Chapter 38
I put the Miracle Phone in my pocket and looked around carefully; I’d never been to this part of the castle before. How I’d ended up here was unclear; some kind of magic. Approaching the window overlooking the courtyard, I realized I was on the third or fourth floor. Looking around again and not finding a single living portrait, I moved forward. I needed to reach the central gallery, and from there the living room was just a stone’s throw away.
After walking a short distance and turning a corner, I realized I’d reached the third floor, a forbidden corridor. A very interesting sight greeted me, and out of curiosity, I even took a few short steps forward. At the end of the corridor stood a large metal door, literally glowing with the abundance of runes and protective designs, and, it seemed to me, humming steadily like a transformer. Furthermore, the door was bound with glowing silver chains and guarded by two guards. These guards were two three-meter-tall stone knights, but their shields and halberds were metal and covered in numerous protective patterns.
Now the knights stood like statues, their halberds crossed, blocking the passage to an interesting door. In the movie, Hermione opened the wooden door, revealing a Cerberus waiting behind it, a simple Alohomora. Something tells me that trick wouldn’t work here. I decided to take a closer look at the symbols on the door and took another small step forward, causing the guards to come to life. The knights turned, seemingly alive, raised their shields, and pointed their halberds in my direction, but for now they remained standing.
“I get it, there’s nothing interesting here,” I used the French army’s favorite tactic – I raised my hands up and began to slooooowly back away, “That’s it, see? I’m leaving.”
Turning the corner, I pressed myself against the wall and exhaled nervously, my instincts screaming at me about mortal danger. If I took a few more steps forward, those stone knights would have made me into a meat platter, no fucking way! I dread to think what kind of traps Dumbledore hid behind that vault door. I need to change my plan immediately!
Previously, I had planned to quietly follow Potter or whoever climbed through the hatch and set all the traps on themselves, then observe the fight with Quirrell and, if necessary, finish him off. Then tranquilize or knock out the defender, and finally, chip away at the piece of stone and escape.
Now I realize I’ll never set foot in this corridor again. I’m not afraid of death, but I don’t want to die so foolishly. So I need to figure out how to intercept the Philosopher’s Stone once it’s outside this vault. After all, any valuable item is most vulnerable during transport from one vault to another. With these thoughts in mind, I walked out to the moving staircase and then quickly made my way to Gryffindor Tower.
The common room was fairly quiet; the weather had been warm and sunny, so almost all the students were enjoying the last of the summer outdoors. Hermione was at a far table, my friend explaining something to Elvira with a serious expression. Justin and Ron were sitting by the fireplace, mesmerized by the chessboard. From what I’ve heard, the boys absolutely love the game.
– What are we chatting about? – I sat down next to my best friend.
“Hermione explains pureblood customs to me, but…” Smith blushed a little, embarrassed. “These early engagements, marriage contracts, and… Concubines… It’s… It’s so medieval…”
“Well, what did you expect? Three hundred years ago, wizards adopted the Statute and sealed themselves off from the outside world.” I shrugged. “Since then, the magical world has stagnated or even deteriorated. That’s where the old order comes from, with early marriages. There are few wizards, so a child is matched with a suitable partner in infancy. The relationship shouldn’t be too close, and the future newlyweds’ magic shouldn’t conflict. The latter is more important, by the way.”
– What do you mean? How can magic conflict? – Elvira stared at Hermione and me with interest, – And why isn’t being closely related so scary?
“It’s simple with magic. Most wizards are generalists; they’re equally adept at all spells and forms of witchcraft.” Mia adopted a lecturing tone. “But there are wizards who excel at certain disciplines significantly more than others. For some, it’s light magic or healing, while others are predisposed to dark magic or necromancy. If you develop in one direction over many years, you can become a great light wizard, like Dumbledore, or a great healer, like Hippocrates Smethwick. But Dumbledore struggles with dark magic; he might cast Avada, but his light counterparts will be far more powerful. Therefore, a necromancer and a light healer are unlikely to produce strong and healthy offspring; purebloods calculate such things in advance.”
