Bonus chapter.
My book on AuthorToday has garnered 3,000 likes, so grab your bonus.
South Wales, England. 1666 from the coming of our Lord.
The horse beneath me snorted nervously and jerked to the side, avoiding yet another half-decomposed corpse on the side of the road, which pulled me from my slumber. I perked up, my hand instinctively slipping to the hilt of my sword, but I sensed no threat, so I merely glanced at the unfortunate creature. The Black Death spared no one, may the Creator have mercy on us. Our vanguard had been pursuing the accursed warlock for almost a week, having managed to escape his ancestral home. I will not allow it! The filth must be consigned to the purifying flame!
– Duncan, how much longer? – I turned to my brother in arms riding to my right.
“We’ll be in Dathmurt in about a couple of hours, my lady, before sunset.” The knight paused thoughtfully. “Exactly, even at this pace we’ll make it.”
“We can’t go any faster, the horses are tired.” I nodded in response.
“Ria, we’re too far ahead,” Sister Hermione said to me from my left. “We’re three days ahead of the main forces of the Order.”
“I know, but we’ve almost caught up with the filthy necromage.” I adjusted my steel cuirass, which after so many days on the road had already begun to rub bloody blisters, even despite the underarmor and chainmail.
“In two days’ journey, the cursed lands will begin.” My sister looked at me worriedly. “It will be difficult to kill that creature there.”
“That’s why we need to hurry. We’ll rest a bit in Dathmurt, and then when the moon rises, we’ll hit the road again.” I sniffed myself and grimaced. “First thing I’ll do is order the local mayor to arrange a bath for us.”
“If there isn’t soap root and at least one jug of hot water,” Hermione bared her teeth in anticipation, “I’ll have him hanged.”
“Don’t be hot-headed, young ladies. The Holy Scriptures say that the Lord’s knights must steadfastly endure all hardships and privations.” Father Benedict, our fighting chaplain, drew level with us. “We must serve the Holy Church and protect God’s children from filth and heresy until our last breath. And when that comes, we must accept death with dignity and faith in our hearts. For after this short, worldly life, eternity in heaven awaits us.”
“Of course, Holy Father, but I would prefer to die clean, not stinking like a wild Saracen.” I nodded respectfully. “Did you want to tell me something?”
“Yes, I sense the miasma of the dark god,” the mighty man pointed his staff forward. “We are very close.”
“I understand.” My hand slid to the hilt of my sword, and I turned to my brother knight. “Duncan, order the blades and liquid silver to be kept at the ready. Have the warriors prepare for battle.”
“Yes, sir!” The loyal knight nodded understandingly and, slowing down, began giving orders to his brothers in arms.
***
By sunset, our squad had reached the village of Datmurt. Alas, my fears were confirmed: the necromancer had already been here. The palisade around the settlement was intact, but the gates had been broken down, from the inside. It seemed the cursed sorcerer had tricked his way into the village and, during the night, carried out a merciless massacre of the locals. Even as we approached, the smell of blood and decay assaulted my nostrils; I’d grown accustomed to them over the past few years… Damned war… Damned sorcerers…
“Heavy cavalry, forward! Battle mages and crossbowmen, to the center!” I tugged on the reins, and my horse slowed, letting the warriors in heavy plate armor pass. “The rest of you, hold the line!”
The holy knights drew their blades from their scabbards, the archers began to crank their crossbows, Father Benedict whispered a prayer, and Sisters Hermione and Elvira and I prepared our wands. While wands were meant to be used in public, they were too thin and fragile for actual combat, and they weren’t capable of enhancing spells. So we used special wands blessed by the clergy, and thanks to the silver spike embedded in the handle, they could also be used in close combat.
Our squad moved slowly and cautiously down the main street of the dead village. Alas, we were too late… The doors to the houses were broken down, everything was covered in blood, and thank God it had rained heavily overnight, preventing any fires. Silence reigned, broken only by the clatter of hooves and the soft clang of metal.
We passed another ruined house, on the porch of which lay the corpse of a peasant, his chest torn out, in a pool of blood. Suddenly, the corpse rose. The undead creature leaped to its feet and lunged at the nearest holy knight, aiming its rotten teeth at his throat. However, Brother Colin, who had survived many battles, was prepared for this turn of events. With a sharp flick of his blade, he severed the cursed creature’s outstretched claws, and then the dark creature’s severed head rolled into a muddy puddle. Sister Elvira was immediately at its side, and the corpse of the transformed creature burst into a purifying flame.
