Dear readers! Today marks exactly a year since I started writing this fanfic, and I want to express my gratitude for your support.
Thank you so much!
In honor of the anniversary, I’m publishing an extra chapter. I hope you enjoy it!
A short, dark-haired wizard strolled through the most advanced alchemical laboratory in the British Isles, surveying the furnishings of his domain with a satisfied expression. The youngest and most talented potion maker of this century, Hector Dagworth, had been absent for six months or more. The young potion and science enthusiast had spent all that time in a wild, cold country called the Soviet Union. Hector hadn’t much enjoyed it there; rude and uncouth savages constantly demanded he work himself to the bone, adhere to a specific schedule, and forbade him from engaging in scientific research. How could he explain to these people that he was a creative individual?! All protests and complaints were brazenly ignored, and after a few slaps, he realized the gravity of the situation and decided, as the locals said, to relax and enjoy himself. And when the production line was finally running at full capacity, and his invention had passed all the tests and checks, he immediately returned home.
Dagworth lovingly ran his hand over the stone table and was pleased. Thanks to the enchantment, his laboratory was dust-free, and stasis had kept all the rarest ingredients and prepared potions fresh and ready for use. The potion master’s keen nose caught a foul odor. Hector quickly turned his head and noticed a cage covered with thick cloth—the stench was emanating from there. He quickly approached the steel element of the interior, pulled back the heavy tarpaulin, and peered inside.
“So that’s what I forgot!” The man slapped his forehead. “Mordred… I’ll have to order a new sample…”
The cage contained the decomposed and nearly desiccated corpse of a young werewolf girl, who had died of starvation and thirst. Thanks to her regeneration and vitality, she had suffered a very long and painful death, all because a science fanatic forgot to tell the base staff about her and simply sealed the entire lab. Specimen 98 had spent a long time alone here and, judging by the missing fingers, had begun to devour herself out of starvation.
“Evanesco!” Dagworth cleared away the trash and, returning his wand to its sheath, headed for the shelf of cauldrons, immediately forgetting about the unfortunate sample.
He had returned literally an hour ago, having not slept for several days, but he was eager to test a theory that had been troubling him for the past month. Hector took a platinum cauldron (an extremely rare item, by the way!) from the shelf and headed to his workbench. Placing the expensive potion on the stand, the potion maker filled it with water and lit the burner, then gestured for a vial of Nundu blood, also an insanely expensive and extremely rare ingredient.
Dagworth grinned contentedly and measured out five drops. He had never regretted his decision to work for the strange men in uniform. The formidable warriors respected him and provided him with everything he needed at the first word, even a vacuum mixer with silver filters—and they even got that. He was required to brew specific potions, train new recruits, and develop anti-magician remedies, or, conversely, modify healing potions. These people didn’t care what the wizard did in his spare time; on the contrary, any research he undertook was always encouraged, as it could be of considerable benefit. Thanks to this collaboration, Dagworth had already modified a dozen potions and invented super-ammo against magical creatures, on a dare, by the way. The incompetent upstarts from the neighboring hangar insisted it was impossible, but Hector had once again proven his genius! It seems his superiors even awarded him some kind of bonus, but the talented scientist hasn’t been interested in money lately, whereas before…
Hector grew up in an ordinary orphanage and was an odd child from childhood. He didn’t remember his parents. Or rather, when he grew up, he did his best to forget those insignificant Muggles. Primitive animals couldn’t possibly be his parents! He had a stroke of luck at the orphanage: while on duty in the dining hall, he mixed together some cleaning products and used the resulting mixture to scrub all the pots and cauldrons to their original shine. The cooks recognized his talent and assigned the small, frail boy to the kitchen. The kind women fed the diligent and obedient child, and in return, he concocted super-cleaning solutions for everything, from cleaning products to all-purpose pesticides. The other children respected Hector, too, because ever since he started working in the dining hall, the plates and pots had become cleaner and the food much tastier.
