Chapter 79
Saturday morning started off perfectly: I’d slept well and was full of energy. When I went down to the common room, I was delighted to see Ron and Justin’s battered fists, and the bright sunshine outside brought a smile to my face. Throughout practice, the boys had been vying with each other to tell stories of how they’d taught the Marauders a lesson, and with a crushing success. First, they’d beaten up Seamus and Dean, as a precaution, and then added some punishment to Potter and Longbottom for their insolence and threats—the bespectacled one had been careless enough to blurt out something nasty about Ginny. So I returned to the castle in a wonderful mood, enjoyed a contrast shower, and headed to breakfast.
I love weekends, especially mornings. Our lions, though wild and sometimes a bit crazed, love to sleep. Thanks to this, the common room is quiet and calm in the early hours, even cozy, since less than half the faculty gets up for breakfast. I ate, enjoying the silence, because the boys were exhausted from their run, and our chatterboxes refused to leave the comfort of their warm beds. While savoring fresh bacon and eggs, I stole a glance around the Great Hall.
The faculty was all seated, casting sidelong glances at Dumbledore, who sat proudly on his golden, throne-like stool. He rarely shows up for breakfast, of course, the old man has a lot to do. How he manages to sit on three chairs with just his arse remains a mystery to me. The Slytherins ate their food in small groups, with aristocrats also enjoying a nap. There were only a few Ravens; their house is the smallest, and its members often forget to eat. The Badgers were all present; they never appear alone, always in groups. However, everyone present, including the faculty, had one thing in common: they kept glancing at the lonely pair of older boys, their faces bandaged, sitting at the edge of the Hufflepuff table. And the looks from some of the students didn’t bode well.
I not only carved the word ” Faggot ” into Scrimgeour and his girlfriend, Pris (I only learned his name yesterday), but also added a couple of dicks to their cheeks. At the time, I perceived the athame as a pencil or marker, and I felt like a juvenile delinquent stuck in a piss-stained and filthy elevator. These two understood their situation, so they ate quickly and silently, and only Hermione and I noticed that they were pressing too close together. The curse had only just begun to take effect and would reach full strength in about a month, maybe a little longer.
“I suggest we finish off our summer assignments today,” Mia said, looking away from the future representatives of sexual minorities. “We have one essay left on Transfiguration and three on Charms.”
“Agreed.” I nodded in response. “We should be done before dinner, and then we’ll go to the operations base; I need to train.”
“I haven’t shot for days!” Her friend’s eyes lit up with righteous fervor. “Valera’s probably rusted to death by now, poor thing.”
– Jas, what are we going to do? – Ron smiled contentedly and put the utensils aside.
“As planned, lessons until lunch, and then Monopoly.” Finch-Fletchley shrugged and looked at Smith. “Are you with us?”
– Of course! – The girl nodded contentedly. – Lavender and Parvati were going to join too.
The day’s plan was made, and our group, leisurely finishing our tea and scones, headed to Gryffindor Tower. We had all the necessary books with us, so we decided to hang out in the common room, fortunately our favorite table was always free. Anticipating a pleasant time, I entered the common room and was thoroughly shocked, activating all available shields and protective amulets.
The spacious room resembled a fight club or a football fan gathering after their favorite team’s loss more than a school dorm. A makeshift ring had appeared right in the center of the living room, where two guys were engaged in an epic brawl, surrounded by a cheering crowd. Among the screaming boys and girls, I spotted the red-headed Weasley twins, and enterprising young men were actively accepting bets and selling beer. My gaze shifted to another corner, where three guys were kicking a huge guy, and similar scenes were happening in several other places. Actually, there was only one fight; the rest was a regular and, judging by the amount of blood, quite brutal beating.
“Our theory has been confirmed.” Mia smirked and nodded towards the boy, who was lying in a pool of his own blood with a broken face.
– What? – Elvira looked in that direction in confusion and gasped. – Waterproof fabric!
I looked at the floor and nodded approvingly. Almost the entire floor had been thoughtfully covered with tarpaulin or something similar. Now it was clear why McGonagall wasn’t here yet. I wasn’t the only one who realized that blood spilled on the floor or walls would activate the school’s defense mechanisms. So it wasn’t for nothing that I had twenty square meters of thick plastic in my bag; the idea worked!
“I wonder what they’re doing this for?” Justin nodded toward the big guy being kicked and beaten with wooden bats. “Our guys probably wouldn’t do it just like that…”
“We’ll find out now.” I noticed a couple of curious second-year girls on the stairs leading to the girls’ half. “I’ll be there soon.”
