So, I'm a wizard?!" Harry exclaimed, surprised and delighted, lying in the hospital room.
"Exactly, Harry ," the purring voice readily responded, which the boy had silently nicknamed "Brainy Man" because it was constantly talking about some extremely interesting, yet very complex things that, according to "Brainy Man," Harry needed to learn. "Where we used to live, people like you were called psykers."
"Isn't that a word from some sci-fi universe?" Harry doubted, frowning. Considering that he didn't exactly get along with his peers—thanks to Dudley—he spent a lot of his time in the school and city libraries, avidly reading any fiction he could get his hands on and that a ten-year-old boy could understand. Mostly fantasy and science fiction; he was particularly fond of anything unusual, in defiance of the Dursleys!
"It really does sound like something out of space fiction, heh-heh-heh ," Smarty laughed inexplicably. "But if you don't like that word, another term would be quite suitable: wizard."
"Yes, that sounds somehow more respectable than wizard or incomprehensible dick or whatever you called it," Harry nodded seriously, causing another round of laughter from Smarty. "And why were you expelled... well, from where you came from?"
"It's a long and rather sad story, Harry ," Smarty chuckled. "I'll tell you it some other time. I'll only add that you're incredibly lucky!"
"That's true," the boy sniffed, not catching the slight irony in Smarty's voice. "He could have lived like that, toiling for the Dursleys and enduring the beatings of that fool Dudley. But now I'll show them all!" " he said sullenly.
"The time will come, Harry ," Smarty whispered again. "Patience! Or do you want to listen to Arak... I mean, Ruffnut, and simply slaughter your relatives, hm?"
"N-no," Harry muttered uncertainly. He was frankly wary of listening to Ruffnut—that's what the boy called Arak. Primarily because all his proposals boiled down to one thing—bloodshed.
"That's good ," Smarty approved. "But believe me, if you listen to me exactly, you'll be able to get rid of your annoying relatives in a much safer and more subtle way."" he added. At that moment, something stirred in Harry's head. Something strange, unlike his new spirit friends. It rustled something unintelligible, after which Harry involuntarily scratched the itchy lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. And the next second, Harry's head was busy again, as before this conversation: visions flashed through it—Brainy was thus conveying to the boy information that he needed to know exactly when he left the hospital. Specifically, instructions for some ritual. Harry didn't ask what. If there was even a one-in-a-million chance that he could escape the Dursleys and gain the power to repel others who wanted to hurt him, he was ready to grab that chance hand and foot! No time for questions. As he discovered, he had arrived at the hospital in an ambulance, called by the same Mrs. Figg when she saw Harry collapse in the middle of the sidewalk. "That's strange," the boy suddenly thought. "Why didn't she call the bearded one this time? And who was it, by the way?" he asked Smarty.
"Good question ," he replied. "To be honest, I don't know. But most likely, it was a wizard, like you."
"A wizard?!" Harry snapped. "But that means… That means other wizards know where I am?"
"Most likely, Mrs. Figg is keeping an eye on you and reporting to that bearded old man ," Smarty concluded. "I think they were the ones who sent you to live with the Dursleys."
"But why?!" Harry was genuinely indignant. "Couldn't they have given me to a family of similar wizards?!"
"Who knows?" Smarty asked mysteriously. "Maybe there are already too many wizards, and they were counting on you turning into a normal human at the Dursleys', so you wouldn't become another rival? Or were they planning something else? There are so many possibilities."
For a moment, Harry thought Ruffnut would rise from the depths of his consciousness. He was so angered and hurt by the thought that wizards—just like himself—had simply dumped him like a puppy on those disgusting Dursleys! But then his brain began working at an unprecedented speed, eagerly reviewing various hypotheses and possibilities about why things had happened this way and not another, what the consequences were, and what they promised—and the rage of the spawn of Khorne subsided. "Wow," was all Harry could say, having constructed five fully functional theories about why he had been dumped with the Dursleys. "Smartass, did you do this?"
"No ," the spirit replied curtly. "I just gave your mind a little nudge. The rest is entirely your doing."
"Cool!" the boy exclaimed. "Everyone at school will be floored!"
"Just a simple acceleration of the thought process ," Smarty whispered condescendingly."It was created, among other things, for study. But it's a very useful skill in other matters, too."
"What else can this... er, warp of yours do?" Harry asked with interest. The first thing the "spirit-advisers" had told the young wizard about was the warp. They hadn't yet used the word "Chaos," deftly avoiding sharp corners in their explanations, emphasizing the possibilities the Immaterium opened up to those brave enough to tap into it.
