Chapter 44
Ron Weasley walked slowly and sadly down the empty Hogwarts corridor, his hands in his pockets and kicking a small stone. The pleasant smell of baked pumpkin, his favorite, wafted throughout the school, but the boy couldn’t care less. He was contemplating his plight.
The Gryffindor was well aware of his family’s financial situation, but he was nonetheless proud of his parents. Yes, they lived in poverty, yes, they couldn’t afford new robes or textbooks, and only bought the cheapest ice cream at Fortescue’s, but! All the Weasley children went to school at their own expense! The older members of the family took any odd jobs they could find; their father often spent the night at work, and their mother sometimes spent days at a time at her rickety sewing machine, all to pay for their children’s education at Hogwarts and, therefore, ensure a decent future for them.
But Ron was a child, and he often felt hurt. Why? Why did some people inherit all the riches from birth, while he and his brothers had to wear their grandfather’s ceremonial robes? Why did Greengrass wear gold jewelry, while Ginny collected river shells? How was he any worse than Potter!? Weasley remembered the bespectacled boy’s expensive silk robe and brand-new trunk, but immediately caught himself and blushed with shame. The Blacks had bought all Potter’s things, and this snob couldn’t even remember his parents. The scales swung in the redhead’s head: on one side was the new broom he’d long dreamed of, and on the other, his family…
– I’ll walk! – the boy muttered and kicked a stone. – Why are they picking on me?! What did I do to them?!
There was no response. Ron was a fairly strong and powerful guy, and it was difficult to hurt him emotionally, thanks to his childhood with a horde of older brothers, but Potter and company finally got their way. Two months of constant insults, taunts, and teasing, fighting and damaging the meager possessions, took their toll – Ron had a nervous breakdown. The redhead even cried quietly in the toilet when no one was looking.
It was all because of a stupid piece of wood that was mistakenly called a wand. In July, Arthur Weasley was deprived of his quarterly bonus. His father didn’t offer any excuses, merely claiming he’d neglected his subordinates. So the youngest son was given his older brother’s old concentrator and asked to be patient until Christmas. Ron nodded bravely, recalling Fred and George going to school with just one wand between them, and calmed down. But today, his patience ran out.
Everyone but him managed that stupid spell! He’d gotten used to it, of course, but when half the class was laughing at him… When that snooty Potter and that bastard Zabini whispered that he was a pauper and would only see a new wand in the hands of strangers, and then hinted to the entire class that his mother… And for money, no less…
Ron was hurt, so hurt! Not even because he was poor, but because Potter always got away with everything. Ron was beaten by a crowd – Potter took points, someone threw a Dungbomb into Ron’s trunk – Potter took points again. And that was it! And in the trunk, besides his textbooks and robes, was his collection of Chocolate Frog card inserts! The kid had been collecting it since he was five, and it all went down the drain – almost all the cards were useless! At least Justin had his grandmother’s chess set back then. Ron remembered the grinning bespectacled man tossing him a Galleon and saying it was even more than their house was worth. He couldn’t take it anymore and, with a scream, attacked the chosen one, even managing to hit him several times before he himself was beaten by the crowd.
Hellsing really gave those… those… those faggots a good beating that time! Ron didn’t know the meaning of the curse word, but Dad often called Ministry officials that. And it was all because of Percy! It was because of his older brother that he had a fight with his friend. When Hagrid ran into the Great Hall, Ron saw the dead girl’s body in great detail, threw up, and then had nightmares all night. In the morning, the red-haired boy went to his brother, the prefect, for advice, and he told him that Hellsing’s people were to blame. Of course, Ron was scared! What if he accidentally offended Rigel, and her people would kill Ginny for it? The boy loved his little sister very much, even gave her all the frogs, keeping only the inserts for himself, and the next morning he would find half a frog in his room.
“I need to apologize. I acted like a stupid troll,” the Gryffindor muttered under his breath and trudged on.
He himself had read how his ancestor, Septimus Weasley, had gathered the entire clan and declared a blood feud against the Malfoys, the French branch of the Malfoy family. Many Weasleys had died, and the Malfoys had been slaughtered. That was two hundred years ago, but it happened! In revenge, the Malfoys had turned all the most ancient and noble against their family, and over the next hundred years, they had managed to destroy the entire Weasley family business and drive them into poverty. As his father says, in Malfoy’s opinion, “living in poverty is worse than death.” Naive fools! But Ron has a ton of brothers, an adored sister, and many friends, while this Slytherin snob has just one younger brother and that’s it. Slytherins don’t have friends! Let him keep wearing his diamond jewelry.