– I’m with you! – Mia followed me, as did the others.
Weaving through the heated crowd, holding our shields, our group reached Brown and Patil, who were watching the chaos with delight. The girls were as happy as spectators at the Colosseum at a gladiatorial contest, practically clapping their hands.
– Lavender! – I shouted to my friend. – What the hell is going on here?
– Hey, guys! – The blonde turned towards us. – You almost made it!
– Where? – Smith looked around the living room skeptically. – What happened?
– You don’t know? – Parvati looked at us like we were idiots. – But you were riding in the Gryffindor carriage!
“We locked ourselves in the compartment and didn’t come out until we arrived in Hogsmeade,” Mia decided to give us an alibi. “So we have no idea what happened there.”
“What? There’s so much interesting stuff there…” Lavender let out a frustrated sigh, then pointed at the guys fighting in the ring. “Hooper and Sloper got drunk and mixed up the compartments, and their girlfriends too,” she nodded toward the sixth-year girls pulling each other’s hair. “Wanda and Ami were drunk too and didn’t even resist, and they only realized what happened after…”
– I see. – Ron interrupted the girl and looked around theatrically. – And the rest?
“Jenkins,” Lavender pointed at the big guy, whose beating had stopped and a tall guy was currently urinating on his bruised face. “He cornered Towler’s fiancée in the toilet and almost took her by force, can you believe it? Vicky barely managed to escape! Now her fiancé and his friends are defending the bride’s honor. It’s so romantic!”
“And Smithers cheated on his girlfriend.” Patil interjected, pointing to another group where two boys had forced a third to his knees, while a frail girl was beating the unfortunate man with a bronze candlestick. “Her cousins are helping her, and over there is Mandy Taylor.” The sophomore nodded toward the crowd of enraged furies.
“She was throwing herself at everyone half-naked and offering all sorts of obscene things,” Brown added enthusiastically. “The girls decided to teach her a lesson, such shamelessness!”
I followed the chatterboxes’ gaze and saw an extremely unpleasant scene: five senior students were beating a dark-haired girl with rubber truncheons shaped like penises. The girl’s face was covered in blood and purulent blisters, clearly some kind of curse, but the moral guardians showed no sign of stopping. The enraged lionesses repeatedly forced the half-dead slut to her knees and continued their torture. Each time, she was brought to her knees, kicked, hit with truncheons, and pulled by the hair. Similar scenes were unfolding throughout the living room.
I’ve actually noticed that Gryffindors almost always attack in groups; one-on-one fights are extremely rare. What did I expect? Gryffindor is the House of Lions, and these predators always hunt in a pride.
– And what did Simons do? – Ron noticed a skinny guy being kicked by Wood with a mischievous smile.
“And he always gets beaten up.” Brown shrugged. “Johnson told me he was peeping at girls in the showers behind the stadium back in his freshman year. They beat him up for it, and he complained to the dean. The girls got detention, and the boys beat him up, and he complained again. Ever since then, he’s been getting beat up all the time… He’s weird…”
“Girls, why today of all days?” I asked the chatterboxes the only question that came to mind. “We’ve been studying for two days already!”
“The Aurors only left the school last night,” Lavender began to explain the obvious. “The kids were just waiting for this, and the prefects laid out a special cloth this morning to keep McGonagall out.”
“Okay, they’ll have time to rest in the hospital wing tomorrow.” I nodded understandingly. “And on Monday, Gryffindor will return to class in full force.”
– Exactly! Demelza even took the first years to the library beforehand, just in case. – Lavender smiled proudly. – And Percy stayed here and made sure they didn’t overdo it.
I turned my head and quickly found the red head. Our brave prefect had just stopped Wood and, judging by his gestures, was giving him some instructions. The team captain listened attentively to Weasley, then raised his unconscious victim with a spell and left the common room. Meanwhile, Ron’s older brother headed toward the makeshift ring, where another fight had broken out. What or who these fighters were fighting over was of no interest to me. Soon, Demelza returned to the tower and began assisting her partner in this difficult task.
“Guys, maybe we should go to the library?” Smith attracted everyone’s attention and glared at the crowd of mad furies with hostility; even I wanted to intervene.
The others followed her gaze and drew their wands, as the moral guardians had completely lost their temper. The bloodied harlot Mandy Taylor was no longer able to stand, not even on her knees, so they began to use magic to strip her of her clothes. The most ardent grabbed her victim by the hair and aimed her dagger at her eye, but was immediately thrown into the wall, taking a powerful Stupefy.