– Dismount! – I gave the order loudly. – Take care of the horses!
Our squad split into two groups, and we began to circle the small village, gradually making our way in a spiral toward the church in the center. Along the way, we encountered only three damned ones, and we quickly dispatched them. Oddly, there were very few corpses…
Our squad reunited when the sun had already set, but the moon in the clear sky illuminated the surroundings well. So I immediately saw the symbol of the Deathly Hallows written in blood on the gates of the Lord’s temple.
The church of Dathmurt was built of wood, but according to all the rules: thick log walls, narrow loophole windows, and massive iron-bound gates. Everything was designed to ensure that the population could seek refuge in a safe place if need be. The knights, seeing the cursed symbol, surrounded the building without orders, and I, along with two brothers, approached the gate and knocked with the hilt of my sword.
“My name is Rigel Hellsing! I am the commander of the Royal Order of Protestant Knights!” I slammed my gauntleted fist against the gate a few more times. “In the name of the Creator, I command you to open!”
Excited voices and children’s cries were heard in the church, and then a small loophole opened in the gate, from which a grimy young girl looked at me in fear.
– F-forgive me, madam… – The poor thing’s voice trembled with fear. – But how can you prove that you’re telling the truth… I… I… I believe you, you can whip me later or even hang me, but our children are here…
“You speak truly, my daughter. Satan or the accursed sorcerer are capable of assuming any form.” Father Benedict approached us. “Mistress, show the unfortunate woman the document.”
“Of course.” I pulled out a tube from behind my back and extracted from it a folded sheet of expensive parchment with the royal seal. A silver cross that had been attached to my wrist also fell out of my sleeve.
The peasant woman examined the document; she still couldn’t read, so she paused with a knowing look at the seal, then examined the creator’s symbol and breathed a sigh of relief.
The window slammed shut, and the sound of bolts being unlatched could be heard from the other side. When the heavy gates swung open with a sickening creak, a couple dozen frightened, grimy women and children stood before us. The bravest of them rushed forward and fell to her knees in the mud before me.
“Praise the Lord, you’ve come! Lady, I beg you, don’t abandon us!” the survivor began to wail, clutching my armored boot with a death grip. “That terrible sorcerer came during the day, and at night he started killing everyone! We barely managed to take refuge within the temple walls; my husband and his warriors defended us to the last…”
I listened to my senses and struck her on the head with my fist, then with a kick of my heavy boot, sent the hungry creature flying. Snatching up my battle staff, I slammed the heavy gates shut with a wave of my hand and sealed them. The cursed creature, thrown back, quickly jumped to all fours, but immediately caught a silver-plated bolt from one of the archers on the back of her head.
“Brothers, the accursed warlock has desecrated the temple of the Lord; it is now a den of filth!” Father Benedict addressed all the holy knights in a loud voice. “I command you to burn the damned!”
Women’s screams of terror, pleas for help, and children’s cries echoed from the temple, but there was no time for cowardice. My empathy told me clearly that among the survivors were the damned. There were several of them, and these creatures, disguised as harmless peasants, reeked of bestial hunger and otherworldly cold. I couldn’t allow the infection to spread, which meant sacrificing the innocent. I would later stand before the Creator and answer for my actions, may He have mercy on His children.
Crossing myself, I watched as the warriors doused the wooden walls with alchemical oil and added additional supports to the gate, then stepped aside. Elvira and Hermione immediately approached me.
“This is bad. Peverell was definitely here.” Sister Elvira turned to me, the whites of her eyes darkening, and she was breathing heavily. “I checked, he recently performed a mass ritual to raise the undead, I sense a strong breach in the boundary…”
“Damn it!” Sister Hermione cursed. “The creature is gathering an army. There were about two hundred inhabitants in the village, and there are less than fifty corpses…” The witch’s eyes widened, “messengers of death…”
“No more than five,” Elvira nodded. “He’s not on the damned land, and the locals wouldn’t be able to handle more,” she said, turning to me. “Madam, we urgently need reinforcements; we can’t handle it with a small force.”
