Chapter 33
Led by our brave prefect, we made a quick dash from the Great Hall to the common room, where the boys picked up their textbooks and writing materials, and then practically ran to the first floor, where McGonagall’s office is located. I’m telling you—stupid!
The door to the Transfiguration classroom was at the end of a corridor whose large windows looked out onto the castle courtyard. The Slytherins were already there, having divided into groups: Nott and Zabini stood apart, whispering quietly; all the girls from the Green House had gathered a little to the side, cheerfully discussing something; and Crabbe and Goyle were leaning against the wall nearby, watching young Malfoy. I saw those burly fellows running around this morning, too, only closer to the Quidditch pitch, which means my suspicions are correct—the boys aren’t as simple as they seem.
As we approached, the Slytherins quieted down, but only briefly. Malfoy and the other girls moved toward us, and the introductions began. So: Pansy Parkinson—a short, snub-nosed brunette with a bob; Millicent Bulstrode—a plump, long-haired brunette; and Daphne Greengrass—a blue-eyed brunette with a braid. Before we could properly introduce ourselves, the heavy wooden door slid silently open, inviting us inside. Percy told us to stick around after class; the prefect would take us to Charms, and quickly retreated.
The Transfiguration classroom was spacious and gloomy, its tall windows hidden behind thick maroon curtains, and the dozen candles hovering near the ceiling were clearly insufficient for adequate lighting. Three rows of two-person desks abutted the wide teacher’s desk. Various posters with formulas obscured the stone walls, two large chalkboards supported the rear of the teaching station, and a huge globe nestled snugly in the far corner. It was gloomy and austere, but tasteful; I wouldn’t be surprised if the globe opened to reveal a minibar stocked with valerian root.
Our hyperactive classmates hurried to the front of the class, followed by the Slytherins, who slowly took their seats. Hermione and I took the last desk, against the wall, near the exit. From here, the entire class was in full view, which gave us peace of mind. Professor McGonagall herself sat at her desk, silently watching us, but as soon as the bell rang, McGonagall waved her wand, and the door slammed shut with a loud thud.
The Head of Gryffindor quickly took roll call, pausing over my friend’s and my names, but said nothing. Then she staged a demonstration, transforming her desk into a huge lion that roared and moved just like a real one. Damn, I want that too! I wonder if that lion devours some bastard and then turns back into furniture, where will the bones, guts, and blood go? Will they fall down next to me, or will they become a butcher’s table? I’ll check it out sometime.
A pleased McGonagall canceled the Transfiguration and, in a leap, transformed into a cat, landing her bottom on the unfortunate table. In general, Animagus, in my opinion, is a useless science. Why would I turn into a cat or a dog? If you think back to the movies, the most useful Animagus forms were Pettigrew and Skitter—the perfect spies, after all. And in case of danger, you can transform and quickly escape. Or fly away. But there’s a catch! Once transformed, you can’t cast magic, and various birds love to eat plump bugs, just like cats, snakes, and owls love to snack on rodents. There must be some way to ward off predators. I wonder what McGonagall’s relationship is with the local cats?
Having returned to her human form, the professor began a lecture on safety precautions, and we rustled our feathers. The gist of the lecture was quite simple: Transfiguration is a complex and dangerous subject. Any error in the spell can lead to irreversible consequences and even death, so any magic must be performed only with the permission and under the supervision of a teacher. Pointing a wand at fellow students is strictly prohibited! The professor was in a foul mood, so she concluded with the following phrase:
“Anyone who breaks the safety rules in my class can pack their bags, because they’ll be expelled from Hogwarts that same day!” The woman glared at the students. “And your parents’ connections won’t help!”
In the silence that followed, the professor began a lecture on the simple transformation of wood into metal. With a wave of her wand, formulas, calculations, and other explanations appeared on the board. I admit—she’s an excellent teacher! There was no fluff, unnecessary information, or other fluff, only dry academic text and a distillation of useful information. She should be teaching at a university; her presentation style is too complex and, in places, incomprehensible for eleven-year-olds.
McGonagall also spoke about two approaches to transfiguration, mathematical and creative – the result is the same, but the principles are different.