"A lot ," replied the Smart One. "Read people's minds. Make them do what you want. Kill them."
"Do you have to kill them?" Harry asked hesitantly.
"Of course, not necessarily ," his interlocutor replied softly. "But you must admit, there are many people who deserve to die."
"Uh-huh," was all the boy replied. He remembered Ruffnut and the scorching fountain of emotion that had bubbled up in his soul when he dominated Harry's mind. Shaking himself, the boy tried to push those memories aside.
"You can also predict the future ," Smarty continued listing the warp's capabilities. "Wow!" the boy asked intrigued. "How's that? Like, look into a crystal ball and see what happens?"
"Many psykers in our home world turned to tarot cards ," Smarty chuckled. "But you can do without a crystal ball."
"Will you teach me?" the boy asked hopefully.
"It's not difficult ," the spirit agreed. "We still have the whole day for that. But we'll start with the basics!"
Harry nodded—there really was time. To be honest, he'd only been kept in the hospital for a whole day because the doctor who examined him had insisted on it. He'd cast suspicious glances, first at the angry Dursleys, who'd been forced to rush to the hospital as the boy's only relatives, then at the rags Harry was wearing, then at Harry himself—a skinny, frail boy, dwarfed by the overweight Vernon. Although the diagnosis—overwork—could be handled at home. Harry spent the next few hours trying to predict the flight of a fly circling the hospital ward, landing on the bedside tables, then looping around the ceiling, then simply poking at the window. The Smarty set the time interval he needed to calculate at just ten seconds. But even despite the insignificance of the predicted events and the short period of time, Harry was sweating profusely before he even began to get anything right! And of course, if Smarty hadn't urged his mind on, forcing him to speed up, just like at the very beginning, the young wizard would have failed! Using this simple example, the spirit taught Harry to see lines of probability, identify the clearest ones, and look for their intersections and nodal points. The boy hadn't even suspected that predicting the future was such a complex process. "It's a whole science," he thought wearily. "I thought..."
"That you could just peek at the future, like on TV?" Smarty snorted derisively. "Now you see that's not true? The future is constantly changing, and every moment in the present—even the most insignificant—can radically alter it!"
"Uh-huh," the boy nodded dully, yawning widely.
"That's enough studying!" "—another voice rang out in Harry's head, belonging to the Sweet Tooth—that's what he called the fourth spirit advisor, a great lover of ice cream and other sweets. "Time to sleep, since you have the chance! A soft featherbed, plenty of time—perfect! Not like this bug-infested place under the stairs."" he snorted contemptuously. And Harry completely agreed with him. Naturally, the Dursleys were extremely unhappy about the hospital episode. Vernon ranted for a good half hour, accusing the "little lying malingerer" of all sorts of sins, especially tarnishing their family's good name in the eyes of neighbors and hospital staff. And all the other such nonsense Harry had become accustomed to over the years. But, unlike all the previous times, he... wasn't afraid. Yes, not afraid! If before, his aunt and uncle's arguments had made him feel a little shaky inside, now he remained calm. In fact, he even felt a little amused, knowing that if necessary, he could quickly put Vernon in his place. The knowledge that, if necessary, he could smash his fist through a wall greatly contributed to this confidence. True, this ability came from Ruffnut—and so the persistent thought throbbed in his head to immediately, right then, use it to ram his uncle's words back down his throat! Yeah, teeth and half a jaw included. But, as Brainy had taught him, Harry chose to restrain himself. The time to put the Dursleys in their place would come. However, when Vernon grabbed him by the ear and dragged him toward the cupboard door, Harry barely resisted the urge to give in to the progeny of the Lord of Battles and break something vital to his uncle. But it worked out. At the last moment, but still. The silence and dimness of the cupboard finally restored Harry's composure. In fact, he felt something akin to inspiration! Now that he was out of sight of his relatives, Ruffnut's irritating and—what's more—terrifying whispers subsided. But his other three mental companions became more active. The same Sweet Tooth was already making plans for the coming night, suggesting raiding the fridge and stocking up on something tasty. And, to Harry's surprise, Smart Tooth supported him, offering suggestions on how to hide the traces of such a raid from the Dursleys. And not all of them involved magic!
"You don't know how to do magic in the literal sense of the word yet ," Smart Tooth suddenly said, as if answering his thoughts. "Almost anyone can predict what will happen in a couple of seconds, and mental acceleration is more of a mental technique than magic. So don't flatter yourself—you still have a lot to learn.