“What about consanguineous marriages?” Smith turned to me, “Yesterday I read the book on heraldry you gave me and I realized that almost all purebloods are related to each other.”
“Well, yes, for example, Orion Black and his wife Walburga are second cousins, which didn’t stop them from having two magically powerful sons.” “The eldest was a bit of a brainless one, though, but we won’t go into that. “Wizards have special potions and rituals that mitigate most of the problems associated with close family ties. But even they have their limits, so they periodically introduce so-called fresh blood into the family, usually a foreigner or a Muggle-born. Each case must be assessed individually.”
– I see. – Our modest classmate lowered her head, – And what about stagnation?
“Wizards used to have incentives in the form of commoners,” Hermione raised a finger to the ceiling. “Strong and skilled wizards were revered and respected everywhere, they were paid mountains of gold, and kings invited them into their service. Incompetent and clumsy ones, on the contrary, were despised; what kind of wizard are you if you can’t call rain, can’t drive away a dangerous monster, can’t even brew a healing potion. Back then, people studied and developed.”
“And now it’s just the Ministry of Magic and private businesses run by old families.” I decided to clarify the current state of affairs in the Wizarding World for the girl. “These days, it’s practically impossible to get anywhere in the Wizarding World without connections, patronage, or someone’s protection. There are a lot of wizards, but cushy jobs are limited, so purebloods squabble among themselves like spiders in a jar.”
“Okay, thank you, girls.” Smith nodded sadly. “I thought I was in a fairy tale, but it turns out… Okay, I’ll go study the compatibility chart; I promised Malfoy I’d learn it by the next lesson. Will you test me this evening?”
“Okay, we’ll definitely check it out. I’ll also give you a book on the basics of Occlumency,” Hermione said goodbye to our roommate and looked at me predatorily: “Tell me!”
– Not here. – I looked around the living room and at the clock: – I’ll tell you everything after dinner. By the way, how do you like Elvira?
“She’s a smart girl, she learns new things quickly, but…” Mia twirled her palm in the air, “She’s very inhibited, she’s afraid of everything, but we can work on that.”
“I see, Mom’s almost finished with the paperwork for Smith’s transfer to St. Ursula’s Orphanage,” I nodded to myself. “I’m thinking of taking the girl under the Order’s protection, but I’m sure she’ll have to ask for it herself. So let her study the Wizarding World for now. I’ll give her the Code of Magical Britain to read this evening, and we’ll talk in a month. In the meantime, I’ll go change, and while I’m at it, I’ll pick up the magical contract for Justin.”
“Is it that serious?” I nodded to my friend and headed to the bedroom. I needed to take off this suicide belt, it felt somehow uncomfortable.
***
“That flea-bitten bitch, you should have just emptied the whole magazine into him!” Hermione choked with indignation.
After lunch, we gathered in an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor, which would eventually become our training base. Before I began my story, I warned Finch-Fletchley that the information was strictly confidential, so he signed a magical non-disclosure agreement without issue. Yes, I’m paranoid, and I’m proud of it. Then I told my friends about the purpose of Black’s visit and his version of how I ended up in the orphanage, and then I shared my own, slightly edited, story. Hermione already knows everything, but Justin isn’t supposed to know things like the Dursleys and the blood adoption ritual; that’s only for the closest people.
And now the evil Mia is pacing around the only desk in the classroom, where we’ve settled in. I activated the pyramid just in case, and walls have ears, and in the magical world, they can be literal. And Justin, who had been listening to me silently and attentively this whole time, is now lost in his own thoughts.
“Riya, you understand that Blackie won’t leave you alone now, right?!” Her friend finally calmed down a bit and drew attention to herself.
