is a castle. I feared it's in a shack or a cave, judging by the rest of the 'magical society'. Doesn't change the fact that I need the own just like I need acne on my ass, which means that I don't need it at all.

Also, my birthday is at 31st of June. Will remember that.

"You know, let's do it like this. We are going to return the owl, buy the rest of the list, then I'll go my own way and you'll go to the bar and drink some more for my health, like, in honor of my birthday. Alright?"

"Alright…" What a sensitive neanderthal, who could've thought.

Everything went as we agreed. Other shops sold the stuff quickly, although they wanted to give me a whole stack of literature in the book shop. But it turned out that the shop provides delivery (by owls, naturally. Sturdy pigeons.) so I, for another galeon, asked to send everything right to Hogwarts at 31st of August on my name. Did the same with the cauldron.

Although the uniform Hagrid advised taking with me, because we won't be able to get to our baggage beforehand and I'll need to spend the ceremony in this bathrobe. Screw it, it's not that big.

The giant also gave me a ticket to a certain 'Hogwarts Express', which rides the students from London's King's-Cross to Hogwarts at the September 1, with the boarding at the Platform 9 and ¾. After that, he went off to celebrate my future birthday.

Does that mean I need to spend a month hiding from police at London's outskirts? Fuck it, the wand is worth everything.

It also turned out that the 'Leaky Cauldron' isn't only (probably) the ugliest bar possible, it is also a 1-star hotel, in which I could live without ever visiting the rest of London. I stayed in there, spending 1 sickle (silver coin) per day.

Chapter complete.

Experience points: 2.

Hey, thanks for the exp, but the last time I got more? What's the matter?

Bland Eggplant · Mar 6, 2020

To get to Hogwarts, I need to get on the train. King's Cross station, platform 9 and 3/4. What a normal person would do? They would go from platform to platform, looking at the platforms 7, 8, 9, 10, then they'd start swearing, thinking that they were lied to.

So, I proved that I am more than normal, at least the policeman gave me several very strict warnings. Thinking, how good it would've been to shove his whistle up his ass, I leaned against the railing above the railway. Something isn't right here, that giant hobo Hagrid wouldn't have tried to fool a poor orphan like this. I mean, he prepared this very ticket beforehand, even before he got accustomed with my meekness and humility. The entrance is here somewhere, I just need to look better.

After buying some soda, I took the overwatch position on the same spot above the rails. And – o happiness – after a couple of minutes, I saw a boy with a loaded cart making his way through the crowd, accompanied by two adults, likely parents. The pile of luggage was occupied by an owl in a cage. Why are these people so crazy about the damn birds?

The boy stopped near the 9th the platform, said goodbye to his parents and, after running like a self-assured suicidal person rammed the column. I suspected something right away but was still impressed by his disappearance inside the brick wall. Although even that is not as impressive as complete indifference of surrounding people to the event.

Alright, found the secret entrance.

While I was going down the stairs, the way to the column was blocked by a family of ginger clowns, screaming something about muggles and the platform 9 ¾.

"Lady, can you please move your hatchlings aside?"

The fat clowness, who was clearly in charge, started clucking something about rude children, but still freed the way.

"On the other side" of the column was a small train station with one platform, an antiquated locomotive painted in magnificent red and a huge crowd of men in female dresses. No, I understand that these are cloaks, and you still can kinda-sorta not look like a dipshit wearing them, but most failed at such a task. There were some women here too, yes… A lot of screaming and screeching mothers, in the thousandth time checking their spawns readiness, with a couple of old hags with egos so inflated, even I could see it (and I am short-sighted).

There were some pretty girls here and there, but… very, very few. Either most of them are on the train, or I already don't like Hogwarts.

And children, bloody children everywhere. Hate them. Yes, I understand that I am a child too, but that doesn't bring me any joy at all.

After boarding the train, I found an empty compartment. Went past it. Another empty one. Went past it again. What the hell is wrong with this train? Where are all the girls that were supposed to be inside? Yes, I am not fit for a half-an-hour big and pure love, but don't I at least have a right to enjoy this mess of a trip?

I didn't find anyone in the empty wagon, so I occupied another empty compartment and tried to take a nap. What, since I don't have anything to read, with all the books being mailed to Hogwarts, I should just gaze out the window the whole time?

But the noise on the platform wasn't getting quieter, with those gingers, led by the screeching fattie appearing on the platform. Human larvae took another volume record and the damn locomotive started whistling and honking.

This train left me no other options other than training the already boring as hell magic. My magic is very repetitive, telekinesis and transportation, with some colorful dreams if I manage to fall asleep. I trained transportation by levitating to places, dreams - at night, and telekinesis by juggling cards, just like every self-respecting charlatan. I couldn't yet hold all the cards, only if thinking about them as one object – a deck. I shuffled them with the wand, build card houses and with each day understood better and better that I am doing nothing useful. FUCKING NOTHING.

On the one hand, there were some results from all the training and I was learning my limits. For example, I can control items that weight two-three kilos and maximum of nine items not bigger than a matchbox. And that's it, nothing useful, not a single experience point.

The experience is such fucking bullshit, by the way. I went out for a run two weeks ago and met a couple of English street thugs. Always thought that they were supposed to be all like: 'Siiir, would you mind sharing a couple of pounds with us gentlemen?'. The reality, however, was rough and almost indistinguishable from the similar thugs of my previous life.

I considered it appropriate to tell them in what type of relationships their fathers were involved and got myself a metal rod from the nearest trash pile with telekinesis. So, when the gentlemen were picking up their teeth, I clenched the rod in my hands and smiled with satisfaction at the pop-up:

Experience points: 1.

After finding some other enthusiasts of aggressive poverty and fixing their faces I found… fucking nothing. At all. No experience. On the next group too. And on the next ones.

Yep, this is 'World of Darkness' alright – no farming allowed.

Then one of the groups called some serious people to help fighting me. One, to be more precise, he was seventeen years old and was so fat, as if he was one of the pigs on a common English Martha's farm. Then I was forced to run a little, knocking out the following chasers with bricks from time to time and, when only the big pig was left, decided that it's time to dance a little.

"Hey you, abortion victim, gonna shake kids for money again?"

"Fuck you, bitch." The big guy spat.

A thick board immediately hit him in the ribs.

"Friend, I'm not in a hurry, and you have whole twenty-four uninjured ribs, not even mentioning the teeth. So, are your reprobates going to pick on the small eleven-year-old with glasses anymore?"

"You are fucked, fa…" Didn't finish that one. Yep, because of the board. "Alright, alright! We never saw you!" He finally snapped.

"Well, that's wonderful. Bye, friend."

After leaving the alleyway, I rejoiced at another pop-up:

Experience points: 1.

I am a very smart boy, so I decided to put my two experience points into the first 'Occultism' dot.

And then the thrice-fucked system gave me this:

Not enough trait practice to invest experience points. Try developing other traits.

So now I have four experience points, which I can spend only on the stuff I train. I had two whole weeks to read some shitty schoolbooks and finally get myself the first 'Occultism' dot, but… The school books are full of excrements instead of information. I couldn't force myself to read more than 10 pages out of each one, except the "Fantastical Beasts' by Newt Salamander.

That Salamander seems to be a good survivalist, because the book is written like a study guide, but with specific examples from Salamander's own life. I like books that not only explain how a bird looks and where it lives, but also how to cook it in marching conditions.

I also found the name of the kind scar-leaving man while reading all that wastepaper: it's Voldemort. Wow, calling your son that. I just can't help but imagine two babies lying in a crib with the mother leaning over them: 'You, my son, I name Voldemort. And you, my daughter, I name Gonorrhea.'

Or maybe Voldemort isn't a name of an infectious disease? I don't remember.

I got distracted by the granny with a trolley, that was selling sweets and candy. Nah, thanks, I'm not hungry.

So, here I am, sitting and thinking about how I can spend my experience points, because I don't have enough to invest in Paths, and spending them on something else… Well, I can spend them on 'Brawl', 'Etiquette' and 'Intimidation'. Badass mages don't fight with their fists, 'Etiquette' can go and rotate on my certain body part, and the 'Intimidation'… I'm kind of a local hero with a good reputation and all that. Why should I ruin such a start by being too good at scaring people?

I can also get something new. After that scuffle with the urchins I can get myself 'Fencing', I think, but it's the same situation as with 'Brawl' – proper mages don't do such silly things. Until they are in a pinch, that is.

Alright, let them hang for a while, I'll think off something. Might even get more and spend on some attacking magic… or at 'Manipulating', he-he.

My thoughts were interrupted by a bushy girl, who stuck their head into my compartment.

"Have you seen a toad? Nevill lost his toad and I am helping to find it."

And this is where I understood that the prize for the most awkward introduction gets this one right here.

"Nah, haven't seen one."

"Why are you alone?" She looked over the compartment and then noticed the shuffling cards. "Oh, so you are doing magic here? Good! I also tried a little at home and now can cast some simple spells."

She sat on the opposite seat and drew her wand.

"Lumos!" The wand started glowing. "Nox!"

And nothing happened.

"Uh, it happens sometimes." The girl said, before trying again. "Nox!"

She finally managed to turn off the light and introduced herself:

"My name is Hermione Granger, and you are..?"

"Harry. You were looking for a toad, right?"

"Oh, right, Nevill!" She immediately stood up and ran away.

I already said that I don't like children, right? Well, those like Hermione are one of the reasons. There are only a handful of worse ones: rich, arrogant brats who cover behind their parents' backs from any responsibility and jealous fucktards, hanging out with a local leader and hoping that in such a company they won't look like complete losers. I hope there aren't that many of these in the school.

The train, by the way, started slowing down, which meant that we finally arrived. Well, where's the guy who'll turn me into an archmage?

But, of course, we weren't at school yet. We needed to march in darkness, then swim across the lake and only then we saw IT. An enormous castle on the lake's cliff made into a palace. I want it. I'll either buy or conquer it. That's my plan for the next thirty-forty years.

We disembarked on the pier right into the castle. I don't know how this type of architectural show-offiness is called, but a part of the castle was in the lake itself, forming a nice dock. After some walking, Hagrid – he was the one who walked us all this way – entrusted us to a woman in a green bathrobe and pointy hat. Alright, stop, need to get used to it – it's a cloak, not a bathrobe.

Her face was thin and practically screaming that its owner is hellbent on rules and laws. Wonderful people like her are ready to whip you for missing an urn with your candy wrapper, but don't mind legalized violence, total control over society, torture during interrogations, burning at stakes for the sake of their Chu… Ahem. The last one probably isn't for her. But her face perfectly fits for everything else!

She introduced herself as Minerva McGonagall, the deputy headmistress, and Hogwarts' head Griffindor… which is a house, I think. As I said, schoolbooks didn't cut it for me.

And then some ghosts appeared. I endured their entrance stoically, although, let me tell you, it's usually a good reason to shit yourself.

You see, ghosts are not just spirits of the dead. They are fucking maniacs with schizophrenia and split personality. They got hellbent on something – or someone - during life and now their passion makes them really dangerous and unpredictable bastards. For example, Ghost (main personality) of a judge, who was caught and executed for taking bribes by a blonde executioner might dream about killing that blondie, but not remember how he looked and just attacking all blonde people. Or he might be hating bribes and corruption and attack criminals who are guilty of it… or feel 'compassion' and protect them. Like I said – unpredictable bastards.

The worst part is – they have a split personality. And all the stuff I described above is the good guy in the duo, because, aside from Ghost, there is also Shadow.

Shadow is an ugly fucker, who honestly, from the bottom of his heart likes to inflict pain, kill, terrify people, all that stuff. He sits in the Ghost's head and tells him what to do. To make it easier: Ghost is Sandman, bringing drugged dreams and hallucinations, while Shadow is Freddy Krueger.

Well, things usually aren't so bad, because Ghost knows about Shadow and fights him, but sometimes the bad guy gets in control and the 'good' one can't do anything about it.

That's when things get hot.

Because Ghosts are almost invincible in the world of the living. They can turn invisible… No, not that, more like they can become visible for some time. And also because Shadow won't give up control over the 'dead' body without a fight.

Ghosts, of course, are not that strong by… well, by any standards, except normal people's. That, however, is overcompensated by invincibility, invisibility, unpredictability, and insanity.

Do you understand now why I wasn't happy at all to see two dozens of these guys entering through walls?

They were discussing forgiveness and another chance of someone called Peeves, who, judging by their behaviour wasn't here at the moment. One of them, a fat monk-lookalike, insisted that they should forgive Peeves, while his opponent, who looked like helmless Don Quixote, argued against it.

"What are you doing here?" One of them finally noticed us.

"Trying to remember the requiem mass, guys," I mumbled under breath. Yes, the monk one heard me and shivered. That's good, that might be useful.

"These are the new students, Nicolas. They are waiting for sorting." Rustled a bearded man with pink, as if bloodied or burned, hands.

"Baron." Don Quixote nodded to him.

"Go away." Minerva McGonagall finally arrived from behind us. "The sorting ceremony has almost started."

The huge gates opened, revealing to us a proportionally big hall, filled with students, a breach into Umbra, the teachers' table, Hagrid… A BREACH INTO UMBRA?!

The whole fucking ceiling was one big night sky. A whole ceiling. Indoors. A real night sky. Yeah, sure, real enough, but with alien constellations. I really hope that this is an illusion and not what I think it is because sitting anywhere near a breach into Umbra is like roasting steaks on a nuclear reactor.

Umbra… The combination of all worlds. Worlds like ours and worlds like fairy tales, worlds of the dead and Plato's perfect worlds, dream worlds and death worlds. Everything you, him and someone else can imagine. The only thing that unites them is the fact that even the very strong supernatural creatures need to be especially careful out there…

Nevermind eleven-year-old students.

It most likely an illusion, I think. Nobody would create such a thing in a school. The creators would've been fucked over by anyone who would've learned about it. But the thing looks like a very, very real alien night sky… Totally an illusion.

Meanwhile, the hall was a one big kiddy party. Somewhere in the middle people sang songs, with over people banging heads accordingly. Then McGonagall started reading our names from the list, called out children walked over to the hat, it screamed out their house and the children went to their tables.

"Harry Potter!"

While I was walking to the hat, the hall was full of whispers: 'It's him!', 'Potter? Did she say Potter?' and the like. Looks like I won't be able to hide in a crowd, huh.

I took the hat, which most likely saw all the ancient times and all the ancient moths. I sat on the chair and put it on my head. The voice in my mind appeared right away:

"Mmhm, Potter. It was so long since I saw the last of you. Oh, you sure impress me! So much fury! But also many talents and ambitions… Where should I send you, Harry Potter?"

"Can you show me all of 'em?"

"Ahem, what?" The Hat sounded surprised.

"What are the houses? Differences, features?"

"You don't know? That's surprising."

"Nah, I don't give a fuck."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Because now I am interested. Come on, stop taking the piss and tell me already."

The hat grew silent, deep in thought. However, a couple of seconds later, it sighed and started talking:

"Griffindor, the house of brave and daring, who hate injustice and oppression, ready to even ignore the rules for doing what's right. Ravenclaw, the house of the scholars, who treasure theory and research above all else. Slytherin, the house of politicians and schemers, who in their pursuit of power and status achieve surprising results. And Hufflepuff, the house of those who, while not eager to show-off their talents, are kind and hardworking."

A good choice, be all they fucked by three dozens of homosexual bulls. So, you mean I need to choose out of…

"The houses of brainless adrenaline junkies, head-in-the-clouds bookworms, smart-assed political talkers and professional losers?"

"Well, when you turn it all like that… Yeah, it doesn't sound too good." The Hat sighed. "But still, which one do you want to join?"

"With choices like these send me where the girls are prettier."

"Aren't you a bit too young for that, Harry Potter?"

"Hat, I am going to spend ten…"

"Seven,"

"…years here, so I'm not in a hurry. Send me to the flower shop!"

"Then it's either Griffindor or Hufflepuff. Slender girls are in the first, curvy in the second. I like me some butterballs, I'd join Hufflepuff."

"Nah, Hat, we have different tastes. Send me to Griffindor."

"Looks like that, yes." The Hat sighed again. "Still, happy that you have decided. GRIFF…"

"Wait! Hat, one more question."

"What is it?"

I looked from under the Sorting Hat and on the ceiling. Again. Couldn't not ask.

"Is this an illusion or a window to Umbra?"

The Hat hiccuped and answered in a dead voice:

"How do you kn… I mean, of course, it's an illusion! Hah, Umbra! Making up words…"

Lies, I don't doubt that even for a second. The Hat knows what Umbra is and our ceiling is just what I didn't want to see. Bloody wonderful.

"Okay, Hat, thank you."

"GRYFFINDOR!" It yelled loudly.

The thunderous applause struck, everyone was screaming something happy, a couple of firecrackers exploded. Huh, other reactions were milder. Sometimes it feels good to be the national hero!

I sat at (now) my table, people at which were screaming 'Potter's with us!' and waited for the end of Sorting Ceremony. That Nicolas ghost was circling around our table and obviously tried to get some attention. Well, why not?

"Nicolas?"

"Harry Potter, if I am not mistaken?"

"Not mistaken. Say, Nicolas, how do you live with your own Mister Hide in the castle full of children?"

"What are you talking about?"

Meanwhile, the Sorting has already ended and Headmaster gave a short speech:

"I would like to say a few words on this wonderful evening. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you for your attention, feel free to dine!" With a wave of his hand, the tables became full of food. Fucking amazing! Can he materialize dynamite in the same way?

I totally made the right decision.

While we were eating, the ghost again asked for my attention.

"So, what did you mean, Harry Potter?"

"You know, I'm thinking what your Shadow thinks about children and what teachers think about it."

"Shadow? Ghosts don't have shadows, Harry." The ginger boy on the side piped in. "My name's Ron, nice to meet you!"

The ghost's eyes, however, widened, but he didn't show any other emotions.

"If you want to talk about such bizarre topics, Harry Potter, then I don't think it's a good table talk. Maybe we will continue it next time." And with that Nicolas disappeared into the floor.

"Harry, do you really have that, uh… you know…" The boy was still talking, but I was thinking about something else.

The very first hour in Hogwarts showed me a window into Umbra, about which nobody knows that it is a window into Umbra, and ghosts, about which nobody knows not only about shadows, but doesn't even consider dangerous.

What an interesting place.

Experience points:2.

Total experience points: 6.

Bland Eggplant · Mar 8, 2020

So, after spending in Hogwarts one month, I understood that I need to get the hell off this ship. They teach nothing fucking useful. We do the same stuff again and again, turning matchboxes into mice and back. I usually don't have any gripes with regular training, but for fuck's sake, it must at least do something good for me! Why the fuck would I need to know how to levitate a book if I already can do that?

I mean, there's no increase in difficulty, no explanation of subtle nuances, nothing. There is educational material, which a professor gives us according to schedule and without any accordance with the group's successes, there are workbooks, that trash we bought at Diagon Alley, and there is a theoretical part, which is usually a pile of handwritten texts in the library, which were created somewhen in XV century. I love me some texts on the 'ye olde Inglesh', written by some illiterate apprentice under the dictation of an old farter.

In other words, the library is well-stocked, but reading anything in there is impossible, so fuck it.

I also looked on the upper years' materials and… yep, same shit, but with more spells. If I understand correctly, spells are a special, smart-assed way to replace the Paths of Sorcery. If you can read minds – then, if you try and twist your brain cells a bit, you'll be able to erase memories of some loser, the spell is 'Obliviate'.

The Paths themselves, by the way, are mentioned too, but briefly and rarely. Like, if you 'wingardium' every 'leviosa' you can find, then it'll be easier to summon things and disarm people - related spells and all that. A group of such spells is labeled Path of a Sorcerer. Is it just a different approach or they mistook the cause for effect?

Hell if I know, and those 'olde' texts aren't helping at all.

Anyway, I decided to stay in Hogwarts until I read all the good books in the library. You might think that it'll take a long time, but no, I can comfortably read at best one book out of ten. I am not talking about the rest being hard to understand, but about battered pages, smudges, writer's mistakes and other stuff like that. I think it'll take me seven months if I won't give up and get out sooner.

Seriously, it's impossible to read this shit.

And, of course, the fucking children annoy me all the time. No, I could've pretended to be a broom with clothes on and hid in dark places… for some time, at least. But no, I'm the local hero and superstar, so the human larvae stuck to me like shady officials to the government budget.

I have three main admirers: spoiled fascist Draco Malfoy, that clingy nerd Hermione Granger, and THAT GUY. Fucking Ronald Weasley. The first time I said that it's nice to meet him, but asked to not bother me. The second time I told him to go in places, that are dark as cosmos, but fleshy and much tighter. The third time I punched out some of his teeth… And the motherfucker returned two hours later, showing off his new ones. Freshly grown white teeth, accompanied by rotten yellow ones, look really fucking disgusting by the way.

What has he done next? Tried to become friends with me. Again. This shit is just beyond my understanding.

They forced me to clean up toilets after that, by the way. Without magic. Oh, sorry, I wanted to say 'without wand', so my magic worked just fine, I only got tired. Suck on that, Hogwarts!

Granger annoyed not only me but everyone else too. She always knew how to do things right. Still, there weren't any problems when she was occupied by someone else and not looked at you, so… A local crazy, but still bearable.

Well, now about the fascist. He himself is a scrawny guy, looks like it's his pride that grows, instead of his body. But he has two boar-like bodyguards that always follow him around, Crabbe and Goyle from the first year and that stops me from talking with Malfoy properly. And I needed to talk to him since the guy completely lost all limits – you see, he'd take care of me, teach me how to judge characters right and all that other 'buy our booklets and burn muggleborns at winter' shit.

Did I tell about muggleborns already? These are people, whose parents are muggles, not wizards.

Although, while the dog barks – the elephant keeps walking. Fuck Malfoy. The most important thing is not to go prison for killing Weasley, the blondie, at least, isn't that loud.

Ah, one more thing. Fucking Snape. The fucker teaches potion-making, alchemy, and all that stuff. So, on the very first lesson, he really annoyed all of us by the 'brainless animals' comments and by fucking with me personally. And then he proved that we are, indeed, brainless animals, when one of the cauldrons exploded, with droplets falling into the second one and exploding it too, then someone spilled the third one in panic… Great party that was, yeah.

So, it wasn't surprising when on the second lesson all people sit quiet and brew by the book, to end up with passable soups in the end? And yet, that was rewarded:

Alchemy: +1.

Alchemy: 1.

Fucking Snape. Would've kissed him if he was a woman. Still, we didn't know any receipts back then, but damn, it felt good.

Other professors weren't that impressive. McGonagall teaches us how to transfigure stuff. In my opinion, transfiguration is kinda useless, since all transformations are temporary. Very temporary. It also takes a long time to do them. Learning that crap… Only if you love the art.

Flitwick teaches us enchantments and summoning/telekinesis. Cool, but he left enchantments to the year's end, and I already know telekinesis.

Hooch, she is a local coach, teaches us how to fly. At first, for beginners – on brooms, but I already can fly without those, so… Nothing interesting here too.

Herbology is just gardening, Defense against Dark Arts – is a mix of self-defense lessons and kiddy parties. Thanks to professor Quirrel for us being unable to defend ourselves even against a monkey. I remember thinking about how Quirrel will teach me about fighting vampires on equal ground… yeah, sure. Didn't really want to anyway, if I can't do that with magic – I'll do that with old, reliable firearms.

Alright, all that above isn't that important. What really interested me was that hole into Umbra, under which we ate every day.

Firstly, the sky in the Dining Hall copies our, real sky with good accuracy. I mean, weather and time of day usually were the same. Secondly, sometimes, very rarely, unknown creatures appeared in there, you could've mistaken them for ripples on the illusion if you weren't looking for them specifically. Spirits? Looks like it. It's a pity that I know about Umbra only in general terms. The creatures don't see us and never tried getting to us anyway.

Thirdly, a small stone that I levitated in there disappeared and fell somewhere to the side. And fourthly – everyone in the castle is sure that this is 'an illusion, created by the Four Founders'. I wanted to talk with the hat about it, but I have no idea where to find it. Ghosts refuse to talk to me, it's almost funny. Even some upper years walk with me occasionally, because Peeves 'avoids the Great Light's Hope' and 'is afraid of me'. Idiots.

My day is simple: wake up, tell Weasley to fuck off, eat breakfast, tell Weasley to fuck off, sit in classes, tell Weasley to fuck off, eat lunch, tell Weasley to fuck off, hopelessly look for ghosts for half-an-hour, tell Malfoy to fuck off, tell Granger to fuck off, tell some random fans to fuck off, tell Weasley to fuck off, read in the library for a couple of hours, eat dinner, tell Weasley to fuck off, go to sleep. Ah, yes, also wake up in the middle of the night because of snoring and, of course, it's Weasley.

I never thought that a ten-year-old brat can make me hate him so much.

After reading four books in the library, got a pop-up:

Occultism: +1.

Occultism: 1.

Getting a bit annoyed with the system. You see, I can't spend experience on a skill if I don't practice the skill enough, but if I practice it a lot – I get the skill point for free. I hope I wouldn't need to learn how to fight by reading books.

***

Malfoy and, of course, his entourage caught me in one of the dark corridors, in the middle of October. I was looking for ghosts. I mean, they must be hiding somewhere! And, for some reason, everyone I asked didn't know anything about them, as if not being interested at all in dangerous undead flying around.

"I gave you enough time to think, Potter. Do you accept my proposal?" The blondie muttered through clenched teeth and extended his hand to me, looking as if he was doing me a huge favor.

"Mister Goyle, mister Crabbe." I said to his bodyguards. "Why are two such respectable gentlemen always spend time in the company of this hysteric woman? People might start having bad thoughts."

The Left One and The Right One looked at each other and grinned. It seems that my attitude towards the blondie was appealing to them. They didn't answer though.

"How dare you, Potter?! Guys, come on…"

"Be quiet, miss, serious people are talking here. We'll discuss your new peignoir later." Draco wasn't an idiot and was more than able to snap back, so I didn't wait and kept talking with his nannies. "Guys, let's do it this way. I'll beat your face in with my fists one at a time and we'll decide who's the real man and who undresses in men's room by mistake."

Two Slytherins looked at each other again. While Draco was gathering enough air for a proportionate answer, Crabbe stepped forward. He was the bigger one.

"Guys, what are you doing? Beat him together, why…"

"Draco. Go look out the window for a moment." Goyle gave him a piece of advice.

Whew, that was close. They will come up one at a time. Of course, it would've been possible to accept the 'generous Slytherin's proposal', but licking blondie's ass… Nah, screw that.

Alright, now about the brawl. Seven experience points, 'Brawl:1', 'Dodge:3'. Thankfully, I practiced with gopnics before school, so I can spend some experience.

Invest four experience points into 'Brawl', the skill now equals 2. Thank you, system, I love you once again.

We removed our cloaks and demonstratively put wands near them, standing in shirts.

"Well, Johnny, let's dance?"

I predicted his first punch correctly. Crabbe is a big guy, so dodging, dodging and then counter-attacking. That was then I understood all the wisdom of Multiple Actions mechanic. I mean, dodging and striking back at the same time is very fucking difficult. But that's okay, light punches at liver and kidneys should be enough.

Fights weren't so difficult in the previous life! Although, I didn't dodge that good back then too.

At some point, I missed the punch to my ribs. Stupid, stupid, arms must protect that area!..

Four dice for damage. Four damage points. Three damage points absorbed by Stamina roll.

Health: 6/7/7 (Bruises).

Thanks, but now's not the time! And it's 'pain', not 'bruises'!

Finally, after two more strikes, I finally put the human maypole down. Fuuuck, if his every punch is as heavy, then I'm really happy I missed only that one.

After recovering a bit, Crabbe nodded to me and, leaning at the wall, walked to his cloak. Yeah, bastard, take that!

Meanwhile, Goyle removed his cloak too. Wiry guy, rather quick, he is almost like me, but two inches taller. This is going to be interesting.

Goyle was a thin and nimble guy, his broken nose and unevenly healed brow clearly showed that this eleven-year-old wasn't a stranger to fighting. And the first hit to my face showed that he knows how to punch correctly.

Five dice for damage. Four damage points. Two damage points absorbed by Stamina roll.

Health: 3/7/7 (Wounds: -2 dice for rolls).

After that one I started feeling dizzy. He hit the jaw, now know what kind of liquid runs from my lip. Well, here it comes, fuckface!

Spending a Willpower point. During the turn ignore all dice penalties.

Willpower: 9/10.

I go on the offensive and grab his arm. He hits me in the head one more time, it doesn't connect properly, but it still punched out one more health level. Eyes started seeing bad red dots, sight became even blurrier. But I still managed to punch him in the nose.

I was holding his hand and he himself was too disoriented to react in time.

Spending a Willpower point. During the turn ignore all dice penalties.

Willpower: 8/10.

Take that! Actions are dispersed during the turn, and the slytherin can be proud of his split brow. The second blow comes at the cheekbone, but that doesn't matter 'cause I knocked the guy out. This time Goyle didn't strike back. Although, to be honest, he could've kicked the shit out of me.

Fuuuck, after his punches (2/7/7 (Wounds: -2 to dice for rolls)) legs were really failing me. Goyle is a fucking badass. Pity that he's a 'wizard', could've grown up a proper human.

Slowly, trying not to fall, I sat on the floor. Oh shit, I don't feel so good… But I think I'm recovering. Would've been nice to sleep it off or get a painkiller.

With my blurred vision, I noticed the approaching figure with a fuzzy white spot where the head should be. Of course, it's the fascist…

"What, Potty, isn't so spirited anymore?"

The fucker kicked me in the ribs!

Two dice for damage. One damage point. One damage point absorbed by Stamina roll.

Health: 2/7/7 (Wounds: -2 dice for rolls).

"Pha! Cough-cough…"

Not very eloquent, but I hope he got the part about his sexual orientation.

"Oh, Potty, I'm going to show you what happens when you ignore the Malfoy family…" The fascist promised and swung his leg again for another kick.

Spending a Willpower point. During the turn ignore all dice penalties.

Willpower: 7/10.

I block his leg with my hand. A stupid idea, really, but his legs… well, any fashion model would've either hanged herself out of jealousy or begged for the secret of his diet. The brat himself staggered because of his swing, I just needed to punch him in the thigh.

Malfoy fell on the corridor's floor with a scream.

"You muggle's spawn! I'll…" He tried to stand up, but Crabbe's heavy hand gripped his shoulder.

The guy himself didn't look so good either, but his face was emotionless as ever. Major respect.

"Draco, we are done here."

"Let me go, Crabbe, it's time to teach the shorty a lesson!"

"Hey! I'm still here!"

"We. Are. Done." Crabbe repeated one more time.

"But he's a griff!" Malfoy almost screeched.

The two looked at each other intensely a little more and the wimp finally gave up. Of course, he did, with such difference in sizes. Also, Goyle started coming to his senses, who, most likely, would've took his comrade's side.

The Slytherins started walking down the corridor, two fighters helping each other and the snivel muttering something about his daddy.

"Hey, gentlemen!" Crabbe and Goyle turned to me. "I hope it's not our last meeting? Your arguments seem very interesting to me!"

The two guys grinned.

"You talk too much." Goyle answered.

"I'll consider this a 'yes'," I muttered, looking at their backs.

After that, I quickly got to the tower. It's easy to do when you have a wand and can levitate. I could've done it even faster, but for some bloody reason, teleportation doesn't work in the castle… I also didn't want anyone to see me. Because then the fans would come and I'll need to crawl to the shower and scrub off their shit.

I lied on my bed under the baldachin and, for the first time since I got here, felt really good. What a lovely day that was!

Experience points:1.

Total experience points: 4.

***

The next morning wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. My head didn't hurt, there was no nausea and I was healthy like a bull. My stats showed (6/7/7 (Bruises)). You might ask what ruined the mood of such an awesome guy like me? Granger and Weasley, of course. Fuckers.

Weasley noticed the painting on my face in the morning, grinned like an asshole, and screamed so loud that the whole common room heard:

"BLI-MEY! Harry, who did that to you?!"

I mean, I'm pretty sure that he didn't mean anything bad. Gryffindors are mostly okay people, they can break someone's nose and don't stick their noses into others' business if they feel unwelcome. But Ron is an asshole, and assholes do everything through the one certain place. Even an innocent question.

"Harry Potter! What is the meaning of this?! YOU GOT INTO A FIGHT?!" It sounded from the side. She was here and she was unstoppable. Well, maybe with a good right hook, but I will, kind of, study here for some more time.

Granger screamed, Granger preached, Granger threatened me with loss of House points.

"Granger, fuck off. Forever. Go torture Longbottom, he doesn't mind it, just leave me the fuck alone."

People in the room, for some reason, looked at the blushing Longbottom. Well, at least he didn't deny it. Granger, for some reason, flushed and quickly walked away somewhere… Although, why 'somewhere'? The little bee of the Big Brother went to report me.

On my way to class I got caught by McGonagall, who read me a lecture about unacceptable behavior, but, without any witnesses of my fight with slytherins, only took points for swearing. I don't mind, she can take all of them.

Still, my mood was on the rise for the following two days. Yes, it never hurts to have a good fight. Of course, later I again hid my chic smile, but I already knew where I can blow off some steam, so it was alright.

Granger, by the way… She didn't really stop pestering me but became quieter. And I could've shat a huge load from the Astronomy Tower on her snorting in classes. She became calmer overall, I heard she cried a little in a toilet and decided to change herself… At least these were the rumors.

Anyway, Gryffindor breathed a little more freely, and who was the one to thank? The Vanquisher-Of-Dark-Lords-and-Nerdy-Little-Girls, who else.

Still, I couldn't find any ghosts. Noticed that every single one sometimes appears in the Dining Hall and looks at the ceiling. Feeds off it, maybe? They should be getting energy (including for life) from emotions, their own and others'. What does Umbra have to do with this?

Still, they were floating near the ceiling, almost touching the 'illusion' with their heads. And the ceiling is very high above, so they just pretended that didn't notice my attention.

It was getting funnier and funnier. Nearly-Headless-Nick, the famous Gryffindor ghost I saw on the 1st of September, that terrifyingly talkative dead man, abandoned any conversation and escaped through a wall every time I approached. Well, fine then. Didn't really want to.

Once I conquer the castle – I will force you to tell me everything you know.

And then I'll electrify the place.

***

Two more weeks passed by without anything interesting happening. Studying, library, attempts to ignite a candle with magic. The only thing that I got was useless sparks. Eh, it's alright. It's like making a moonshine – the most important part is not to hurry.

Still, under the heavy, annoyed and, later, pleading McGonagall's stare, I finally mastered Transfiguration's first dot.

Transfiguration: +1.

Transfiguration: 1.

Just as I thought, transfiguration turned out to be useless shit. Transformations worked only on non-alive objects and lasted maximum for an hour, with the objects themselves being not bigger than a fist. Yes, of course, this is only one dot out of five, and on later levels it might even be useful, but right now I need it like a boatswain needs lessons in sophisticated expression.

And then Halloween came and the castle got attacked by a troll.

I learned about it during dinner, when panicking Quirrel barged into the Dining Hall and, stuttering, told us about a horrifying danger – a troll in the dungeons – and lost consciousness. People started screaming and panicking, looking for emergency exits on this plain… That's when I understood that I don't understand anything.

The thing is, I know enough about trolls. Strong, gigantic, unshakable faeries, true to their words (although every fairy will not break their word without a dire need), serving their master like samurais and protecting them until the last drop of pathos. Still, they are very much sentient and even friendly most of the time. Why is everyone panicking?

I got interested, and when I am interested I go and learn whatever I want to know. Headmaster told everyone to go back to their dorms, and I started quietly waltzing towards the teachers. All five of them darlings went to the dungeons and I followed.

We were walking in the dungeons for about twenty minutes, as I listened to their discussion about trolls' stupidity. It turned out that the troll could've gotten into the castle only by some miracle, that he must be far away from us since we aren't sensing any smell… Were they really talking about a troll?

At some point, Dumbledore stopped the professors:

"You know, my friends, the whole case might be not only about the troll."

"What do you mean, Headmaster?"

"I mean, Minnie, that we were walking down here for twenty minutes, without access to monitoring talismans. Anyone could've gotten to the third floor undetected."

Five wizards looked at each other.

"Severus, please, check on Fluffy. If you notice something suspicious – send us a Patronus immediately."

"And what about us, Albus?" Flitwick asked.

"We will split up, Filius. You and Pomona will check the dungeons, with me and Minerva checking the upper floor. Maybe we got mistaken somewhere and this is a very cunning troll…" They smirked. "…who somehow snuck past us. If something happens – send Patronuses."

"Headmaster, I am afraid that it isn't my specialty. I was never good at DADA, so I can't cast the Patronus charm." Pomona confessed.

"Mmhm… Then try with house-elves. They aren't as brave and strong as Patronus, but in our situation, this is the best possible solution. Be careful."

Headmaster with McGonagall headed in the same direction as Snape. Well, if love then the queen herself! Obviously, following the strongest sorcerer around is the best idea, with all other parameters being equal.

We checked floor after floor, with Headmaster calmly talking with the head Gryffindor, and, on the second floor in the middle of a corridor, the professors found the troll. To be honest, I didn't recognize him.

He was at least two and a half meters tall, with small horns on his head, carrying a giant club and because of that looked even bigger. Rough gray hide looked very tough even from a distance. The face looked so dumb, that I didn't even want to swear. Rags and a horrible smell finished the already terrible picture.

Noble faeries, who value duty and honor above all else? That shop cheated me, I want to return the merchandise. What the hell is wrong with this troll?

Meanwhile, Dumbledore, without holding back, simply collapsed the stone ceiling on the giant's head and then, with a wave of the wand, repaired it all back. Hell, this is damn impressive magic. Not worse than Amayak Akopyan. Troll too did enjoy the focus very much, so much in fact, that he lied down to think about what he just saw. Well, he looked alive, at least.

Snape appeared from the other end of the corridor. It looked like a good time to get out of there since I already watched the show. I'll be just like troll - I'll lie down and think about.

And there were things to think about. Trolls, who degraded almost to the dinosaurs' state. He didn't even try to use magic, just rushed at the grandpa with his club. Redcaps, who aren't even redcaps, but are respectable goblin-bankers. Ghosts, who aren't being feared and who look out into Penumbra for long periods of time. Something is wrong in this kingdom.

Well, since ghosts don't want to talk with me, I'll try the other way. Looks like the old geezer put some security on the third floor, probably for something important. Yeah, it's scary in how many places a man might be willing to go just to get his hands on an ancient magical castle.

Experience points: 2.

Total experience points: 5.

Bland Eggplant · Mar 11, 2020

I'm a badass, maybe a bit too badass sometimes. But a giant, elephant-sized three-headed dog – that's too much even for me. Let's start from the beginning, though.

Beardy the Clever calmed people down and ensured that he will find the responsible one, punish the innocent and reward the uninvolved. And, on the very next night, I started looking for a way to get into that corridor on the third floor, where the headmaster keeps his false teeth.

I mean, there must be a reason why the corridor is called 'forbidden', right?

At night, you need to move quickly, because the castle is patrolled by all kinds of unpleasant people: Snapes, Filches, and cats, just to name a few. As it recently turned out, also, sometimes, the castle is patrolled by trolls. Although, to be honest, I'm having it easier than other people – Peeves tries to not show himself around me and flies away.

In one way or the other, I got to the third floor and immediately got blocked by a locked wooden door. It was massive, made of oak and reinforced with iron, with sturdy hinges. Looks like my favorite breaking and entering method ain't gonna work here.

Naturally, I was forced to turn around and go back to catch some sleep. The next day I spent in the library, specifically looking for a way to deal with the door. And, surprisingly, there was such a way. The spell was called 'Alohomora' and was used to open non-magical locks, cost – 2 experience points. Ugh… Alright, this one seems useful. Of course, there always was an option to train it until I turn blue, and maybe I would've even learned it on my own, but I don't want to get too greedy with experience points.

But, still, to open magical locks, I needed to know the art of 'unweaving' spells. Flitwick promised to teach that in the second semester. Let's hope that the lock isn't magical.

***

The second try was more successful. In the corridor, I pointed my wand at the door and cast the spell (feel like an idiot doing that. It's like saying 'Abrakadabra', hoping for an effect.), the lock clicked and the door opened. Before me was a dark, empty room with a pile of rugs and pillows dropped near one of the walls. The only interesting thing in the room was a large trapdoor in the middle. It didn't look too big or locked, so, I spit on my palms and started pulling up the ring.

The trapdoor opened easily and I already started thinking that I'll just simply jump down when someone growled over my ear.

I turned back and immediately understood that I need to do something with my fucking short-sightedness, if, of course, I won't turn into fertilizer today. What I previously thought was a pile of pillows was, in fact, a little bit more alive. A dog. A huge three-headed dog. Fuckhuge dog.

And it wasn't happy to see me.

"Are you kidding me…"

It rushed forward, rapidly closing the distance. Atta beastie! It must stand guard on my castle's gates and not sit alone in a small room!

I got saved by the 'movement' magic. Allows me to move three meters almost instantly, especially with a wand. Yeah, I'm quick and awesome, just small and half-blind.

But now I got a good look at the beastie. Three heads, each one of a different breed, small eyes look at me warily, a thin thread of saliva hangs from one maw. I can fit my whole body in its jaws, nevermind huge yellow fangs. One of those can pierce me right through, a pair will tear me into two small, uneven Potters.

The creature closed the trapdoor with its tail. Alright, gotcha, smart beastie, very smart! And I, as luck would have it, left the 'Victory Arms' in the dorm and only had Petunia's knife with me. I needed to get out, but couldn't, because between me and the door stood… What's it's name? Fluffy? The grandpa has a good sense of humor.

The dog rushed at me again, I moved to the left, but the beast got a good intuition – it twisted and managed to get me with one of its paws. Hey! I loved that shoulder, you fucking collar!

Five dice for damage. Three damage points. Lethal damage cannot be absorbed.

Health: 4/4/7 (Traumas: -1 dice for rolls).

Still, it was my chance. Movement! Didn't turn out too well – I flew right into the frame and fell on the other side. The blunt force hit right at my injured hand.

Health: 3/4/7 (Wounds: -2 dice for rolls).

The dog already tried to push one of its head through the doorframe, growling angrily, greedily. Fuck it! I'm already out, I only need to close the bloody door.

Willpower: 9/10.

Mana: 0/2.

Telekinesis smashed the door into the beastie's nose so hard that it got pushed back. One more wave – and the door closes. ]

"Argh, you fucker…" I growled, caressing the shoulder. It bled enough to leave the marks on the floor.

I leaned against the wall with my healthy shoulder and took off the shirt. Nobody taught me how to dress wounds, but I just need to stop the bleeding for now. Then I'll deal with it somehow.

After pressing the shirt to the floor with my foot, I started cutting it with the healthy hand. I just need a small piece of fabric, the Gryffindors with their amazing perception will not notice anything. Besides, none of these magical degenerates knows how muggle clothing looks.

The cut wasn't pretty, but it should've been enough. I tightened the improvised bandage with teeth, but it still looked pretty askew even in my amateur opinion. Bandaging the shoulder by yourself is still very uncomfortable. Then I started thinking.

I'm alone and that's good – no one will run and tell Headmaster. I also didn't bleed too much… on the floor, I mean, my clothing was bloodied alright. After covering the stains with some dust, I decided that won't do much better anyway. Next on the list, I am wounded and I can't ask the local medic to help me. I can't just say to her: 'Hey, I just tried to get into your boss' safe and got in a fight with his elepug, can I get some aspirin and stitches?', I need to do something about this.

But what? I need drugs and they all are in the medical wing. I can't wait and plan, only have this night. I clenched my teeth and, swearing, started shambling to the stairs. Let's hope I won't meet Snape on my way.

Hogwarts at night is a very interesting place. Before this, I always went through the corridors quickly and quietly, helping myself with levitation and movement. But that night I didn't have enough strength to do the same, so I was forced to enjoy the selection of wonderful sounds: screeching of a door on the upper floor, rustling of tapestry on the draft, howling of the wind in between floors. If I didn't know that the ghosts are avoiding me – would've become worried.

Ah, fuck, twisted the arm the wrong way. It started bleeding again.

Now, the medical wing must be around the corner. I wonder if Pomfrey spends nights in there or not? On the one hand, the closer she is to the sick – the faster she reacts to accidents. On the other, I noticed many times that wizards are lazy and illogical assholes. She can easily sleep in the other room or at another wing entirely. Although, better not to count on it and think that she is here.

But she needs to sleep too, so I must be quiet.

The door wasn't locked – chances that she is here just rose, but the medical wing itself is dark and empty. After looking the room over, I got a jackpot – there were several medicine cabinets, standing near the right wall, and on the opposite side was another door, likely leading to Pomfrey's room. Well, ain't gonna wake her up.

When I finally approached the cabinets, I understood that God hates me. The scribblings on the labels were too small for me to read in the darkness, especially with my shit eyesight. I spent some time looking for candles or lanterns and I did find one candle, but it was almost useless – there was nothing to ignite it with. All those fucking wizards used wands instead of lighters and matchsticks. Why couldn't I do the same? Because I still couldn't ignite anything with my wand!

Although, I didn't have much of a choice. I was getting light-headed and started feeling cold. No, my dear boney one, I am not going to lose consciousness near a cabinet full of medicine!

I pointed the wand at the candle-wick and concentrated, remembering that sensation of light and warmth. Nothing.

Willpower: 8/10.

Nothing.

Willpower: 7/10.

Nothing.

I was getting angry. Very angry. All those fucking wizards can light up a candle, why the fuck can't I?!

Willpower: 6/10.

Again!

Willpower: 5/10.

The wick began to smoke, like all went-out candles do. Instead of lighting up, you went out, without even any flames?! Again!

Willpower: 4/10.

A small flame appeared for a second on the very end of the candle-wick… and quickly caught fire.

Path of Fiend Fire: +1.

Path of Fiend Fire: 1.

Experience points: 0.

YES! Eat that! I am a fucking badass, ha!

Under the dim candlelight, I started reading the labels: 'Skele-Gro', 'Laggerius' Remedy', 'Aconitic Antidote', 'Blood-Replenishing Potion', 'Lazarin Tincture', Bubotuber Ointment', 'Medical Spirit', 'Gravewort Extract', etc. Out of all that I only knew about the 'Spirit' one, so it was the only disinfectant available. I also got very interested in the 'Blood-Replenishing Potion', maybe it was just what I needed? I wonder how it's used?

I undressed my improvised bandage and examined the wound. Nothing good there. I need either stitches, magic, or… fuck knows what, I can't do either. What a fucking mess. Alright, gotta solve the problems in a certain order.

I opened the bottle with alcohol, took a deep breath and poured some on the wound.

Mother of God, cross my heart and eat omelets until I die! It's even worse than I remember from my previous life! Although, yeah, back then it wasn't me who took care of wounds, but medics. But I didn't scream, yes, so the Pomfrey is still sleeping.

I don't need her to be awake.

Willpower:3/10.

I stood up and shambled to a table, to shuffle through its contents. Found a good, proper bandage. That's good, I was looking for it. Now I can make a better dressing.

After wrapping my shoulder, I got all 'my stuff', took a long gulp out of the 'blood-replenisher' (hoping that it's the potion I need) and shambled back to my tower. Surprisingly, I didn't meet a single patroller that night. No Filch, no Snape, no prefects… no one. Am I that lucky? Wouldn't have said that, with how this night turned out to be.

In the tower, I burned the bandages and bloodied shirt in the fireplace. I have enough of those and I don't need any questions from local maids… or whoever keeps this place clean.

Before falling asleep, I thought that this whole raid wasn't such an asshole of failure: I learned about the beast who guards the grandpa's treasure and also confirmed that the treasure is important enough to warrant such security in the first place. I also learned that the grandpa isn't the only one who considers it important – he was afraid that somebody will steal it. The only thing I didn't learn – if I even need it.

I am not going back to that dog until I learn what it guards. But Dumbie, I am very, very interested in whatever gathers dust in your cupboard!

Willpower: 4/10.

Experience points: 3.

Bland Eggplant · Mar 12, 2020

I woke up later than others, and, of course, because of Ron. I really wanted to punch him in the nose as a reminder that we are not friends, but the pain in the injured shoulder stopped me. Yeah, no sudden movements for me. At least, for some time.

I felt like shit the whole next week. No sudden movements, no proper concentration. I don't give a shit about House points, but being nagged by a half-meter short sack just feels kinda bad. The shoulder took its time to heal, but, thankfully, there was no infection. Nobody even noticed. I was forced to sleep in T-shirts, but there were no suspicions about the break-in into Headmaster's secret stash.

Meanwhile, Sherlock-in-me was on the hunt. I started asking around about the Forbidden Corridor right after my shoulder healed up.

And, I want to say, I somehow got knee-deep into the smelliest shit around.

Let's begin with the fact that no other students could even get close to the corridor. I mean, physically. Weasley Twins, older brothers of one devoted ass-hungry fan, local Indianas Joneses, tried but still didn't make it. They couldn't even get to the third floor itself!

At first, none of the staircases carried them there. Then they caught one, stopped it by some smart-ass spell and then got stopped by the suddenly appearing invisible (or air) wall. Or maybe at a forcefield, whatever. They besieged the place for a month and a half, then just gave up and screwed off.

They were trying to get there for fifty days, and I didn't even notice any of this. At that moment, I felt how something beardy is slowly approached me from behind and tried to stick something into me a bit below back.

Here's more. This corridor previously was never forbidden, only this year. In June, it was still open and they conducted a Charms exam in there, but now it's a restricted area.

I started searching for what could've happened this summer. Nothing good fucking happened throughout the whole summer, aside from two things, according to 'Daily Prophet' (local yellow paper). One article was dated the 24th of July and was about me. Like, 'reminding our dear readers, that this summer the national hero and the hottest eleven-year-old joins the Founders' technical training college and we saw him buying stuff at Diagon Alley'.

The second one was about the break-in into one of the Gringotts vaults, at 1st of August. In summary, goblins told all journalists to go and visit a proctologist but mentioned that their client suffered no damage because the vault was already empty. When it was emptied? Right, at the 24th of July.

I felt someone's hot breath over my ear.

And, at the end of it all, at one beautiful November day, pigeon brought me a letter during lunch. Hagrid called me to come over.

Well, I'm not an idiot, I only went to the safe with a super-dog inside without any preparations.

When did I see Hagrid before? On the day of Sorting and when we visited Diagon Alley to buy school supplies. And, at Gringotts, he took something mysterious from the empty cell. At the 24th of July.