" "Ugh, this tediousness again!" Sweet Tooth drawled petulantly. "I'd rather not wait until nightfall and raid the fridge right now! And the Dursleys... Never mind the Dursleys! I want ice cream!"
"Why go anywhere?" Dobryak, the one Smarty called "the spawn of Nurgle," chimed in. "It's warm, dark, and quiet here. Why bother?"
"Ice cream!"" Sweet Tooth exploded indignantly. Harry rubbed his eyes wearily. The voices of the spirit advisors had appeared in his head only a little over a day ago, but he was already beginning to tire of them. No, they were very useful and amusing (scary, too, but still interesting and amusing), but when they started talking at once, the boy felt like his skull was about to burst!
"You're only talking to the four of us ," Sweet Tooth drawled slightly condescendingly, dropping out of the escalating argument. "But there are trillions of spirits in the warp, besides us!"
"Trillions?" Harry stared into the void, dumbfounded.
"Uh-huh ," Sweet Tooth replied, clearly pleased with the effect he'd produced. "And if you want to become a powerful sorcerer, you'll have to put up with their constant whispers."
"Don't worry, Harry ," Smart Tooth intervened, sensing the boy's confusion. "For now, all you need to do is learn the basics, nothing more. For example, meditation. Do you know how to meditate?"
"Uh," he said, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "Is it like those Indian yogis on TV?"
"More like what you did when you were watching that fly in the hospital ," the Smart One explained. "Sit back. Relax. Open your mind to the warp..."
Though it sounded simple, meditating turned out to be somewhat more difficult. Or rather, it was… strange. On the one hand, Harry nearly choked with delight as waves of strange power washed over his mind! He felt as if he could do absolutely anything! Nearly galactic power, contained practically at his fingertips, a multitude of new and pleasant sensations, absolute invulnerability—that's what the stunned boy felt when he finally managed to open up to the ocean of souls. On the other hand… On the other hand, he was constantly distracted! No, not by the Dursleys, and not by his new friends. The Immaterium itself, along with the feeling of omnipotence, made it difficult to focus on any one feeling or object, constantly nudging him in the elbow, interfering and distracting. Harry understood what Sweet Tooth had meant when he said he was lucky that the four of them were the only ones who spoke to him regularly. The Warp was inhabited. And how inhabited! Again, as then, after his death, Harry heard them—all those hundreds and thousands of whispers, screams, groans, and voices that filled the Immaterium and reached out with curiosity to the boy's brightly shining mind. The smart one didn't bother to clarify for now that Harry was relatively safe only because the four of them were vigilantly watching not only each other, but also the surrounding immaterial space. If they were distracted, this whole pack of spirits and demons would pounce on the young sorcerer's soul and tear it to shreds! There was no point in frightening the boy ahead of time. Let him delve deeper into the practices of witchcraft, become more interested, whet his ambitions and appetites—then no dangers or difficulties would stop him! And now they would get down to what had been promised. The basics. Summer had begun somehow suddenly and, surprisingly, passed its midpoint. However, for a person who is engaged in something interesting and exciting, time flies by. And Harry Potter, enthusiastically studying Chaos magic and mastering new abilities, didn't notice the passage of time. In fact, he almost missed his tenth birthday! And now, sitting in his cupboard under the stairs, Harry tried to understand: what did he really feel on this day? Before, he would have felt sad and lonely—meaning much more sad and lonely than on ordinary days. How many times had he imagined how his birthday would have been spent if his parents were alive? Cake, candles, firecrackers, sweets... And then there were his parents themselves. Mom and Dad. Loving and understanding him, laughing with him at the antics of the invited clown and setting off fireworks. Of course, on this birthday, everything was a little different—after all, he was no longer alone. Even if his friends were a little strange... Okay, they were very strange! But he still had them. And now one of them was present in his head, listening attentively and comforting."You see, Kindly One," Harry said quietly, deciding to speak aloud this time—thankfully, no one else could hear him here. "I never had any friends. Anyone who tried to befriend me was immediately hounded by Dudley and his friends. It was so stupid and offensive that in first year of school all I did was cry in the toilets! And then," he mused, "then I just got used to it. Alone. Always alone..." He buried his nose in his knees and sighed heavily.
"Poor boy ," Kindly One answered sadly. "So much pain and loneliness... But don't worry!" he added cheerfully. "Now you'll never be alone! I don't know about the others, but I promise you: I'll always stay with you and take care of you, Harry!"