So, the mathematical approach is based on formulas and calculations. Over the years, a specific formula has been developed for the transfiguration of almost every object, woven into the spell. If such a formula doesn’t exist, an experienced wizard will mentally calculate a new one or adjust the standard one; these exist, too. In short, you need to be a walking calculator and have a vast store of knowledge, retaining a vast array of formulas and equations in your memory.
A creative approach is radically different; it requires no formulas or numbers at all! What is essential is a rich imagination and a basic understanding of the structure of materials and living organisms. A wizard who follows this path forms a clear image of the final object in their mind, and the more complete their knowledge, the better the result. Let’s say I know that a mouse has fur, skin, a skeleton, and internal organs, and I also have a model of its behavior. In this case, I can transform a familiar object into a rodent. But if I have no idea what a centipede looks like, what it even is, or what kind of junk I need to mold it from, then formulas and calculations will come in handy.
Knowledge of the structure of materials is important for users of both approaches. If I don’t fully understand the difference between steel and aluminum, my “steel” spoon will be significantly inferior in quality to one transfigured by, say, Dumbledore, a master of alchemy and well-versed in chemistry, physics, and the theory of Strength of Mathematics. It’s all complex, but quite interesting.
At the end of the lecture, McGonagall declared that she was a proponent of the mathematical approach, while Percivalich was a creative individual, capable of creating things on the fly that would take many hours or even days to calculate the necessary formulas and weave them into spells. That’s precisely why the mathematical approach is unsuitable for combat; it takes too much time to calculate, while standard formulas are well-known and have long been countered. That’s why people like Dumbledore can transform a battlefield into a living hell in a matter of minutes, with spikes jutting from the ground, flying steel blades, pits of lava, and other delights. He can even turn the air into metal shavings, right in the lungs of an enemy! There’s a reason people fear the old man; given time to prepare, he’s capable of such things… I want them to fear me too! To put my enemies on spiked stakes, and give them ties made of barbed wire!
The bell rang for the end of first period, and McGonagall left the room, leaving us alone with our thoughts. Hermione and I flipped through the first-year textbook again, amazed at how different it was from the literature Black had studied. Someone was murmuring quietly, and our little ember, sitting at the front desk with Finnigan, turned to my brother.
– Potter, what will happen to those who are expelled? – Dina was clearly interested in this question.
“I don’t know, but my godfather said that…” Harry scratched the back of his head and looked questioningly at Neville, who nodded. “Purebloods and half-bloods are either homeschooled or enrolled in another school of magic. Muggleborns have it harder; by law, they must attend Hogwarts for at least five years, so if they’re expelled, the Ministry decides their fate.”
“What do you mean, they decide my fate? Who are they to decide anything for me?!” The boy decided to assert his rights, but Potter had nothing to do with it.
“Pfft… You idiot, did you read the apprentice contract?” Malfoy looked at Thomas with a sly smile. “You owe the Ministry a ton of money! And until you work it off, no one will let you go. You’ll end up as a house elf at the Ministry or an ingredient donor in the Department of Mysteries. And when you pay up and manage to survive, they’ll lock your magical core and erase your memory. In a couple of years, you’ll still be feeding worms. People don’t live long with their cores locked.”
– Malfoy! – I looked at the Slytherin with disapproval.
“Have I ever lied?” Diana smirked and tilted her head to the side. “Better to shatter your rose-colored glasses now than suffer from unfulfilled hopes later. Let him learn his place in this world. If I were you, I’d advise my classmates to study the relevant literature.”
– I’ll take it into account. – I nodded at this ulcer. – Then I’ll give you a crash course.
“I’m glad we understood each other, although looking at some of them…” Malfoy looked Thomas over theatrically. “I doubt they can read… They’re the kind who want coloring books, not books.”
“What did you say about me?! Pale moth?!” Dean rose abruptly from his chair and, clenching his fists, glared at Malfoy, who waved her wand, and our little black boy slammed his face into the desk with all his might.
“Insult me again, and you’ll suffer excruciatingly.” The Slytherin lifted her nose proudly and continued quietly. “I am the heir of the Malfoy family, and no mongrel mongrels have the right to bark at me. I advise all Muggle-borns to go to the library and read the Code of Magical Britain. I guarantee you’ll learn a lot of new and useful information.”