For a second, my buttcheeks clenched, as if someone tried to grab them with dirty hands of an experienced homosexual.

Go fuck yourself, Dumbledor! And to do that, go, at minimum, to Cambodia.

I wrote back to Hagrid that, you know, I have so much schoolwork to do that there isn't even time to drink a cup of water, nevermind coming over. But you, my friend, don't forget me, occasionally shave, don't spill whiskey and milk your goat every morning. An animal lover in Scotland should have a goat.

…Or a sheep?

After I sent that letter, a miracle happened. Well, not right after, before Christmas. Before all the students could put aside their unfinished study materials, Snape decided to show that he is too a very cool dude, maybe even better than Flitwick. He read us a lecture, without any practical stuff, and even told about various nuances and traits of people involved.

The lecture was about recreational and healing potions.

At first I decided that the poor asshole was just pressured into a more peaceful teaching style. But not-Dwarf-Nose looked straight at me all the time with such intensity, that I started thinking that messed up somewhere. Is that a hint that I shouldn't have stolen state 'Skele-Gro'?

Turns out, it was a hint alright, but not about Gryffindors' grabby rake-hands, because the end of the lecture was about the great alchemist Nicolas Flamel, the creator of Philosopher's stone - which is capable of granting immortality - and the close Albus Dumbledore's friend.

Someone's hand grabbed me by the nape, trying to bend me over. No, Albie, stop! Let's stay friends.

So, you hid an immortality pill in your cupboard? And you really want me to steal it? What a poor orphan ever did to you?

I saw only two obstacles on my way to deliver him some justice: mom taught me that beating up old people is bad, and the fact that no one will even know that he deserved it.

Experience points: 1.

Total experience points: 4.

Still, after that everything was quiet until the very departure.

They let me go, although McGonagall stared at me unpleasantly when I wrote 'Leaky Cauldron' as a place to look for me if something happens. Still, it didn't become a problem.

***

My room in the 'Cauldron' was absolutely identical with my previous one in this god-forsaken establishment. The only difference was that the windows showed the modern London instead of Diagon Alley.

I lied on the bed, looking at two lines in my character sheet: 'Fate: *****' and the disadvantage 'Hard Lot'. They didn't look that good on their own, but with the Stone in the cupboard, my wand and the old scores with the local Hitler included, the picture became very, very sad. For me.

One mighty sorcerer took one my buttcheek, Voldie grabbed another, and both are pulling into their respective directions. And I am, sadly, still just a milksop. I need allies, strong allies. But among the sorcerers, everyone is either in Dumbie's or Voldie's factions, so I need to look for them in the big world. But where in the 'World of Darkness' can I even find allies?

There are several major players in the 'WoD'. First of all, there are good guys, bad guys, and neutrals. Good guys, uh… hm, there's none. Well, there are, but those are mostly loners who stand out of one of the neutral factions.

Bad guys are simple to explain. Those are fuckers that want and/or try to change the world by two distinct scenarios: worldwide carnage and destruction, or the tyranny of some dark lord. Add some fire and genocide to taste. They include: vampires from Sabbath, Pentex Corporation, some demon factions, werewolves from the 'Black Spiral Dancers' tribe, mages-nefandi (chaos-worshippers) and Earthbound, those are the ancient demon-gods. There are also some other nasty creatures, but they are either too far from Europe or disorganized loners.

Neutrals are more complicated. The thing is, every faction of neutrals fights the good fight and for the right cause, but actions of each and every one will lead to an apocalypse by a one or other scenario. Doesn't matter if the world is going to be consumed by vampire-patriacrhs, whom Camarilla diligently ignores; destroyed by the Great Wyrm, whom tribes of werewolves unsuccessfully fight; or demonic counts will leave the abyss, whom fallen-demons on Earth try not to think too much about. Ghosts, mages, etc. have their problems too.

We are all fucked, thanks to one or the other faction. The funny thing is – they understand all that and are really nervous, but can't do anything to stop this. They are too late. Couple of thousand years too late.

And imagine me coming to one of them, all pretty and smiling, and say:

"Hey-hey, people! We're all gonna die anyway, so why don't you forget about your problems and help me instead? I'm a cool dude, hey-hey!"

And that's if I even find them, because they are really good at hiding.

I need to find a loner. Someone who is loyal to humanity, who is strong and capable of helping me, whom I can actually offer something,

Two days I spent looking through the options. I tried, I really tried to remember at least something from recently read books, but my head was as empty, as an alcohol bottle after a hard party.

At some point, I decided to relax a little and breathe some fresh air. It was light snow outside, shops were covered in Christmas decorations and happy girls on the streets made me want to growl in powerless anger – this body is only eleven years old!

I walked around for a couple of hours, looked at Themsa and my mood was uncharacteristically melancholic. Well, why wouldn't it be? I'm fucked and I have no idea how to unfuck myself. I can, of course, abandon Hogwarts and live in the big world, but, firstly, who said that they won't come looking for me and even if they won't – let's not forget about the approaching apocalypse. When will it happen? Tomorrow? A hundred years later? I have no idea, but I don't want to meet it ten years in the future, with only a handgun and some swearing to my name.

Still, the option of escaping from all my problems to Mexico is worth considering. Why not learn at first what happens in the world? With these thoughts, I bought myself 'Times' and holed up in a café, to drink some tea and read the newspaper. Am I an Englishman or a dog's penis?

Nothing new: world powers are fighting for resources, Afganistan looks more like hell than Dante's book ever could describe, Bush the Senior preaches about the triumph of democracy over common sense… Nothing special in the local incidents too: Henry Cook, drugster and a stout practitioner of domestic violence, didn't come to court. Social Service worker, Anila Cowl, who is charged with the protection of his wife and daughter, commented that this is a very fortunate turn of events for his family and that a failure to appear in court is nothing new for people such as Henry Cook.

My eyes stuck to the name. Anila Cowl. Anila. Social Service worker Anila Cowl. London's Social Service worker Anila Cowl. Anila.

A familiar name. Why do I know it?

It was getting darker and heavy, dark-grey clouds over the head made me felt colder than it really was, it was chilly even in the warm café. Time to go home.

Dinner, tea, thinking, sleep, breakfast, thinking, lunch, walk, dinner, tea, thinking, sleep. Anila. Where did I hear this name?

Alright, to hell with the name. I'm walking in circles. A bit more like this and I'll become a nerd like Granger.

What options do I even have? Yeah, sure, I need a loner, but from which faction?

Camarilla. The vampiric organization, shadow puppeteers of the western world. Their life is centered around blood, paranoia, and fear. Every one of them is a loner and every one of them constantly awaits a backstab from both their brethren and Sabbath. Skilled manipulators, some of them can cause a new war somewhere with just a single phone call. Those are rare, of course. They mostly hide and govern their own areas, until an outside threat appears or another schemer won't try to appropriate their lands by using mortals.

What vampires would see in me? A messenger of one of their competitors, most likely. They'd listen to what I have to say, wipe my mind clean and order to go and jump under a truck. Or maybe they'll just drink me dry. And even if they'll take me seriously, is it worth it to give bloodsuckers access to 'Magical Britain'? To basically gift them a large patch of land, filled with docile blood bags? This option isn't much better than Voldemort.

Mages. Everything is good with mages, but I can't offer them anything. A new world? They have the whole Universe! That's not a joke, they can literally walk over Pluto in evening dresses. Or they can organize a small resort somewhere in Alpha-Centauri with princesses, dragons and Johnny Walker. Knowledge? Not even funny, mages don't need sorcerers' knowledge. Money? Yeah, this one is funny. Besides that, I have no idea where to look for them. They are very good at hiding because of the following faction.

Technocracy. Right now, at this moment – the first violins of the big orchestra. Can do as much as mages, have as much money and power as vampires, smart, strong, numerous and I don't even need to look for them. Just need to cast a spell on the street – and they'll come to me themselves to shoot dead from a blaster. Because they really hate 'reality warpers', read 'everything supernatural'. And a dude with a wand – is a very supernatural dude. Makes me think if the Ministry of Magic supports the Statut of Secrecy because they want to or because they must? No. Just no.

Werewolves, also called Garou. The first place in the ass-kicking, five or six of them can conquer the whole Magical Britain, maybe only Dumbledoor can slow them down a little. That three-headed dog, by the way, is not that big of a deal for them, even if you don't count their magic. I mean Garous' magic because these guys like to occasionally chat with spirits, dance around a totem and do other cool/brutal shamanistic stuff. There are downsides, of course: most of them 'don't like humans a little', low numbers (and when I say 'low' I mean 'LOW') and the fact that they have their own problems. These guys are trying to save the world, after all. They just don't really care if humans will survive.

Who else? Fairies? Not funny, next. Mummies? Thank you, but no. Demons? Return that back to… Although wait a second.

What do I know about demons?

Many millennia ago, there were angels. One day God gave to them two contradicting (in their opinion) orders, which split the winged people into two factions: Michail and his boys decided to stay loyal to God, and Lucifer's homies gifted their loyalty to God's masterpiece – humanity. In other words, the rebellion happened because half of the angels loved humans. Michael, on the other hand, wasn't against humans but had a lot to say against human civilization.

Then there was war and, as we all know, it doesn't make people prettier. At first, demons protected humanity, then they stopped caring, then they used humans like cannon fodder. Well, some of them. There were those who still had their humanism intact.

Loyalists won and put all the demons into a super-harsh prison called Abyss. Down there, their personalities only got worse, but there was no other choice but to sit in there. But, as time passed, from a small crack in a wall started leaking fresh air of freedom. The weakest and scrawniest of demons managed to crawl through it and occupy bodies of recently dead and coma patients, all across the world. They then looked around, saw what their beloved humanity has done to the planet, and started jogging their noggings about what to do next.

Some decided that it's time to tear down the theater and build a bar on its place instead. The apocalypse lovers, if you translate that to English.

Some decided that if Dad is no more (and Dad went hell knows where and didn't react to escape), then they are the first people in a village and can now play into Saurons and Maos.

The third group, still loyal to Lucifer's ideals, gather canned food and restore the power vertical, preparing to restart the war for humanity's happiness, and I empathize – humanity's happiness. Although, they remember about humans only once in a while, but constantly think about the war.

The fourth group decided to capitally restore the planet and try how Michael's ass tastes when he comes back. They like humans and even ready to help, but not in the war.

And the fifth group, those just sit aside and look whose arguments are more interesting and what even happened. Fucking scientists.

So, I finally remembered where I know the name – Anila. She's a demon. Or, more accurately, the fallen angel of death with a rather unusual demonic name. Ex-Luciferian, currently unaffiliated. Badass as bull's balls, and tries to act humanely. If I manage to persuade her to listen to one young lad – she'll become an invaluable ally. And I can offer her fuckton of stuff… especially her.

I just need to contact her somehow. Well, it's enough to call her real name and she'll hear, but I don't remember it. At all. So, that means I need to find her as Anila Cowl. Tomorrow I'll visit her workplace.

With those thoughts, I fell asleep at that peaceful Christmas evening, leaving the unfinished cup of tea on the table.

***

Morning proved that my plan is shit. And that my idea to leave Hogwarts is shit too. They almost stuck my nose into the fact.

On the table, near the unfinished cup, lied a package. Like a Christmas present. I stood up and checked the door – closed. Alright, maybe the sorcerers have some magical delivery means…other than owls. I opened the package and found a silvery fabric. It was a cloak, Elton-John-style.

At first I was pretty suspicious of it, I mean, what kind of genius would gift that to an eleven-year-old? And then the system answered:

Invisibility Cloak.

When is being worn lowers Stealth roll difficulty by 2. Increases opponent's roll difficulty to spot you by 2 at daytime and 3 at nighttime.

I re-read it. And again. And again.

It's a fucking cheat-item. I mean, it's invisibility! Well, maybe not a complete one, there will be traces and signs, but… Who's the guy that likes me so much?

I tried on the cloak – yep, can see the footprints on the carpet, but not myself in the mirror. Awesome! With a cloak like this, I can go and meet any supernatural bastard and not be so scared that he would chew my ass off.

But. Again, who's the guy that likes me so much and what do they want for it?

The package came with a note, written in ornate handwriting.

'Your father left this in my possession when he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.'

No name is given.

At that moment I felt… eh, you got it already.

Alright, I need to think about it really good.

Let's pretend that I am an old farter of great sorcerous power and experience. What can I possibly need from a ten-year-old brat? Let's assume it's nothing sexual. Money? He should have enough of those. Power? Again, he has enough, and I am more like folklore or humor-oriented character, than a truly respectable hero of Magical Britain.

Alright, let's detalize the question. Why an old farter like me would want a brat to break into my super-duper safe, to my precious prostate pill… my apologies, to Philosopher's Stone?

He needs me to commit a crime? Wants to make a hero into a robber in the eyes of the public? Or maybe he wants to get that stone all to himself not-so-legally? No, that's stupid. There are much easier ways to kill me, similar to making me a criminal, and no sane man would give powerful artifacts to children.

At that moment I looked at the Invisibility Cloak in my hands.

This whole thing looks like a huge attempt to fuck me over. And the grandpa really protected the stone in a way so no-one else could reach it, except for me. Oh, right, there is someone else trying to get it.

I don't have enough brains for this. So, on that happy note, I decided to go and visit miss Cowl.

However, nothing is that simple and when I was already leaving the bar, Tom called me over.

"Merry Christmas, Harry!"

"Yeah, to you too. Have a one for me in the evening."

"Of course. Listen, you got some presents delivered, wanna take them?"

More presents? And not straight into my room?

There were two presents. One from Crabbe and Goyle (a boxing mouthguard, very funny) and the other, of course, from Weasleys. Cookies and a sweater with 'H' on it.

Alright, this is getting creepy.

"Tom, these are the only ones? Nothing else?"

"No, I check everything. Hey, maybe you want some hot chocolate? For Christmas' sake."

"Yeah, sure, why not. Just let me carry all that into my room."

A cup of hot chocolate was just what I needed. Of course, I needed a glass of whiskey much, much more, but my damn age once again ruined everything.

The cloak appeared in my room, although Tom said that he cheks everything. Does that mean that the old geezer spies on me constantly and sneaks into my room when I sleep? On the one hand – it makes sense, you don't want to mismail the cloak, that would've been bad. On the other…

What the fuck is wrong with his head and how am I supposed to react?! What if I would've not been alone and was having fun with drugs and ladies in latex? Not that I want that, but does he has any shame?!

After finishing with my kiddie drink, I entered the big London and found myself the nearest phonebooth. After that it was easy – I called the call center and asked for Social Services numbers. Since I didn't specify the exact Service, they gave me at least half-a-hunred. After that it was a tedious, monotonous calling: 'Does Anila Cowl works here? No? Sorry then.'

I got the right number on the seventeenth try.

Anila Cowl was supposed to appear at her workplace at 5 P.M., right when it started to get dark. Yeah, very fitting for the angel of death. Her office, one of the many in the Evaluation Service, was located in the depths of Whitechapel, which was pretty far from 'Leaky Cauldron'. If I go on foot and won't hurry, I'll get there just in time.

What Evaluation Service even does? These are those affailable girls, who receive information from your neighbor that: 'Oh, such tragedy, Johnny went off the deep end, drinks a lot and beats poor Cindie with a poker!', then they evaluate in how deep of an ass the victim really is. Then the information is passed to the brave auro… fuck, I'll start mentioning Merlin soon, just you watch. Alright, the info is passed to the honest English bobbies, or somewhere else, I don't know. They didn't specify in the call center.

So, Anila was one of those affailable girls. If the problems were serious – she informed the police. If the problems were very serious – she could even remember her first profession, that home-made batwoman. Although, that was her description in the source material, maybe it's different here. Maybe she is even human yet?

***

I stopped in front of her office and started thinking. How should I start the dialogue? Eh, who knows, I'll think of something.

I knocked and opened the door.

What are your associations about the words 'angel of death', 'demon', 'hell's knight', 'Lucifer's renowned warrior'? You prepare yourself to see skulls, inverted crosses, pentagrams, solemnity… Maybe some greatness. But no, it was a small '3x4 meters' office made from gray panels, with a calendar on the wall, lots of papers lying on the table and a tired, thin 25-28-years old Indian woman in gray jeans and bluish-grayish jacket. Wearing a jacket indoors?

Although, she's an angel, who the hell knows.

"Anila Cowl?"

She was sorting through papers, marking something on each page. My interruption was honored with a second-long look, after which she returned to her work.

"What do you want, boy?"

"We need to talk."

She sighed and looked away from the papers, put her hands on the desk and tried to smile. It didn't look very believable.

"Boy, if you want to report something – then find a woman named Helen on the floor below, she will happily listen to you. I have a lot of work to do."

"Anila, I need to talk to you. And trust me, you want to hear what I have to say."

She looked me over and said in a completely serious tone.

"I'm listening."

"My name is Harry Potter and I want to sell you information about Lucifer."

Anila looked at me without blinking for half-a-minute. What did she want to see – that I don't know, but under her look my balls just clenched. Her office became darker, gloomier, as if all lamps started giving out 40 Volts less. I caught myself thinking about getting away from the room.

Hell no! Who's the one that fucked the Dark Lord over when he couldn't even walk?! Alright, I admit, that was the real Potter, but I am a badass!

Willpower: 9/10.

Anila meanwhile stood up. Nobody would've called her a human now: alabaster skin, eyes covered in shadow, faint movements of something terrifying in the darkness behind her back and inhumanly straight back – all that was more than enough. When exactly did she transform? I kinda missed that.

"Who are you?" Her lips moved, but the voice sounded seemingly from everywhere. Whisper, as if of a dying man… or of an already dead one, who decided to talk. I can swear that heard not one, but at least a hundred from all directions. Male and female, young and old… Her voice sounded clearer than others, though.

"A well-wisher. A human. I need your help and in turn, I can help you. Let's talk?"

"Who sent you? Answer me, boy." She walked closer and touched my neck. Just a faint touch, but it burnt with cold. And she didn't even do anything yet, just showed her real face.

"No one. I found you myself. I know about you. I know many things. And I need allies."

"Allies? Child, are you a fool? Anila, she… I wouldn't want to hurt you. You will tell me everything and then you will leave."

What a fucking twist. I am so fucking tired of being a kid. Will anyone take me seriously, aside from Crabbe and Goyle?!

"Hello no, missie. And take your rakes off me, I don't want to catch a cold." I pushed her hand away. That surprised her, after all, not every day mortals, especially children, tell you to fuck off. "Listen here. We will either go, order us strudels in a restaurant nearby and talk like civilized people… Or I leave you to fight the Bound One on your own."

Demon tilted her head, as if trying to see something new from that angle.

"A child's help? Against Him? Go away, boy. I am not interested in your fantasies, whatever you think and whatever you know."

Alright, time to end this farce. Of course, I can't do magic on winter break… but only with a wand. That's why I just need to wave my hand.

A stack of paper rose into the air and turned into a whirlwind of sheets. I took an empty one and incinerated it just by looking. All that cost me two points of mana, but death's stare became more interested.

"Interesting. But still not enough."

"There are dozens, hundreds of people like me. And I can make them fight the Bound One. But not now. Right now I need a fucking Luciferian angel, the protector of humanity, and not a shady woman with a questionable job! I'm asking you again, are we going to order that fucking strudel?!"

***

In the end, she agreed.

The thing is, she didn't really have a choice. She needed help, preferably yesterday, in her personal little Vietnam – there is a prospering cult of an Earthbound in London. I mentioned them as demon-gods, and one of them was really determined to make Anila's life worse. She wasn't dead yet only because he wanted to break her and force to serve him.

And, since we sit in the café with Anila and discuss such things, time to tell you about the Earthbound.

You can escape Abyss in two ways: slip into the cracks that appeared recently or get summoned. There is always an idiot who thinks that he can bound a demon to his will and get a powerful servant. The horny boys, however, usually have a different plan.

If a demon is weak, then he completes an order or two and returns to the Abyss. Or maybe he kills the summoner and still returns to the Abyss. But if a demon is strong, very strong, then he might stay on Earth. But Abyss is not your normal prison building, you can't simply escape it. It pulls you back like a schoolgirl pulls a bubblegum, and to resist that call a demon needs something to bound to. But not a human, no, people that could house all power of the Hell Counts stopped appearing a long time ago.

And so they possess idols. And yes, without memories of human vessels, those crazy maniacs still remain crazy maniacs. Over thousands of years, they fed on the prayers their cultists and grew in power, and now the weaker fallen started leaving the Abyss. Those can live in humans, and the Earthbound want to turn them into servants.

They also want to change the world according to their tastes: blood and rot, pain and terror. Some might add zoophilia into the mix. What? Kings of Terror are individuals too.

And one of them got interested in Anila. In such a situation, anyone would be grasping at straws, even if that straw is a glasses-wearing brat like me.

"So, you claim to be a sorcerer." Anila was thoughtfully chewing through a pastry. Now no one would've said that she is Death.

"That's right."

"And you live in a separate world, together with goblins, unicorns, and dragons?"

"Kind of. It looks like a separate world, but I'm kind of interested in it myself."

"And you are the hero, who in his infant years destroyed the evilest sorcerer among your kind? And, aside from that, another powerful sorcerer has his plans for you?"

"Anila, I don't know. They said that I am a hero. The fact is – a lot of people think this way. Hell, they even have toys of me!" That always got me very angry. I and those things are nothing alike! "And about that old man Dumbledore… Yeah, he is the one with the master-plan. I don't know what kind of plan, but still want nothing to do with it."

"So, let's get this straight: if we make an agreement, then you will provide me money and, in perspective, sorcerers to fight Him. And what do you want from me?"

"A lot. First of all, I need help if something happens, I promise not to call you without a valid reason. Second of all, contacts with other demons… Well, those I can talk with. And, third of all, the Deal."

"The Deal? It sounds like a gain for me."

"Depends on conditions. I think I can bargain enough for myself out of the Deal with a demon."

Anila finished eating her strudel, cleaned up her lips with a napkin and mumbled:

"That is a strong proposal. I need to think about it."

Fuck. I can't pressure her more, I can feel that she might just refuse. After all, she is already having a hard time taking a kid seriously.

"Anila, let's do it this way: I am returning back to school, the train will arrive in two weeks. I'll return for the summer break, hope that will be enough for you to think about our little business. Half-a-year should be enough, right?"

Demon nodded:

"Yes, that will be enough. And call me Magdiel – I will hear."

Ah, right, Magdiel. I couldn't remember it.

"Then see ya, Mag. Was nice to talk with you."

"Goodbye, Harry Potter. By the way, what were you wanted to tell me about Lucifer?"

"Let's leave such interesting topics for the next strudel, in June."

Experience points: 3.

Total experience points: 7.

Welp, now I only need to not die in this half-a-year. Oh, Albie, I wonder what you prepared for me?

Bland Eggplant · Mar 18, 2020

The next two weeks of the winter break I spent on turning myself from a blind mole into a bright-eyed hawk. And, despite my efforts, got jack shit.

One day of working with goblins to convert wizard money into pounds, one day to find a the suitable clinic, one day for diagnostics, after which Dr. Crippler offered to burn out my eyes with a laser. Or buy a stronger set of glasses. I don't understand anything in this stuff, but got that the operation is very difficult and with a high complications risk, plus I would be late to Hogwarts.

No, I don't save money on my health, just as I don't save time on it. I'll wait until summer and then, maybe, will risk it.

The rest of the time I spent on entertainment and rest, it's a break from school or what? So, I drank beer, I went into strip-clubs… Yeah, sure. Went ice skating a couple of times and to the movies.

I now understand why all children are fucked up in the head – they have nothing to do. I started going crazy from boredom after half-an-hour of sitting still. Tried to find me some local gopniks – but, again, didn't find any. Can't even find a proper brawl in London at this time of year.

Well, there were some loud and drunk companies of university students, ten or so people in each, but that's not it.

I tried to culturally develop myself: art galleries, museums, other interesting places. At first, all that walking and talking was driving me crazy, but by the end, I even started to enjoy it a little. Although, listening to those older than old women re-telling the same thing with sour faces, was not fun at all.

The thing is – I even saw all the movies that were just coming out. Here, for example, 'Terminator 2'. What didn't I see there? Arnie? Even told to one fan near the theater that I'll-be-back will become a real politician and he laughed – thought it was a good joke. Sure, mate.

So, in the end, I was forced to combine a healthy lifestyle with cultural self-inrichment. By the end of it, even my piss was sophisticated as hell.

Two weeks later I, under the pouring rain, boarded the Hogwarts-Express.

Pouring rain. In January.

I hate you, England.

***

The second semester started with Weasley. Seemingly, every shitty situation nowadays is tied to Weasley in some way, or I won't get the full experience. But this time the asshole wasn't Ron.

I weren't fucking with anyone and was just walking to the castle from the train station, when, almost at the very entrance to the gates, on a paved road, I discovered a frozen puddle waiting for me. I have no idea why no one found it before me, but, naturally not expecting such a cunning strategy from some frozen water, I slipped.

I hit my knee so hard that almost howled through clenched teeth, but that wasn't enough, since my trunk immediately fell on the injured leg.

Health: 5/7/7 (Bruises: -1 dice for rolls).

"Aarrgh, fuuuck…"

"Potter!"

"The fuck do you need? Help me stand."

While I tried to push the twice-as-heavy (for some reason) trunk off, the tall red-haired figure leaned over me. It was Percy Weasley – prefect, asshole and a lowlife pencil-pusher.

"How dare you talk like that when other children are nearby?!"

Well, to be fair, there were a lot of other students passing near us.

"Honey, please don't start, let's talk at home. Help me, why are you just standing there?"

"How… you… Detention! Tomorrow evening."

"Hell fucking no." I finally pushed off the trunk and stood up.

Yeah, when you stand it really does feel lighter. Again, the trunk has small wheels on it. That cro-magnon who invented weels was a smartie, nothing to say here.

"A week of detentions! For swearing and disrespecting a prefect!"

Smarmy fucker. Just you wait, I'll have my day in the sun.

***

Classes were mostly the same, the only difference being that Flitwick finally started teaching us some basics of enchantment (artifact-making). It's almost as dangerous as shoving your dick into a meat-grinder, because with the grinder you need to turn the handle and, in the end, will even stay alive… but here a single fuck-up can lead to an explosion.

So, firstly the midget taught us two most useful things: spell unweaving and counter-magic, that here was called 'Protego'. He decided to spend a month (and a couple of days) on all that, but I had some dusty experience points lying around and 'Protego' cost 3 out of 7. I could've even bought the unweaving, but no one would've let me skip classes, so I decided to train it naturally and avoid by it a whole month of boredom.

The rest was the same as two months ago. Well, aside from me regularly I visiting comrade Filch, where he gave a broom, a bucket and an area to clean, after which departed to drink some tea. What am I doing so wrong that it results in me being constantly surrounded by fucking assholes?

Well, aside from the potion teacher. Fucking Snape is true to himself and teaches properly. He fucks with me, yes, but he is constantly surrounded too and in his case - by grenades-wielding monkeys. Oh, sorry, by retards with explosive potions. I'd be pale, angry and nervous too. Quite a shitty job he has, I hope they at least pay him properly.

Maybe I should've sent him some cognac this Christmas? Eh, screw it. Maybe next time.

So, returning to the talk about detentions. Filch-the-Cutie always confiscated my wand for those and thought that he left me without magic. Yeah, sure. The amount of work was always pretty big and my Mana was always at zero every evening, so I needed to meditate. Not sit in a lotus position or fry my ass on the embers – just sit near the fireplace, look at the fire, feel the light and warmth of my magic inside. Feels nice.

I always thought that all these turbans-wearing morons: yogis, Buddhists, llamas – were clowns. I still think they are. No idea what 'enlightenment' they are looking for – I'm meditating strictly to restore mana.

…Although, maybe I'm lying a bit here. Mana-shmana, the 'game-system' – it's not that gamey, actually. I don't have mana for two casts only, after all, without a care if I ignited a matchstick or threw down a statue. I can ignite twenty or more matchsticks with one mana point. It's like an indication that I have less than full mana reserve, or a half, or even less. Like, you used your inner powers and can do magic, but at some point, you need to add fuel to the fire.

All that in the borders of one Path, however. A spell of the other Path needs one more mana point. Why is that? No idea. Let Dumbledore think about that - he has a long beard.

And this can be said about everything. Remember I spent experience to upgrade 'Brawl'? I didn't instantly become Jackie Chan after that, only got better at developing the skill naturally. I got beaten up by Crabbe and Goyle pretty good before knocking the greenies down.

I don't feel like a set of stats – that's what I'm trying to say. Back in the old world, when I was visiting all those lawyers and medics – felt like one, but not here.

Still would've shot the fucker that put me in the barrel, though.

Heh, I wonder why I started thinking so much? Maybe meditations are doing something, gotta be careful or I'll start wearing a turban too. We already have one turban-wearer here and he's a laughing stock.

***

One day a miracle happened - Filch was kind! I mean, he was just as much of an asshole as always, but the task was relatively easy – to scrub clean one room not too far away from the library.

When the boss orders – slaves start working. It was my last detention anyway.

The class was completely empty, aside from a large mirror in the corner. I finished scrubbing floors very quickly and was going to exit the room when I felt a want to look into the mirror.

I looked at it from the distance. A common mirror, some letters on the frame, nothing special about it. Nothing to see in there. I can always admire myself some other time – I'm not Paris Hilton.

When I closed the door, someone swore inside the room. Maybe I was hallucinating? Gotta ask Filch to change the cleaning supplies mark.

Experience Points: 1,

Total experience points: 5;

"Eh? For what exactly?" I doubt it's for finishing with the detentions, right?

But no one answered, so I went back to the tower.

The next day started with Hagrid, or, more accurately, with his letter that a pigeon delivered to me during breakfast.

"Hello, Harry.

Long time no see, so why don't you come over? I gathered some herbs in the forest, gonna brew an amazing tea.

Hagrid."

I like herbal tea. But the problem is – Hagrid works for Albie, don't know unwittingly or for a paycheck, but the info is solid. And Albie wants to pull off some kind of plan with my most important and loved person in the world.

Do I want tea or do I want to stay as far from Headmaster as possible? Come to think of it, did I see any really dangerous stuff from him? Yeah, he wants to lure me into a trap of sorts, but I doubt it's in the Hagrid's hut.

After looking at the goblet of pumpkin juice – I made the decision and tea defeated my cautiousness.

After sitting through another set of school hours and having lunch, I spat into one more goblet, which I didn't even touch, and left the castle.

***

Hogwarts is a beautiful place and its walls provide an excellent view. The forest with wolves and magical creatures, the lake with underwater monstrosities, the castle with ghosts…A dream come true. The only thing that ruins the beauty are the hundreds of children walking around my castle, but you can't see those from here, outside the walls.

Hagrid lived in a hut near the forest. A cute little place, if you ask me. It is decided, I too will have a forester, he too will live in this hut and I will come to him to drink tea from time to time! Maybe I should let Hagrid stay? Well, if he will accept the departure of the glasses-wearing old man – sure. He's not a bad man… I think.

From the inside, the hut was a little cluttered with all the herbs and bags with cereal hanging from the ceiling, to stop mice from eating them. A huge dog lied near the fireplace, with the giant pelts-covered chair nearby. A string-less crossbow on the wall hinted that Hagrid didn't buy the pelts, not at all… yeah, I can see knives and a bucket in the corner. A gigantic cloth-less table looked simple but very sturdy. Made it yourself, Hagrid? Respect! Even all the tools are nearby – a hammer is under the bed, an axe is near the furnace, a shovel is near the exit. He should make himself a toolshed, but maybe he doesn't have rights – he's an employee here, after all.

The only thing I can't find is… ah, here's the bottle peeking from an open nightstand.

"Oh, Harry! Come in, I'll put the kettle on." The hut's owner started fussing around as I entered.

"Woah-woah, stop. Hagrid, why are you running around? You gotta be fast only to catch flees."

"Yeah, they are a jumpy bunch." Hagrid didn't get the joke.

Still, he slowed down and no longer risked breaking something, not that there were that many breakable things – but caution never hurt anyone.

"So, tell me how's life. I didn't see you since September."

"Eh, school." I waved it off. "A spell here, some wand-waving there, half a day in classes and half a day in the library."

Hagrid asked a lot of things, but told me just as many. About the forest, about unicorns what are in some kind of trouble. The odd-hooved animals are dying. He also told me about his job as a forester, although I didn't get why the fuck a forester cares about a colony of giant spiders, but he's an employee here, so he probably knows more than me.

We had a good talk and a couple of hours later the fire started fizzling out due to lack of firewood.

"Hm, gotta put some more." Hagrid looked at the dying flame.

"I'll do it, sit tight…"

I started walking to the stack of firewood and already prepared to put some in, when a shout tore through the air:

"No! Don't throw them!"

I turned quickly and saw a strange picture – pale as chalk Hagrid stood between me and the fireplace. Something isn't right here. As I got a better look at the fireplace – I immediately saw something round, similar to an egg. I suddenly remembered Salamander's book, in which the awesome man described how stupid it is to cook a dragon egg over the fire.

First of all – it will only make the egg hatch faster. Second – the contents have the same nutrition value as a piece of charcoal.

Fuck my life.

Either this is another Dumbledore's cunning plan to turn me into a criminal, or one of the two.

The bearded oaf won this dragon egg in a card game from some shady cloak-wearing stranger. The forester always wanted himself a dangerous beastie to care about and just couldn't resist the temptation. But, not only raising dragons outside of specifical sanctuaries is against the law, Hagrid also can't use magic to deliver the egg where needed.

Next, this loyal Dumbledore's man, the man of the great philanthropist and politician, can't approach his boss and ask him about the little problem. But! He created a master-plan while drawing schemes on his knee: 'Your classmate, Ron, has a brother. Name's Charlie, I remember him studying here, he works with dragons now. Hey, Harry, can you ask Ron to write to him?'

And, as the last kick to the balls of my already struggling consciousness, this idiot bragged in front of a shady figure about his love and care for big animals, which you only need to know a way for. And, as an example, he told the stranger about Fluffy the Cerberus, who falls asleep when hears music.

I sat there, listened and was fucking flabbergasted by an enormous pile of shit they were trying to feed me. And, since the words, apparently, weren't deemed convincing enough, Hagrid accompanied his tale by a whole bloody choreography. An adult, buff as hell fifty-years-old forester blushed, mumbled and looked to the side just like a schoolgirl, to whom a very charming high-schooler was explaining the meaning of the word 'blowjob'.

At some point I rubbed the bridge of my nose and checked my eyes because it felt as if this story just caused the first spontaneous lobotomy in the history of medicine.

"Fuck this shit."

That was the only phrase Hagrid heard from me. I needed to leave or I risked committing seppuku - never in my whole life people held me for such a huge idiot.

The tea was really tasty, by the way.

Nature restores your Willpower.

Experience points: 3.

Total experience points: 8.

Alright, this is the second time already. For what exactly they give me this fucking experience? I don't mind, I just want to know the principle behind this. Although, I just tore through some kind of Albie's combination, maybe because of that? Then there was something about the mirror too?

***

I don't know how this story ended, but, since the hut hadn't burned down a couple of weeks later – then it all probably worked out somehow. Hagrid brought the egg to Headmaster and they sent it into a sanctuary. Well, as long as the two of them are happy fucking each other in the ass.

I'm even interested myself to participate in Headmaster's kiddie party, 'cause I see him really, really trying. But he thinks I'm an imbecile and it's very insulting, for God's sake.

Days later, when the snow all melted down, I got approached by Crabbe.

"Hey, Glasses."

"Pumbaa."

"What?"

"Nothing, Crabbe, I'm greeting ya. What do you want?"

"You're as quick as in the fall? I and Gregg got a little bored here."

Oh, just in time! Venting some steam would've been real nice.

"I'm free after seven. Are you going to protect one young blonde lady's honor or we'll have a sausage party?"

"No Malfoy. Then we'll wait for you on the sixth floor at 7:30. We'll stand in the corridor, you won't miss us."

"Alright. What are we betting?"

The boar didn't get it.

"What is the winner going to get? A bet, a bank, a bond, a prize fund, capisce? I want to break your faces, but don't want to do it for free."

Crabbe started thinking, before finally answering, without much conviction:

"A wand?"

"Why the hell would I need your two wands?"

"Why two wands?" He made some calculations and frowned. "Nah, that won't do. You don't have two wands, but you'll need to give two to us if we win, right?"

"Right, one fight – one bet. But I don't need your sticks even if you'll give 'em to me with a big 'thank you'. Let's do it this way, if you lose - you'll beat up Malfoy in front of witnesses, if I lose - I'll do the same to Ron Weasley. With witnesses, of course."

The slytherin snorted and extended a hand to me.

Heh, I'm gonna win either way.

***

We gathered in the evening and were already starting the glorious face-breaking activity – I even managed to dance with Gregory for ten seconds – when a merry company of Filch, fucking Snape, McGonagall and grinning Malfoy barged into the room.

At first I was very unfair towards the two guys, by thinking that fucking snakes set me up for detentions, but no. Firstly, they kicked the shit out of Malfoy – that I learned from the rumors and didn't really believe at first, but Malfoy did hold his ribs and moved very cautiously in the next morning. I don't know what Crabbe and Goyle said to him, but rumors mentioned that he didn't threaten anyone with his daddy.

Secondly, they approached me after breakfast and we agreed that them kicking the shit out of Malfoy wasn't official and that we will meet again after the detentions. There was no reason to refuse, after all.

Screaming McGonagall and hissing Snape put our detentions on the following evening, ordering us to go to Filch at 10 o'clock. Eh, a bit too late, but there's no reason to protest. They also babbled some shit against losing the House points, but show me a person who gives a fuck about those.

And so there we were, standing in front of Filch's cupboard at the appointed time, the old man was busy filling reports and quietly swearing. I didn't listen, but he totally said something about 'little shits'.

Then Filch walked all three of us from the castle to Hagrid's hut, telling us 'spooky-scary stories' on the way. Like, that Hogwarts has an awesome torture room with self-grinding chains, and that children should be rule-abiding or else!

He also said that this time he will not be the one in charge of our detention – Hagrid will. And Hagrid is a forester, whose detentions are most likely tied somehow to the Forbidden Forest. And there is some creature that kills unicorns in that forest.

Fucking hell, Albus, why not just kill me – it would be much easier?

Hagrid himself was waiting for us near his hut, together with the dog. He was fully equipped: a thick jacket, crossbow, and a quiver… and I didn't take my handgun again. This isn't even funny anymore.

"So, uh, three of 'em. Oh, hi Harry."

"Wow, what a surprise. Hagrid, armed and ready. Are we going into the forest?"

"Eh, yeah, we…"

"We, probably, should find the douchebag that kills unicorns?"

Timon and Pumbaa, after hearing this, frowned deeply. They too now understood the depth of this shithole. I have no idea why gryffindors think that they are stupid.

"Yeah. You're a smart boy, Harry. The last time we had a bad, uh…"

"Talk, yes."

"A bad talk, yeah."

Old man Filch decided to interrupt us:

"Don't take too long, Hagrid. You told me yourself that the beast comes out at night."

"Yeah, sure. Uh, boys, the forest is big and there is too few of us…"

Oh, I know what's going to happen. He'll offer us to split up.

"We need to split up. Then we'll find a unicorn for sure and, maybe, find the beastie."

"Oh, mom, please unbirth me… And what are we supposed to do with the 'beastie' if we find it?"

"Send sparks in the air – and I'll run to you."

This is where I understood that I need to read more. My current vocabulary is not enough to express my feelings. I even remembered for a second that in my world those 'Harry Potter' books were kinda-sorta popular. I just really want to know – was there a similar moment in those? Because this is a folk-tales level of idiocy.

They think I'm a five-year-old because only a five-year-old could buy such bullshit!

Crabbe and Goyle stood there, frowning harder than an accountant in tax service. They are the real eleven-year-olds here and even they understand how absurd this is.

When Hagrid tried to split us into teams, he faced a dilemma. He couldn't come with me because then he – obviously – will need to protect me from the monster, which is not acceptable. Sending one of the slytherins with me he deemed not very smart, since we were in detention because of a fight and could decide to continue what we started. And he couldn't send me with a dog, because then I could just say 'Fuck it all'… That was exactly what I was going to do.

In tne end, he spilt us in an optimal way: I go with the dog, he goes with the slytherins. Now I just gotta find a calm clearing and take a nap. Although…

"So, you ready to go?" Hagrid picked up his crossbow.

"Nah. Hagrid, can I enter your house for a second?"

"Eh… Sure, Harry. But quickly."

Hagrid's hut is kinda small and everything is easily reachable, so I took the axe and the knife and went back.

"Here, Gregg, take this." I gave him Hagrid's knife, and Petunia's knife went to Crabbe. "Don't lose this one, it's very precious to me."

The axe I took for me.

***

Personally, I don't really mind hunting an unknown beastie at night in the forest. But I don't have attacking spells, so, without even a firearm, I don't feel so comfortable.

The dog seemingly felt the same way, the only difference was that he couldn't use a firearm even in theory. So, together we found a nice clearing and, with great pleasure, settled under the thick canopy of local trees, doing precisely nothing. And everything was fine, until two hours later a beautiful, muscular and snow-white horned stallion with a large wound across its side bleeding silver, entered the clearing.

That's it. I give up. I have no idea how Dumbledore makes this happen. A little more like this – and I'll start thinking that he observes me from the bottom of the shitter when I'm getting thoughtful.

Maybe he isn't the one orchestrating all this? Maybe this is just a series of unfortunate circumstances? Through all this year? I can understand many things, but how he managed to force a dying unicorn to choose this one specific clearing in the whole bloody forest – that I don't understand.

Fine, I'll go into the trapdoor that the three-headed mutt guards, just make it stop. I'm afraid that the next spectacle will send me into a madhouse.

Meanwhile, a thick knee-deep fog started condensing near the lying stallion. Even the unicorn itself was barely seen when among crooked branches a dark hooded figure appeared. It's cloak, pale mouth and smooth, almost levitating movement, as it leaned over the animal's wound, reminded me of Magdiel's angelic form, but instead of awe and fear it spread only disgust and wariness. This creature is dangerous, I can feel it with my ass. My ass also feels that it will only get stronger after drinking some blood.

I need to attack now.

Rapid movement, almost teleportation towards the creature and I swing my axe at its hooded head. Yes, I wasn't imagining shit – the fucker really was flying and now, after dodging my swing, it levitated in three meters over the floor.

"Potter…" It hissed.

"Good evening, fucker!" Wand in the left, axe in the right, it's time to show some rock-n-roll!

I fly to it and swing again, but it dodged and waved its hand. I saw the wand, so it is a sorcerer. That's good.

I blocked the wave of whatever with my Countermagic, but he was stronger. Not surprising, he looks like a mature wand-waver.

In the end, I got smashed into a tree, although it wasn't too strong.

Two dice for damage. One damage point. One damage point absorbed by Stamina roll.

The problem was that he threw something else at me and that one I barely dodged.

Five dice for damage. Two damage points. Lethal damage cannot be absorbed.

Health: 5/5/7 (Bruises: -1 dice for rolls).

Fucking poacher pierced the hide on my leg. Nothing serious, barely grazed me, but doesn't feel too good. I wanted to continue our dance when arrows started flying from the fog and right at the figure.

The sorcerer flew away and the just-in-time Hag… no, not Hagrid, entered the clearing. My mistake here. With clopping of the four hooves, stepping over the roots, wielding a bow in his arms and a tail in his ass, a classic Greek centaur entered the clearing. He lowered his head in sadness and, after a little waiting, the odd-hooved trotted to me.

"Harry Potter. Stars show us worrying signs today. You were not supposed to be here."

"Yeah, Rocinante, let's hope God listens to you. Thanks for the help."

"It is my duty to protect the forest from dark creatures such as this."

"Well, he used magic as a human." I shrugged.

"That creature lost all right to be called human long ago and his today's crime – the best evidence of that." The centaur extended his hand towards the dead horse.

"Poachery, huh? Yeah, not a fun story. Still, humans are alright fuckers, can kill a horse easily. Nothing surprising here."

"You don't know what you are talking about, Harry Potter. Unicorns are sacred animals and whoever tastes their blood will be forever cursed. It will extend his life for many years, but the light will become unbearable for him, while his heart will suffer from loneliness and cruelty."

Sounds familiar. Way too familiar.

"Like a vampire? Horses can give someone Cain's Curse?"

"No, young Harry Potter. It is impossible to even compare Great Punishment and this."

"But the core principle is similar?"

"Remotely. But, it is as impossible to measure Phobos' insignificance by Jupiter's magnificence, as the plight of Cain's kin is immeasurably more terrible than what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named cursed himself with. And still, from now on he will live in misery."

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Voldie himself? I thought that he is a ghost, in the worst-case scenario. Apparently, he has a body – and ain't that an unpleasant surprise.

"If that really was Voldemort, then he didn't find his life a Disneyland anyway. Alright, that's not important. What's next, Bucephalus?"

"You call me strange names, Harry Potter. My name is Florenz."

"Cool. Still, what's the plan?"

"Hagrid will be here soon, he will take you to the castle."

"Yeah, alright then. Let's wait for the beardy. His dog ran away somewhere, by the way."

Experience Points: 3.

Total experience points: 11.

Hagrid and the boys appeared soon, and together with them another couple of centaurs, who immediately proceeded to boss Florenz around for too democratic attitude towards us monkeys, and then rode somewhere deep into the forest.

The boys looked at the dead unicorn, then at my hurt leg and shook their heads with respect. Hagrid meanwhile was busy gathering some branches to carry the body to his hut. Really, it's not good to waste so many ingredients. And look at that pelt! He probably always wanted a blanket made of one, but was afraid of the curse. I'd totally wanted.

The dog returned to the clearing soon, not a single bit shy of deserting me. Soon we left the forest, with Hagrid carrying the corpse.

***

In the castle they took me to angry and sleep-deprived Pomfrey, who spent a long time doing something with the wound and frowning. Then she poured something that smelled like burned rubber at it, bandaged and left me to sleep in the medical wing.

I, however, couldn't sleep at all.

Dumbledore wanted me to be in the forest. He obviously also wanted me to meet the resurrected sorcerer. Why? Hell knows, maybe he too got transported here. Maybe in the previous life, he was Shan Tsung and now can't live without a good Mortal Combat to watch? He even prepared the prize for the winner – Philosopher's Stone.

It's obvious that it is Voldemort who was that mysterious robber after the Stone in the vault. He was also the one who let the troll in.

Before that I blamed Flitwick… What? He's old, just the right time to think about immortality, and, if rumors are to be believed, he's also a half-goblin, but… Seems like it wasn't him.

And Headmaster wants me to fight that poacher? Why exactly is still unclear. I guess I'll just wait for the Sign – it will appear, I am sure of it. Dumbledore will never refuse to watch the epic fight of a first-year-student and a dead evil genius.

Alright, I need to carry the gun with me from now on. And the Invisibility Cloak. And a knife. And, fucking hell, a medkit, because it's the second time already of me sitting like an idiot and bleeding all other the place.

Bland Eggplant · Mar 20, 2020

I and the boys still fixed each other's jawlines a couple of days later. This time, however, we were very careful in finding a place and barricaded the door, just in case. I won again, naturally, but the boys spent half-a-year training, so I went back to the dorms with the proud "Crippled: -5 dice for rolls" and two pathetic points of Willpower, but very pleased and with my/Petunia's knife.

The boys fucked the fascist up one week later in the corridor right near the Dining Hall, with several huffs, raves and Nick as witnesses, who would never snitch on them.

April was slowly coming to an end and the professors started to pour more pepper under students' tails. They repeated the material time after time, increased the amount of self-studying and constantly repeated to us, brainless idiots, that the exams are coming. I didn't see much of a problem in that, with passing requirements readily available, even with nothing concrete about upcoming tasks being said.

In short terms, we needed to demonstrate the first dot in each Path that we were studying this year (alchemy, enchantment, transfiguration, telekinesis) and answer the questions about topics not involved in the Paths (herbology, history, astronomy).

That was when life grabbed me by the ass. I was able to show something for alchemy, transfiguration, and telekinesis, but everything else was in a much more dire state. I needed to up my efforts in artifact-making. And yes, I didn't want to spend the experience. Others can do without it and I am certainly not worse than them!

I had a thought to enchant my 'Victory Arms' and make it shoot fireballs, but then I understood that my head will sooner split in half like a watermelon: the artifact would've been at least of 'master' quality level if possible at all. The next on the list was a T-shirt, enchanted with 'Fiend Fire' to warm the wearer up for one full day if charged with mana or Willpower point.

Let me tell you – I burned a lot of clothing. My library raids were abandoned to get a couple of extra hours for practice and, three weeks later, it was rewarded.

Ehchanting: +1.

Enchanting: 1.

The T-shirt brought me a lot of joy. I could walk around the castle in a Scottish wind and not freeze. All other people envied me… at least this is how I interpreted their stares.

I was more than sure that I'll pass the theory part, 'cause I'm almost as smart-assed as that bunny from American cartoons. It's not about cheat sheets, although I had a thought or two. The thing is – I found a way to fuck Hogwarts over. You see, I have a whole one dot in 'Oneiromancy'!

Lucid dreams are a big help in studying: I just needed to quickly look through a book in the real world and then, during sleep, learn all the written stuff, having extra eight hours. The brain remembers a picture anyway, but in the dream, you can get yourself proper lighting and replace all parchment with a normal paper. Nothing but positives.

Can't help but wonder how exactly the canon Potter was supposed to use 'Oneiromancy'?

***

Time passed, and there was no Sign. What is the old man even thinking about? If he'll wait too long – Voldemort will get bored and just go away. Is this the whole 'English humor' thing: make plans throughout the whole year to make me interested in the guarded corridor, but the moment I actually become interested – stop and hide in the bushes? That's just weird. He can't possibly know that I decided to play along, he'll need to read thoughts for tha…

Oh shit!

That looks plausible. Grandpa was doing squat while I was interested in the dog, but the moment I stopped caring – he showered me with 'cunning plans'. Now I decided to play along and intrigues just stopped. Oh, grandpa, you really do belong in a retirement home.

Alright, stop panicking, nothing is proven yet. Maybe he is just busy inventing a convoluted hundred-steps plan to get me to the mutt... No, can't call the future guardian of my castle like that.

What was I talking about? Ah, yes – Albie and his smartassery.

Two options here: he either knows that I decided to wait for the finishing run or he doesn't. In the first case, he prepares a super-twist which will get me where he needs for sure. In the second he'll just give me a signal to go and die on the barricades. Either way, it's his pain in the ass – let him handle it.