Demelza decided to intervene and interrupted the execution, but the others were against it and, using the half-naked girl as a shield, attacked back. The prefect wasn’t so simple and fought back skillfully. Stray spells flew into the crowd and threatened to spark a mass brawl, but the female Quidditch team intervened. Johnson and his friends attacked the punishers from behind, quickly immobilizing them, and then began kicking them. Several more boys, who had caught some less than virtuous curses, joined in. Everyone immediately forgot about the half-naked and battered slut; the girl continued to lie in a pool of her own blood and urine.
“I agree,” my mood sharply worsened from all this bacchanalia and shouting, I wanted to add chaos with the help of flash-bang grenades, but I decided not to interfere with the course of events.
Forming a pig formation and activating our wards, our group, Lavender, and Parvati followed us and headed out of the common room. Along the way, I threw a couple of mock curses into the crowd, and Mia broke the nose and arm of a third-year student who had rushed at us. What was that idiot doing? The squabbles between the students were clearly getting out of hand, and the prefects, backed by the Quidditch team, were no longer able to cope. The Dean of Hogwarts or any of the other teachers still hadn’t shown up. I wondered what they were doing that was so important.
These thoughts plagued me all the way to the library, but once in the abode of knowledge, I pushed them to the back shelf and focused on an essay on the partial transformation of the inanimate into the animate. Transfiguration is a very contradictory subject: on the one hand, it’s boring and abstruse, and on the other, interesting and surprising, like McGonagall. And where do cats go to find her? I hope Gryffindor Tower will be back in place by this evening…
On Saturday morning, an extraordinary staff meeting was held in the spacious and bright office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. To ensure the venerable and respected wizards were comfortably seated, Dumbledore had transfigured a long, massive table and added a dozen soft chairs. A multitude of issues had accumulated over the summer, but due to his busy schedule with the ICM and the Wizengamot, Albus hadn’t had time to gather his staff before the start of the school year, and then Scrimgeour and his puppy had distracted the Chief Warlock from his work. Therefore, once everything had settled down, Dumbledore called a general meeting. Several issues were truly important and required immediate attention.
The Headmaster waited until everyone was seated and leaned back in his throne-like chair with a good-natured smile. Albus turned his head to the right and nodded to Minerva, his loyal deputy sitting closest to him. Across from her, the pocket Potions Master fidgeted with a sour expression. The remaining professors sat according to their interests, with the exception of Hooch and Trelawney—those old alcoholics occupied the farthest seats. The Light wizard merely chuckled at this; even from this distance, his nose could detect the scent of booze and table sherry, the bottle of which they’d stolen from the house-elves and used to cure their hangovers before breakfast.
“Greetings again to all,” Dumbledore smiled warmly at his subordinates. “The crisis has passed, and we can finally discuss pressing matters. Minerva, my girl, begin.”
“Thank you, Albus.” McGonagall nodded in response and, pursing her lips, opened her diary. “The class schedule for this semester has already been drawn up, and I’d like to discuss the night shift schedule. And then we need to deal with discipline; what happened on the train was outrageous!”
“I’m sure that Gryffindor students had a hand in this…” Professor Prince muttered from his seat.
“My lions would never stoop to such a thing!” Minerva looked reproachfully at the Potions Master. “Mr. Scrimgeour’s attackers acted with great cunning and calculation, and then skillfully covered their tracks, and that’s the signature of your students!”
“Colleagues, calm down, we’ll come back to this issue later.” The director stopped the budding squabble. “Minerva, continue.”
– Excuse me, Director. – The woman sat down. – I have drawn up a schedule before the Christmas holidays, please review it.
The woman waved her wand, and a large sheet of expensive parchment appeared in front of each teacher. For several minutes, the room was silent as the wizards studied the schedule and figured out when and with whom they could switch, and when they could even go to bed early.
“Why do I have the most night shifts?!” Lockhart’s indignant cry rang out. “In October I have eleven shifts, and in November a whopping fourteen!” The young wizard continued to rage: “Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout only have one shift a month! And why aren’t Professor Trelawney and Madam Hooch on the list? They’re teachers too!”
“Professor Lockhart, these are the school rules.” McGonagall looked at the young wizard as if he were a fool. “Newcomers always have more hours than others, and when you were hired, you yourself stated that you were ready to work day and night for the good of Hogwarts. I have fulfilled your request.”