“I understand, but Mom promised to resolve this issue.” I looked at my friend with a smile: “Don’t worry, this family has no power over me.”
“Rigel, if you’re sure Black isn’t your father, why did you refuse to get tested?” Justin looked thoughtfully at his hands.
“Out of spite! Now the Blacks think I’m Sirius and Lily’s daughter, but they won’t make a big deal about it.” I pulled my obituary from my bag and placed the scrap of parchment on the desk. “They buried me themselves almost ten years ago! And if they do risk publicly announcing my relationship, they’ll be doubly disgraced. First, they declared me dead, but in reality, they abandoned me. And second, I’m not Sirius’s daughter; the potion will confirm it.”
“And you told me about this so I wouldn’t fall for provocations and believe this nonsense.” The guy nodded to himself. “Although Black’s version sounds quite logical and plausible, well, for wizards at least. But I can give you one piece of advice.”
– What? – I looked at Justin with interest, he is a smart guy, he even almost figured out the code of laws of Magical Britain.
“I advise you to quickly bring the hominium (Author’s note: oath, homage) to Her Majesty, it is still too early for you for investiture (Author’s note: induction into office).” Finch-Fletchley saw the incomprehension in my eyes, sighed heavily and continued monotonously: “Now you are simply the heir of an ancient family and obey the laws of Magical Britain, but as soon as you become a loyal vassal of Her Majesty, you will be immune from jurisdiction by everyone except the Imperial Tribunal, which answers only to the royal family.”
“You’re right, my mother swore an oath of allegiance to the Crown at twelve, let’s not break with tradition.” I nodded gratefully at the boy. “The Blacks are unlikely to start anything before summer. They’re in no hurry, after all, I still have at least five more years of schooling here.”
“Okay, stop sitting around!” Hermione clapped her hands demandingly and reached into her bag. “We need to finish the first line of defense today!”
That concluded the discussion of the Blacks. My friend got out the necessary tools, and I pulled the test tubes and blood-forming potion from my bag. Justin sighed sadly and took off his robes. We divided the duties equally: I, as the most experienced, would draw the picture; Hermione, as the most attentive, would check me; and Justin… as the plumpest, he would prepare the magically conductive paint and serve it to us. Later, if we got bored, we could switch, but for now it was time to do something truly interesting and useful.
***
It was already late, but the windows of the Hellsing estate’s study were lit. The mistress of the estate and her guest were chatting peacefully in soft, comfortable armchairs by the fireplace. Integra Hellsing was a tall, slender, blue-eyed platinum blonde with aristocratic features and slightly tanned skin. She was dressed in a dark blue pantsuit, a white shirt, and a red tie surmounted by an Anglican silver cross. Her companion was Sergei Cherny, a tall, muscular man with dark hair and almost blue eyes. He was dressed informally in black jeans and a white T-shirt.
Now, one of the most influential members of the Soviet Ministry of Defense was calmly sipping a cold beer straight from the bottle and snacking on dried fish, under the disapproving gaze of the office’s occupant. Integra was carefully studying the thick folder her father’s old friend had brought, occasionally glancing sideways at Sergei, who had declined an expensive Australian wine and pulled six bottles of Zhigulevskoye from his pocket. Such behavior could have been considered offensive, but everyone was here, so tonight they could relax and act naturally.
“Are you sure?” Integra finished studying the folder titled “Betelgeuse Black” and looked again at the black-and-white, yellowed with age photograph; it depicted her daughter, only much older and with a wild look in her eyes.
“Absolutely! I checked it myself.” Sergei pulled out a cigarette case and, after offering one to his companion, lit one himself. “Even after the ritual, I noticed how strikingly similar Rigel was to my ailing mother. So I hired three independent detective agencies, and they all gave me the same results. You saw it yourself.”