"Thank you, Kindly One," the boy rubbed his dry eyes and sniffled. "You know, you really are the kindest of your company.
" "Oh, I'm going to be embarrassed ," the spirit even chuckled. "But then, all of Grandfather Nurgle's subjects are like that. After all, He loves and understands everyone, no matter how lonely, stupid, or ugly they may be!"
Harry merely nodded. He'd already heard about the patron gods of each of his new friends. And, it must be said, he liked the stories! Nurgle, according to Dobryak, was also kind and understanding—no wonder they called him by the nickname "Grandfather." Harry didn't quite understand the part of the spirit's reasoning where he talked about how much in this world isn't worth fearing, and how many curses can turn into blessings, but overall, Dobryak's God seemed like a good guy. Dobryak spoke enthusiastically of Slaanesh—the ideal and perfect Lord of Pleasure. Any wish, any whim, anything! Just wish it—and the Dark Prince will grant the wish of whoever caught his eye. Honestly, Harry liked this God the most so far. Dobryak told him about Tzeentch, the Architect of Fates. He was, it must be said, the most misunderstood of all the Chaos Gods—that's what they called themselves. Tzeentch, as Harry realized, was a match for Smarty—also devilishly clever, agile, and cunning, and he could also cast spells. Or rather, for Harry, the ability to cast spells was paramount! After all, Tzeentch was the patron of magic and mages—which meant he could teach a budding sorcerer everything they wanted to know. Ruffnut, when he wasn't trying to break loose and rush off to kill, could also tell stories of his stern patron, the Blood God Khorne. He preached that if Harry didn't want to remain a weakling, bullied by everyone, he would have to become strong. And magic alone wouldn't do—he had to become strong in all aspects! But most importantly, Harry had to learn to fight back with all the fury he could muster. Ruffnut, incidentally, was becoming an increasingly large problem. Primarily because he was the only one of the four spirit advisors who consistently demanded action, oftentimes a very, very dangerous one. Heck, he was constantly demanding that someone be killed. Vernon, Petunia, Dudley, Mrs. Figg, all the neighbors, every passerby—basically, anyone he encountered who dared to irritate Harry even the slightest. And the young wizard began to realize with horror that one day he might snap and follow Ruffnut's advice! So, on Brainy's advice, he began "blowing off steam," as he called it. That is, he'd get up as early as possible and go for a run in the cool of the day—to clear his head, so to speak. Afterward, he'd stop at a nearby playground with horizontal bars and perform a series of physical exercises. Oddly enough, this satisfied the aggressive spawn of Khorne. Only temporarily, Harry suspected—but it was still enough. Moreover, Ruffnut even redirected his anger toward coaching the boy, telling him what to do and scolding him when he felt he was slacking off. But even so, over the past three months, it would have been hard to see Harry's lifts with just exercise. He'd grown almost a head taller.His shoulders thickened, ceasing to be the small, skinny runt he'd been before the four voices began to ring in his head. The power of Chaos, sensing a loophole in a previously closed world, was actively pouring into the body of its future Champion, building and perfecting him under the watchful eye of four demons. But Harry didn't think much of it. The Dursleys, however, did. For example, Dudley had almost completely stopped bullying his cousin. At least in private, and especially outside the house—outside, with the help of his friends, he sometimes managed to catch Potter, after which Harry was forced to flee. Not because he couldn't fight back. On the contrary—because he could! And he was terrified that at the crucial moment he would lose control and succumb to the furious roar of Ruffnut, who demanded that Dudley's entire gang be killed and dismembered, and then their guts hung on the surrounding fences. Besides magic lessons from Brainy, conversations with Kindly, and physical education under Ruffnut, Harry developed another passion. As you might imagine, it was inspired by Sweet Tooth. And, of course, it was sweets! Every night, well after midnight, when the Dursleys were already fast asleep, an ominous crimson flame would briefly flare behind the closed door of the cupboard under the stairs, and a faint smell of ozone would waft through the hallway. Then the outer latch would open, revealing a boy who would slip silently into the kitchen and plunder the refrigerator. At first, Harry was terrified the Dursleys would notice—after all, it's hard not to notice a sizable chunk missing from half of Dudley's birthday cake. Or maybe Petunia's package of eclairs had been brutally ripped open and a couple of the éclairs were missing. But then Smarty intervened, offering Harry a brilliant idea: to throw his relatives off the scent! That's why, after the kitchen, Harry usually stashed his loot in his cupboard, then quietly climbed up to the second floor and snuck into his cousin's bedroom. It was hilarious to watch Petunia's puzzled gaze