Meanwhile, I started noticing Granger suspiciously often hanging around me. And Ron Weasley, but I just started to perceive him as the smell of manure in a village. Yeah, doesn't smell good, but it's a bloody village, it's always been this way. Granger, however, was quiet for several months, and now started shit again. No, she didn't try to scoop my brain with a spoon, but hanged around all the time and pretended that she doesn't observe me. And pretended very actively.

"Granger, what the hell do you want?" I lost it one week before the exams.

She made an angry face:

"I don't want anything! Boor!"

Wow.

"Listen here, shaggy, you understand that you act like an idiot, right? It's five in the evening and a week before the exams. You are an infamous nerd but sit here, near the fountain, and not in the library. Maybe I'm dumb and don't get something obvious, sure. Let's ask other students then why are you sitting here for the fourth day in my company and interrupt my sleep? Ah, yeah, nobody's here because they are all in the library. I'm asking again, what the hell do you want?"

Hermione tried to express her deep outrage, but her whole mimic was specifically tailored to kiss teachers' asses, so the girl failed miserably.

"Give me the answer already, stop monkeying a prosecutor! Or go to the library and leave me alone, that works too."

"That's right! Harry, why are you not studying for the exams? You'll get expelled from Hogwarts!" The bushy girl yelled.

"Oh my God, cut it out. I think we decided that you'll fuck Longbottom's brain back in the autumn?"

"Stop swearing and stop embarrassing our House! You don't even write essays! We are losing points all the time because of you, professor Snape takes at least a hundred during each class, and you will get expelled! If you don't want to study on your own – then I must tutor you."

Fucking wonderful. She won't back off on her own and I don't need her as a trailer.

"Stop right here, lil' beaver." She flushed. "Let's do it an easy way. You, right here, right now, will ask me any three or four questions from our material. And if I answer them correctly – then you'll go and keep masturbating on books. If not – I'm all yours till the end of exams. Deal?"

"Five questions! And three… no, four spells!"

"Whatever you say, just let some decibels go."

She nodded and started thinking. Yeah, you do that, I learned the whole first course already.

"What are the wand movements needed for the 'Wingardium Leviosa' spell?"

"Don't need any."

She triumphantly and yet with deep sadness shook her head.

"No, you need to swish and flick with a light movement of your palm! See, you don't know anything at all. We are going to the library right now."

I demonstratively picked a stone from the floor (there were a lot of them around) and put it on the bench. Then I pointed a wand at it and, without any swishes or words, just made it fly. Wasn't as easy as with the movements, but I am grinding up the Paths, not learning spells. My method is worse than whatever they teach here, but with a 'character sheet,' it's the only one that truly matters.

Hermione was amazed, by the way.

"But… and… and non-verbally?! How are you doing this? You must tell me!"

"Woah-woah, Granger. Four more questions, three more spells – and return from whence you came. I have a dream to finish."

The girl cringed, but swallowed that anyway. To her honor, she at least tries to follow the deal.

"Alright, good. What was the name of the Third goblins' rebellion's chieftain?"

"Do you even remember yourself?" I tried stalling for time. History is way too big of a class for me to learn it fully. I needed a couple of minutes to remember.

"A-ha, I knew that you didn't study!"

"Can you quiet down? You are the loudest beaver in this half of the world."

"You..!"

"Me, me. And the answer is: Gorm Bloodchopper and Engie One-eyed. There were two of them and you tried to screw me over. Aren'tcha a bitch?"

Granger flushed red again, and even bit her lip while trying to create the hardest question possible.

"Maybe I should ask about devil snares? No, that's not interesting. Oh, got it. What are the uses of anise?"

Oh my God, she is so annoying.

"Granger, you'll make a good teacher. Your nerdiness for a curriculum and a desire to fail a student already determined your little future pay, awful social life, and alcoholism."

"Answer the question."

"It's also called 'star anise'. I grew up among common people too, I know the name. Is used to stop bleeding and for making the Rowanberry Potion."

"Why do you know all this?" She resentfully rubbed her nose.

"Because I'm Batman. Listen, cut it out already. I am not such a nerdy piece of a student like you, but I know the curriculum. Back off."

"No! You barely visited the library and didn't study, you can't know enough!"

In the end, she, of course, backed off. No, she, naturally, pecked my brains, but couldn't catch on not knowing something. Eh, wherever is Pumbaa right now? It's so simple with him – just punch him in the face and that's it.

Would've been real nice to do that with the bushy too. It's just fucking pathetic – she almost cried at the end that I 'don't study' and yet know the stuff as good as her. Maybe that was a trick to make me pity her and answer incorrectly, pretty sure of that.

***

The exams started a week later. Answered all theory questions without a hitch, got an 'acceptable' on Herbology and Astronomy, and a 'Exceeds Expectations' on History of Magic, to my surprise.

Flitwick didn't test me for enchantment, just asked to make some fruits on the table dance by using telekinesis. Easy-peasy.

Quirrel tasked to tell him what vampires are afraid of. I, as a smart boy that I am, answered 'sun'. Got myself an 'Outstanding'. I wonder why they even included this class if they teach nothing but useless crap on it?

Transfiguration was harder, but I made it. Needed to turn a snuff-box into a mouse, the end result got some metal glares on it, so only 'Exceed Expectations'.

In the potion class Fucking Snape rolled over me like an asphalt paver, with his famous 'you are an imbecile, Potter, with your skills you won't even brew a tea properly, nevermind a potion'. In the end he tasked me with making a Klauphicht… some german's potion, let's go with that. The recipe was easy even for a first-year and wasn't even mentioned in the course because of its uselessness – it did nothing but glow. Brightly, yes, but who needs such a potion when you have 'Lumos' that even Hagrid can cast?

I brewed the potion, got my 'acceptable' and an order to take that glowing sludge with me, the successful end of the school year and a disappointed Granger. Other years were having exams for five more days, after that we'll have a feast, declaration of the results and the House Cup award. After that we'll all go home.

So, Dumbledore has only five days to make the battle of the century happen, otherwise, I will get away. Gotta be more cautious from now on.

Experience points: +3.

Total experience points: 14.

Heh, I can work with that.

Path of Fiend Fire: +1.

Path of Fiend Fire: 2.

Total experience points: 0.

***

It all started on the next day. I was walking around Hogwarts and didn't even screw with people when the potion master appeared from around the corner.

"Mister Potter. What brought you to this place at this time?"

"My feet, professor."

"Don't get smart with me, Potter!" The nosey one got all angry. "You addle-minded brat! If it wasn't the end of the year, I would've appointed you enough detentions to beat out all the hot air from your empty head. Although, Gryffindor just lost fifty points because of you."

"Yeah-yeah, you are big and scary, and I am an idiot with hands growing out of my ass and with a long history of falling out of baby carriages. We already know that. Can I go now?"

"Get lost! Undoubtedly, with you in it, Gryffindor House became the most unbearable and dim-witted House of the school, even if before meeting you I thought that it just can't go any lower."

Fucking Snape stood right in my way, so I was forced to turn back to the stairs. Of course, I could've got past him by practically hugging the wall, but… Screw that. In the end, I used the stairs.

That's where I understood that this was the D-Day. The stairs got me to the forbidden corridor completely on their own, without asking my opinion.

The corridor itself was already properly decorated: a small blood trail and a lying Filch with a wounded leg. The door to the Fluffy was open and I could hear music coming from the inside. The fuck..? Although wait a second, Hagrid babbled something about his pet falling asleep when it hears music.

Oh, these plots. Oh, these plotters.

That's a good sign, by the way. He put the decorations in place – that means the grandpa tries to lure me in and, therefore, didn't read my thoughts recently. Should I consider myself a mental virgin?

This time I was prepared. In my backpack lied my cloak, a handgun with 16 rounds to it, and knife in a holster under my school uniform.

So… Three, two, one, fight? Looks like it.

I hid under the Invisibility Cloak, took the knife into the right hand and the wand into the left, and took a step towards the dog. Yep, the doggie was sleeping because of the harp's music, which plays by itself, and the trapdoor is open. Can't see anything but darkness down there, but there is certainly no ladder here. Gotta levitate, I have no desire to just jump down.

When I finally ended up in the dark room, it got obvious that I needed some light. Hm, light, huh? So that's why Fucking Snape told me to take that potion with me – they armed me with a flashlight!

Too bad I flushed it down the toilet, though.

No, serious question here, did they really think that I can't cast 'Lumos'? Yes, I learned it as a spell, with wand movements and everything, but every idiot in this school can cast it. Why people think so low of me all the time?

"Lumos."

Match of Resonances: sorcerer, wand, spell. Roll's difficulty is lowered by 1.

A good, proper projector lit up on the tip of the wand. Yeah, that's a good effect. Too bad I didn't find any other light-based spells, they would've gotten some nice bonuses too.

The ray of light illuminated a big room, covered in tentacles of unknown origin as if they were cobweb. They really didn't like my 'Lumos', by the way, so they couldn't octopie me. The tentacles ran away from the light as cockroaches from a slipper. There was something about that in the library books…

Nah, can't remember. I already passed the exams.

There was a lot of space under the tentacles and, more importantly, a door. Voldie, evidently, went through it.

Experience points: +1.

Total experience points: 1.

Probably for getting through the tentacles. Every little thing counts.

There was no Voldie behind the next door, but there was a lot of birds and another door, which was locked this time.

"Alohomora."

No effect. Is it protected from a magical lockpicking? Then I'll need to 'unweave' the spells on it, but I suck at the stuff. So what now? I can spend days here unweaving this shit… And the bloody birds are making noise, shut up and let Daddy think!

The solution was suggested by transfiguration. I am a bad burglar, that's true, but all the locks in this school are terribly outdated. And simple locks mean simple keys, so I just shoved my knife into the keyhole.

And after that I started changing it. When the 'key' turned, but not until the end – it meant that I made a similar, but still wrong shape If it didn't turn at all – then I fucked up and needed to return to the previous form.

I made the right lockpick in fifteen minutes. Now I could finally start preparing for the battle with an evil sorcerer.

Experience points: +2.

Total experience points: 3.

But there was no evil sorcerer in the next room. Will he come here at all? Maybe there was some turn that I missed?

There were huge chess figures though, and the door on the other side of the board. Do I need to win at chess to pass? Yeah, sure, with my stats I'll be a good chess player: Manipulation: 1, Intelligence 2. Yeah, I have Subterfuge: 3, but it's still not my kind of game. Let Florenz, or whatever his name is, play – he'll fuck everyone up with his horse.

So I just flew over the chess-board. Nothing interesting.

Experience points: +2.

Total experience points: 5.

That's a lot of experience. I thought it was supposed to be given for passing hard challenges… Although maybe Albie considers this kindergarten 'hard', I dunno.

I didn't even hope for Voldemort in the next room and was right, because the only thing I found was a sleeping dinosaur-like troll, seemingly the same one from that Halloween. And, also, another door.

His Beardiness' another protection system was represented by a wall of flame, some bottles with wine, poison and the one single bottle of potion that protects from the fire. Needless to say, I flew over the barrier as well. I wonder from whom all these defenses are built if you can just fly over them. Although, the sorcerers mostly fly on brooms and bikes…

***

The next room was, in reality, a big hall. Columns on the sides, bas-reliefs and the stairs to the center. Yeah, that's what I call an arena! The only thing that made the view worse was the same mirror in the center, I saw it at the start of the semester.

Quirrel has been walking and periodically freezing near it. Didn't expect that. Where's Voldemort then?

Ah, got it, Quirrel is the referee!

Professor looked weird. Proudly straightened back, precise movement, haughty face. He must've drunk something for bravery, maybe even unicorn blood.

I sneaked closer to hear his mumbling. Hm, weird, he doesn't look crazy… now, at least. Still, the psychonaut was telling very interesting things:

"But, my Lord, are you sure? Wouldn't it be easier to just kill the boy?"

…

"As you say. But why try to recruit him, why not just let him get us the stone from the mirror and kill him afterward?"

…

"No, my Lord, I am not arguing. I bow before your wisdom."

…

"But still, why not just unweave the mirror's defenses?"

…

"I am indeed stupid, my Lord, please forgive me. My mind can never be compared to yours."

…

"My Lord, the boy is taking too long. If you think him so important, maybe I should go and bring him here?"

…

"No, my Lord, never. I wouldn't dare to think so, no. I bow and beg for forgiveness."

…

"My Lord, I still don't understand how we will disappear from Hogwarts after you obtain the Stone? Dumbledore will do everything he can to destroy you."

…

"Yes, my Lord, I understand now."

I got tired of listening around that time. So, what do we have here?

Quirrel is licking the other person's ass, the person most likely being fucking Voldemort. Would've been nice to know how they talk with each other and listen in properly.

Next, the Stone is hidden in the mirror somehow. Smashing it apart is, evidently, not an option, otherwise, Quirrel already would've done it. He needs me and is sure that I will get him the stone. Well, Voldemort is sure.

What else? The Big Bad wants to recruit me, seemingly to put into my smooth, virgin anus the same authoritarian colonics he just filled the turban-guy with. That's it? No! Quirrel asked 'how WE will disappear from Hogwarts', so Voldemort is here, but hiding. I am not gonna go looking for him, have stuff to do.

I am not going to work for Voldemort. My anus is too sensitive for his colonics and my tongue is way too picky to kiss his asshole. So, Quirrel's gonna get exterminated. Or should I knock him out? Nah. He's a sorcerer, so who knows what kind of tricks he has up his sleeves to fight off smart guys like me.

I have just the spell for him…

I exhaled and aimed for a good hit. I had only one chance, after that, I won't take him by surprise, and I don't want to run away from a raging wizard on a small arena, even under the Invisibility Cloak.

Don't move… Yes… Now!

There was a gunshot and Quirrel's skull got punched all the way through, staining the mirror with the pieces of his brain. Doesn't look appetizing, that's for sure.

Quirrel's figure stumbled and then fell.

"Headshot, fucker. The best fucking spell. Congrats with baptism by fire, 'Victory Arms'." I caressed the handgun.

I'll call it 'Mean Sonnuvabitch'.

But, as it turned out, I started partying a bit too early. Quirrel's body twitched.

"Fuck me…"

A real fucking zombie was standing up before my very eyes! He missed half-a-head, but that bastard didn't even think about lying down. His forehead was mangled open, blood was leaking down the face together with his brain, and he didn't even care! To be sure, I shot it two more times in the chest, but without any result.

"Muggle weapon." The voice hissed from the dead man's head. The corpse's mouth didn't move at all, however. The shit wasn't good in any way and I would've run away from there already, but my stone was still in the mirror. "How disgusting, Potter."

The corpse tore out the remains of the turban, revealing another face on the back of its head. Geez, what an ugly fucker. No nose, small glowing red eyes, and no chin (the last thing is understandable – it was on the back). Grey skin formed many creases and growths as if a weird face-like mushroom grew from the skull. I don't even know what face was worse: this one or Quirrel's ruined one.

"Fuck me, Quirinus, go to a doctor and check yourself for syphilis! And check your second pilot too, I think he infected ya." I changed my location while screaming all that. Now I only had one advantage – invisibility.

"There is no more Quirinus, boy, you killed him." The mushroom whispered. "You are much stronger than I thought. You killed a man without any hesitation. I can offer you much for such talents…"

"So you're Voldie then?"

"Lord Voldemort! How dare you disparage me?!" The walking corpse turned to the sound. "Bombarda!"

The column I covered behind two seconds ago exploded into a cloud of stone fragments. I managed to evade the blow, but still got hit by the explosion, at least nothing to shredded.

Four dice for damage. Three damage points. Stamina roll failed.

4/7/7 (Traumas: -1 dice for rolls).

"Doesn't matter, I can always teach you some manners. Come out, Potter, accept my rule and stand beside my throne. Together we will build a new, powerful world, where mages will take their deserved place."

"Cool story, mate, but there's a nuance!" I quickly wrangled my brains for a solution capable of harming a walking corpse. And found one!

The Path of Fiend Fire, he-he, level two. Let's fry some dark lords!

"What nuance?" Quirrel's second face grinned.

He didn't notice that his cloak caught fire on the opposite side of him. He will soon.

"You plan to place your dead ass on my throne."

Ha, now he's all nervous. I lit him up from one more side and kept casting again and again. Must be hard to control a corpse when your eyes are on the back, so he couldn't put off fires by creating water… and then his wand caught fire too. Oops.

In the end, the corpse fell onto the floor and started rolling around, screaming… and then stopped. This time for good.

Experience points: +3.

Total experience points: 8.

I tiredly limped to the body and looked it over. Yep, dead for real. And, judging by the burned muscles and charred bones, he's going to stay dead for a looong time.

And if he still didn't die, then I can always burn him to ashes.

But that can wait, I have a reward to grab.

The mirror, stained by the pieces of Quirrel, showed an interesting picture – the old movie with Clint Eastwood 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly', the moment the three main characters met and were throwing glances at each other, waiting for the shooting to start. The characters were recognizable, but their faces belonged to other people: 'The Bad' was squinting at the sun glistening at his goggles and had Dumbledore's face. 'The Ugly' scratched his unkempt stubble and thin Voldemort's slits inhaled the desert air. 'The Good' in his poncho lazily chewed the cigar, with the scar visible under the hat.

Fucking hell, look at the magical film industry progressing! What if I would've been a fan of porn instead of westerns?

Between the three gunslingers was only a wasteland, flat as a table, with only dry bushes occasionally growing in the sand. But in the center of that waste was the one thing that shouldn't have been there - a bright-red stone the size of a chicken egg. My reward.

Now, how do I get it?

The three started shooting, their movements were fast as lightning, bullets exploded clouds of dust in the sand where they hit the hot desert soil. 'The Good' hit near the stone with one of his bullets and it flew out of the picture… and out of the mirror. Fuck, that's cool.

"Thanks, mate, I knew you are an awesome dude!" I nodded to the mirror.

'The Good' nodded lightly, 'The Ugly' spit angrily and 'The Bad' smiled darkly, looking at the three of us.

So, what's next?

…And next was another battle with Quirrel's corpse – it twitched again. I immediately decided to doze it with flames again but didn't hurry. The black smoke started leaking from the pierced skull, gathering into a dark cloud in the shape of a human body. The son of a bitch just didn't want to die!

I had no idea what to do with the cloud. Shooting it was useless, lighting up – too, it's not a gas cloud, after all. But Voldemort decided to free me from those heavy thoughts and flew away, passing right through the ceiling. Huh.

Time for me to get out too.

Wearing my Cloak. I limped back, carrying with me the 'Mean Sonnuvabitch' with the mag emptier by three rounds and the scarlet stone, which I will examine later.

I get to the room with chess without any trouble, but then saw something that warmed up my heart: Dumbledore, Flitwick, and McGonagall playing chess by taking figures' places. Flitwick was a bishop, Dumbledore was a king and McGonagall was a rook.

"Minnie, can't you disenchant your golems?"

"Of course I can, Albus!" She protested. "But that would take at least two hours! You are the one that likes chess, just win the game already!"

"Oh, you taught their king strategy a little too well…" Headmaster shook his head.

I looked at their bickering for ten more minutes, but, when noticed that Headmaster started winning and the show – ending, kept going.

The harp still played, but the melody was different. Fluffy was still asleep.

My path lied to the Gryffindor tower.

***

The next day I got asked to visit Headmaster.

"You called, Headmaster?"

"Harry, my boy, please enter." The office's owner smiled.

There were very comfy chairs in the office, no, the whole place looked nice. Wow, a bird, and even not an owl! It looked like a big red raven with a long tail. Pretty.

"I see you are interested in Fawkes." Albus tilted his head. "He is a truly wondrous creature. Phoenixes are truly miraculous and I am happy that you saw him at his best."

"Ah, so it's their feathers go into the wands. Impressive. So, he comes back to life? From the ashes?"

"Yes, of course. There is no better illustration of the saying 'don't fear death' than a phoenix."

"That's cool, yeah. So, what's the matter? Guys in the tower got a new porn magazine and it's my turn to go on a date now if you catch my meaning."

Somewhere in the middle of me speaking Dumbledore choked on his tea and coughed for no less than twenty seconds. Yeah, would've been cool to kill the two strongest sorcerers and one of them just by talking.

"Oh, youth, sometimes I don't understand it." Albus mumbled. "Alright, let's get to business then. Yesterday you sneaked into the Forbidden Corridor, Harry, and I want to know what happened there."

"Why do you think that I was there? You said not to go – and I didn't. I'm a good boy."

"Harry, stop. I have my ways of knowing things."

"You stop it, Headmaster. Yeah, I was there. What's next?"

"How did your encounter with Voldemort went? I admit that what you did is indeed heroic, albeit a terrifying incident, but I need to know details."

No use in hiding that. We all know who killed who, after all.

"Nothing unusual. Voldemort was hiding in Quirrel's nape. We compared wands, he admitted that his is shorter, and blew up Quirrel's head out of anger. Then flew away. The end."

Dumbledore thoughtfully nodded, then, without any hurry, put three cartridges and three bullets. Then he looked at me.

"Oh my God, Headmaster, what are these doing here?!"

"Stop playing stupid, Harry, this isn't funny."

"What do you want to hear then? Yes, I shot Quirrel. He got a spare face anyway."

"My boy, I am worried that you don't trust me and lie to me, but what worries me more is that you killed a man. This is a cruel ordeal for anyone and, of course, eleven-year-old children must not go through it." He picked up a bullet and rolled it on his palm. "And, of course, I want to know where is the Stone."

"In kidneys."

"Alright, Harry, enough jokes. Answer me, where is Philosopher's Stone?"

"Hell no. Headmaster, you tried to get me and Voldie to fight this whole year. Alright, I accepted the contract and showed him who's the new sheriff in town. But I never worked for free and I am not going to start."

"I see." Headmaster nodded. "And it doesn't concern you that you took an item that is not yours? A powerful and valuable item?"

"No, Headmaster, I didn't take anything. Let's think about it: you took the Stone for keeping either officially or unofficially. If you did it officially – then you can just report me and get a whole bunch of aurors wanting to know what even happened in the school throughout the year. You know, that weird rumor about you covering Voldemort's vengeful spirit. And, of course, your reputation of a respectable man would be over, because a first-year-student managed to go through all your defenses. In the second case you still would damage your reputation. Do you really need all that?"

"Yes, you are not a hero I needed." Headmaster snorted.

"So you needed a hero, huh?"

"Indeed. Someone, capable of bearing the Light's banner in the fight against Voldemort. But I see only a brazen thief."

"Sorry for betraying the high hopes."

"It's nothing, I can fix you. No, I must fix you, considering the fact you don't want to return the Stone."

I tensed.

"What do you mean?"

"Incarcero," Headmaster said lazily and I found myself tied to the chair by thick steel ropes, like in a cocoon.

Fuck my life.

"You see, my boy, I prefer my dirty laundry to stay hidden. So, I will just look at what's going on in your head, change your character, because you are a little too temperamental and self-loving…" The grandpa pat me on the shoulder. "…and then erase your memories of this. That's all."

"Grandpa, when I get out of the chains, I'll shove my boot so deep into your ass that you'll taste it."

"I don't think so," Albus said and looked me in the eyes… And I suddenly discovered that I couldn't close them.

I guess this was what they call 'a heavy stare into the soul'. While the old fuck was staring at me, I felt as if thousands of insects are crawling inside my skull, chittering, clawing their way deeper, swarming… It all started getting fuzzy…

No! I'll eat you for breakfast, you fucking fossil! Get out my head!

Spending Willpower point.

Willpower: 9/10.

Received one point of Lethal damage.

Health: 6/6/7 (Bruises).

Dumbledore stumbled back for a second and frowned.

"Don't resist Harry and it won't hurt. Don't make our lives more difficult." And continued the brain-fucking séance.

The sensations were getting worse. To the chittering of insects added sounds of eating, fighting, creaking and cracking of chitine…

"Get out of my head, you old scumbag!"

Spending Willpower point.

Willpower: 8/10.

Received one point of Lethal damage.

Health: 5/5/7 (Hurt: -1 dice for rolls).

I felt my nose starting to bleed. Fucker.

"Harry, don't hurt yourself. I will get want I want anyway, you are just causing unnecessary suffering."

"Fuck you!"

Spending Willpower point.

Willpower: 7/10.

Received one point of Lethal damage.

Health: 4/4/7 (Injured: -1 dice for rolls).

"Your willpower is outstanding, Harry, but even the strongest have their limits."

"AAARGH!"

Spending Willpower point.

Willpower: 6/10.

Received one point of Lethal damage.

Health: 3/3/7 (Wounded: -2 dice for rolls).

He drilled into my brain. My brain drilled into itself. My whole mind turned into a one big drill.

"Harry, let me in. This isn't funny anymore. I don't want to hurt you, but the stone is important for me. Is it just as important for you?"

"F…u…c…k…"

Spending Willpower point.

Willpower: 5/10.

Received one point of Lethal damage.

Health: 2/2/7 (Mauled: -2 dice for rolls).

"Harry, please, let me help you. You just need to stop resisting. I will give you peace, calm, a goal to strive towards."

"Kiss… kha… my… ass…maybe…the…"

Spending Willpower point.

Willpower: 4/10.

Received one point of Lethal damage.

Health: 1/1/7 (Crippled: -5 dice for rolls).

Dumbledore levitated his gilded chair back, sat on it and shook his head in defeat. He still tried to persuade me with his fake compassionate voice:

"Your resistance is worthy of awe, Harry, but you are barely holding up. And I can't kill you. You are the hero, and if you are to die – then I must not be involved in it. At least, people must think so. I will send you into the medical wing now, then you'll depart for your summer break, but think about this: ahead of you is a whole year, or maybe more if you will resist, of talks such as this. Do you see your life this way? Think about it. And don't think of escaping – I will find you anywhere. Everything is in your hands, my boy."

I'll think about it, you old farter. I'll think about it and Magdiel will think with me.

Experience points: +3.

Total experience points: 11.

'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone' storyline complete.

Experience points: +5.

Total experience points: 16.

And then darkness.

Bland Eggplant · Mar 28, 2020

Sand coursed through my veins. There was ground glass under my closed eyelids. I wanted to puke so hard, and the only thing that stopped me was the lack of any liquid in the whole body. Then I suddenly realized that woke up at all only because I needed to go to the bathroom. Looks like there was some liquid left, after all.

I opened my eyes with a great effort. The stone Hogwarts ceiling over the head hinted that something happened to me. Ah, yes, I got called by Headmaster. I remember hiding the stone and going to sleep, and in the morning McGonagall took me to the beardy. We had an argument, I think… Maybe we made peace, drank a little and this is just a hangover? Didn't think that it hits eleven-year-olds so hard.

Ugh, it hurts to think. I just wanna lie and sleep some more, but I also really need to go to the bathroom and drink something. Almost forgot how this feels…

As my hand grabbed the railing, I lifted the whole unimaginable weight of my body. For the first time in the whole two lives, I think myself too fat. Looks like we had a really good drink, with me in the Hospital Wing and all.

My feet finally touched the cold stone floor. Huh, no slippers? Like, at all? What if I would've stepped on a cockroach?

In the end, I was forced to shamble barefoot, in the hospital gown, with shaking hands grabbing walls… I was one hell of a view for the passing students. Oh, you unknown architect, I really hope that the horny boys in hell give you a real good treatment for placing the closest toilet so far away from the hospital!

Someone asked me from behind in a meek voice:

"Do you need help, Harry?"

"You wanna hold my lil' friend while I lose water weight?" Fuck me sideways, is this really my voice? I sound like a chain-smoking mouse instead of a proud glasses-wearer.

"Stop swearing! I just want to he…"

"Aaaaw…" I clutched my ears and immediately lost the balance, painfully hitting the wall and slowly sliding down.

That was the bushy girl. Such shitty luck, really. The honorary fourth place in the list of people that annoy me, mostly because of the loud voice. Just what I needed at the moment. The only thing left is a good kick to the balls, then the set will be complete.

No way it's a simple hangover, those never felt so bad. What happened to me? Maybe there is something in my character sheet?

There was something, yes. Not all the answers I needed, but some food for thought was present.

Willpower: 4/10.

Health: 1/1/7 (Cripple: -5 dice for rolls).

Full recovery in: ~7 months with proper care. Attention! An unknown medicine was used. Continuous use of the medicine will lower the recovery time to ~10 days.

Wow. Where the hell did I find all that? Although, I have just a person to ask.

"Hey, bushy? What happened to me? I can't remember."

She exclaimed with surprise:

"But you are a hero! …Oh, sorry." The sadist quieted down again.

"Granger, I beg you – don't talk, whisper. At least for now." I moaned.

"O-Of course. So…"

"Stop. Help me stand, or else I'll make a mess right here."

She realized something and grabbed my hand. Then the smart girl pulled me, helping to get up. The only thing that saved me from falling over again was me leaning over the wall better than in the previous time. The world spun before my eyes, nausea began it's assault harder than before.

"Urgh… Granger, if there is hell, you'll be an honorary torturer…"

"I'm sorry, Harry, I…"

"Forget it. I feel like shit anyway, your intervention is not that noticeable. Thanks, by the way. …You were saying about heroism?"

We slowly – yeah, just imagine us hurrying up! – walked towards the bathrooms.

On the way I learned that I managed to track down and kill the Dark Lord, who somehow managed to sneak into Dumbledore's secret stash, but was horrifically cursed in combat. Albie found me, saved me and put me to the hospital, in which I rested for about a day.

But I totally remember that the only thing that got hurt during my scuffle with Voldemort was my knee, which means that grandpa Albie lied. Which means that grandpa Albie is hiding something. But what?

Hermione didn't follow me into the bathrooms, looks like my offer to 'hold the lil' guy' wasn't inspiring enough. Eh, whatever, I was sure that can handle it myself from the beginning.

After emptying the tanks I enjoyed the wonderful sensation of bodily rejuvenation and mental freshness for about two whole seconds. Yeah, the whole travel was worth it. At least now I can think easier.

So, Albus Dumbledore fed everyone a big fat lie. Why? I don't know. I saw him the last time yesterday, maybe the day before yesterday, but right after meeting the red-eyed one. Does that mean it was the grandpa who beat me up so hard? Nah, no way. He's on a crazy side, but doesn't look dangerous.

Facts, however, disagree. I went to him healthy and woke up in a hospital. These things don't happen on their own.

Although, doesn't look like he had reasons to hurt me. I am a student here and we both don't like Voldemort. There is no motive.

Aside from one: the Stone. I wanted to take it for some reason. A silly thought that was, why do I need it? As one wise vegetable said: 'You can't build a house with just one stone.'

Stop, what am I saying? What do I mean by 'why do I need the Philosopher's Stone'? It's a real cool and useful thingie. Dumbledore would've cracked anyone's skull open for it.

Nah, not possible. He couldn't. I would've even given it to him if he would've asked. I don't need someone else's stuff.

I don't need someone else's stuff.

Feels as if before all that I thought differently. As if my thoughts are going the wrong ways. But everything is fine, right? I am wounded, yes, but Headmaster provided me with medicine, right?

Someone knocked on the door.

"What?"

"Harry, is everything alright? You are taking too long." Granger.

Does she really still stand there? A responsible girl, that's good. And a kind one too.

What the hell is happening to me?! I would've never praised Granger! That I remember for sure.

"Yeah, bushy, I'm coming."

She helped me to get back to the hospital, with Ron walking in circles near the door. Hm. Clingy one, eh.

"O, Harry, here you are! I came during lunch, but couldn't find you. What is she doing with you?" He cringed when saw Granger. These two don't like each other.

"She helped me." I answered absent-mindedly because my eyes caught a pitcher with water on a small bedside table. I didn't see it the last time, but now my thirst became the problem number one and it just overshadowed everything else.

I shambled to it and started greedily drinking. The two were arguing about something, but I didn't listen, too captivated by the cool liquid. Drinking felt just amazing. I drank at least a liter and a half, before finally realizing that things became liveable. The last wish left, djinn – I want some quiet.

"Hey, guys? Can you please talk quieter? I feel tired."

'Hey, guys'? 'Can you please'?

Hermione nodded and exited the room, Ron followed after her. Maybe I was too harsh on him, he looks like a cool dude. Even came to visit me.

Now I need to find out what the hell happened to me. I feel all… cotton-filled. And all these doubts… I didn't have any before. Alright, the character sheet helped me with my health, maybe it'll help in this one too?

Name: Harry Potter.

Concept: Unloved Child.

Nature: Undefined. Willpower recovery is unavailable.

Demeanor: Cutthroat. Might makes right.

Resonance: Dynamic, Radiant.

Strength:* - Your limit is twenty kilos. Wuss.

Dexterity: ** - No clod, but no ballerina either.

Stamina: *** - You are fit and ready for trouble.

Manipulation: * - Poker isn't for you.

Charisma: **** - You make an impression right off the bat.

Appearance: ** - You don't stand out in the crowd and blend with walls.

Intelligence: ** - Not an idiot, but nothing exceptional.

Perception: *** - You are attentive to people, items and surroundings.

Wits (Always Ready): **** - You are perceptive and ready for unexpected. (Your first action is always ahead of your opponent's by Initiative, if Wits are involved.)

Abilities:

1) Talents:

Vigilance: *** - You keep your surroundings under observation.

Athletics: *** - You are competent, resilient and capable of training.

Brawl: ** - A common street thug.

Dodge: *** - You gracefully evade dangers.

Subterfuge: *** - Your lies are believable.

Intimidation: * - You know how to push so people would leave you alone.

2) Skills:

Stealth: *** - Shadows are your friends.

Survival (social hell): **** - Your experience makes you very hard to harm. Prisons, bad reputation and starving – all that stuff doesn't scare you anymore.

Etiquette: * - You are trying not to get involved in affairs of others.

Meditation (Resonance: Radiant): *** - Your mind is streamlined.

3) Knowledge;

Academics (World of Darkness): **** - You know how this world REALLY IS. (Can distinguish Lasombra from Sluagh).

Occult: ** - The supernatural is near and you know where to look.

Academics (History of Magical Britain): * - Looks like English goblins occasionally didn't like the government.

Academics (Herbology): * - Fly Alargic? Poisonous. Plantain? Not poisonous.

Academics (DADA): * - Werewolves are a type of blood-sucking undead. Or not?

Additional:

Fate: ***** - You will turn the world upside down or die trying.

Mana: ** - You can store/use two notional points of magical power.

Status (Magical Britain): ** - You are recognized and valued in your community.

Paths of Sorcery:

Telekinesis and Summoning: *** (dex+occ) – Can summon spare shoes from the other room? Lift a fallen book with your gaze? You are the greatest sorcerer that ever lived!

Movement: ** (sta+occ) – For those who don't like to walk.

Oneiromancy: * (wits+occ) – At least, you have access to lucid dreaming.

Fiend Fire: ** (stm +occ) – You can make a good campfire even out of wet firewood. Very useful in travels.

Alchemy: * (int+herb) – Your vegetable stew isn't only tasty, it is also good for you.

Transfiguration: * (manp+occ) – Small changes. Small volume. Small period of time.

Enchantment: * - (int+occ) – Your items are of high quality. Some might call the quality 'magical', but they are probably joking.

Path Enhancements:

Countermagic;

Unweaving;

Alohomora;

Lumos.

Willpower: 4/10, Indomitable.

Mana: 2/2.

Advantages:

Iron Will - Your emotions can be affected. Your body can be affected. Your intentions – cannot.

Disadvantages:

Short-sighted - Sight is not your strongest sense. All rolls for perception with involved sight are harder by +2.

Mistaken Recognition - Some people – many people – tend to think you a hero. Are you mad yet?

Hard Lot - You are pretty sure that nothing good awaits you. You have every reason to.

Total Experience Points: 16.

What the… Where is my Nature?!

I have no Nature. I have no character. Does it mean that I am just a wet tissue of a person now? No, that's a character too… What is happening?

I totally remember having the 'Balky' Nature and everything went just fine. And now I don't have it. But the character can't just disappear out of nowhere! It's not a salary!

Alright, I need to think. When I was myself for the last time? Before getting ill. That means before Dumbledore. That's obvious! If before meeting Headmaster I was myself and now I am… well, not – then it means that he is the one to blame!

Or maybe not. Event A follows Event B, but it doesn't mean that B is the cause of A. Why not asking him? Alright then, but first I'll catch some sleep. If he is at fault, then he must have had his reasons.

But I am going to have a good sleep first.

***

I woke up in the evening, feeling just as bad as before. In the shade, I barely recognized a figure sitting in a chair right near the bed.

"Good evening, Harry. How are you feeling?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore?" It's good that he's here. I can start solving problems now. "Thanks, but I don't feel so good. What happened?"

"You don't remember?" He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Well then, it makes our situation both easier and more complicated. What is the lat thing you remember?"

"Me entering your office. We argued, I think." I scratched my head, but it didn't help to remember any details. "Headmaster, I feel… weird. I mean, it's not health, I just… don't think right. What is happening?"

Dumbledore smiled into his beard.

"Oh, you noticed? This, my boy, is a result of your treatment in some sense. Professor Snape was very courteous and brew a potion that helps with your illness. Sadly, it does have some side-effects. Do not worry about them, they will pass soon."

Well, alright then. Dumbledore knows what he is talking about.

"Got it. Tell him that I'm very grateful."

"Of course, but the best kind of gratitude for him will be you going through the whole treatment. It will take ten days and you already received the first portion of the medicine." Albus nodded somewhere under the bed.

I followed his gaze and noticed a handbag with medicine. Ten small bottles, one of them was empty.

Medicine, name unknown.

Effect: Affects brain damage, turns lethal damage into bashing one after a ten-days course.

Sife-effects: After finishing the course of treatment, Nature changes to one of the following: Martyr, Penitent, Conformist.

That was… unexpected. If I remember correctly, all those natures have one common trait – obedience. And my previous Nature had it in the opposite way.

Makes me think. Maybe the healing is the side-effect? Considering that I hid the stone that Headmaster might want?

"Again, thank you. But what even happened?"

"We didn't agree about the Philosopher's Stone. Nicolas, the Stone's owner, can die without it and I wanted to return it. And you, who saved it from Voldemort's grasp after such a battle, was afraid to give it. I understand your fear, that monster was dangerously close to resurrection, but now he is powerless. You were too nervous and it caused an accidental magic surge… which brings us here."

Yes, Headmaster, that explains a lot. But I totally remember that I wanted to keep the stone just because I wanted it for myself. The imaginary fear of Voldemort has nothing to do with this.

Headmaster, your lies anger me.

"Tell me, Harry, have you thought about what happened? Can we return the Stone to Nicolas?"

You only needed to ask, Headmaster… should've done it before I caught you on a lie.

"I'd be happy to, Headmaster, but I can't remember where I hid it. I just need some time to remember and then I, of course, will help your friend."

Dumbledore frowned a little.

"Are you sure? Harry, we are not in a hurry yet, Nicolas has enough of the elixir to last a little, but I am still afraid for his life. Do you really not remember?"

"Headmaster, I'd be happy to help, but I can't."

He started thinking, but quickly found a solution.

"Very well. Then, my young friend, tomorrow you are going on your summer break to your uncle and aunt. Don't forget about Professor Snape's medicine. And in September, when you recover enough, we will try to solve this problem it together… of course, if you won't remember where the Stone is by yourself. Oh, of course, and you may be happy to learn that thanks to your deeds Gryffindor won the House Cup this year. Now rest."

I only nodded in response.

***

The next day was all about packing things. Since I was in pretty bad shape, Ron helped me to gather mine. Hermione came over one time, but Ron asked her to leave, to 'not interrupt the healing'.

As far as I can tell, he didn't shuffle through my stuff. Even my Cloak and 'Mean Sonnuvabitch' were in their places.

So, with my cart, with the medicine bag and with my trunk, accompanied by Ron and walking on crutches, I boarded the train. The road quickly made me fall asleep.

Vernon Dursley was awaiting me at Kings-Cross. I really didn't expect to see him again. No, Albus, I left his house and I am not coming back. My life is not a theater play to direct and I am really pissed that you are still trying to.

I walked past Vernon and called a taxi. My small room in 'Leaky Cauldron' awaited me.

So, what do I have? I am a cripple: every movement sends a wave of pain through the whole body, nausea and constant dizziness. But if I use the medicine to heal – I'll become a slave, a puppet. If I won't – then Albus will wait, then realize that I don't drink the potions and solve the problem by force. Or maybe Voldie will get to me before that and kill.

But, much more likely, I'll just break and drink the potions. I can't not drink them, my will is already damaged by them. Maybe Philosopher's Stone could've helped, but it's in the secret place back at Hogwarts.

I need an extraordinary solution. And I have just an idea.

"Magdiel." I say quietly.

No effect. But I know that she heard me. I can't hear her, but a demon can't ignore when their name is being said, such is their nature.

"Magdiel, it's time to discuss the deal. I can't come to you, I just won't make it. If you decided that the whole thing is worth a shot, come to Leicester Square garden at midday. Into its very middle, I'll sit on one of the benches wearing a red shirt. I hope you'll come."

After all, she doesn't have a choice too.

***

At 11:30 of the next day, I left the bar and shambled towards Leicester Square. The small green patch of land demanded exactly half-an-hour of my turtle-walk. I didn't drink the potions yesterday and today's morning. My condition is getting worse.

My thoughts sound really interesting right now – I need Death!

And Death came. The Indian woman looked just as tired as the last time we met.

"You don't look good, boy."

"You too aren't a pretty flower."

Anila made up a smile, but her eyes remained serious.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. Had an argument with Dumbledore. I told you about him, remember? Got me into hospital with no memories."

"I see." Her face remained cold. What else did you expect from a demon? "I feel your approaching death. Is this the reason to make the Deal? You want to escape certain doom?"

"Not only that. Say, Anila, are you still fighting the Earthbound?"

"He went quiet. But… yes, I am still fighting him. And I am losing. He has too many servants. Are you sure you can fulfill your part? An army of sorcerers, money, safehouses?"

It's a good thing that she asks that. She already agreed, we just need to haggle until right price. My head might be filled with porridge, but I remember that the previous me would've tried to tear out as much as possible.

"Yes. Not right now, of course. At first, I can give you money, maybe get you into the Wizarding World. Then I expect to become an important figure, then, maybe a little earlier, we'll talk about people."

"Just as I thought. I agree to work with you, as long as you work with me. About the Deal…What do you want? To be cured?"

No, Anila, I had a whole night to think about this. I found a better way to wiggle out.

"Curing me is like firing a cannon at sparrows. He did something to me, my consciousness changes. He turns me into his servant. If you cure me now – he'll just put me into a hospital again and finish the job."

"What do you want then?"

"Put a protection on my mind and body. The one you have. The one demons have."

The demon looked at her hand. A leaf from the tree fell on it and rot away in seconds. Show-off.

"Do you think your soul strong enough? It is not easy to teach the soul to protect both mind and body."

"I don't know and won't know without trying. But if you'll need to chose – protect my mind."

She nodded.

"Very well. I, Magdiel the Killer, must give you protection of mind and body for your servitude…"

"No. Not for servitude. We are partners. The last thing – if you'll try to harm me through the Deal it will be terminated. Do you accept?"

Death started thinking.

Demons need faith. They can do many things, almost everything. They created the Universe at some point. But all their mastery over our world is useless without faith. Before all this God was the one who gave it to them, after Him were the humans for the sake of whom the demons rebelled. But in the modern world, without a faith in God, in future, in themselves, into anything, in this faith-deprived world they starve and suffer.

And so they make deals, fulfilling wishes in return for faith, for the God's spark that He left in us. Yes, they give much, but take everything: having power over one's soul they can inflict unimaginable suffering, inflict madness or even let a mortal feel the Abyss. If you made a Deal, then the only one who can terminate it is the demon themselves. The Deal is not affected by time or space, by righteousness and toughness of a mortal – by a demon's will they will suffer, crawl in agony and go insane until they start obeying a monster's orders.

A man becomes a slave.

And here I am offering her a Deal that will not give her the leash, will not give her the right to order me around. Does she need such a Deal? Yes. She needs faith, she always needs it.

Will she make a Deal with me? I don't know. She can always find an idiot that will jump into a pit without asking questions.

Anila looked at the sky. It was a bright, cloudless summer day. I was interested a little in her thoughts, but didn't ask.

"You ask for much, mortal, but I do need an ally. We will make such a Deal, if you tell me everything you know about Lucifer and how did you learn it."

Got it. I'm not the only one haggling here. Doesn't matter, I was going to tell her anyway.

"Alright. For starters, let me tell you a story. Just try to believe it, I'll give you the proof in the end if you'll even need it." Anila closed her eyes in agreement. "If you let me, I'll start from the moment when you all got imprisoned in the Abyss. But your leader, The Prince of The Fallen, wasn't with you. He was left on Earth, alone, among the ruins. God let him go."

"So he did betray us." The fallen mumbled, her face became covered in shadow. I mean literally, it got darker around us, as if the Sun started running out of batteries.

"Anila! Anila, listen to me. The story is not over, it only began. Don't judge him too swiftly." I tried calming her down.

Death clenched her fists until they went pale, but calmed down. It once again got lighter around us. Yes, you would've been affected by the story and I should've thought about it. But my head just hurts too much.

"God let him go and I can't tell why. Maybe he decided that it would be a punishment enough for him, maybe they really were in cahoots, maybe he didn't care. Who knows the true reason? I can make up ten more answers, and the eleventh one will be the right."

"Yes, I know that better than others."

"The Host and God left this world. I know only about five angels that kept existing in it: Lucifer, Charon, Nudriel and some other two from The Host whose names I don't know."

"Charon and Nudriel? Are they alive too?"

"I don't know, they were before, the story isn't for them anyway. Lucifer did not accept defeat: he decided to get you all out from the Abyss. He was the one who created the summoning rituals and brought his closest comrades into this world."

"The Great Dukes. So that's where they disappeared. We suspected this, but weren't sure. And then they got on Earth…"

"Yes, all five of them. There was a problem though – after the war only pitiful thousands of mortals were left alive, and they degraded almost to the primal level. There wasn't enough faith to create bodies for the Dukes and Lucifer foresaw that. He created items, altars, reliquaries for his generals, in which those could exist. He didn't foresee one thing though – how the Abyss changed all of you."

"They… So that's how the first Earthbound appeared. I can imagine what was happening in the world back then."

"Yes, five monsters just as powerful as Lucifer himself, bent on power, cruelty, and control. And the rituals for summoning the lesser demons were already created. Lucifer didn't use them, but with time they ended up in human hands. Your Prince was terrified by what was going on. The war against God and restoration of humanity became the least of his concerns, it was much more important to deal with the Earthbound and, if we include that The Five wanted him dead, then it's understandable why he went into hiding."

"And he is hiding since then." Anila continued.

"Not quite."

"No? Then where is he?" She looked around with a smirk.

"He appeared a long time ago among a small nomadic tribe. He introduced himself as God's Voice and started the religion called judaism. Then he told them about how the world was created, in basic terms. Everything for the sake of making the Earthbound lose worshippers – the faith should've gone to God, into space, to whoever able, just not to them. By that point they created so many pagan cults it's almost admirable… Fuck…"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm okay, just nausea kicking in. Give me a minute." I rested a little. Need to finish the story and make the goddamn Deal, I'm not feeling good at all and it's getting worse. "So, monotheism and Old Testament. The Earthbound answered Lucifer by creating Rome, with all its culture, enlightment, and depravity. Then The Prince showed himself the second time: to a young carpenter named Jesus. That story about Christ's temptations in the desert, forty days and all that. The angel told that jew everything and infected Jesus with his vision of the future. At first, the Kings of Terror didn't suspect anything and didn't care too much about a small sect. It was their mistake: Rome fell. The monsters wanted to begin everything from a scratch, from small tribes and cults, but by that point the church already stood strong on its feet. Their cults went into hiding in the Western world and then the world came to them on its own. Well, you know the rest: the church stopped seeing the hidden enemy, piety and devotion became a religion, people increased in numbers and faith overall diminished. New times came, with the church being once again weak. Then you started appearing."

Magdiel sit on the bench with the same stone-like expression. I hope she liked the tale.

"I have only one question. How do you know all this, boy?"

Well, now's the moment that will decide everything. Death's feelings about me will determine how she'll react to my next words:

"Let's say that this isn't the first body I inhabit. And before I got it, I managed to get my hands on some very interesting books."

Demon smiled.

"You aren't lying. That is interesting and, maybe, even useful. Thank you, Harry Potter. And now it is time for me to keep my word. I will give you protection for mind and body, " She clicked her fingers. "As my part of the Deal that will be terminated if will ever use it to harm you, Harry Potter."

The world didn't turn on its head and the lightning didn't strike. My soul was sold by accompaniment of chirping birds and laughing children somewhere in the distance.

The evidence of the Deal being sealed were several messages in front of me:

Your soul has went through a change: now your mind is immune to outside influence. You are now the only master of your thoughts. – Immunity to mind control.

Your soul has went through a change: now your body can resist lethal damage by using Stamina during one episode, if before that you spend a point of Willpower. – Lethal damage resistance.

Sealed the Deal with demon Magdiel. You can now talk telepathically.

Your Demeanor has changed: Master of Survival.

Master of Survival: Whatever happens, you will persevere.

Yes. This is victory. Now I can drink those potions without any consequences. And then I'll return t Hogwarts, Dumbledore, and you will learn why making me angry is a bad fucking idea.

With a shaking hand I grabbed the handbag and, after finding one of the bottles, drank the nasty shit right there. I don't care anymore. Nine days later I will be all nice and healthy – just what I need to pull Albie's beard out!

Cold, ductile liquid filled my insides, calming the poor, barely working body down, letting me think again. It's so great to not feel pain! At least, THAT strong kind of a pain. Yes, now I feel good enough to actually get really, really angry.

"Mag?"

"Yes, boy?"

"I need something from you for the next step. Do you know any Devourers that I can do business with?"

She looked at me with surprise all over her face. Yes, Mag, I have a plan and the plan demands me to find some Devourers.

"Depends on what kind of business you want to have. I know a couple that owe me favors, but I am not going to waste them on something without a valid reason."

"Trading. And I don't need your help, I can pay for myself."

For the first time in my memory Death started laughing.

"Trading with Devourers? Boy, I want to see this. Yes, I know one. Just don't make a mistake and try to pay only with money, I really need your sorcerers and your mutilated body won't get me any."

"Oh, I think we'll find a common ground. So, ten days later, this very place. I should be more or less alright by then. Deal?"

"Yes. I was called as a witness to a trial, but the hearing will be in the morning, so I should arrive in time."

"Then I'm coming back, my poor body needs some rest. Goodbye, Magdiel."