I looked at Diana again and thought about it. She’s right, after all. Hogwarts teachers tell the parents of Muggle-born students that their education is paid for by the Ministry of Magic, without saying a word about how they’ll have to earn that money later. At school, they talk about this during fifth-year careers orientation, and only in the last few years have representatives of the Admiralty begun visiting the families of Hogwarts students who’ve completed their second year and explaining all the details in detail.
During these visits, it became clear that wizards rarely explain anything to Muggles. Typically, a Hogwarts representative simply casts a Confundus Charm on the parents of a prospective student (which acts as a powerful suggestion for those without Occlumency), and with a silly smile, the parents sign the magical contract, sending their child to Hogwarts. For a couple of months afterward, the parents are convinced they’ve always dreamed of their child attending such a wonderful school.
Of course, there are exceptions. Confundus may not work if the person has an iron will, or if the suggestion conflicts with their principles. In those cases, the parents are given an explanation, but such cases are rare. If such a Muggle refuses to send their child to an obscure castle in the Scottish Highlands to study some kind of magic, then another law comes into play. A squad of Obliviators and an officer from the Department of Mysteries arrive from the Ministry, block the child’s magical core, and then the entire family’s memory is erased. Children with trapped magic don’t live long, literally burning up from the inside within a couple of years… But such cases are even rarer than the appearance of a mundane capable of resisting Confundus.
Why are things so complicated? Because an untrained wizard is dangerous both to themselves and to those around them! Children’s outbursts can sometimes wreak havoc and maim people, but imagine what a pubescent teenager is capable of in a rage, unable to control their magic! They’re a walking bomb, capable of such things in the heat of the moment… For example, incinerating a teacher right there in school for a bad grade. Not only would such a tyrant kill someone, but they would also threaten the Statute.
The government is aware of how wizards treat Muggle-borns, but it doesn’t interfere. Firstly, according to the Treaty, they are by birthright part of the magical world and subject to the laws of the Ministry of Magic. Secondly, both sides are obligated to abide by the Statute, and a special Scotland Yard unit works with particularly overzealous parents of young wizards. No one around them can know these children are wizards; they could end up in a mental institution. Or a mentalist from the Department of Mysteries might come and thoroughly brainwash the overzealous parent. Although such cases are extremely rare, take Hermione for example: before meeting my mother and me, the Grangers feared and avoided their own daughter, and if you recall the films, things would have gotten even worse over time; after all, the girl spent all her holidays with the Weasleys. Many Muggle-borns have similar or even worse situations.
I’ll have to talk to my mom, I’ll give her an idea. Maybe we can develop some manuals or brochures for parents of Muggle-borns. They’ll explain what magic is, why the Statutes are needed, the basics of behavior in the wizarding world, and a brief summary of the laws. So they understand how the wizarding world differs from the ordinary world. After all, it’s essentially a different country, like the Vatican in the center of Rome, with completely different laws and regulations. Thomas just insulted a pureblood heiress; by law, she could challenge him to a duel and seriously injure him or even kill him, and she wouldn’t be held accountable, since she’s within her rights. But a mudblood can’t challenge a pureblood to a duel for such a trivial matter—class society, damn it.
The ringing of the bell distracted me from my thoughts. McGonagall entered the classroom, and second period began. The professor pulled out a large box of matches and, with a wave of her wand, levitated one for each of us. A formula with verbal components appeared on the board, and McCat demonstrated the wand movement. Basically, she’d explained it and explained it thoroughly; all that was left was to swallow. By the end of the lesson, we were supposed to turn a match into a needle, and that’s when the circus began.
Finnigan waved his wand, and his match burst into flame. Weasley’s match dissolved into some kind of liquid. Potter laughed at Longbottom, who had managed to create a splinter of wood with ears on each end. Patil and Brown tried to help Smith, but the poor girl was completely unable to do anything. The Slytherins watched everyone with smirks, although they themselves were either unsuccessful or simply didn’t want to stand out. Mia and I exchanged amused glances and pulled out our wands. I’ll try a creative approach; it’s more useful for combat.