There were, of course, exceptions: three boys from his graduating class demanded that he steal treats for them, and when the future Potions genius refused, he was brutally beaten. Dagworth spent three days in the infirmary, but he didn’t turn in his attackers, deciding to take revenge himself. Yes, Hector was very smart and vindictive from childhood. From childhood, the young genius knew that if you mix certain reagents or chemicals in the right proportions, you’ll get the desired result. The kid had no education or anything like that; he just KNEW, and he almost always succeeded. So, when he recovered and returned to work in the canteen, the first thing he did was mix rat poison, bleach, some laundry soap, a couple of drops of kerosene, a little sugar, turmeric, and red pepper, and seasoned the concoction with his own snot. After boiling and triple filtering, the result was a colorless, odorless liquid. The boy always helped the cooks serve food, and it wasn’t hard for him to slip a teaspoon of his brew into the offenders’ juice. The next morning, the three boys were found dead in their beds.
These hooligans were already on the police books, so the bobbies decided the trio had taken something illegal again, only this time their young bodies couldn’t handle the poison. Of course, for the sake of appearances, they questioned the staff and some of the children, performed autopsies, and… closed the case, as they did indeed find a strange substance in the blood of the deceased. After that, the bobbies began raids and roundups of local drug dealers, since decent children could have suffered, too.
Hector was proud of himself; the DAR hadn’t failed him again, and the boy continued his experiments. But after Bobby’s visit, he no longer risked poisoning other children, so he turned his attention to those who wouldn’t be missed. By the time Hector turned eleven, there were no rodents left in the orphanage, and there were almost no pets left, as well as stray dogs. That summer, the young genius had another stroke of luck: Horace Slughorn came to him from Hogwarts. Hector remained sincerely grateful to this wizard, and every year for his birthday he sent him rare and expensive ingredients.
It was the Potions Master who told the future genius about the Wizarding World and showed him true wonders! Hector immediately took a liking to him and boasted of his achievements. The boy pulled back a floorboard and produced several vials of powerful poisons, a couple of healing ointments, and even a constipation remedy for the professor’s judgment. To say Slughorn was stunned would be an understatement. The Head of Slytherin clung to the boy with a death grip and even bought him a decent robe and everyday clothes. Naturally, the orphanage Mudblood enrolled in the Serpentine House, but thanks to the Dean’s patronage, he felt quite comfortable there. He wasn’t beaten or humiliated, simply ignored, and that suited everyone. Hector didn’t need friends; after school he ran straight to his favorite potions class, where he worked until late at night on creating new potions or improving existing ones.
During his studies, the young genius slightly improved a dozen potions and optimized another ten. Naturally, all his achievements were immediately donated to the Potions Guild, where they were authored by Horace Slughorn. Hector held no grudge against his teacher; he understood perfectly well that knowledge and security came at a price, and therefore always worked with complete dedication. The teacher was pleased with his acquisition, as Dagworth had become the star of his collection, and so he allowed the boy to brew potions to order. Thanks to this, by the end of his fifth year, Hector had saved almost five hundred gold pieces for adulthood, which he never needed.
Dagworth had been a member of the Slug Club since the end of his first year, and old Sluggie took care of the talented boy’s future. After successfully passing his O.W.L.s, his apprenticeship contract was purchased by Vixen Freckenbock. The teacher brought her student to a social event, and the elderly witch took a liking to the handsome, eccentric boy. At the time, Freckenbock was nearly four hundred years old, but she looked relatively young—no more than eighty. The kind woman allowed the boy to finish his studies at Hogwarts and visited him every weekend, during which time they indulged in carnal pleasures on the second floor of Madam Puddifoot’s café. Thanks to potions and his youth, Hector more than earned his keep, fully satisfying his mistress’s natural needs.
After finishing school, Dagworth lived with Megaera for almost eight years and often recalled this period of his life fondly. Frau proved to be a very intelligent woman and was equally passionate about potion-making and alchemy; they often had long conversations on mutually interesting topics, or would spend several days in the potion room. He learned a great deal from her, including the art of lovemaking—the old woman was quite experienced and very demanding in this regard. But all good things must come to an end, and at the age of four hundred and five, Frau Frekenbock passed away. She departed for the next world as many witches dream—riding her young lover, her aged heart simply unable to withstand yet another sex marathon.
