Chapter 26
After lying in bed for two more days, I then spent three weeks in the gym, restoring my coordination and reflexes. This was all because I’d grown about twenty centimeters, and my arms and legs had correspondingly lengthened. My center of gravity had shifted so much that even walking was difficult on the first day. During this time, Sergei and Hector gave me some slack: Black didn’t yell at me or call me a pregnant cockroach, and Dagworth simply told me to chop roots and other small items while Hermione brewed potions. My internship with the Potions Master began back in December, and by now we’ve already completed the first-year program.
I got my height from my mother – Integra is very tall and slender, and I promise to be a long-legged beauty in the future. I’m still what they call a “pedoboy’s dream.” The mirror reflects a rather tall, pretty girl for her age, even with a hint of breasts. My jet-black hair (which, by the way, has already grown past my shoulder blades) has platinum streaks, and the hair itself has become straighter and more manageable. My nose and overall facial features have sharpened slightly and become a little more defined, adding an aristocratic touch. My ears, cheekbones, and chin have become slightly smaller, making me even sweeter and more beautiful. The only thing that has remained unchanged are my bright green, witchy eyes. I sincerely wanted to preserve this memory of Lily – she died for me, something that should never be forgotten.
When Hermione first saw me, she stared at me with her mouth open for about five minutes, then rushed over to hug me and rested her head on my chin, making me almost a head taller than that brat. She didn’t know about the ritual and was so sweetly surprised that I saved the memory of her shocked expression in a separate folder on my “virtual computer.” True, I had to explain everything to her later: the ritual, the possible consequences, and then spend another hour calming her down. When Hermione realized I might not survive this magical event, she became truly hysterical. With tears in her eyes, she begged me not to take such risks again, because she couldn’t imagine her life without me anymore—to her, I wasn’t just a friend, I was family. And it’s true… For just a second, I imagined Hermione gone, my heart skipped a beat, and I hugged my friend tighter. Woe to anyone who dared hurt her.
The ritual also severed my connection with Harry, which became clear on the very first day. I don’t know how to explain it, but it was as if I’d always had an internal compass—I could clearly point out my brother’s direction. Besides, now, whenever I think of Potter, I don’t get that urge to drop everything and run to protect, help, and generally shelter him from all adversity. Before, that kind of feeling was self-evident, but now it’s gone. And that’s for the best! If our connection hadn’t been severed, I would have been easily manipulated; thoughts of my brother completely disabled my composure and common sense. Now, I see the situation soberly: if Harry is as great a guy as he is in the movies, then we’ll communicate and support each other, but if Sirius raised him in his own image and likeness, then I can safely tell my brother to go fuck himself.
I twirled in front of the mirror, admiring it… And since I was wearing only panties, I could see everything. All the scars, too. The graceful fingers of my right hand touched the long burn scar on my left shoulder—that’s where Borov had hit me with a red-hot poker. There were eight more of the same thick marks on my back, along with numerous smaller ones. I turned to face her, running my hands over the thin white lines running from my right shoulder to my stomach—the marks left by the steel rod. My hand moved lower and touched the ugly scar that started just below my navel and ran almost to my crotch. Back then, the doctors had saved my life without bothering with beauty; the damage and ruptures to my internal organs were too severe, and I only survived thanks to the magic and professionalism of the doctors.
It’s amazing that, given such a life, my face remained clear. I glanced at my forearms, covered with numerous rough scars and fine white lines—I’d instinctively covered my face during the beatings. Conclusion: revealing clothes and bikinis are contraindicated for me. The first time Emma saw me in a swimsuit, she covered her mouth, which had opened in a silent scream, but didn’t turn away, and a couple of minutes later she acted as if nothing had happened. Hermione has good parents.
Okay, enough of this narcissism. Where’s my evening dress? It’s a big night—a social outing! Every year on July 25th, Her Majesty hosts a charity reception, bringing together the Empire’s richest and most influential aristocrats at the palace. My mother said I was old enough now, so it was time for me to establish my own connections and make useful acquaintances. For the social event, a week beforehand, they had a magnificent black Gothic-style dress made for me: floor-length, with long sleeves and a high collar, adorned with just the tiniest bit of embroidery and lace.