“Ah…” The talented writer’s face lengthened in surprise, and he turned his head in search of support, but the other professors looked at him with poorly concealed glee. “And what about…”
Everyone present turned their gaze to the Divination professor and the flying instructor: the women were leaning against each other, sleeping with their eyes open. Trelawney opened her mouth and snored, intensifying the smell of alcohol in the room. The indignant Defense of the Dark Arts professor sat down silently, his reply unspoken.
“Minerva, please, I need November 14th, it’s my friend’s birthday,” Professor Babbling said.
“And for me, it’s December 16th…” The Prince hissed quietly from his place. He had slightly fewer night shifts than Lockhart, but the head of Slytherin was already accustomed to this injustice.
For the next couple of hours, the esteemed professors discussed the night shift schedule, class schedules, and other organizational matters. When it came time for discipline, Sprout, as usual, proposed reinstating corporal punishment, and the other professors unanimously supported her. The faculty formed a united front, demanding that the bratty brats be disciplined. Albus was unwavering in his decision and fought back as best he could.
“Dear colleagues, time moves on, and in our age of enlightenment, to use such barbaric methods…” Dumbledore looked reproachfully at his subordinates. “Or are any of you prepared to take up a whip and torture a naughty child?” Most looked down, but Sprout and Flitwick nodded in unison. “Understand, violence only breeds violence. Children must be spoken to and conflicts resolved promptly. Only through kindness and understanding can we lead our students to the light.”
“And if…” the Prince began, but Dumbledore interrupted him.
“I believe that children should not be hit – that’s the first thing.” The Chief Warlock looked thoughtfully at the Potions Master. “Severus, are you prepared to personally spank Miss Malfoy or Miss Hellsing?” The Head of Slytherin’s face paled. “That’s just it…” Albus shook his head sadly. “Please remember that some children have very influential and unrestrained parents – that’s the second thing.”
“So what should we do?” McGonagall looked questioningly at her boss. “My lions are hardly afraid of detentions with Mr. Filch anymore!”
“Use your imagination!” Dumbledore raised his index finger to the sky. “There’s plenty of work at Hogwarts! As one Muggle scientist said, ‘Work made a man out of an ape.’ I won’t limit you on that.”
“Albus, what are we going to do about the train?” Sprout said thoughtfully. “They still haven’t assigned us any Aurors.”
“For now, the Defense against the Dark Arts professor will be on duty at the Hogwarts Express.” One golden-haired wizard choked. “The children need a protector, and an experienced and powerful wizard who has proven his bravery and valor time and again would be perfect for that role.”
The adult wizards spent the next hour discussing possible punishments for detention. The most popular were: cleaning toilets, shoveling snow, cutting ingredients, and working in the greenhouses—non-magical, of course. Sprout even mentioned the cesspool under the school, but her bucket idea was saved for the last resort. Once all the routine questions were over and the teachers had their say, the headmaster decided to raise more pressing and important issues.
“Pomona,” the old man politely addressed the head of Hufflepuff, “have you prepared an estimate for installing an automatic irrigation system in the eighth greenhouse?”
“Of course, Albus,” the sorceress replied and levitated a thick stack of papers to the boss.
– Hmm… You weren’t going into details… Italian taps, German pipes… And then there’s the roofing and ventilation repairs… – The director glanced at the document. – Are you sure Mr. Scrimgeour will agree?
“Where else would he go?” Madam Sprout smirked. “His son broke the cardinal rule of MY house, and Rufus himself had the audacity to insult me. There will be a heavy price to pay for this.”
“Your right.” Albus smiled back. “Then add drilling a couple of wells. Your plants are very important for the school and they need only the purest water.”
“Absolutely,” the Hufflepuff head of house nodded. “And Lester Scrimgeour and his friend will be actively helping the workers; they’ll benefit from the hard physical labor.”
“That’s good.” Dumbledore handed the folder back to his subordinate. “I expect the completed estimate on Monday morning; I’ll hand it over to our benefactor before the Wizengamot meeting.”
“Director, what about my request?” The numerology professor said, drawing attention. “If the sponsor repairs the greenhouses, then maybe…”
“No, Septima, the school doesn’t have the money for adding machines,” Dumbledore interrupted the young woman and immediately looked at the astronomy professor. “Or for a star projector, either.”
The women snorted discontentedly and lowered their heads. Realizing that his subordinates were offended, the director decided to cheer them up.
“Being able to count in columns is very useful, and these adding machines just make children stupid.” Albus switched to a gentle tone. “And as for the projector, what is it for? We have such a beautiful view from the roof of the astronomy tower.”