shift from the torn package of éclairs to Dudley's cream-smeared face. She glanced suspiciously at her nephew for a moment, but then shook her head and decided that her darling son had simply decided to have a late-night snack. He hadn't had enough, apparently—that meant he needed to be fed twice as much! But Harry knew this couldn't go on for long—one day his escapades would be noticed, and he'd be in big trouble! Because he definitely couldn't open the cupboard without supernatural powers—which meant his relatives would probably get mad again because of his "abnormality." He needed to figure out where to find a new source of sweets—and preferably something new, besides the usual greasy cakes, doughnuts, and eclairs. Harry loathed the idea of stealing, even though Smarty didn't see anything wrong with it. As he said, it was a great way to hone his skills. Well,This option was far better than Ruffnut's suggestion of simply stabbing someone and taking what they needed. Although, to Harry's surprise, he didn't dismiss that idea outright. In any case, the time would soon come to "go out into the world," as Sweet Tooth called it—namely, sneaking out of the house at night to perform Harry's first-ever witchcraft ritual! Smarty's efforts had not been in vain—all the details of this act had already been "downloaded" into the boy's mind. The only thing that greatly unsettled him about the upcoming task was the sacrifice. No, of course, he had no particular sympathy for Mrs. Figg's cats—and one of them, in particular, was planned to be sacrificed to the warp creatures. Granted, it wasn't human, but still... Harry shuddered as he recalled the image Smarty had sent him—specifically, a vision of a similar ritual, only using a human victim. Not for the faint of heart! So he had to thank the gods of the boy's new friends that they weren't demanding anything like that of him yet. Well, a cat—so what? Mrs. Figg would buy herself another one. And Harry would end up with a real magical artifact! Just like in fantasy books! An artifact. This was exactly what he was going to do. Namely, a ritual dagger. According to Smarty, "a wizard without a dagger is like a man without a penis! Or like a weak imperial telepath, which is basically the same thing." Harry frowned. He was certainly too young to understand why a penis was so important to members of his sex, but nevertheless, it wasn't entirely comfortable to imagine himself without such an integral part of the body. So he understood and accepted Smarty's allegory. And oh, how he wanted to get a powerful magical artifact! So he resigned himself to the idea that the poor purr-cat was doomed. After all, it was for a good cause—well, for Harry, it was. But for Dudley and his gang and the other bad guys—not so much. "Night X" arrived almost two weeks after Harry's birthday. By then, all the preparations had been completed: the necessary materials, rope, chalk, a few herbs from the apothecary and his aunt's stash, and a quiet place where no one would disturb him had been found. The last thing Harry had stuffed into the lightweight backpack he'd stashed especially for his expedition was a blank dagger—a camp knife stolen from the travel section of a nearby supermarket. And yes, Harry had stooped to mere theft. After all, he reasoned, if he was going to sacrifice a living being, theft seemed like a minor offense. And technically, it turned out to be downright simple: he'd already learned to predict events about a minute in advance with reasonable accuracy, and to avert his eyes for a few seconds—that was enough.* He could hardly wait until nightfall, even though the same Smart Guy tried his best to keep the boy occupied, including drawing Chaos runes on a piece of leather.What Harry found in Uncle Vernon's garage. Sweet Tooth grumbled strangely about the skin being old and taken from a dead animal, so it didn't "sing" at all—but the boy ignored him, concentrating on correctly tracing the runes. According to Smarty, the slightest error in drawing these symbols using the power of Chaos could have very unpleasant consequences. From a simple malfunction of the charm to a powerful warp explosion! But Harry was still nervous. Not only was he planning to sneak out of the Dursleys' house in the middle of the night, but he also had to lure and catch the neighbor's cat, then carry it across town and slaughter it! Despite the obvious anticipation beaming from his four companions, Harry himself felt more nervous than excited. And now the time had come! After checking the contents of his backpack one last time, the boy made a practiced gesture with his hand, drawing a grain of power from the warp. The familiar scent of ozone hit his nose, and his fingers were momentarily enveloped in an otherworldly glow—and the cupboard door swung open. Carefully locking the door behind him, Harry moved into the living room. Repeating the warp manipulation and opening the wide window leading to the garden, he darted like a light shadow toward the fence separating the Dursleys' property from Mrs. Figg's. The most difficult part of the planned operation lay ahead: capturing the cat. However, after the vision he'd had just before his death and some suggestions from