"Goodbye, Harry Potter."

Upon reaching 'Leaky Cauldron', I lied down and started thinking. Soon I will get in shape. Soon I'll meet that Devourer-demon. And then, grandpa Albie, I'll fulfill one promise.

Remember I promised to shove my boot really deep into your sleazy ass? I'm going to do just that. And I swear on my sold soul, I will feel really fucking good about this.

Nature changed: Cutthroat – Your Willpower restores when you use force (not necessarily physical) to achieve your goals. Traits: Power, Wrath.

"Hah, looks like I am getting better, you bearded motherfucker."

A/N: Sorry for not uploading for so long. I... kinda forgot about it with all the commotion. And it's also a little empty in here. Oh well.

Bland Eggplant · Mar 31, 2020

Diagon Alley, as always, was stinky and dirty. It's not that surprising if you think about it. It's not only because the locals are pigs, it's also because their government is just a bad parody of a proper one. No sorcerer will ever clean up the streets, simply because he's so fucking cool and powerful and would rather let the house-elves do it.

By the way, it would've been cool to look at those. I heard about the elves a lot but didn't see one yet. That sucks.

So, no house-elf will clean up the street simply because he is a fucking house elf and not a street one, and that puddle of vomit near his house doesn't bother him one bit.

And what their government does to solve this? Exactly. They invent a 'Floo Powder', so the citizens don't have to walk down the dirty streets if they don't like it so much. Fucking amazing.

In other words, this shopping trip, in the evening nine days later after making the Deal, didn't bring me any joy whatsoever. But I had an important meeting tomorrow and couldn't afford to appear without a present.

After visiting some more shops and getting needed stuff, I thought a little, then thought again, and finally decided to buy myself some whiskey. If everything will go according to plan – then tomorrow evening I'll need it.

The only thing left is to wait until tomorrow and come to Leicester Square. Well, at least, I thought so, because there always is an asshole that won't let you have a good night's sleep.

***

I woke up because someone hit me in the abs. I am fairly good at taking punches, but in the middle of the night, in deep sleep, I am just not ready. That, however, didn't stop me from punching the midget, who decided to start jumping on me, right to his empty head..

The second strike didn't follow, sadly – I wasn't in shape yet.

I rolled off the bed and onto the floor, clutching my poor stomach and frantically searching for 'Mean Sonnuvabitch' on the bed drawer with my left hand – it was supposed to lie on the upper shelve, but I just couldn't grab it. The visibility in the complete darkness was bloody awful, I needed to turn the lights on. They were using kerosine lighters in this stenching flophouse… sorry, 'respectable establishment', one of those per room. Why the fuck would a sorcerer need proper electric lamps, eh?

Turning back, I saw the recovering midget. Ha, snack on this, bitch! Behind him, on the table, auntie's knife was glistening in the dark… and now it was glistening in this screaming monkey's leg.

Mana: 1/2;

Now, about the light… click of the fingers ignites the lamp wick, illuminating the room with its flickering flame. I finally could see 'Mean Sonnuvabitch' on the drawer and it gladly jumped into my hand. A rapid turn and I'm aiming at… Huh. Looks like daddy-chimpanzee once fucked its lemur-mummy, producing this accident of the creature.

"Owww…" Nature's mistake was quietly whining, trying to pull Petunia's knife out of his leg. Yeah, this ain't a small splinter, he-he.

"What kind of creature are you?"

It stopped whining and looked at me with its giant, wide-open eyes. Creepy as hell. Damn, if his eyes are so big and round, then how do they even fit into his head? Nevermind, how his brain fit in there?

"Dobby, Harry Potter. A house-elf Dobby." He whined.

House-elf, eh? Yeah, I remember wanting to see at least one.

"And why the fuck did you barge into my room in the middle of the night? I don't accept visitors…" I looked at the alarm clock. "…at 3 in the morning."

"Dobby wanted to help… Harry Potter, sir, Dobby didn't mean anything bad!"

"And Dobby didn't get anything bad. That's a real good knife and it has thirteen younger brothers." I patted my pistol. "Of which every single one are interested in what are you doing here."

"Dobby is hurt, Dobby feels bad… But Dobby must say!" The elf exclaimed. "Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts! It's too dangerous! Owww…"

"Shut it, Pavarotti, your singing is awful. Don't babble to me about Hogwarts, I have business there."

"But you can't! There is an evil plot!"

"You don't say…" I made a surprised face. "And what's the name of our bearded plotter?"

"Bearded? The great…" The pale eyeballer looked contemplatively on the knife sticking out of his thigh, but shook his head and continued. "…great Harry Potter doesn't understand. He is too important to risk himself."

"With that one I agree, kind of. Alright, you warned me – I received it. Now give me back my knife and get out of here."

The lemur opened his eyes even wider and started quickly talking in a quiet voice:

"Harry Potter must promise that he will not go to Hogwarts this year, that he will not go to Kings-Cross. Harry Potter must promise!"

What a messed up lil' fucker.

"Let's compare the debit and the credit, my big-eared friend. You snuck into my room, you hit me to wake up, you stained the floor in my room with your blood, and, of course, I won't get a proper sleep because of you. Let's assume that you wanted to do good and forgive one sin – the one with the interrupted sleep. And so, you have three more on your balance. Can you remind me, why the hell 'must' I do something?"

The ugly quieted down and again started whining about the great Harry Potter.

"Alright, little shit, give me my knife and get out. Here's the door."

"Harry Potter must promise not to go to Hogwarts! Or his friends' letters will never reach him!"

This is where I fell out of the flow for a second. What bloody 'friends' letters'? I don't remember having such good relationships with anyone in Hogwarts. I am too young and free-spirited yet, so… Wait a second, I'm thinking about the wrong thing here.

"Someone was writing to me and you were looking through my mail, right?"

"Ri-i-ight…" He mumbled, realizing that trying to blackmail me was a mistake.

"Don't misunderstand it, I'm gonna shoot you anyway, you sneaky little fucker, but I wanna know this – who was writing me?"

The bastard lifted his arm, wanting to click the fingers, but got a good kick right to his palm. I am not sure, but that looked like an attempt to cast something, and I don't want any surprises.

"What, don't want to tell me anything? I don't really give a shit, but, to be honest, am a little interested."

"We-e-easle-e-ey, Ro-o-on…" The eyeballer whined. "And Hrimoa Greidgie-e-e…"

"Hermione Granger." I corrected him automatically.

Ugh… Very few people annoyed me more than these two. Now they started writing letters. Not the biggest problem, but they are like flies buzzing overhead – they fly and buzz, fly and buzz… Damn, turns out I owe the little shit.

"Hey, bug-eyed, you just won a jackpot. Major thanks for taking THOSE letters." I lifted his leg and yanked the knife out. The scrawny limb started bleeding, but less than I expected. Gotta wipe the floor anyway… some high-quality sleep, right here. "Now take your ass the hell out. And one advice for the future – if you wanna help someone, you gotta knock first."

Little shit took a couple steps, crying and limping, clicked his fingers and disappeared. Teleportation, huh? Now I see how he got in here.

Then I scrubbed the floor clean. I was not going back to sleep with the creature's blood on the floor – it could've started smelling. And I am very sensitive.

Nevertheless, I needed some more sleep. I still had six more hours before the meeting, so more than doable.

***

The alarm clock woke me up an hour and a half before the meeting. So, I got the opportunity to take a walk around the city.

London… Many people think the city beautiful. I think that they are fucking stupid. Or, more accurately… The city was beautiful. But modern buildings, gray walls, a dissonance in the architecture made the city oppressive, even creepy. Every building on its own looked alright, but together they gave off an impression of the Frankenstein Monster: pretty parts of different people stitched together, rotted a little and then got dressed in rags.

Can someone like this inspire awe, fascination, respect? Yes.

Is it comfortable living here, can you call the place nice? Fuck no.

I caught myself thinking all that when I was looking at an XVIII century house-museum. It was beautiful, light, as if reaching to the skies with each spire. But the sky was closed off by the skyscraper of the pharmaceutical company 'Megadon', with a huge, spreading all across the forty-stories wall, advertisement banner of its newest medicine, with a female model on it smiling in a very unnerving way. On the other side of the museum was an abandoned construction site, with dirty plastic sheets flapping on the wind. What a pretty place.

When I arrived at Leicester Square, I finally got how you can describe the city – bland. As if a smart and gorgeous-looking movie with special effects, beautiful and awesome, got dirtily filmed during a private screening on a cheap camera with shaky, sweaty hands to later sell it to some unsuspecting idiots, even if the recording has no sound, no color and with half of the film being cut-off.

The demon waited for me on the same bench. This time she didn't look so tired, although I wouldn't have called her happy or content. The same dark-skinned face, formal clothing, jacket covering it all. The only difference being less impressive bags under her eyes.

"Sup, Mag. How's life?"

"Greetings, Harry Potter. Everything is fine, but I think I disappointed my husband. I don't understand him."

"You have a husband? Didn't know that."

"Anila… had a husband. I live her life, so I have him as well."

"Yeah, that's quite a story. And how did he react when he learned that a demon inhabited his wife's corpse?"

"He doesn't know." She made a pause, but continued immediately. "I think he suspects, though."

A normal woman turned into a talking statue look-alike. Of course, this wouldn't have alerted anyone.

"You know, Mag, no offense but your family stuff – is your personal problem. Not that I don't give a shit - you just won't like my suggestions. You can dump him, you can strike a Deal with him."

"I will not do that. Anila loved him. I love him." Death answered a bit harsher than usual.

"Then your husband has bi-i-ig problems… Alright, I don't wanna crawl under your bedsheets with a candle. Let's get to business."

Magdiel nodded and we walked towards her car. Well, more like we walked towards the road and an empty blue 'Dodge Charger' straight out of the early seventies drove up to us and opened the doors. That was amazing.

"Cool car, Mag, you have taste. Didn't know that death demons can do that."

"Do what?"

"Well, get the car to drive on its own."

"Ordering souls? What else are we supposed to can do, if not that?" Magdiel was surprised.

"Yeah, so… Wait! You want to say that this car is possessed by a ghost?"

She shook her head vaguely.

"I'd rather say that Mike doesn't have a choice, so it's not a real possession. Just accept for now that I don't have problems with transportation."

This is where I felt really uncomfortable. It's awesome as hell, but I don't want to be her enemy.

"I thought the likes of you don't really need transport. You can, like, go through the world of the dead and stuff."

"Sometimes my shopping bags are heavy." The car's owner shrugged.

She didn't even control it, by the way, just read some documents from her purse, so the car… eh, Mike, moved on his own.

"So, what kind of demon we are visiting?"

"Andrew. Fairly strong."

"Not that. What kind of person is he?"

Mag questioningly raised her eyebrows.

"I didn't know you care about others' beliefs."

"Only if those beliefs belong to a predatory death-machine. Mag, seriously, I need to trade with him and I don't want to accidentally insult the guy. I am already shit at being delicate."

"Well, you know better. Andrew is a Faustian… Do you know who those are?"

"Yeah, big fans of commanding and manipulating mortals, want to sick them on God. Seeing a Devourer among them is unusual. Those prefer gently rubbing overs' faces with their fists."

"He was one of those who developed humans' instincts, so he just treats your kind as animals, albeit more promising. It is natural that he wants to control them."

Then it fits. Those guys like to gather their personal packs and are rather good at it. Devourers, animal demons, have a fantastic power over flesh, animals, and plants. Huge, furious… Well, many of them. Understandable, that if one of them treats humans like animals, then it will seem natural for him.

"Is his roof any good? Any leaks in it? I mean, you guys after serving the time often get an Afghan syndrome."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Mag, you know what I mean. Is he more like an angel or like a demon? Did Abyss leave a strong imprint on him?"

Magdiel stopped reading. Looks like the question made her interested.

"There are none of us with a weak Abyss imprint. Remember this, human. What for Andrew – he keeps himself in check."

We were quiet for some time, but I got bored with that right about we left the city.

"Why are you not worried about what I want to ask of him and give back? That's strange."

"It's not my business. I have nothing to share with the Devourer, so your deals are only yours. Of course, if you won't start picking a fight with him, but, if you are such an idiot, you deserve what's coming. I don't need an ally that stupid."

"Got it, I ain't stupid. Ah, by the way…" I take a package from my backpack. "Twenty thousands pounds. Not much, but will do as a pocket change. And, if there will be an opportunity, try to get some 9x19 ammo. A hundred will do just fine. The remains take for yourself, consider this my first contribution in our little thing."

"Thank you. This might be useful."

The glove box immediately opened, as if saying that this is where I should put the money.

"Mag, seriously, your car scares me a little. I mean, have you ever watched 'Christine'?"

"Yes, I did. I assure you if you roll Mike over with a press – you won't put him back together."

The car threateningly banged my door on this. Since we were moving eighty miles per hour, it was very damn effective. The last thing I needed is a bucket of bolts laughing at me.

The forestry was forty kilometers away from the city. I couldn't read the place's name – we moved past the sign way too fast. Several small buildings, around ten or so workers, a sawmill and some warehouses full of lumber were clearly visible as we approached. A cozy little place.

"Logging?"

"Something like that. Great Britain's laws are very serious about the island's ecology, so you can't harvest much. Andrew mostly keeps the woods and animals in check."

"Strangely peaceful for a Faustian." I was surprised. "What about enslaving, manipulations and having a big-ass crown? The place is way too secluded for any Napoleonian plans."

"I am not sure, but I believe that sometimes various influential people visit his territory." Mag shrugged. "Either to hunt or to rest on the fresh air, as they understand it. He works with them."

By that time we entered a two-stories building. A house as normal as they go, both an office and a place of living. There was a cage with two motherfuckingly huge dogs near the entrance door, but at the time they were sleeping, warmed up by the sun. I might be mistaken, but I don't think that such a flimsy cage would keep them inside if they will try to get out. Fuckhuge dogs, I tell you.

The demon himself stood not that far from the entrance and was giving out orders to one of his underlings, but noticed us and ended the conversation.

"Look who's here! Anila, you look shittier every day!"

And he had some right to say that: Andrew was a tall 30-year-old brunette with a muscular physique and buoyant smile. The man looked very respectable even in his working clothes and was obviously content with the life he was living.

"Andrew. The rudeness was unnecessary." Mag noted.

"Come on, someone had to say that to you. And who is your quiet little friend?"

"Name's Harry. Say, Andrew, is this a talent to annoy people right off the gate or did you spend a lot of time training?"

Devourer only laughed in response.

"Yeah, Anila, you have a funny one. Got surprised by your call, to be honest: our last meeting didn't end all that friendly."

"All in the past."

"True, true. Ah, damn, I completely forgot about the hospitality. Come," He waved towards the adjacent house. "Ursula was going to make an excellent ragout today."

And Ursula really did cook well, whoever she was. Although considering the fact that she needs to cook in the local lunchroom for twenty or so burly, hungry men, it's not surprising that she learned how to. Just you try to screw up a meal and avoid getting punched in the face. Of course, you can sue them afterward, but the verdict would be much later… and the punches would be right now.

After the meal, Andrew went to the point himself:

"So, Harry, this cold Indian said that you have something that will interest me."

"She was right. You see, I heard some rumors that you, Devourers, are oh-so-great professionals at plastic surgery."

Andrew nodded, but his eyes became much more bored in an instant.

"Ah, sure. But we are more about functional changes than plastics."

"Just what I need. You see, it just so happened that some bad people molest a certain youngster with indecent proposals and I can't even run away. Nobody takes a scrawny guy seriously. Gotta change that."

Devourer found that amusing.

"So you want some gains, brat? What, they canceled PE at schools? You know, why won't you go back to your sandbox?"

"I'll pay you. And yes, this is what I was talking about. Thanks for the illustration."

"And what are you going to pay me with? Marmalades?" He turned to Magdiel, who was busy looking out the window and being all distant. "Why did you bring him here?"

"This is your talk. I brought him, I introduced you, the rest are not my problems." She turned away.

"Listen, Andrew, let me give you a present first and then we'll decide should we have business with each other or not."

"Well, alright. Surprise me, brat." He smirked.

I pulled out a flask out of my backpack.

"And what's this?" The demon scrutinized it a bit.

"This is blood. The rumors, that I heard, mentioned something about your furry kind being able to turn into any beast which blood or flesh you consumed. Were those lies?"

"Well, let's assume they weren't." He smirked again.

"This is the blood of one very unusual creature. Try it, you'll be surprised."

Devourer looked at the flask thoughtfully, then slapped his hand on the table and stood up.

"Alright, brat, I like presents. Let's see what's under wraps…"

The three of us went into the forest. Understandable, considering that Andrew obviously didn't tell his employees what kind of creature their boss is.

On some small clearing, the demon stopped and was already going to empty the flask, but then stopped for a second.

"If this is poison – then you just made a great mistake."

"Yeah-yeah, a horrible death awaits me and all that. Drink it already, people want some action."

"I warned you." The man shrugged and downed the little bottle.

After a couple of seconds standing still, Andrew fell to his knees. A bright-red light enveloped his body, the muscles swelled up with the clothing disappearing into them. And here I am thinking that he didn't undress because he doesn't care about the rags. Claws sprout out of his fingers, the legs got thinner and covered in thick plating, also with massive claws on big feet. The body got covered with fur on one half and with feathers on another. His size increased three or four times, already making an impression of a big damn creature, and the transformation wasn't even over yet: the already big body started sprouting out huge wings. The last transformation turned the face into an eagle-like head, janked up to the overall body size.

A hippogriff was standing in front of me. One hell of a hippogriff, if you ask me.

***

"Yeah, brat, that was cool." The Devourer returned to his human form and slapped me on the shoulder. "And where did you get such an awesome drink?"

"You gotta know places, but I can get you more. And more interesting ones too."

"Seriously? Harry, right?" The demon made up a respecting face and shook his head. Yeah, sure, you pretend to respect me now and I'll pretend that I believe that. "You aren't going get me those out of goodness of your heart, I take it?"

"Oh, now you want to do business. Weren't I 'a little shithead who should play in a sandbox' just now?"

"Well, I got heated up, it happens." He easily shrugged that off. "So, want me to turn you into Mark Calaway?"

"And fix my eyesight."

Andrew scratched his nose.

"Sure. Give me five of those flasks and I'll even give you a candy for free. Can't promise any spectacular results, not in your age, but you won't be swaying in the wind anymore."

"Sure, I'd take that. But Andrew, here's the thing, can we do it with only one flask?"

"One flask? Why not pay me in change then?" The demon cut it out. "Either you bring me five of those or remember the road back to city. And that's not even including the price for fixing your eyesight."

"Even if that will be dragon blood?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Dragon blood. You know, an armored flying lizard, weights around four tons and spits like a flamethrower. A dragon."

"Yes." Andrew slowly nodded. "Then we can make do with just one. But here's the thing, brat, how would I know that it'd be the dragon blood and not a rabbit's one?"

"And this is where, my friend, you better have some faith in my word. I am going to visit you at least one more time, so why would I make an enemy out of such a resourceful and dangerous man like you?"

***

The way back I and Magdiel walked in silence. She only talked right before us departing:

"That was spectacular. And dangerous. I wouldn't call Andrew greedy or deceitful, but he might start searching where did you get that blood and then he'll find everything he wants."

"Doesn't matter. Sorcerers can handle a single demon. Or, in the worst-case scenario, I'll help with some advice." I waved that off, but Mag was serious.

"You don't understand. He will not use these forms for entertainment, but for fighting. If somebody will see him – they'll get interested in how a common Devourer turned into such a creature. Andrew on himself might not be that big of a problem, but if he'll lead Faustians, Reconcilers or Raveners to the Wizarding World then you'll have much bigger problems than a single psychopathic sorcerer."

Yeah, made a miscalculation here. But it's already too late. Although maybe things will go in a good way – tomorrow I'll give the demon his blood and the day after tomorrow he'll get a lethal food poisoning after eating a shawarma.

***

"Are you ready, brat?"

"Kinda." My eyebrow twitched. It's hard to talk when you lie on a crudely made anatomical table with all your limbs tied with leather belts.

"Here you go." He put a wooden bar between my teeth. "It will really fucking hurt, that I promise."

"M-m-m? M-m-m!"

"What?" He pulled the bar out.

"Can't you give me a narcosis or something?"

"Heh, look at the smarty over here. I will be messing you up like plasticine, a bit different from opening beer bottles with teeth. The only narcosis that can help here is a bullet to the brain."

The bar was put where it belonged again. Andrew warmed up his hands, breathed out and then, with a feeling, stick the palms into my ribs.

The world exploded in pain.

Roll penalty: -6 dice;
Roll penalty: -5 dice;
Roll penalty: -7 dice;

Risk of psychosis…
Psychosis suppressed by successful Willpower roll…

Roll penalty: -5 dice;
Roll penalty…
Roll penalty…

I have no idea for how long it continued, but now the words: 'motherfucking soul-chilling ball-busting hell' remind me of that day. It was worth it, though.

The first thing I noticed was the fact that there is a fly on the ceiling and I can see it rubbing its legs. I missed this feeling.

My arms and legs weren't tied anymore, so I just stood up. All furniture and items looked strangely not-big and my body felt strong. Andrew sat in the corner and drank something, smiling smugly all the way. The man has a good garage here, a very spacious one.

My hand, as if on its own, grabbed my backpack from under the table and pulled out of it the yesterday's bottle of whiskey, immediately proceeding to force my mouth to drink it.

"Hey, don't ruin my awesome job right away!" The demon got insulted.

I answered with a widely recognized gesture made of a fist and a middle finger. After THAT I completely lost all care for politeness.

After calming down a little, I looked at the character sheet:

Strength: *** - You look impressive. One hundred and twenty kilos isn't a problem for you.
Dexterity: *** - Perhaps you should give a thought to a dancing career.
Stamina: **** - You can run a marathon.

And no remains of the 'Short-sighted' disadvantage. Yeah, I really saw everything, even without the glasses.

"Andrew?"

"Yeah-yeah, I know, I'm amazing. Let me have some too," He took my bottle.

"Not that. It all looks kinda wimpy, I expected more."

Andrew even whistled in surprise:

"You, brat, wanna bite way more than you can chew. You, by the way, a shithead so little, that your body will fall apart after a good spit. I could've turned you into a Godzilla just fine, but it would've taken a couple of months and you would've totally gone crazy from all the pain. Although, when your body calms down a bit, five or so months later, we can do it again."

Eh, was worth a try. Besides, this isn't my last visit. He said something about five months, right? I will be in Hogwarts by that time, but there is such a thing as a winter break.

"You are one hell of a bloodsucker on your own, but thanks. Here's your payment. And two more flasks of hyppogriff, as a tip."

"Heh, pleasure doing business. But I still think that you are a wimpy snot-muncher."

"Fuck you."

So, all goals for the summer are achieved. Now it's time to have fun and wait for the Hogwarts. I wonder who are they going to invite as a DADA teacher this time? Let's hope it's not going to be another turban-wearing saboteur.

Experience points: 2.
Total experience points: 21.

***

I spend the rest of the summer testing out my new abilities. No, magic is strong and cool, of course, but it just feels so good not being a wimp. And I wasn't even handicapped before, bit still… So, swimming, leisure activities and all that. Even bought myself a bicycle.
Going out with Magdiel really refreshed my brains. Why the hell am I wasting time in the damn London? So, I decided to go on a country-wide tour.

Impressions were mixed.

On one hand, everything was quite alright. Fresh air and tasty food. Overall livable conditions.

On the other, it turned out that the police still had bulletins about one scar-bearing brat. Long story short, I traveled to Edinburgh with comfort and room services, but the whole way back I snuck around like a partisan. Although it was fun.
When English bobbies whistle they just look so damn funny. Maybe this is why they are not allowed to carry guns – they are supposed to immobilize targets with laughter?

Cultured Europe, the center of civilization, and some poor policemen can't even catch a twelve-year-old, who almost doesn't even help himself with magic.

Near the end of the summer, I got a letter with a list of textbooks and promptly delivered it into a trashcan. I didn't read those in the previous year and I wasn't going to start in this one.

Nevertheless, it was a signal to start working on a one important thing.

"Magdiel?"

"Harry Potter? Is this urgent? You are at a wrong time."

"No. Just wanted to invite you to look at the Wizarding World in September. Contact me back when you are free."

"Alright."

The conversation with Mag at that very evening wasn't easy. Neither I or she knew for how long she would be leaving and creating explanations for her husband and her boss in such conditions was rather hard.

"Again, Mag, what do you want from me? I promised you a magical asylum, now want to show you the goods and you are suddenly refusing?"

"I am not refusing. I just need to explain to my husband why I am not taking him with me on the vacation."

"Can't you go on something different? Like, on a work trip?"

"I work at Evaluation Service. We do not have work trips."

Well, what can I say? Women can fuck with your brain even if they are terrifying infernal monstrosities.

"Mag, don't try to turn me into your shrink. You are a fucking fallen angel. You will need to deal with your husband one way or another. You want to leave him in blissful ignorance? Cool, then leave him. You want him on board of your little bat-secret? Alright then, you'll have your own Alfred and this one even comes with sex package included. But one day you will need to decide. In any case, I will wait for you at Kings-Cross at 11 AM, September first."

I have no idea what she decided to do and what she talked with her husband about, but I didn't see her at the 9th platform when the day came. I even started thinking that our big bullshit of an alliance was over, when a hand touched my shoulder from the column's shadow.

"Fuck, Mag! Don't do that again." I turned, but there wasn't anyone behind me. At least, I thought so.

"I am here." A whisper sounded. "The shadows hide me. Show me your Wizarding World, sorcerer."

Bland Eggplant · Apr 2, 2020

The passageway to 9 ¾ platform this time worked differently than I expected. When I passed through it – everything was fine, but then Magdiel tried to sneak through 10 or so seconds later.

A darkened sky was the first sign that something went wrong. It looked like a solar eclipse, just not as strong. Although, my attention quickly shifted from shadows to light earth tremors. Sorcerers around me screamed, started grabbing their children and hiding under benches, some tried leaving the platform.

And then the passageway to Kings-Cross simply collapsed onto itself in its all ruined bricky glory.

The drama ended after that and the comedy started: station workers slowly approached the destroyed road to the rest of the world and started spreading their arms in confusion, clicking tongues and shaking heads. Two sorcerers were busy conjuring some glowing animal shapes, which then quickly flew somewhere

"Mag, what did you do?" I hissed. "You just came to the party and already are breaking things?

The train's shadow whispered in the demon's voice:

"That was strange. If I didn't see that the column is an illusion – I would've never guessed that it is the passage. It resisted me just like any other masonry would have."

"Really? I passed as through a door."

"There was no other way for me to enter. Don't worry, the Weave will restore itself. These ones always do."

"You would know, I guess. Still, try not to break any more dishes, you are a guest."

I didn't hear an answer, so just boarded the train.

The last year I bought a lot of books, so the trunk was pretty heavy. This year it felt much lighter, I even thought that didn't board the train, but flew into it. Yeah, it will sure take some time getting used to the new me. I wonder if I can now handle two Slytherin gentlemen at the same time?

This time no compartments were sufficiently empty, every single one was already occupied by at least one person. I didn't really care, since, aside from the fascist, no one would really be against my company. But I do care about how they would react to a bored adult indian woman suddenly appearing right next to them. Can't really predict that.

Although I can just say that no one would be smart enough to shut up and not interfere in others' business.

"Mag, for how long can you hide?"

"As much as needed. Probably."

"Probably? I didn't expect to hear that. I thought you completed your 'angelic abilities' homework five or so million years ago."

"I feel the word… unusually. This wizarding England reminds me of something. I can't remember what."

"Mmyeah. You know, let's get to Hogwarts first and then you'll tell me all about your sensitive nature. I am just interested in knowing if anyone talkative would suddenly sea a certain dreaming Death?"

"No, they will not. Do not worry about it."

Yeah, it was a little harsh of me. I hope she isn't offended. Who knows how offended infernal monsters behave, even if they got a tad kinder after being freed.

Still, I am not going to stand in the corridor for the whole trip. Thankfully, I didn't have to – one compartment was mostly empty and was occupied only by one sleeping guy, who already was wearing his robes, but without House colors. A newly arriving negro to work on the book plantations,
.
When we entered the compartment, the door suddenly got covered in a barely noticeable smoke-like shroud and Mag finally became visible. She finally left her usual office clothes in the dressing room and now before me stood a woman, dressed for outdoors and hiking - you know, padded sturdy pants, canvas-made jacket. In other words, ready to endure any hardships.

"Not afraid to get your own minute of fame?" I asked her quietly.

"The door is locked." She answered in an uncaring tone.

"That I understand. What about our gracious host?"

The demon, looking surprised, looked from me to the sleeping kid, as if only noticing him, and touched his hand.

"Just can't get used to taking children seriously. He will not wake up for nine more hours."

"We will travel for eight or so hours. You want to send the poor sod back?"

"I'll wake him up when we arrive." She shrugged.

Practical. I guess she put a soul inside that car with the same attitude.

"So, what was that about sensing stuff in the Wizarding World?"

"I don't know. Such a familiar feeling… Can't remember. I met something like this before the imprisonment, but certainly not after."

"Okay, gotcha. Tell me if you remember, I want to know about my place of living more than just fairytales about magic, muggle-repelling charms and Statut of Secrecy. What was that show at the station?"

"I was surprised too. It was as if the Weave just… disappeared. If I didn't saw you passing through and didn't sense the illusion – I would've taken it for a normal wall."

"What do you mean 'the weave disappeared'? I don't understand jack in your demonic stuff. Just skimmed through some things – that's all."

"It is hard to explain." Mag started thinking. "Our world is, essentially, a Weave, filled with energy. One big sheet made of connections and consequences, supporting themselves. If you pull one string – the whole reality will shake. We, Elohim, control the world this way. Sorcerers do something similar, but, when we pull whole ropes, creating by that Mechanisms and then making it work, then you can pull at best a single thin string. The Weave back then seemed torn apart, the sturdy sheet of space looked like a colander. One of the connections seemed worn dead-end, flapping on a wind."

"And this didn't surprise anyone? I mean, of your kind."

"The whole world is like this. The reason why many of us hate your kind. We left a still smoking, ruined world, but it was whole. The Weave was solid, sturdy and beautiful, although it already didn't look as perfect as when it were created. And when we returned, we saw forests, fields and seas, not knowing big wars for a long time, but still poisoned with your poisons, drained by your appetites, and these disgusting gray boxes you call cities. But most importantly, we saw only hanging cobwebs and rags instead of the Weave. The Great Mechanism was destroyed while we were absent. So no, human, I was not surprised by the torn Weave at the station."

It got very uncomfortable. Not as bad as it could've been, but it was obvious that Mag was upset. Although, as it turned out, she didn't finish yet.

"Still, when I followed the torn part, when it suddenly continued. This is surprising, as many Fate angels researched the Weave, and, even though they rarely shared anything, I know for a fact that demons didn't see anything like that before. Holding onto it was difficult, it was slipping away, so I filled it with power. On the one hand, it tore apart and collapsed some fabric around. On the other, I was able to follow it further, through the bricks."

"Mag, I said already – I don't understand jack in all this. I kinda got the main part, but you must understand, I am an amateur – got only five years in uni, BBC and National Geographic as education, didn't finish any heavenly academies either. Sorry for not being able to participate in the conversation, but I am a good listener."

"You know, after some thinking, I can definitely say that the Wizarding World's Weave is a little different. But that is impossible."

"What do you mean? Am I going to have problems because of that?"

"No, on the contrary. There are more connections here, although they are thinner. I am not a Fate angel – I can't say it better. Just know that there are differences."

I don't understand shit. She just can't say it in a way that makes sense. I knew a madame in my previous life, who too liked to babble all kinds of bullshit about genotyping, viral loads, am… ampe… amplification, all that crap. She too never said a simple, understandable word. You can never say if these people are professionals or just fucking nerds.

"Can you explain to the local idiot what you doesn't like?"

"Ugh…" She massaged her nose. Yeah, no point in hiding it – I am not a genius. "Before, the world was different. I mean, completely different. We are talking about the Weave, but before there were multiple Weaves, tightly tied with one another. We are currently riding a train and this is the Weave of the world. But in ancient times the Weaves were intertwined and, if in one you could see a train, in the other you could hear a song. Do you understand? You could've sung a song and then end up where the train would've taken you. It could've also been a ripe fruit and you would've arrived at the destination the moment you finished eating it. These opportunities, these Edges were numberless. If you knew how to use Edges and Weaves, then the whole creation freely obeyed your will. I already told you that the Weave is torn apart. But, worse than that, there is only one Edge left, the Edge of physical matter. There is still the World of the Dead, but it is our creation, we, angels of Death, created it as a fortress during the War, so it's unsurprising that it persevered. But there are no other Edges… Or, at least, there weren't, until I got here."

"So, let me translate all that to a human language. You are saying that we are now in a different world?"

"Well… yes. Not completely. The Weave is not that different, but, you are mostly correct."

"And when I told you that we are going to the WIZARDING, fucking, WORLD, you missed the point completely, huh?"

"Who knows what humans imagined to themselves again? You see differences even in what is same, take your nicknames for example: yid, negro, wog, gook." Mag waved me off.

"Alright, pretty lady, if there are no other worlds, then what's about Umbra?"

"What Umbra?" She raised her eyebrow.

"You don't know about Umbra?"

"First time I hear of it, yes."

And here we have it. The specialist about the supernatural, yeah, sure. Three years in a parochial school. I can understand Hog's students not knowing about Umbra, but a demon?

"Whoo, Mag, you are going to have a very interesting work trip."

***

The conversation didn't go much further and kinda fell apart. I didn't know what to even say about Umbra and just decided to show her when the opportunity comes. Magdiel too said her weekly stock of words and there seemed to be a deficit with no replenishments so far. Well, didn't want to talk too much anyway, I still haven't seen all the dreams.

This time they get us into Hogwarts not by the lake, but in some carriages in a roundabout way. The carriages were moved by some real ugly winged horses, completely skeletal and with almost no visible muscles, just bones and skin.

"What do you think, would Andrew be interested in these beasties' blood?"

"No, I don't think so. Flying is more convenient in that creature's, hippogriffs, form, it also seemed to be better suited for fighting. These are… strange creatures. What are they?"

"First time I see them. I think these are just ugly flying horses."

I have no idea where Mag rode, but totally not in my carriage. Anyway, speaking with her through the mind link was much more convenient, than through, say, a mobile phone.

"Have you thought about your actions?"

"Can you speak more precisely? I forgot my English-Hinting wordbook back in London."

"You said that Dumbledore is your enemy. What are you going to do with your enemy?"

"Ah, that's simple. I'll kill him."

"How?"

"I thought it is my problem."

"I have some understanding of warfare. I can give you useful advice. We are allies, correct?"

"Alright-alright. Yes, mommy, I did my homework. Beardy wants me to give him a certain item. He knows that I hid it but doesn't know where. Grandpa thinks me an obedient boy, so I'll just lead him to a place without any witnesses and then show him that a wand is useless if someone snuck on you into the arm's length. Then I'll probably need to bark around at the professors and some guys in uniform, but the Headbastard is going to be already dead. I, on the other hand, is still a kid and a hero, with no corpse meaning no evidence to pin me down. And there won't be a body."

The answer took its time to arrive, but, judging by my sensations, Mag was content with the plan.

"Sensible. If you'll need coverage – then you'd just need to call at the right moment."

"Yeah, I'm sure of that, but your help kinda stinks. Don't misunderstand me, I respect you, but grandpa opened my head like a tin can, so I don't want to hide behind your back."

"Then I don't understand. Why would you need my help if not in war?"

"Because, other than the grandpa, there is also a very agile dead man running around, who is really bothered by my head still being on my shoulders. I can't fight ghosts, so I'll lave Voldemort to you when he'll enter the stage. Deal?"

"Yes." The demon answered shortly.

By that time we approached the castle. It, as usual, was absolutely beautiful, London's monuments and statues weren't even comparable to it. Great spires and walls looked gorgeous with the night sky as a background, although the towers could've used some machineguns and cannons sticking out. I'll fix that in time.

"The Weave is in turmoil here. Too many lines joining together."

"I think I know what's that about. You'll like it."

The carriages stopped in front of the castle's gates. The students were yelling, having fun, picked fights with each other, and I felt Death's nervousness, as she hang somewhere nearby. With every step, with every part of the way the nervousness was becoming stronger. Gates, inner yard, hall, and in front of Great Hall's gates she even started mumbling something.

Oi, Mag, you are just like an eighth-grader on the first date – all jittery. Where are your steel nerves, iron endurance, and titanium balls… wait.

In other words, I wasn't impressed.

When the gates opened, our connection suddenly felt like it was severed. I didn't hear anything, didn't feel any echoes from her. Did she just hang up on me? Yep, just like an eighth-grader. And seemed to be such a mature demon.

Alright, jokes aside. I sat at the Gryffindor's table and asked:

"So, how do you like our ceiling?"

There was no response.

"Mag? Magdiel? Yeah, with a hearing like this you sure belong in an army… Magdiel!"

"Ah? What? Sorry, it's just… This is… unthinkable..."

Alright, now I'm having trouble with my hearing. Is she crying?

"Thanks, Fate, for the ally, I guess. What's wrong?"

"Edges. I feel them! I see them! This… this is indescribable, indescribable."

"Listen, girl-friend, I'll leave you here for a while, alright? I was never good at calming down women and you are confusing me. Slytherins – those green ones – won't understand if I'll start patting you on the head here."

"Harry Potter, of course. I… The world is still whole! Twisted, broken at the edges, but whole! What I just saw is so much more important than me, than the Earthbound, than everything. I need to think about this."

"Yeah, big news. When you come to senses – call me. Going to be interesting to know what you saw there. Just let's do it without boring lectures."

As expected, there was no answer. I'm starting to get used to it. It seems she really does have a word quota.

People were still going through the sorting, Dumbledore periodically looked at my table and I stared back with lovey-dovey eyes. I remember suspecting him in reading thoughts. If he can really do that – he must be really surprised right now. Although, of course, that's one hell of a red flag.

Eh, doesn't matter, I'll just make something up.

Ghosts were flying around the tables, although they still tried not to approach me closer than six meters. The deadmen seem to be afraid of something. What, you parasites, you can smell daddy's dichlorvos? We are going to have a real talk soon, he-he.

There were some changes among the professors, as expected: dead Quirrel's place was occupied by some sleazy mustached fop in an unusual set of robes, looking like a military uniform. The man looked at the students in the hall, observing the amount of work he has to do now. Well, at least he doesn't look like a sour epileptic and is not wearing a turban. Maybe he'll even teach us something, too bad I missed his name. It doesn't matter, he'll introduce himself at the first class anyway.

The dinner ended, sorting did so too and we, the weak-bodied and addle-brained schoolers, crawled to our common rooms and House bedrooms. Ron tried to stick to me again, but I grew as used to ignoring him as an experienced alcoholic to emptying a shot-glass – on reflexes and thinking about great things. The redhead seemed perplexed by that, I think.

And on my bed, right on the pillow, stood a carefully opened card, in which was an invitation, made in an ornate, barely readable handwriting:

'Harry, my congratulations with one more year here, at Hogwarts.

You are, undoubtedly, tired and I am very sorry to ask you about this, but please, do not go to sleep yet. We need to talk and the sooner we'll do that – the better. Of course, breaking rules is bad, but sometimes circumstances can be more important than commonly accepted norms. I hope you took the Cloak with you.

The password to my office is 'mint jelly'. It has a very specific taste, but I still recommend trying it sometimes.

A.W.P.B.D.'

Mmm, the old farter wants to force the events? All the better, I am ready to go. 'Mean Sonnuvabitch' is in the holster (yes, I bought one), the knife is in its sheath, the wand is hidden in the sleeve, all that is covered by a black cloak. Forward, to champagne that awaits me in the end!

I went through the already familiar corridors and soon faced the statue that guarded the headmaster's office. The password – an open passage – a staircase. Grandpa was waiting for me in his chair behind the table. He was reading something, either a fantasy or a romance novel, couldn't say just from the cover.

"Ah, Harry, my boy, I am so glad to see you."

"Good evening, headmaster. Sorry that I didn't come immediately after reading the note. Other boys in the room, you know." I looked down.

"Yes, of course. It's me who should be apologizing for not letting you sleep on the first day. But I have my reasons, and the first of them – my concern for your health. Do you feel alright?"

"Yes. Thank you and professor Snape very much, he is a miracle worker."

"Sometimes an exemplary talent is hiding behind a bleak appearance and professor Snape is the best illustration of that rule. I am happy that you feel better. But I still have many questions for you, after all, being Hogwarts' student, you are my responsibility. Tell me, why didn't you live with your relatives during the break?"

Fuck, I forgot about those assholes, fucking inability to pay attention to details. Eh, not too dangerous. I have 3 points in 'Subterfuge' and that's just enough to turn some native tribe into a bunch of alcoholics without any problems.

"I am very sorry before them, headmaster. After what I've done and how I behaved the last summer, I'm ashamed to look them in the eyes, nevermind live with them."

Albie liked that, look at him nodding. Although how the hell should I know, maybe he's happy that Manchester won in this season?

"It's good that you are sorry about the incident, but they are your family and still love you, deep inside. Dursleys are ready to accept you again and it would be for the best if you spend the next summer break with them. Alright?"

"If you think so." I sighed. Yeah, with my plans I can promise stuff just as freely as any politician.

"Now, about our third problem. I think I've found a solution." Headmaster opened one of his table's cabinets. "You have trouble with your memory, correct? This potion will certainly help."

The beardy's hand put on a table a flask with a transparent yellow liquid.

"Drink literally half a sip, the overdose is not dangerous, but you can slip too deep into your memories and that is not always healthy."

Oh, Albie, with pleasure. But these things usually taste awful, so I think I'll just grab one of your candies.

"Can I?" I stretched my hand towards the bowl.

"Help yourself."

The potion tasted as awful as expected, like some bitter weed or a tick would've if you start chewing them. Kinda between these two. The sugary candy did a good job, however.

Headmaster sat in silence for several seconds, then nodded to his thoughts and started asking:

"Now, Harry, to awaken your memories I will need to ask you pointing questions. Your memory will show you the answers and you will say them automatically, don't be afraid. For starters, do you remember how you lost your memories?"

"No, headmaster, nothing."

"I see, I see. That's for the better, your magical outburst was… unsightly." Albie continued in his smooth, smarmy voice. "Do you remember our conversation at the end of the last year? In the medical wing?"

"Yes, of course."

"You said back then that you don't remember where the Stone is. Is that so?"

"Yes, I did say that."

"And you honestly didn't remember?" The headmaster asked insistently.

"Yes, I didn' remember."

"And now?"

"Now I can show you the place. But it's in Forbidden Forest, closer to the castle, but still."

Albie cringed. Yeah, gotta shake them old bones, you fossil.

"And how exactly did you hide the stone?"

Well, I have an explanation, but I don't have any idea how realistic it looks. I ordered a dragonhide-strengthened strongbox from some older students, and, when I obtained the stone – I put it in there, so the magic wouldn't leak out."

Judging by the unsure headshaking of the old man, the story was not all that believable, but he ate it up. And I almost didn't lie, there really was a strongbox.

"Alright, Harry. Can you show me the place right now?"

"No problems, headmaster Dumbledore."

Pleased headmaster quickly put on a warm cloak and we together left his office. Near the staircase, the headmaster's pet – that burning raven – landed on the special leather pad on the cloak's shoulder.

"You want to walk your pet?"

"Fawkes sometimes needs a little exercising. We used to often go for walks in the evenings, but the number of papers I need to work through is increasing, the amount of free time diminishes and I myself don't get any younger."

The pleasant night air cooled me off and got me into a mischievous mood. Stop right there, first, you do business and only then you have fun. It's really good, by the way, that the school is placed in the mountains: no tall grass, just short bushes, so when you go off-road in the night nature seems not only beautiful but also easy to traverse.

"Magdiel, Potter here."

"Harry Potter?"

"I'm going out to finish this, will return late. If I won't – give Albus hell in my name."

"Alright." She answered in a completely serious tone. What an unbearable person.

We approached Hagrid's hut, with the forest starting right behind it. Wouldn't say that I know the forest like my palm, but I managed to find that clearing where that unicorn died rather easily. The place, where it lie, looks absolutely dead. Cursed blood and all that.

Hm, I wonder what would happen if I sell some unicorn blood to Andrew? Ugh, no, he'll eat me alive if he won't like the result.

"Here, headmaster, this place." I pointed at the cursed patch of land. "It isn't buried deep, I only dug for forty minutes or so."

"Hm, an unusual choice of a place. Although it does have some logic behind it – few people would risk approaching such a soil." The old man pulled out his wand. "We, of course, are not going to stand here for half an hour – it will take less time this way…"

He stepped in front of me and raised his hand…

…and immediately got stabbed right in the spine, a little under the chest. It was the strongest one I was capable of. I think I totally cut through the old pedo's spine there, people don't live long with such injuries.

"Yes! Motherfucking yes! Who fucks up the strongest people of Magical Britain here? Goddamn me!" The body started doing some weird dance on its own and even started spinning in place a couple of times. The joy was trying to rip me apart – no shitty manipulator from now on will attempt to grab my soft, gentle buttcheeks! Now I only need to bury the second one and I can live in peace, fulfilling my part of the Deal with the demon and preparing for the apocalypse. "Ha! Suck on this, Albus! Suck on that, potion master! Fuck all of you with your politics, fuck them harder than an old whore! Ten rock-solid like Ron Jeremy's boner points to Gryffindor!"

Experience points: 4;

Total experience points: 25.

Albie's body lied near the cursed place in a ridiculous pose. His feathered pet uncomfortably shifted legs, as it stood on its back and looked at the wound. Right, now I only need to get rid off the body. Burn it, bury it or levitate deeper into the forest? I heard they have huge spiders there.

Nah, a fire will burn him for too long - he'll stink, and spiders then will try to eat me. Just gonna bury him under those roots and stop worrying.

"Shoo!" I threw a pinecone at the bird. Of course, I used telekinesis for that, I'm a sorcerer after all.

Mana: 1/2;

The bird flew one step away and then the unthinkable happened: Dumbledore heavily moved, now lying on his back. The blue eyes looked with surprise and confusion, his hands barely moved, but goddamnit he was supposed to be dead!

"No-no-no-no, lie down, old man, don't stand up. I'm gonna sweeten up your life real good, you tough bastard." I opened my holster as fast as I could, while mumbling.

I thought that my moves were lightning-fast: threw the knife away, pull out the gun and take aim… But when I pulled out the gun and already almost pointed it at the bearded one, he touched the phoenix's head and then disappeared in a fiery blaze.

The bastard escaped, leaving me pointing the gun at an empty space and looking like a retard.

"Fuck my life. Can any of you just fucking die?!"

***

I run towards the castle with the speed of the wind. I needed to get out and as soon as possible. I had no idea what kind of spells headmaster knew and how fast he would recover, but he certainly could've whispered a thing or two to some of his old friends, and I have an unfed demon in the castle.

Need to get out and fast.

Andrew will make me a new face and I'll start the life anew. Without the heroic reputation, but at least I won't get the 'big shot assault' in my portfolio.

When I reached the tower, I immediately started packing things. The neighbors woke up from all the noise, but I didn't give a shit. I had a few bags, deciding not to take the ammo into the school, although it seemed like a very good idea.

"Mag! Mag, you deaf woman, pick up the phone!"

"Harry Potter? How did your plan go?"

"Slippery – I went, I slipped, I fucking fell. Dumby survived and ran away. I tore his spine apart and he still survived! We need to get out, right now!"

"What? No! The Edges are here, we can't just leave!"

"Fucking amazing! The castle stood for a thousand years and will stand just as many when we come back!"

"I cannot leave. Not now. I need several more days."

Bloody wonderful. What an awesome evening, am I right? I just needed to jump into a pool of shit and start drowning.

"Alright, demon, I am not your daddy. If you need to – fine, sit here. I'll be in the village nearby, it's called Hogsmeade, and try to wait for you. If I won't be there – get out on your own." And I ran away from the castle as fast as possible.

But I didn't get away very far. The road was already patrolled by two figures, looking around with their wands glowing like projectors. I tried to sneak past – my cloak ain't no Turkish jacket - but one of them, a raggedy and scarred old man, started flinging at me all kinds of unpleasant shit, like 'expelliarmuses', 'stupefyes', etc. There was some other explosive shit too, I didn't recognize it.

He wasn't too precise with it, but just enough to make me retreat back to the castle. There, I locked myself up in one of the classrooms on the sixth floor.

"Mag?"

"I'm listening."

"Come to me. I'm on the sixth floor, in the eighteenth classroom. It's in the right wing, near the wall entrance."

"You didn't run away?"

"No. The old man already signaled out and his people blocked out the exit. I can look for other ways, but it's either through the forest or through the lake, both options suck."

"Wait for me, I'll arrive soon."

And she really did appear two minutes later, as a transparent figure that went right through the door and then gained flesh. Mag looked at me unemotionally, then sighed and sit beside me.

"You failed."

"Yep. And I was sure that he already kicked it." I rubbed my forehead. Strangely, I immediately felt better.

"I can kill him. Are you interested in my help now?"

"Now – yes." I chuckled. "But that would be useless. When he's going to return? Tomorrow? A month later? Or are you going to sit here for a whole year? And besides, I am already in a deep, deep ass on the enemy territory. He'll defame me so hard that only Voldie could compare. Well, I would've, at least."

"I cannot get you out of the castle. Only through the World of the Dead, but trust me – you don't want to even try. Besides, I want to personally see other Edges and it can be dangerous – I sense immense energies out there."

I know myself that everything went to shit, but I don't have many options. The worst thing is that the demon now can just ditch me – I am not a hero anymore and I already showed her the way to the Wizarding World. Money… With her talents, money is a question of twenty minutes or so of free time. But I am still glad that she helps me. I wonder if Magdiel herself realized that I am useless now or does she just have her own reasons to keep helping me?

But again, how the hell should I know if her help would go further than just a heartfelt conversation.

"Whatever. It's not so bad here. Besides, I have a sweet cloak and the castle has as many tunnels and secret passages as swiss cheese. I can make it. With time I'll just find a hole to squeeze into if they won't get me before that."

Magdiel sat in silence for some time and then nodded to me:

"They will not."

She raised her head and, as if speaking to the ceiling, said in the same whisper of a thousand people that almost got my pants wet the first time I met her:

"Everyone who can hear. Everyone who can hear. I order you to come to me."