“And brothers, damn it!” Weasley kicked the pebble hard, and it flew off somewhere around the corner.
Today after classes, Ron went to the twins. He wanted to complain about Potter and Zabini, who had insulted their mother, and also to ask for advice on how best to make peace with Rigel. He expected to be told where to get flowers or candy and given the bespectacled boy and the Slytherin a beating, but instead he received a dose of taunts and bullying. Fred called him a loser, and George assumed he was a Squib. The brothers advised Ron to talk to Filch, as he was getting old and the castle would soon need a new Squib caretaker, and Ron’s hands were perfect for a mop. He took offense and ran out of the Great Hall, even though there was so much delicious food there! His stomach growled traitorously.
– To hell with them all! Yeah! My parents are going to give me a new wand for Christmas, and I’ll prove it to everyone! I’ll learn a ton of spells, and Rigel will teach me how to fight! I just need to apologize first… Right! – Ron stopped in the middle of the hallway and slammed his fist into his palm; he’d just figured out how to make peace with Hellsing! And dinner is irrelevant.
The boy remembered Percy telling him there were black roses growing in the second greenhouse; Rigel should like them. All that was left was to make arrangements with Madam Sprout; Ron Weasley wasn’t a thief! But first, he needed to find a restroom; his stomach wasn’t growling because he was hungry.
Ron looked around. Lost in thought, he wandered up to the second floor, where he spotted a toilet at the end of the corridor and headed for it. He was about ten meters from the coveted room of reflection when a foul smell of feces, rotten fish, and other nasty things hit his nose. Weasley stopped and covered his mouth and nose with his hands, almost vomiting.
“Are you kidding me?! The Slytherins are already out of detention! Who’s going to clean this up?!” the red-haired first-year shouted into the void.
A low growl and heavy, ponderous footsteps came from around the corner. The boy took a couple of steps back, but his childish curiosity prevented him from simply turning and running. The next moment, Ron’s mouth dropped open in surprise, his eyes bulging. A monster slowly emerged from around the corner. It was taller than Hagrid, with short, thick legs and long, massive arms with sharp black claws hanging below his knees. Its skin was a dirty gray and completely covered in oozing pus, scabs, and brown crusts. The creature turned its tiny head sharply, causing a large scab on its neck to burst, releasing a stream of yellow pus. It sniffed the air, and when its small, beady black eyes settled on the first-year, it opened a disproportionately large mouth filled with black, rotten fangs and growled.
Ron was frozen with primal fear, but the monster’s roar brought him back to his senses. He pulled out his wand and immediately threw it away. What good was it? Firstly, he didn’t know a single combat spell, and secondly, the thing wouldn’t obey him anyway! Unless he stuck it in the creature’s nose and helped it blow it. Weasley spun on the spot and ran as fast as he could, hearing an angry roar and quick, heavy footsteps behind him. The creature could run too, and Ron sped even faster.
After only fifty meters, he felt a foul breath behind him, and then a huge, clawed paw grabbed him by the head and slammed him hard into the wall. Ron hit the stonework hard and fell to the floor. Something in his arm and chest crunched loudly, and a piercing pain shot through him. He tried to get up or at least crawl away, but he didn’t have time. The enormous creature was already standing over him, grabbing him with both paws, and lifting him in front of it. The troll gripped its victim tightly, and Ron’s vision began to double. The creature tightened its grip, and the boy vomited blood.
The monster roared triumphantly and sank its black, rotten fangs into its victim’s thigh. The first-year heard his own bones crunch and screamed in pain as the hungry troll literally tore a chunk of his flesh from him and swallowed it contentedly. His vision was already blurring, but he watched intently as the creature bit off a chunk of his flesh and greedily devoured the fresh human flesh. When the monster sank its fangs into the first-year’s thigh again, snapping his leg in half, Ron Weasley finally lost consciousness from the shock of the pain.