I looked at the board again, memorized the gesture and the wording, just in case, clearly imagined a steel sewing machine needle, and poured magic into the concentrator. My match turned silver. Oh well, Moscow wasn’t built in a day, and I’m no genius. I imagined the needle again, sincerely wished for it to change, pointed the wand at the piece of wood… It worked! On the second try! I turned to Hermione, who had an ordinary sewing needle in front of her, and chuckled softly. I’m not the only one who’s this capable. The little brat, and she’s smirking, too.
McGonagall noticed our progress and, pursing her lips, approached our table. She carefully examined our work and picked up Hermione’s needle.
“Miss Granger was the fastest! Five points to Gryffindor!” She proudly showed my friend’s creation to the entire audience, and then turned to me. “Miss Hellsing, what is this?”
– It’s a needle, professor. – I was stating a fact.
“Why does it have an eye at the bottom? How are you going to sew for it?” The question was asked in all seriousness.
– Professor, this is a sewing machine needle, the thread goes in differently… – But the dean didn’t let me finish.
“Miss Hellsing, I gave you very specific instructions: turn a match into a needle! A regular sewing needle!” McGonagall looked at me sternly. “Am I not explaining this clearly? Or are you hard of hearing? Is it difficult for you to complete even the simplest task?”
“I understand, Professor, I’ll correct you now.” “Well, bitch, you’ve decided to get to the bottom of this, haven’t you just been hit in the back with a poker enough?” So, I imagine a single needle in minute detail, infuse magic into the wand, and direct it at my textbook. Perfect! I even got the engraving all the way along it!
“W-what is this?!” McGonagall practically screamed, apparently recognizing the situation. “After the Granger showdown, I read the files on all the Heads of House. That’s how I learned that Snape, it turns out, is a Prince, and McCotch is a half-blood, the daughter of a Presbyterian pastor and a second-generation pureblood witch. What brought such a couple together is unknown, and unimportant.
Her father turned out to be a complete fanatic and a monster. Why? Because when Minerva turned ten, this lunatic decided to perform an exorcism according to all the canons of the witch hunt era! He mutilated and tortured the ten-year-old girl’s body for several days, trying to drive the Devil out of her, while her mother prayed for her daughter’s soul and handed her husband a torture instrument. Like that needle I conjured.
Little Minerva’s ordeal ended when a couple of neighborhood boys broke into the half-abandoned church and heard the terrible screams of children. They immediately ran to their parents, who called the bobby, and the police who arrived were thoroughly shocked by the sight of a bloodied child chained with rusty chains to an oak rack, and the impending bonfire that this lunatic and his wife were preparing in the backyard of their church. Long story short, Barclay McGonagall was killed during his arrest for “resisting violence,” his wife Louise was sent to a closed psychiatric hospital for compulsory treatment, and Minerva spent two more months nursing.
Then the orphanage girl received a letter from Hogwarts, and she disappeared from the big world forever, staying with friends and acquaintances during the holidays and avoiding the mundane world at all costs. And now she looks at my creation with horror and recognition in her eyes. She wanted to get to the bottom of it—and here she is, a needle.
“These needles are used by the pain masters of the Anglican Church and the interrogators of the Holy Inquisition.” I blinked innocently and looked at the instructor with a warm smile. “See the fine carving and these little petals on the tip? They’re for convenience, making it easier to insert the needle under the fingernails or into the gums of heretics. Look, there’s even an engraving: ‘Actus Fidei’ (Latin for “Act of Faith”), just like the ones I used. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Ten points to Gryffindor,” McGonagall said quietly and silently returned to her seat. Most people didn’t care about my performance; only Malfoy and Greengrass looked at me thoughtfully, and Zabini and Nott looked wary—those guys were clearly in the know. Hermione carefully examined my creation, and ten minutes later, two torture instruments were lying on our desk. My friend is such a sweetheart.
By the end of the lesson, all the purebloods had succeeded except Weasley, but it was better to break his wand. Potter and Longbottom began giggling and teasing Ron, while Finnigan and Thomas supported the wizarding world’s star. The future underlings hadn’t succeeded themselves, but they were honored to have kissed up to the great Potter. Ron wasn’t particularly upset, Justin hadn’t succeeded either, nor had anyone else far removed from the world of magic. Ron simply promised to punch Harry in the nose, and with that, the lesson ended.