***
It was about a forty-minute drive to Windsor Castle, which Mom and I spent chatting cheerfully in the Rolls-Royce. Mom was dressed as usual: a black pantsuit, a white shirt, and a red tie with a cross-shaped tie clip. I recently learned that this cross isn’t just jewelry, but a powerful protective artifact, firstly, and a symbol of power, secondly. Only the head of the Order of Protestant Knights can wear such a piece of jewelry; Integra inherited it from her father. Moreover, there’s a rather complicated transfer procedure, and the Queen herself places this “cross” on the head of the Order; it is an ancient artifact, after all.
Finally, I felt a powerful anti-magic field—the castle was five kilometers away. It was an extremely unpleasant sensation; losing magic was like losing one of your senses; you began to feel inadequate. Walter stopped in the parking lot among a crowd of expensive cars and gallantly offered his hand first to my mother, then to me.
Hmm… Our Rolls-Royce doesn’t stand out at all here. I turned toward the palace and was transfixed. The ancient residence of the royal family was astounding: high towers, stone walls, exuding the ancient history of its construction… And all this with modern lighting, emphasizing its beauty and grandeur. After all, Windsor Castle is the same age as Hogwarts, founded back in 1070 by William the Conqueror. My mother’s ancestors, and now my own, arrived from the continent as part of his army, as did the Blacks, Malfoys, Potters, and many others. The parking lot itself was located on a hill so guests could admire the work of ancient architects, although the castle itself was thoroughly restored and slightly rebuilt after the Great War—the Nazis bombed London very thoroughly, and the residence of the reigning monarch also suffered.
We walked about a kilometer along a cobbled path to the Norman Gate, which leads to the Upper Courtyard, the palace complex for ceremonial receptions. At the entrance, we were greeted by royal guards in full uniform, who checked our invitations and bowed as we entered. I shuddered involuntarily; I still haven’t gotten used to the effects of Thieves’ Bane, and the tingling sensation in my lower back only just stopped—the snipers stopped targeting us, the damn paranoids. Respect!
The reception hall was striking in its opulence: the soaring glass ceiling and enormous arched windows offered a view of the sunset, while the evening light was provided by seemingly floating crystal chandeliers. The large, marble-floored room comfortably accommodated over a hundred people, who, in small groups, engaged in ceremonial conversations. The men mostly wore formal military uniforms, while the women graced the company in ball gowns of the most unimaginable, yet exquisite, colors. My mother stood out against this backdrop, and so did I—this was an adult hall; children were only introduced to friends here and later sent to the adjacent building. There, children could indulge in their own amusement while the adults “played politics.”
For about half an hour, my mother and I approached various dukes, lords, and barons for the introduction ceremony. I didn’t even try to remember their names and titles—there were too many; I’ll review my memories later before bed and create a separate file. Among the others, a dark-haired man of military proportions, with a short haircut and wearing a general’s uniform, approached us. His companion, by contrast, was petite, fair-haired, and quite beautiful. However, her face looked slightly haggard, as if she’d been ill, and her hair looked dull.
“Lady Hellsing, I’m happy to behold your beauty again!” The man demonstratively kissed the air above his mother’s hand.
“Duke of Lancaster, you are as gallant as ever. Hello, Erin.” Integra returned the greeting and placed a meaningful hand on my shoulder. “Allow me to introduce my daughter, Rigel Hellsing.”
– Good evening. – I politely curtsied. – Nice to meet you, Your Grace.
“Let’s not do that, just call me Uncle Steven!” The man smiled warmly and nodded at me. “After what you’ve done for our family… I won’t tolerate any other way of addressing myself or Erin, understand?”
– Okay, Uncle Stephen. – I nodded in response.
“Integra, we know where your daughter will go. If help is needed, ANY,” the Duke’s wife emphasized the last word, “Stephen will do everything in his power.”
– Uncle Stephen, can I ask you a question? – I decided to clarify one thing for myself. In that newspaper, Skeeter unwittingly gave up Selwyn’s accomplice, and I don’t believe the Duke let the other asshole go unpunished. – You read that newspaper too, and I’m curious how you punished that “gentleman’s” friend?
“You have a very smart daughter. It’s a shame Jacob is already engaged.” Lancaster sighed dramatically and broke into a predatory smile. “Have you read the recent news? At the end of June, when school was out and many families were celebrating their children’s return home for the holidays, a refueling plane crashed in the wilderness. The pilots managed to eject, and since the accident occurred over a deserted wasteland, no one was injured.”