***
Almost a week had passed since that ill-fated Halloween. Hermione and I sat on the windowsill of the second-floor corridor, watching as almost the entire school population joyfully headed to Hogsmeade. Interestingly, there were almost no half-bloods among the crowd of students, and the children of mundanes preferred to hole up inside the castle. Well, that was understandable; the protection was ineffective outside the castle gates, and judging by the looks of some of the older students as they searched the crowd, the Muggle-bloods were doing the right thing. We watched once again as three tall Hufflepuff boys tried to assert their rights in front of McGonagall, waving sheets of parchment in their hands, but to no avail. Our Head of House sternly reprimanded the insolent trio and pointed toward the castle. The boys turned around, slumped, and trudged back.
I jumped down from my perch and scanned the corridor again. Somewhere around here, a mountain troll had almost devoured Ron Weasley. Dumbledore had gotten there almost in time, and the boy was saved; he was alive and almost unharmed. The key word being almost.
As it turned out, Ron was first driven to distraction by the new Marauders, and then the twins, lousy pranksters that they are, added fuel to the fire. We found out about this the next morning, November 1st, and that’s when I realized Percy was far from weak, because they don’t just make just anyone a prefect. The whole Gryffindor household watched as he bullied his brothers…
The most interesting thing was that our prefect used only magic, wielding his wand like a seasoned conductor, while his brothers flew all over the common room. The twins were a pitiful sight: their faces were covered in purulent boils, they had sprouted a multitude of new limbs, and they were vomiting slugs. Percival proved to be very strong; it took a group of six people to subdue him and inject him with a calming balm.
Having calmed down, the red-haired prefect explained that a mountain troll had bitten off the youngest Weasley’s right leg and slightly disfigured his face. As soon as the headmaster rescued Ron from the predator, the boy was immediately sent to St. Mungo’s. The school agreed to pay for all his treatment and a magical prosthetic that would grow with the child. And the blame for everything lay with two idiots who, instead of supporting their little brother, began to bully him.
That same day, during breakfast, a whole delegation arrived at the school: the DMP, the Aurors, and representatives of the Board of Governors. The entire crowd headed to the Headmaster’s office, from where they emerged about an hour later to inspect the restricted corridor on the third floor. And after lunch, when the law enforcement officials and respected governors were satisfied with the students’ safety (especially since the Weasleys hadn’t pressed charges) and were about to head home, all hell broke loose.
As Lavender told me, who learned from Nancy, who learned from Hannah, who confided in Susan, who learned it all from her aunt… In short, it was a very complex chain of events. So, while Amelia Bones, Barty Crouch Sr., Augusta Longbottom, and Lucius Malfoy were inspecting the forbidden corridor, the D.M.I. staff headed to the Forbidden Forest. Madam Bones ordered her men to search the castle ground
Just yesterday I wanted to become an adult as soon as possible, but I take that back! I’m still a child and will enjoy this carefree time.
***
The reception we received at the faculty was, to put it mildly, cool; the students either averted their eyes or looked at us with disapproval. I understand that it’s wrong to kill small children, but the Rowleys are to blame! We didn’t kill those girls! It was the Order’s soldiers, who were carrying out the Crown’s orders! We ourselves miraculously survived!
But the students didn’t care. The whole day was spent in whispers behind my back and disapproving glances. Even from the teachers! Where were you bitches when we were dodging Avad?! Hypocritical society! At lunch, I overheard the quiet conversation of the older students; those idiots were seriously discussing how I was the daughter of He-whose-name-they-piss-to-mention! Cowardly idiots! I immediately thought of the second movie, where the whole school thought Potter was a descendant of Slytherin and feared the second-year!
“Hypocritical degenerates!” I slammed the door to our base of operations and set my pink suitcase on the floor.
“And the Maker be with them. Forget it.” Justin leaned against the wall. “They’ll talk about it for a bit and then forget about it. Besides, Halloween is next week, and then comes the first Hogsmeade trip, and then Quidditch starts. I’m not making excuses for Lady Integra, but now wizards will think ten times before they start plotting against us.”
– Enough chatter! Riya, get out the targets! I want to calm my nerves! – My friend is shaking with anger. – I’ll just picture some stupid red-haired face.
