Chapter 15
– What experiment? – Integra and I asked the question at the same time.
Seeing such unanimity mixed with genuine incomprehension in our eyes, the healer even became a little embarrassed, and the anger on his face gave way to thoughtfulness. Ignoring us completely, Smethwick clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing around his desk. About three times around, his gaze caught the wooden minibar on the wall. The healer, still silent, approached, took out a bottle of whiskey, waved his wand, transformed the cork into a glass, filled it almost to the brim, and drank it down in one gulp. Then he poured another half-glass and replaced the bottle. Holding his wand in his right hand and the glass of whiskey in his left, Hippocrates approached us and began to stare intently at Integra. Then he turned his gaze to me and quietly asked:
– Rigel, please tell me. Who. Did. This. To. You?
– My aunt and uncle. When my real parents died, they gave me to my mother’s sister. – It was hard to remember, but maybe a healer could explain why they thought I was a Squib? Why they were wrong? Because of that mistake, I had to endure real hell. – They hated me: my uncle often beat me, and my aunt made me work a lot and didn’t give me food. And then… Then… Vernon hurt me so much… And I killed them. No one will ever hurt me again!
Before I could finish my last sentence, I felt someone’s arms around me. Raising my head and turning slightly, I realized my adoptive mother had crouched down and hugged me from behind. My body tensed involuntarily from the sudden contact, but I forced myself to relax my muscles and calm down.
“The police couldn’t figure out how she ended up with her relatives.” While I was recovering, Integra decided to tell me a brief biography. “A family of real sadists, these creatures abused the girl for over four years, and five months ago, the ‘uncle’ actually molested a child. Rigel, in a fit of rage, stabbed her relatives to death with a kitchen knife while they slept. Then there was a long period of treatment; the doctors literally pulled the girl back from the brink, and after the hospital, they placed her in an orphanage sponsored by my Order. That’s where I took her from…”
– Healer, what experiment were you talking about? – He clearly knows something about both the mysterious experiment and me.
Hippocrates flexed his jaw muscles, then sighed heavily and began to speak, simply ignoring my question:
“As a reminder, as a healer, I can’t reveal my patients’ secrets, and according to the magical contract, I can’t divulge information about the Hellsing estate to anyone.” He looked at Integra. “You know who the girl’s real parents are, right?”
“Yes, I checked that information.” Integra seemed determined to reveal nothing to the mediwitch. “But I still don’t understand why she was simply kicked out of the magical world.”
“Dumbledore,” I whispered softly. It seemed that today was a day of revelations; maybe my memories would clarify something. “I remember. I remember everything…”
Silence fell over the room after my words. Lady Hellsing hugged me even tighter, and Smethwick, after standing there stunned for a moment, downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, placed the glass on the table, and dropped to one knee in front of me.
“Girl, please tell us everything you remember! It will help us reconstruct the events and understand what really happened.” I tensed up as much as I could and felt sympathy, subdued anger, and even interest or curiosity from the healer. The latter emotions were the most vivid.
– I remember that night, HE came to our house. From the first floor, Dad screamed at Mom to grab Harry and me and run. Mom locked herself in our room, but HE just blew the door down and said that he only wanted the children, and that she could leave. Mom… She didn’t leave… She didn’t abandon her… HE killed her… And then a transparent film appeared in front of me and a green flash reflected back. The spark from the flash hit Harry, and that terrible man crumbled into black dust. – I caught my breath, a lump in my throat and a strong sting in my nose.
“Merlin’s beard, it’s true! Avada really was reflected!” the healer exclaimed admiringly and added seriously, “So that’s where these streams of magic come from. What else do you remember? Please continue.”
– Then there was a white ceiling and a hospital bed. Some woman in a lime cloak tells Dumbledore that I’m a Squib and he shakes his head. Then Uncle Siri appeared, I remember him… And the disgust on his face when he said that he would only take my brother, and me… He doesn’t need me… That I… It’s easier to finish off! I… I am of no use to anyone… They gave me to the Dursleys!!! FOR WHAT?! WHY DID THEY DO THIS TO ME?! WHY WERE THEY WRONG?! I FEEL MY MAGIC!!! – I was already screaming the last words, reliving that damned night again. It seems that I was overcome with hysterics. Despite the memories of my past life, I am still a six-year-old girl, hormones and emotions are taking their toll.