“I understand, thank you.” “I wonder if the plane was really just carrying fuel, or if they also loaded it with napalm? As far as I know, the Crown knows the coordinates of all the pureblood manors.”
We said goodbye to the Lancasters and moved on, and about twenty minutes later, a short, dark-haired man in an expensive brown three-piece suit, with a “work callus” hinting at a sedentary lifestyle, approached us. He was accompanied by a slightly plump boy who looked very much like him and tried to maintain a serious face.
“Lady Hellsing, nice to meet you! I’ve been looking for you all evening!” The man nodded cheerfully. “Allow me to introduce my son and heir, Justin.”
“Lord Finch-Fletchley, your joy is mutual.” Mom smiled and nodded in response. “My daughter is Rigel. As far as I know, our children are going to the same school in September.”
– Exactly! That’s why we have a lot to discuss, including the Order’s budget for 1992 and 1993. – The man turned to his son: – Justin, take young Miss Hellsing to the children’s room. Integra, do you mind?
“Of course not, I’m always ready to discuss important matters with the Treasurer-in-Chief of the Ministry of Defense.” Mom nodded and turned to me: “Daughter, go talk to the other children, I’ll come pick you up in about a couple of hours.”
The younger Finch-Fletchley gallantly extended his hand, and I placed mine on the crook of his elbow. The adults smiled with affection, and we headed for the exit. Beyond the threshold of the hall, the smile and slight arrogance disappeared from my guide’s face, and he sighed contentedly.
– Phew. Freedom at last! Rigel, – he turned to me, – can we be informal? We’ll get tired of all these aristocratic hassles by then. As far as I understand, we’ll have five years to study together in that asshole.
– Come on, I completely agree with you. – I nodded and removed my hand – I still don’t like being touched by strangers. – How long have you known you’re a wizard?
“A couple of years ago. I lost my temper and burned my dad’s annual naval budget, he gave me a beating, and the next morning, there was no trace!” The kid shrugged. “That’s when he finally believed I hadn’t done it on purpose, so he dragged me in for an examination, and the shamans confirmed I was fucking Merlin.”
“Don’t you want to be a wizard?” We’d already crossed half the courtyard while talking. “Magic gives you unlimited possibilities. I’ve been training for several years now and I can’t imagine my life without it.”
“I’m happy for you, but what do I need it for?” Justin looked at me with a hint of skepticism. “Your family is warriors! Hellsings, forgive me, are all crazed maniacs, and you and your mother would kill anyone Her Majesty tells you to without hesitation. And that’s where magic comes in handy! And us? The Finch-Fletchleys have been running the Empire’s military treasury for three hundred years! Tell me, how can magic help me calculate the costs of modernizing the aircraft carrier fleet?!”
– Well… You’re right about that. Although there are spells that are useful in everyday life. You can come visit us, I’ll show you some. – The guy’s no fool, as far as I remember, he’s appeared in films before. – By the way, you know the situation of ordinary people in the magical world, right?
“The Code of Magical Britain—that’s the first thing I read.” Justin glanced around furtively. “And it’s fucking bullshit! It’s not a book—it’s a Nazi manual. I studied it all carefully, it’s family stuff, you know. By the way, I’ll be spending August visiting you; my father just now realized that I need to be taught something other than how to count. You know… Don’t make fun of me too much, I’m not an athlete—it didn’t work out. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others.
We had just crossed the courtyard when a guard opened a mahogany door for us. The children’s room was slightly smaller than the previous one, though the glass ceiling and huge windows were a constant feature of this complex, and waiters were serving juices instead of champagne. About fifty children of all ages had gathered inside: the older ones were clustered along the walls, chatting cheerfully, while the younger ones were gathered around a pair of entertainers in the center of the room, cheerfully shouting out words as they played some kind of charade.
Justin led me to the nearest group of children our age and began the introductions. I was now personally acquainted with William and Lucy, the Queen’s grandchildren, followed by a host of other names—the heirs of the dukes and barons of the Empire—and finally, a tall, stately young man approached me with a polite bow.