“I know, but the Order won’t be here for three days!” I clenched my teeth in anger. “During that time, they’ll have time to wipe out several more settlements and retreat to the cursed lands. We swore to the King that we would protect the people of this country until our last breath! We will keep our word or die!”
Behind us, a blaze erupted, and the burning church illuminated the village. Inhuman screams, roars, and childish cries of terror—may the Creator forgive me—were heard from the wooden structure. The trapped damned began to batter at the wooden gates from within, but spells and props prevented them from breaking through. A fanged muzzle appeared through the embrasure, but one of the knights jabbed the silver tip of his long spear at it, and the mug fell back with a shriek.
“Brother Duncan!” I called to my second-in-command. “Send a messenger with two escorts to my mother. Tell him what has happened and that we’ve almost caught up with that damned Peverell. Tell the warriors that we’ll be heading towards Bibury in an hour; it’s the nearest village to us.”
“I know one,” Denis Creevy approached us. He was the youngest and smallest in the detachment, and therefore considered an orderly. “The sheriff there used to be in the Order and keeps his militia under control.”
“Thank you, so the warlock won’t take the village right away.” I nodded contentedly to the young knight.
“Madam, let me stay.” The boy looked at me pleadingly. “Let me fight shoulder to shoulder with you, like my brother!”
“Denis,” I put my hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Your mission is as dangerous as ours. You must, no, you simply must, reach my mother’s tent alive! Understand me?!” Creevy nodded confidently. “Tell Lady Hellsing everything you saw and where we’re headed! That’s an order!”
The boy straightened up, and his older brother, Colin, approached us. While the brothers said goodbye and picked out the fastest horses, we moved a little to the side and held a council in the flames of the blazing church.
“So, that leaves us with twenty swords and three war staves.” I began drawing on the ground with a twig. “Peverell has about fifty wights and about five death slayers… There are hills ahead, so we should catch him at dawn.”
“The main thing is that Bibury holds out until morning. If we strike him in the back, we’ll have every chance of winning.” Hermione nodded affirmatively. “Our warriors aren’t afraid of the undead, but the messengers…”
“But if the village has fallen, then I suggest we bombard the settlement with Greek fire and leave,” Duncan said. “We can’t handle that many undead. Lady, may I remind you—Lady Integra ordered me to protect you by any means necessary. If necessary, my brothers,” the knight looked at Hermione, “and sisters and I will bind you and deliver you to the lady. We are not afraid of the whip or the gallows!”
“Okay…” Under three worried looks, I had to give in. Attacking an undead army with a small group was pure suicide. “We’ll rest for now, and once the corruption burns out, we’ll move out immediately.”
***
I was right; we reached Bibury before dawn, and the view from the top of the hill delighted me. The village held out! Screams and the clanking of metal could be heard from below; the wooden palisade had been breached in several places, but the enemy hadn’t been allowed inside. The locals quickly erected barricades at the breached points and fought back successfully. So, we had every chance of finishing off this beast!
Speaking of the beast, Peverell had positioned himself at the foot of the hill. The foul necromage, clad in his milky-white robes, sat atop a half-rotted thestral, flanked by four heralds of death. These beasts stood on all fours behind their master, baring their enormous jaws full of needle-like fangs, their long tails ending in sharp bony stings, thrashing about. Two more of the same beasts were currently battering the village’s palisade, and the last one lay dead on one of the barricades.
“Brothers!” I turned to the knights. “There’s an enemy of the human race down there! This accursed necromage has destroyed dozens of villages and killed thousands of innocents! The Creator is merciful, he has brought us to punish this filth with the sacred sword of Hellsing! May the blessed fire that righteously burns in our hearts protect us! Forward, brothers! In the name of the Lord!”
The first to charge forward were the cavalrymen, clad in heavy, consecrated plate armor, their spears lowered. The task of this dozen was to create a breach in the undead horde and allow our trio of battle mages to reach the warlock. The flanks of the “heavies” were covered by knights in cuirasses, armed with swords and more agile. And bringing up the rear of our small line was Father Benedict with two crossbowmen, who hurled silver-tipped bolts at incredible speed.
The warlock noticed our approach and turned some of his vile creations toward the threat. The Deathbringers and some of the undead rushed toward us. Moments later, the knights and the cursed beasts collided with a loud crack and the clang of metal. Two brothers immediately pierced the chest of one four-legged beast with their spears, while another knocked the holy knight off his horse and, with a blow of its paw, tore off his head, but it was immediately impaled by a spear.