Then Hector struck it lucky again: the old woman had no living relatives, so she bequeathed all her property and a small fortune to her lover. Thanks to Megaera’s kindness, Hector rarely left his home for the next ten years, practically living in the potion room. He ate and slept hugging cauldrons, and ordered valuable ingredients by mail, but as it turned out, money has a way of running out, which is exactly what happened to the mad scientist. And Hector was completely unprepared for this turn of events! First he lived in an orphanage, then studied at Hogwarts, then was cared for by Megaera, and now he was left alone with the harsh reality.
At first, Hector tried brewing potions to order, but since he didn’t have a Master’s title, his work was undervalued. Of course, he could have earned the coveted Guild ring long ago, but he was too proud to prove anything to a handful of incompetents, much less pay for it. So the genius decided to apply to Hogwarts: the school had an excellent laboratory, and the forest and greenhouses were full of valuable ingredients, plus the food was free. He remembered how a couple of years ago, old Sluggy had written about retiring, but disappointment awaited him, probably for the first time in his life.
The coveted spot had already been taken by a pathetic and incompetent half-breed named Prince! Hector immediately remembered how he and Megaera had laughed at an article in the “Potion Fridays” magazine, published every fourth Wednesday of the month. This upstart had earned a master’s degree for modifying a lycanthrope potion! What nonsense! Everyone knew werewolves had excellent self-control after transformation, and this brat had concocted a concoction that blocked their bestial nature and kept the infected person’s mind clear. The only problem was, this stuff was instantly addictive, and if a werewolf didn’t drink it in time, their next transformation would be extremely painful, and the creature would be extremely ferocious and savage. Therefore, self-respecting werewolves never consumed such potions.
But what’s so surprising? What else could the outcast and disgrace of the Prince’s family come up with, when even his own mother was ashamed of him? Hector was in his sixth year when this mediocrity entered Hogwarts. Slughorn even tried to invite him to his club for a while, but was sent packing in a convoluted manner, and the little idiot didn’t even realize he’d seriously offended the Head of House. Maybe that’s why the entire House ignored the Gryffindors’ mockery of the proud half-blood? Only Malfoy occasionally stood up for him, but what was going on at school mattered little to Hector, as he spent all his free time in the Head of House’s lab.
Upset and hurt, Dagworth was left without a job and a livelihood, and the culprit was an ignoramus named Prince. It was then that Hector decided to prove to everyone that he was far more talented than this “youngest potion master of the century” and decided to create a vaccine for lycanthropy. He had no intention of curing werewolves, but preventing infection after a bite was quite possible. For a while, the potion master starved and survived on odd jobs, as all his Galleons were spent on rare ingredients, but he was lucky again! Fate itself was kind to the wizard!
During one of his forays, he came across some defective werewolves. He snuck into their settlement and had already spotted a cute, frail girl, but was then spotted by the overly energetic older ones. Hector was a poor fighter—he couldn’t fight at all, to be precise—and if not for Slughorn’s patronage, he wouldn’t have passed Defense of the Ancients. But just as the genius was about to die, fighters in strange uniforms burst into the village and rescued him, barbarically slaughtering all the werewolves, even the cubs! And when these blockheads piled all the carcasses, some of them still alive, into one big pile and set them ablaze, the researcher wept—just think of all the expensive ingredients wasted! Dagworth was furious and instead of showing gratitude, he attacked the commander of these barbarians with his fists. At first, they fell into a stupor, but when they understood the reason for his behavior, they made an offer they could not refuse.
From then on, the most brilliant potion maker lived almost constantly at the military base and pursued his scientific research. He was even paid a salary, it seems, but Hector never used it. Why bother? He was provided with food and clothing, ingredients and equipment, but as for leisure, he didn’t need money for that. Why carry papers when you have a wand? Once a month, Dagworth ventured to London and visited a brothel; fortunately, in Britain, this industry was completely legal, unlike in the northern barbarians. And while visiting this much-needed place, the wizard simply cast a couple of Confunduses and satisfied his body’s physical needs.