For some time, around a minute, we sat in silence and darkness. And then the ghosts started appearing right out of the floor, with the first being that fat Hufflepuff monk. They all were pearly white; rotting and life-like; wounded and died from old age; in chainmail, surtout and crinolines; dozens of them. I had no idea that there are so many dead people at Hogwarts.

The last was Peeves, who got dragged through the masonry screaming and struggling. I knew the bastard was a ghost all along.

Mag looked them over, blinked, shook her head, and then asked in the same voice, but now in a slightly surprised tone:

"What are you?"

Ghosts started mumbling and bubbling something, with no one obviously willing to answer. But, for some reason, they couldn't not to:

"Ghosts. And who are you?"

"You are not ghosts." Magdiel snorted. "I do not know what are you, but definitely something less. He, however," She nodded at Peeves. "Was once a human, which makes him a spirit of the dead. He is a ghost. So I ask you again and you must answer me, for I am Magdiel the Slayer, a fallen knight of Lucifer's Blood Legion. I am Death. And I demand your answer."

There was some commotion within the dead ranks, but it quickly stopped. Heh, the bastards feel when they should just shut up and behave. And, well, that's understandable – Mag just wielded so much pathos that the floor could've collapsed.

"We are ghosts, Mistress," Baron answered in a much more polite manner. "At least, we always thought ourselves to be. Every single one of us here once was a living person, a wizard. We do not know why Peeves is different, but he is certainly older than us and older than Hogwarts. All of us started living in the castle at some point, and he's already been here."

Magdiel was certainly confused by the answer, even her expressions became much more live-like.

"Spirits then? I don't understand. You should not exist. I don't see anything in you other than a spark of consciousness and that…" She waved at Baron's body. "…pitiful excuse of a shell. Where are your Shadows?"

"Shadows? You mean dementors?" Nicolas, the Gryffindor Tower's ghost, blurted out. Others immediately started shushing him, but it was too late.

Mag beckoned him and Nicolas approached.

"Speak, creature."

Nicolas gulped, which made his head twitch and fell to the side. Mag winced. He, however, quickly regained his composure and started speaking:

"We don't know much, madam, but every spirit at his death saw something dark separating from them, which looked like a dementor. Yes, madam, it's true. They sometimes attack others and do, well, the thing they do and then fly to Azkaban. But I swear, madam, nobody here wanted them to manifest!"

Mag kind of froze in place.

"Harry, do you understand what they are saying?"

"Not a word. What the hell are dementors? They are feeding you bullshit."

She again turned to the dead people:

"Restless souls, I order you to obey my ally, Harry Potter. His orders must be fulfilled as if they are my orders. His questions must be answered as if I asked you. I am leaving, but I will come back. If Harry Potter will be dead by then – you will pay for that. If he will live, but not because of you and against your efforts – I will teach him and he will make you pay."

Ghosts bowed. Well, would you look at that – just this morning I could barely control a zipper on my pants and now I can order around a hundred or so of fake ghosts.

"What, you really would teach me?" I whispered to Mag.

"Of course not, but they don't need to know that." She answered just as quietly.

"Well, thanks for this, at least."

"You are welcome. I helped you – now everything is in your hands. If you get out of this trap you put yourself in – our cooperation will continue. If not – then you are not as good as you insisted."

Yep. A demon, everyone, a woman of no sentiments whatsoever. Well, mostly.

"Mag, one more thing."

"Yes?"

"You are going to leave through the Great Hall's ceiling?"

"Yes."

"I left a strongbox on the other side of it, in Umbra, it's covered in a crocodile-like skin. Can you look for it? If you find it – keep it with you until I come back for it."

The demon graciously nodded.

"I will look for it and I will keep it. Do your best to get out, Harry Potter. You were very useful to me so far and I don't want to lose such an ally."

After that, she again turned into a cloud of fog and sipped through the floor.

I was left alone with dozens of kneeling ghosts in front of me.

What a night.

Experience points: 1;

Total experience points: 26.

Bland Eggplant · Apr 4, 2020

Is the Hero of Magical Britain a juvenile delinquent?

Two days ago, Albus Dumbledore, cavalier of Order of Merlin (first class), Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards better known to our readers as the headmaster of Hogwarts for almost half a century, has been admitted to Galen's closed government hospital with an extremely heavy injury.

Health problems of a man with so much responsibility are big news by themselves, and the more distressing it is to know that neither time nor an accident were the reason for the injury. Albus Dumbledore was a victim of an assassination attempt, carried, according to the victim's words, by Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived.

'That was, undoubtedly, Harry. But, at the same time, not him.' – said Albus Dumbledore to our correspondent during a visit. The controversial statement was followed by a terrifying explanation: 'Harry himself would've never attacked me. But he, just like the infamous professor Quirrel, is possessed by the very same evil spirit. After the summer confrontation, the boy's mind received heavy wounds, which the monster, while looking for a new victim, utilized to its advantage. We need to find Harry Potter and conduct the banishment ritual until it is too late.'

Let us remind you, that professor Quirinus Quirrel has died in June while trying to break into one of Hogwarts' vaults. The body examination showed the signs of possession, with the school's headmaster insisting that the spirit belonged to the famous dark wizard.

The Ministry of Magic comments on the statement are skeptical. Here is the statement of Gideon Bile, the government's press secretary:

"If we'll start explaining every crime by a possession, then soon we'll start thinking that there are simply no guilty people. We all are familiar with Mr. Dumbledore's leniency and hope for the better, but we, most likely, are dealing with a simple juvenile delinquent or a psychopath, if, of course, Potter really was the one making the attempt."

Professors' and students' descriptions of Harry Potter too are far from positive. He was not diligent in his studies, often was the source of conflicts and fights, many times rejected companionship of his roommates. Here are the words of professor Snape, the boy's potion professor: "A young sociopath, an arrogant little lout."

Is the people's hero of Britain Magical Community a criminal? Is it possible that a parentless childhood without a proper upbringing influenced the boy so much? Maybe the reason for his actions is the act of violence committed by the One-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named eleven years ago and the performed by the boy act of violence is simply a cry for help and a symptom of an illness? We can discuss the topic for a long time, but knowing for sure is impossible until Harry Potter is arrested, examined and interrogated.

At this moment he is hiding within Hogwarts School's premises, for which Kingsley Brusther and fifteen aurors under his command were garrisoned in the castle. Alastor Moody, a hero of the war, too joined the squad after temporarily coming out of retirement:

"Boy got Albus by surprise, but we won't make the same mistake. Gotta admit, the runt is good at hiding, but we are all professionals here."

Despite the reassuring statement, the search continues for almost three days. We all remember convoluted corridors and secret passages of Hogwarts and now it becomes obvious that Harry Potter knows them better than most. Is it safe to educate our children in a school, walls of which house a dangerous criminal, an insane person or maybe even a possessed one?

Read more about Harry Potter's past on page 5, about magical traumas and effects of Unforgivables on page 8 and an interview with Albus Dumbledore's healer on page 11.

I crumpled the newspaper and threw it down from the wall. The wind caught the sheets of paper, then, as if to spite me, straightened them and dropped all over the courtyard. Yeah, they rolled all over me. By the way, I probably should get away from here – that old man with a prosthetic eye might just go and check who's the smart one that throws newspapers from the wall. I have a suspicion that he amputated his common sense and stuffed the empty space with paranoia. It's only the third day and he already almost got me twice and that's not counting that scuffle near the Hog's gates.

When walking through the sixth floor to a secret passage to the second one, I couldn't shake off a feeling that there was something else in that newspaper, aside from a giant barrel of shit that they poured on me. I'm even a little sorry that never was a kitchen politician in my previous life – I would've just sat down and performed such an awesome analysis that just wow!

"Nick!"

"How can I help you, monsieur?" He quietly droned right next to my ear. The bastard is having fun at my expense, I swear.

"Jes… You'll make me grey in my twelve years, you dead man." I winced. "Take a look – is there anyone on the other side?"

With a stone-like face, Nick went through the door, which looked like a simple wooden panel in Transfiguration classroom from the other side.

"A couple of fifth-years from Ravenclaw, monsieur." The ghost informed me in a monotone voice.

Yeah, we started disliking each other right away, but I can't really do anything about it – this is his territory.

I almost opened the door when he quickly added:

"And professor McGonagall."

What an asshole. And he is the only one amongst all ghosts who behaves like this, others don't cause me any problems. Well, aside from Peeves, but he is a special one.

Alright, gotta find another roundabout way to get to the kitchen. Not that I'm in a hurry, just getting a little hungry. All things considered, I'm very lucky to have ghosts helping me – I would've looked for the kitchen much longer if not for them. The dead people weren't very forthcoming with information but answered honestly. At least I didn't notice anything wrong.

I asked about the secret passages from the hall to a tower – they told me. I asked about the kitchen – they showed me. They also are great scouts, but aurors are still better at this. I can't stay for long in one place – the cops find me anywhere as if they know my exact location. Especially the old fuckface.

I just got rid of one old bastard and immediately got myself another one. What kind of shitty fate is that?

There were five places in the whole castle where I was safe – space anomalies. No bloody idea how they work, but… I usually enter one and then appear in a long corridor, with the 'exiting' anomaly at the other end. The castle has as many of those holes as my socks, but only four were hidden, with all others being very much observable. If the bastards know where I am and know where exactly I disappear from their radars – they can easily find the passages. But those five anomalies were special. Each had both an entrance and an exit placed high above the ground and were well-hidden. Ghosts knew about those only because they can fly. I could fly too, unlike other sorcerers.

In short, I had a place where I could sleep. And that was the only good news.

After grabbing myself a full bag of tasty things to snack on I, through the same old secret passages, started moving towards the Hideout Number Three. I sneaked there a good mattress and, I think, a teapot. Those two will go just fine with buns I grabbed, just what I need to think about the overall situation.

What I have going for me? Well, I am strong, brave, agile and don't cave, plus I have a sight of an eagle. I can fry something with magic on a level of a third-year, which is not bad at all. I have an awesome cloak (I bet beardy didn't expect this when he gave it to me). I am also tough, I think – don't want to check that with my precious ass. I also have a cohort of handicapped ghosts, which follow my orders, and Peeves, who is a very, very cool comrade, but a completely fucking crazy one.

After Mag's departure, I spent some time getting familiar with the undead and, most importantly, with their abilities. They were pathetic and at the same time awesome - they could fly and pass through walls. That's it. They couldn't even move a coin Patrick Swayze-style. But they also didn't have a Shadow! I don't have a bloody clue how that happened and why, but every ghost in the Wizarding World appears separated from their Shadow, which is called 'dementor' around here. There was a whole cart of disadvantages about that: no supernatural powers, with a dementor during 'birth' getting muscles and a ghost getting brains, that's the first. Any spiritual damage immediately scattered a ghost to the winds like smoke from a burned-out cigar, with dementors being practically invincible. But there were some advantages too: no sick focusing on Passions, the mental capabilities of a dead person were equivalent to an alive one. Next, all that corpse cohort didn't need to 'eat' mortal's emotions. Either they were so weak that they didn't even need sustenance or their brainless halves eat for two parts at once somewhere far away. Maybe the school just has enough emotions of children to feed in a passive mode, I don't know. Well, and they also couldn't be harmed physically, go figure.

I also understood why they were running away from me all the time – fear. Because, you know, I could've learned that dementors appear together with ghosts and would've told others about that. I too wouldn't have wanted to become a guinea pig or a scapegoat – dementors, I think, have a very bad rep around here.

In this herd all ghosts were mostly similar: calm, quiet, cowardly. Some were more energetic than others, like that Bernard monk, for example, others were as exciting as a rotten fish. But there was an exception among all them – Peeves.

The poltergeist was a ghost, the classical one. He had a Shadow, which he bullied so hard that it was afraid to even breathe, he also was completely crazy about jokes and pranks. He didn't just like to annoy people, it was as vital for him as triple espresso and a four pounds burger are for average office plankton. Well, we all have our diets, can't criticize anything here. For a ghost, I think, he was terrifyingly strong. I don't remember that much about their official powers and can't judge his abilities with a 100% accuracy, but comrade Peeves could: freely possess inanimate objects, left behind himself stains of filth and rot, paralyze people, provoke fires, use items like a living person, wield telekinesis and that's only what he used for entertainment! Although, I am not sure that he even knew something other than that. He just didn't have a bloody reason to.

And with all that, he also had a loosely material body, which meant that you, for example, could kick him, but he still was able to pass through solid objects. Well, it was painful, but he could do that if he needed to. A stupidly awesome shithead and I would've even thanked Mag for such a subordinate, but…

…But that degenerate died a thousand years ago! And through all these years the only thing he did was bullying students! The dead imbecile even thought in awkward poem-like teases. Talking to him was just as hard as with a far gone drug addict, but this one was addicted to children's annoyance.

At the same time, as I understand, he is a proper ghost precisely because he is so old – he died before people started separating themselves and dementors. That was just a hypothesis though because Peeves is too exceptional to answer my questions directly and the others are too young to know anything.

And that's the end of the 'good things' list. What's next on the menu? Next on the menu, Harry, is a big, fat hairy anus.

I owe Mag like a country owes its people, that's one. I am a wanted criminal, that's two. I can hide for a long, very long time, but for how long exactly? At what point I mess up? I am locked in this thrice-fucked castle and the moment I step outside I meet a couple of very shapely men, making retreating back to the secret passages impossible.

Next, my old friend Albie is alive, which means two powerful sorcerers still want my head. At least, one of them is dead and the other one is, I hope, a cripple. I mean, there is no way he can take ten inches of steel right into his back and just shrug it off. There is just no way, right? He shouldn't be alive either, and yet he is. At least, with some consequences?

I wonder how he even moved? It must be the phoenix, the bird probably jumped all around him for a reason, but for it to heal the old geezer? No way. In any case, I underestimated the grandpa and it must not happen again. Scouting and analysis are the way to go! Gonna write that down.
Oh, wait, my pen is at the second hideout and all the paper is at five. Wonderful.

That's a minus too, by the way. I have very simple needs, but surviving is one thing and actively working on an escape plan is another. I need a proper base to keep things.

My reputation is fucked. That's bad because when (when!) this story ends, I'll need to dig out from somewhere a group of sorcerers willing to risk their hides for me or, at least, for gold. And if the version about me being a crazy sociopathic maniac will become popular thanks to that article – I wouldn't even be able to hire a gypsy to do a palm-reading.

And the last thing, the least important one – my studying has stopped. It's the least important one because I can still sometimes raid the library and grab books. I already appropriated from students six years' worth of textbooks, thanks to my cloak. This way I can kinda-sorta practice magic on my own, helping occasionally with experience points.

Like a fucking partisan. Rembo.

Alright, I need to answer one last question. I'm near Astronomical tower at the moment and the ghost named, I think, Albert is in charge here.

"Hey! Can I get a ghost here, please?" I say to the ceiling.

Spirits usually appear after a two-minute delay. Turns out, as Baron explained to me when I asked, they appointed a special ghost to look over me. They sneak around and, when I need something, go and relay my message.

This time wasn't an exception. Albert – the ghost who was considered in charge near the Tower – was a pleasant-looking fifty-year-old fat man with a crossbow bolt sticking out of his eye socket. He appeared right after two minutes, good job.

"Do you need something, Harry?"

"Yes, my friend, to talk. Are you in the mood to chat with a national hero?"

"With the most wanted criminal of the decade, you meant." He reminded me. "I'd be honored."

They are all so charming, aren't they? Love it.

"Alright, Albert, let's start with the main dish: can you track down a student in this school?"

He chuckled.

"Oh, you finally became concerned with your safety? Took you only three days."

"Stop with the bullshit, alright? My very first questions to you, flying corpses, were: 'Where I can spend a night without being caught?' and 'How do I get there without meeting anyone?'. If you want to have fun at my expense at least don't be stupid about it."

"I'll take that into consideration, Harry." He pretended to do reverence.

"Ghosts…" I mumbled through clenched teeth. "So, Albert, what about the ways to look for unreliables and undesirables?"

"Very recently Albus had precisely two instruments within the school: he could ask the portraits and he could ask us. Sadly, the portraits are not smart and observant enough to notice you under the Invisibility Cloak, and we aren't only forbidden to serve the castle, but also must serve you."

"So, Dumbledore can't find me?" I was surprised.

"And he isn't looking for you. He has Mad-Eye Moody for that."

"That one-legged, one-eyed old man?"

The ghost nodded.

"Yeah, the grandpa is tough as nails. He's what, an expert at finding people?"

"He, as you put it, a specialist, but not only at finding people. Although, he got his nickname because of that."

"Huh, not because of that ball instead of an eye?"

"It's a lucky coincidence that his magical eye fits the nickname." Albert shrugged. "But he carries the nickname for at least forty years, while the eye – only for the last ten."

Interesting, but very little concrete information.

"Albert, how do you know this? I understand knowing where the kitchen is, but I doubt the man comes here often."

"We are ghosts." He raised an eyebrow in an ironical fashion. "What else do we have for fun if not gathering information? All rumors, newspaper articles, secret conversations that have ever happened under this roof are known to us."

"And you are just telling me all this? Nick, for example, isn't very talkative."

The dead man started thinking.

"We have no choice, I suppose. We are not very happy to obey a criminal, we are not used to obeying at all, but nobody wants to anger your… Magdiel. Her way of persuading us was very specific." He shivered. "And concerning sir Nicholas… Ask him yourself."

Yeah. Sounds nice. I'd really like it to happen just as smoothly.

"Alright, let's return to talking about the one-eyed. What should I expect?"

"Capture." The spirit said uncaringly. "Give him two-three more days and he'll get you."

"Come again? How so?" Surprised, once again. "And why aren't you worried? If I remember correctly, Mag promised to step on your tails if they catch me because of your inaction."

"There's nothing we can do. 'Mad-Eye' has two very specific artifacts: his eye, which notices even the smallest details and sees through objects – no, don't ask, he does not see you through the cloak, but he doesn't need to. He sees the changes in airflow around you, your footprints and the steam when you breathe. And the second one, which would've been enough on its own – the Map. The Map of Hogwarts, which shows all that lives on its territory and their movements."

"Cool set." I whistled in awe. "And why hasn't he caught me already with all those gizmos?"

"He studies your movements, Harry." The spirit explained. "And observing how he works is very interesting to us. Moody already mapped approximate locations of your hideouts and the most convenient for your passageways on the thirst three floors. Then he will just post his people in such a way that even the cloak will not help you escaping an ambush."

"You do understand that you just ruined all his efforts by telling me this, right?"

"You bought yourself one more week," Albert smirked.

Fuck. I didn't expect the anus I'm in to be that deep. Should've asked the ghosts earlier. So, I still have some time left, huh? And, well, what is essentially my problem? He has the Map, I have the Cloak. Just need to steal the first one and that's it.

"Albert, my friend, how does that Map look?"

"Like a piece of parchment with magical ink on it. As I understand it, you have decided to steal the artifact? Or maybe destroy it? Impossible." He shook his head. "His magical eye will spot you before you even enter the room. He is an old soldier, who survived through several wars and slayed many enemies. He is perceptive, paranoid even. You will fail."

And on that joyful note, we parted ways. What a pessimist.
Alright, I got little time left, need to think quickly. Gotta get the map. It would be better to steal it, but destroying works too. What do I have for that? My gun, my knife, my cloak, my ghosts and my own enhanced body. No, no options here. Stealing is impossible – I'll need to get closer there and I can't allow it. I already underestimated one old man and look where it got me.

Which means that I need to destroy it. Again: gun, knife, cloak, ghosts, bo… ghosts. The ghost. Peeves. I think I have a plan.

I am a motherfucking genius.

"Hey, man-on-duty! I need to talk to Peeves, can you do that for me?"

I totally just heard a heavy sigh. I'm with you, my dead friend, this ain't gonna be pleasant for you.

This time I had to wait for more than two minutes, I even managed to get the teapot boiling and drink one more cup of tea when the clown finally appeared.

Although you'd never guess that he is just a joyful harmless prankster with a shitty fifth-grade-worthy sense of humor. Peeves looked like a beefed-up dwarf in a burned one-piece suit and with big eyes without irises. Just what you need for a kiddy party.

"Here's Bad Potty again, the killer of men!" The poltergeist immediately started hollering. "What do you need from the poor Peeves? I don't have a beard, please don't stab me!"

Why can't I just shoot him? I start to miss Quirrel.

"Alright, you got me, you can fly away now. I wanted to tell you how to make a bunch of people mad without much effort, but if you don't wanna…"

This sounded unconvincing even for me, but Peeves was a drugster and I got him the moment he heard about another dose.

"Hey, matie, why are you like this? That was a joke, what, I can't joke anymore? You aren't offended just because of a silly rhyme?" He immediately changed tone.

"Nah, everything's fine, I'm not offended at all. You can leave now."

"Pott… Kind and brave Gryffindor Harry, why do you want me to leave?" The little shit started circling around me. "Who do you wanna make mad? Those stuck-up damsels from Slytherin? The Gryffindor lyon wants 'em to cry for 'im?"

That's a good idea, by the way. But not right now, it ruins my mood.

"No, I want to mess with someone, like, fifty or so years older."

"Oooh…" The spirit got bored. "I can't mess with the teachers, they'd try to get rid of me again."

"No, not teachers. They aren't young too, are very nervous and they aren't teachers?"

"Aurors? Those I can pranks… probably." Peeves started thinking so hard that he bit his lip. What, your ghostly little ass sensed that something's wrong?

"Probably? My man, we are doing serious business here, a good prank needs determination!" I turned away. "But if you don't wanna…"

"I wanna, I wanna!"

Fucking finally.

"Say, can you ignite a piece of parchment that someone holds in their hands?"

"Oh, I'm the best parchment-burner around here! But they once tried to banish me for burning too many of students' parchments, I promised not to."

"You ain't a poltergeist, you're a pissy nerd," I mumbled through the teeth.

"What?!"

"I'm saying that those aren't students, you can burn their stuff just fine."

After persuading the ghost some more time, I sent him off. The plan is simple as a felt boot – I make noise in one part of the castle, Moody peers into the Map on the other, Peeves appears and burns the parchment to all hell. Moody is angry, Peeves is pleased, I am safe.

We met again one hour later on the east wall. The spirit had such a smug grin, that I just knew that my plan worked.

Experience points: 3;

Total experience points: 29.

"He-he, Potter, you na-a-asty scoundrel." The spirit chuckled. "The old man squealed like a bunch of first-years when they see a mouse! Oh, he was so, so upset!"

"You burned the parchment, right?"

"Yep-yep! Eyeless Moody's now Mapless and broody!" Peeves made a flip in the air. "Yes, Potty, I know what kind of Map it was, but I don't care. Of course, I knew, I spend so many nights chasing the twins around! If you come up with another prank like that – call me."

He already turned to leave, but then stopped to speak for the last time:

"Oh, by the way, that Map belonged to your dad! Potty's character stinks, he burns his own things! Ha!"

And, with the disgusting howling-like laughter, the little shit flew away.

He just had to ruin this.

***

After that, the grey, similar days began, just like back then, when I worked on a factory.

Aurors still tried to catch me, but without the Map, only Moody could spot something, and he was alone. Ghosts dutifully informed me about his ambushes, which he usually laid in near the kitchen. Those days I usually stole food from Great Hall during meals.

Just tumbling to all sides like a piece of shit in an ice hole got boring really fast, so I started visiting library and even lessons, to my surprise. All of that, naturally, while hidden under the cloak. Wouldn't say that in the second year they started teaching something useful – mostly the same shit, but now with more spells. The list was kinda absurd, to be honest. A tickling charm? An acne charm? A spell that makes someone vomit slugs?
The last one was kinda interesting, as I understand it was the beginning of the new Path: Path of Summoning. Starting with slugs and ending with all kinds of infernal beasts at the end. There are two nuances here, however: this Path allowed only to summon beast, not to control them, while summoning really strong creatures was strictly forbidden. So, the Path was mostly useless for anything serious and was only good for playing with slugs.

Higher years had much more interesting lessons. I mostly visited the fourth-years – they were difficult enough to not fall asleep and easy enough to understand what's being taught.

Although, progressing further was now possible even without ever visiting the school. I cracked the code, people. They taught the very beginnings of every Path during the first years and the following ones were filled mostly with spells. That trained students in the Paths, even if it made them incapable to use magic other than through spells.
On the other hand, there are so many spells that there was almost no loss in flexibility.

I, for example, have telekinesis. I can lift stuff, hit people, tear enemies apart, look for lost items, disarm enemies, open locks, even operate if I train Medicine high enough. Sorcerers, on the other hand, have: 'Wingardium Leviossa', 'Evarte Statum', 'Reducto', 'Accio', 'Expelliarmus', 'Alohomora' and the whole group of dedicated medical spells and a huge list of other charms. In the end, it all turns out kind of equivalent. Spells are easier to study if you have a library nearby, Paths are easier to train directly if you are alone and don't have textbooks. Just a different way to do the same thing.

In other words, I visited the library much more often than lessons. But, thanks to my Oneiromancy, studying this way was too relatively fast and easy.

Tried to dig through the school's rumors – immediately felt as if I jumped into a prison shitter. You, probably, didn't know, but I am: crazy, evil, a dark mage, a vampire (in two variants: a classical gothic bloodsucker and a misunderstood suffering souls, who sucks other liquids). I am both a ruthless killer, who murdered a defenseless Quirrel, and his victim, whom he cursed right before his death. I was afraid that my homosexual tendencies will be revealed and ran away together with the headmaster. I am the new Voldemort and, therefore, don't have a nose, which makes me very shy and forces to hide from people. And, the last one, I really did kill the headmaster – I liked this one the most, but, sadly, it wasn't true.

The fossil was certainly still alive, even if it didn't appear in school: newspapers smeared him with filth at every opportunity for his inaction, for his refusal to come back to Hogwarts, for his position, for his weakness… In other words, someone was digging a hole under the old man. And if he would've been dead – he wouldn't have fought back, right? But fight back he did and very successfully: a whole series of devastating interviews against the minister and his crew, after which someone named Umbridge lost her job; two demonstrative cases against corruption in the government; many reassurances in his improving health, despite the wheelchair, in which he appeared on every photo. The old man just snapped and it was very good that the Ministry captured his attention, otherwise he would've went after the simple, humble me.

Meanwhile, I spent time in the company of Baron, Albert, Bernard and others.

I even talked to Nick – the man was looking at me somewhat fiercely all the time.

"Hey, Nick," I called him over that one time.

"I'm listening, monsiuer." The fop looked up and forced the words out.

"I've been thinking, why are you so mad at me? I don't remember spitting in your plate."

"Do not worry about that, monsiuer."

"Come on, talk to me, your sour face ruins my mood every time I look at you."

The ghost looked me and cringed with contempt:

"As you wish. You, monsieur, are a scoundrel and a traitor. You, a member of the noble house Gryffindor and a vanquisher of a powerful villain, cowardly stabbed in the back a great hero and a great Gryffindor. I, Nicholas de Mimsy, the ghost of the Lion Tower, cannot put up with this!"

"A-ha. And what are you going to do, deadface?"

"I… I have to obey you by the order of lady Magdiel." Nick looked sour. "But that doesn't mean I take pride in this service. I do not think you are a man, monsiuer, you are not a man! And your young age does not excuse you at all!"

"Wow. Never would've thought that mustaches and a cuirass could be worn by a hysterical drama queen." Got somewhat angry here.

After that, we departed. Things just didn't work out.

In other words, I had a nice life. I even started slowly planning my escape: the Map was no more, tracking me down was much harder and, with some proper preparations, I could've easily got out. Besides, almost two months had passed and aurors got pretty tired from jumping by Moody's commands. One black-skinned auror, named Kingsley Brustver, got especially tired, him being the leader of the whole operation and all.

Simply put, cops weren't shit.

Still, at night all exits from the territory were blocked completely and aurors guarded the gates during the day. I could've walked to Hogsmeade (a village near the castle) through the underground passage, but, because of my bad luck, aurors placed their headquarters right there and, as if that wasn't enough, Filch collapsed all the secret exits. There were two more left, but one ended in a shack under a very angry tree and another – in a 'Hog's Head' tavern, where Brustver placed his headquarters.

I needed to wait for the winter break and then got out among other students, hide in the crowd. Then I would've found a way.

…That's what I was thinking back then, before my plans, as usual, went to shit with a bang.

***

It all started with Albert visiting me.

"Harry, are you busy?"

"Come in, my friend, pour yourself some tea."

"Very funny." The spirit cringed. "I think I'll pass. I have something to discuss with you."

"Huh? Well, go on then."

"The thing is, this evening there will be another death anniversary of Sir Nicholas. The event is dreadfully boring and many of us would've gladly avoided it, but coming is a matter of respect and politeness."

"Albert, you sly dog, you came to invite me?" Considering the grudge between us two, that sounded very weird.

"Oh, don't you doubt that Sir Nicholas does not want to see you at the event. I am only expressing the collective request of our community to suspend your protection for this evening."

Well, even if they are my unwilling subordinates, there is no reason to completely beat the dead folks down. Besides, they worked hard these two months – they deserve a bonus and a company party.

"No problems, Al, go and have fun. I have an uncleaned gun here and an unmilked goat."

"What goat?"

"You see, sometime ago I had a friend… doesn't matter. A lot of time has passed. Just drink there a couple shots for my health, will you?"

"Very funny." The deadface repeated himself.

Since taking a walk without my trusty scouts seemed a bit too risky, the evening was kinda boring.

Just as I told Albert, I disassembled the gun, cleaned it up and put back together. Then I did some push-ups and read some Salamander's books. He, by the way, wrote about phoenixes in the fifth one and I realized that failed not because of some bad luck. Those bunsen's tears for some fucking reason healed any wounds, starting with scratches and cold, and ending with open fractures and syphilis.

Teleportation, however – that was all the grandpa. Interesting. Why there were flame trails though? Maybe Albie has that kind of resonance? My resonance is 'Radiant' and, therefore, my thingamajigs are accompanied by flashes of light in one way or another: telekinesis surrounds an item in a glowing aura; flames seem brighter; levitation is almost invisible, but if I speed up – it causes me to glow. Guess the headmaster has something similar.

So, here I am, reading books, when I suddenly hear a scream somewhere in the distance, with the following mumblings of a crowd. Interesting!

Since I heard a scream, that means it came either from the first or the third floor, otherwise I would've either head it better or didn't hear at all. Welp, I more-or-less remember the passages, so why not go and investigate?

The crowd was on the first floor, near the girls' toilet. People were arguing, students tried to prove something to each other, sometimes I even heard phrases like: 'That's totally Potter!', 'I told you that he's Dark…' and even 'Heir of Slytherin, no wonder he attacked Dumbledore.'.

And I really didn't like what I heard. What the fuck happened? Aurors forced me to retreat, wait for Albert and then gather the information through him and the others.

I found the answer very soon. Professors, under McGonagall's command, dispersed the crowd and installed a curtain, that covered a part of the wall, after which they carried away a dead cat. Aurors left soon too. The only one left near the curtain was Filch, but bypassing him was a child's play even for me.

The curtain hid a part of the wall, on which another unrecognized artist fingerpainted all kinds of shit: big letters, written in a dark-red liquid., which looked suspiciously similar to blood, said:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR… BEWARE.

Remember I told you that my reputation is fucked? Looks like right now it became fucked completely.

Bland Eggplant · Apr 6, 2020

The heir, the heir… I remember hearing something like that.
The shit doesn't matter though, because someone is digging up dirt on me. Whoever could attack cats and paint with blood on walls? If we were on the Philippines – I would've said Hiro Onoda, but here, at Hogwarts, only I am awesome enough.

Although, why do I care? Nothing's really changed, right? They all think that I'm a looney house client anyway and that won't change. All the Sherlocks of the Wizarding World are already after me. They'll only get one more clue that will lead them… somewhere.

Class, raise hands who care where the fuck it leads them? No hands were raised.

After making these simple deductions, I left the crime scene and went to the kitchen. For some reason, I was starving and in the mood for a drumstick with some potatoes.

House-elves always looked at me warily, but now they were outright shaking when I appeared. It would've been flattering if, well, it was because of something I've actually done.

"You, squirt, over here." I beckoned one of the big-eared folk. He inhaled in terror and slowly approached me, his legs stiff and unbending.

"S-sir Ha-arry Potter called?"

"Yep." Looks like stuttering is the Hogwarts' latest fashion. Well, at least the shorty didn't wear a turban. Hm, why did I start comparing overs to Quirrel? "What's yer name?"

"Romn…"

"You know, I don't care. You all are bloody similar anyway. Why the hell are you all almost hysterical ever since I came? It's not like it's the first time."

"But you are the Heir!"

"Of factories, ships, journals, and boats? Maybe, I don't know. What the hell is up with this heritage?"

"Sir, you are the Heir of Slytherin himself!"

I choked on a piece of chicken. Someone from the family of devoted snake-lovers is digging up dirt on me? Bloody wonderful.

"Alright, big-ears. I am not gonna ask how did you even arrive to that conclusion – it's all clear as day. Neither I'm gonna tell you that the cat's not my doing. But I will ask you what the hell is up with the whole Salazar's family and all the hereditary bullshit."

"As you say, master." The elf squeaked.

"Yeah-yeah, stop bleating and start talking."

The shorty told me an interesting bloody tale. Long ago there lived Salazar Slytherin and he was senile. Salazar kept on living, his senility was getting worse, and one day it got so bad that Salazar decided: magical abilities can only be hereditary! And not only that, those normal people, muggles, envy the sorcerers very-very much and spend all do everything they can to impose their children onto sorcerers.

The idea was as simple as they go: those kids with muggle parents brazenly showed up in the nice and cozy Wizarding World and 'mudded the magical blood'. All those kids must be chased from Hogwarts with pissed-on rags or, even better, smothered in their cribs. Amen.

Naturally, the Party didn't like his ambitions at all and whupped his old wrinkly ass. Salazar, naturally, held a grudge and came up with a cunning plan: the Chamber, which can only be opened by his descendants and the Beast, who, again, will listen only to his descendants. The idea was as follows: the Heir comes to Hogwarts, finds the Chamber and orders their family chupacabra to slaughter all the 'mudbloods'. Rinse, repeat, wait for the next Heir.

Mr. Senile, however, didn't count on two things: his descendants didn't care about his opinions, didn't care about mudbloods, and certainly didn't fucking care about going out and looking for the Chamber. Yeah, no shit, what if the Beast is hungry? This is why the Chamber was opened around one or two times in Hogwarts' history, with only one genocide of muggle-born children. Well, they actually only killed one girl and that was the end of it. Such genocide.

After the dinner I didn't understand only two things: what kind of person even gets the idea of magical eugenics into their heads and what the hell is wrong with these loopy-eyed elves? Crazy masochists, all of them. No seriously, where did they come from? Magical shortsacks who like to help people for free. I would've called them bogans, but those faeries wouldn't have tolerated any kind of humiliation – they are helpers, not servants.
Although they aren't the first twisted faeries that I met: trolls, goblins, now bogans… It's like somebody seriously messed up their genes (or whatever the magical creatures have instead of them), but left sorcerers alone. Or maybe this isn't about genes?
Yeah, totally isn't about them, all the ghost-dementor happy couples hint that something is seriously not right here.

About my 'heritage'… Fuck it. They aren't going to stop looking for me anyway. Let the snake-fucker have his fun, I am not going to poke a young Hitler and his fairytale critter without proper preparations – tried doing this once and now I'm a hobo.

***

With these thoughts I wanted to go to sleep, but my safe corner was occupied by four furiously arguing ghosts:

"I am telling you that he is not the Heir!"

"Sure, Bernard, according to you all the dark wizards just need a cup of hot chocolate to become good again," Albert snorted.

"Precisely! Bernard, you make excuses for the scoundrel? He's more poisonous than his beast!" Nick expressed his very important opinion.

"I think that our monk is right. It's unheard of for descendants of a Founder to end up in other Houses," Bloody Baron shook his head. "Mister Potter belongs in Gryffindor and, therefore, cannot be the Heir."

"I'm here, by the way. Nick, you decided to celebrate your deathday in the best friend's company? I'm flattered. Where's the cake with a stripper?"

The ghosts stopped talking and looked at each other, with only Nick opening his mouth in anger:

"You, how dare you!.. Me!.."

"Calm down, Nicholas." Baron held him back. "No need to show your temperament."

"There is no temperament, only constant hysterics." Albert waved him off and Nick, I swear, got covered in in gray spots. Is that, like, flushing? Look how far the progress has advanced – ghosts now have a blood flow. "Harry, please forgive us for the late visit. We are very worried about the whole story with The Chamber of Secrets. Please, tell us that this isn't your doing."

"Nah, I was sitting here, playing with my iron. So you don't know who's the school's smartass that decided to pin his nazi-deeds on me?"

"Uh, no. We all were present at our friend's celebration." He squinted at Nick, who only huffed in response. "Our monitoring duties were put on hold."

"Gotcha. So, the only time I was without an observer and shit immediately happened. Seems legit. But you got one thing wrong – I'm not the Heir."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Albert asked again, insistently.

"Listen, I don't care what you think, so I won't even bother convincing. If I said that it's not me – then it's not me. Deal with the Head-Boy yourself."

After that, poor Nick exploded:

"That's it! This is crossing all possible lines! I endured for a long time, monsieur, but I will not stand you insulting my plight! No one ever insulted me so! And I…"

"Calm down, my friend, I am sure that Harry didn't want to offend you," Bernard said in a peaceful tone. "But Harry, if you are not the Heir, then who can it be?"

"Oh holy cow, who cares?" I exhaled tiredly. "Some greeny decided to have a little fun, no reason to rattle all the dishes. He attacked a cat, not robbed a bank. What a heinous crime."

"No, mister Potter." The Baron shook his head. "This is not some prank. Only the Heir can open the Chamber of Secrets and if he targets muggleborns then the history will repeat itself."

"Alright, this is interesting. What happened?"

"A girl died the previous time the Chamber was opened. And if it repeats, then we will have another dark mage beginning his path of destruction."

"And how did you come to that conclusion, Puaro?"

"Because the previous time it was Thomas Riddle."

"Who the hell is that?"

"You don't know?" The dead man was surprised. "This is the birth name of Lord Voldemort."

Of course, it was him. It's always our local bogeyman.
A terrorist attack in London? Voldemort.
Snape is being a dick? Voldemort.
You suffer from enuresis? His Darkest Darknesness personally cursed you.
If your dick is short and lame – Voldemort's the one to blame!

And I just started forgetting that this fairytale had a Big Bad.

"Bloody hell… Alright, fine." I rubbed my face. "Tell me – is this really Voldemort or it's just his loyal fan? I mean, can it be a copycat?"

"Well…" The corpses looked at each other. "Yes. But it doesn't matter, because the Beast is always the same and is always deadly."

"You guys sure are good at cheering me up. What kind of Beast are we talking about?"

"Nobody knows, monsieur," Nick said. "It is powerful, but leaves the Chamber so rarely that nothing can be known for sure."

"Sir Nicholas, stop pretending to be an idiot. Anyone who actually gave it a thought knows what kind of creature it is." Albert noted with irony. "Slytherin was obsessed with snakes. The creature is extremely deadly and, according to Mirthle, can kill with a stare. It's a basilisk, for sure."

"Nonsense! A basilisk is too large to move through the castle!" The Gryffindor's dead man immediately started arguing.

"Stop, stop. If you're gonna fight – wait until I get popcorn, so I'll at least have fun. What is a basilisk?"

"Well, imagine a snake. A big snake."

"Like a boa?"

"Like a small train. An adult basilisk can weight up to three tons."

I whistled in amazement. Yep, my handgun ain't gonna cut it.

"A big beastie. Damn, what am I supposed to do now – abandon everything and get out? Looks like it."

Bloody Baron stared at me in surprise.

"Oh, so you decided to leave the muggleborns for the Beast to slaughter?"

"Well, nothing forces me to cross paths with… what's his name? Riddle, right! And, since he has a pocket dinosaur, I really don't want to in the first place."

"How did this man got sorted to Gryffindor?" Nick sighed quietly.

"Put your head up your ass, Headless. Why the hell should I mess with a snake the size of an elephant that can also kill with its eyes? What, you're going to pay me? Or maybe I have a certified 'snake charmer' tattoo on my ass?"

"Harry, think about it this way…" Bernard began talking to me. "You indeed can leave, but who would know that? Everyone would still think that you are in the school. When the Heir will attack and kill a child - and if he is even a little bit like Voldemort, he will kill –you will be branded a child murderer. The infamy will stay with you forever."

Hell, the fatty is right. Leaving now means leaving the Wizarding World for good. There is a chance that no one will die this time, sure, but I'd rather not take it.

"Sounds convincing, you devil. I'll regret this, but fine - you got me. So, what now? We sit here and wait for the Heir to go for a walk with his pet snake? The plan's shit."

"Why do you keep insisting that it's a snake?!" Nick yelled. "What, there are not enough monsters to choose from? Basilisk wouldn't be able to hide within the castle. It's too large, my sirs, you need to face it."

"Perhaps the Chamber is big enough." Albert shrugged. "We don't know anything about it, after all."

"Wait, Al, repeat that for me. What do you mean 'we don't know'? I thought you knew everything about the castle."

Ghosts mumbled something and started avoiding my direct stare.

"That is true, but… Mister Potter, no ghost ever entered the Chamber of Secrets. We never even encountered its defenses, as if it doesn't exist at all." Baron finally said.

"Bloody. Awesome. Correct me if I'm wrong: I must kill a giant snake that can kill with its stare and that also obeys a fascistic maniac, while living in the Chamber of Secrets, about which we, by the way, don't know anything. And this is my badass ghostly recon, huh. And if I refuse, then I might as well leave the Wizarding World for good, right? Oh, yeah, there will be no reward if I succeed, not even a simple 'thank you'. Did I miss anything?"

The four dead men looked at each other.

"Well, no. You are mostly correct."

"You know, guys, this looks like a bloody scam. We have a full castle of aurors and if the reptile is real – they will find it. Why can't they deal with the Heir and the Chamber?"

"Because many looked for the Chamber and yet failed to find it. Because aurors can't even catch you, nevermind the Beast hidden by Slytherin himself. Because you need to do this and they don't."

"You're a jackass, Baron, and all your friends are jackasses. Alright, let's assume you convinced me. All that is just empty talking anyway, because I am definitely not going anywhere until I have a location."

This time they didn't have anything to say. People tried to find the Chamber for centuries, why the hell we'd find it now?

"But we can't just do nothing!" The monk exclaimed. "We need to prepare and find a proper weapon…"

"And this is the task for you, fattie – I am not going to jump the dinosaur without a good plan. Until you learn where the hell it's hiding – don't count on me."

The ghosts had to swallow that. After some thinking, they started discussing ideas about how to find the Chamber and track down the Heir and his pet. Hang out at my place every evening, except for Nick – he rarely visited. Well, not going to cry about that.

The dead people and me occasionally had some good ideas.

First of all, the Slytherin's Heir. What is a heir of Slytherin? A heir of his ideas? Of his genetic line? The guy who wore his favorite slippers that one time? Bloody Baron suggested that the Heir can be revealed by him talking to snakes. Salazar could do that, his children-grandchildren could do that, and Voldie, of course, could do that too.
It's logical to assume that the new Heir is very good at hissing too. So, we need to find a Slytherin that talks to snakes – and the problem's solved. But actually doing the thing would be very fucking difficult – there are no snakes or snake language clubs at Hogwarts.

Second of all, the Chamber of Secrets. Gray Lady, Ravenclaw's ghost, suggested that the Chamber doesn't exist. Well, it does, but it is hidden in a space-anomaly similar to those I'm hiding in. Why no ghosts ever find it? Because it only opens for the Heir. Cool story, pity we can't test it.

I meanwhile was looking through all my knowledge about World of Darkness, trying to remember something useful: I never heard about that Slytherin before, but maybe I heard something about space-time holes and passwords? Couldn't remember anything, sadly.

Well, I did remember some things, just not what I needed.

I remembered a couple things about snakes in World of Darkness and didn't like what I remembered at all. The thing is – there are at least two groups who worship snakes and both of those are such murderbeasts that my poor anus tightened so hard a needle wouldn't fit through.
For starters, there are Followers of Set: a big clan of vampires, they serve and worship god, patriarch and scumbag named Set. They can do magic and intrigue so hard that Medici aren't even comparable to them, they also are literal bloodsuckers and sadists.
They seem to fit the theme perfectly: magic, evil, snakes, intrigues and stealth – full set. But there are no vampires around Hogwarts and in the whole Wizarding World – too few people to feed any big enough vampiric groups. Well, they could feed them alright – just not stealthily. Maybe, like, ten or so vampires would've fit into the place, but the whole magical Britain wouldn't be able to keep even one vampire hidden, even if they are a Follower.

Now, the option number two, the one I like even less: Wyrm. Probably gotta make a little intermission here to explain who the hell is he.
If I remember correctly, in the beginning there were three great powers of creation: Wyld, the Wild, the embodiment of chaos and energy; Weaver, The Spider, shaper of the chaotic energy into forms and structures, the spirit of order; Wyrm, The Serpent, the embodiment of destruction, who got rid of no longer needed structures. And everything was fine until Weaver didn't suddenly flew off the handle and bound the Serpent with her webs to make him stop destroying her structures. Then Wyrm himself went insane too and, trying to get out, created for many new heads, every single one of which became its own type of destruction: Annihilation, Corruption, Devouring, Rot, etc. And, while the main body (if you can say that about a spirit) was lying bound in the web, his heads got out and started partying hard: creation of lesser spirits of destruction, starting wars, depravities and cults – generally fucking shit up for themselves and everyone.

There is nothing wrong in destruction on itself. The problems begin when it is performed to worship one of Wyrm's heads. That worship, by the way, can take all kinds of forms: from a gang of druggies with really unusual trips and mumbling about snakes to completely legitimate transnational corporations who serve the destruction completely out of their own will: guns, tobacco and news companies, pharmaceutical corporations and many, many others. And, of course, sorcerers can serve Wyrm too.
In that case everything is easy – sects, all kinds of shamanic dances and ritualistic rapes, bloody sacrifices – and here you go, mister sorcerer, come and get your increased magical powers together with a couple-triple deformities: a maw somewhere on a body, twisted muscles or rotting skin. And madness, as much madness as possible right into the sorcerer's empty head! Paranoia, hatred, schizophrenia, maybe some meekness – shaken, not stirred. Oh, one cool fact about Wyrm's servants – they never work alone. Too crazy for intrigues, but conscious enough to gather in masses.

Sometimes I question: how the Wyrm's myth correlates with God, creation of angels, Lucifer and all that stuff? Hell if I know. Maybe they existed at the same time, but at different, as Mag called them, Edges; maybe Wyrm and others appeared after the rebellion, maybe it's something else. I don't know.
I really hope that Wyrm is not related in any way to the basilisk, Salazar and Voldie, because then it would be a real painful kick in the balls to all my plans.

***

Meanwhile, time passed and snow fell. Granted, it happened at the end of November, but it fell. People almost stopped looking for me, even Moody looked somewhat lost. More than that, Albus himself visited the school!
Only one time, under heavy protection, the visit was short, but, nevertheless, His Beardiness grew very brave indeed! He still didn't stand up from his chair, although the enchanted seat allowed him to move around just as fast as on his own legs.

We still didn't know how to find the Heir. We even thought for some time that the attacks stopped because it was just some clown pranking everyone on Halloween, but our hopes were soon crushed: a dead muggle-born Hufflepuff was found at the 4th of December in a corridor.

Nothing changed for me personally, with the only difference being that students started naturally shaking at the sound of my name. Ah, yes, the newspapers also rolled all over me with articles depicting me as an evil, heartless bastard, similar You-Know-Who.
And what the hell am I supposed to do now? Gotta find the Heir as fast as possible, and for that I need to talk with those in the know. The ghosts are good at recon, but they died a long time ago, so maybe the living noticed some details?

I needed to talk with Timone and Pumbaa.

I found Crabbe and Goyle two days after the murder. Would've done so sooner, but renewed patrols and teachers' protected convoys of students corrected the plan. But still, at the second day I met them at a bathroom, when the teacher, professor Sinistra, decided not to enter and guard the entrance. After sneaking inside, I took off the Cloak.

"Sup, brer-rabbits."

The boys shuddered and turned to me. Goyle immediately prepared to fight while Crabbe pulled out his wand and stood behind. Still, they didn't hurry to cause ruckus.

"Came to kill us, Potter?" Crabbe asked.

"Why the hell would I?"

"Was thinking the same thing too - we're purebloods, after all. Go kill some mudbloods instead."

"You too, huh. And here I was thinking you too smarter than that. I didn't kill anyone."

"Well. Who killed Underwood then?"

"That's the thing I want to find out. Gotta find the Heir and prescript him a knock-out dose of fist to the face."

Crabbe silently swore.

"So, no idea who the killer is?" Goyle asked.

"I don't know. Looks like you too. Guys, ask around your House – I need a snake-speaking fascist who knows the place."

Slytherins laughed.

"Sure, Potter, such unique characteristics. No one guessed them before."

"Ha-ha, very funny you idiots. I need to start somewhere and don't have that much going."

"Why should we trust you and what would we get?"

Heh, how could I doubt the two? Even if they weren't Slytherins I still would've expected the question.

"I thought you'd ask about me and Dumbledore. What would you get? Hm. I'm going to teach you something you'd really like. And about trust – think about it like this… I'm already in the shool's deepest ass imaginable for three months already, and yet suddenly a month ago I decided to go even deeper? I just needed to sit tight and then just get the hell out of here. The Heir either doesn't care about me or is out for my blood."

"That sounds cool and all, Potter, but what's in it for us? You're not only asking us to help you, but you also want us to dig under the Heir. It stinks of trouble."

Geez, guys, why the hell are you so smart? You're just at the second year and already have enough brains to piss off even a patient guy like me.

"I told you – training. Remember how in the first year I passed all exams without studying? A real magic trick, not some bullshit. Or flight. You wanna flight without a broom, Goyle? And that's not all the list. If you are not interested – time to split."

The boys were interested and already wanted to ask something, but at that moment the professor knocked on the door.

"Alright, guys, think about this, I'll find you a couple days later – we'll talk."

And with those words, I put on the Cloak.

My reconnaissance machine started working at decent power. The ghosts gathered rumors inside the castle, while the Slytherins, after agreeing, tried to find the Heir in their own way.
Still, there was no result.
People were leaving en masse at Christmas, so I and the dead men wanted to explore the castle at a faster pace, especially those parts that ghosts rarely visited: the greenhouses, the inner yard, the first floor, and the kitchen.