“Darling, calm down, I need you, don’t cry! Look how worried Victoria is, and she’d tear anyone to pieces for you.” Integra hugged me and continued whispering soothing nonsense in my ear.
I glanced at the vampiress, and wow: her eyes were blazing furiously, her jaw was clenched tightly, and in her hands she was holding some fragments of what had once been the back of an oak chair. I glanced at Smethwick: for a couple of minutes, his face was extremely thoughtful, as if the healer had withdrawn deeply into himself. Then he beamed and smiled contentedly, silently pulling the half-empty bottle of whiskey toward himself and pouring two fingers’ worth. He chuckled contentedly and sipped from the glass. Hippocrates had clearly realized something; I wouldn’t be surprised if he started yelling “Eureka.”
“They weren’t mistaken. And you, girl, are very lucky!” He smiled broadly, but under my gaze, it quickly faded, returning the conversation to maximum seriousness. “Let’s calm down and I’ll explain everything. Today I realized once again that magic doesn’t know the word ‘impossible’!”
By this time, I had fully recovered, and Integra had returned to her “Iron Lady” persona. We moved to the leather sofa; my foster mother sat to my right, still squeezing my hand, and Victoria settled herself on the armrest to my left. The healer stood before us and began to lecture in a lecturing tone.
“First, I’ll explain the difference between Squibs and weaklings, and who ‘true mages’ are.” He waved his wand, and an illusion appeared before us—or rather, a schematic drawing of a man, with a golden orb the size of a large orange shining in the chest area. The orb pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and various lines radiated from it throughout his body, somewhat reminiscent of the circulatory or nervous system. The healer enlarged the illusion slightly and continued:
“It’s common knowledge that the so-called core is responsible for the production and accumulation of magical energy.” The orange in the diagram grew slightly larger and glowed red. “The larger and more powerful the core, the greater the magic reserve the wizard has, and the more powerful the spells they can cast. The core develops with the wizard throughout their life, but its most active growth occurs between the ages of ten and twenty. During this period, development occurs in waves, and the more intense the training, the greater the ultimate progress!”
“How do I train him? And what does my little sister and her luck have to do with it?” Victoria was clearly interested.
“Don’t interrupt! So, where was I? Oh, right.” Hippocrates waved his wand, and the “circulatory system” glowed bright yellow. “A wizard’s body also contains magical channels, which are responsible for conducting magic throughout the body and absorbing it from the environment. That’s why wizards prefer to live in magically saturated areas, and Hogwarts is located on the most powerful source in Britain. Training the core is very simple: this entire system is like a muscle—the more and more often you cast magic, the faster it develops. But you need to know when to stop and follow the correct technique; you can’t cast powerful spells right away! Firstly, you won’t have enough magic, and secondly, a sudden drain on all your reserves can damage both the core itself and burn out all the magical channels leading to Morgana.”
“I get it, mages can accumulate magic to cast spells, and squibs don’t have a core, but how do they see magic then?” “I think I’m starting to get it.”
“You’re not quite right, young lady.” The healer waved his wand again, and a black pea appeared where the orange had been. The magic channels had thinned considerably, but there were more of them. “Squibs do have a core, albeit a tiny one, incapable of either absorbing or producing magic. However, the magic channels are present and can absorb surrounding magic! Due to the saturated nature of their bodies, Squibs can see things hidden from Muggles, and are also capable of using simple artifacts and reading magical books. But that’s not the main point! With due diligence and training, Squibs can strengthen and fortify their own bodies, since they absorb magic and have nowhere to expend it. Therefore, such intelligent beings are stronger and faster than ordinary people; their average lifespan, with proper training, is, of course, approximately one hundred and fifty years.
“Is that why they’re banished from the magical world?” Integra was now interested. “Do wizards think Squibs steal magic?”
“Yes, you’re right, it’s an old prejudice.” Smethwick grimaced. “Wizards voluntarily supply the Inquisition and your Order with future soldiers. Not every parent would dare kill their child or erase their memory; such children are simply thrown out onto the street or sent to the nearest orphanage. After all, a Squib is a ‘disgrace to the whole family’! Idiots don’t understand that the ‘disgrace to the family’ will later grow up and happily join your organization, where they’ll have a chance at revenge and justice.”