True, a few years ago, during his first visit to the brothel, there was a minor embarrassment: Hector simply couldn’t find a woman to his liking. The problem was that after many years with Megaera, he was only attracted to “older” women, and there weren’t any at the brothel! Dagworth kept his cool and soon returned with a vial of aging potion, but the results were devastating. Literally. The Muggle obediently drank the vial’s contents, but aged before her very eyes and died, as the dose was intended for wizards, whose bodies are much more resilient. Of course, the Muggle’s body remained warm and pliable for a while, but the sensation was still better with a living woman. So, upon returning to base, Hector immediately set to work on his new invention and even shared it with the blockheads, omitting a few details. They appreciated the idea and even sent him several Muggles to experiment with. Just three months later, the new potion was ready, the management was as happy as nuchlers with a galleon, and Hector finally had a good rest with a woman so similar to his incomparable Megaera.
To be completely happy, Hector needed some major discovery, something that would finally make these upstarts in the Potioneering community recognize his talent. He often imagined developing a great elixir and becoming so famous that his portrait would even appear on chocolate frogs alongside such great wizards as Paracelsus or Flamel. When he achieved a scientific breakthrough, these incompetent Potioneers would ask him to lead them, and then reverently drink from the basin in which he washed his feet.
Dagworth was so engrossed in brewing an experimental potion and dreaming of arriving at the International Alchemists’ Assembly and wowing everyone with his soon-to-be-made discovery that he didn’t immediately notice the distinguished visitors watching him. Reaching for the vial of unicorn blood, the potion maker saw the tall, platinum-blonde woman, seemingly the dominant presence, and his young apprentice, though without the curly-haired companion who would one day become his wife. Hector didn’t know how long the two had been there, and frankly, he didn’t care—they weren’t in the way, and Merlin was with them. He shrugged and continued working.
– Hello, Mr. Dagworth. – The blonde decided to talk to him.
– Good afternoon, teacher. – The little one also opened her mouth.
Hector sighed heavily, added a couple more ingredients to the cauldron, and finally turned to face the insolent guests. He’d endured this for six months, and now he was being distracted from his favorite pastime once again.
– Hello, lady… – The potion maker forgot the woman’s name; he was generally bad at remembering names.
Dagworth often erased unnecessary and useless information from his memory. What good were these people’s names? The main thing he remembered was that alichoria leaves were used in memory potions and laughter potions, and that when preparing Wiggenweld’s potion, in the eighteenth step, you had to stir the light green liquid counterclockwise with a silver ladle and simmer for another half hour. Hector had hundreds of recipes stored in his head; he remembered perfectly well how and where to use each ingredient, and what equipment was used. That was what mattered! And not the names of some young woman with platinum hair and her daughter.
“I am Lady Hellsing…” The woman looked reproachfully at the potion maker.
– Exactly! – Hector slapped his forehead again. – But I live on an estate named after you! Please forgive me, I just have a hard time with first and last names. Did you want something?
– I wanted to, Mr. Dagworth… But maybe you should put your pants on first? – The woman looked him over from head to toe.
Hector often worked alone for long periods, so upon arriving, he changed into a dragonhide work apron and soft, closed-toe slippers. He was bare-chested, of course. Only then did the genius realize he was standing before two ladies with his backside bare.
– One minute… – The blushing potion maker quickly backed away and, feeling for the handle of his bedroom, disappeared into the room.
Having quickly changed his clothes, Dagworth returned to the important guests, only now he noticed that they were somehow festively dressed, and on his desk lay a thick book and a box for storing dangerous artifacts.
“Mr. Dagworth, have you ever tried to create a philosopher’s stone?” The man was stunned by this question, but quickly pulled himself together.