We, actually, had a logical-sounding theory. The only sure way to reveal the Heir is snake-talking. The only way you can enter the Chamber is by proving that you are Salazar's descendant. It's logical to assume, that the Chamber can only be unlocked by using the snake-language.
But that doesn't fucking mean anything – we don't have a snake-charmer nearby, we don't know what the password is and, besides all that, we still don't know where to speak said password… And, in the end, we are only assuming this.

Ladies and gentlemen, I officially declare us completely and utterly fucked.

***

There was another murder, at New Year. A Ravenclaw this time, fifth year, Helen Chambers. The previous corpse was more or less clean, which can't be said about Helen – she was bitten in two, with the upper half lying on the first floor's staircase and the rest lying fifteen meters further down the corridor. Needless to say, one big and whole Helen was much prettier than two small ones.

Alright, serious time. A clusterfuck of epic proportions was approaching surely and not fucking slowly. Newspapers howled like steamboat sirens. They all forgot about the girl pretty quickly and started pouring shit at me, as the new Dark Lord (and also a maniac, a murderer and soon-to-be cannibal), and Dumbledore, who let all that happen and couldn't restore order in his eparchy.
Never would've assumed that I and Beardie will and in the same boat together after everything that happened.

But, in all that mess, there was something positive – Helen died on the first floor. Why is it considered positive? Because the cat was found paralyzed on the first floor. Because the second victim too was found on the first floor. And even Mirtle was killed on the first floor, in the bathroom.

We finally had a pattern!

The ghosts searched every inch and every crack, they even looked into the bathroom's shitters. I am pretty sure that even Founders knew the first floor worse than the spirits by the end of it. And yes, we did find a clue: the only one in the whole floor small engraving of a snake on a girls' bathroom sink.
Fuck my mother, that was it!
The ghosts flew through all the available space near and inside the sink, didn't find anything, but that certainly was it – during an interrogation Mirtle remembered seeing something terrifying before her death right near that exact sink.

The first good news after a fucking shitton of time.

Experience points: 2
Total experience points: 31

"What now?" Albert quietly approached me.

"Now, my minions, we sit and wait. We can't get inside without the Heir and even then I won't go there until I find out how to kill the reptile."

"We are not your minions, Harry." The corpse-man backed off.

"Eh, I don't want to argue every small issue with a minion. How do we kill a snake?"

"Like any living creature." Al shrugged. "We can cut its head off, blow it up, strangle it – there are many ways. The problem is, strangling a three-ton snake is not an easy feat. It is truly a terrifying monstrosity, Harry."

"Alright, I'll sit here and think while you watch the entrance. And tell the others to remember the password that the Heir will use."

"It will most likely be a barely recognizable hissing."

"Then try to remember how exactly he will hiss!" I cut him off.

***

A couple of weeks later, I came up with a plan. A shitty one, but it still was better than nothing.
Just to be safe, I decided to spend my experience points. Who knows, maybe I'll need to improvise.

Fiendfire: +1
Fiendfire: 3
Total experience points: 10

Path of Fiendfire upgrade: Lightning. You now can hit your enemies not only with fire but with lightning as well. The damage caused counts as Lethal, can damage the target through a conductor and affect electrical appliances.

Yeah, now I have something to roast the snake with! Although that's only a backup plan.

Shortly speaking, Peeves and I, as the only ones capable of working with our hands, carried supplies from the kitchen and stored them in a hidden place near the bathroom. It was hard since even the school's kitchen couldn't keep up with our demands.

Well, a serious business requires serious investments.

Still, I trained my summoning during transportation and, by the end of it, even started to get results. Summoning is when an item disappears in one place and appears where I need it. It was complicated, I needed to know where an item is and how to reach it, the process also wasn't instantaneous: after disappearing in kitchen, an item needed roughly fifteen minutes to appear in my stash.
But! At least I didn't need to carry the stuff in my hands. I love the Path of Telekinesis/Summoning.

Should've started training it sooner, but who could've known?

In any case, on February 2nd, when an agitated Bernard barged into my room, I was fully ready.

"Harry Potter, we got her!"

"Her?"

"Ginny Weasley from Griffindor! I have no idea how it is possible, but she is the Heir of Slytherin!"

"Chinese Godmother, and here I was hoping to never cross paths with Weasleys again, but they are bloody everywhere." I moaned. "Did the girl pass through the sink?"

"Yes, Harry, around four minutes ago. I immediately went to you."

Alright, looks like it's time. Fuck me, it feels great! I spent a lot of time preparing and now feel great: I am ready, I know what waits ahead, I am going to make an awesome show and fucking hell, the monk just told me this and I can already feel the adrenalin flowing out of my nose.

"So, Bernard, ready to go on a safari?"

Bland Eggplant · Apr 8, 2020

Near the bathroom's doors, I immediately spotted a lot of ghosts. Not as many as on Magdiel's September party, but enough to be considered a rally. My good old friend Albus restricted students' movement through the corridors so the ghosts weren't in danger of attracting attention.

The only good thing that the killings brought.

I approached the Bloody Baron first. The toilet wasn't his territory, it was occupied by a ghost named Myrtle, but nobody cared about the hysteric's opinion. In short, right here and now Baron was in charge. Simpler that way.

"Sup, deadman. I heard that the icky Weasley managed to sneak her ass into the Slytherin family?"

"Lord Harry," The spirit nodded at me. "Greetings. I still cannot believeit, but Myrtle insisted that it was her."

"Baron, did you put Myrtle to look over the entrance? Really?"

"This is her bathroom." The ghost nodded again.

Now I need to waste my time and listen to the cow's crying. And then go down to meet basilisk and Weasley.

Who's the lucky guy?

Harry is the lucky guy.

Bloody wonderful.

"Baron, do you know a ghost's main disadvantage?"

"Uh, that we are dead?"

"Close. I can't punch your transparent faces even if I really want to." I sighed deeply, ramping myself up. It's nothing new, just gotta fight on. "Alright, lead me to that dumb bitch."

As if answering my loudly said words, one of the stalls started making crying noises. Looks like I found Myrtle.

"Looks like I found her, thanks."

Baron stopped me just when I turned to the howling stall.

"My lord, forgive me, but why do you need Myrtle?"

"I dunno, maybe to ask her the password? The sink…" I looked at the fixture. "…is closed, after all."

"If you allow me, I will offer my services. Myrtle revealed the password to me."

Ho-ho, looks like I was wrong shitting on this dead man, he actually can think. Occasionally.

"Thanks, mate, such a weight off my mind. Open it." I shrugged impatiently.

Baron nodded once again and flew to the sink. He leaned forward, so his face was right near the engraving, and whispered something unintelligible.

A ripple passed through the masonry, pipes started moving and the ceramics went all cracked and mixed with the rippled mass of stone.

I and other thirty-forty curious spirits looked at the dark chasm, which was suspiciously similar to the hole to which I often recommend people to go for a walk through.

"Yeah, gotta be more careful with the profanity. Or else I'll one day send someone to copulate with horses and will get something similar." I mumbled.

"What are you talking about, Harry?" Albert quietly approached from the side.

"Nothing, just got a poetic mood." I shook my head. "Right, Al, is your group here?"

"Yes, Harry, everyone is ready."

"And Peeves?"

Ghosts shook their heads in doubt until Baron finally answered:

"He is waiting, but is it wise to count on him? The poltergeist is frivolous."

"If you are ready to take his place – I'll take you right away. Oh, wait, but you can't hold even your own dick in your hands, you dead face. I have no other options than Peeves!"

Baron winced, but stayed silent. Serves him right. Don't rub my nose with shit you can't do anything about.

"Alright, lets go. Al, send your guys to check what's down there."

The one-eyed spirit waved and two ghosts went down the chasm. They returned five minutes later:

"It's a very, very long pipe that leads to a room full of small bones and torn hides. We didn't see anyone, neither the snake or Weasley."

"Good, then go down there and watch, if anyone comes in – grab your fat asses and scream the alarm. To your posts!"

When the scouts went back in, with six more assigned by Albert when he ensured that it's safe down there, I began the first stage of the operation – which was summoning the stolen kitchen supplies and throwing them down the pipe,

"You want to summon these two times? Wouldn't it be better to just summon these when we reach the place?" The Baron inquired.

"No. I suck at summoning things, yet, so don't want to work with too big of a distance. Besides, this is a space anomaly. Maybe I wouldn't be able to summon anything to go down there."

"Then what is your plan? You are not going to feed the basilisk to death, are you?"

"No. We have as many as four options: to blow it up, to blind it, to fry it and to poison it."

"To poison? The basilisk?"

"Yep. This here package…" I patted my rather voluminous bag on my belt. "…contains year's worth of Hogwart's rat poison. Although, I have no idea how to get the snake to swallow it. But if it eats me – at least I won't die alone."

"I don't remember this basilisk ever eating people," Albert noted.

"Me too. That's why this a backup plan. The third backup one." I managed to say while chucking the bags down the hole.

"And the others?" The monk approached from the side.

"You don't you know? Then why the hell did I read a whole bloody lecture to these two a week ago?"

"I was busy praying for the safety of the school and its students." Bernard smiled.

"A sincere believer, a ghost and a sorcerer all at once. You are an interesting man, Bernard. Alright, cutting it short – I want to blind the reptile. Peeves has five flasks with acetic acid, I have another four. The problem is to melt the animal's eyes before it kills us. And for that I need all these flour sacks."

"Wait, Harry, didn't you say that you need these to create an explosion? I didn't understand you back then, but remember your words clearly." Albert complained.

At that point, I grew kinda tired of waving my hand back and forth to throw the bags with telekinesis and decided to give myself a breather.

"Whew, I raided the kitchen well. About the explosion… We can create a fuel-air explosion, but I don't like the idea that much. Quiet, Bernard, I'll explain this right now, exclusively for the educated monks of the thirteenth century. A fuel-air explosion occurs when all the air in a confined space ignites at once. Gas, flour, or some other small shit powdered in the air, if ignited, will light up and burn everything to kingdom come, better than any 'Bombarda'. We only need a good enough concentration and for that we need the explosion to happen in a room. Do you even know the word 'concentration'?"

"Harry, I am a monk and a mage, not a serf. Of course, I know that word. I understand you now. And the problem is that you'll need to be in the same room to ignite the flour, right?"

"Yep, and that sucks. The second thing that sucks – is me not even remotely knowing how much flour we need in the air for it to blow up. The third – that even if I knew, I still don't know how big the Room actually is and can't prepare accordingly. And to top it all off – we will be underground, under the school, within a probable space anomaly that no one knows the functionality of. I don't think that starting fires and explosions would be a good idea, hm?"

"Wait, are you saying that the explosion may actually threaten Hogwarts?"

"I said 'to kingdom come', Bernard, did you even listen? I also said that I'd rather avoid that."

"Of course," Bernard shivered. "Better to make do without destruction."

"Then we need to prevent the beast from seeing us before I or Peeves use the acid. And if we fail – then I'd rather risk it and burn the worm. I won't be able to fight it anyway, at least I'll launch some fireworks." I shrugged, chugging the last sack down the pipe and levitating after it.

***

It was dark down there, smelled of both mold and terrarium. It certainly isn't Hugo Boss, I even regretted not taking a gas mask. Although, with the overall lighting level, I still would've taken it off.
I could've lit my way with 'Lumos', but it would've been extra senile with the Cloak on.

There was literally a carpet of bones under my feet. Which was weird, since the basilisk was supposed to be a giant snake and all the skeletons here belong to small critters, like mice and hares. He would have eaten them, right?

And even then, don't snakes swallow their prey whole? Then why are all the bones here?

Oh, good old Tommy, you zoo-necro-pedophile, you were the one who brought all this here!

Or was it Weasley? No, doesn't seem like it, the bones are very old.

And these were not just lying around, gathering dust: small bones were on the perimeter, skulls were in the middle, surrounded by spines and ribs. Carefully placed in a specific order and I can swear on me suffering from constipation for a week – they were placed like this for a reason. There was some bad shit happening here long time ago, a ritual or some other fuckery.

I don't like this.

I carefully placed the sacks near a wall and untied them: it was time to let the safety off…

The exit was in the furthest part of the room, the same-looking pipe as the entrance one, but it was straight and traversable. There also was a ghost floating there, one from Albert's group.

"Hey, on the post! What's new on the frontline?"

"Nothing, lord Harry. There is a long corridor ahead with many offshoots. There is too few of us to scout them all, so we sent for reinforcements."

"Ha, good! Where are the other six ones?"

"They are inside the galleries, looking for the Chamber and the Heir."

"Harry," Sounded from behind. That was Al and another ten ghosts. "What a disgusting place."

"Heh, a ghost doesn't like a graveyard? That's new. What's next, bees against honey?"

"Dying didn't make me tasteless, my young friend. But even so, there is something more to this than just a pile of dead animals – I feel uncomfortable. I haven't felt this way… for a long time."

"How uncomfortable?"

"As if my dementor is around." Al answered and others started nodding.

Yeah, and how am I supposed to understand that? How should I know what a ghost feels near his Shadow, especially when it got away from him?

"All this is very interesting, but now is not the best time. Send the corpses down the corridor, the clock is ticking."

The ghosts silently flew into the galleries' depths, while the three of us (me, Albert and the postghost) waited for any developments. The silence, the smell and the occasional dripping of water somewhere deep grated on nerves. I was doing okay, but ghosts really didn't look all that good. The postghost sulked and became… greyer, while the always calm Albert started looking around nervously.

Another spirit has returned soon, just as exhausted, but pleased nonetheless.

"I found the way, gentlemen. It leads to some locked gates."

"Locked, huh… Gotta call Baron down here and hope that the passwords are the same."

"There is no need, Harry. Bloody Baron told me the password."

"Hm. In that case, can you tell it to me?"

Albert hissed something unintelligible. No, it was obviously sensible in some way, but it was like listening to a wookie yelling from 'Star Wars', but without subtitles.

"You know, Albert, I think you'll have to open the door."

***

The three of us were going deeper and deeper down the corridors. The air was getting more humid, but, strangely, smelled better. Not as bad, at least.

Corridors were looking like pathways in a cave, those that every wannabe-Indiana Jones dreams about. Wet, smoothed rocks, moldy walls, heavy air and almost no light. More correctly, there was no light at all, other than those that ghosts emitted.

My subordinates became my flashlights. What an illustrious career.

We passed by several offshoots already, with a ghost meeting us in every one of them. I couldn't pinpoint any system in the corridors – whoever dug them was fucking crazy. On the other hand, trying to navigate this place alone is a death sentence.

Finally, we reached the massive stone gates, with a bas-relief depicting some old man's face and snakes. The face looked as if someone stepped on the old geezer's favourite callus – so much rage and contempt were in his expression. Whoever cut this thing out was surely high on meth – jagged corners, broken symmetry, out-of-place swellings…

In short – grandpa wasn't feeling so good.

Why the hell are all the old farts in the Wizarding World assholes? This one even looks the part.

"Great Salazar…" Albert whispered reverently.

"Hey, on which side are you?"

"My apologies, Harry, but this is such an exciting moment. There are almost none accurate images of Salazar left! And this one, while of poor craftsmanship, is similar to other ones."

"I think the craftsmanship's fine. The snakes look great, see?"

"True. Maybe Salazar himself decided to immortalize his visage like this? But why?"

"Because he was a sick bastard. Or banged the sculptor's mom, I dunno. Open it already."

The dead man sighed heavily and hissed something at the face. The already similar ripples on the stone changed the bas-relief in seconds: the face, instead of looking evil and contemptuous, looked evil, smiling and anticipating.

And still completely fucking degenerate.

Smiling Salazar cracked right in the middle of his ugly mug, with the door opening in two wings. The scratching and scraping traveled down the corridor as an unpleasant-sounding echo. Fuck. Now the enemy knows we are here, or at least suspects.

Of course, Ginny might've missed that, but counting on it would've been stupid.

"Alright. You, trooper." I turned to the guide. "Fly back, tell Peeves to be ready and come over here. Also, all others are to leave the offshoots and stand watch on the main pathway. I don't need you all tired. We, meanwhile, are going in."

After fifty meters of the same boring corridor, the gallery turned into a big room, like a plane hangar. We managed to look it over, while hiding in the corner. Two pools, full of dirty muddy water near the walls were spotted immediately.

Simply standing tall in there was unpleasant, as if something pushed you down.

Snake statues with burning eyes stood on pedestals behind the pools, illuminating the room with green light, which gained sickly yellowish tones after being reflected by water.

In the furthest part of the room already familiar Salazar's smug face was looking at the entrance, but this time it was a statue and much bigger.

On the central platform, between two water reservoirs, kneeled a half-naked Ginny, rocking back and forth to a rhythm only she could hear. She sang a weird, unnerving song of an unknown language, giving me a headache. Her naked torso was covered in bleeding cuts, with old scars of similar wounds being visible where the skin wasn't covered in blood.

In front of her, on the floor, lied an opened notebook, with some kind of brown smoke hovering over it.

I still couldn't see the snake and it raised some uncomfortable questions.

"Al," I called out quietly.

"Yes, Harry?" The spirit answered.

"I need your advice."

"I understand your problem, Harry, and I don't know what to say."

"You sure? Do you understand that I don't even need to fight the fucking basilisk right now – just kill the girl and get out?"

"Except you still need to, though. If you want to clean your name, then you'll need to show the world the students' killer."

"Let's assume you are right. But that doesn't solve the main problem. I am a scummy fucking bastard, true, but I'm not a child-murderer."

"I don't know what to say, my friend," Albert whispered.

We sat for some time in silence, without a single thought in my head. Well, there were two, just not very useful.

The first one - the red-haired snot was an eleven-year-old girl.

The second one – she already killed two people and is not going to stop.

Those two thoughts replaced each other over and over, in rhythm with her words, in rhythm with the smoke's movements, and I suddenly caught myself on tapping my thigh in rhythm with her song.

Damn it!

"Alright, Al, we gotta end this. This is a bad place, we can't sit here for long. Al?" I turned to the quiet ghost and was startled – the ghost was whispering something with glassy eyes, head rocking in rhythm. "Al, what the fuck is this flash-mob? Fucking hell, Al!"

Turns out I might've said that too loud, because he wasn't the one who answered me:

"He doesn't hear you," Said Ginny, but in a voice that didn't feet an eleven-year-old girl. It didn't sound human at all, as if sounding over itself and was definitely male. "He can hear only the Labyrinth now. But I am surprised that you are not listening to my words, Harry Potter. You truly are an interesting foe."

"Weasley, right? Your family brought me nothing but problems." I said and held the wand tighter. I was still wearing the Cloak, but without the hood my head was visible.

"Don't you dare to tie me with those degenerates." The girlie snarled. "I already stained myself too much with their filth and will not tolerate any reminders."

"Oh, and how should I call you then? My little princess?"

"You can call me your Lord." The girl sneered.

"Lord? Not a Lady? Ginny, balls don't look good on a girl, the surgery will only hurt you."

"Potter, you fool, the girl, pathetic as she was, is no more. You are speaking with Lord Voldemort, you insect."

"Woah, did Mommy make you wear dresses when you were little? Is that's why you chose to possess a girl?" I laughed nervously.

My first encounter with this nazi went okay, since I ambushed him. Won't work this time.

On the other hand, if Ginny is like Quirrel, then I won't make it worse for her no matter what I do.

With one movement I pull the hood down and fly up.

"My mother died during childbirth, Potter, and I only regret not helping her with it." The possessed girl snarled and the place where I just stood turned into a lake of fire.

I was in the air and it missed, but immediately understood all seriousness of his intentions. Lightning surges towards the girl's head, but fucking Tommy had a deserved reputation of a good fighter:

"Protego!"

And my lightning hits a shield and falls apart as sparks.

"Ho, little boy wants to play it rough." He clicks his tongue in surprise. "What an interesting spell. Aren't you afraid to hurt the girl?"

"She's either dead or voluntarily agreed to become your leisure suit. In any case…" I cast another lightning, which gets again stopped by a shield, and dodge a green flash of the Killing Curse. "…she's a goner."

"Yes, Potter, you are strong. With time, you could've even become dangerous." Voldemort chuckled. "But the girl is still alive and I entered her through deceit. I need a sacrifice for my resurrection and this blood-traitor will do splendidly. The ritual cannot be conducted yet, but the time will come soon."

"You know, Voldie, I have a real good sense of smell – and you smell like you're full of shit. What'cha gonna say about that?" Shoot him twice with the gun, but the possessed girl puts up some sort of shield that I've never seen before, never even heard of it. Stops bullets just fine though.

"You are free to not believe me, little Potter, but are you ready to kill an innocent child because of your suspicions?" He hissed. "And remember: my name is Lord Voldemort! Fiendfyre!"

An enormous serpent made of fire flew out of his wand, coiled around his master and started spewing fire all over the room. One hell of a fire-show, I tell ya.

I hoped up behind one of the statues, occasionally deflecting gusts of fire with my counter-spells and feeling like I'm slowly boiling alive.

And then, the first jet of flame got through the shield and licked my leg.

Two dice for damage. Two damage points. Lethal damage cannot be absorbed.

Health: 5/5/5 (Bruises: -1 dice for rolls)

Shit, it's lethal damage. Looks like I'm in trouble.

Thankfully, his Darknessness ran out of breath and put out the spell.

"What, Potter, hiding like a rat in a gutter? Your parents hid too. Fear and worthlessness seem to run in the family, correct? You know, after what you did the last year, I wanted to kill you myself, with my own wand, while looking into your eyes and enjoying your terror and suffering. But you are cowering like a rat and I am tired of looking for you. You, like many other rats, will be eaten by a snake." After the pretentious monologue from behind the pedestal, a distinct long hissing was heard.

I couldn't see the snake-fucker from my position, but the view at Salazar's head was fully open and, for the second time today, the asshole-face changed expression onto an even more degenerate.

This time it was a joy of a serial killer, who finally caught his prey. The mouth opened – and I out of place remembered a joke about an Invisible Man and a blowjob.

And it really was out of place, because something big was moving inside Slytherin's mouth, slowly bringing its ugly mug to the light.

This is it! This is the moment!

I concentrated on the inner light, on my power, on my goal and, with a wide wave of my wand, summoned all the flour right under the Chamber's ceiling. They appeared in a flash, some opened on their own and others fell onto the snake's head, making it tear them apart and spread the flour-screen.

Mana: 0/2

Willpower: 6/10

I felt dizzy and something wet was running down my face – my stuck-out tongue reported that I got a nosebleed. But I did it!

"Hey, Voldie! Are you always this lazy or did you run out of juice to kill me? In any case, I'm gonna butcher your animal and sell its innards! I even have a buyer already!" I shouted, while searching for a flask with acid. "Peeves, now!"

The whole room was covered in thick white 'fog', making it very hard to orient. But still possible. Of course it was hard – a whole of sixty-two sacks of flour and all that above a bloody basilisk!

Still, its general shape was still visible and that was enough. Two uncorked flasks with acetic acid, obeying the wave of my wand, flew right into the monster's eyes, while it was towering over us in the cloud.

Peeves, the bastard, didn't appear and I could hear his distinctive giggle echoing in the corridor.

However, my presents were still delivered right to the needed address, burning out the basilisk's eyes and making it roar, while ramming its head into the walls and the ceiling. Now I only needed the flour to settle and then kill the snake with my weak, but trustworthy lightning bolts. Didn't want a stray spark blowing everything up here, after all.

Sadly, the possessed girl had other plans that day.

"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!" Voldemort howled and cast the already familiar spell. "Fiendfyre!"

"Oh fu…" I couldn't finish that and was forced to dive, ending in the water even before the Dark Lord finished his fucking flaming snake.

I just managed to submerge before the first spark reached flour.

Fuel-air explosives are not that destructive compared to high explosives. I mean, they are very powerful, but the main destructive force is kinda weak. Where a fuel-air explosive will destroy, say, a building's floor, a high explosive charge will level the building itself.

But the pressure at everything: at walls, at items, at everything – is much higher. And now, not a very powerful, but still a fuel-air explosion purified the whole room with fire and pressurized the rotten water reservoir I was hiding my skinny ass within with all its power.

Six dice for damage. Six points of damage. Four points of lethal damage absorbed by Toughness roll.

Health: 3/3/5 (Mauled: -2 dice for rolls)

With great difficulty and wobbling hands, I swam to the surface and crawled out of the sludge. Fuck, guess I'll need to once again steal Pomfrey's medicine – I don't like how the water looks at all.

But first things first.

The only thing that was left of Ginny – was her charred, mangled body, with both arms and a leg missing.

The basilisk looked a little better - like an over-fried beaten-up sausage. Bones were sticking out here and there, most of the body surface was charred, but the corpse was still big. If I still understand something in trading, Andrew will give me a non-stop year-long blowjob for some of this roast.

There also was that notebook, from which the possessed girl was reading her folk songs. But, no matter how long I searched the room, I couldn't find even a scrap of paper. What a waste of a trophy.

But, if my guess is correct – it's for the best.

Experience points: 11

Total experience points: 16

Nature replenishes your Willpower.

Willpower: 7/10

This is for both the basilisk and the possessed, right? Five-six experience points per each head?

And, if the snake-fucker told the truth, the girl died for no good reason.

Eh, screw that. Tommy's the one who should feel guilty – she's his victim.

Alright, how Albert's doing? Looks like he's slowly coming around – shaking his head and all that.

Gotta leave this party. It would've been very nice to cut the basilisk and put all the squishy parts into different packages, but wasn't looking much better and didn't have any packages anyway. It wasn't going anywhere.

"Let's go, Al," I only waved off his unasked question. "Later."

On the way back we discovered that I, thankfully, overestimated the explosion's power and the corridor was, while kinda wrecked, only until the door. The door itself, however, evidently managed to close on its own and was blown the fuck away from the hinges, lying on the floor. Which was good, because otherwise I would've needed a sledgehammer.

The most difficult thing in the whole return was crawling all the way back to my hideout. My body hurt, I couldn't hear because of the hydraulic impact and my muscles felt as if a tank battalion rolled over them. I tried levitating, but couldn't concentrate at all and it didn't work out.

I needed to scramble myself up again at least two times, when I was crawling out of the bathroom and when I was crawling into the hideout.

In the end, I fell on the mattress without undressing.

***

I woke up because of a waterfall. Well, I thought it was a waterfall, but it was only Peeves with a bucket of water, who immediately flew away while laughing in joy.

Looks like my hearing restored a bit.

"Harry, please, wake up," Someone's bass-like voice sounded right near me.

"Bernard?" I managed to whisper through the dry throat.

Holy moly, I feel fucking awful. Almost as bad as after that evening with Albus.

"Lord Harry," Bloody Baron appeared in my field of view. "Your wounds look terrible. Both eyes and ears are inflamed and are starting to fester, the burn on your leg smells of disease. You need medicine and care, as soon as possible."

"Not now," I croaked. "At night, when everyone's asleep."

"It is already night, Harry," The monk said. "You need to go now. We should've done it sooner, but the patrols just calmed down and we couldn't bring you any medicine ourselves. Please, my friend, you need to move."

And so, I shambled my way to the hospital wing, while swearing at Voldie and his suicidee's diploma. Under the cloak I was invisible, but still made enough noise for at least ten transformers. Thankfully, ghosts helped me to evade patrols and I managed to grab me some drugs. Don't know which ones, I just threw into the bag everything Bernard pointed at.

Drank one flask right at the spot and, still barely navigating the place, shambled back.

Gotta get Pomfrey a present – she saves my ass for the second time already, even if unknowingly.

Back at the hideout, I cleaned up my burn and other wounds, drank all the potions, smeared all the ointments, bandaged everything I could and fell asleep.

I woke up the next day's evening, feeling much better and with Health at (5/5/5). Well, lethal damage is hard to heal.

But now, it's safe to say this – I won. I fucking killed a basilisk and kicked Voldemort in the ass the second time!

Oh, ye blessed Hugh Hefner, I am so fucking badass.

The girl died, though. Not that big of a loss, but I can already see newspapers blaming her disappearance on me. They even will be sorta right, but… hell, that'll be frustrating.

There are also Aurors in the school talking about the ground shaking. They hope it's not an earthquake, but Hogwarts was built among mountains.

Eh, it was good to keep them on toes. I, meanwhile, needed to visit the Chamber once again and finish something.

***

In the next morning, the whole Hogwarts could appreciate the basilisk's head nailed to a wall with a spear and a lightning-burned message under it:

'Looks like I once again saved your asses, sorcerers. This time from the Heir.

Harry Potter, the most awesome.

P.S. Albus, did you like the back rub? We can always do that again.'

Experience points: 2

Total experience points: 18

Status (Magical Britain): +1

Status (Magical Britain): ***

Bland Eggplant · Apr 10, 2020

I sat on Dumbledore's throne in the Great Hall and crossed my legs. It's two o'clock in the morning, so there won't be any witnesses.

The place, as it turns out, provides a great view. The big empty hall, glistening sky of Umbra, waving tapestry – the architects and decorators had a great taste.

I'm gonna remove all the tables out of here anyway – my throne room will not be a soup kitchen. Sadly, it is also the only place a bowling line can fit into, so I'll have to enjoy more progressive activities (namely whiskey, whores and pool) in some other places.

It's a pity that I won't be able to occupy the castle anytime soon. Even with the changed rhetoric about me in newspapers, I am still a wanted criminal. Yep, attack on a Chief Justice, who is also a minister of education, who is also a local UN Secretary-General which brought grievous bodily injuries does that to people. I wonder how the old man snatched sorcerous analogs of all these positions?

Well, that doesn't really matter, since the old man abandoned two of these because of his declining health, now remaining only Chief Justice. Whatever it's called here? Chief Warlock of Wizengamot, I think, kinda like that.

Grandpa put Snape, the known asshole, into his post at Hogwarts. Also, according to ghosts, Snape was a master-alchemist, a terrorist, a professional traitor, a spy, and a drug/alcohol-addict of big proportions. Truly, a man of great talents.

By the way, both me and the old fart started appearing on the headlines unpleasantly often and both of us in a very controversial light. 'The Uncatchable Potter' was once again crowned a hero, a monster slayer, and a children savior. After all, the severed head of that snake was solid proof that I didn't simply win it at a kiddy party. And yet, that didn't excuse me attacking the old man and evading capture successfully for a long time. Also, where is the proof that I'm not the Heir who wants to clean his reputation and this isn't my snake?

As I understood it, at the moment dissident journalists and the common folk saw me in a good light, while the government wanted to see me in the deepest prison cell possible. I had only one explanation to that – the Minister wanted to cover Dumbledore in shit and I was the perfect tool for that.

His Beardiness was treated in the same way, but for different reasons. The honored relict of Magical Britain, a hero of long-forgotten (by sorcerers) war, he was respected by everyone but any minister official didn't give a fuck about him – the grandpa all these years was demonstrably apolitical. Gotta admit, having all these posts and doing that is very hard, but he managed somehow. So, in the end, when Albus got from me a ticket to the hospital, all the government officials decided that Akela has missed and now they can at first grab some of that freed political power and, in the end, just chase the old cripple away with pissed-on rags.

And then Albus showed his teeth. And he did that so damn scarily that all the Ministry needed a change of pants and to hire a lot of people for all the sudden vacancies. His people were everywhere, his interviews were devastating, his support was overwhelming, and the trauma only made the people see him as a heroic martyr.

And Albus would've remained the king of the hill, but then I stepped into the arena and rolled in the basilisk's head.

We have an interesting picture here: heroic Albus was attacked by heroic Potter. So, either Albus is not a hero since Potter attacked him, or the opposite is true and the Beard is a cool guy and Potter is a jackass. But heroic Potter is still a hero because he saved the children from a horrifying monstrosity, which, by the way, was missed by heroic Albus.

And the Ministry tries to capitalize on the situation by making journalists drown Albus and praise me.

While I was sitting on the throne and thinking about the situation, mainly about ways to clean my name, Hogwarts all to himself and a cohort of sorcerers as my personal ubersoldaten, I suddenly felt an almost forgotten sensation of other's thoughts in my head:

"Harry Potter. You are still alive and free, I feel it. Commendable."

"Ho, Mag! Long time no hear. Just came back?"

"I had problems and needed to visit the Wizarding World temporarily."

"So… Did you already come back from Umbra and then managed to find trouble back on Earth?"

"Correct. I left the Edges back in September. A wondrous place. But it's not the time, where are you right now?"

"Still at Hogwarts, we had a good scuffle here too."

"We need to meet. Make it happen."

Yep, just go and make it happen. I'm kind of besieged in here, you know. Although… To be honest, I could've left a long time ago. Why not now?

"I agree, we have stuff to talk about. So what, two days later in the same park?"

"No, I am currently in the Wizarding World. Passed through the column on the Kings Cross. I shouldn't appear in London – the Earthbound is on the hunt."

"Fucking… Mag, couldn't you, like, warn me? There are no flags strewn and the tablecloth is all dirty."

"It seems that our mind link does not work between worlds. I called, but you didn't hear, and so my options were limited. Two minutes ago I thought you dead."

Alright, seems like I have to help out my troublesome ally. But where would I even settle her? At Hogwarts, like me? I would've rented her a room in a hotel or something, but all my money are in Gringotts and I don't want to find out how law-abiding those freaks are.

"Yeah, doesn't look good. Oh, are there any sorcerers on the platform right now?"

"Yes, three men."

"Good. Make one of them show you the thing called 'Floo Powder' and then forgot about you. Or steal it from him, or something similar. Can you do that?"

"Yes." She grew quiet.

I limped from the throne room into a network of tunnels that connect the school and Hogsmeade – a nearby village. A minute later, the demon's voice sounded in my head again:

"I have acquired the powder. What next?"

"Awesome, Mag. Now, look, there are occasional life-sized fireplace-like niches in the station's walls. See any?"

"Yes, I do."

"Now, step inside one, throw a handful of powder at your feet and say 'Hogsmeade'. You will appear in a small village. Go down the street, near the last house there is a big stone. I'll be there."

We finished speaking and I crawled into the already familiar corridors. Got kinda annoyed by them, to be honest. I want to find a sofa, sprawl all around it, open a bottle of cold one and watch a movie.

I need a vacation, no doubt.

I exited the underground through my favorite path in all Hogwarts – Honeydukes sweets shop. There were other exits, sure, and they were safer – this exit was famous and, therefore, often patrolled by aurors. But the wand-wielding wankers are trying to catch me for almost a year now and got all lazy, so sneaking out was easy.

There still were a couple coppers on the street and, if the night was wet or snowy, I would've needed to change the plan and hide my tracks. Why aren't these two sleeping?

Although the right one kinda sways from side to side in a very specific way, the boys must've been out drinking. Then it explains it – Moody's legs can't be bothered and hurt too much to go all the way here, so the aurors decided to have a little fiesta, since they got such a nice watch without their one-eyed boss.

In any case, the night was dry and warm, so the road to one cold Indian woman was free.

The demon stood at the spot and patiently waited for me.

"You have come." She said.

What an interesting way to greet someone.

"As if I had a choice," I said, taking off the Cloak. And not a single 'hello' was said. "Let's walk and talk? I don't leave the castle often, you know, at least it'll feel nice."

"As you say. You are the owner." Magdiel shrugged.

I took her to the hills that showed a great view of the castle, and the lake, and the forest. I could recall only one more impressive place – Hogwarts' walls. Maybe also some strip-clubs from my past life.

To note – I meant 'impressive' in a positive sense, because there also is a lot of memorable bad/weird shit and places. The Chamber of Secrets, for example.

"Alright, spill out. What kind of trouble did you run into?"

She was silent for some time, but finally answered:

"He grew tired of waiting for me to break and decided to subjugate me by force. Gangs started attacking more often, people that knew me started suffering from visions. A month ago one of them cut His name on his veins and then came back to life as a ghoul. I was forced to destroy him. I, meanwhile, couldn't track him. Frima, my other Deal-maker, found one of his ritual victims and through his corpse we learned the Creature's name… But that's it. No known cultists, no place, nothing. Yesterday his slaves ambushed me at my workplace, but I fought back. Meanwhile, at home… Tony is dead now." She finished quietly.

Owch. Looks like someone caught her real hard by the ass. It's not so surprising now that she escaped into the Wizarding World without preparations.

"My condolences."

"For what?"

"Well, you kind of loved your husband and stuff."

"And I still love him. His death is just a temporary inconvenience, I have his soul..." She caressed her necklace. "…so I will simply resurrect him. It will be difficult, but I will resurrect him."

"Glad to know you have a plan." I scratched my chin in doubt.

I am not sure if I was a normal… who he was, a dentist? A shop accountant? Anyway, to die from the hands of fanatic cultists, to then live in a necklace, to then get resurrected right in the middle of a war and all that only to learn that your wife is a demon.

Well, what can I say? Good luck in family life, man.

"So, what happened next?"

"I could've asked to become a Court of Hell's servant, it's better than the Earthbound and I have a reputation there, but decided to look for opportunities here – the Wizarding World, at least, will not demand my servitude. Maybe I would even learn how to enter that… Umbra on my own volition."

"Ah, by the way, how was the camping trip?"

"Unusual." The demon expressed bewilderment. I wonder if I'm the only one who notices how she forces herself to express emotions or did her colleagues notice too? "You know, long ago the Creation was like a layer cake, but now it's an endless patchwork quilt. Every Edge is now its own separate world, with its laws and denizens. It is difficult to accept. I can say only one thing – Umbra is full of huge opportunities and dangers. It is teeming with monsters."

"Congrats, you've just discovered America. The moment I saw that thing in the ceiling – immediately thought that I have lots of unfinished businesses in Argentina. You, survival and all that. But the ceiling seems safe so far. And, well, I was here playing Hiro Oonoda and living in walls. Even managed to kick Voldemort's ass one more time."

"It's that evil sorcerer?"

"Yep, that huge asshole. You know, I have a suspicion that he isn't such a nasty fucker on his own. Did you hear about Wyrm while you were in Umbra?"

"Yes, I did." Magdiel frowned.

"The evidence is circumstantial, but I can just feel it with my ass that something isn't that simple with Voldemort. And that makes me uncomfortable."

Mag didn't answer. Probably was remembering what she heard about Wyrm. Well, alright.

Still, I had a very important question to ask of that Indian.

"Mag, do you remember me asking to find a certain skin-donned box?"

"Yes. I found it and now it is hidden."

"Good, you're as hot as fire. Can I have it?"

"No."

Oh, you fucking… Alright, I can understand when humans act like complete asshats, but why a demon would… Fucking hell.

"Didn't get it. What's the problem?"

"Consider this my guarantee. You are useful and I don't want you to let me down. You will get your container after the Earthbound's death."

"You look like such a respectable demon and you turn out to be such a bitch." I spat. "Alright, don't piss your pants, I won't get away. I don't want to do fuck all around Hogwarts for all my life, would've ended up in London eventually. He is my enemy too, you know."

"Good. The more reasons you have to war with Him, the better. Now you fight for a reward too." She grinned.

"Not only the container, its contents too!"

"I'm not a Devil, I don't play with words." Mag huffed indignantly.

"With you sly-asses, I am not sure about anything anymore. Some take my stuff as a 'guarantee', others wanna be taught… Alright, what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to learn everything about the cult. We cannot defeat the Earthbound now, but we can deprive him of servants and Faith to make him vulnerable. You will be my eyes outside, in the big world, you will find his slaves and the source of their power and then we will think of how to eradicate the disease."

"First-class bitch, just as I said." I laughed. "You wanna conscript me, your more than, hm, weak ally to solve a problem you ran away from so fast there was a dust cloud."

"I can't do it myself." Mag winced. "He knows me, he knows the traces of my power. One day he will track me down and subjugate me instantly and the more I look for him or influence reality – the sooner it will happen. You are different. He doesn't know you, he doesn't expect you and your sorcery is too unnoticeable for him. And besides, you are human – your kind is almost impossible to subjugate involuntarily."

"Alright, alright. But! You then will start dealing with Voldemort. I don't know where he is hiding, but the bastard seems to be real dangerous."

"Very well. Where should I start?"

"Ask Hogwarts' ghosts, they'll bring you up to speed, since I am leaving. Bernard, Albert and Bloody Baron know their stuff, good men. And look into those Slytherins that graduated – Voldie recruited lots of servants from that House. Also, since you are going to be here anyway, do me a favor – it'll make my day. There is a ghost in the castle, named Peeves. The fucker screwed me over, badly, so can you just…" I demonstratively dragged a thumb across my neck. "…don't know how to say it about a dead man, but it certainly isn't 'kill'. I would've done that myself, but he is surprisingly good at hiding from me – only managed to burn his ass a couple times."

"Very well, Harry Potter, I will do it."

"Done with that, then. What about me?"

"What about you?"

"Where should I start?"

"I don't know much. The Earthbound calls himself Uvir-Dasab, but this might be a pseudonym. I do not remember anyone with such a name among the rebels. Although, I do not remember much anymore. Also, contact the girl named Frima Gillan, she lives at the corner of Torriano and Leyton-road, she might be of use." The demon pulled out a notepad and quickly wrote the address down.

"That Deal-maker you mentioned?"

"Yes, she helps me occasionally."

Welp, in the light of new events, gotta go and grab my stuff: I've nothing on me aside from the Cloak, clothes and the wand.

I wonder how she is going to live in the Wizarding World? Maybe she'll just settle in the castle and live like me? He-he, Moody will be surprised.

Things don't go too bad, actually. Well, aside from me departing to look for a cult of demon-worshipping maniacs in a multi-million city.

We did everything rather quickly. Got to the hidden entrance, got into the castle and got to my hideout. On the way called for Bloody Baron.

"Did you call, my lord?" The ghost asked nervously, glancing at Mag.

"Yep. I'm getting the hell out of here, so you have a new boss now. She wasn't here for long, doesn't know anything about our podunks, so get her up to speed. Also, Baron, do me a favor?"

"What is it?." He nods.

"When you next time meet second-years Crabbe and Goyle, tell them that I remember about the agreement."

Instead of waiting for his answer, I continued packaging. I didn't have that many things: stuff on me, ammo, the handgun, two kilos of basilisk meat in stasis-jars from the local kitchen – a very useful sorcerers' gizmo. The rest of the basilisk too was lovingly put into similar jars, even though I got really fucking tired sawing it apart. All the canned goods were in this very hideout.

I was going to sell these to Devourer if there won't be a better use of them.

Welp, looks like I'm ready. Time to go.

"Alright, Mag, I'm out. Don't raise Cain while I'm gone."

***

The way back was surprisingly pleasant – I had no idea how bloody tired I really was from all the damp corridors, Hogwarts and constant hiding. The air of Kings Cross station, where I got through Hogsmead's Floo, kicked me in the head like a shot of tequila on an empty stomach.

Near the column that leads to London I just couldn't keep it and, with great pleasure, took off the Cloak, brazenly saluted the station's caretaker (who certainly recognized me) and stepped through the barrier.

…Yeah, I kinda forgot that London is a dirty cesspool. In my memories, with each passing day it turned more and more into a Disney cartoon, but no, there was just as much trash on the roads and traffic jams (even at night). The last remnants of pink paint rot away when a swollen, dirty junkie crawled out of some alley and tried to grab me by the shoulder.

I don't like junkies.

Mana: 1/2

Didn't even pull out a wand, just gave him three-four hundred volts when he touched me. The degenerate shuddered and then collapsed, sprawling on some trash bags. The smell somehow got worse.

But my mood was still high: I didn't need to hide, think constantly about escape paths or turn at each and every noise. I still did all that, automatically, but the sensation of the open space (as open as a city can get anyway) on itself was amazing.

I reached the place almost in the morning. Didn't have money for a taxi, didn't know the city that well and didn't even have a bloody map. Navigated mostly by asking the rare passers-bys.

And they were really rare, despite each and every road being full of cars. Maybe they all traveled by metro? I have no idea, but Londoners sure didn't like walking. It wasn't that obvious in my last visits: those happened at day, with lots of transport and people around.

Still, after talking with around two dozens people, I learned the way to go and limped all the way to Frima's place. The multistories building with a locked metal door and without an intercom. Very welcoming. Although, when you have a wand and know telekinesis – locks just kinda open themselves after barely any effort. I wanted to do the same with the flat's closed door but decided not to ruin our first meeting and just rang the doorbell instead.

A very sleepy red-headed girl of twenty five (or close) years old opened the door:

"A-a-amh?" She yawned questioningly.

"Missus Gillan?"

"Miss Gillan." She answered after blinking away the sleep. "What do you want, boy?"

"Name's Harry Potter, I'm from Magdiel," I said while pushing the flabbergasted girl out of the way and walking in. "And, thanks to one Indian woman dropping it on my poor head, we both have a lot of work to do. But now I need to sleep – the night was real tiring."

Her two-room flat had an amazing sofa, onto which I immediately landed without even undressing.

"Wha… what are you doing, you little?!"

"All questions later, when I wake up. Until then – don't touch me."

And with those words, I fell asleep. For the sake of variety today I decided not to watch any dreams and just enjoy the silence.

***

I woke up in the evening, with the sky already darkening. The flat was empty, with only the air conditioner making any noise. My stomach very bluntly reminded that there are no house-elves in the normal world and so I quickly went to explore the fridge. Welp, looks like we are having scrambled eggs and ham, the girl's fridge was rather empty.

Alright, not so empty that a mouse hanged itself, but the missy certainly wasn't a big fan of food. And, judging by the ham, not a big fan of dieting either.

While I was cooking the un-complicated dinner, the flat's owner had returned. She tiredly, while walking, took off her coat, shoes, sweatshirt and, just like me several hours prior, fell onto the sofa face down.

"Hey there, miss I-don't-look-so-good."

"Huh?" Sounded from under a pillow.

"Get up, let's introduce ourselves."

She quietly grumbled, but still started moving. After finally sitting up, she slowly looked at me devouring her scrambled eggs. Jesus Christ, those are some big bags under her eyes. I was so impressed that even put the plate aside.

"I just knew that some supernatural shit will happen to me. Alright, who are you?" She said resignedly.

"Potter. Name's Harry. Magdiel advised me to contact you."

"The demon, huh." Frima nodded. "Didn't she run away?"

"Yep, and she asked me to solve her problem. Was very persuasive."

Frima looked at the ceiling and massaged her eyes for a bit. Where the hell did she get so tired, in the morning she looked much better. Or maybe I just didn't notice?

"So she started involving children… Just as bad as the rest of 'em."

"And how many of them did you meet?"

The girl looked at me grimly.

"She didn't tell you anything, did she?"

"About what?"

"About what I'm doing for her."

"Nah, I didn't ask. I'll learn eventually." I shrugged. "Here, eat some protein-rich food, you look like you'll die any second. And I don't want to look for the cult on my own."

The girl quietly swore, but nevertheless took a plate and started slowly chewing with a sour expression.

"Maybe you'll tell me who you are for starters? When little boys barge into my home and say names of supernatural horrors I get somewhat nervous."

Well, she is right here, even if I can't show her my passport. After all, she should learn about her new boss.

I think Magdiel wouldn't mind.

"As I said before, my name's Harry Potter and from today, sunshine, I'm your new boss. We and Mag are kinda-sorta allies, and while she helps me with my problems (and we have lots of them out there, don't you doubt) I replace her here.

"So you're a demon too?" The girl moved back from the table.

"Nope, I'm a human. And you know what? Really fucking proud to be!" I leaned back on my chair. "I'm, just so you know, a sorcerer and believe that you can take every monster that leeches of humanity and shove it its self-importance so deep, that it won't be recoverable without deep mining. If you do it right, of course."

"Sounds great." Frima relaxed. "But I know what they can do. I don't think that it's a good idea for a boy to get involved in all this."

"And nobody…" I pulled out the wand and lifted our plates into the air, created a fire on each of them, put it out, cleaned from all the ash and grime and showed the flat's owner the squicky clean dishes. "…asked you."

The girl only raised her brow skeptically. Looks like she already saw some pyrotechnics somewhere.

"Alright, alright, I got it, you are a great and powerful sorcerer. What next?"

"And next you will tell me everything you know about that cult Mag asked you to look into."

The girl almost spat out her tea.

"She wants you to look for the cult? That's… you are dead, boy."

"Don't piss yourself, reddie, I survived worse things."

"You didn't survive things like that."

"Oh, then maybe you'll finally tell me, since you are oh so smart?"

She sighed heavily, as if really not wanting to open her mouth, but started talking anyway:

"I am a medical examiner, cut people apart in a morgue. The job's shit, never wanted to end up there, but… well, it happened. Once upon a time met that Magdiel and made the Deal with her, being naïve and stupid. Back then it seemed like a great idea and I was happy that my wish came true, but, again, nothing is that simple. Aside from granting my wish, she also granted me… well, an ability." The girl cringed. "I see through the eyes of dead people."

"And that works how?" I got interested.

"And that works by me being able to see the last minutes, sometimes hours, of the dead person, by looking into the corpse's eyes. I can see who died from what."

"Not bad."

"It sucks." She snarled. "There is nothing good in death, I always knew that, but now… I can see the agony of a cancer patient, a shootout between gangs, a young girl dying to a rapist maniac and all that through their eyes, time after time, hundreds and hundreds of deaths… My job is shit, but these eyes made it worse. But there is more. Turns out, not everyone dies from illnesses, old age or criminals, no. A lot of people die to monsters. Did you know that vampires exist?"

"Of course I did know. Just like werewolves, mages, and evil spirits." I nodded.

"Well, I didn't. The first time I met a vampire through the eyes of a thug, who died because of a heart attack. That was weird, he was thirty years old and really burly. Do you know what I saw?"

"Tell the tale already, I'm getting impatient."

"I saw a gang of seven bikers who wanted to get some money from an old man in an expensive suit. He didn't want to. Then one of them punched him in the face and then started screaming because he broke a finger. All bandits draw weapons, one shot at him."

"No result?"

"None. They all started shooting and that monster just stood there and laughed. He had, like, fifty bullets in him and he didn't give a shit! Then he frowned and… I don't know how to describe it, as if you are looking in the eyes of the Terror itself. I heard the dead howling and just knew that they call me and that this creature will take me to them. I just looked through the eyes of that biker, I have no idea how he felt in reality, back at that gas station. All the bandits just froze, they couldn't move. And then he turned to me, to the one I was looking through, and said 'Kill them'. It was like a nail into your brain, like a bloody bell between my ears. The biker went to his friends and shot every single one into their faces. I felt him crying while killing his friends, while reloading the gun as they pleaded, and he could do nothing. Nothing! When he killed them all, he turned to that monster and he just smiled with his mouth full of teeth. I don't know what happened, maybe all that was just too much or maybe the vampire did something, but at that moment his heart just stopped. When I came to my senses, the corpse was just… torn apart. I tore it apart, while obeying that creature's order, who I only saw through the dead man's eyes!"