“Miss Hellsing, allow me to introduce myself—Heir of Lancaster, or Jacob, you can call me.” I held out my hand and the boy kissed the air above it. “Thank you, I loved little Nicole. If you need anything, just say the word.”
The handsome man whispered his last words and left. That’s how useful connections and acquaintances are made; as I understood it, honor and dignity are paramount for the aristocrats of the Empire. The other boys nodded and whispered in the distance, but then they surrounded me again. After all, I was a new face, and everyone was interested in meeting me. Our group swelled to about ten people, and we cheerfully discussed school and fencing. I told the children about shooting a machine gun (I don’t see any secret in that), and they listened with their jaws hanging open. I, too, was curious to learn what they taught the heirs of royal blood. For example, I couldn’t have imagined that at the Imperial Academy, failing students are punished with flogging. Seriously, William complained to me that he was flogged with a cane, and when he complained to his mother at home, his grandmother added a belt. At that moment, steam almost came out of my ears, and my respect for the Queen only increased.
The doors to the hall opened, admitting a woman of about fifty, wearing a simple beige dress and carrying a pink handbag. A crown crowned her gray head, and a cheerful smile sparkled on her kindly face. I froze for a few seconds – the Queen herself! I was brought out of my stupor by the cries of the little children, who rushed screaming toward ” Grandma Lisa ,” quickly surrounding her. Her Majesty, still smiling, began greeting everyone and offering them candy. About fifteen minutes later, she shook off the fidgets and headed our way. Justin and I stood slightly ahead of the others.
– Your Majesty! – I bowed my head and performed a perfect curtsy.
“That’s enough, girl, you’ll bow to me when you grow up. Hello, Justin.” The Queen smiled warmly at the boy. “Will you introduce your companion?”
– Um… Of course, Grandma! – He straightened up and nodded solemnly. – Your Majesty, allow me to introduce my friend, the heiress of Rigel Hellsing. Rigel, meet Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II of the British Empire.
“Call me Grandma Lisa.” She smiled warmly. “Rigel, I’ll hang out with the other rascals for a bit and then take you to your mom. Integra isn’t much of a socialite, so she’s already getting ready to go home.”
The Queen handed me a candy and headed toward the other children, who greeted her with smiles, while Lucy immediately began showing off a doll she’d won playing charades. After chatting with the children for about fifteen minutes and treating everyone to candy, Her Majesty returned to me and nodded toward the exit. I followed silently.
On the street, Grandma Lisa stopped and looked me over carefully, from head to toe. Despite her warm smile, her serious, penetrating gaze scanned me like an X-ray. I resisted the urge to shudder and bow my head—this woman literally oozed power and majesty. When she finished studying me, she nodded contentedly.
“It’s similar, very similar. If you don’t know the whole truth…” Elizabeth II turned to me. “I’ve heard about your successes, child, and I’m very pleased with you.”
– Thank you, your… Grandma Lisa. – I smiled and looked into her serious eyes. – And where…
“Don’t worry, I know a lot…” The Queen headed toward the audience hall. “You have much more in common with your mother than you think. Tegra is a good girl, smart and sensible, but also cruel and merciless. That’s how the head of Hellsing should be, learn from her and follow her example.”
“In a month, you’ll be going to an interesting school, and I have a small favor to ask of you.” Elizabeth II turned to me, saw my silent nod, and continued: “Keep an eye on Justin there; he’s a good boy, but not a fighter. And also… Keep a close eye on the wizards: news, rumors, moods. Basically, if anything important or interesting happens, tell your mother immediately. Tegra will put this knowledge to good use.”
– I understand you. – After the first course, I’ll tell Mom about the films, but first we need to check everything.
– And last, but most important! – We were already approaching the doors to the reception hall. – Don’t take unnecessary risks, be careful and restrained. If you sense danger, run immediately, there is no shame in that. As the saying goes, a living dog is better than a dead lion. Do you understand me?
– Yes, Grandma Lisa. – I wasn’t going to take any risks. If things go wrong, I’ll just activate the Portkey.
“Well done, run to your mother, she’s been waiting for you.” The Queen patted me on the head and smiled contentedly.
Mom was indeed already waiting in the hall, and upon seeing me, she immediately headed for the exit. On the way to the car, I reported on my new acquaintances and my conversation with Grandma Lisa. Integra praised me and said that from now on we’ll attend such events twice a year. They’re very helpful for my socialization, since, in fact, I don’t really have any peers except Hermione. And Justin is invited to my birthday party and will be staying with us for three weeks, and my friend and I should try to teach him at least a little something.