– And in rainy or cloudy weather? – Professor Sinistra muttered. – Do I have to ask you every time?
“Aurora, my dear girl, you know perfectly well that this is no trouble at all for us,” the Headmaster replied. “Filius and I are both highly skilled in weather charms and are always ready to ensure your students have clear skies.”
– Thank you… – The astronomy professor softened a little.
“That’s sorted,” the headmaster muttered, turning his gaze to the potion maker. “Severus, have you compiled a list of the missing ingredients?”
“Yes, Headmaster.” The Head of Slytherin held out a sheet of parchment and grimaced. “I replenished the potions supply for the hospital wing over the summer, so I had to take two weeks off.”
“Now, now, Severus, my boy, this is your job.” Albus looked at his subordinate paternally. “Besides, you’ll soon have assistants.”
– W-what? – Zelvar even started stuttering in surprise.
“Duty and reliable, I hope, that’s up to you.” The Headmaster pulled a thin folder from his desk and handed it to the Potions Professor. “Severus, you’ve been a master for over ten years and in that time you haven’t taken a single student as an apprentice. The Education Department is extremely annoyed by this fact and is threatening to remove you from your position. Wizarding Britain is desperately short of competent Potion Masters, and it’s our job to fix that! For the greater good, you simply must pass on your knowledge and skills to the younger generation, otherwise our country could collapse into darkness and ignorance.”
“I’m not obligated to take on students!” the Prince hissed angrily. “The school is full of dumb idiots and losers. It’s a waste of time…”
“You’ll have to!” The director’s voice took on a commanding tone. “You must take on at least two students by the end of October, or you’ll be fired.”
“Two?” the Potions Master asked resignedly, then continued thoughtfully. “Actually, there are some not-so-hopeless students in my department, given the right approach… It’s better to take second-years; maybe they’ll make it to apprenticeship by graduation…”
“And one more thing, Severus, one of the students must be Muggleborn.” Dumbledore admired his subordinate’s open mouth. “The Minister of Magic has decided to show the world that in Wizarding Britain everyone is equal, and that discrimination based on blood purity is simply a fabrication of the political opposition.”
“Where’s a Muggleborn supposed to find the money?” Flitwick’s sarcastic voice rang out in the office. “Is training with a master quite expensive, or has our beloved Ministry decided to fork out some cash?”
“That’s correct, Filius,” Dumbledore nodded. “The Department of Education will pay for the Muggle-born student’s apprenticeship; the funds have already been deposited into Professor Prince’s account.”
– How much?! 300 Galleons?! Is this a joke? – The professor in question screamed loudly and jumped up from his chair. – Training with a master costs at least 5,000 Galleons! I don’t agree! I’ll complain to the guild!
“Severus, sit down!” The headmaster forced his subordinate to shut up. “That’s the will of the Ministry of Magic, and you, mind you, are a professor at the only school of magic in the country and earn a decent salary! If you persist, I will personally choose your future students, and believe me, you won’t like my choice.”
– Ha-ha-ha! – The head of Ravenclaw couldn’t help but laugh loudly. – Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley would be ideal candidates! Ha-ha-ha! Oh, I can’t… Agree, Severus!
“I…” the Prince began, choking with anger, but his boss interrupted him.
– Two personal students or dismissal, choose!
– Agreed… – The Dean of Slytherin buried his forehead in the tabletop, he knew that dismissal meant death.
“The students’ names should be on my desk in two weeks,” Dumbledore snapped. “After approval from the Ministry, you’ll sign the contracts and begin individual lessons in early October. That’s the end of it.”
“As you say, Headmaster,” the Prince hissed angrily and glanced sideways at Hooch and Trelawney. He’d need some drinking buddies today.
“And finally,” the Light wizard drew everyone’s attention. “By the will of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, I forbid any detentions or other time-consuming punishments to be given to Rigel Hellsing. My decision is valid until the Christmas holidays, that’s an order!”
The magic in the room thickened and slightly oppressed the teachers present; even a couple of hungover beauties woke up. Everyone stared at the boss in confusion; such a demand, reeking of favoritism, surprised many, even the old alcoholics.
– Albus, I’m sorry, – the half-goblin looked closely at the director. – And why the hell do you have such privileges?
“I agree!” McGonagall supported her colleague. “Miss Hellsing is certainly very smart and talented, but sometimes she behaves simply terribly!”
“I’d bring back corporal punishment just for her…” The Slytherin Head of House hissed angrily. “Remember how she…”
“Quiet!” Dumbledore raised his voice. “This is not my personal whim, but concern for the prestige of our country and the demand of Fudge and Bagman.”