I opened my suitcase and, with a wave of my wand, quickly retrieved the mannequins and some furniture, then thought back to the morning. While my classmates had been worried and inquiring about our well-being, and Lavender, her eyes shining, had demanded to know the real story, Ron had surprised me. Weasley had ignored Hermione and me all day, and when I approached him at lunch, he’d pointedly moved his seat. He’d even muttered that the Order of Protestant Knights was worse than the Death Eaters; at least they didn’t kill children. I was so taken aback by his words that I didn’t even break his face. The red-haired bastard!
“Oh, come on. Ron’s a normal guy, he’s just an idiot.” Justin held up his hands in a placating gesture. “How do you know what his older brothers said to him? Girls, don’t forget: we were the ones who had tutors, taught rhetoric, psychology, and so much more. We’ve known since childhood that power isn’t just privileges, it also comes with a ton of responsibilities! And Weasley is a kid who grew up in the countryside, where the only entertainment is Wizarding Radio and old Quidditch magazines. He didn’t even go to school, hence his limited outlook and narrow-mindedness. Ron speaks first and thinks later. I’m sure he’ll come and apologize in a week.
“Let’s see how he behaves.” I never looked at Ron from that perspective. We saw murders and maniacs on TV every day, but this guy saw a dead girl for the first time in his life. And it was Hellsing’s people who killed her. It really does feel awful. I secured the last target. “Done.”
“Finally.” Hermione reached into her bag and started pulling something out. “The bastard’s heavy.”
Justin and I raised our eyebrows. Mia, groaning, pulled a 12.7mm Kalashnikov machine gun out of her bag! The thing was almost as tall as she was! Hermione happily propped the monster on its bipod, pulled a belt from the box, and started loading it. “I want one of those!” Hermione pulled the bolt back with effort and broke into a happy smile.
“Valera, your time has come!” Mia gently patted the machine gun’s receiver cover. Due to the abundance of runes and symbols, I didn’t immediately notice the red inscription on the side of this monster—a name. And judging by the handwriting, it was Victoria who named it that.
– Where did you get it? – I came closer and began to examine the new toy.
“Victoria gave it to me! She said it was from her personal collection!” The curly-haired Rambo fan proudly raised her nose to the ceiling. “It’s all pumped up! A box of five hundred rounds! These are just regular ones, but I have a whole belt of enchanted ones in my bag! There are armor-piercing rounds, incendiary rounds, and ones with liquid silver! Only the heavy ones…”
“Yeah, right, by the time you get it out, they’ll already be dead!” I scratched the back of my head. “The thing is powerful, sure, but it’s useless for us for now.”
“So I have room for growth! Or what if we have to set up an ambush?” Mia’s eyes lit up with the flame of holy jihad. “And it even has a telescopic sight! And if we mount the machine gun on top of the astronomy tower…”
“Don’t you have a mortar?” Our argument was interrupted by Justin, who was thoughtfully fiddling with his pistol. “Oh, okay, let’s shoot. Maybe I’ll start hitting some targets…”
***
October 31st arrived, and the week before Halloween flew by. Hogwarts students continued to avoid us like lepers, and our only social circle consisted of our roommates and, oddly enough, Malfoy and Greengrass. Of course, it wasn’t quite social, but we still exchanged a few words before each class, unlike the Weasleys. The red-haired idiot seemed to realize his folly and looked at me like a beaten dog, but his pride prevented him from coming up and apologizing. He continued to hang out with Justin, however, and every evening the boys played chess while the girls and I leafed through magazines or told Elvira about magic.
The classes were also quite interesting; the professors began to give more material and tell us useful and interesting things.
In Transfiguration, we started turning beetles into buttons. Some might say it’s idiotic, but it’s not. A match into a needle, a beetle into a button—that’s how we increase the complexity of material transformation using simple examples, and that’s a good thing. The formulas are standard and easily adaptable to other objects, but I tried to be creative, just like Hermione.