Hmm… I wonder if Hagrid will bring me a letter too?
***
Albus Dumbledore stood before the full-length mirror in his office, stroking his beard and examining his tattered gray robe and equally wide-brimmed gray hat in the reflection. Looking himself over again, he frowned with displeasure.
“No, Fawkes, only Muggle-borns will understand the image of Gandalf,” the old man turned to the phoenix, who was peacefully dozing on its perch. “Merlin, only the eccentric Merlin. Alas, purebloods are too limited in their worldview.”
Without any theatrics, Albus unleashed a spell, transforming his robe into a bright blue robe with a pattern of gold stars, and his hat into a gold-embroidered blue cap. Looking in the mirror again, the headmaster nodded contentedly. The PA system warned that Minerva was approaching the office. Albus dispelled the mirror and quickly sat down on his gilded throne, just in time to see a nervous McGonagall burst into the room.
“Albus, have you read the list of Muggle-borns and half-bloods this year?!” The woman threw the envelope on his desk and crossed her arms. “I will not go to those traitors and apostates! You know, I don’t want to be burned at the stake, and those lunatics could easily arrange that. Remember how poor Lupin hid in Hogwarts for six months while those poor werewolves were killed.”
Dumbledore picked up the envelope, read the address, and frowned with displeasure. He needed to be more careful; he was completely overwhelmed with these Wizengamot meetings. Written in green ink on yellowish parchment was:
Rigel Integra Hellsing
London, Hellsing Manor, Great Room on the Second Floor
“You’re right, my girl, it’s not worth the risk. A lemon drop?” Minerva grimaced, and the old man smiled to himself; he sure does enjoy irritating people. “I’ll take the letter myself. I think I’ll need to discuss some things with the girl’s mother.”
“Thank you.” The Deputy Headmistress sighed contentedly and, after a slight hesitation, continued. “Albus, Hagrid is itching to take the letter to Mr. Potter, he’s been pestering me for a week now. Please talk to him, you know better than me – the Blacks won’t even let him in the door. I don’t want to upset him, he’s so sensitive.”
“I’ll talk to him, don’t worry.” Dumbledore thought for a moment and nodded to himself. “I just happen to have an important errand for Hagrid at Gringotts, so I’ll send him to Diagon Alley on July 31st. He’ll be able to see little Harry there, too. The Blacks won’t interfere with their introduction in front of witnesses. Send the letter to Mr. Potter by owl; there’s no point in singling out the boy.”
“Okay, Albus, you’re right as always.” McGonagall smiled coquettishly and glanced at him.
“Thank you, Minerva. I’m sure you still have plenty of work to do.” The Headmaster indicated the conversation was over, and McGonagall left the office with a swaying gait. As soon as the door closed behind her, Albus shivered. When he’d been in the USSR, he’d really enjoyed the compote… But he didn’t like dried fruit, and he associated Minerva with nothing else; it was the dried apricots the Headmaster so disliked.
Young veil girls in a brothel were another matter, but if you cast Imperio and give the right order… Following these pleasant thoughts, the man’s loins twitched, letting him know it had been a while since he’d been in the aforementioned place. Without his beard and in less eye-catching rags, the “old man” looked forty years old at most, but he couldn’t break character. He needed to visit a pleasant establishment, unwind… It would calm his nerves and relieve tension at the same time.
Dumbledore’s gaze fell on the two envelopes lying on his desk, and thoughts of young girls’ bottoms were replaced by far more somber ones. The first envelope was addressed to the heir of the suddenly revived family, and the second to his biggest blunder of recent years.
Harry James Potter
London, 12 Grimaud Square, the largest room on the third floor
“Tell me, Fawkes, when did it all go wrong?” Albus often spoke to his familiar, as finding an erudite companion was becoming increasingly difficult with each passing year. “Perhaps that fateful night? Sirius was supposed to show up alone, but instead he showed up with a dozen mercenaries! Walburga must have forced him; that old woman outmaneuvered me.”
