Harry Potter: Cursed Harem King

Feeling light slaps, I came to my senses and saw the wrinkled face of the shaman in front of me. He smiled kindly. Then he said:

"Get up, Harry, it's time to conquer the world."

The shaman laughed, and I sat down on the grass and looked around. The sun was setting towards the mountains, ready to disappear at any moment. How long had I slept?

"Evening is coming," the shaman said, as if reading my thoughts. And I hadn't even told him my name. "Why did you take my pipe? You don't know how to communicate with spirits."

"Well, what if it worked out?" I shrugged. "Nothing terrible happened to me."

"Yes, but the spirits did not approve of your attempt to contact them. Don't do it again, or you will be punished. You won't like it."

"Okay. So what about abilities?"

"Not abilities, but occupation. The spirits suggested that at the moment it would be best for you to take up fishing. When you prove yourself as a good fisherman, then you can learn something new along the way. Fish is valued here, and you can become a very valuable provider."

Well, yes, my pipette will perfectly pass for a worm. You don't even need a fishing rod.

"Well, that's not bad either. Although I don't really know how to fish."

"Spirits don't make mistakes, Harry. Come with me. I'll take you to the headman."

Groaning, the shaman rose from the ground and slowly wandered along the houses. I followed him, asking him questions about the empire and the surroundings.

"That's right, there is such an empire. Yes, people live there. And they have a blue-blooded heir, who still has milk on his lips. The spirits told me everything about him long ago."

"Oh, how. And what do we know about him? Is he really a threat?"

"Yes," the shaman sighed heavily. "The thing is that he is also a time traveler, only in his past life he was a retired special forces soldier who ended up in the body of a youngster. And now this youngster boss is doing God knows what. I told the emperor a long time ago that there is actually an old man in his son's body. But would anyone listen to me, a shaman from the Second? The most interesting thing is that the magicians there did not notice anything like that, not even the mentalists. It seems to me that a youngster bought them, or someone else who cares about a youngster. I would get rid of such an heir, sending the brave warrior where he belongs. But I can't."

"And where does it belong?"

"Somewhere in a trench during the war. If he's such a cool special forces soldier, let him survive, and not wallow in luxury."

"Things-a-a-a-a-a-a…"

In fact, a thought flashed through my mind: now the shaman will suddenly decide or the spirits will tell him that I am the chosen one after all and must remove this heir by any means necessary. But no, he remained silent. Although I still won't be able to do anything in my current situation. I should find out what's going on here about magic—it's one of the ways to become stronger. No matter how you look at it, magic will come in handy.

The shaman, whose name I learned only at the very end of our conversation—Aman—brought me to the elder. He, like any other man here, was busy—chopping wood with a huge axe. It is worth hitting someone on the head even once with the blunt side of this tool—and a skull fracture is guaranteed.

"Headman, here is a new arrival. This is Harry," the shaman introduced me.

The headman, a tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired man with a stern look in his brown eyes and a thick beard, glanced at me and said in a bass voice:

"What did the spirits say?"

"He will be a good fisherman."

"A fisherman is good. A fisherman is necessary. Thank you, Aman. Leave us alone."

And the shaman slowly left. The elder put the cleaver aside and came up to me, holding out his hand.

"My name is Rost."

I shook his hand and tried not to wince in pain. His hand was too strong.

"Harry. Nice to meet you."

"You'll go fishing in the morning. I'll send you with Rumo. I heard you've already met him. I'll give you everything you need personally in the morning, under your responsibility. If you break anything, you'll have to work it off. Got it?"

"Certainly."

"Great. Hungry, I guess?"

"Yes, I wouldn't mind eating."

"You have to earn food. Help me with firewood and you'll get dinner."

"Okay. What should I do?"

"There's a wheelbarrow over there," the headman pointed into the distance. "You take it, put the firewood I chopped in it, and take it to the woodshed, which is right around the corner. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Well, let's get to work. These firewood won't chop themselves."

As a city dweller, I felt uncomfortable when I grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and rolled it. And they do this every day here.

However, after some time I began to get used to it, so I had no problem putting the firewood in a wheelbarrow and taking it to the woodshed. However, when the headman saw that I had simply dumped it all in one pile, he reprimanded me. How was I supposed to know that I also had to stack it carefully? It would be fine if there was an example of how everything should be done. I would have sent him and all the residents of this village, but you can't do that, because surviving alone will be many times harder. I already sent one—and ended up here. In the future, I will be more careful. Well, I will try, in any case, and then we'll see how it goes.