At the exit, the prefects were already waiting for us, escorting us up to the sixth floor, where the Charms classroom was located. The little professor’s domain resembled an amphitheater more than a classroom: desks were arranged in a semicircle, and in the center stood a massive wooden table piled high with books and parchment. Flitwick himself was waiting for the first-years, standing on a stack of books, smiling cheerfully at us, urging us to take our seats. Behind the professor, three enormous arched windows sparkled in the sunlight, and the walls to the left and right were lined with bookcases, practically bursting with books. He had a substantial library.
A lot of interesting information about Flitwick was also uncovered. Briefly, it’s unknown who his parents were or how he ended up in France in the mid-19th century. However, he then “worked” as a hired killer for about thirty years and, incidentally, was quite successful at it. Having saved up the necessary funds, the half-goblin apprenticed to the famous French wizard Gérard Lancausse. Remarkably, this respected wizard had previously flatly refused to take on students. In 1891, Flitwick earned his Master’s degree with distinction, after which he took a job at Beauxbatons, where he taught Charms and Dueling.
Around this time, he became an active member of MUDAK (the International Unique Dueling Academic Club) and began participating in dueling competitions. Over the course of twenty years, he became world champion three times and won gold at the European Championships seven more times. He’s the kind of guy they say size doesn’t matter, skill matters. And then came the First Great War…
Flitwick didn’t sit back in the rear; he volunteered for the front and celebrated victory by storming the German Ministry of Magic. The half-goblin proved himself adept in trench warfare, eliminating German wizards and aiding the Entente. I don’t think he’d be able to wear all his military decorations; there simply wouldn’t be room on his small chest. When the war ended, Flitwick returned to teaching at Beauxbatons.
Ten years later, Hitler and Grindelwald came to power in Germany. The latter remembered the insolent half-goblin and placed a huge bounty on his head. Flitwick survived twelve assassination attempts, the last, thirteenth, occurring right at school. During a battle with mercenaries, three students who were trying to help their beloved mentor died, and Filius decided that the blood of these children was on his hands. The next day, he left France and moved to the British Isles, where Dippet approached him and offered him a position as a charms teacher. On the third try, the little wizard accepted. Absolutely everyone interviewed unanimously trumpeted that Flitwick was the best teacher at Hogwarts; we’ll find out.
The lesson itself was quite fun and engaging. First, Flitwick gave us a playful introduction to safety, citing various amusing examples, like the time a friend of his made the wrong sign during a spell and was crushed by a cow that fell from the sky. The professor laughed heartily as he recalled how they washed the poor animal of its blood. He also recounted how another friend of his jokingly turned his wife’s head into a pumpkin, only for her to slip, the pumpkin burst upon impact, and the woman died.
“Remember, children!” The half-goblin looked us over seriously. “The safety regulations are written in blood! The other professors and I aren’t just groveling in front of you for nothing!”
Then Flitwick ordered us to get our wands, and I immediately noticed the difference between purebloods and Muggle-borns. Purebloods had their wands in their holsters, while Muggle-borns’ children reached into their bags! A wand is an extension of you—how can you put it in a bag with your notebooks and quills? Oh well, they’ll get used to it in time. The professor drew everyone’s attention and cast Lumos, then told us an interesting story about how this spell was invented in 1772 by Levina Monstein, who worked in the Department of Mysteries and often searched for dropped objects using an oil lamp.
– Now raise your wand point up, imagine a firefly on its tip and say Lumos. – Flitwick gave us our first task.
Ten minutes later, everyone succeeded, though Finnigan clearly had trouble controlling it—he cast Lumos Solem, which nearly blinded everyone around him. The professor clapped his hands and cheered, watching the children mesmerized by the glowing ball on the tip of their concentrator. Hermione and I smiled too, admiring the children’s delighted expressions, and continued playing Lumos Colorum, since you can change the color of the light if you want.
“What a spoiling control!” The professor noticed our game and clapped his hands. “Miss Hellsing, Miss Granger, five points each to Gryffindor.”
On this cheerful note, the first Charms lesson ended, and we headed to the Great Hall under the escort of the prefects—it was lunchtime. Almost all the students were gathered at the tables, many of them glancing sideways or even pointing at Potter, while my brother was literally basking in his glory and even signing autographs! While I was there, an older Hufflepuff girl ran up to him and asked him to sign a photo, which Harry did with a satisfied smile.