“Who hasn’t tried? Creating the Philosopher’s Stone is the goal of every alchemist.” The scientist adopted a lecturing tone. “Flamel succeeded, which means others can do the same. But I don’t even know where to begin; this great scientist guards his secrets very carefully.”
“What do you think about this?” Lady Hellsing pushed a book lying on the table in his direction. “Have you ever encountered such literature?”
Having read the title of this “book,” Hector, his legs shaky, grabbed the edge of the table with his hands, read the title again, and pinched himself. Then he slapped himself and, for good measure, dipped his little finger into the boiling potion. Only now, having confirmed the reality of what was happening, was the great scholar able to carefully pick up the priceless treatise and open it. Long ago, Slughorn had told him of a semi-mythical magnum opus , which contained the secret of making the Philosopher’s Stone and the Elixir of Life. Hector leisurely studied several engravings and, to his surprise, understood nothing! Or rather, he recognized many symbols, but the general gist eluded him.
“This will be difficult…” Dagworth turned the page. “There’s clearly some kind of code here. These measures and values were used even before our era in Alexandria.” He placed the book on the table and pointed to the top corner of the page. “And here we have Arabic script,” his finger slid lower. “And here are the generally accepted values of European alchemists. And I’ve seen some of the drawings before, in the works of Aristotle and Jabir… Very interesting… I take it this is a copy of the original manuscript?”
“That’s right, Mr. Dagworth.” The blonde nodded contentedly. “They’ll help you decrypt it. The Empire’s best cryptographers are working on it right now, and they could use your knowledge and ideas.”
“No problem,” the Potions Master shrugged and returned to studying the priceless book. “Let them come, and we’ll discuss everything. But what do Muggles know about making a Philosopher’s Stone?”
“The Philosopher’s Stone doesn’t need to be created,” a student chimed in, and Hector looked up from studying another engraving. “We need the elixir of life.” With these words, the girl pushed the box toward him.
“No… It can’t be…” the science fanatic whispered, touched the box with trembling hands and, holding his breath, opened the lid.
Hector stared at the small, blood-red stone with a silly smile and knew it was real. The shard emanated powerful, ancient magic, along with a rotten, old, decaying corpse. The potion master cast several diagnostic charms and gazed lovingly at these beautiful ladies; now he would forever remember their names. At that moment, Hector could have personally washed these women’s beautiful feet and then drunk the remaining water. This was it! This was his greatest discovery! Soon he would create not just an elixir of life, but something far more beautiful and remarkable!
– I… I won’t let you down… – That’s all the greatest potion maker in Magical Britain could squeeze out.
“Mr. Dagworth, this evening we’ll install special decryption and videoconferencing software on your computer,” the incomparable Lady Hellsing began instructing him. “The Empire’s finest cryptographers will be on the line with you at all times, so if you have any ideas or questions, please contact us immediately. You know how to use a computer, right?”
“Um… Of course…” The Potions Master glanced toward the far corner of his laboratory, where a convenient cup holder with a glossy black mirror sat near the tea table. “A couple of years ago, they sent me on an InfoMatics course and showed me how to use this machine.”
“Are you sure?” The woman looked sternly at the scientist. “Mr. Dagworth, this research is extremely important and a matter of life and death. The Order is ready to provide you with any resources and funding! The book is encrypted, and the computing power of the computer will help us uncover the secret of the ancient alchemist.”
“Don’t worry!” Hector stood at attention under the stern, commanding gaze of her blue eyes. “I remember everything! It’s all so simple: left-click, double-click, then hover over the envelope and accept the letter.” Hector scratched the back of his head. “But first, we need to turn on this machine; there should be a big round button…”
“I see…” The girl shook her head in disappointment. “Teacher, I’ll ask the boys, and they’ll quickly teach you how to use a computer. Just remember, this thing really is very convenient and useful.”
“Of course!” The Potion Master smiled and nodded quickly. “I’ll try my best, because the faster we decipher this book, the faster I’ll become famous!”