The blue-eyed blonde glanced again at the thick folder. It stated that in 1918, a new patient had been admitted to Bethlem Royal Hospital. The dark-haired woman, who appeared to be about thirty years old, couldn’t remember her last name or where she lived, but claimed her name was Betelgeuse and that she was a witch. On her very first night, the aggressive patient strangled her wardmate and then nearly killed an orderly. Afterward, the violent woman was kept in a solitary confinement room, but the medications had little effect on her, and during her treatment, she managed to maim several orderlies.
In 1920, the witch Betelgeuse, as the hospital staff nicknamed her, unexpectedly became pregnant. An internal investigation revealed that one of the orderlies had been repeatedly tranquilizing the woman and then raping her. But the police never investigated; the orderly soon died of prostate cancer, and the hospital’s management decided not to air the dirty laundry in public. The birth was assisted there, in the psychiatric hospital, but things didn’t go as planned.
Barely having given birth, Betelgeuse, screaming “Mudblood,” attempted to strangle the infant. Doctors miraculously managed to rescue the child from the enraged mother. Afterward, the woman was sent to her ward, and the newborn boy, named Quentin Evans, was transferred to the Foundling Hospital, where the head of the psychiatric clinic had friends.
Six months after giving birth, the witch Betelgeuse, in a fit of madness, gnawed at her wrists and died of blood loss. The clinic staff only found her body the following morning. As for Quentin, the boy grew up healthy and inquisitive, was respected at the orphanage, and was never caught up in any dirty deeds. When the Great War began, he volunteered for the front and experienced firsthand all the horrors and hardships of war. Wounded twice, he always returned to duty, earned several military awards, and celebrated Victory Day in eastern France.
After the war, the young man received an Imperial scholarship and enrolled at the Technical University, where he met Patricia Miller. Immediately after completing his final exams, the couple had a modest wedding and a housewarming party; the arms factory provided housing to its employees at a negative interest rate. A few years later, the couple had a daughter named Petunia, and three years later, a red-haired cutie they named Lily.
“It turns out that you are Rigel’s great-uncle…” Integra studied her interlocutor thoughtfully; the man almost choked on his beer under her piercing gaze.
“I’m not making any claims! Rigel is your daughter, period!” Black held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Princess, I have five grown children, eleven grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren. One more, one less… But know this: from now on, I’ll take Star’s education and upbringing more seriously.”
“I don’t mind,” the blonde sipped her wine from the glass. “Did you find out how your mother ended up in a mental hospital?”
“There are no living witnesses anymore, but my mother completely lost her fucking mind back when I was working as a mercenary in Europe. I think she killed one of the family’s vassals…” Sergei shrugged and took a long sip of beer. “There was no psychiatric department at St. Mungo’s back then, and killing relatives isn’t common among wizards. Most likely, they simply erased her memory and dumped her in the nearest reputable clinic… Pureblood customs can be cruel sometimes…”
– I see. – Lady Hellsing tapped the folder with her finger, – When do you plan to tell her?
“Actually, I was thinking, during the winter holidays, if you remember, I invited you and the Grangers to Lake Baikal.” The man looked at his interlocutor: “What? Such nature there! Taiga, snowfields, the kids can go sledding, I promised Dan an ice fishing trip. Remember, princess, no refusals!”
“I understand,” the woman nodded, “I’ll review my schedule and let the girls see what the Siberian winter is like.”
“Thank you. But considering my relatives are starting to stir… Will Zvezdochka be home in a couple of weeks?” Sergei waited for an affirmative nod and continued: “Then you can hand over the personal file to her, and we’ll have time to talk later. By the way, have you figured out how to keep the Blacks in line?”
“Yes, I’ve already discussed the details with Walter,” Integra lit a cigarette again. “Do you think it’s better to crucify Sirius or impale him?”
“Then activate the emergency Portkey around your daughter’s neck right now! Are you completely fucking nuts?!” The man leaned forward angrily. “I understand that this idiot attempted to kill your daughter, but he didn’t even lay a finger on her! The Blacks are now the richest and most influential family in Wizarding Britain, and by killing their eldest son, you’ll turn most of the wizarding world against you.”