We sat down at the table and began to eat. The selection, of course, wasn’t like you’d find at a festive feast, but it was quite decent and, most importantly, delicious. The tomato soup was simply superb, and the mashed potatoes and meatballs were beyond praise, but the first sip of juice made me wince. Disgusting! I can’t stand pumpkin, and the only drink on the table was that damned pumpkin juice. I cleaned a glass with a spell, dug into my bag for a two-liter bottle of pomegranate juice, and poured it into two glasses. Hermione wasn’t thrilled with the pumpkin either.
As lunch was drawing to a close, my Miracle Phone vibrated – I received a very simple text message:
“I’ll be waiting for you at my place after school.”
Exactly! I almost forgot, we still need to stop by the Order agent’s to sort out some bureaucratic issues and pick up some things from him. Anyway, let’s finish our juice and head off to Herbology. Madam Sprout is the strangest dean, there’s nothing on her at all! She just showed up in Wizarding Britain two hundred years ago, and that’s it! And yet, the badgers obey her implicitly, while the other students are wary. I need to meet this lovely woman.
The prefects led us through the castle courtyard to the greenhouses, of which there were eight. Seven rather large glass “hangars” stood in a row, with the last one located a fair distance away and surrounded by a high fence. We needed to go to the first one. At the entrance, we immediately changed into work robes, while the children glanced sideways at Hermione and my machine guns. Justin, however, had a standard-issue Glock in a holster on his belt.
As soon as we donned our work clothes, we were greeted by a short, plump woman with a kind face and ash-blond hair. She introduced herself as Pomona Sprout, took roll call, checked the parchment, made sure everything was in place, and called us to follow her. The greenhouse turned out to be larger inside than it looked from the outside, and beyond the vestibule with the equipment and work clothes, we discovered a truly enormous greenhouse. The professor gave us a short tour, telling us about some interesting specimens, and seated us at a dozen desks at the opposite end of the room.
“So, kids, today will be a little theory, and from next class onwards, it’ll be all about practice!” The woman gestured toward the garden beds behind her. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us this year! Now, get your pens ready, we’ll take some notes. Let’s start with safety precautions…”
We rustled through the parchment again: first, never work with unfamiliar plants; second, always wear protective gloves; third, don’t put unfamiliar plants in your mouth; fourth, don’t touch your face with dirty hands while working; and last, if anything goes wrong, call the teacher immediately.
Sprout also explained that each year has its own greenhouse, and the older the students, the more dangerous the plants, so there are seven of them. Entry to the eighth year is permitted only with a teacher and in protective gear, which includes silver chainmail, a cloak, boots, a helmet, and dragonhide gloves. The most dangerous, yet highly valuable, plants in the magical world grow there.
Next, we were told about herbology itself, a science over 3,000 years old and used in all areas of wizarding practice. It turns out that all plants in the world are magical! I hadn’t really thought about that. Even a simple dandelion growing by the side of the road contains a drop of magic, so in addition to the overtly magical plants, we’ll also study ordinary ones. Madame immediately gave an example: a common rose, sold in any flower shop, is used in “Beauty Potion” and a dozen other love potions. If a plant grows in magical territories, it’s more useful, as it contains more magic, but ordinary ones are also quite suitable.
The professor also explained that all plants emit magic into their surroundings, while mushrooms, conversely, absorb it from outside. There’s even a separate science called mycology. And herbosympology, which studies algae, ferns, and mosses. And, of course, she mentioned the Ministry of Magic, which has six entire departments dedicated to magical plants—a sort of mini-Ministry of Agricultural Development.
When we were completely overwhelmed by the heat and stuffiness of the greenhouse, the bell rang, and the professor, with a kind smile, assigned us homework—an essay on the history and development of herbology. Then she reminded us that from the next class on, it would be nothing but practice, practice, and nothing but practice. And so we were released.
Percy and Penelope, the Ravenclaw prefect, a pretty, tall girl with long, blond hair, were waiting for us near the greenhouse. Remembering the message, I approached our prefect:
– Mr. Weasley, can you take us to the caretaker’s office?