“That’s all clear, but how did they think I was a Squib? Why do you say they weren’t mistaken?” “The lecture was certainly interesting, but I still don’t understand how I’m involved in this.”
“Don’t rush, girl, we’ll get to you soon.” He waved his wand again, and the pea turned from black to gold and grew to the size of a bean, while the structure of the magic channels almost returned to its previous projection. That is, the structure is like a mage’s, but the channels themselves are very thin. “That’s what a weakling looks like. Its core is capable of storing and generating magic, but it’s so tiny that the reserve isn’t enough for even the simplest Lumos. Forget Lumos, you can’t even send a spark from the wand.”
The healer lit a small white ball on the tip of his index finger and admired the wide-eyed audience. Pleased with our reaction, he dispelled the spell and continued.
“That’s exactly why most healers confuse squibs and weaklings, because the initial diagnostics show almost identical results. And you, girl, after the spell of he-who-must-not-be-named, became precisely weakling!” He pointed a satisfied finger at me. “Some kind of protection was placed on you and your brother. I have no idea what it was, but it was clearly something ancient and dark, and sacrifices were involved. It activated, but your childish core simply couldn’t withstand the enormous flow of magic and collapsed, going into defense, so to speak. This is a unique case, and you’re very lucky it didn’t burn out, or you would have become a squib.”
“But why did the core awaken? How did Rigel become a full-fledged mage? I’ve never heard of a weakling being able to perform any serious magic.” Integra leaned forward.
“And that’s the reason for my rage at the end of the diagnostics.” The Healer thought for a moment. “As is well known, such half-wizards can’t use wands or other concentrators; they simply lack the strength. Therefore, they can’t properly train and develop their core and magical channels, but they can strengthen their bodies and try to squeeze out crumbs of magic through high-conductivity concentrators, or charge their magic accumulators drop by drop. There are a couple of cases in history where such half-wizards, by the age of over a hundred, could cast Lumos or the simplest charms of a first-year Hogwarts student, but they lived in a place of power and trained to the point of exhaustion every day, their entire lives.”
– So there’s a quick way? – I think I understand what Smethwick is talking about.
“Yes, you’re right.” Hippocrates looked at Integra with displeasure. “About thirty years ago, I came across the memoirs of Bishop Matthew Barlow, who served your ancestor, Philip Hellsing. During the Witch Hunts, they tried to turn a weakling into a true mage. The logic was simple: since the subject can’t produce much magic, but can absorb it from the environment almost limitlessly, they needed to figure out how to spend it. And those sick bastards figured it out! And they started crippling their subjects! Magic, obeying the survival instinct, healed wounds and injuries. And as the torture and mutilation increased, more and more was needed. In this way, they deliberately enlarged the core and strengthened the weakling’s magic channels, but the development was very slow, and the subjects simply went mad from the constant torture. Or their bodies simply couldn’t cope, resulting in death. Bishop Barlow then suggested that some kind of trigger was needed, something that would trigger a sharp and explosive growth of the nucleus. They required intense stress or a sudden emotional outburst, and these experimenters almost succeeded.
– What did they do? – I felt very uneasy.
“They raped and tortured the wife and young daughter of the most promising test subject for a long time, right in front of him, of course. But alas, they achieved no result—he, unable to bear to watch, managed to gnaw through his own wrists and died, and the executioners were so carried away that they didn’t immediately notice. Then Philip himself died, and his son banned such research.” Smethwick sighed heavily and glanced guiltily at Integra. “So I assumed you found old notes and decided to repeat your ancestor’s experiment. Sorry for jumping to conclusions.”
“This… This is too inhumane, and besides, it doesn’t make sense. With today’s technology, a well-trained and equipped sorcerer or a weakling can easily stand up to an average mage.” Integra looked closely at the healer. “I hope you haven’t told anyone else about what my ancestors did?”
“I’m quite the cynic, and I have my own personal cemetery… But things like this are too much even for me. After reading it, I burned that book, and you’re the first people I’ve told about it. And that’s only because the forgotten story directly concerns you.” He turned his gaze to me and sighed sadly. “And your trigger, girl, as terrible as it sounds, was your ‘uncle’s’ abuse. That event unleashed a wave of emotions, and the extreme stress finally triggered and stabilized your core. You’re lucky you didn’t go crazy and stayed alive. Not every adult can survive something like that; you’re a true girl-who-lived.”