In herbology, Professor Sprout entrusted us with the care of an African flycatcher, and when this thing grows up, you could call it a human trap. A true anthropophagus, the mature plant reaches three meters in height and feeds on anything that gets close, or that doesn’t have time to escape. Yeah, this thing can catch you and eat you! The professor spoke affectionately about its unique root system: if the plant doesn’t have enough moisture, or the soil is too poor, it searches for a more suitable spot. That’s why the seedlings are caged; it turns out the little ones love to frolic, and catching them all over the greenhouse is quite a chore. We quickly recorded and sketched the new plant, then donned chainmail gloves—the flower could have bitten off your fingers by now—and went to feed them. And what does the little plant eat, hidden in a cage? That’s right, live mice. It was a little disgusting, but interesting. But with each passing year, the “flowers” will become more and more dangerous.
During Potions, the Prince insulted everyone as well, but pointedly ignored Mia and me. The Professor flew around the room like a hawk, and we began brewing a forgetfulness potion, a sort of Obliviate. One sip, and you forget the last hour of your life for 24 hours, and there’s also a modification with a permanent effect. It’s nasty stuff, like any potion that affects the mind, but like most of its kind, it’s completely legal.
In Defense of the Ancients, we gave the professor a test on slugs, giant snails often kept as pets. The creatures are fairly harmless, so basic tickling charms were used against them, and during practical training, we tickled each other with Rectusempra. It’s a fairly simple but useful spell. It’s even used in duels; it’s quite effective at breaking concentration.
In History of Magic, we went about our business to the droning of a ghost, and in Flying, we finished our tests and… That’s it. If you want to fly, buy a broom or join the Quidditch team. In Astronomy, the students started drawing star atlases, which was also quite interesting. And in Charms, we finally finished practicing control and flexibility, so the professor promised that we’d start casting spells on Samhain.
I went down to breakfast with a bad feeling: a troll was supposed to show up today, the very event that set off the whole chain of troubles in the film. And given the differences between this world and the one depicted in the films, I’m afraid to even imagine what kind of creature will be wandering the halls. It’s decided, I’ll keep an eye on Hermione and Justin, no more tears in the toilet!
Approaching the Great Hall, I grimaced – pumpkin, I can’t stand that orange plant. Taking our seats at the table, my friend and I began choosing pumpkin-free dishes, found oatmeal and… and… That’s it! Even the sausages had orange flecks, and the bacon turned out to be fried in pumpkin sauce. I think Dumbledore is making fun of us! My lamentations were interrupted by a heavy package that plopped right in the center of my plate, splattering everyone around with oatmeal.
– Woland! You feathered creature! – Everyone around shuddered, and I glared angrily at the insolent raven who had brought the package for our girl. – What are you doing?
– Kaaar! – The feathered one began to meticulously examine the dishes on the table.
“Mistress, there’s nothing to eat here. ” Vasya looked at my plate with disgust and then turned his gaze to the raven. ” Let’s eat this black chicken!”
After returning to school, the snake followed me everywhere, citing the fact that the castle had gotten cold, and I didn’t mind. The familiar somehow slyly wrapped itself around my torso so I barely noticed it. And it behaved much more decently; it didn’t lie as often.
“What are you looking at me like that for? It’s Halloween, so help yourself to some pumpkin sausages.” I smiled at the cheeky bird.
“Kharrr!” The huge raven shook its head, then hit my plate with its beak and took off. The bird did a lap of honor and flew out the window.
– Well… I’ll definitely pluck them during the holidays. – I looked sadly at the two porcelain halves that had been my plate just five minutes ago.
“Oh, come on, Woland’s so sweet.” Hermione had already cleared the porridge from us and fixed my plate with one wave of her wand. The girl pointed to the parcel. “What’s in there?”
“Guess in three tries. Tests from the high school, what else?” I opened the package and was a little surprised – on top lay a fresh copy of the Times. Under the press were three sets of school assignments, strange. I unfolded the newspaper, and my eyes widened. The headline read:
Evans’ Law in action!
I quickly read the article and stared into space with a stupid smile. The article stated that a few months after the terrible tragedy that occurred in 1986 in the small town of Little Whinging (that’s when the Dursleys crossed the line and I killed everyone), Baroness Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing pushed a bill through the House of Lords to reform the guardianship system. Since the Empire is vast and spans several continents, the bureaucratic machine is quite sluggish. As my tutor told me, in Britain, it takes an average of five years to review and pass any law, and it’s pure hell. And then, six months ago, the Empire passed a law named after me!