– WHAT? – McGonagall and the Prince looked at the headmaster at the same time.
“On November 15th, the 358th International Fencing Championship will be held in Paris, and Miss Hellsing will represent Wizarding Britain and defend the honor of Hogwarts!” the headmaster said proudly. “Let me remind you that students from our school haven’t competed in the arena for over half a century. Therefore, I ask that you approach this request with the utmost seriousness and understanding.”
“I remember, I remember…” A note of nostalgia entered the Ravenclaw headmaster’s voice. “In 1922, Lord Lestrange’s eldest son lost his head in the semi-finals, and what a scandal it was…”
“That same year, the Board of Trustees banned fencing lessons, and the oldest and most noble families no longer sent their children to these dangerous competitions,” Sprout nodded. “And then the adults started boycotting them, too.”
“Pitiful cowards.” The half-goblin grinned at his colleague.
“Albus, how will the girl train?” McGonagall’s eyes lit up; she was a Quidditch fan, but she also followed other sporting events closely. “Will a coach be coming, or will she be leaving the school periodically? I’m ready to accompany her! Such an event! I’ll definitely be rooting for my student!”
“Miss Hellsing will be leaving school on Sundays to study with her mother,” many of the professors grimaced as if they had a toothache. “On the other days, the girl will practice in one of the empty classrooms.”
“Albus, perhaps we should reopen the dueling hall for this occasion?” Flitwick leaned forward, his eyes shining. “I’m prepared to give Miss Hellsing a couple of lessons, and at the same time, I’ll see what she’s capable of.”
“Hmm…” The light mage considered this; the girl’s successful performance would greatly enhance the prestige of his school. “I permit it, but not at the expense of other classes.”
“Of course!” The half-goblin smiled in anticipation; it had been a long time since he had drawn his sword.
“Headmaster, perhaps we should revive the dueling club?” Lockhart, who had been silent throughout the entire meeting, spoke up. “The school is sorely lacking extracurricular activities, and the platform is a great place to let off some steam! I, with all the responsibility that comes with being me, am ready to oversee this event, and Professor Prince and Professor Flitwick will be happy to assist me!” The latter looked at the young wizard with very promising glances.
“No!” Dumbledore replied harshly. “Dippet didn’t ban it for nothing! Six students died on the platform last year. It’s too dangerous!”
“What if I develop a safe concept that meets modern safety standards and requirements?” The talented writer didn’t give up. “I’m sure Professor Flitwick and Professor Prince will be happy to help me,” the deans looked indignantly at the initiator, “and the Board of Trustees will approve this initiative.”
“Gilderoy, my boy, I will consider your proposal.” Dumbledore looked paternally at the heroic writer. “And as for the Board of Governors, its members are extremely concerned about your approach to the educational process. Do not put the students in danger again.”
“They were just pixies!” Lockhart protested. “Everything was under control and according to the approved curriculum!”
“Was the blood of those unfortunate magical creatures also used for training?” Albus looked sternly at his subordinate. “Remember, murder, any kind, shatters the soul and has a negative effect on the immature psyche of a child. Some students could have suffered severe emotional trauma.”
“I understand, Director.” The talented writer nodded. “This won’t happen again.”
“Very well.” Dumbledore leaned back in his throne. “Gilderoy, my boy, I understand that you are still young and full of energy, but don’t rush things. Focus on your studies and your scientific research, and we will return to the matter of the dueling club later.”
The talented writer nodded to the headmaster again and broke into his signature smile. He wasn’t used to giving up and would write a letter to Lucius Malfoy today, or better yet, Narcissa. He would revive the dueling club and lift the terrible curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor! Then, in his book, he would definitely describe in detail how the evil, tyrannical headmaster had thwarted him in every way and thrown a spanner in the works. It’s a shame everything is calm at school; this story lacks danger and adventure, but something could be invented… This book will be the best and become a bestseller!
“Any more questions? Suggestions?” Albus looked wearily at his subordinates and exhaled. “I won’t keep you any longer, especially since lunch is almost here, and you can’t miss it.”
The teachers began chattering and, nodding politely to the headmaster, began to disperse. Soon, only Dumbledore and Flitwick remained in the office. The Charms Master took his time leaving the cozy space, puffing steadily on his pipe.
– What do you say? – Albus turned to the half-goblin.
“That brat’s up to something,” the little wizard replied thoughtfully.
“I know that without you,” the light mage grumbled and with a wave of his hand transformed his throne into a comfortable leather chair. “I’m talking about Hellsing.”