“That’s great. Rigel, is it me or did you forget your clutch?” Lady Hellsing turned to the girl with a smile, who quickly looked herself over and nodded guiltily. “Run quickly to the estate, I’ll be waiting for you on the porch. You must shine at Her Majesty’s reception today.”
Two adults, smiling, saw off the tall, green-eyed girl, who, lifting the hem of her black ball gown, quickly ran out of the mad scientist’s domain. When Hector was alone with the blonde, he felt a chill where his back lost its noble name. Now, standing before him was not a loving mother, but a cruel and domineering woman.
“Mr. Dagworth,” his cold blue eyes looked him over from head to toe. “Remember, this research is a top secret, and if you tell anyone, you will be considered a traitor to the Empire. Also, if anything happens to the Philosopher’s Stone shard, or you fail to live up to the trust placed in you, you will die a long and painful death. I will personally turn you into a red tulip. Understood?”
“I can handle it!” Hector swallowed nervously and straightened his shoulders.
“Okay, then, that’s the deal.” Lady Hellsing nodded goodbye and left the laboratory.
Left alone, Hector admired the Philosopher’s Stone fragment for a few minutes, sighing reverently over it, then furtively hid it in his safe. He then went to his personal library, where he’d accumulated a considerable number of alchemy works, and somewhere else lay notes on how to use this calculating machine. If his apprentice said it was useful, then so be it. At this point, creating the Elixir of Life had become his life’s work; he would either become world-famous or die! This scenario pleased the potion maker greatly, and with a wild grin, he set to work.
***
Early one August morning, Victoria drove my friends and me to the Soviet consulate in central London. Yawning, we leisurely left the comfortable Rolls-Royce and headed toward the wrought-iron gates with their red stars. Mia and Elvira were practically asleep, and I, too, was yawning like an old crocodile. It was understandable—the clock showed half past three in the morning. A sleepy soldier at the entrance noticed us and nodded politely, and I silently handed him our documents.
“Okay, little sister, here we are. Do you remember where to go?” a cheerful and disgustingly cheerful vampire addressed me.
“I remember,” I muttered back. “I hate time zones.”
“Be patient. But, as Sergey said: ‘You’ll have an interesting and extremely exciting time in the next three weeks!'” Victoria winked at me and gave me a big hug goodbye, and then it was my friends’ turn. “Don’t forget to call!”
– Definitely. – I smiled back. – Bye.
– See you later! – The girls smiled back.
By this time, a Soviet officer approached the gate, greeted us, and led us into the portal hall. We were about to embark on a journey to the heroic city of Leningrad. I don’t know why, but Vityaz’s headquarters were located in this cultural capital, meaning Cherny’s stories about the division of the cities weren’t entirely true. These thoughts languidly swirled in my head as we descended into the basement, showed the necessary documents to David Markovich, and stood in the center of a faintly glowing circle.
A bright flash, and we found ourselves in a huge, luxurious hall with soaring ceilings; everything around us literally screamed wealth and grandeur. The walls were covered in stucco and adorned with numerous statues and paintings; huge stained-glass windows, lightly covered with blue silk, offered a magnificent view of the Gulf of Finland.
“It’s just amazing, almost like Hogwarts…” Elvira raised her head, admiring the glass ceiling.
“The chandeliers are also quite nice,” I said, pointing to the enormous works of art made of Gzhel-painted ceramics and rock crystal. “They’re almost exactly like the ones in Windsor Castle.”
“That’s right, they were made at the same factory in Spain.” I heard Igor Cherny’s voice from behind me; I think he was my grandfather’s youngest son. “Our aristocrats used to go crazy with the money, so Count Menshikov attended a reception with George III and, upon returning home, ordered the same ones, only bigger and more expensive. Hello, greenhorns, ready for an adventure?”
“Good morning.” I sleepily turned towards the man who greeted me, and immediately felt a stinging sensation in my lower back. “For what?!” I stared indignantly at this… slyly smiling son of his father.
“How should one greet a combat officer?!” Black barked so loudly that almost everyone in the room stood at attention.