"Huh, so Domination worked in that way? Didn't expect that. But, all that is fun and good, Spielberg would've loved it, but you wanted to tell me something about the Earthbound?"

"That cult, yeah. I saw a lot since then: demons, vampires, bandits. That's what I do for Magdiel – tell her about 'interesting' corpses. Through these eyes I was torn apart, devoured, killed so many times I am not sure I'm even alive at all." The girl seemed to be so stressed before, that right now she just didn't care, despite clearly remembering something really heavy. Good, she will be useful. "But sometimes there were cases that… I don't know how to explain it. Deaths by complete accidents, suicides, overdoses, and often I felt the presence of something eldritch, something big. It's as if you are tied to a pole and there is a heavy-duty dump truck behind you. You hear it, feel it, see a shadow of a huge car, but you can't turn and look. Nothing certain for the first few, but these corpses were appearing for some time already. Like, there goes a happy woman, who was just proposed to by her beloved. And then she jumps in front of an upcoming train. Or a student injects a dose, a small one. I can feel it's a small one! But his eyes refuse to work and the knife just comes in and out of his chest and I can see only murky moving shadows and that name."

…At that moment, I admit, I got hit by an idiot ball. Like, got really stupid. I should've warned her or stopped her in time, but… Oh well.

"They called him Uvir-Dasab." And at that moment the room was filled with cold, fetid wind, which stopped almost immediately. "The Gifter of beauty and The Great Painter. I heard the titles many times, in many dead eyes, but the name sounded only recently, with that student."

"Fuck me…" I just let my head hit the table. I can't believe I just fucked up like that. Fucking hell.

"What?"

"Looks like it's his real name," I said in an even tone. How else was I supposed to react after such an epic fail? "Tell me, melodrama girl, you spoke with Magdiel mentally, right?"

"Yes."

"And how did you call her?"

"Uhh… I called her by name." Frima got all thoughtful for a second and then her eyes widened in terror. "You mean..!"

"Yep. You, stupid-head, just told Him that we know about him, are looking for him and you also showed him our faces. And now we can only hope that he didn't pay attention to us or didn't see where we are."

Yeah, I did not expect that from my first day in London. You will be my eyes, Magdiel said. You will only scout it out, Magdiel said.

Honestly speaking, I didn't know what to do. I mean, we got up and left the flat, sat down in the café on the opposite side and started looking at the entrance, but no one unfamiliar entered. And that meant absolutely nothing, since the demon could've just ignored us or decided to send his servants later,

On the one side, I needed to leave Frima's house, run as far as I could and then keep working without her. The problem was, I had no idea where to start. And the girl worked in a morgue, had very specific abilities and was very useful.

So, after a short discussion, we decided to return. If there were no immediate attack, then we had time to prepare.

I still won myself a sofa and moved it to a window – if something happens, I'll get out through it and I didn't care that we were on the eighth floor.

Bland Eggplant · Apr 14, 2020

"Alright, what's next?" Frima asked, un-corking a bottle of beer.

Looking at the swill in question felt a little funny. I certainly remember liking beer, but my body feels completely indifferent to it.

We sat in her flat, discussing our current situation with a TV murmuring in the background.

On most accounts, Miss Gillan is fucked. Because of being the demon's battery she is more than interested in Mag doing alright, otherwise she might start draining energy from the redhead through the Deal they made. Needless to say, it fucks with her health, both physical and mental.

On the other side, she was the one who said the Earthbound's name, her face is the one the monster saw and it's her flat that is in danger. So, the damsel would be better off running to New Zealand or somewhere as far away.

I am not doing that bad since I didn't show my mug to the Earthbound. Probably. I hope so. I, myself, have another big problem – there are no other leads aside from that student-junkie. And that's not a good lead, because cultists could've just grabbed the first person on a street, who knows what rituals they are into.

"Next, my darling, I'm going to act out a likable fatty named Puaro. You would've probably fared better, but I have no idea how to explain to you what I look for. "

"Awesome, didn't want to stick my nose out anyway. The further I am from all that supernatural stuff – the better." The girl nodded, pleased, and took a long sip from the bottle.

"Not so fast, bae. You'll do for me the same stuff you did for Miss Cawl." I said to her bluntly, making the girl choke on beer. "I need all the possible information from all the dead you can find. About demons, naturally, I don't care about truck-drivers that died to bootleg whiskey."

"Hell no! Do you know what I did when I heard from Anila that she's leaving? Got wasted so hard that my head still hurts. I'm done living out others' deaths."

"Hoh. Alright, but you better order yourself a coffin beforehand."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, think about it this way. You wanna screw with Mag. If not cultists, then she will cut you into small chunks no matter where you go. Of course, she might kick the bucket earlier, but I wouldn't count on that. Also, no one will protect you from the cult except for me. But here's the trick – I am not going to put my ass on the line if you don't want to work."

"Maybe she won't find me," Frima stuttered, unsure.

"And to think you didn't look stupid just a second ago. You made the Deal. Get it? She doesn't need to look for you, she just needs to want it and you'll experience such unforgettable sensations that an electrical chair will seem a massage one. And it wouldn't matter where you go: to Chili, to Tasmania or to a nearby bar."

Miss Gillan looked at me with empty eyes. Twenty seconds later she finally managed to squeeze out the result of her brainstorm:

"Fuck my life…" She moaned, leaning back in her chair.

"Strangely, that's the most reasonable reaction." I nodded with approval. "If it'll make you feel better – you'll be working for the sake of humanity. Feel free to count yourself a heroine."

"Please, shut up." The girl asked. But, after finishing the beer bottle, decided to continue talking. "So, you need me to find people murdered by demons."

"No-no-no, wrong. I'm looking for unusual murders, suicides, too-quick illnesses. Who was the killer: a demon, a human or a cat – doesn't matter. It only has to be unusual. I'll then filter it and find 'our' cases."

"And if they'll find me? You know…"

"Cultists? Hm… alright, take this." I pulled the handgun out of my backpack. I can't carry it in London anyway: I don't have a holster and pulling it out of the bag is too long. "But be careful – it has a strong kick."

"Wow." Frima weighted the weapon in her hand. "But weren't these banned?"

"You can give it back." I shrugged. Frima only huffed at that and put the gun in her purse. "Do you know how to shoot?"

"No."

"Well, if you wanna live – you'll learn. Also, we need to communicate somehow. Buy a mobile, no, two mobiles."

"Are you joking? They are bloody expensive!"

"I don't give a shit. If you know any other way to quickly call me for help – I'm happy to listen."

"You'll do without a phone, brat. I don't have that much money."

"Suit yourself. But when a truck hits you – imagine me screaming 'I warned you, idiot!'. Also, I just gave you my favorite gun, could've paid me back with a phone."

And so we argued, slowly creating our further plan of action. Well, there wasn't much to it. She went back to work and I went with her – needed to know that student's information. While she was digging through the documents I sat in 'O'Tolly' café right across the street and waited for my subordinate.

What a good-sounding word: subordinate.

"Here. Wesley Gable, West London University, psychology." Sounded near me when I finished my burger.

"Oh, that's good."

"What's good?"

"Well, that he was a psychology student. I don't like psychologists. Good that they killed him and not, say, a biology student."

"You're such an asshole." The redhead sighed.

I only shrugged in response and sank my teeth into the remains of a burger.

"How do you even eat this?" Frima asked. "It looks disgusting."

"Don't like it – don't eat it," I grumbled. "About our guy. Do we have an address?"

"Yes, it's here." She gave me the documents.

"Lived with his parents, huh? Got it." I closed the folder. "I'm off then. And you go slave away, corpses won't dissect themselves."

She snarled something back, but I didn't listen. After that, I just caught a taxi to Gable's house.

I'm running out of money, by the way. Gotta do something about that.

***
Standing near Gable's house, which looked suspiciously similar to the Dursleden, I mulled over a problem. I had no excuse to enter the house – his family probably won't eat up that I'm his grieving relative or a classmate.

Although I have an idea.

A grim, grizzled man opened the door. The father, I guess.

"What do you want?"

"Well aren't cha polite today." I grimaced. "I'm here with condolences for Wesley and you just ruined it."

"Who are you?" The man frowned. "What do you care about Wesley?"

"My name is Draco Malfoy, Wesley volunteered to help in our orphanage from time to time. When we heard about his death, I decided to come and see if I can help out somehow. He was a good guy."

"I see," The man's expression softened. "Didn't know he was working in an orphanage though."

"He told us a time or two that he needed that for his studies or something. Are you gonna let me in now, mister?"

"Thanks…" The man said with sadness in a deep voice. "…but that's our grief and our problems. We'll make do." And after that, he closed the door in my face.

Welp, talking it out didn't work. Gotta do it the old way, with the Cloak, levitation and through open windows. There is one on the second floor, by the way. After waving my wand around, I flew into the house.

Looks like the window lead to the family's bedroom. What can I say – it's as normal as they go. Grey walls, white sheets, a mirror above the dresser. Still, it doesn't feel comfortable in here, as if I'm in a hospital room. Everything is orderly to the point of seeming sterile, there is no life in the interior.

What a boring life the lovebirds live.

I quietly opened the door and went down the corridor. Magic is cool and all, but it's no reason to hurry. I wonder where his is room?

Found it on a second try. Not that I was, like, completely sure that it was the room I needed, but a baseball cap on the table and wrinkled underpants on a chair clearly showed that the room belonged to a slovenly young man. Now I gotta find something important. Too bad I'm not a detective.

After twenty minutes of vacuuming the floor with my nose, I found nothing unusual or suspicious – just some notebooks with lectures, his clothes and a guitar. Well, also a package of weed behind the wardrobe, to no one's surprise.

Looks like I won't find anything here, gotta go to the university, ask around both students and administration. Too bad my tale about an orphanage won't do shit there.

"…Potter?"

The hell? Did someone just say my surname?

"No, I don't know any Potters." The voices were coming from downstairs.

"Are you sure? A boy about this height, has black hair, green eyes, a scar on the forehead?"

"Ah, yeah, he passed through here. Told me a different name, though. He went further down the street."

"That's him. Hey, Dolish! He was here, bring the veritaserum." How the hell did they find me?

"What are you doing?" The second voice asked menacingly.

"Calm down, sir, everything is going to be fine. You won't even remember anything. Confundus! Now let's go into the living room."

And then a terrifying roar emanated through the whole building:

"FOR THE GLORY OF THE MASTER!"

A shudder passed through my body. It sounded as if a truck rammed into a mountain of styrofoam.

"What the..! AAAAH! Reducto! Reducto, damn you!"

"Incarc… guah!"

"What the hell is this?! Seko!"

After peeking out from the second floor, I saw a real-life horror picture: the same man, who didn't let me inside the house, was tearing three Aurors apart with his bare hands from Kingsley's team, uncaring about their attempts to blow him up. Although, now he only barely resembled a man: his body, no longer covered by a shirt (clothing isn't immune to spells), was instead covered in eyes, didn't care about spells hitting it, with bloodied hands now showing off spectacular claws. After ripping two Aurors to shreds, the monster jumped across the room to the third one, who stood near the exit and started eating his face. The sorcerer was still alive and howled in pain as if he was butchered alive… which wasn't that far from the truth.

He killed them all in around four seconds. I would've shaken his hand if he wasn't an insane fanatic-cannibal.

I quietly flew behind him and raised my wand.

Mana: 1/2

The lightning bolt hit and the monster fell onto the parquet, convulsing and breathing heavily. He didn't die, even though I roasted him real good, no power outlet can compare.

Let's make it double.

Mana: 0/2

The creature finally died and with it died the last sorcerer. I took out Petunia's knife and stabbed it into the predatory motherfucker's neck, just in case. This does not guarantee shit, of course, and Dumbledore is the living fucking example, but it's better than checking the bastard's pulse with my bare hands.

By the way, turns out he was a cultist after all. What a freak of nature. His muscles are all twisted and the eyes grow in the most unlikely places. Looks like I got a lead on our cult. Thank you, valiant Aurors, I wouldn't have done that without you.

Looks like the man sacrificed his son. Was that for a ritual or just a proof of his faith? Who gives a shit, the fanatic is dead anyway. And what am I going to do now? I can't interrogate the dead fucker. And interrogating him sounds really scary: the fucker was impressively strong, tying him up prolly wasn't even an option.

Still, looks like I myself cut the only lead I had. Which sucks. Alright, gotta sweep the place clean, maybe I'll find something.

Wait! Wesley lived with his parents, right? With two of 'em, I mean. Where's the mother?

I immediately readied the wand and started slowly walking around the house. She probably wasn't there, otherwise she would've jumped out, but better be careful.

While looking over room after room, I was getting more and more confused – this was just a normal house. No altars, no prayer books, not even a shitty 10-pound painting from IKEA. As if the house was unoccupied.

I just didn't get it, were these people cultists or robots in disguise?

And those sorcerers, how did they find me? Alright, that guy on the station probably told them that he saw Harry Potter, but after that, they would've needed to search through the whole fucking London. I don't get it. What lead them to this house? Some kind of a searching spell, maybe a tracker or something. Wait, no, they don't have any searching spells, otherwise they would've tied me up all the way back at school and to place a tracker they would've needed to find me first.

Alright, gotta leave the place. If the wife of this madman will come in with a company, then I just might stay here forever. One freak is beatable, I can jump around him while invisible, but facing more than one? No, thanks. Although, not all cultists are like Gable Senior, probably, the man was created with fucking people up in mind.

Gotta clean the place, first. Getting rid of corpses is no use, but getting rid of mentions that some corpses were sorcerers… Well, I don't want the insane demon learning about the Wizarding World.

The living room still resembled a butcher house when I entered. Trying to look for sorcerers here would be like sinking your fingers into a heap of ground meat, but what can you do.

Aurors' clothes were similar to all other sorcerers' clothes, the only difference was that their bathrobes were uniform. What a magical cop can have in terms of gear? A wand, but that's obvious. What else should I take? They had no potions or cuffs. Only three wands.

By the way, about wands. Those are their only magical items and I also happen to own one. They probably didn't track me by the Cloak, so they must've done that by the wand. But I cast spells the previous morning, at Frima's place!

What a sloppy job, coppers!

Although, the last one had two potions with him. No idea what are those, but could be useful. Oh, wait, the system identified them. I'm one lucky sonnuvabitch.

The Laggerius' Potion

Bloody. Awesome. Everything else is behind a paywall, eh? I remember reading something about these but don't remember jack shit about Laggerius or his potion.

While I was digging the potions from under all the meat, I looked at the cultist one more time. One of his eyes, the one growing on the back, was giving me a mean look. Never would've thought that a mutated creature's shoulder blade can have such an expressive stare. Should I try it out in front of a mirror? Nah, never parroted dead people's backs and not going to start.

"The hell you're looking at?" I asked the corpse while shuffling through another dead man's pockets. It, of course, didn't answer.

After the scavenging, I tried to rotate the gears in my skull. The fact that the boys don't have any magical stuff on them doesn't guarantee shit. If Frima can see in corpse's eyes its past, then why can't Uvid-dasab? Or, even better, why can't he just raise the corpse and interrogate it? I can't risk it, I need to get rid of the bodies.

I won't be able to teleport them away: these are not sacks of flour, these are sacks of meat. And even then, I'd either need to teleport them out of here, or go to the endpoint and try to summon them to me. Both options force me to leave the ground meat alone for some time, which is a bad idea.

I can burn them right here. Together with the house, yeah. Then the wife of my observant friend will get a new place to live and I'll lose the bloody lead completely. I really miss Albert right now, I could've just burned the place down and the ghost would've followed the woman anyway.

In any case, I gotta think quickly. Since sorcerers found this place, they most likely found miss Gillan's flat too. Gotta hurry there.

With a sigh, I put all bodies into a pile. I might still find other cultists, but I have only one Wizarding World. The choice is obvious.
The flame must be very hot, but nothing impossible here.

Ten minutes later I observed the burning building from a neighboring street. The place turned out to be a good crematorium, to my relief. Nobody can interrogate a pile of ash.

Well, maybe the boys at Guantanamo can, but comparing the Earthbound and the American military… Not even funny, guys.

Experience points: 1

Total experience points: 19

***
After walking a couple blocks I caught a taxi to Frima's home. It was five o'clock and the girl should've still been at her job. Well, that was for the better – she wouldn't interfere.

The door was closed again and I really didn't want to open it again. Not when I'm wearing the Cloak, heh. I'll totally erect Dumbledore a statue after I bury his ass behind a garage – him gifting me the Cloak was totally worth a couple points.

The Aurors are gonna get a nice surprise from the backdoor… And by 'backdoor' I mean 'window'.

Ah, here they are, little duckies. Six of them. Fucking too many. I won't get them all even if I really try. Although, that's for the best. Let them think they just waste their time here, maybe they'll get tired and go away, think this place a dead-end, learn about their other group being wiped out and remember that there is still beer left at 'Leaky Cauldron'. One may hope.

I settled in the same café Frima and I hid in yesterday until we decided that her home is safe. After two hours, the sorcerers were still there and Frima finally returned. I managed to catch her while she was fishing for a key in her purse.

"Wait up, reddie. Let's grab a snack."

"Harry? Listen, I'm tired, let me at least drop my purse."

"There are six burly men in there and every single one wants to ask you a couple questions. Still wanna drop it?"

"Fuck me… Alright, let's go, I really am hungry."

Ten minutes later we sat in the café, thinking about our next step.

"Are those cultists?"

"Nope, those are sorcerers, I know them."

"What? Then why are we hiding here?"

"Well, I'm kind of a wanted criminal and those guys are the police," I admitted.

Frima gave me a long and heavy stare. After saying nothing, she returned to her food.

"I have a plan, but it kinda sucks." I started talking, slowly.

"What kind of plan? How to drown my life even deeper in shit?" Frima answered darkly.

"How to get those guys out of our flat."

"Let me guess, I'll need to use the gun?"

"Are you joking? There are six of them. You could've offered to storm the parliament, same chance of success. We'll simply find a hobo and pay him twenty pounds to pretend to be the flat's owner."

"You're an idiot. Any hobo will sell us out immediately."

"That's why the plan kinda sucks." I agreed. "But I don't have another one. Listen, most sorcerers don't know shit about the normal world. Let's try it, we ain't losing anything."

"Maybe we'll just call the normal police then?"

"Nah," I cringed. "All those bobbies and officers can be dealt with in a wand-wave. We'll just waste our time."

She shrugged and pulled out a couple twenty-pound bills from her wallet.

"Here, go and do this. And I, by the way, count all the expenses. So far you cost me forty-four pounds per day."

"Heh, no. You go and do this. If they'll start interrogating him with magic, it would be better if he told them about you than about me."

"And why's that? You're a mage – you deal with the magical police."

"I'm not a mage, I'm… Ugh, doesn't matter. Listen, that's the whole idea. If they learn that the hobo was sent by me, then it would mean I'm somewhere around, their ambush is discovered but still right where it should be. But if they learn about a muggle woman… Well, who knows what those muggles think. In any case, they'll think that I already left and you are just a worried owner."

"It's so stupid, it hurts to listen." The red-head massaged her forehead.

"Well, I can't hear any other ideas, genius. I can be a critic too.."

Ten minutes later we were out, looking for hobos in the alleyways. After finding a more-or-less sane one, the girl started recruiting. Another ten minutes later we followed him with our eyes to the closing front door, sitting in the same café.

Although, we very quickly changed our location to the neighboring one, just in case if aurors would go out to check the hobo's tale.

We still had the same view at the door, though.

"Alright, now we have to wai… Ah, fuck me." I almost spit out the tea, looking at two figures in gray cloaks and gray costumes underneath approaching the front door.

"What?"

"See those two?"

"Yep."

"They are lockpicking the front door. Quickly and without attracting attention, but still."

"Yeah, seems so. The nerve of some criminals these days. Why now, at day?"

"Looks like your apartment building is popular today, so I can bet those forty-four pounds that this ain't a coincidence. The boys are heading to your place."

"But if those aren't sorcerers…"

"Those aren't sorcerers, trust me. They open locks with spells and shit."

"Of fuck me…" Frima repeated the words I said earlier.

For the whole minute, we sat in silence, without even moving. And then there were flashes of light in her window.

"Frima?"

"Yeah, brat?"

"Looks like you're moving out."

"Yep." She answered melancholically, looking at the less and less often flashes of color. "I liked the place."

"Changing the name also would be nice."

"Mmhm."

The flashes stopped. One minute later, a single gray-wearing man exited the building and, heavily breathing, walked away. One of his sleeves was burned.

"Sit here." I quickly told to the girl and rushed to the exit with the speed of a lightning bolt, while pulling out the Cloak from my bag.

In a second, I was in an alleyway with it hiding me. The cultist went down the street, swaying a little left and right, didn't turn anywhere and didn't even call a taxi. That won't do. I can't just follow him, he might've already contacted his 'boss'. I need to clean up the fight scene and quickly.

So, near another alley entrance, I rammed into the guy, forcing him to stumble into the said alley. Well, not just rammed – the guy and his friend just slaughtered a hobo and six trained aurors, so I didn't ram him, even from invisibility.

I did, however, rammed the bastard while frying him with electricity. There is no problem that can't be solved with a correctly placed electricity charge.

Willpower: 9/10

The man fell down in the middle of the alley and convulsed a couple times, before going still. Good. Another one, just for sure!

Willpower: 8/10

The dude started smelling of fried meat, the puddle around the body bubbled. Alright, this corpse isn't my problem anymore. Gotta get back and fast.

The pathologist wasn't in the café when I came back.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I told her to sit here, why does no one ever listen to children?"

I was still wearing the Cloak, so I just flew to the window, opened it with telekinesis and went inside.

Frima was inside, vomiting all other the place.

And there was a good reason for that too. I called Gable's residence a slaughterhouse, but only because I was yet to see Frima's place. The Aurors were all ground up into mincemeat: two had a mauled open chest cavity with guts strewn all other the floor, one was torn in half… lengthways. The guy looked like someone took him by the legs and pulled into opposite directions. There was a somewhat recognizable lung hanging down from the lustre.

One auror lied mostly whole, with a wand being stuck all the way into his eyehole, the back of his head exploded outwards as if he did that himself and then cast something like 'Expulso'.

The last one, number six, was mostly undamaged, with the only exception of him now looking like a rotten tomato, covered in ulcers, leaking puss, with bulging veins and white balls instead of eyes.

What a pretty fucking picture.

There was also a body, charred and crispy, which could only be the other cultist. Looks like Aurors finally found a spell that kills the bastards and it is something fiery. The freak, weirdly, didn't look like Wesley's father at all and had different mutations… At least there were no fangs or eyes all over the body.

And finally, under the dinner table lied the hobo with a broken neck. Not the worst way to go, if you look at everyone else.

"Frima."

The girl didn't answer. She seemed to be out of the stomach's contents and I was getting worried that soon she'll start puking her guts away.

"Frima, fucking hell! You are a tempered fucking woman, you literally see death every day. Get a hold of yourself!" I raised my voice, although even I felt uneasy here.

Burn, burn it all to the ground. Don't even look for stuff, just pile up the bodies and burn the place. This place feels… wrong. Corrupted. Especially that rotten guy.

The girl still didn't answer. I did the only thing I could – marched to her and gave a good slapping. Her eyes became more focused, concentrating on me.

"This… a-and they…" She started leaning forward, feeling nauseous again.

"Alright, listen here. You will go out, you will buy a bottle of water, you will wash your face and you will drink some. Then you will wait for me near the front door. Got it?"

She didn't answer.

"Frima! Got it?"

"Yes, yes." She slowly, as if in trance, nodded and just as slowly exited the flat.

I looked back at the front of work and, with a sigh, began. Levitated all the bodies into a pile, found some burnable chemicals in the kitchen, poured it on the pile. Also, there is basilisk's meat in the fridge, gotta get that.

Standing near the exit, I looked over miss Gillan's place for the last time. It wasn't as pretty anymore, covered in blood and guts. Time to end this.

A flick of the wand – and the curtains caught on fire. One more – and the sofa followed soon. The last one – and the corpses were lit ablaze.

The girl was waiting for me outside, pale and with an almost empty water bottle.

"Give me some."

She gave me a bottle. Shit, this day sure got me, I even enjoyed drinking simple water.

"What now?" Frima asked me in an uncaring voice.

"Now?" I looked at her and then at two kilos of basilisk in my hand. "Now, I think, we need a new place and I know who can help us. Call a taxi, please. We need to visit the countryside."

A/N: Aaand this is the last chapter posted on SpaceBattles before the fanfic got placed under review. It might take some (a lot) time to finish up the next one. Until then, bye.

Bland Eggplant · Apr 16, 2020

Finding a taxi wasn't a problem; financing our little expedition was – I didn't have enough money to ride that far and Frima's savings were currently turning into ashes three stories up and two blocks to the south. There were still the savings in the bank, naturally, but going to one after burning down a place with a dozen corpses inside seemed like a bad idea.

"You know how to drive?"

"Not really," The girl mumbled, still pale.

"Yeah, that's no good. I know how, but I'm too short to reach anything. If the bobbies stopped us, bullshitting them would be a pain."

"We don't have a car anyway."

"That's not a problem," I huffed. "Getting us a car is easy. We are already deep in it, so committing one more crime won't make a difference. Might as well do an auto theft."

"I'm not sure I can drive right now."

Not a minute without the optimism. Would it hurt her to say just this once: 'Yes, I'll do that, Harry'?

Alright. Getting money is easy. I only need, like, five to six pounds. By using telekinesis I managed to pickpocket a purse, all the while wincing from a headache since I didn't use the wand. I can't use it until I find out how Aurors track them.

This lead to my Willpower depleting just like that.

Also, just for the sake of ruining it, the jacket-wearing man noticed that his purse was missing, blinked a couple of times, then turned around and saw me counting the money.

"We gotta leave, babe," I muttered and lead Frima through some alleys.

London's streets are not very confusing but they still have their places to hide in. However, the man had one advantage over the both of us – long legs. After walking two blocks it became obvious that we couldn't lose him like this, not with a barely-shambling red-haired woman that just experienced a house fire.

For a moment there was a question of 'why the hell am I even dragging her with me', but I decided not to think about it for now.

I'm also kind of responsible for what happened to her, after all.

"Alright, see that arch? Just gotta get to it and we can rest a little," I told her, attempting to lift her spirits.

When we walked through the arch, I hid inside it near the entrance and prepared to spring the trap. The purse's owner was big, walked loudly, and couldn't run for shit. The moment he stepped out I tapped him on the shoulder. It made him shudder, go limp, and fall to the ground.

Willpower: 6/10

Your Nature replenishes your Willpower.

Willpower: 7/10

Hell, I got too used to casting with the wand; I almost forgot how to do stuff without it. On the other hand, there were only two times when I over-exerted so much and both times I felt like shit.

"Did… you…"

"Relax, I only knocked him out. Imagine that our sponsor was hit by a taser – same power." I tiredly waved her off, while massaging my temple. Gotta do something about this, walking around with a constantly cracking cookpot doesn't sound good at all. "Alright, let's get that damn taxi."

***

Fifteen minutes later we were already traveling to Andrew. Where else were we supposed to go? I don't have other contacts in the city and I can at least do business with him. I wanted to go to him sooner or later anyway, just to sell this piece of a snake before it started rotting.

I just hope he wouldn't figure out that we are bare-assed in terms of assets and already have two groups after said asses. If I were him, I would've either raised all the prices to high heavens or shoved the guests back outside to freeze to death. Maybe sicced the dogs on them as well, to make them leave faster.

I don't like these options at all.

"Frima?"

"Yes?"

"We are now going to visit one very serious man, who can solve if not all, then most of our problems. It would be great if he thinks that we are doing just fine without him. Feuerstein?"

"Give me a second," the girl nodded with understanding. After five or so minutes of sitting still, she started digging into her purse with a heavy sigh. Yep, just what I expected of her to do – to go after the cosmetics and shit.

"Oh you… Yeah, fix the mug too, but most importantly – control yourself. We are visiting the man to trade, not to beg."

"It's gonna be alright," She reassured me.

'Alright' is 'alright', she's a woman, she knows better how her head works.

But really, after making her bruised face more presentable, Frima got much calmer and not as twitchy. Not so easy to say after only fifteen minutes of observation, but looks like the combat camouflage did a good job.

After twenty more minutes of tense silence, she started talking again.

"Say, Harry, you knocked out that guy with magic, right?"

I, very surprised, looked first at her, then at the driver. The man in question sat in his front seat behind a plastic barrier and listened to loud music.

"I thought it was obvious, Reddie. I also thought you were more observant."

"I'm just making sure," she answered, before going silent again. This time the pause was short. "Is it hard?"

"And why do you wanna know?" I answered her question with my question. I don't like where this is going.

"Nothing. It's just… well… Can you learn it?"

Fuck me… Just what I needed. She was a normal, depressed and angry woman, did I influence her this badly just after a couple days?

"Frima, why the hell would you want this? Weren't you kinda sick of everything supernatural?"

She shook her head in sadness.

"Well, since I'm neck-deep in it – gotta navigate somehow. Since, you know, I probably won't climb out anytime soon."

"And that's why you wanna learn sorcery? Heh, good luck."

"That hard, huh?"

Well, reddie, it really, really depends. I got my sorcery for free when woke up in Dursley's house. But to learn from the very beginning, without any mana… Yeah, that's a challenge.

"Oh, Frima, you ask real deep questions. Honestly speaking, the only thing you need is determination. Ironclad determination. Or, more accurately, it all starts with it. If you make the first step – it will get easier. The main problem is that making this 'first step' is just as difficult as DiCaprio winning his Oscar."

"For whom to what?"

"Leo. Don't you… Ah, right, it's ninety-three. Forget about it. About sorcery – that is one hell of a challenge. Oh, look, we are already here. Let's do it this way – now we will make another deal with a demon and I'll tell you what I know in simple terms."

"With who?!" The girl paled again.

"With a demon. And be a dear – smile." I said to her, opening the car door.

Before entering the forestry's territory, I quickly walked to the forest and hid the package under a fallen tree. It wouldn't stay there for a long time, but I don't need it to. Only until the talks' end.

Andrew wasn't at his place. One of the workers told me that he'll tell Andrew about us and left.

"You dragged me to another demon?" my companion hissed into my ear.

"Was I supposed to drag you into a soup kitchen for homeless corpsers?" I snarled back.

Andrew appeared soon enough and he looked just as pleased with his life as before.

"Harry, my friend! Happy to see you."

"Get that expression off your mug." I frowned. "Remind me, what's your cook's name?"

"Ursula," the demon laughed. "She'll be happy to know she's getting popular. And who is your charming companion?"

"This is Frima. Frima, this is Andrew, he's the big boss here," I answered in a tired voice. "What, are we gonna just stand here?"

"Yep," the demon nodded, "until you explain to me why the hell you've come without calling first and almost in the dead of the night?"

"I missed your un-earthly smile," I bit back. "What's hard to get? I have some goods to sell, I have a want to use your services, and I have time. And, I'm sorry, but the last time we met you forgot to give me your business card."

The demon looked suspiciously at our tired faces and huffed.

"Alright, let's go to my place. Ursula! Make something for dinner, we'll be there in twenty minutes!"

***

Nothing had changed in the demon's office, aside from a particularly tall stack of papers on his table. The Devourer looked at his workplace with disdain and sat on the couch. Frima and I, therefore, were forced to share a chair and a stool.

Needless to say, I was the fastest one to the chair.

"Alright, business first, food and other stuff later."

"As you say. I need a flat, new papers for this girl, a hundred thousand pounds, to find one person and, if there's anything left, to tinker with my body."

Andrew froze for a second, before making very wide eyes:

"Brat, you went off the bloody chain. Do I look like a fairy godmother? Well, I don't have a dress, but really want to get rid of one annoying little ass. Is there even a reason for me to listen further?"

"Just tell me your price. Remember that dragon blood? I'm offering meat this time, and the critter's much more interesting."

"And why can't I just take it by force?"

"Then you'll have a real hard time finding it." I shrugged. "I don't think you found where I'm getting my stuff. Aside from that, you'll lose a supplier, so that will be the last package you'll get. The second one too. Is this how you do business?"

"I can punch the answers out of you."

That, I was afraid of. Of course he could. I really hope that I'm being persuasive enough right now.

"Or maybe you can't. Personally, I don't think you'll manage."

"Death no longer covers for you, she got her tail slammed."

"Ha, she didn't give a fuck anyway!" I laughed. "You can't get into my brains and I'm very good at enduring pain. Moreover… come on, Andrew. You're a warrior, not an executioner. Are you really that good at torturing people as you think you are? Sure about that?"

The demon didn't answer. For five minutes he didn't emit a sound. The poor pale medical examiner sat on her stool like a statue, afraid of moving an inch.

"Alright, brat, you are one little jackass, but you are also right about some things," the Devourer finally spoke. "You're alright to do business. I think. Dance your lambada, I'll listen. But first of all, your mangy hide." He looked me over. "There is nothing I can do to improve it further, this is your age's development limit. If you don't fuck it up 'till you're twenty, you'll be an Olympics winner at anything you choose. I can upgrade you beyond human limitations, but then you'll live only to the next medical check – and a butcher table."

A pity. Here I am wanting to break Roy Jones' face at my age. Bugger.

"Next, I don't have a hundred thousand for you. You'll have to make do with ten grand, you're almost taking the shirt off my back anyway. What kind of papers do you need?"

"This girl here got herself some fans who started to annoy her. They annoyed her so much that she decided to get rid of the old flat, buy a new one, change her name, her surname, her job, and her alma mater."

"I don't do any of those."

"But you have connections, right?'

Andrew frowned, but nodded anyway.

"It won't be quick. And you, cutie, can attract the attention of some very serious people."

"She already did. Better like that than like this."

Andrew nodded with respect:

"Who exactly did you piss off, miss, if you're afraid of them more than my contacts?"

"We'll get to that. So, can you handle the papers and the flat?"

"Yes, but, I repeat, it won't be quick. You'll have to live in motels for some time. Now, about that missing person?"

Another 'bad' place in the dialogue, because I am, essentially, asking Andrew to get into things very few people willingly would get into. And if I lie – he'll strangle me with my own guts the moment he'll learn about it.

And if I tell the truth – he'll just refuse to do it.

What to do…

"Alright, here's the deal. This guy here…" I gave him the very folder with Gable's data that I carried in the backpack until now. "… today lost his house in a fire. His dad as home and also went to the Land of the Eternal Hunt, but his mom was somewhere else. I need to know where she'll settle, what she works as, what her hobbies are, who her friends and colleagues are, all that."

"Doesn't look too difficult…" Andrew said, taking the folder with doubt. "What's the catch?"

"Catch, uh… You see…"

"Stop with the mumbling." He frowned.

"She's a servant of the Earthbound. And her husband was too. And Frima's fans."

"Fucking… No. I am not stepping into this shit."

Welp, looks like my negotiations just went tits-up. I can only hope it's not all over yet.

"Can you at least help me with the rest?"

"Go fuck yourself! I'm not my own enemy. Anila tried to fight him and where's she now? Back in the Abyss. And I think she got real lucky with that. Get up and get the hell out."

"Why'd you think she's in the Abyss? Anila's alive and well, preparing an orchestra for her triumphant return. She was the one who asked me to deal with your nutjob of a relative."

"You? What can you even… Wait, Anila's alive?"

"Yep. Sorry, but I'm not gonna be a mailman between you two."

"Alright, and I'm not gonna get involved with this shit. Get out and close the door behind you."

"Fuck you. I'd rather point Him at your prosperous business so you'll get involved anyway. I know his name and can call at any second."

"How in the world would you even learn his name, you monkey? The likes of him keep them secret. You, at best, know one of his aliases." Andrew got angry.

Looks like the talks aren't going great. No, I think I already persuaded him that he needs to help us, but would he do business with me after that – no idea.

And I still had two and a half more tons of basilisk back at Hogwarts to sell.

"Give me a pen."

I took one of the papers on his table, wrote 'Uvir-Dasab' and gave it back to the Devourer.

"Here. Feel free to check if it's a real name. When we did that - the lady lost her home."

"Damn," the demon exhaled.

"Yep, this ain't a bazaar and I'm not selling you oranges, this is serious."

"No, not that. I know this name."

Frima and I looked at each other.

"Elaborate."

"I can't, I don't remember. Need to get my memory in order. Alright," he sighed heavily, "I'll help you. Remind me, you wanted a full package of documents, ten thousand pounds and a place to crash in London? Is that right?"

"Whoa-whoa, slow down! Take it easy. I give you a multi-charged WMD and you trade back only some ten grand, a passport and a flat?"

"I am not going to risk his attention." He pointed at the paper. "Whatever you tell me – no."

"I got that, oh brave Devourer. First of all, I want two passports and mine must not have 'Harry' in it. Second, it must be a good, spacious flat – I'm tired of living in gaffs. Preferably with good sound-proofing."

"Don't make me angry, brat, I'm not a realtor," Andrew growled.

"Listen 'till the end, will you? Alright, a hundred grand really is too much, but a dozen is not a sum I'll trade my stuff for. Fifty."

"Dragon doesn't cost that much." He refused.

"Maybe, but what would you say about two kilos of a three-ton snake that can kill with its stare?"

He agreed to help the moment he realized what I was selling. Even if a basilisk can't kill a demon with its stare, it'll kill off their henchmen - which will leave the demon alone against the full might of the giant man-eating demonic reptile. That's worth a lot.

The fact that I was selling meat instead of blood was an important nuance too. Andrew could cut the meat into smaller pieces, dry them, and then use whenever he felt like it; thus giving himself ten or so portions of the delicacy.

Some might say that I got a raw deal, but I didn't have any other buyers anyway and I had enough meat in stock for when he comes for more.

The System rewarded me with not one but two messages:

Experience points: +2

Total experience points: 21

'Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets' storyline complete.

Experience points: +5

Total experience points: 26

And all that not even counting the delicious dinner made by my dear Ursula, whom I never actually met, and five thousand pounds from Andrew's personal safe right away.

What? He didn't offer us to stay for the night and we couldn't afford a motel.

We promised to visit him a week later and called a taxi.

***

After picking up the meat package, the long car ride gave us plenty of time to think about more important matters.

Frima was silent; the bargaining must've completely exhausted her, even if she was only an observer. Welp, I could only hope that she forgot her previous question, because I have no idea how to teach someone sorcery from a complete zero.

By the way, about sorcery; I still have several wands and two potions in my pockets, including my own wand that served me well for two whole years. Yet, I can't let Aurors constantly know my location. Do they follow a wand itself like a tracker or only when I cast something? That's a mystery.

I mean, I know that the Trace Charm is somehow working on underage sorcerers and that they are certainly tied to a wand, but how exactly do they function?

I'm going to risk it. I'll carry the wand around but not cast anything. If they don't find me in the following days, that means I can use it as a last-resort weapon.

But, anyway, gotta forget about this way to do sorcery for now. Let's go the alternative way.

Mana: +2

Mana: 2/4

Total experience points: 5

Would've been nice to up 'Meditation' to four dots, but I don't have enough EXP. It's too bad that all the meditative philosophy is such boring dogshit – otherwise I would've raised the point for free.

Eh, whatever. At least I know what to strive for.

Frima fell asleep while we were riding in the car. I asked the driver to drop us at some decent hotel and did my best to fight drowsiness until the end of the ride.

Otherwise that nice gentleman would've driven us to a place where even birds don't fly, slit our throats, and get away with our money.

Nah, let the redhead sleep it out. She's the poor one here.

The ride was uneventful and, afterwards, we entered the hotel with an unpronounceable name, shining lamps, and a gloomy porter.

"What do you need?" He grunted at us.

"One room, two beds."

"For how long?"

"For a week."

"One hundred and ten pounds."

The room turned out to be small but relatively clean; so, considering our situation, we weren't doing too bad. The redhead dropped asleep the moment she got near the bed.

I looked out the window and managed to catch a glimpse of a shadow appearing out a dark alley and swiftly disappearing in a manhole.

Time to go to bed, I'm tired too.

***

The following morning greeted me with a bloody sunbeam trying to burn my eye out through an eyelid. Alright, since I can't use the wand anymore, I need to re-acquire my habit of meditating everywhere. Got a little rusty after a year-and-a-half without old Filch and his detentions.

So, need to concentrate on the feeling of power inside me, find it, touch it…

A calm, constant glow…

My companion found me doing just that and, since I didn't bother with any lotus-poses, she just saw me just sitting on a stool in the sun's light.

"Hey, Harry, the money is in the backpack, right? Hey! Wake up, I'm hungry."

"Fuck your mum's leg, bae. Why the hell are you interrupting someone's meditation?" I flinched and almost fell off the stool.

"Oh, don't be such a show-off. 'Meditating', pfft. Is money in the backpack?"

"Of course they are. Couldn't find them yourself?"

"I am not searching through others' bags. And I don't take other people's money," she said back, pulling out a couple of banknotes.

"Tell that to the fatty whose money you used to ride around all day."

"Go to hell, Potter." She jeered. "You want anything?"

"Something light, a burger or a pizza. Maybe some juice."

"Sure." She was already behind a closed door.

I returned to replenishing my mana.

The redhead returned when I was already done. Time flows funny when you're meditating – I felt like I was sitting there for, at most, twenty minutes, but it was three hours before she woke up and an hour and a half later when she returned.

"You were gone for so long I thought your stomach burst."

"Thanks to your prayers, it didn't."

Frima gave me my order: two burgers and a packet of juice.

Two vegan burgers.

"What? You wanted something light," she said in a surprised tone at my annoyed stare.

"Not this light. It's so light I'm gonna float if I eat it. Get normal ones next time, with meat."

"For breakfast? You sick man… Ugh, look who I'm talking to. Okay, what's the plan?"

That was a really good question. I had no ideas whatsoever and the past day gave no room to make the Five-Year plan.

Well, no time like the present.

"At first, pal, you'll sit tight and hide. From now on, you are fired from your job and dead to your family."

"Hell no. I came to London to study and to work, so I can send money to my parents."

"Then you'll pretend to be a sponsor at some other time. Right now you are dead. And you need lots and lots of luck for them to not try to find you through your relatives."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, I would've started with them. Or maybe they'll decide that you died in that fire, which will be just awesome. Fuck, I should've told Andrew to do it this way!" I slapped my forehead.

"Could he?"

"No idea. It doesn't matter anymore, we missed the opportunity. He won't appreciate us coming back and putting up conditions again. I totally wouldn't have. And I already made him very pissed yesterday."

"Well, he looked calm enough… mostly."

"He's a demon. To him we are just monkeys who fucked up the world that he fought for." I shrugged. "His human half is evidently peace-loving, but how patient is it? And I don't want him blowing off steam through fucking me up."

"And Anila is just like him?"

"She's a completely different demon, an avatar of death, but still a demon. Yes, in many ways she's just like him."

Frima pursed her lips.

"That's all very interesting, but what's next? The things I saw yesterday… I want to be as far away from them as possible."

"And that's exactly what you won't get. You are so stained in this shit that there is no way to come clean. But I'll give you a week off. Then you'll get a new name and find a new job, one that'll help with gathering info."

"Like, a morgue?"

"Sure, if you don't mind being found. A forensic expert or a journalist, something like that would be better. It'll depend on your 'new' education. By the way, yesterday you had too strong of a reaction for someone who supposed to have experienced other people's death so many times."

"Looks like in real life the experience is very different." She smiled nervously. "It was terrifying. Honestly terrifying. That wasn't someone else's death, with me safe and not in danger, that… slaughter happened right in front of me. Like, reach out and you'll grab someone's guts. I'm kind of recovering, but…"

"Swell. It's for your own good to recover as soon as possible. You are nostrils-deep in shit but you've only seen the surface, I hope you understand this. I am not going to drag you to the frontlines, but anything can happen."

She nodded. Not bad, really. I expected worse.

"Hey, what about magic? Will you teach me?"

Oh Santa Maria Lucia, why? Everything was going great.

"Reddie, I might've been able to teach you something, but there's a problem. What is sorcery?"

"Uhm, I don't know… Spells?" She assumed.

I waved it off.

"Leave those to idiots and speech therapists. I mean, yes, you can do sorcery with those too, and if you are to somehow learn sorcery – you'll, most likely, will use spells. But all that is secondary."

"Secondary?"

"Yep. You see, sorcery first and foremost is an act of will."

"I don't get it," she said. When she understood that I wasn't going to say anything, she continued. "Like, you want it, and then you do it?"

"No, that is magick and it's unlearnable. You are not a mage and you will never be one; just like me, most likely. Which is good – mages have their own share of problems. We are talking about sorcery here. An act of will is… a feat, a heroic deed. Have you heard stories about people who turned cars over to save a child trapped underneath? Or about that guy from ancient Greece who ran forty kilometers in full armor to carry the news about the victory at Marathon to the city? Or, another example, a military surgeon who operates on soldiers for days and days without resting or stopping. He shouldn't be standing - much less working - but he just keeps saving lives. That is an act of will."

"And what does sorcery have to do with all that?"

"That is sorcery. Our world has some very non-obvious natural laws in it. For example, there is gravity." I lift the plate a couple centimeters up and then drop it. "An obvious law. And there is control over fire." I lift my palm and ignite a small flame on it. "A non-obvious one."

Mana: 3/4

"The trouble is that those laws are hidden, hard to cognize and learning to control them is even harder. We, humans, can do that with our willpower. And this is the most interesting part." I look at her curious, eager face. Yep, totally doesn't like the supernatural. Everyone likes the supernatural. But I sure believe it scared the shit out of you. "How to learn to control them with our willpower? I, personally, have no idea. Humans can do it on a reflex, like, when your boss screams and pisses you off so much, but you clench your fists, steel yourself, and calm down. In principle, this is the same thing as sorcery, but you direct your efforts on your own mind, inwards. That is a natural mechanism. Directing them outwards is a very difficult task."

"But you can do that?" the girl asked quietly.

"I can." And this, reddie, is where I start lying to you. To be more precise, I'll tell you the truth, but not the whole truth; because I can't be bothered to teach someone and I'm not going to tell anyone that my world is a role-playing game. "Because I was born with mana."

"With what?"

"With mana. Or with prana, or with chi, call it whatever you want. There is energy in the world. Often it takes the form of mana, a special kind of energy which some people can accumulate in their bodies. With it feeling those hidden natural laws gets much easier, it happens almost on reflex. And after finding them for the first time, it becomes easier to influence them with willpower. Then you begin to understand just how exactly your willpower affects the world. Every time it is just as difficult as lifting a car, but now you know how to do that; you understand the process and how to do it again. As a matter of fact, it's entirely possible to never learn how to use willpower and to influence the world with only mana. I know sorcerers like that… several hundreds of them, even. But all that is not that important. So, willpower comes first and it is the core of a sorcerer's power. Got it?"

"I think so. That means only those who are born with mana can become sorcerers?"

"Of course not, anyone can. But they need to learn how to influence the world with their willpower without mana helping them. I have no idea how to do that and, therefore, cannot teach you. I never had such a problem. After learning to use willpower, it's even possible to feel mana and accumulate it, but, again, I don't know how to do that for the first time."

"What are spells for, then?" the girl made another attempt.

"A spell is a way to concentrate, to gather your willpower and, on its own, a nice crutch. Let's say you can control fire. Cool, you are a badass sorcerer, now try to not untie your navel while trying to create fire out of nothing. But, if you have a burning lighter in your hand, using the hidden ways to control fire gets much easier. After all, the fire is already in your hand, even if it's not created by you. What next? The world responds to said words and that's a fact. Try saying ten times that everything will be okay in the morning – and something will go wrong during the day, I guarantee it. That was a primitive curse. By combining these methods and the flexibility of their subconsciousness, sorcerers invent new ways to influence the world, write them down in books and pass them onto their students. But without an act of will all of that is useless."

Frima sat there as if I just waterboarded her through my little lecture. Yeah, that was a big bummer for her, but at least I won't have to crack my head teaching her.

I was thinking that for the whole fifteen minutes.

"But still, I want to try," she suddenly said.

I totally offended someone important up there.

"Listen, do you really want to lose a lot of time, nerves and energy without any guarantee of success?"

She nodded.

"Well, bae, I don't. This might turn into years of wasted effort. What I'll get from this? Nothing, most likely. And, come on, do I look like I have a beard, a pair of glasses and a tweed jacket hidden somewhere? Why won't you spend time on a firing range instead and learn how to shoot the gun? I'll even give it to you for good if you can hit ten targets out of ten from twenty meters."

"Harry, I will learn how to shoot, sure. But, since my life went sideways because of you, you must at least try."

"Frima, let's talk without this girl bullshit." I cringed. "Yes, I played some role in that, but your life fell apart when you made a deal with a demon and the remains turned to ash when you spoke the divine name of another demon. Don't wrap me into this, I saved your ass more than I screwed you over."

"But why can't we at least try? You have nothing to do for this whole week anyway." She said with despair in her voice.

"Because there won't be any gain from it, that's why. I won't get anything, even a loyal subordinate – you belong to Mag in body and soul." I massaged my nose.

This is starting to really annoy me.

"Well, we could choose not to tell her about this. She won't know that I have value and won't pay attention to me. Then I'll be able to support you."

"Why the hell do you even want to learn it anyway? You didn't look that impressed with my skills before."

"Because yesterday there weren't half-a-dozen butchered corpses in my home!" the girl yelled out.

I'm getting pissed off and eager to feel her face with my fist. Nobody made me so angry ever since I talked to Ron Weasley that last time and it's a bloody achievement.

By the way, about using willpower to calm down.

Willpower: 6/10

"Alright, let's do it this way. We have a week before I go to collect our new papers and we start working. If, during this week, we achieve at least some progress, however meager – I'll keep teaching you. If not, then we will never talk about this again. Deal?"

"Deal!"

…Who could've known that she'd make it?

A/N: Turns out, I have Chapters 17 and 18 translated on my flash-drive, I suspect I did those back at February. That's good.
Also, I want to thank FatBaldBastard for beta-ing the chapter. He did a great job.

Bland Eggplant · Apr 23, 2020

When I agreed to teach her, I had a very agreeable plan in my head. I'd give the woman difficult, useless tasks and then sit back and watch her waste time and energy. I'd also give her some lectures about sorcery, supernatural creatures, and the various politics of the World of Darkness. I'd even gave her some actually useful knowledge, but I didn't know where to start.

We sat in a café in one of London's many parks.

"Alright, reddie. First of all, we gotta find out what kind of sorcerer you are."

