Chapter 23
At the end of November, Integra traveled to southwest Britain with her daughter—she’d been referring to the girl only by that name for the past year. Their destination was Godric’s Hollow, where the graves of Rigel’s biological parents were located. Her daughter’s Halloween request greatly upset Lady Hellsing, as it meant that Potter and Evans were still dear to her.
For the first time in her life, Integra felt jealousy, which was quite vexing. Rigel was her only daughter, period! If the bespectacled idiot and the red-haired slut were still alive, she would kill them without a second thought. Lady Hellsing wasn’t used to sharing, and the dossier she’d compiled on the two wizarding idiots only strengthened her jealousy— they were simply unworthy of a place in her daughter’s heart. Before Hogwarts, Rigel would receive the collected documents for review; she had to know the truth, no matter how bitter it might be.
No one guessed, but the last Hellsing’s greatest dream was to have a child. Perhaps only Alucard knew this, as the only one to see her tears and survive. Integra did not despair even after receiving the “sentence” from the mediwizards at St. Mungo’s. The genuine joy in the eyes of the bastards calling themselves doctors could not break her, but only provoked rage and a keen desire to repeat the greatest pastime of the age of fires. To this day, thoughts of their cowardly cries, filled with pain and despair, in the flames bring a tender smile to the Iron Lady.
Despite the infertility verdict, Integra, stubborn as she was, still underwent IVF four times, but the result was the same: the fetus’s heart stopped beating. It was painful, very painful, and she cursed her ancestors for their shortsightedness and carelessness—it took a lot of work to accumulate so many posthumous curses.
The Hellsings have always been sadists and murderers, wiping out magical families, leaving only a single member. And only so the unfortunate soul could copy books from the family library, protected from reading and copying by outsiders. Once the prisoner completed his work, his fate was unenviable—enemies or those targeted by the Crown rarely died an easy death. The Hellsing family is still feared and hated, and frankly, with good reason. Even the adoption of the Statute had no effect on the activities of the Crown’s watchdogs; they continue to kill mages and train loyal soldiers for the Empire.
Integra’s thoughts turned to the ancient vampire, and she smiled warmly. Alucard had offered her an adoption ritual, finding the perfect candidate: a sorceress, an orphan who had survived terrible events. The vampire had received a positive response even before she met the child, as a simple ritual with minimal risks was the ideal solution to the problem of finding an heir. If the child died in the event of failure, no matter; there were plenty of children at the orphanage, and there was still time.
But when she first met this girl’s eyes, she immediately remembered herself at twelve. The child had exactly the same look, the look of someone who had been through a lot of shit and expected only the worst from life. The same look she had after playing hide-and-seek with her “beloved” uncle and his henchmen in the estate’s secret dungeon.
After the death of Arthur, Integra’s father, that bastard Richard decided to take over the Order, which required eliminating its main rival—his own niece. As interim leader, he sent Walter on a mission in India and, having freed himself from the obstacle, went to kill his brother’s daughter. Integra was lucky that her butler left two reliable fighters with her—they shielded her, and she, taking a bullet to the shoulder, was able to use a secret passageway designed for a child but too narrow for grown men.
This path led her to the farthest chamber, where Alucard slept, whom she awakened by accidentally splashing his sarcophagus with blood. The ancient monster recognized her as his Mistress, easily and joyfully killed her uncle’s thugs, and tore off Richard’s arms and legs. Integra approached the bleeding stump with relish and, before pumping a bullet into her uncle’s overly intelligent head, shot him several times in the stomach. His pain-filled screams at that moment sounded to her like the most beautiful symphony.