The plan was simple enough: frame the overgrown idiot for Azkaban, and Pettigrew was the perfect victim—the coward knew too much. Of course, Walburga would later bail out her beloved son, but reputation… No one would allow a former prisoner to raise a hero, and then Dumbledore would take on this heavy burden. He’d already made arrangements with Aberforth; his youngest daughter had just left for Europe with her fiancé. Together, they would raise a true warrior, a true hero who could lead the forces of Light. And by the age of twenty, he would have made Harry a master fighter who could fight Tom on equal terms! The prophecy was all well and good, of course, but Albus preferred to be on the safe side.
But alas, this was not to be – the boy had fallen completely under Sirius’s influence. What Dumbledore saw at the Ministry’s Christmas party was not to his liking at all. Of course, the Headmaster would try to take a closer look at Harry, influence him, and choose the right friends. He would have to proceed cautiously; even at school, the Blacks would be keeping an eye on him, but it was too late to retreat; the plan was ready, and the pieces were set. Even the bait was ready, though they had to shake Nicholas down with a shard of the real stone – Tom was crazy, but he wasn’t stupid.
“When did it all go wrong?” the old man asked the empty air once again, looking at an old photograph taken the year he entered Hogwarts. It depicted a happy family of five: a tall man in the center—Percival Dumbledore—smiled contentedly and put his arm around the shoulders of two happy boys: the young, naive Albus and the older, proud, and intelligent Aberforth, who had just transferred to his fifth year and been appointed Head Boy. Next to her men stood a beautiful woman with jet-black hair—Kendra Dumbledore—embracing a pretty, laughing, black-haired girl of about eight, Ariana… Everyone’s favorite, a cheerful and restless chatterbox. A lump formed in the old man’s throat, and a small tear rolled down his cheek.
– Soon, very soon. I will avenge you, everything is ready.
This photograph was the last for the happy Dumbledore family. In October, while young Albus was exploring the ancient castle, a drunken Gaunt showed up at Godric’s Hollow. The bastard spotted the beautiful Kendra on the street and followed her, but one beautiful woman wasn’t enough for him, and the lustful animal’s gaze fell on little Ariana, who tried to defend her mother.
Percival returned from work to a horrific scene: his wife and daughter had been raped. Ariana hadn’t spoken a word since that day. The head of the family immediately called the Aurors and went to the D.M.P., and there was even a trial… Albus would forever remember the haughty faces that cheerfully issued a fine to the dissolute Mudblood and underage whore who dared to seduce the descendant of Slytherin himself. As a child, he didn’t understand why these respected wizards laughed at them, but he desperately wanted to shut them up once and for all.
Unable to bear the shame, ridicule, and sidelong glances, Kendra took her own life shortly after Christmas. She spent the holidays with her children and, after they left for school, committed suicide. Percival mourned his wife for a long time, met his sons back from school that summer, and went to the Gaunts’ cabin—even then, the lunatics had squandered all their ancestors’ savings, living in poverty and arrogance. There, the father of the family, according to all the rules, challenged Gaunt to a duel to the death and killed the bastard. However, the arriving Aurors, instead of recording the result of the duel, handcuffed Percival.
The higher-ups were in an uproar, saying that some upstart had dared to kill a descendant of Slytherin, and what then? Would any first-generation pureblood challenge Lord Black to a duel? Or Lord Malfoy?! The trial was closed, but Wizarding Britain is very small, so almost immediately everyone knew that Percival Dumbledore was a pedophile, that he had violated the Statute by raping three boys and then murdering them in front of Muggles. For this gross violation of the Statute, he was sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban, but just two months later, the door to his cell “accidentally” opened to a Dementor. One kiss, the body in a sack, and off to sea.
So the brothers were left alone, with their disabled sister to care for. Aberforth dropped out of school and went to work, and Albus began studying obsessively, desiring power and revenge. By his fifth year, his articles on Transfiguration were being published in academic journals, and attention began to be paid to him. The younger Dumbledore was building a reputation for himself as a kind and highly intelligent eccentric.