his spirit guides, Harry doubted Mrs. Figg's pets were ordinary cats, and she herself an ordinary, lonely cat lady. Which, however, only complicated his task. Jumping over the fence wasn't difficult: Harry hadn't complained about his agility even before meeting the four spirits—after all, he'd spent his entire life running obstacle courses, escaping Dudley's gang, since he was seven. And now, with his body enhanced by Chaos, he could probably leap this fence straight from the ground! He didn't know that, though, so he used a more traditional method—leaping up and grabbing the edge of the fence, then pulling himself up and vaulting over it. Once on the other side, Harry looked around. As far as he remembered, Mrs. Figg's cats didn't distinguish between night and day, prowling here and there at any time. All he had to do was find one and… "Purr?" came a voice right next to Harry, within arm's reach.Despite the obvious anticipation beaming from his four companions, Harry himself felt more trepidation than excitement. And now the time had come! After checking the contents of his backpack one last time, the boy made a practiced gesture with his hand, drawing a grain of power from the warp. The familiar scent of ozone hit his nose, and his fingers were momentarily enveloped in an otherworldly glow—and the cupboard door swung open. Carefully locking the door behind him, Harry headed for the living room. Repeating the warp manipulation and opening the wide window leading to the garden, he darted like a light shadow toward the fence separating the Dursleys' plot from Mrs. Figg's. The most difficult part of the planned operation lay ahead: catching the cat. True, after the vision he'd had just before his death and some of the suggestions his spirit advisors had made, Harry doubted Mrs. Figg's pets were mere cats, and she herself a lonely cat lady. Which, however, only complicated his task. Jumping the fence wasn't difficult: Harry hadn't complained about his agility even before meeting the four spirits—after all, he'd spent his entire life running obstacle courses, escaping Dudley's gang, since he was seven. And now, with his body enhanced by Chaos, he could probably leap this fence right from the ground! He didn't know this, though, so he used a more traditional method—leaping up and grabbing the edge of the fence, then pulling himself up and vaulting over it. Once on the other side, Harry looked around. As far as he remembered, Mrs. Figg's cats didn't distinguish between night and day, wandering here and there at any time. All that remained was to find one of them and... "Purr?" - came from right next to Harry, at arm's length.Despite the obvious anticipation beaming from his four companions, Harry himself felt more trepidation than excitement. And now the time had come! After checking the contents of his backpack one last time, the boy made a practiced gesture with his hand, drawing a grain of power from the warp. The familiar scent of ozone hit his nose, and his fingers were momentarily enveloped in an otherworldly glow—and the cupboard door swung open. Carefully locking the door behind him, Harry headed for the living room. Repeating the warp manipulation and opening the wide window leading to the garden, he darted like a light shadow toward the fence separating the Dursleys' plot from Mrs. Figg's. The most difficult part of the planned operation lay ahead: catching the cat. True, after the vision he'd had just before his death and some of the suggestions his spirit advisors had made, Harry doubted Mrs. Figg's pets were mere cats, and she herself a lonely cat lady. Which, however, only complicated his task. Jumping the fence wasn't difficult: Harry hadn't complained about his agility even before meeting the four spirits—after all, he'd spent his entire life running obstacle courses, escaping Dudley's gang, since he was seven. And now, with his body enhanced by Chaos, he could probably leap this fence right from the ground! He didn't know this, though, so he used a more traditional method—leaping up and grabbing the edge of the fence, then pulling himself up and vaulting over it. Once on the other side, Harry looked around. As far as he remembered, Mrs. Figg's cats didn't distinguish between night and day, wandering here and there at any time. All that remained was to find one of them and... "Purr?" - came from right next to Harry, at arm's length.So he resorted to a more traditional method—leaping up and grabbing the edge of the fence, then pulling himself up and swaying over it. Once on the other side, Harry looked around. As far as he remembered, Mrs. Figg's cats didn't distinguish between night and day, wandering here and there at any time. All that remained was to find one of them and… "Purr?" came a voice right next to Harry, within arm's reach.So he resorted to a more traditional method—leaping up and grabbing the edge of the fence, then pulling himself up and swaying over it. Once on the other side, Harry looked around. As far as he remembered, Mrs. Figg's cats didn't distinguish between night and day, wandering here and there at any time. All that remained was to find one of them and… "Purr?" came a voice right next to Harry, within arm's reach.