At first, she viewed Rigel as a doll or just another subordinate, but gradually she grew attached. The girl turned out to be smart and very independent, and her tenacity would have been the envy of many adults. Integra didn’t understand her feelings, but she genuinely enjoyed them. She had never known parental love and care, raised from a young age by the “Angel of Death,” Walter, who was later joined by an ancient monster. Integra simply didn’t know how to behave with a little girl, and Rigel, who had spent most of her short life in hell, was also in no hurry to open up to her. And while the situation with the girl was clear, Integra herself…
She always tried to cherish the bright image of her father, but only after becoming head of the Order did she gain access to the archives. Until that day, Integra hadn’t even known her mother’s name; she’d been told briefly, “She’s from India and died in childbirth. Period.” Walter tried to persuade her not to touch the documents, but he couldn’t overcome the Hellsing family’s stubbornness. The mysterious mother turned out to be a common prostitute from a Bombay brothel who managed to get pregnant by a valiant English baron. Arthur was quite the wanderer, and if not for the weakling magic that sustained his health, he would surely have acquired every known venereal disease. And a couple of unknown ones, too. Every time he returned from a business trip, he first ran to the brothel and only then, in a cloud of musk, sweat, and cheap whore perfume, went to his daughter.
Her mother was killed on her father’s orders immediately after the birth and the child’s parentage was checked. The woman was simply given a lethal injection, and what happened to the body was unknown. At the end of the document was a simple note: “Body disposed of.” Integra understood that this was her father’s way of looking after her and the Order; the Crown would simply not have tolerated such a misalliance. How could this be, a whore’s daughter a baroness?! Unthinkable. Therefore, all information concerning her mother was strictly classified, and the doctors who delivered her went missing.
In place of a father, Integra was raised by the Ordnen’s finest and most prolific assassin, Walter K. Dornez, aka the “Angel of Death.” It was he who instilled in her a life-view from an early age, which, understandably, wasn’t particularly humanitarian. Then came Alucard, who wanted his Mistress to become a worthy heir to their cruel and merciless ancestors. So, while Integra knew, practiced, and practiced how to deal with enemies and adversaries, she had no idea how to express her feelings for a child living under the same roof. It was much easier to conduct another intense interrogation in the dungeons—she loved that; it calmed her nerves so well.
Everything changed when Sergei suggested killing the girl. Integra lost it, as they say, “her visor fell off”—she was ready to protect her child at any cost. It was then that she realized Rigel was no longer just a living doll, but the very daughter Integra had always dreamed of. Then came Occlumency lessons, during which the woman spent hours answering questions and simply conversing with Rigel, growing increasingly attached to the child and sensing that the feeling was mutual. The girl, too, was drawn to her, warming her heart and soul. Integra remembered those sleepless nights when her daughter sorted through her memories: how she sobbed in her sleep, screamed incoherently, and called out for someone. Then Lady Hellsing would stealthily and quietly sneak through her own home to the child’s bed and hug her until the morning, trying to help in any way she could. And when Rigel became quiet and began to snore rhythmically in her sleep, the woman also left, secretly and quietly.
Integra had long wanted to openly call Rigel her daughter, but deep down she was afraid. She feared the girl would push her away, become frightened, and withdraw completely, but she desperately longed to hear her call her ” mama .” And yet, there was still the ritual ahead, the thought of which made Integra’s insides freeze. She would not allow her daughter to die! She would have to have a serious talk with Rigel, and if she had any doubts, then call it off. After all, it wasn’t for nothing that the girl had asked to visit her parents’ graves; that meant she still loved them and mourned them.
It was decided! Today, no, better yet, tomorrow, she would call the girl her daughter, tell her about the ritual, and come what may. As Walter said, there shouldn’t be any secrets in a family, and Rigel was her family. Lady Hellsing fervently hoped the girl felt the same way.
Integra was pulled from her sad thoughts by her daughter’s touch. She gently squeezed her hand, bringing her back to reality.
“Lady Integra, we’re almost there, entering Godric’s Hollow in five minutes,” Walter said in his usual polite, monotone voice, lowering the window between the driver and passengers.
***
We stopped in the village’s central square, near a monument hidden by a spell from ordinary people. We got out of the car and headed toward it, Walter following behind like a silent shadow. As I approached to read the plaque on the pedestal, my fists involuntarily clenched until my knuckles turned white. The inscription read:
The noble hero James Potter with his heir and
the conqueror of the dark lord, Harry Potter.