“You’re right about that. The Blacks will seek revenge and Rigel will have to transfer to another school.” Lady Hellsing bowed her head and looked thoughtfully at the Black. “Perhaps you have any suggestions on how to put pressure on your former family?”
“The Blacks think they’re the coolest bums in the dump right now,” Sergei drained the bottle in one gulp, “and they think they’re the masters of Magical Britain… We need to somehow hint to them to keep their greedy paws to themselves, or they’ll face the wrath of the Crown… Any ideas, fanged one?”
“Ha-ha-ha.” A bone-chilling, quiet laughter erupted from a dark corner of the office, and soon a tall man in a red cloak and wide-brimmed red hat appeared, a bright pink knitted scarf draped around his neck. Alucard smiled kindly, causing Sergei to suddenly sober up, and with a smooth movement, he appeared behind his beloved mistress. “I have a suggestion…”
– Tell me, you bastard… Three liters of dwarven beer down the drain… – Black muttered discontentedly and reached for a bottle of Australian wine.
***
Walburga Black woke up early as usual. She loved to sit alone in the dining room with a cup of strong coffee in her hand. She turned to admire her sleeping husband, as usual, but instead of his beloved face, she was met with a horrific sight. Terrified, Lady Black fell out of bed and screamed loudly, waking Orion. Orion literally jumped out of bed and, within seconds, was standing in a fighting stance, his wand aimed at the cause of his early awakening.
Right between the couple’s pillows lay a severed head, once belonging to a huge black dog. Its mouth was slightly open, revealing enormous yellow fangs, and a small brown stain had formed on the white silk sheet.
– Orion! Get that out of our bed immediately!!! – Walburga screamed and pointed a shaking hand at the dog’s head.
– Evanesco. – The man cast a simple cleaning spell, but it didn’t work.
In response to the stimulus, the head opened its red, faintly glowing eyes and laughed softly. The middle-aged couple froze in fear and stared in horror into those red holes, as if the Devil himself were looking at them. The hellhound glanced at the Black couple and, licking its muzzle with its swollen and bloody tongue, spoke softly:
One, two – the church investigator will take you away,
Three, four – lock the doors tighter.
Five, six – the inquisitor wants to burn you all!
Seven, eight – Hellsing will come to you without asking,
Nine, Ten – do not sin, children!
Having finished the last sentence, the black creature laughed loudly, causing the Blacks to back away in terror toward the exit. But barely had the wizards taken a few steps when the dog’s head exploded, showering the entire bedroom with a foul-smelling brown liquid.
“A-A-A-A!” Walburga screamed and began to pull off her smoking, hissing shirt. The brown liquid turned out to be a highly corrosive acid and doused her and Orion almost from head to toe.
At that moment, her husband was kneeling, clutching his red, burned face with his swollen hands. Just then, the bedroom door swung open and Andromeda and Regulus burst in, wands at the ready. For a moment, they were stunned by the sight, but quickly pulled themselves together and rushed to their relatives’ aid.
***
A couple of hours later, the Black family gathered in the dining room for a family council. Orion Black and his wife, Walburga, now looked more like mummies than respected wizards. Their faces, heads, and hands were tightly bandaged with white bandages soaked in healing potions.
“And I told you right away that you shouldn’t bother the girl!” The head of the family looked angrily at his wife, “But when did you care about my opinion?”
“Forgive me, darling, I already realized that this was a stupid idea.” Walburga lowered her eyes guiltily: “That platinum bitch will still answer…”
“No! We won’t take revenge and we’ll pretend nothing happened!” Orion slammed his palm on the table, then shook his bandaged hand with a hiss.
“Father is right,” Regulus looked closely at his mother. “The Hellsings are stronger than ever. We’re no match for the Hounds of the Crown. And that dog’s head is a strong hint that next time it might be one of our own.”