– Why do you need Filch? – The guy looked at us suspiciously.
“We need to familiarize ourselves with the list of prohibited items and the rules of conduct in the corridors.” I look the headman honestly in the eyes.
– I see. Okay, we’ll show you the way. At least someone’s trying to follow the rules! – And he looks at us like we’re idiots.
The caretaker’s office was in the basement. The elders escorted us out and, after making sure we’d memorized the way back, went about their business. I approached the wooden door, darkened by time, and knocked. Shuffling footsteps and an elderly grumble were heard on the other side. The door swung open with a sickening creak, and we met the gaze of a tall, gaunt old man.
“Why are you here?” The gray-haired old man looked at me, Justin, and Hermione with hostility. “I don’t think you had any detentions today.”
“Mr. Filch, my friends and I would like to familiarize ourselves with the list of prohibited items at Hogwarts.” I politely addressed the caretaker. At that moment, a couple of Slytherin boys walked past us, and one of them chuckled.
– Well, come in, since you’ve come. – Filch gestured for us to come inside.
The caretaker’s office was small and gloomy, with an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling providing very dim lighting. Most of the space was taken up by a large desk, a battered chair, and rows of filing cabinets lining the walls. Each drawer was labeled with names in alphabetical order, and a large chest labeled “Confiscated” tucked into the corner. The polished chains and shackles above the desk added to the atmosphere.
As soon as the door closed behind us, Hermione and I stood at attention and greeted the veteran in unison:
– We wish you good health, Comrade Major!
– At ease! – Hellsing’s agent saluted us and gestured to the table. – Tea? Indian, just brewed.
While Hermione was pouring the aromatic drink into mugs, the old man took out three stacks of papers yellowed with age, chuckled to himself and took out another parchment.
“Okay, greenhorns, here’s a list of banned items and who sells them, just in case.” Filch handed me a paper with a long list of names. “Now about the permits, sign each one and carry them with you at all times.”
After these words, the retired major handed each of us a voluminous stack of papers, yellowed with age. Here were permits for monster hunter equipment, protective clothing, armor, and here were permits for the family blade and for carrying a sword. Last came permits for carrying a musket and, most recently, for a firearm.
“It was strict under Dippet,” the old man began telling us while we were rustling our pens, “on September 2nd there was a line outside the office, because the students were often searched and had forbidden things confiscated, and then they were flogged. And under Dumbledore… Eh… He completely let the kids loose, they do whatever they want.”
– Major Filch, how long have you been working here? – Hermione looked up from her papers.
“I got a job right after the Great War. The Crown ordered it, and I obeyed.” The old man sighed heavily. “I have no one, my wife and children were killed in the bombing, so I’m quietly gathering information. No one pays any attention to an old squib.”
– And they didn’t try to, well, harm you? – As far as I know, wizards have a very negative attitude towards squibs.
“We tried, but it was no use. The castle itself protects me.” The old man chuckled. “I signed a full contract with the school and am part of it. As a last resort, I have a shotgun; silver pellets easily penetrate shields, and there have been a couple of cases where the brats completely lost their cool.”
– Major Filch, can I see the confiscated goods? – In the films, the Weasley twins stole a wonderful map from the caretaker, it will be more useful to me.
“Look,” the old man pointed to the chest. “If you like anything, take it.”
“Thank you.” I nodded and, opening the lid, began rummaging through the junk. Firecrackers, dung bombs, some other nasty crap… I was getting closer and closer to the bottom, really? Maybe I should interrogate the twins? I found it! Super! At the very bottom, I found a folded, yellowed parchment with a picture of Hogwarts, covered in incomprehensible Latin gibberish.
“I confiscated this thing from Potter and Black, they were in their seventh year at the time.” Filch saw the find in my hands. “As far as I can tell, it’s some kind of map, only it’s cleverly encrypted. I showed it to Dumbledore back then, and he just smiled and praised those bastards for their intelligence. They were naughty kids, they made so much crap, ugh!”
“Shall I take it?” Filch nodded at me, and I put the valuable artifact in my bag. “I’ll check later.” “Thank you! Can I ask you a question? You know everything about Hogwarts, right?”
“Ask away.” The old man nodded and took a large sip of tea.