Lily Evans with her daughter
A stately young man with glasses and flowing robes stood on a granite base, looking proudly upward. He held a baby in his arms, just like the father of the baby, who was looking into the distance. The sculpture was incredibly detailed, as if crafted by an ancient master; it was truly a beautiful and intricate work. However, next to the man, a woman knelt with some kind of bundle in her hands, gazing at her hero with obsequiousness and servility. While James was beautifully crafted, Lily’s statue was clearly the work of the sculptor’s worst apprentice—it turned out crude, sloppy, and very different, downright jarring. And as for the pose… From our “Bonnie and Clyde” movies, I learned that the worst humiliation at Hogwarts is being “forced to your knees.” Why? Because traditional sex is impossible at school; complex charms have been in place since the time of the founders.
Only a thousand years ago, words like fellatio and cunnilingus weren’t known, so the castle’s enchantments don’t consider them sexual acts. And how the heirs of the most ancient and noble families enjoy themselves, I think, goes without saying. That’s where Laurie got the scar across half her face: she refused to take a noblewoman’s pussy in her mouth, for which she was severely beaten. But the brats weren’t satisfied with that and even doused her face with an acid potion. School officials ruled it was simply a “prank gone wrong,” and the young freaks were docked points and given detentions. That’s all. That’s how they punish bullying Muggleborns at school.
How symbolic: the mudblood is kneeling before the pureblood, James only has to unzip his fly – judging by the position of the woman’s head, she is ready for anything.
I really wanted to ask the butler for a grenade; somehow, I was sure he had one. But we don’t need any extra noise or attention right now; I’ll definitely destroy THIS later. I also added to my mental notes: “find the sculptor, chop off his hands and gouge out his eyes”; the Ministry of Magic archives should have that information. I’ll find that jerk, if only to stop him from doing such atrocities again. Mom put her hand on my shoulder and began to gently stroke it, helping me calm down.
We walked down a quiet village street toward Potter’s house, which was located on the very outskirts next to the cemetery. I can’t say anything about the settlement itself; it’s just a typical village. The houses are monotonous, we barely saw anyone on the street, and there are no bright signs or anything particularly memorable. As far as I can tell, it’s a mixed settlement, inhabited by wizards and ordinary folk, which is why the appearance is so dreary and monotonous—outsiders would simply drive by and immediately forget. Conspiracy, sir.
When we approached the house, or rather, what was left of it, I began to examine everything carefully. As I recall, a green flash reflected off the filth, and it crumbled to dust. That’s it, there was no magical battle or explosions. In a past life, I was in a house after a gas cylinder exploded, and a wall was blown out, part of the roof collapsed, and the owners were scattered piece by piece across the rooms; forensic experts spent half a day putting together a construction set. Something similar happened here: part of the roof and the walls of the second floor were missing, as if they had been blown away by a powerful explosion, all the windows were blown out, and where the front door should have been, there was an ugly hole in the wall. Very strange.
– Is something wrong? – Mom looked at me carefully.
“Yes, I remember that night. There was no fighting, no explosions, and the nursery was almost completely destroyed. But I was there. After Avada was repelled, the room remained intact, but here? Look!” I pointed at the destroyed part of the house. “It’s as if someone had destroyed everything there on purpose.”
“Do you remember what the healer said about protecting you and your brother?” Integra tilted her head and looked at me expectantly.
“A very dark and ancient ritual, and they require sacrifices, human ones at that.” The puzzle begins to come together. “You think they covered their tracks this way? Someone arrived before the Aurors and faked a brutal battle? Sounds logical.”
“Don’t forget, James and Lily were in the Order of the Phoenix and ‘fought the darkness’ under the leadership of a certain bearded old man. And where Lily found a description of such a rare ritual, I think, needs no explanation. Back then, riding the wave of general joy, the press was actively writing about the power of love, and the funniest thing is, ordinary people believed this fairy tale.” The woman pointed to the fence. “Another plaque, I wonder what’s there?”
Here, on October 31, 1981, the noble James Potter and the Muggle-born Lily Evans were murdered. James’s son, the great Harry Potter, became the only wizard in the world to survive the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to foolish Muggles, was left untouched as a memorial to Potter and a reminder of the evil force that robbed us of a noble pureblood wizard and left little Harry an orphan.