We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. I wasn’t thinking about anything, I just felt disgusted, and I tried to push the memories of the Dursleys into the farthest, darkest corner of my mind. Integra rose from the sofa and silently walked over to the table where the half-empty bottle sat, and Hippocrates, also silently, turned the handle on the table into another glass and poured three fingers for both of them. Lady Hellsing nodded in response and took out a cigarette case.
In the end, the adults sipped whiskey and smoked cigarillos in silence. Everyone had something to think about.
– What about treatment and rehabilitation? – Integra stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray on the table.
“It’s both simple and complex.” The healer repeated her actions. “We’ll prescribe the same course of potions that wealthy prisoners take after Azkaban; her body will be fully restored within a month. We’ll remove the malunion bones and regrow them with bone-growing grafts, which will take a couple of days. There’s also a potion for hair growth; right now, the young lady looks more like a boy. But most of the scars and marks on her body will remain, as will any damage to her reproductive system. Magic isn’t omnipotent.
– Why? Why can’t I be cured completely?! – Despair and anger washed over me.
“Besides the physical body, there’s also an energetic component, the so-called aura or ‘subtle body.'” Smethwick again created the illusion of a person with a core and channels. “For this reason, wounds inflicted by magical creatures, dark curses, or enchanted weapons cannot be completely healed, and limbs lost in such cases cannot be regrown. The damage is immediately recorded not only in the physical body, but also in the subtle body. In your case, too much time has passed; your aura has already memorized this damage. Magical medicine is capable of much, but only if help is sought promptly. I’m very sorry.”
– There’s absolutely nothing that can be done? – I have a gut feeling there has to be a way. Magic can do anything!
“There is one way, but it’s unrealistic.” The healer looked into my hopeful eyes and continued, “A sip of the elixir of life will restore the body to perfect condition. But Flamel hasn’t appeared in public for a couple of hundred years, and no one knows where or with whom he lives. They’ve even stopped looking for him because there are no more seekers. And believe me, they didn’t die the easiest deaths. We’re talking about a mage who’s lived for six hundred years and who is very powerful, cruel, and extremely vengeful. And he certainly won’t help anyone from the Hellsing family. So forget it, don’t get your hopes up.
“I understand, Healer.” I quietly lowered my head, feigning humility, but secretly grinned contentedly and rubbed my hands. “In the movie, in our first year, Dumbledore brought the Philosopher’s Stone to school as bait for Voldie, and for that stone, I’ll gut them both! Hmm… I wonder if I tied Dumbledore up with his own beard, cast Imperio on the centaur with the biggest dick, and forced him to fuck the old bastard, would Albus get his boost?” I was distracted from my pleasant thoughts by the melodic clinking of glass on the oak table as the healer unloaded stacks of potion vials from a velvet box.
“This is for the first week, I’ll bring the rest at my next visit.” Smetvik handed Integra a written parchment. “There are detailed instructions here that must be followed strictly, otherwise you’ll ruin the entire treatment! It’s best to adjust the bones right at the beginning. I recommend taking a couple of drops of hair growth potion once a week to avoid any unnecessary questions. It should grow back to the desired length in just a couple of months.”
I realized that the healer was about to leave and decided to ask a couple of personal questions.
– Mr. Smethwick, excuse me, but do you know where Harry lives and with whom? How is my brother doing? – It was important to me, I don’t even understand why. What if Black wasn’t trusted with the child?
“Don’t worry, he’s living under Sirius Black’s care. The boy is growing up in warmth and care.” The Healer frowned slightly. “The only thing is, he’s overly spoiled, but I think that will pass with age.”
– If Harry is being raised by Sirius, then where are our grandparents? – I’ll ask Integra about my mother’s side of the family later.
“Alas, a couple of months before that fateful Halloween, they died of dragon pox. There was a real epidemic then, and many respected wizards died.” Hippocrates shook his head sadly. “Any more questions?”
“No, I found out everything I wanted. Thank you.” I nodded politely. “So, Harry’s living with the flea-bitten one, well, at least one of us will have a normal childhood.”
“Mr. Smethwick, Victoria will show you the way. I want to thank you again for your visit.” Interga nodded politely to the healer and turned to me: “Rigel, it’s time for you to go to your room. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Hippocrates headed out under the vampire’s escort, and I went to my room. I had a lot to think about, and Vasya needed a good talking to; the scaly one had been getting quite brazen lately.