“Avada Kedavra!” A green beam of curse shot from my battle staff and flew straight at the warlock, but a messenger of death appeared in its path and, catching my curse, fell to the ground, plowing a small furrow.
“Maxim’s Bombardment!” My friends shouted simultaneously, sending explosive curses into the center of the undead horde.
A loud explosion rang out, and half-decomposed corpses scattered across the field. The taste of metal clung to my lips, and the foul stench of carrion hung in the air. In the background, I heard the screams of my knights and the clanging of metal; somewhere in the distance, a death cry rang out… My sisters and I cannot stop; my brothers fought and died so that we could reach this damned creature.
I was about a hundred steps from the necromage, my battle staff already aimed at him, when my senses screamed like mad, and I leaped from my trusty steed. The next second, sharp bone spikes erupted from the ground, piercing my horse and a couple of other knights accompanying me. A girlish cry of pain rang out from behind, and I whirled around to see Elvira, a spike piercing her horse and passing through her thigh.
– Avada Kedavra – the black-haired witch screamed and a green beam shot from her staff towards the dark sorcerer, and then her steed reared up and fell to the ground with a drawn-out wheeze, crushing my sister.
– Avada Kedavra! – I rolled to the side and sent my curse at the enemy too.
Peverell’s concentration broke and the spikes disappeared, while the necromage himself, defending himself from the deadly curse, created a rampart of earth in front of him. I quickly rose to my feet and ran forward, my trusty silver blade already in my right hand. Killing mages in close combat is a pleasure.
“Maxim’s Bombardment!” Sister Hermione shouts as she runs after me, and I support her with the same explosive spell.
The earthen barrier before us shattered, and we instantly fell to the ground, a black crescent flying toward us from a cloud of dust and dirt. A death cry rang out from behind; one of the knights was unlucky enough to be cut in half. The dust and dirt hadn’t yet settled, so the warlock wasn’t visible, but he was clearly audible! The damned creature laughed loudly, and a wall of black flame appeared around us. Protego Diablico cut us off from the rest of the Order’s knights. Peverell decided to deal with us first. The tactic is simple: turn the dead into liches, and then send loyal puppets to attack the remaining warriors. I won’t allow it!
– SanctusFlamma! – A white, cleansing flame erupts from my sister’s wand toward the cursed mage, destined to burn this creature.
The spot where Peverell had stood was engulfed in holy fire; even through its roar, I could hear the panicked cries of the abominable creature, a comfort to my ears. I smirked contentedly, but the next moment, a black spear shot out of the flames and pierced my left shoulder. I grabbed the shaft to pull it out, and even through my gauntlet, I felt the miasma of a dark curse. The spear gave way, and I tossed it aside, then pulled a vial of holy water containing particles of consecrated silver from my breast pocket. After taking a few sips, I poured the remainder onto the wound; the skin around it and the flesh within were already beginning to blacken. The unbearable pain made me bite my lip until it bled, but I didn’t let go of the sword, and it was worth it.
A charred, barely alive corpse emerged from the flames, slowly and hesitantly. Peverell’s clothes had been burned away along with his skin, and his blackened, crackling flesh was falling off in chunks. This tenacious creature howled in a single note, twitching its head from side to side. It was blind—its eyes had long since been boiled out in the sacred fire. I slowly, gritting my teeth in pain, moved toward it. The necromage heard me and swung his charred stump. I immediately severed it with a swing of my sword, then, spinning in place, severed the creature’s head. The headless corpse fell at my feet, and I plunged the silver blade straight into its heart. Never underestimate your opponents.
Hermione ran up behind me and, with a kick of her plated boot, sent the necromage’s head back into the raging flames. Then she knelt before me and began to treat my wound again. I looked around. With their creator dead, the wights were finally at peace. We had won, but at what cost… I surveyed the battlefield again, counting a dozen dead brothers. May the Creator receive these brave men into His halls…
We will definitely win this war. For every fallen comrade, two rise, and this has been going on for a decade. The sorcerers couldn’t boast of such a thing, and therefore victory will be ours! I felt my consciousness begin to slip away.