All guardianship and shelter staff were audited by a specially created prosecutor’s office. During this stage alone, nearly a thousand violations were identified, including cases of embezzlement and misappropriation of budget funds, and nearly a hundred criminal cases were opened. The Imperial Prosecutor’s Office itself was surprised by these results and, together with the police, began mass inspections of shelters and foster families.
This is where the new law really shined! Firstly, the inspection team had to consist of a child psychologist, a doctor, and two police officers, and secondly, they all had to be from a different district or city to rule out any possibility of corruption. And this is where the government was in for a complete screw-up…
In some orphanages, children were forced into prostitution or rented out to pedophiles, in others, orphans were systematically beaten or starved, and when it came to foster families…
Over the past six months, the prosecutor’s office has opened 340 criminal cases and identified 605 administrative violations. Four orphanages were disbanded! For various reasons, 67 children were removed from foster families and placed in reorganized orphanages. The police also distinguished themselves; during investigations, 19 people were shot dead on the spot for resisting arrest.
Almost 70% of orphans have been checked so far, and the prosecutor’s office promises to complete everything by Christmas, so that every child in the British Empire can celebrate the holiday well-fed, warm, and safe!
Riya, my beloved daughter. Your sacrifice was not in vain.
You have helped hundreds, maybe even thousands.
The note was written in strict, calligraphic handwriting and tucked into the second page of the newspaper. Thank you, Mom, it really was worth it… I quickly blinked, a speck of dust got into my eye, and put the note in my breast pocket. Later, I will personally thank this strong and determined woman for such good news. And I don’t care that a couple of children were recently killed on her orders; she is my mother, and I sincerely love and respect her. Thanks to her, a law was passed that will save hundreds, maybe thousands of children’s lives. Thank you, Mom. With a silly smile, I handed the newspaper to my curious friend.
The school day flew by rather quickly; the professors weren’t particularly strict in honor of the holiday. And before lunch, there was a charms lesson, during which Flitwick taught us the Levitation Charm.
As soon as we took our seats, the little professor waved his magic wand. Twenty feathers fluttered from his desk and landed gently in front of each student.
“Okay, guys, it’s time for the real magic!” The half-goblin beamed with satisfaction and anticipation. “Remember the gesture carefully and repeat: Wingardium Leviosa!”
We took the sticks and pointed them at the feathers!
“Don’t forget what I taught you—the wrist movements are light and smooth! One, two! Pay attention! One, two!” The professor purposely climbed onto a makeshift podium made from a stack of books and continued the visual demonstration. “And try to pronounce the magic words more accurately. Remember the wizard Baruffio, who once accidentally pronounced ‘ES’ instead of ‘EF’ and ended up being crushed by a buffalo whose hoof crushed his chest!”
My friend and I got it right on our first try; we’d long since learned the spell, as had all the Slytherins. Finnigan, who burned his first two quills, and Smith had some trouble, but she quickly overcame her hesitation, and by the tenth try, her quill was fluttering merrily around the classroom. The professor awarded her ten points for her excellent execution of the first spell. I’d long ago noticed that Flitwick rewards and rewards students who are lagging behind or lacking confidence. Hermione and I couldn’t care less about the points—our house was still deeply in the red anyway—but Elvira beamed with happiness.
– Come on! Come on! Stupid piece of wood! – From the next desk I heard Weasley’s angry cry. – Wingardium Leviosa!
Ron executed the gesture perfectly and pronounced the words correctly, but his wand… That piece of wood was only good for lighting a fireplace. The new Marauders noticed the ginger’s misfortune and began laughingly teasing him. Justin tried to calm his hot-tempered friend, but he was alone, and there were four of them, and their jokes were damn offensive.
The professor noticed that Weasley was the only one struggling and quickly walked toward him. The boy was already flushed with anger and waving his wand like a windmill.
“Mr. Weasley! Pull yourself together immediately!” Flitwick appeared next to the redhead’s desk. This had the effect of a cold shower on Ron, and he looked closely at the professor. “Have you calmed down? Excellent! Show me a perfect execution of the spell!”
Weasley accurately repeated the gesture and recited the verbal component of the spell, but nothing happened—the quill didn’t budge. The professor frowned and asked him to repeat it. Naturally, nothing happened again, and the boy’s spirits sank.