***
Once the office was empty, Lady Hellsing allowed herself to relax and lounged on the sofa, putting her feet up on the armrest.
“What do you think?” She asked the void tiredly.
“He’s not lying.” A quiet, insinuating voice came from a dark corner of the room, followed by the slow, deliberate emergence of an ancient vampire in his familiar, old-fashioned black suit and red cloak.
“I’m not talking about the healer; everything is clear with him.” Integra sat up and looked at Alucard. “Hippocrates is a fanatic about his work, and this is such a unique case. I’m sure he won’t rest until he’s examined the girl thoroughly, and he’ll be overseeing the treatment personally anyway. I’m talking about something else.”
“The old man has nothing to do with it.” In one invisible movement, Alucard found himself on the sofa, his right hand resting on the woman’s shoulder. The vampire gently pulled his interlocutor closer.
– Are you sure? – Integra finally relaxed and laid her head on his chest.
“Only the Creator can be completely sure.” Alucard tilted his head so that his lips almost touched the Mistress’s sweet ear and continued to whisper ingratiatingly. “I carefully examined the house and the surrounding area; no residual traces, not a single tracker. Nothing. She really was simply thrown out of the magical world and tried to be forgotten. They even put someone’s child’s body in her grave, I checked.”
“No one showed up at the hospital either, the cameras would have caught the intruder.” The lady pressed herself closer to the vampire and placed her right hand on his shoulder. “So the old puppeteer copied her from the chessboard, and he almost lost the last game.”
“You’re right.” The man’s ingratiating voice and hot breath sent shivers down the woman’s spine. “One family had a real go at the old man, and besides, he’s lost all influence over the Chosen One’s childhood. And the war he’d conceived as a fight between a beaver and a donkey has turned into a mere division of resources and the settling of old scores.”
“I wonder what he’s planning for the second game? The old man holds a very grudge and won’t forgive past grievances.” Integra rubbed her cheek against the ancient monster’s chest. “He won’t be able to get to our girl’s brother before school, which means he’ll start setting up his pieces on the board the year the Chosen One enters Hogwarts.”
“Did you decide to slip him a ready-made queen, disguised as a simple pawn?” Alucard gently nipped at the Mistress’s earlobe, stealing her soft moan. “There’s still time, and the only thing left is a good teacher. I’m sure you’ve already chosen the right candidate. When are you coming to visit?”
“Treatment and rehabilitation will take a long time, and school…” Lady Hellsing ran her claws down the vampire’s neck. “So not before summer. I’ll take the girl with me; she’ll enjoy visiting another country and meeting her mentor in person. There are more diverse wizarding shops there, and a wider selection of educational literature. She’s not allowed in the magical territories of Britain before Hogwarts, but after the ritual, no one will recognize her there.”
“Aren’t you afraid of sending your heiress to the old spider’s domain?” Nosferatu ran the tip of his tongue along his lady’s velvety neck, who closed her eyes in satisfaction at his actions. “I can remove the student contract mark, then you can send the girl to any other school.”
“This is her revenge and her test.” The woman turned her head so that their lips almost met. “Everything must be won through struggle, remember? Mortals only value what is earned through pain and suffering. Will you watch over her?”
“You know I haven’t interfered in mortal affairs for centuries. I prefer to observe.” He looked into the blue eyes so dear to his heart and feigned a sigh. “Fine, but I’ll only help in the most extreme cases, when she’s on the brink of death. And my help will be minimal.”
“And I ask for nothing more.” Integra leaned forward and tenderly kissed the ancient monster. This was HER monster, whose presence nearby made her heart beat faster.
Alucard growled animalistically and turned the kiss from gentle to passionate. The vampire’s free hand began to slide over the woman’s beloved body, lingering in certain places. But after a couple of minutes, Integra managed to overcome herself and, breathing heavily, pulled away slightly.
“A week without sweets, remember?” She looked with a satisfied smile into the red pools in which splashed the resentment and melancholy of the entire Jewish people, wandering in the desert in 1939.
“You’re too cruel,” the vampire whispered, feigning resentment. “Can you handle it yourself?”
“I always keep my word.” She winked at Alucard and folded her arms virtuously across her chest. “Victoria and I will somehow survive this week.”