– This is already the second sign, and not a word about me. – I looked closely at my mother. – You know why, right?
“You’ll understand everything soon.” Integra sighed sadly, took my hand, and led me toward the cemetery.
We wandered around the small cemetery for about fifteen minutes before finding the graves we were looking for. Next to a large black stone monument were two simple gravestones.
What bitches! They didn’t just throw me out of the wizarding world, they buried me fucking alive! Now I understand why Mom didn’t want to come here. I look at MY grave and feel nothing. When I first woke up, I wanted revenge, I wanted to kill all those filthy creatures. But then my brain settled down a bit, and the desire to “kill them all and be left alone” transformed into a thirst for change. Hermione and I would sometimes spend hours discussing what and how we could change the wizarding world for the better.
Right now, I just don’t care! In the movies, the loser from his past life was resurrected at the end of his fourth year, great! Let’s not interfere with him, let him sow death and destruction; the more wizards die, the better! And when he sticks his mug back into the mundane world, well, we’ll just finish off the rest. I’ll specifically wait until the dark lord rises to power and starts wreaking havoc; then he and his lackeys will face the fires of retribution. To achieve power, to feel like the master of destinies, and then lose everything… I couldn’t help but grin. The main thing is that his path is as bloody as possible; those cowardly creatures deserve to have their ranks thoroughly thinned.
It’s surprising that a mudblood was buried next to a pureblood, even spelling his name correctly. The inscription on Potter’s large monument read:
James Potter (March 27, 1960 – October 31, 1981)
The last enemy to be destroyed is death.
Lily and I had simpler headstones, just our names and the years we lived. The graves were neat and tidy, and considering it was just Halloween, there were plenty of flowers. I pulled a bouquet of white lilies from my bag and placed them on my biological mother’s grave.
Thank you, Lily, you died for us, I will never forget that. But I’m not here only or primarily out of gratitude… I want to say goodbye. Thanks to your sacrifice, I was able to find a new family; the woman next to me is now my mother. I hope your new life will be longer and better than the last, thank you.
“Goodbye, I will always remember you.” I knelt down and placed my hand on the gravestone. That cursed night flashed before my eyes. I wonder how Harry is? Well, let’s not talk about sad things. I stood up, brushed my knees, and turned to Integra:
– Mom, let’s go home.
“What did you say? What did you call me?” Mom looked at me in shock. Considering the mask of imperturbability that had literally grown on her, this was very unusual. Although… Honestly, it was very difficult to name her that; I prepared for a long time.
– Mom, because you are my mom . Or are you against it?
“Daughter.” Integra hoarsely exhaled one word and, dropping to one knee, hugged me tightly. And I felt the shoulders of this unyielding woman tremble.
Damn empathy, what a storm of emotions washed over me: joy, relief, happiness, and, probably, love? I simply couldn’t take it anymore and started crying too, clinging tightly to my mother. I had no idea it was so important to her. Although I have no idea what’s important to parents – I never had any. Integra was the first one who showed concern for me. I need to be more attentive to those around me. What was the saying? “Keeping my eyes on the road, but ending up in the nettles.” What nonsense is creeping into my head.
I don’t know how long we stood like that, maybe a couple of minutes, maybe a couple of hours, but Walter’s tactful cough brought us back to reality. How he does it, I have no idea. And yet, it turns out, this was the first time I’d ever received a mother’s hug in both my lives. I need to remember this day! I pulled away from my mother and glanced at the butler, who stood with his back to us, looking into the distance.
“Lady Integra, young mistress, it’s time for us to head to the estate. It’ll be getting dark soon.” He turned his head slightly. “You don’t want to miss dinner, do you?”
“Of course, Walter, we’re going.” Integra took my hand and pulled me toward the exit.