– Miya… Order the bodies of the fallen brothers to be collected and buried with honors… – Barely moving my lips, I whispered to my sister. – We’ll stay in the saved village until the Order arrives. How’s Elvira?
“She’s fine, her legs are just bruised,” Hermione grumbled, holding a vial of pleasant-smelling potion to my lips. “Get some rest, we’re going on another hike in a couple of days…”
“But first, a hot bath,” I said this phrase or thought, I no longer remembered, my consciousness fell into darkness.
***
– F*ck! – I jumped up and quickly looked around; it was quiet and calm in the girls’ bedroom. – Your leg… I’d dream of something like that, it’s time to stop reading family chronicles at night…
I fell back into the arms of the soft pillow and ten minutes later fell asleep peacefully…
Chapter 83
– I hate Halloween… – On the last day of October, I woke up in a terrible mood and, not wanting to get up, covered my head with the blanket. – Five more minutes…
– Bang! – Something heavy and soft fell on my head, and then I heard my best friend’s disgustingly cheerful voice. – Get up, sleepyhead, it’s time for exercise!
“Three more minutes…” I grumbled in response and pretended to be a rag. “There’s still… until the alarm goes off.”
– Boom! – This time a heavy army boot landed on my lower back. – Get up! The weather outside is whispering – find and kill the heretic!
“But interrogate me first.” A predatory grin involuntarily appeared on my face, and I stuck my head out from under the blanket and looked out the window. “Or better yet, burn it right away.”
The morning “delighted” me with heavy leaden clouds, a squall that rattled the stained-glass windows, and pouring rain. Typical weather for Scotland, and indeed for the entire metropolis, but today it was especially infuriating and unnerving. Maybe because it was the same weather that fateful night? I don’t know why, but before Halloween, I always dreamed of the worst moments from my past, from both my lives.
I’d long ago sorted my memories with Occlumency, “archiving” the most unpleasant moments, then hid them in the deepest folder, even putting a password on top, but Morpheus didn’t care. That night, I woke up again in the dingy basement of an abandoned apartment building and, despite the pain, crawled toward the light and the voices. Shaking my head, I involuntarily touched my face, but felt only smooth skin; those scars remained from a past life. Exhaling, I sat up and looked at my hands. After the basement, I’d attended my loved one’s funeral. My palms still felt the cold, damp earth I’d thrown onto the zinc coffin. Then my gaze dropped lower. Wincing, I looked at the ugly scar that began below my navel and ended right at my crotch. My final nightmare was the Borov. His sweaty hands and foul breath felt so real, I wasn’t about to experience that again, so I actively resisted, and that night I succeeded! I managed to break free from under his greasy mascara and sank my teeth into his vile mug, the boar’s blood still lingering on my lips and tongue.
There was blood, but it was all my own. In my sleep, I’d clenched my jaw so hard my gums started bleeding, and I’d even bitten my cheek again. With a heavy sigh, I took a healing potion from the nightstand, took a couple of sips, and returned the bottle, glancing at the sealed cardboard box as I did so. It contained dreamless sleep potions, excellent stuff, by the way—one bottle, and you’ll sleep like a log all night. I’d been given this magical sleeping potion several years ago, but I’d never used it, wanting to control not only my memories but my nightmares as well. When I woke up in the hospital, I swore that no one would ever hurt me again, even in my dreams.
The first few years were incredibly difficult. I’d wake up every time, drenched in a cold sweat and with my throat raw from screaming, but I didn’t give up. Over time, I began to get the hang of it: moments from my past life no longer evoke fear, only longing and regret, and my childhood spent with the Beasts evoked only anger and rage. I’m no longer afraid of anyone or anything, and I’d rather die than lie down under anyone. Borov realized this last night. The fat pedophile squealed like a pig while I used my thumbs to squeeze out his lustful eyes, simultaneously shoving his severed dick down his throat.
– Riya, are you coming soon? – Miya grabbed my shoulder, and I flinched. – What’s wrong? Again?
I nodded silently in response and tried to stand, but my best friend leaned on me with all her weight and hugged me tightly, and I returned the hug. We sat motionless for about a minute: the warmth of her body, the gentle embrace, the measured breathing—not to mention her empathy! Hermione exuded so much love and support that I involuntarily squeezed her tighter, until my ribs cracked slightly.
“Thank you,” I whispered softly, looking into her chocolate eyes, then kissed my friend on the nose and loosened my grip.