“Good day, Comrade Major!” We greeted my relative in a disjointed chorus. “Ouch!” Now the three of us were hit almost simultaneously, and we, sniffling in resentment, clutched at the lower ninety.
– Stand down! Stand at attention! Good day, comrade soldiers! – Igor boomed loudly and commandingly.
– Good health to you, Comrade Major! – Our girls’ voices almost merged into one.
“Excellent! Welcome to the Soviet Union! From this moment on and for the next three weeks, you are at my complete disposal and are obligated to obey every order without question.” The officer nodded contentedly, seeing our sour expressions. “Any questions?”
– Where is Sergei? – I thought my grandfather was supposed to meet us.
“Father’s busy, you know why,” the blue-eyed officer said dryly. He’d seemed so sweet and kind to me during the winter break, but it was a mistake. “Are there any more stupid questions?!” We shook our heads in silence. “Excellent. Follow me! Quick march!”
Cherny quickly headed for the exit, and we hurried after him. Once outside, I didn’t even have time to properly examine the Menshikov Palace, which housed the portal hall. An army truck, covered with canvas, was waiting for us on the stone-paved square, next to which a soldier in a Vityaz uniform was smoking. Noticing the senior officer, he flashed his cigarette butt with a magician’s gesture and stood at attention.
“In the back.” Igor waved us over and headed toward the cab. “We’ll be going fast, so hold on tight.”
– Yes! – I answered for the three of us and was the first to head to the back of the truck.
First, we lifted Elvira up; the poor thing had to stand on our shoulders to reach the side. Then I performed some amazing acrobatics, and finally, we lifted Hermione up. The inside of the truck turned out to be standard fare: a thick canvas awning and wooden benches along the sides, plus a hefty iron box at the base of the cabin.
– Are you settled in well? – Something heavy knocked on the side, and I heard the major’s sarcastic voice.
– Yes sir!
“There’s a uniform in the box. Change on the way and don’t forget to adjust it so it fits like it was made to measure!” Black spoke rather loudly. “And listen to my order: from now on, all conversations are in Russian only! You’ll be arriving at the Vityaz training center soon, so to speak, just in case! Is that clear?!”
– Yes sir! – This time I answered for everyone, as Mia reached into the drawer, and Elvira sat down on the wooden bench and began unbuttoning her silk blouse.
The truck roared its engine and jerked forward, sending Hermione and I tumbling head over heels onto the wooden floor, while Smith managed to grab the board she was sitting on with her hands.
“Bitch! You’re not carrying firewood!” I yelled towards the cabin, and in response the truck picked up speed and turned sharply to the right, causing Mia and I to fall on our butts again.
“I somehow imagined a trip to summer camp differently…” Hermione muttered quietly and, grabbing the metal arches, headed towards the iron box.
– Me too. Well, grandpa, I’ll definitely remember this… – Standing up and trying to keep my balance, I followed my friend.
“I’m curious what awaits us in this camp…” Elvira caught the size fifty camouflage jacket thrown to her. “I don’t like all this…”
Hermione and I merely exchanged a sly glance at her words and pulled out two more sets of camouflage uniforms from the depths of the iron chest. These were designed to fit in the average three-door wardrobe with storage, not twelve-year-old girls. Well, I couldn’t tell Smith that my grandfather was a sadist and a very cruel man.
Due to her intense workload, my mother couldn’t accompany me, but she had warned me a couple of days ago that the “high-security summer camp” has very specific teaching methods. Therefore, we must strive to endure all the hardships and privations steadfastly, lest we dishonor the Empire, as we will be among the future officers and generals of our strategic partner and staunch ally. This is also an excellent chance to make useful connections, as shared blood and sweat cement friendships far better than shared drinks and chatter at social gatherings.
On the next turn, the truck jerked too sharply to the right, and Elvira ended up falling off the wooden bench.
“You should have invited Justin along,” said our modest girl, rubbing her soft spot. “He looked way too pleased at Diagon Alley.”
Let’s see what the old dark magician with his sick and twisted imagination has prepared for us…