“Mom, just a couple of minutes, I still have something to do.” I carefully freed my hand and walked up to the tombstone with my name. Who hasn’t dreamed of dancing on their own grave? So I did the cancan on the patch of earth, beneath which, no doubt, lay a small coffin, where my little body should have been buried. “Oh, well, bitches, I’ll outlive you all, and I’ll even help some of you leave this world early.” When I finished, for a second it seemed as if a bright red inscription appeared before my eyes:
“Quest: Dance on your own grave – COMPLETED! Reward – Holy shit. Received!”
Hmm… I’ll try to get some sleep tomorrow. I quickly blinked and walked over to Mom and Walter, the silent spectators of my benefit performance. Holding hands with Integra, we headed to the car.
Having already settled comfortably in the comfortable salon, Mom looked at me seriously and broke the silence that had enveloped us since the cemetery.
“Daughter…” Mom paused for a moment, as if testing the new word. “Daughter, after dinner we need to have a serious talk. It’s very important, but don’t ask about anything for now, I’ll tell you everything later.”
***
An hour after dinner, my mother and I were sitting in my chambers. Integra had just finished explaining the blood adoption ritual and its possible consequences. Frankly, I’d expected something like this, so I wasn’t entirely surprised. Why the hell would an entire baroness adopt a crippled orphan? Why all this preparation, all this training? Having learned the true reason, I’m not the least bit offended; on the contrary, I understand this woman and am immensely grateful to her. The fact that I might die doesn’t frighten me; I’ve already died once, and the second time was on the brink. Or beyond. As they say, it hurts, but, heh-heh, not fatal. It’s a tautology, of course, but oh well. I need to respond to my mother’s expectant gaze.
“I agree!” I look firmly into her blue eyes. “Mom, I’m confident in myself and in you. What was it Alucard said? Do you need a sincere desire? I have one, I’ve been calling you and considering you my mother in my mind for a long time now.”
“If something goes wrong… I can’t let that happen.” Integra looked at my stubborn face and sighed with relief. “Okay, if you’re absolutely certain, then we’ll perform this ritual right after elementary school ends.”
– In a year and a half? Why so long?
“Because someone doesn’t listen to their mother!” She flicked my nose and smiled. “Your appearance and body proportions could change dramatically. How will you explain that at school? We’ll perform the ritual in June, just enough time to get used to your new body before receiving your Hogwarts letter.”
“And then no one will connect me with Harry Potter anymore, I can go off into the magical world without any worries.” I nodded understandingly. “Thank you, I’ve always dreamed of a real family.”
“Thank you,” Mom smiled warmly and stroked my head. “That’s nice, though.” “It’s late, go to bed. You’ll have to make up for the missed day at training tomorrow.”
“I know,” I muttered back, displeased. This trip took up the whole day, so tomorrow I’ll have to plod along in two. That’s why we went a whole month after Halloween; we couldn’t spare a whole day, and Mom has plenty to do, too, and her schedule is tight. “You’re so good at it… I was in such a mood…”
“If you’re capricious, I’ll leave you without dessert!” The woman wagged her finger at me cheerfully. “That’s it, darling, good night!”
– Good night, Mom! – I sent her to the bathroom to get ready for bed, and Integra left my chambers.
– Our Lord Danunakh, this pink snot makes me want to puke, the two-legged ones have completely lost their minds – one of the harmful snakes muttered discontentedly and crawled off to hunt.
***
After the trip to the cemetery, my mother changed a little; she started smiling more often. For someone who always wears a poker face, this is a very significant change. I finally calmed down; the true motives for the adoption became clear to me, so we continue learning. My friend and I still have to go to “The Safest Place in Britain.” I was wondering if I should tell my mother about what I saw in the movies in my past life. This information is very useful; the Order’s analysts will process it thoroughly and find excellent uses for these scraps of insider knowledge.
Only in the movies does a lone avenger destroy entire criminal gangs, cartels, and the like, but in real life, a single person can’t do anything against an organization. He’ll be quickly identified and killed, or maybe they’ll come up with something more interesting. After all, if the movies are to be believed, half the Death Eaters hold leadership positions in the Ministry of Magic and wield real power. Fighting such people alone won’t work; you need support. And I have it! I know the Crown is dreaming of establishing its control over the wizards, but for now, they’re sitting quietly and keeping their heads down.