“I need to see her in action, but if the Platinum Bitch decided to send her child to the Arena, then she’s worth something.” Filius tapped his claw on the table. “I’ll get everything ready tomorrow, and I’ll share my opinion on Monday evening.”
– Agreed. – Dumbledore smiled contentedly.
“Albus,” Flitwick’s gaze became extremely serious. “I know why Lockhart was kicked out of the Department of Mysteries, and if he…”
“Then his body will never be found. I’ll see to that personally,” replied the Supreme Sorcerer, his eyes glowing blue. “There were no other candidates this year, so I had to accept the board of trustees’ proposal. I’m keeping a close eye on him and will be able to intervene in time.”
– Like last year? – The half-goblin’s voice was full of sarcasm. – Okay, I’ll be going, I still need to place a bet with Mr. Wood.
“Filius, aren’t you ashamed? A grown wizard, and you’re taking part in the school betting…” The Supreme Warlock shook his head reproachfully and pulled a bag of gold from his desk drawer, then levitated it to his trusted companion. “Place a bet on my behalf.”
– As usual?
– No, I hope it lasts until May.
“That brat won’t even live to see April! You know my instincts.” Flitwick chuckled and accepted the bag of gold coins. “See you at lunch!”
– See you later, old friend.
Alone, Albus leaned back wearily in his chair and tempted a jug of lemonade; it was too early for mead. Having quenched his thirst, he glanced at the enormous stack of documents piled on the edge of his desk. There was a great deal of paperwork to be done, and an extraordinary meeting of the MCM still lay ahead. With a heavy sigh, the great wizard set to work.
***
In the cozy silence of the library, Mia and I scribbled away at summer assignments, while our friends sat nearby, busy with their own chores; they’d finished their homework the day before. Elvira and the chatterboxes were busy searching for an air purification charm, while Justin helped Ron with his Potions essay and eagerly leafed through books on herbology and magical plants.
– Holy shit! – Finch-Fletchley’s yell attracted everyone’s attention, including Madam Pince’s. – I thought she was younger!
– What are you talking about? – I looked up from the parchment.
“It says here that Sprout bred fifty-three new plant species, and her special mandrakes are considered the finest in the world!” The young aristocrat showed the cover of an ancient tome. “The author writes that the Dean of Badgers was offered the guild leadership back in 1653, but she refused! How old is she?!”
– What year is the book? – Mia put her pen down.
– Um… – The guy opened the title page. – Printed in 1750, edition of 99 copies. Venetian printing house “Lizun-Sosun and the Brothers”.
“Wizards live a long time, and the strong live a very long time.” Padma shrugged.
– What about the mandrakes? – I was wondering, in the movie they waited for some reason for the school plants to ripen.
“Right now…” Justin began leafing through the book. “Well, thanks to a special fertilizer, the composition of which is kept a closely guarded secret, the mandrakes from the Hogwarts greenhouses are superior to others in many ways. Their sap is more concentrated, and the poison of the young saplings is unique in its properties. There’s a lot more written here, but in short, Sprout is very old and cool.”
“That’s news,” Ron grumbled, reaching for his book. “I’ll add that to the essay, too. The Prince should appreciate it. Just let him try not to give it an Outstanding.”
That’s how our get-together went, though I started getting hiccups before lunch, but that was probably from hunger. By then, the summer assignments were finished, and after putting the parchments in my bag, I headed out to lunch with my friends.
The meal was noisy and cheerful, and it was amusing to watch the battered and bruised Gryffindors. Almost everyone was laughing heartily or hugging each other, some even making up. For example, the girl who had been hitting her boyfriend with a candlestick was now feeding him with a spoon and stroking his head. I looked more closely and counted at least fifteen people missing. I guess today is stair-fall day, and who cares, they’ll sort it out themselves. Putting aside my thoughts, I helped myself to some meatballs and pulled the salad closer.
After lunch, our group split up: Mia and I went to the library, and the rest of us went to the living room, assuming it was still there, of course. An essay on the intoxicating marjoram stood between me and my longed-for rest, and my faithful friend volunteered to help. She herself was curious why the Prince had congratulated me on my allergy to love potions. The answer was… unexpected.
It turns out that the intoxicating marjoram is the basis of all love potions, without exception! This plant possesses unique properties and is used only in this branch of potion-making. The exception is a penis enlargement elixir developed in 1825 by the French master potion maker Jean-Paul Gherkin. I certainly won’t need the latter, but knowing I wouldn’t be drugged with some nasty stuff was very pleasant. My paranoia, in the back of my mind, purred contentedly and even grunted.