"What, they are different?"

"Naturally, they ain't made at factories… aside from Hogwarts. The sorcerer, first and foremost, is a method and a resonance."

Frima gave a frustrated look.

"What's that even supposed to mean?"

"If you keep interrupting me, I'll send you to Tibet to look for enlightenment with the mountain goats and you'll stay there until you become one."

"But I really don't understand," the girl huffed.

"Then listen to my wisdom. Resonance is like your individual handwriting. The special quirk of your power, your affinity in sorcery. Take me, for example – my resonance is flowing light."

"Ah, those flashes when you do magic. Don't all sorcerers have those?"

"No, it's like with fingerprints. One of my mates, Dumbledore, creates gusts of fire when he casts spells. The resonance doesn't close off any areas of sorcery to you, but – I believe – if something correlates with your resonance, it will be easier to master."

"Like what?"

"Don't piss me off, will ya? I'm getting to that. There are a lot of resonances, but we can roughly divide them into three groups: movement, permanence, and breakdown. Dynamic, static, and entropic. Let's take, say, two sorcerers; one of them has a dynamic resonance and the other has an entropic one. They both cast some fiery spell-thing. The first one will get a bright, hot, intense flame; the other, a weaker, very smokey fire, but its embers will stay hot for much longer. Naturally, it will be easier for the first sorcerer to master the Path of fire than for the second one. And then we get other, smaller differences. Take two sorcerers with an entropic resonance; one's got a 'rotting' resonance, but the other, it's 'shining'. The curses cast by the first sorcerer will have a higher chance of giving a disease, while the second sorcerer will more likely cause blindness with his."

"What do you mean by 'higher chance'?" Frima asked, dubious. "Isn't the result predictable?"

"If you use some specific curse – then yes, but if you want to just kinda lazily curse someone and then trust your luck – the differences will be very obvious."

"So you just have to use the specific spells and the result will always be the one you want?"

"It's always the one you want. I explained this already – a resonance is just a sorcerer's writing style. The method makes all the difference." I sighed tiredly. "Frima, interrupt me one more time and we'll be done for today. You can ask your questions later."

"Got it."

"So, methods. You see, there are a lot of magic types. Say you want to predict the future. How are you going to do that? Find a spirit and scream at it until it starts answering? Create a horoscope based on the stellar bodies' movement? Get some LSD and see a colorful picture of the coming future? Or math out an incredibly difficult analysis formula and look at the results? All of these are methods of sorcery, but they all are so different that the sorcerer often ends up trapped in the borders set by his method. For example, you call upon a spirit of knowledge to foresee the future. Can you then curse someone with a multi-houred ritual and a lot of latin chanting? No. Well, you can, but the methods are so different that you'll never know beforehand what kind of result you'll get. You, an experienced sorceress, will use a method in which you are barely a novice. And because of that you cursing someone will be the same calling upon a spirit, but this time to a malicious one, who will harm the target for you."

I decided to take a short break – after all, if my tea gets cold, I'll be very disappointed. I really don't like being disappointed, so I gotta drink it. And besides, I'm the boss here, let the girl sit and wait for me with attentiona and respect I deserve.

"And here is where we have the problem. Usually, a mentor teaches their student their own method. A shaman teaches a shaman, a black mage teaches a black mage, a priest teaches a priest, and so on. I cannot teach you my method. Wait, don't get pissy yet." I stopped the girl who already prepared to be offended. "The thing is, my method is sorta natural. I've always instinctively known how to use it, nobody taught it to me. It's not even a method, more like a," I looked at my character sheet at the edge of my perception, "a constant hallucination; thanks to which I always know what I can and cannot do. A psychological anomaly that appeared on its own. And I have no idea how to shake up your cellar and get the same result, not that I care or want to. So, bae, you gotta find your method on your own. I'll help, of course; I still have some knowledge left from my education. But first, you need to do this – think about what resonance you could potentially have. I'll expect the answer by tomorrow morning, so you have enough time to think about it. Meanwhile, I'll deal with the Gable's family remains, I gotta find out where the mother moved to. Any questions?"

"How am I supposed to figure out what my resonance is? I don't know any spells and I probably can't just fantasize about it, right?"

"Of bloody course not. Imagine yourself becoming a sorceress, an experienced and powerful one. What resonance would you have? That's what I want to know. The most important thing here is to not get lost in the fantasies. I sure like to imagine myself being a badass mofo, standing on a high tower with, like, storms and lightning all around. The idea is awesome, yeah, but it's a fantasy. I don't feel it, it's not right. The right picture for me has a lot of moving, flowing lights in it. I'm gonna tell you right now – determining resonance like this sucks ass, but we gotta start somewhere."

"Alright, alright," the girl sighed. "I'll try. Another question then – since all the methods are, as you said, essentially the same sorcery, why even choose one? Can't you, like, just do magic without all that nonsense?"

"How to answer that… Let's say you want to learn self-defense and find yourself a trainer, right? He will not teach you how to kick ass and break faces 'without nonsense', he will teach you a particular style: boxing, karate, kung-fu, sambo, those funny dances, whatstheirname… ah, right, kapoeira. Same with sorcery. Go read about different styles of doing magic and decide which one interests you more? Like, reading holy texts, Voodoo, or some other eastern bullshit. Look it up."

"Where would I even look it up, I don't know any sorcerers except for you. I can't just go to a library."

"You can and you will, there ain't that many options. So." I slapped the table, finished my tea in one go and stood up. "I'm gone. See you in the morning."

I had some fried-up cultists' neighbors to interrogate. There was a thought to visit a police station, but I would've needed to crawl everywhere under the Cloak, and it's very hard to get the documents you need even if you are invisible. Well, at least I thought so; who knows how the paragons of the law keep their papers?

***

Time flied during the investigation. First I talked with the neighbors and learned that poor Wesley's mother died hell knows how many years ago and his old man, Frank, lived with a new wife. I also learned that said old man changed a lot in recent times, became all moody and way too nervous. Yep, didn't doubt that one bit.
On the next day, I bought copies of all the local newspapers and carefully analyzed the lot. While the parts about two fires and a grieving widow were easy to find, there was nothing about her current whereabouts. I then visited the morgue while wearing the Cloak – Frima had assumed that since Wesley was delivered to her, his father might follow the same path - so papers concerning the two could possibly be found at her old job. As it turned out, Gable senior was indeed delivered there, but the paper trail was already cleaned up; I didn't find anything aside from notes sayings Frank died from severe burns. No mentions of his, uh, additions; there was nothing about claws, extra eyes, or any of the rest. The doctor couldn't possibly have missed that.
All of the information regarding his wife started and ended with the name 'Helen', but I knew that already. I also knew her phone number, left 'just in case'. I tried to look her up in the phonebook, but it wasn't listed, since she used a mobile phone.
Damn you, scientific progress!

Looks like I have to go to the police anyway. There must be at least some trails left and I don't have any other ideas. After confirming the results of my mostly worthless investigation, I decided to visit the coppers by the end of the week and went off to visit the neighbors once again. Just as I thought, the police left them some contact info in case if they remember something.
I was forced to beg for a long time, even gave out several pounds, before the fat fuck stopped telling the 'little shit' to fuck off and finally went to grab his notebook.

The thing I got from that – fat people are assholes. Dursleys were assholes, this bribe-begging fattie is an asshole, I even suspect that Voldemort, while still alive, was so fat he couldn't walk without magic.
Although, Dumbledore kinda falls out of the scheme, but he eats candy by the handfuls, so all the instincts of a fat slob are there. Maybe there is something wrong with his metabolism? He's not a young boy anymore.
There is no way in hell that Beardie is not an asshole.

Nevertheless, I found out which station I should go to for the info. I hope I won't have to visit even worse places after this.

***

Meanwhile, Frima was learning the complicated craft of sorcery. In the morning she answered that an image of a calm, somber, and displeased witch, surrounded by green smoke and shadows, struck close to home. Her answer seemed kinda similar to Gingema.
Well, I thought about it and came to the conclusion that a normal person probably wouldn't fantasize such things about themselves, so maybe she really did guess her resonance? In that case, it's something entropic-poisonous. We'll know for sure later, but for now we gotta work with that hypothesis.

Entropic resonance correlates with controlling luck, curses, shadows, and prophesizing - and I know fuck-all about that.
That is, aside from one thing in particular - the Path of Fiendfyre. On its own, it does not correlate with entropy, but some of its modifications do - about which I also don't understand shit. We gotta start somewhere, however. If she can learn even basic control over fire, she'll understand how to control her power, and then I'll be able to teach her about all the hardships of mastering curses, predictions, and all that crap.

I even would've recommended her to start with the resonating Paths right away, but I have no idea where to start with them. Buy lottery tickets? How would I determine if that was her gift or just dumb luck? Make her guess what a random playing card will be? Same thing.

Then we started thinking really hard about the method. The easiest way would've been to teach Frima Hogwarts-style, with me having some spare wands and knowing something about the stuff. The problem is, Frima does not accumulate mana, which means that finding her a fitting wand through the classical 'wave it and watch the sparks' method won't work.
Most importantly, however, is that sorcerers monitor the usage of wands. I can now say this with all assuredness, since no one came to retrieve the unused wands after all this time.
In other words, I need to modify Hogwarts' instructions for other tools. Although - prophesizing doesn't require a wand, right?
Hey, it's not so bad after all.

Frima, after reading some mystical bullshit in the library, chose as her methods Voodoo - which I, again, know fuck-all about - and ancient Judean demonology, a.k.a. Solomon's Key.
Surprisingly, there were mentions of that in Hogwarts' library - as a very exotic way of killing yourself.

"Tell me, honestly, do you like your job so much that, since you can't butcher corpses anymore, you decided to become one?"

"What's the problem? All of our problems come from demons, right? This is the way to control them!"

"Alright, cool, just hold off on starting for a couple of hours, I need to get to the mainland first."

"Can you just explain it properly, without all this?"

I scratched my chin. Becoming Dumbledore's puppet started to look like not that bad of an idea.
"You see, reddie, you gotta understand demons' nature. They are the creatures that - at the very beginning of it all, when there 'was the Word' - existed to fulfill a specific function. I mean, they LITERALLY were physical laws. If right now the sun is a giant ball of burning gas, then in the ancient times it was a powerful angel who illuminated the world with his glow. Lightning bolts did not happen from the electrostatic stuff happening in the clouds, those were the heavenly heralds blowing their pipes. Solomon's method is based on you being more pious than them and having a more divine presence. Then you can order them around - by knowing their names, their weaknesses, and pointing out to them that God thinks you're a more deserving man than them. Notice, 'deserving man', Solomon created his method only for the dick-bearers. So, you gotta be a saintly male Jew, know the name and the weaknesses of every demon you want to use, and not make any mistakes in a several-hours-long ritual, otherwise, you will be left one-on-one with a very unhappy biblical monstrosity and with nothing stopping it from ripping you apart. And, to end this whole thing, I am pretty sure that Solomon wasn't a sorcerer, but a mage. That's a completely different weight category. So, wanna do it before or after dinner?"

"Alright, I got it, I was wrong. What do you want to start with then?"

"As weird as it sounds, miss Gillan, I want to start with a very similar field. Hogwarts' sorcery is kinda based on that method, after all."

"So, we're gonna summon demons? Of course, when it's you who is proposing it, it immediately becomes a good idea. Wonderful."

"Don't jerk me around, not while I'm at this age. Hogwarts' sorcerers were pissy little losers but their pots were bubbling just right. As I understand it, they too used the methods similar to Solomon's Key. Look, here are our winged friends. They just created the world and started to control it. A flood there, a dry year there, turn Loth's family into pillars of salt… Or was that after the war? Doesn't matter. The thing is, when they still were the big things, they had Names. Strictly speaking, they were their Names, while at the same time being both powerful entities and natural laws. If you know the Name – you can bind an angel (or a demon) to your will and control the aspect of nature they represented. Well, if you can force a demon to obey, that is."

"That I understand, but you are talking about the same demon summoning that you just warned me about."

"No. Look, demons lost the war and ended up in the Abyss. Angels too disappeared somewhere. But the World Mechanism is still there. In other words, the system got an auto-pilot. Now you can't control, say, all types of metals just by knowing one Name; now you need to decipher every command for that auto-pilot, which makes a spell. A certain result needs a certain spell. To control the air in ancient times you only needed one demon - you need a thousand spells to do that today. The method isn't that efficient and the spells are generally weaker than Solomon's Key, but at least your ass will be relatively unmolested."

"So, what's the problem? You know the spells of that… Hogwarts, right?"

"It's not that simple. By using the Names as the foundation, you get a lot of minuses. A spell is tied to a certain method of casting. In other words, you can scream 'Wingardium Leviosa' all day long, but, without a wand and some very specific movements, nothing will ever happen. And without willpower, of course. It'd be like saying the words with a wrong pronunciation – the Great Mechanism will not understand the command and, therefore, will not accept it. We need to adapt the spell for something other than a wand.We need to adapt the spell for something else, not a wand. I kinda jogged my noggin over here and maybe managed to adapt one spell – 'Cereus Inflammare'. The words itself are useless here, there are no spoken Names in the 'Inflammare' series. Every Name in it is described by visualizing the secret symbol and the wand pattern, a cascade of three movements from the wand's roll axis - which must be pointed at the target - followed by a quick wave upwards. The movement pattern symbolizes flames. You must also imagine the seal of a powerful demon during the entire process." I showed her a piece of paper with a seal of Duke Haures painted on it. It's surprising what kind of stuff you can find in normal bookstores. "Here, in the circle, is his Name and you must never say it out loud. The majority of demons, whose power Hogwarts' sorcerers use, have long since escaped the Abyss and will hear if you call them by Name. That's why all seals for the spells in Hogwarts are being taught without using Names. By compensating for the inaccuracy of the image with mana, a wand with a magical core, and a detailed command said out loud, that 'Cereus Inflammare' spell can become equivalent to saying the Name.If I hadn't already known about Solomon's Key and done so serious digging in Hogwarts' library, then I never would have found this information. But anyway, the seal with the Name in it - filled with your willpower - will make the Mechanism respond. You pretend to be a duke of hell and make the world obey your will. And the cascade of wand movements we will replace with…"

While somewhat incredulous with myself that I was actually doing this, I pulled various items out of my backpack: a pack of cigarettes, a candle, rosemary, wormwood, juniper, and a few other components for making incense.

"…movements of these cigs."

"Really? You want me to use a cigarette instead of a magic wand?

"Come on, it's the symbolism that matters. The flaming scepter, the Name of the duke who rules over fire, the movement of the tool that symbolizes burning, these are all viable components. Naturally, you won't be able to cast just anything with a cig, but for something fire-related? It's a sure thing.

"Then what's all this grass for? I get the candle, it's for learning to start a fire, but the hay?"

"It's for stimulating your prophesizing abilities; you should be decent at it if we haven't messed up with guessing your resonance. But that's for later, we only need some rue at the start. Don't look at me like that, I'm the head clown in this circus. The rue's smoke can help you fall into a sort of trance. If I am not mistaken in imagining all this, that should help with concentrating your willpower on the seal."

Frima shook her head, not trusting this a bit, but took the cigs.

"I don't smoke, just so you know."

"And that's smart – cigs on the islands are fucking trash. If you manage to light up the candle, we'll continue with something less health-damaging."

"How do I even concentrate that willpower of yours?"

"Well, sunshine, there is no manual. It's completely personal. Although… what do you feel when trying to interrogate the dead?"

"Uh, exhaustion, maybe? When I'm going to watch someone's death, at the start I feel sort of an uplift, as if I'm giving myself a slap and saying to myself 'Yes, you can do this. You can do everything.'. And then I just stop caring and there's only apathy, but that's after watching the memories."

"So that's how it feels for you… Welp, that makes it easier. Try to feel this way," I said, while placing the rue around and lighting it up.

The System reminded me about using a Mana point and the room started filling with the smoke of the burnt plant. The candle was on the table, the cigarette was between Frima's teeth, and with a wave of my hand, I lit the latter.

"Listen here, reddie, the paper with the seal is right in front of you. Memorize it well, picture it in your imagination with all the details. Ready? Good. Take the cig into your hand and make these movements." I demonstrated to her the cascade of the spell that was taught at Hogwarts to first-years. Eh, if only I was at the same calm place after meeting Fluffy for the first time! Should've started visiting the library earlier, but, well, what can you do? "Wrong! In both the first and last moments the cig's end must be pointing at the candle. Yep, like that. When performing the last movement, keep the duke's symbol in your head, concentrate on it and try to replicate those sensations you told me about."

"Didn't work, ack," the girl started coughing.

Yeah, we smoked out the place pretty bad. I hope they won't chase us out of the hotel.
Eh, it doesn't matter, we have enough money to carry on for a couple of days – it's almost over.

"Bloody hell, of course it didn't work. No one makes it work on their first time, especially without a normal wand and on willpower alone. But you have an advantage, two even. One, you already know how to influence the world with your will. And two – you have me, and I am telling you that the method is correct. Sit here, hypnotise the candle, I'll go clear my head."

Three days passed like this. On the fourth day, Frima, half-crazed from all the smoke and cigs, spent her time in a park, recovering after Harry Potter's Cram School of Sorcery. She had continued to fail to light the fire and so ate her grief away with ice cream. The idea of her becoming a sorceress didn't look that good anymore, but she had the grit, which I approved of.
While I was asking around Gable's neighbors for the last time and - unfortunately - realized that I did need to go to the police, she returned from the park and, as she told me later, just automatically repeated the movements without burning the rue.

And the candle lit up.
Then it stopped burning, but the sorceress-in-training already got the principle and, after a couple more tries, could repeat the effect at will, when I returned.

"Well, what can I say? Congratulations. You've taken your first step on the path of sorcery. By the way, did you notice that the flame was not normal for a candle, but rather a lighter?"

"Uh… It's a little blue? And very calm, it doesn't flicker at all."

"Yep. You know what that means? That means that your resonance is not fucking entropic and certainly isn't poisonous. No smell, no thick smoke. It's a static one, I tell you. Can't say more, though… But that's alright, we'll return to it when you learn other areas of sorcery. Methinks we are done with tobacco, fire sorcery, and all the good things for now."

Experience points: 1

Total experience points: 6

Frima nodded and started cleaning the herbs from the table. We left the candle in peace, but the cigs went right into the trash bin. Damn, we really did worsen the room's smell, huh?

"Hey, why didn't the maids scream at you for this after all this time?"

"Because you are now forty pounds poorer," Frima shrugged.

"Hm. Yeah, makes sense. Was the right thing to do, in principle, but if you touch my money again without asking or, at least, telling me later – I'll teach you how to cast a shield spell. And I'll test it personally, with my lightning. Got it?"

"Hey, come on," the girl waved it away, "it's better than moving forty times."

"Alright, reddie, let's clear up something. We are not friends and we are not a family. We are colleagues, comrades at best, and we have a common target – the Earthbound, and I don't see you doing anything to help with this. Know the bloody limits."

"Listen here, you little shit. I didn't call for you," the girl got all riled up, "and I didn't ask for you to burn my flat. Maybe you don't remember, but it was you who came to me for help."

"Hoh, what a funny tale. You know, since I am so forgetful, maybe I'll just open the door and your Insulted Majesty will get the fuck out?"

Frima looked out the window, then at me, angrily, mumbled something like 'little asshole' and left to read the library book about prophesizing methods. Well, I too had things to do, so I left for the police station.

***

I needed a certain, judging by the card, officer F. L. Jefferson, with him curating the case about the burned building. There was a thought to just ask about a meeting, like, I had some info he might use, and then, after finding his workplace, go away and return at night. However, things turned out to be much easier – there was a screen in the lobby, with workplaces of certain workers on it. Jefferson was on it too.

The police station was filled to the brim with polizeis, with some sprinkled on top, so I needed to either wait until night, which was preferable, or somehow divert their attention. Like, turn on the fire alarm, or something. Maybe even ignite something.
But then it'll be three fires in a row, even connected to each other… So, I waited until dark.

At night everything went smoothly, as if gliding on butter. The station was empty and 'Alohomora' opened all the locks I needed. After surfing through the documents for some time, I found the casefile about Gable's house arsony.

It turned out to be quite a read.

Not a single hint about supernatural, it even looked like they were going to archive the case. Frank Gable was blamed for the arson. According to the documents, after his son's death he started smoking, drinking heavily, and, as a result, one time got so drunk that he didn't even react to the fire caused by his own cigarette. The Aurors were presented as unknown people with signs of heavy drinking, and with Helen Gable's testimony saying that her husband suddenly found some new drinking buddies just before the fire.

The painted picture was so sure and non-conflicting that I was almost completely confident about one thing – the cult either hand-feeds the police the party line or there are enough cultists in the force itself that they don't have to. Although the last one is debatable, the police are just too useful of a tool to monopolize. Vampires, mages, demons – all of them would've declared war with the organization that started controlling the police more than themselves. The officers are probably just getting a hefty addition to their paychecks for not asking unnecessary questions.

But, most importantly, I finally learned Missus Gable's address. It really was an unusual discovery, because at the current moment she lived in a flat given to her by the company 'New Architecture Industries' as a part of the social package she got due to her work contract. The woman herself was a company worker and not just a common manager, but the H.R. head. By the way, the good old daddy Gable was the head of security at the same company.

Looks like I found the lead!

Experience points: 2

Total experience points: 8

Other than that, there was nothing for me to do at the station, although I took the documents with me. If the police notice them missing and start digging into the cult, that would be nice. If not, these papers will be more useful with me than sitting in an archive.

Gotta start looking into that 'New Architecture Industries'. Where are they located, what are they doing, that sort of thing. Heh, I really could've used the Internet right now, but it won't become widespread or commonly available anytime soon. I'll need to do it the old-fashioned way – through asking people and personally going to places.
However, I just don't think that a visit by a thirteen-year-old brat will be correctly understood by the company's security. I could've sent reddie there, but since there were two cultists in the company - at some important positions, no less - we can safely assume that the place is crawling with them. And they are probably still looking for Frima.

Hm. Alright, I can think about that later. Right now I needed to gather some things and go to Andrew; the horned merchant should've prepared everything already.

***

In the next morning, I rode away to the demon, after leaving my companion back at the hotel studying an astrologycal atlas. Since she has a static resonance, she should learn the types of predictions that involve solid, describable schema: astrology, cards, runes, things like that.
And, for God's sake, let her do something useful – the girl was way too pleased ever since she lit up that candle, I'm envious.

Andrew's welcome wasn't as warm as usual, but, considering what I ordered, that was understandable. This time we dealt with the business quickly; I gave him the packaged meat and he gave back the folder with papers, new passports, reddie's diploma, my metrics (the whole fucking world wants to remind me that I'm a kid) and the case with forty-five thousand pounds inside.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Andrew."

"Yes, yes, I do my job well, even if the client is an asshole." The Devourer frowned. "Now get the fuck out of here."

"As you say. You now know where I live, so don't be afraid to call. By the way, how do I call you? I don't want you bitching again about not warning first."

After saying goodbye to the demon, I picked Frima up and we left for our new residence. On the road the girl was looking through the papers and at some point started laughing like a looney, forcing the taxi driver to look back in surprise.

"What's up?"

"Nothing… cousin." Frima's smile widened.

"What?"

"Yep, it says so in here. I'm now Vera Palmer and you are my cousin Sam Brody."

"Bloody- he's fucking with me! I asked for a normal name, goddammit! Alright, let those be for the wide public, but I'd rather stay Harry Potter. Especially in front of sorcerers. However, you, ahem, Vera, have nothing else to do – gotta find a job with these documents. Get used to it."

"I sure will, but the name's kinda weird. Sounds American. Although, nah. Doesn't matter."

Our flat was on the twelfth floor of a multistory building and allowed us to enjoy the view, even with the house not being on the shore. A spacious place. It ain't Hogwarts, of course, but will do as a temporary base.

Now I just need to not fuck up this place, too.

Bland Eggplant · Aug 6, 2020

What does a company look like when the workers worship an eldritch monstrosity?
It looks like an exemplary taxpayer and a very successful moneymaking mechanism.

That was the total of my knowledge after six days of investigation; it seemed that finding anything actually helpful was going to take a lot longer.

'New Architecture Industries' was a large construction company that barged into the world of big money barely five years ago. After the retirement of the previous CEO - someone named 'L. Johnson' - their list of services greatly expanded. I don't know what was the company doing under the old boss, but now they were building everything that could be built - and I mean everything. According to their brochure, they had built residential houses, office buildings, administrative buildings, two theaters, laid a lot of roads and sewer tunnels, and, as the cherry on top, had constructed an entire stadium in Greenwich.

They did all of this and no one has ever sued them. Over the course of five years, to reiterate. Not one building behind schedule, not one failed project, and not even a single complaint on file. Do they hire robots in there?
Now, I understand that when complaints do arise, the hairy paw of the new director, Henry Mills, gives out a stack of crunchy banknotes with the Queen's portrait to certain people. But to work without any complaints at all?

"Listen, why are we even poking the hornets' nest? Anila asked us to just find the cultists' lair, right?"

"Well, on one hand, Reddie, you are right. But think about it like this: here I come to Mag and tell her that all the cultists work in 'NAI'. And then she'll ask me: 'Are you sure that all of them work there? Also, Harry, where is their altar? Where is the reliquary?' And that's it, we'll return here, to this very place, but now we've shat ourselves in front of the boss-lady."

"Weren't you bragging that she isn't your boss?" Frima asked snidely.

"She's holding on to something that belongs to me. I want it back." I frowned. "But that's for later. What's your diploma?"

She dug into the papers and soon answered:

"Jurisprudence, Sheffield Hallam. Wow!"

"Is it, like, any good?"

"No idea, but I know nothing about these law-and-order things. Almost nothing."

"Almost?"

"Uh, yeah." The girl stopped for a second. "There was that one time… Well, this whole mess started with it. I rolled over a woman that one time, both investigation and court declared me innocent. So, I kinda understand the system from a defendant's position."

"Wait a second, what do you mean 'started with it'?"

The redhead sighed, looked at me, and then asked in a colorless tone:

"You won't just let it go, right?"

I raised my eyebrow as if to answer with 'you ask stupid questions'.

"Well, aren't you a curious little asshat. Alright. So, my conscience started torturing me. It didn't care that I was innocent and that the woman herself ran in front of the car from behind a billboard. That was the first dead person in my life, get it? No, there also were, like, dead relatives and stuff, but that was different. I started coming to that woman's grave, my studies went downhill… I was falling apart, in short. And then, in the graveyard, one tired-looking Indian woman approached me and offered to help."

"Ah, now I get it. And how much did it cost?"

"As much as needed."

"But still?"

"I wanted to talk to that woman and ask for forgiveness. That's all."

Wow. There aren't that many things that can genuinely impress me, but this, right here, did. Firstly, it's bloody awesome, I think. Secondly, it's really fucking stupid. Not in the sense that Frima wished for some bullshit – everyone is weird in their own way – but because Mag can order souls around, including telling a soul to be nice and to say that she forgives her murderer.
I wonder, was it Magdiel fooling Frima or genuine forgiveness from the dead hag?
Well, not my business and not my problem.

"Alright, the memory minute just ended. Since you have a diploma that you can only nail to a wall, let's do it this way – try to find a job in some local newspaper."

"I'm a lawyer, not a journalist." The girl waved her diploma in front of my face.

"Well, don't go to 'Times' then; go to some smaller paper, where they take non-professionals too."

"And why would they want me there? I don't know anything about journalism. Won't they just kick me out a week later?"

"Think about it. If you start having problems with getting the job, we still have some cash we can use to make it easier. Next, you don't understand jack in the job, that's true. If only someone powerful was there to tell you where to go and where look for interesting events..."

"Let me guess, it would be you?" the girl huffed.

"No, it wouldn't be me. You're a witch, stupidhead. Read the stars' will, burn a lottery ticket for luck, or whatever – and you'll get a dozen sensations lying around. Who was the one prophesizing to me with tea leaves that I'll find happiness in an unexpected place?"

"You didn't find it yet." She skeptically shook her head.

"Then what about those twenty pounds I found near the store?"

She had little faith in her sorcerous powers. I, to be honest, not only 'had little faith' – I knew for a fact they weren't working. However, she had a hold of the basics and had learned to consciously control her willpower. It will all come with lots and lots of practice.
Yeah, I didn't teach her for long. A pity I can't teach her my method.

"When you get the journalism job, start quietly and carefully asking around about 'NAI', especially anything that's out of the public eye. The keyword here is 'quietly'! Don't name the company, don't ask their workers, only the reti… No, leave those alone too. But I need the list of their projects, of the people they ever worked together with and their history. Get to work, minion!"

***

Thus we began our work. Well, more precisely, Frima's work started, or Miss Palmer's, as she was named in her papers. The girl managed to find a job at the 'Independent', which she insists she did without bribing anyone. Counting through the contents of my money bag was too much work, so I decided to believe her.
I probably should've taken the money and stored it in a bank or something. But it wasn't that urgent.

So, the newspaper. Frima and I had the plan of the investigation and it consisted of five points, each of which could help uncover some 'NAI' leads.

First of all, there was the old CEO, the unknown Mister L. Johnson. We didn't know anything about him except for his name. We also needed to go chasing after the clients, both satisfied and not. Although, to be more precise, 'NAI' had zero dissatisfied clients, but there were those who had some… trouble after the partnership ended. So, we still had what we could call "unsatisfied" customers.
Those three items were bad for one reason – they meant talking to people and I already learned that people do not like being honest with me. This is where the twenty-to-twenty-five-year-old journalist will help me out! The perfect candidate for cautious questioning. If only the demon's servants weren't looking for her…

Well, those who don't risk only drink water.

There were two more directions worth exploring. First of all, looking over the stuff 'NAI' specialized in – utility systems. Roads, sewers, what are the other types? Hell if I know, we'll start with these ones. Uvir-Dasab started with them too and that's certainly for a reason.

The second one is more interesting. When the company changed its line of work (or, more precisely, its spectrum of services) there was a reason for that too. We needed to look over the buildings they made after the re-branding.

There also was an idea to dig into the taxmen's reports, but either I won't find anything or I'll learn that the company isn't all that prime and proper… which is not a sign of the demon's presence.

I was going to visit all those places personally, sometimes wearing the Cloak and sometimes with all the bling. But first I needed to know what exactly to visit, so I sat quiet and stealthy for one more month, looked over Hogwarts' library in my dreams, and waited for Frima to give me a target.

***

The first clue, as expected, was mister Lawrence Johnson, ex-CEO of 'Johnson's Utility Systems', who was currently living his last years in a small flat of 25 square meters. The man was younger than forty, but he was chained to a wheelchair after catching some sort of an exotic disease. The doctors managed, albeit with great difficulty, to cure it, but his legs gave out as a result.

That time Frima returned in the late evening.

"So?"

"It's all so fucked, Harry." She sighed heavily. "The man's practically made of steel. He founded a large company from zero, looked over three old relatives, and was paying off a loan for the house after his wife died."

"Should've started even earlier then. A long time ago, in a…"

"Oh, shut up." The girl waved it away. "You just didn't see him. All of his relatives are dead, he lost his house and lives in some flophouse, he can't walk and yet he still holds onto his life! A very strong man, with a good sense of humor."

"Did you learn anything useful or did you just go there to look at the badass cripple?"

"Yes, I did. In short, the company was created under him, but fast growth started roughly six years ago. He specifically mentioned Henry Mills as a very results-producing worker."

"Isn't he the new director?"

"He is. Johnson also mentioned that Mills himself was a little dumb and lazy, but then he suddenly gained almost animalistic intuition for profits and lucky deals. You know, Lawrence…"

"Lawrence?"

"Lawrence liked the man. He said that Mills was very charming."

"So that 'ironman' of yours gave him a good review?"

"I didn't say that. According to him, Mills wasn't very picky about his methods. When he was a foreman – he often saved money by building from cheap materials instead of those mentioned in the budget. He got caught on that sometimes… at first, then these complaints disappeared."

"Interesting."

"It gets better. Doctors couldn't understand what kind of disease Lawrence got. One day his legs just started turning into rotting mincemeat. He showed them to me, after being, supposedly, cured, but… Let me put it this way – I am really surprised they didn't amputate them. I saw a lot when I worked in the morgue, but I never saw someone's flesh so… disfigured. And all that with his wounds already healed." Frima shivered.

"Shouldn't he have been researched under all the microscopes in the kingdom?"

"As weird as it is – no. Lawrence has no idea what was going on and thinks that it's common, but his case didn't interest anyone, despite being obviously unusual. The doctors only healed the symptoms, the effect of which was very debatable. The treatment quickly ate through his insurance and he was forced to…"

"Sell the company, gotcha. And Mills bought it. What a lucky coincidence, nothing left to say." I scratched the back of my head. "And then it all went downhill, right? He didn't have enough money and was forced to leave the hospital and go home. Then he couldn't pay off the loan anymore and was forced to move out to his new flophouse."

"Yes, just as you said." The girl nodded. "So, did you learn what you wanted?"

"Yep. Good girl, go buy yourself a chocolate bar." I said magnanimously. "The story by itself might be a string of coincidences, but that unknown illness happening so luckily for the director – that looks like something right up our alley. It isn't confirmed yet, but let's think of Mills as another servant of our infernal friend. Just in case."

***

One week after that I got a list of all projects 'NAI' ever completed. And they completed a lot! Mostly laying and repairing sewers, but the list was very long, that brochure didn't mention even a tenth of the real stuff. After hearing Johnson's story, finding out about the four new hospitals they built was extra funny. One may wonder how they accomplished all that, but then one remembers that the whole company is under the demon's control and it starts to make sense.

After looking through the list, I divided it into four groups: buildings that are actively functioning (they were the ones mentioned in the brochure), buildings that are barely functioning, abandoned buildings and destroyed buildings. While Frima was working with her own list of clients, I went sightseeing to all of Uvir-Dasab's landmarks.

My first target was very simple – roads. Yes, 'NAI' was building roads and they were building a lot of them. Investigating those gives me a single result – nothing. Nothing suspicious, unknown or unpleasant. Ideally flat, wide and capable of functioning without maintenance for decades. That got me really surprised and I spent two days cracking my brain in search of some hidden danger but didn't achieve anything. In the end, I was forced to spit on it and paint a large question mark near the word 'roads' on my investigation board.
Frima teased me about it all the time, but I wanted an investigation board ever since I was a kid.
For some reason, the redhead called it 'the nutjob's board'.

That was the last time I used the board, even with it still hanging on the wall. Yeah, that was a bad idea.

Taking into account Frima's legless friend's biography, I visited the hospitals next. Three of those were thriving establishments, built as monumental, serious-looking buildings; the other one was a barely surviving hospital, built with a similarly robust architecture, which hadn't even started to decay.
The hospitals themselves felt uncomfortable, with an air of hopelessness in the corridors, but aren't all hospitals like that? Right?

After investigating the theaters I started suspecting that the monster decided to build all over the city as a form of charity. Yes, that was absurd, but the theaters were built to last and, more importantly, were very popular.
Their repertoire, however, was… strange. I don't like modern art, it smells of shit and gayness. Sometimes literally.
But, then again, who am I to lecture English gentlemen on how to spend their free time?

***

Almost half a year passed this way – I ran around investigating shops, residential and office buildings, police stations, and restaurants. I even crawled down into the sewers several times, all that while pulling my hair in frustration of not knowing what the hell was going on. Frima's interviews brought similar results – people were either swimming in money or barely scraped by, but 'it must be something else, the building is great!'.

Frima, by the way, found herself a fuckboy back at work, so I now periodically left the place for eight or so hours to breathe some fresh air. Coincidentally, my body discovered that the thing below my belly, also called a 'dick', was there for a reason.

So, naturally, I immediately discovered another obstacle in my life – I just wasn't attracted to girls of the same age.
Holy tomatoes, I am thirteen! They are thirteen! I am not a pedophile!

Unfortunately, the ladies I was attracted to thought the same way.
The whole world was against me.

So, in my walks around London, I was time and time again surprised by how much bleaker and darker it looked compared to what I imagined before visiting.
And then it hit me, like a lightning bolt – that was it! That's what he was doing! Well, maybe not only him, maybe the modern times are also at fault, but he is partly responsible for the city's architecture.I think I understood the idea; he purposefully makes it lacking. Colorless gray boxes, scarily functional and just as scarily faceless, gray, and despair-inducing.

Although, the roads, sewers, and theaters stuck out. Especially the theaters, those were beautiful.
Yes, the buildings themselves for sure – but not the plays. Maybe the demon used the architecture to influence both the spectacles and viewers' perception of them?

After realizing the scheme, solving the sewers was easy. 'NAI' mostly worked on them in the same districts in which they already built hospitals.
And, when I remembered Johnson's story, it all fell into place.

"The bastard is poisoning the city. Fucking awesome."

After looking through some private archives and documents (under the cloak, of course), I got a confirmation. The city's epidemiological situation got worse.
Mostly illnesses transmitted through liquids, nothing too dangerous or contagious, but it makes people go to hospitals, in which dead-tired doctors subparly heal their patients, who then go to bars, clubs, shopping centers, and theaters, but instead of relaxing only get hit by more bleakness. Then they go to their jobs, into the buildings 'NAI' worked on, do the boring, fruitless and repetitive tasks without any passion or interest, dreaming only about going home and taking a warm bath… and then again end up in hospitals.

I also looked at the road map, but couldn't find what was the deal. I lacked the specialized knowledge but was already sure that something wasn't right with those either.

The problem is not that big yet, however. No matter how hard the demon tries, he only worked for five years and London is a very big and old city. His influence is noticeable, but not critical yet. But, if it keeps increasing or if he manages to get his tentacles on other cities – the picture will be bleak.
And that word will be the best description.

So, I uncovered 'what' the demon was doing but not 'why' he was doing it. Although, I'm not sure I want to know what's going on in the head of the abomination.

Experience points: 3
Total experience points: 11

Still, that didn't bring me any closer to actually solving the problem. I still didn't know anything of value about Uvir-Dasab, aside from his ties with 'NAI'.
How strong were these ties? Were all the employees in his cult or only some influencers? Where is his reliquary?

It looked like I must go there personally. And I really, really didn't want to.

***

"Are you crazy?" That was the first question Frima asked.

We were back at home and I just told her about my intentions to go into the cultists' den.

"Relax, I'm small and sneaky." I waved her off, not nearly as calm internally.

"I know you have the cloak, but think about how widespread his operation is! He spread his tentacles all over the city, all of them through 'NAI'. The place must be full of the guys who came to my apartment." Frima tried to dissuade me.

"Alright, honey, give me a better alternative. We still don't know the cult's vulnerable spot. We can beat him in two ways: destroy his reliquary – although Mag should be the one fucking around with this, it's not in our weight category – or kill all the cultists and make him fall into a coma from the lack of faith. And, in the end, we can really offer none of these. So, I'm going in – we need information and I'm the only one who can get it. Capiche?"

"I'm not stupid, Harry, and that's why I'm saying that going to crawl up the demon's ass for a not guaranteed result is!"

"Listen, I know I'm not going to a kindergarten," I answered, annoyed. "But we've been stomping around one place for half a year and have fuck-all to show for it. So what that we learned about him infecting the city? Should we start blowing up buildings then? Great fucking idea, Al-Kaeda approves. No, we need one precise strike right at the bastard's heart. Which we need to find first."

Frima sat down and frowned.

"The sky'll be clear today. I'll try to make a prediction, maybe it will help you. But I'm against it."

"Doesn't really matter whether you're against it or not. I have a job and I must do it. Thankfully, I got my advance already, time to pay that off."

I decided to start on the next day as I wanted to fully rest before the venture. In the morning, Frima cheered me up with a prediction that everything will suck but I, most likely, won't die.
As if I didn't know that already.

"Here, take this." She offered me a string with some symbols painted on it. "For good luck."

"Didn't know you're superstitious."

"I'm not, it's a ward… or something. I decided to try making some, maybe that's the way I should go. I don't know if it will work or not, but it shouldn't make things worse."

"Uh, thanks, I guess," I looked closer at the string.

A string with Fortuna's markings. One time per story turns a botch into a failure.

"Don't worry so much, reddie. I'll come back soon. And if I don't, you can forget about the demon and live at my place with my money. If Mag doesn't have other plans for you, of course."

The cloak was in the backpack, the wand was in the jacket's inner pocket, and Petunia's knife was tucked into the holster.

'Mean Sonnuvabitch' stayed with Frima, since she honestly visited a shooting range for a month. I upheld that promise.

***

'NAI' met me with an impressive façade and a smiling girl on the reception. I was already under the cloak, so she must've smiled at her own thoughts.
It was a four-stories building with its own warehouse on the underground floor. There was no elevator, nor was there any name tablets on the office doors, so I walked around mostly blind.

A lot of people worked at 'NAI' and it looked like most of them came that day. They were running around, exchanging documents, and screaming all business-like. I really damn hoped that not all of them served the demon – sneaking through the crowds was already difficult enough.
Imagine what would've happened if all these 'harmless clerks' turned into monsters and started looking for little old me.

I passed through rooms, I shuffled through table drawers, I read through documents when the workers departed but was yet to find anything unusual. Then again, it would've been really weird to find a prayer book ornated with human skin in Joe Schmoe's desk. Despite my suspicions, 'NAI' was also a successful commercial organization.
But if I wouldn't have tried – I wouldn't have found anything anyway, right?

Of course, looking through the bigwig's offices would've been more productive, but, as I said, there were no name tablets.

And just like that, step by step, I passed through the first floor and a half of the second one before freezing still. Some asshole turned on the fire alarm. I was prepared to throw caution out the window and follow after it, running like a darkie from a man with a gun, but the clerks reacted… non-standardly. They all poured from their cubicles into the corridor, all without jackets, and started waiting for something.
I was already near the window when I noticed that and decided to stay and observe.

So far it looked as if the fire alarm was not, in fact, an alarm and was, instead, some sort of a motivational exercise.

Another jacket-less man with a smirk on his face walked into view in front of the whole crowd and, after looking over the corporate slaves, took out a microphone.

"I'm happy to see you, guys! Are you happy to see me?!" He asked in a hoarse, but very pleasant voice.

Clerks answered with an energy-less buzzing of agreement.

"Yes, we haven't seen each other for a month and I already forgot your faces and your fighting spirit. Are you still the same lost, dead-beat horses as before? Have I only wasted my time with you?!"

This time the buzzing was negative.

"That's right, guys, that's right. You can do anything and I'm here to remind you of it. Do you know why?"

He looked over the silent audience.

"Me neither. I never was a loser. So, instead of telling you what you shouldn't do, I'll remind you of what brings us all success. Do you want to be successful?"

"Yes."

"Yes…"

"Y-yeah."

"Yes."

"What is this braying, are you wolves or are you sheep?! I ask you this every time and every time all I hear is mooing, braying and hiccuping. A man must be determined, disciplined, and self-assured. Discipline is needed to follow orders when needed, this is the only way a pack functions. Determination is needed to not bend under hardships and I'm telling you – there will be a lot of those. Self-assuredness is to keep the doubts from sneaking in and completing whatever task you are doing as a man should."

He put the microphone away for a short time and opened his case, to take out the water bottle.

"Alright, guys. Our general director Mills asked me to remind you about keeping a good attitude. Most of you treat the job as a precise and routine activity. That's correct, in some sense, the job sure has routine and needs precision. But only those who put their souls into it really climb up the ladder. And if you are passionate about your job – then it's not just a job anymore, it's art, creation, and inspiration. The art within us, the creator inside us, is always ready to support us. Who remembers what I'm talking about?"

"About the Great Painter, sir?" Someone shouted from behind rows.

Uh-huh, I heard that title before.

"Exactly. Looks like you didn't smoke out all your brains yet, eh? Ancient Kelts called the creator inside us, the one who makes a common mason into a sculptor, a man with a club into a warrior, a greedy asshole into a merchant, the Great Painter - or, in their language, Uvir-Dasab. And I'm telling you, the ancients may have been barbarians, but they weren't stupid."

"We remember, sir." The rows answered with various degrees of boredom.

"Do we have to say all that bullshit, sir? I mean, it's the end of the twentieth century, and the last time I checked we weren't barbarians," a man in the first row said.

"My friend, the psychological relaxation department works together with Great Britain's best universities; you can ask them for confirmation. I'll tell you this – if it works, then it's a sin not to use it. It doesn't matter that it was made by unwashed Kelts, what matters is that the company - and all of us - get richer thanks to it. So, guys, repeat after me."

He straightened up and put the index and middle fingers on his right hand onto his forehead, clenching the other fingers. Then he clenched the left hand into a fist and put it onto the right hand's elbow. The crowd repeated after him, some clearly bored and annoyed and others pleased.

Finally, the motivator and, most likely, the priest started the bla-blaing, with others repeating after him:

"O, The Great Painter, direct the strength of my soul for the greater good, lead my feet, speak through my tongue. O, The Gifter of Beauty, I praise you…"

I didn't stay to listen further, it was obvious enough. Good news – the majority of 'NAI' workers had no idea who they worked for. Bad news – that didn't stop them from praying.
I wondered if every floor held the prayer at the same moment.

Unexpectedly, the investigation showed that no, not on every floor. Maybe they were holding these throughout the month? The priest said he didn't see the flock for a month too.
I didn't know and wasn't going to stick around for that long to check.

The next four hours went smoothly. Searching through the offices got easier once the whole floor went praying and paralyzed, while I was sneaking around.

After not finding anything of value in the offices, I snuck into the underground floor where, theoretically, the warehouse should've been. Instead, I found a large empty hall with a weird pano through the whole wall.
There were several doors leading elsewhere, but the artwork intrigued me – dark, cruel images in green, black, and white colors created an evolving motif.

"What it was painted with?" I whispered. "Never saw a paint like this."

Considering that I've spent the last year and a half visiting museums and such, that really says something.
I approached it, looked closer, and swore softly through my teeth – it wasn't paint, it was mold that had been grown onto the canvas. Holy…

The pano showed a story of some creature. At first it was humanoid and symmetrical, but at the same time rather ugly. Which was weird, because objectively it was even beautiful, but something was just… repulsing about it. The creature was busy either growing flowers, giving them color, or turning grass into flowers – it was hard to say.

The next scene showed it, and many others, as a shield for smaller humanoids, which strongly resembled humans.

Another image – a human kills another human and a black vortex appears above them, swallowing the creature and others like it.

The creature no longer looks right and beautiful, but at the same time is more pleasing to the eye. Green clouds from its hands destroyed its enemies, other creatures in armor with the sun shining behind them.

The images of war repeat several times and the main character gets uglier and uglier, turning into a rotting thin abomination, but it's painted with such awe that it even feels nice to look at. Its enemies die in greater and greater pain, their heads from image to image turn more and more into faces with only one emotion on them – fear.

The last painting from the war shows the creature being chained and left in the void.

In the next scene, only the imprisoned creature is made out of the mold. The void is painted with such furious streaks of coal, it is as if someone took a whole burned log and just started swinging it around with unimaginable hatred.

A barbaric-looking old man summons the chained creature.

The old man is dead, his village has burned. The abomination stands among the ashes and the black void is spreading under its feet.

The monster creates a sculpture from the bones of its victim and makes the skull of that poor warlock into its heart.

In another painting, the creature is dissolving and leaking into the altar's bones.

Barbarians gather around the bone idol and then go to war. They fear no weapon now, for their arms are made into claws.

Elders carry the idol away, as barbarians die under the swords of Roman legionnaires.

Once again barbarians pray to the monster, but this time they are enslaving other barbarians.

Men with crosses on their chests and black hats destroy the monster's servants.

The last painting shows the lonely idol standing in the dark underground. But this time it's not that coal-y darkness, it's made out of the mold.

…

How much of a self-loving asshole one has to be to leave their whole life story in the middle of London, nevermind in such a way and so brazenly.
I wanted to go to other doors and look there…

"Do you like it?" …But then I head a hoarse voice coming from behind.

I turned back and saw two broad-shouldered men looking right at me. But I'm wearing the cloak!

Slowly, I walked away from the place I was standing, but they kept tracking me. The one on the right, a thin man with a twitching eye and a broken nose, smirked:

"No need to run, invisible man. Our master granted us many gifts. He…" He pointed at the companion, a gray-haired man with a moustache and a sizeable gut. "…smells you and I hear you. Your heart, for example. It's beating so fast! You are afraid, intruder."

"He is not afraid." the companion interrupted him. "He is anticipating it. I don't smell fear."

"Is that so?" The first one looked surprised.

He wanted to say something else, but I didn't wait. The second one is right – it's been a while since I participated in a good fight!
The moment I reached out for the wand (fuck the secrecy) the fattie rushed at me with a speed of a bloody Olympic sprinter! I barely dodged his hands, which were covered in claws.
I wouldn't have made it without spending some mana – helped me to accelerate.

Mana: 3/4

"Ernie, you idiot, mister Mills told us to take him alive!" The thin one screamed, making weird hand movements in my direction.

I didn't care for that at all and decided to fry the good old Ernie with a lightning bolt.
He squealed, but other than that his fat ass didn't even slow down. He once again jumped near me, but this time preparing a punch.

We already tried that, Ernie! I got away once again!

"Why is he moving, Lars?"

"I don't know, maybe he isn't human?"

"But he smells…"

He didn't finish that one – a lightning bolt shut him up. The mustache-man roared and jumped at me, but this time I couldn't dodge it. Or, more accurately – I dodged just fine, but the fattie followed right after me, moving maybe even faster.
For me, rushing takes serious concentration, but Ernie seemingly had no problems at all.

Ten dice for damages. Six damage points. Four points of lethal damage blocked by stamina roll.

5/5/7 (Bruises: -1 dice for rolls).

I fell on the floor several meters farther from him and, right from the lying position, gave him everything I got without risking overexertion.

Mana: 0/4

A bolt of bloody thick lightning hit the fat Ernie right in his chest, making the bastard croak something and fall onto the floor. The freak was still moving but obviously incapacitated.

Oh hell, my head was spinning like crazy. Did the fattie hit me that hard? No, those are only bruises, I got those a lot. No, really, I was barely standing and swaying from side to side.
Now I need to finish the other one…

Right! The other one!

I turned and saw Lars whispering something and making hand gestures at me, with my eyelids getting heavier and heavier. Fuck no, asshat, I won't go down that easily.

Willpower: 9/10

The last thing I managed to do before darkness took me was to break the wand in my hand.

A/N: Here and back again. As usual, huge thanks to FatBaldBastard for betaing the chapter.

Indomitable (Harry Potter/World of Darkness)

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.

Still better than a cucumber.