It was then that he met Gelert, his first and best friend. Grindelwald’s parents supported German nationalists seeking power, and the young friends spent hours discussing how to change the world, drawing inspiration from the revolution in the USSR. They both understood that the wizarding community was stagnating and that something urgently needed to be done. One drunken night, they even performed a blood-brothering ritual. A fatal mistake… In the last year of their association, Grindelwald changed dramatically, met a young Adolf Hitler, and became obsessed with world domination. Albus disagreed with him; Gellert’s ideas of supremacy were reminiscent of those preached by England’s most ancient and noble families. An argument erupted, escalating into a magical duel, and someone’s stray Avada ended Ariana’s life. While the brothers knelt in horror before their sister’s body, Gellert simply fled. Albus was physically unable to kill this coward, although he desperately wanted to.
The Dumbledores later decided that their sister’s quick death was a relief, as her condition only worsened with each passing year. Aberforth was able to settle down to business and marry, while Albus continued his studies – Flamel himself had noticed him! The younger Dumbledore happily worked with this genius for a couple of years, but when he learned of the Philosopher’s Stone and the Great Work, he immediately abandoned further training with the ancient alchemist – he felt unbearably disgusted and repulsed. After swearing a few oaths and making unbreakable vows, he set off for Hogwarts with a letter of recommendation from Nicholas.
The young genius was happily accepted as a Transfiguration teacher, and Albus received unrestricted access to Europe’s largest library. Already serving as deputy headmaster, he met a descendant of the Gaunts, and although the boy didn’t know his roots, the young teacher recognized the little bastard. And a plan began to take shape in his mind. Then the Great War began, and by its end, Dumbledore was able to avenge his sister. He stormed his old friend’s citadel with the Soviet wizards, demonstrating his power and skill to everyone. Albus literally carved a bloody corridor, destroying all who stood in his way of Gelert, his path to the now-famous duel and triumphant victory.
Zhukov wanted Grindelwald’s public execution, but Dumbledore, who knew his sworn friend all too well, proposed a different solution: to rot him alive in his own prison, without a drop of magic. When Gelert learned of this decision, he begged for death, but the verdict had already been rendered, and the victors were satisfied.
The young teacher and vanquisher of the Dark Lord returned home triumphant. He was immediately offered the chair of the Wizengamot, which he eagerly accepted, but a great disappointment awaited him – the position offered no real power! Not a single law or amendment he proposed was passed, and even the Light Sorcerers nipped in the bud any concessions for Muggle-borns or restrictions for purebloods. And then Albus realized that bloodshed was inevitable… He decided to repeat the Union scenario, but there, the common people’s hatred of the aristocrats blazed. Well, he had just become headmaster of Hogwarts, and he had a new resource: children.
In his very first year, Albus abolished corporal punishment, disabled some of the school’s defense mechanisms, and stopped interfering with the affairs of the Board of Governors and the Ministry of Education. And little by little, things began to worsen: the pureblood offspring of the Most Ancient and Noble, accustomed to permissiveness at school, continued to commit indecent acts outside of it, which turned young families, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns against them.
Just then, a changed Tom returned to the islands. The timely memoirs of Herpius the Malicious had done their job, transforming the ambitious genius into a deranged psychopath. Back in school, Albus had told the boy about his parents and watched with amusement from the sidelines as the vengeful and embittered degenerate murdered his own relatives.
However, the first revolution failed – the lords and heads of the old families didn’t want to kill each other. Tom was certainly strong, but he was used as a scarecrow; by the end, he had completely lost his mind and was easily manipulated. Then, both the Dark and the Light used the Dark Mark to cover up their own dealings, and instead of a revolution, a banal division of resources and spheres of influence began. Tom was convenient for everyone, even the neutrals. Aurors arrived at the house with the Dark Mark hanging over it? So, the Death Eaters attacked, case closed. And the fact that the house contains the bodies of the Dark Lord’s followers – no one cares; maybe they displeased the owner.
But everything changed in 1980, when that lunatic unleashed werewolves on Muggle settlements. Albus still doesn’t know how Bagnold managed to reach an agreement with the Queen. Then she and the heads of the D.M.L. and the Auror Office were summoned to the palace. Only she returned, and Crouch, having taken over the Auror Office, received unlimited powers. At an emergency meeting, the Minister made it clear to everyone that the war had dragged on, and if we didn’t stop ourselves, the Crown would intervene and unleash the Hellsings on the wizarding world. Look how happy the werewolves are having now… Want to do the same?