“What did the Weasley twins do last year?” I asked the question that had been bothering me for the past 24 hours, and picked up a mug of the aromatic drink.
“Those two idiots… Fuck… Basically, those two bastards killed a first-year.” Filch grimaced in disgust, and we stared at him in shock. “Not on purpose, of course, they’re fucking testers. They dream of opening their own shop, they even had their own lab on the fourth floor, the headmaster forbade the teachers from touching it, the old fool. Like, the boys are trying hard, they want to escape poverty, don’t interfere with their experiments. Those two idiots were making their joke candies there and testing them on first-years, they were smart enough, right?!”
“Did the guy have an allergy?” Hermione asked a logical question.
“That’s right. The kid had just left the hospital wing, a potion exploded during class, Poppy drugged him and sent him to the common room…” The old man sighed heavily. “The twins gave him a candy, but it turned out to be incompatible with some healing potions. Anyway, the stuff burned his throat and carotid artery, the idiots realized what had happened and, clutching the boy’s wound, ran to the hospital wing… But they didn’t make it in time; the boy bled to death on the way, and Poppy could only pronounce him dead.”
– Horrible! – Justin shrugged and took a sip of tea. – And what happened next?
“The DMP arrived, the kid was Muggle-born, so they chalked it up to an accident.” The caretaker winced. “The idiots were given detention with the Prince and banned from playing Quidditch for a year. That’s what they punished. And then a couple of days later, there was this… Ahem… A real massacre, I’ve never seen anything like it in all my years of work.”
– What happened? – I looked closely at Filch.
“At dinner, two seventh-year Slytherins approached the Lions’ table and handed the redheads Transfigured Death Eater masks and robes! Idiots.” The old man spat on the floor. “And then they were solemnly congratulated, saying they were continuing the Dark Lord’s great work of cleansing the world of Mudbloods. What happened next… The Lions’ entire house attacked those idiots, and then the Slytherin table, the badgers joined the vultures, and the ravens also started casting curses in all directions. Dumbledore was not in school at the time, and the deans were only able to restore order after about twenty minutes. In the end, one Slytherin instigator died on the spot, the other is still in St. Mungo’s, the curses flying were all combat curses, mostly Dark ones. Another third-year Hufflepuff girl had her head cut off by a stray Seko. That’s how it is… The DMP spent a week there, checking all the students, but they never found the killers, the useless parasites…
– Things… – Justin involuntarily checked his bulletproof vest and touched the pistol on his belt.
“Have you finished your tea? Well done! Come on, I’ll show you to the living room. We’ve been sitting here too long.” The caretaker stood up and headed for the exit. “When you’ve settled in a bit and explored the castle, come and I’ll show you the secret passages and shortcuts. Over the years, I’ve gotten a good feel for the trails here.”
Filch quickly led us through some roundabout routes to the right floor, and I remembered the way.
“Newbies, if anything happens or you need anything, call me right away.” We were already standing on the seventh floor, and the old man pulled a Miracle Phone out of his pocket. “Hellsing has my number. And remember, always carry your papers with you. That’s it, good luck to you.”
Entering the living room, we found a comfortable table in the corner and started doing our homework. It’s best to get it done now so we can explore the castle and the library over the weekend. Speaking of which, we won’t have time to go there today because we have a slumber party after dinner. We need to get to know the girls better. I won’t tell anyone about my adoption; that’s confidential information, and Mia won’t blab; my friend is a smart girl.
I opened my Transfiguration textbook and started reading the first chapter. We were assigned an essay on it and also to come up with at least five situations where we’d need to turn a match into a needle. Torture and interrogation under duress—they’re different situations, right? We’ll write that down. Then there’s an essay on Lumos about the benefits of this spell, and for dessert, Herbology. Incidentally, it’s the only subject that hasn’t changed much since Dark Lord’s time. I wonder if Zaqqum is still growing in Greenhouse Eight? Apparently, this tree feeds only on the corpses of sinners, and its poisonous fruits are shaped like demon heads. I’ll ask Sprout about that sometime.
Author’s note: More chapters are available on AuthorToday, but unfortunately I can’t provide a direct link because LitNet prohibits links to any third-party resources. My work is easily found in search results. Thank you very much!