It’s decided! I’ll tell you after the first course. First, I need to verify the information, and at the same time, steal the Philosopher’s Stone, for the common good, of course.
Christmas is coming soon, which means gift-giving time, and I’ll need help with a couple of them, so I’m now, lost in my thoughts, approaching the building where our Kulibiny, or artificers, live. I think they’ll like the idea, and then I’ll have to visit the potion makers. To motivate me to implement this idea, I even pressured Vasya to milk the poison; he cursed for a long time, but eventually agreed.
So, with all the studying, training, and practicing spells, I didn’t even notice Christmas had arrived. It was just that one fine day after my morning exercises, I realized I didn’t have to go to school! Hurray, holidays! Mum and Black were generous and gave Hermione and me a whole week off. My friend was absolutely thrilled, knowing she’d be able to go skiing with her parents, so we exchanged gifts in advance. I got another volume on fashionable clothing patterns—despite my busy schedule, I still find time for creativity. I gave Hermione a beautiful acromantula silk scarf, embroidered with self-cleaning rune chains, and a deluxe edition of The Malleus Malfoy in a luxurious leather binding. I hope it’s not a sinner’s leather, although it would be perfect for this book. Let Mione read it; it’s good for her. We said goodbye, and on December 24th, she and her parents took off for France. Never mind, this summer we’ll also fly to Nice, where the Hellsings have their own villa on the seashore.
Christmas dinner was a warm, family affair; even Walter emerged from his dark corner and sat at the table with us. The vampires enjoyed steaks with blood and drank the same blood (but probably donor blood) from crystal glasses, while my mother and the butler indulged in a couple of glasses of red wine. To stay connected with the group, I drank pomegranate juice.
Once we were all full, it was time for conversation. Alucard, having warmed up to me a bit after the trip to the cemetery, told me a “funny” story about how, in the 14th century, he impaled an insolent count along with all the inhabitants of his domain, in what is now southern Germany. I keep forgetting that this pervert is an ancient monster and one of the reasons for this dangerous ritual. Although sometimes I think his service to Integra is simply the whim of a vampire senile from antiquity, and if he wants, he can leave at any moment. Or worse. After a couple more glasses of red, the eternally silent butler joined in the conversation and began explaining to me, using his fingers, the best way to strangle a victim. He even pulled a garrote from his sleeve and showed me how to hold it properly. The evening ended with a celebratory fireworks display, and we happily went to our rooms.
The next morning, the entire estate woke to the roar of a chainsaw and the joyful squeals of a young vampire. I’d been racking my brains for a long time trying to figure out what to give this weapon-obsessed idiot, and then I remembered! In a past life, a colleague of mine at work was obsessed with something called Vakha and once tried to introduce me to this board game or computer game—I never figured it out. But I did remember one YouTube video he’d shown me: a beautiful woman with gray hair in futuristic, form-fitting armor slashing at ugly monsters with a chainsword. The guys from the Enchantments and Artifacts department didn’t understand what I wanted from them at first, but then they looked closely at my drawing and it dawned on them. I’ll remember their satisfied faces for a long time.
When we went down to the first floor to the Christmas tree, we saw a happy Victoria jumping and waving a two-meter-long, clanking metal contraption. This creation of our artifact makers’ dark genius bore little resemblance to a sword. They’d even painted it red, to match her eyes, so to speak. The vampire froze for a second, found me in the general group of estate residents, and grinned happily. She squeezed the handle again, clanking the chainsaw around the blade, admired it for a few moments, and, plunging this miracle into the marble floor, appeared next to me. I honestly thought Victoria would squeeze me out like a tube of toothpaste; for a moment, I even went dark before my eyes. That would have happened, but I was saved by a slap on the head from my mother, who had lost her mind.
– Thank you! WEEEEEEE! This is so cool! How did you come up with that? – Victoria put me down on the floor and started squeezing me. – You’re the best little sister in the world! Now you can not just chop, but literally rip apart enemies; lacerations are the most painful! I prepared something for you too!