We finished the essay for the Prince with half an hour left before dinner and, deciding not to waste time, headed to the operations base. My hands were itching to pick up a rapier, and Mia was eager to shoot a dozen dummies. Quickly making our way through the half-empty corridors, we found ourselves at a top-secret facility and discovered a crowd of intruders. At first, I was taken aback by their audacity.
The shooting range, gym, and ring were free, but the tea table was occupied by the international invasion brigade. Collaborators Finch-Fletchley, Weasley, and Smith, laughing loudly and cheerfully, were playing Monopoly with Brown and the Patil twins! Our base reminded me of a secret training ground where all the residents of the surrounding villages used to pick mushrooms. A young conscript tried to prevent the intruders from entering the facility, but was beaten and disarmed by two old women. They later took the guy’s machine gun to headquarters and even filed a complaint. At that moment, I felt like the commander of that very secret facility.
I know our chatterboxes well, and I’ve crossed paths with Padma more than once, and if our friends brought them here, there must have been a good reason. I trust them, of course, but my hand instinctively reached for the magical non-disclosure agreements.
“Hey guys, what are you doing here?” I approached the enthusiastic group with a predatory smile.
Mia, understanding my mood, stood by the door and began leisurely loading a repeating shotgun with rubber bullets. This room contains a lot of prohibited items or things that outsiders shouldn’t know about, so I decided no one would leave this room without my permission.
“Rigel,” Justin noticed my mood and stood up. “We’ll explain everything.”
– Please be so kind. – I used telekinesis to attract a free chair.
While the young aristocrat was gathering his thoughts, I lured a couple of cups and made tea for my friend and me, all without using a wand. The guests continued to sit there, glancing warily at Vasya, who had emerged from the sleeve of my robe and fluffed up his crown on his head.
“Rigel, the girls and I simply had nowhere to go!” Ron smiled innocently. “Don’t worry, I explained everything to them, including about the contracts. What are you starting? We were talking normally.”
“Girls, everyone’s making peace in the living room right now…” Smith looked at me with her black eyes. “And they’re doing it very noisily.”
“Of course it’s noisy!” Brown chimed in. “Lee Jordan brought in eight cases of beer.”
“And the twins sell firewhiskey for only 25 Galleons a bottle,” Parvati agreed.
– And that’s why you came here? – The whole company nodded in unison. – Do you know about non-disclosure agreements?
The blonde and her Indian friends nodded again, and with a shrug, I pulled out three magical contracts and a bloody quill. The girls glanced at them and quickly signed them. Only then did I smile and relax, and Mia put away the shotgun and sat down at the table with us.
During tea, I learned the details of what was going on in our common room, so I accepted my friends’ decision. Gryffindor Tower is currently a mess, and being there is dangerous for one’s psyche. Then I learned the reason for the second Patil’s presence in our group: it turns out Padma was being bullied. First-years aren’t touched—it’s an unwritten rule at Hogwarts—but the girl entered her second year and things took a turn. On the very first day, she was splashed in the face with some kind of caustic substance, and today, someone pushed her down the stairs and set her robes on fire. This homegirl has never experienced anything like this before and is simply terrified, and there’s no one to stand up for her.
Hmm… I thought about it. Goldstein wasn’t being touched because of his Jewish family’s reputation and his association with me and the twins. Ginny and Luna had protection from their numerous brothers, but Patil had no one. Do I need it? Definitely! It would be another lever of pressure on her dad, who holds a high position in the Indian colony. After calming the girl down and promising to help, I pulled out my foil and went into the ring. Mia, meanwhile, unsheathed Valera and, under the stunned gazes of our new club members, fired a burst at the wall.
Everyone was busy with their own activities: the boys were playing board games, I was swinging a sword, and Mia was “walking” her pet. We were so engrossed that we only came to our senses when the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Our group quickly cleaned up after themselves and went to see Padma off to the common room, and then we trudged up to Gryffindor Tower.
Surprisingly, we didn’t meet anyone along the way and quickly found ourselves back in our own madhouse. The tower was in full swing, like a village disco, but after escaping it, I finally found myself in a quiet and cozy bedroom. After taking a shower and talking with my mother, I fell asleep in a wonderful mood: my debts were settled, and tomorrow, albeit briefly, I’d be home again. I put thoughts of Potter’s scar on the back burner; I’d discuss it with my mother or grandfather when we met, but for now, it was time to sleep…