But one problem arose: Tom had become too strong and had completely lost his mind. He couldn’t be defeated in open combat, Albus knew that perfectly well. And perhaps Merlin himself took pity on him, for the alcoholic woman uttered the true prophecy. Later, however, they had to stage a whole performance so that a young potion maker would overhear and report it to his master.
Things got simpler after that: the stag flatly refused to leave on his own and wouldn’t let Lily and the children go. Then Dumbledore handed the Mudblood an ancient tome and hinted at the Invisibility Cloak. James and one of the children would have been enough to initiate the ritual; she herself could easily hide under the Cloak and then help Albus raise a hero. But the fool decided to die herself so that both children would survive… Naive. The girl became a Squib, which, in the old man’s opinion, is far worse than death, and the boy became a vessel for Tom’s darkness. Fortunately, they managed to persuade Sirius to go to Hogwarts first, where the Headmaster thoroughly examined the child, even giving him the contact information of a master necromancer to rid the chosen one of the Dark Lord’s particles. But judging by the scar that remained on the boy, the Blacks were up to something.
It’s a shame the dragon pox spared them; after Tom’s disembodiment, it successfully decimated the elderly and allowed the young to take over. Public trials followed one after another after the Dark Lord’s fall, but alas, only Tom’s most devoted, fanatical, or impoverished accomplices were put behind bars. The rest not only bought their way out, but also kept their cushy jobs in the Ministry. The system was completely rotten. Tom’s return was a necessity; nothing could be changed without a bloodbath, and to build anew, the old must be destroyed.
The atmosphere at school grew increasingly tense with each passing year. The scions of the old families, taking advantage of their permissiveness, had cultivated such self-hatred that the mere command would tear them apart. Pureblood idiots don’t understand that they are in the minority. The terrible tragedy that occurred at the end of last year only confirmed this: a veritable massacre occurred in the Great Hall, two purebloods were killed, and three are still at St. Mungo’s! The culprits were never found because ALL the students present got into a fight at lunch. Albus retained his position only because he was giving evidence to the DPM at the time about what had happened the day before, but they wrote it off as an accident.
Dumbledore smiled. “It’s almost ready: when Tom returns and gathers the pureblood fanatics around him, the rest will rise up and simply slaughter them. This time there will be a real war, and the purebloods will lose! Then young and promising people will come to power, who will be able to lead Wizarding Britain to development and prosperity. And what, really? Ivan and the Yankees are already building bases on the Moon, and we’re creating a new department in the Ministry to standardize boiler thickness! Nonsense.”
Albus knew his name would be cursed, called a monster, a murderer… And they would be right. He cursed himself every time half-bloods and Muggle-borns found themselves in the hospital wing, but “you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.” He honestly tried to find a peaceful path, but the old families wouldn’t voluntarily relinquish power, which meant the only option was a bloody revolution. It had worked well in the Union. All that remained was to find a leader of the Light, someone who would lead the wizards. Alas, Dumbledore himself had become too tainted and unsuitable for that role, so he needed to take a closer look at Harry; maybe something would work out, and Longbottom was a backup option, even more promising. After the death of her son and daughter-in-law, Augusta hadn’t let the child out of the training halls, preparing him as if for war.
The phoenix let out a pleasant trill, bringing the headmaster out of his reverie. Albus blinked several times and placed the envelope he’d been holding in his hands back on the desk.
“I’ve been working myself to death.” The old man stroked his beard and turned to Fawkes. “I need to rest. It’s decided! Today we’re heading to the brothel, but tomorrow we’ll visit the Hellsings with renewed vigor. We’ll see who that platinum bitch raised. Too bad the rumors turned out to be just rumors, and she actually gave birth. Looks like we’ll have to activate all the protection this year—she won’t forgive anyone for her daughter’s death… Okay, that’s all for tomorrow.”
Dumbledore stood and stretched with a crunch. Then, with a slight gesture, he changed the color of his robes and cap to black, pulled up his hood, and extended his hand. The phoenix instantly appeared above him, and in a flash of fire, both vanished, only to appear in the next instant in a back alley of Knockturn Alley, just twenty steps away from which lay London’s finest brothel. Here, you could find a slave whore to suit any taste, and, for a price, do whatever you pleased with her.
Author’s note: More chapters are available on AuthorToday and FicBook, where the fanfic is also free. Unfortunately, the Litnet platform prohibits inserting any links, but my work can be found in searches without any problems.