Only after about ten minutes, which is how long it took to finally bring the heated vampire to her senses, we began to sort out the gifts.
I gave Mom shower gel, but not just any shower gel. Integra is a very beautiful woman, and I decided to make her even more attractive. I found a recipe for a beauty potion in my third-year textbook and convinced our potion makers to brew it and mix it with her toiletries in the right proportions. True, I had to “milk” Vasya for a whole month; his poison turned out to be very interesting for research.
I didn’t forget about Walter either; he appreciated the silver cufflinks with the faintly glowing opals. I personally scribbled the necessary runes on the stones.
I made Alucard a pair of silk boxer briefs, and the color was perfect, too—red with white polka dots. They should be about knee-length. I embroidered a chain of runes on the back for self-cleaning, and on the front for odor control. “That’s for Cthulhu.” The vampire solemnly unwrapped the gift, and everyone present tried to hide their smiles, but failed miserably. Alucard grinned bloodthirstily and turned to me.
“Challenge accepted, young lady.” Then he turned to his mother and Victoria, who were choking with laughter, and shook his panties. “I’ll find you some matching sets.”
Then he disappeared amid bone-chilling laughter, and the women stopped smiling and looked at me with a certain unkindness. Shit, I’m already afraid of what this ancient pervert will come up with for my birthday… Wait! Did he go looking for matching bras and thongs for Mom and Victoria? I briefly imagined the three of them in this color combination and burst out laughing. After I stopped laughing, I started sorting through my gifts. Nearby, Victoria was fiddling with the hilt of her new sword; I think they’ll find several dismembered corpses in the slums tomorrow morning.
So, this is from Walter: a steel garrote with silver handles. It’s also collapsible; it retracts into one handle, and a thin, pointed silver rod about fifteen centimeters long emerges from the other. It’s handy, perfect for stabbing or strangling. It’s also very compact, an ideal concealed carry weapon. With a little willpower, the garrote ended up in my bracelet. Then I’ll give the old man a kiss on the cheek—a wonderful gift.
I got a platinum hair clip with emeralds from my mother, and it even has runes on it for hair loss. It looks very beautiful. I immediately put it on, making Integra smile.
There was one last gift left, a black case tied with a pink ribbon. I exhaled and began unpacking. Opening the case, I suddenly remembered a moment from my past life. A woman came to us because her young son wanted to buy some weapon skins in a game, but the mother’s card ended up being charged, but the desired decorations never appeared in the game. We had a good laugh at the losers. Anyway, lying on the black velvet was an MP5, an excellent and reliable submachine gun, but this particular model was apparently stolen from that stupid game! I’d never seen pink camouflage before, but here it is, damn it! Four shades of pink in the paint, from neon fuchsia to sakura petals; even the runes were painted pink.
I closed my eyes and exhaled. Judging by the symbols, the weapon was maxed out. And what about the color? I’ll order some kind of case or attachment, since I’m sure I won’t be able to repaint it. I need to learn how to shoot a machine gun, and the MP5 is perfectly sized for me right now. I just need to figure out how to hold the wand or where to attach it; I’ll need both hands to fire this pink wonder. Okay, I’ll figure something out.
The rest of the vacation flew by. During the day, I spent a bit of time shooting at the range with my new toy, and the rest of the time I spent knitting scarves for the whole family—I just love it. Upon returning from France, Hermione got a warm brown scarf, Mom was wearing a similar one, only dark blue, the butler got a white one, and the vampires got red ones. I got a jet-black one for Sergei. I’ve gotten pretty good at knitting; I’ve made one scarf in an evening, which is really cool.
The Granger seniors were also present at the festive dinner to celebrate the start of the new year, and Mum solemnly announced that my friend and I had done a wonderful job all last year and achieved excellent results. This year, the workload will increase “a little” more, plus we’re taking Potions, and a teacher has already been found at the estate. So, girls, get ready, and this summer we’ll be flying to the seaside for two weeks. Bon appétit, everyone.
Well, as Grandpa Lenin said: “Study, study, and study again!” I’m so fucking tired, I can’t wait to go to Hogwarts…