“It was the Angel of Death, my grandfather told me that story…” Everyone present turned their attention to Andromeda. “Legend has it that Hellsing employs a first-class assassin and executioner, so nicknamed for his ability to infiltrate even the most secure locations and quietly eliminate his victims.”
“Whoever it was, they bypassed all the mansion’s defenses and got into our bedroom, and we didn’t even notice!” The head of the family looked around at everyone present and waved his hand. “The girl refused to return to the family, and so did Morgana. Especially since we buried her alive almost ten years ago, and in five years, this Crown lapdog will leave the Wizarding World.”
“I second that!” said Cygnus Black III, Andromeda’s father and Walburga’s brother. “That little brat won’t do much good. Sure, there was a chance to annoy the Hellsings, but the safety of the family comes first.”
“Am I the only one wondering why this Mudblood spawn was given a Black name?” Druella Black asked an intriguing question.
“It was our brainless Sirius who distinguished himself. After helping Bellatrix,” Andromeda sighed sadly, uttering her sister’s name, “that bastard went to get drunk at James’s, where he asked for advice on what to name his daughter. Potter had chosen a name for his son long ago, but he was unsure about his daughter.”
“It’s symbolic. By the way, about Sirius, Andy, you’re going to work now, right?” Walburga waited for the woman’s affirmative nod and continued: “Please explain to my wayward son that he should stay away from that girl! And also, keep his mouth shut! We don’t need another scandal.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Andromeda nodded to her aunt with a malicious smile and stood up from the table.
***
Sirius Black was in the VIP ward of St. Mungo’s Hospital’s Dark Curses Ward. Lying on his stomach, he mused on the injustices of this mortal coil, as well as on one other petty wretch. The thought that this insolent girl was his daughter made his fists clench with anger and resentment. Oh well, he’d be discharged soon, and he’d take this obstinate bitch from Hogwarts. Then he’d lock her in the mansion’s basement, force her on bread and water, and beat her until she toed the line. This little brat would fear him and obey him unquestioningly, he’d make sure of it! He’d never experienced such pain and humiliation in his life!
“Well, hello there, Leaky Siri,” Andromeda greeted the man from the doorway, and the woman quietly entered her wayward brother’s room.
– Just don’t tell me that Nyunius has already told everyone… – Black sadly dropped his head onto the pillow.
“Yesterday, the Malfoys had another social event, and the Prince attended, where he shared his impressions of how a first-year girl had bested a master fighter.” The woman looked at her relative’s sour expression with a malicious smile. “Severus told everyone everything in great detail, Siri, did you really like it?”
“I’ll strangle the little brat!” The man angrily punched the pillow, “And then I’ll take on the little wretch!”
“No way, brother. You’re not going anywhere near that girl.” Andromeda smiled predatorily, and Sirius clutched his throat and began to choke. After waiting for the man’s face to turn blue and his eyes to roll back in his head, the woman released her grip and looked closely into his terrified blue eyes. “We’ve tolerated your antics for a long time, but now your actions threaten the family! Your father ordered you not to go near the girl, and you will obey him!”
Looking at the enraged fury that was his cousin, Sirius could only nod nervously.
“Come on, Leaky Siri, take off your pants,” Andromeda chuckled cheerfully, “I’ll examine your terrible wound…”
***
We barely managed to apply the first rune chain over the weekend, all because of Justin. This unique individual suggested applying the runes to the back of the wooden frame. He said this would make our creation harder to spot, and Hermione and I agreed, only to regret it later. It took us over an hour to tear the wooden panel off the wall, but it was worth it. Then, while Mia and Justin were tearing off the second panel, I grabbed a cleaver and got to work.