“Mr. Weasley, may I examine your wand?” Ron sheepishly handed over his concentrator to the serious professor. The half-goblin carefully turned the piece over and frowned as he handed it back. “Mr. Weasley, firstly, your wand is damaged, and secondly, it doesn’t suit you at all! You need to see Ollivander immediately, I’ll write a letter to your parents today! This is unthinkable. What are Arthur and Molly thinking?!”
“But they have no time! They’re making another Weasley!” Potter’s sarcastic voice came from the next desk.
– And while Arthur’s at work, Molly decided to earn some extra money! – And that’s Zabini’s nasty voice.
A roar of laughter erupted in the classroom, including the new Marauders and some of the Slytherins. I glanced at Ron, who was flushed red, clenched his fists, and staring blankly into space. Maybe I should talk to my brother again? Or maybe not. The redhead sent me packing, so let him deal with it himself!
“SILENCE!” The little professor seemed to have raised his voice with a spell and barked at the entire classroom. In the ensuing silence, Flitwick glared at the jokers. “Mr. Potter, I knew Lily Evans well; your behavior is a disgrace to her good name. Mr. Zabini, your dear mother, it seems, is getting married for the ninth time? Do you even remember the names of all your stepfathers and the candidates for this position?”
My brother shut up, the gypsy boy blushed sharply, and the professor sighed sadly and headed to his desk. All traces of the former merriment in the classroom vanished. As soon as the bell rang for the end of class, Weasley practically ran toward the common room.
I was already afraid Ron would end up like Hermione, but at dinner he was sitting with the twins, chatting cheerfully. That meant someone was keeping an eye on the redhead, so immediately after dinner the three of us headed to the library. In the quiet abode of knowledge, we leisurely completed all our homework and even found time for some “light reading.” I stalled for time as best I could, but Madam Pince practically kicked us out for dinner.
And the professors did a great job, they decorated the big room beautifully! The windows were covered in cobwebs, giant spiders crawled along the walls, huge glowing pumpkins hovered above the desks, and animated skeletons danced a waltz right near the ceiling, with the castle ghosts floating between them. You don’t see them often anymore; after the first of September, not a single blob of ectoplasm even came close to the Gryffindor table, and Peeves generally avoided first-years.
I looked around the pumpkin-covered mess with a sour expression—pardon the variety—and reached into my bag for an officer’s IRP (individual army ration pack), got a nudge from my friend, and pulled out two. Just in case, I glanced around the table; everything seemed to be in place: my roommates were sitting across from me, and three redheads were visible in the distance. Potter and company were there too, sitting there, throwing pumpkin pudding.
She glanced at the staff table, and everyone was there: Dumbledore was chatting with Flitwick, the Prince was glaring at everyone with his usual hateful gaze, and McGonagall and Sprout were laughing at Quirrel’s joke. Maybe it would work out?
Mia was calmly devouring stew straight from the can, and I was leisurely chewing a biscuit spread with apple jam when Filch appeared in the Great Hall. The retired officer looked very serious, clutching a shotgun. As he walked briskly past us, I caught the fresh scent of gunpowder. The caretaker quickly appeared at the Headmaster’s side and whispered something to him, after which Dumbledore rose from his throne, and the gates to the Hall slammed shut.
– Everyone, attention! Students, a moment’s attention! – The room fell silent, everyone stared at the headmaster. – A mountain troll has been discovered in the dungeons. Don’t worry, the deans and I will immediately capture the textbook and return it to its cage! Here, under the protection of the teachers, you are completely safe! Therefore, I ask everyone to remain seated and enjoy the celebratory dinner. Prefects, count your students immediately and report the names of those absent!
At least he didn’t send us to the common rooms like in the movie… The gates were closed, and the room was full of grown wizards, so the steady hubbub of conversation reigned in the hall once again. While the prefects counted us, I watched the staff table, where Flitwick, Prince, Sprout, and Quirrell had left—all the wizards had exited through an inconspicuous door in a small alcove.
– Finch-Fletchy! Justin! – Percy ran up to us, panic blazing in his eyes. – Have you seen Ron?
– What do you mean? – I looked at the far edge of the table and saw only two tousled red heads.
I turned my head around, and my gaze stopped on Dumbledore, who suddenly froze and turned pale, and then extended his hand and disappeared in a flash of fire…