The protective design is applied to the wood in several stages: first, the desired runes and symbols are cut out with a cutter, then they are soaked in a magically conductive paint, then infused with magic, and finally, the finished design is coated with a special varnish. It all sounds simple, but in reality… By Sunday evening, we’re absolutely fucking tired, but now the door to our abandoned classroom has a powerful distraction, and no one else is interested in this room.
The next week of school flew by rather quickly and monotonously. Classes were fun and quite interesting.
Flitwick continued teaching us control and began giving us special exercises to develop the flexibility of our fingers and hands. Some spells require such complex gestures that, if you’re not used to it, you could dislocate or even break something.
In Transfiguration with McGonagall, we continued to torment the hapless matches. Now, almost everyone was getting the hang of it, and the teacher began making the task more challenging. Now we were required to transform the match into a knitting needle or a crochet hook.
During Potions class, the Prince continued to swoop around the classroom like a hawk, never forgetting to insult the students and deduct points from everyone. For example, on Tuesday, he deducted five points from Smith for breathing loudly. While this overgrown idiot was humiliating the poor girl, Longbottom managed to melt his cauldron. The teacher arrived just in time, and the caustic potion, hissing as it dripped from the table, only managed to burn through Neville’s shoes. The Prince deducted ten points and destroyed the smoking shoes, and the boy spent the entire lesson barefoot. After class, to the laughter of the Slytherins, Longbottom ran to the common room, his dirty heels flashing.
Defense of the Ancients was still very interesting. Quirrel knows a lot and presents the material very well. In fact, when he leafed through our first-year textbook, he pointedly threw it in the trash can next to his desk.
The teacher declared that the textbook had been written by a degenerate pacifist and simply an idiot, so he ordered us to go to the library and borrow Quentin Trimble’s 1933 edition of “The Dark Arts.” Afterwards, Quirrel told us Antares the Old’s theory about the origins of wizards.
In short, before animals appeared on Earth, there were disembodied, mindless spirits. They lacked intelligence but possessed magic. How they came to be is unknown, but as soon as Muggles appeared, these spirits found refuge within them. Over time, Muggles learned to control this gift, and thus the first shamans, healers, and spellcasters emerged. These spirits were few in number, but part of the gift was passed down from father to son, and thus, wizards emerged from Muggles and spirits.
Muggle-haters detest this theory and adhere to the Divine Creation Theory. According to this theory, God created everything on Earth, including wizards and magical creatures. This is why wizards consider themselves superior to worthless Muggles; wizards were originally created better and more powerful. This is also a rather interesting theory, and it resonates with Holy Scripture, which calls magic a Gift from the Creator.
Justin slept in History of Magic, and Mia and I continued doing our own thing. In Astronomy, we finally got out our telescopes and had a blast admiring the stars.
Peace and quiet reigned in the faculty; Hermione and I were avoided by everyone except our roommates and the Weasleys. The boy did our homework after lunch and often told us stories about Quidditch and other stories about the life of an ordinary wizard. My brother had gone quiet after Black’s visit, but judging by the looks he gave me, he was clearly plotting some mischief.
And right after dinner, we were heading to the fifth floor. I decided to cast Mala Voluntate as a second line of defense. It’s a rather complex but extremely effective rune chain, and its essence is very simple: anyone who wishes us harm will never find the entrance to this classroom. There’s a lot of work to do, but we should be done in a couple of weeks. I’m already itching to practice some proper fencing.
And so the long-awaited Saturday arrived. After breakfast, Hermione, Justin, and I sat on the couch, wondering what to do. Should we go to the library and then finish our defense in an empty classroom, or, conversely, sweat it out with a cutter until lunch and then quietly read an interesting book? But our thoughts were interrupted by a red-haired friend.
– Are you guys busy? – Ron came up to us and leaned against the back of the sofa.
“Not really. We’re thinking about going to the library or something else to do.” Justin shrugged and answered for all of us.
“The library is all well and good, but it’s boring. I have a better idea!” Weasley patted Finch-Fletchley on the shoulder and winked.