“You’re welcome,” my friend said, kissing me on the forehead and pulling away. “Get ready, Elvira’s already waiting downstairs!”
– Don’t grumble, today is just a day of sh…
“Let me sleep!” Lavender’s scream came from behind the slightly open curtain. “Jocks, Morgana take you…”
“Girls, please shut up,” Parvati chimed in. “We still have almost two hours to sleep. It’s driving us crazy… Every morning, the same thing… They’ve created this…”
“Okay, okay, we’re leaving,” I whispered to the girls and reached for my tracksuit. I needed a run and a good sparring session more than ever.
After quickly dressing and completing my morning exercise, I went down to the common room, which was unusually crowded for such an early hour. Besides us, the house Quidditch team had also gathered for practice; the boys were huddled around the fireplace, grumbling discontentedly. Ron stood out among this sleepy crowd, grinning from ear to ear. His protective gear was impeccably pressed, and the shaft of his broom was polished to a near-mirror shine.
Yes, the red-haired idiot’s dream had come true – he was now on the team, albeit on the bench, but this minor detail didn’t bother him in the least. On the contrary, Ron was proud of himself, as he was replacing Wood himself, meaning he was the team’s deputy captain, who, incidentally, appreciated his knowledge of this ancient and mega-popular wizarding game.
Seeing his satisfied redhead, I couldn’t help but smile and wave. Weasley squared his shoulders proudly and stroked his broom again. As I walked down the stairs, I suddenly remembered the team tryouts at the end of September. That morning, almost the entire faculty had gathered at the stadium, about forty of whom were carrying brooms in varying states of disrepair. And when everyone had arrived, Wood announced that the team only needed a Seeker, and the rest could go f…k off and catch butterflies.
What a fucking mess that was… Someone was screaming, someone threw down their brooms in tears, and someone else (and they were the majority) reached for their wand. For British wizards, Quidditch is like football for Brazilians: they dream of the Game, and then some jerk tries to take that dream away. Elvira saved Oliver from the attack; the girl was standing closest and asked about the reserve team. Needless to say, everyone froze at that moment.
It turns out that no other school team had anything like this! If a player was physically unable to participate, the match was simply postponed, and if a player was seriously injured during a match, the team continued playing with a reduced roster. Ron was the first to come to his senses and loudly declared that all professional teams had substitutes, so why should we be any worse?
The crowd rejoiced, someone even set off fireworks, the team paused for thought, and Wood saw the light and began recruiting additional players. Oliver spared no one and by lunchtime had almost assembled a reserve team, while simultaneously sending fifteen people to the hospital wing with fractures of varying severity. Ron overcame all the challenges, including a broken jaw and the loss of his front teeth, and became the reserve goalkeeper. Besides him, we now have a couple of reserve beaters and chasers, but only one seeker on the team.
My brother took the key spot thanks to his talent. Honestly, Potter performed such pirouettes in the sky that even I was taken aback. While I was born with a broadsword in my hand, he was born with a shaft in his… hand; he was a truly excellent flyer. The four-eyes easily dodged Bludgers and effortlessly chased the Snitch anywhere on the field, all the while squeezing every ounce of power out of his Nimbus 2001—a broom shouldn’t fly sideways! By the end of the tryouts, Potter had become the team’s standard-bearer, and McGonagall looked to Harry as the Messiah who would bring the house cup to her office. She was right, basically: if my brother kept his cool, victory was assured for the Gryffindor team.
– Weasley, where’s Potter? – Wood yelled at the redhead when our group was almost at the exit.
“He’s a Prima Donna, he’ll just wash up, have a cup of tea, think about something great, and then maybe come down,” Ron replied pompously. “We can’t compare to his heights.”
The entire Quidditch team burst into laughter, even I smiled, but Oliver had a different opinion.
“Weasley, say what you want, but we can’t win without Potter!” Everyone in the living room fell silent. “He may be an asshole, but he flies like a Muggle Creator. Hurry up your friend!”
“He’s not my friend!” Ron said indignantly.
“Exactly, I have nothing in common with poor Muggle-loving people.” My brother appeared on the stairs with a maximally haughty expression on his face. “Oli, today I’ll show you how to play.”
– You go down to the living room first, Prima Donna, – Ron couldn’t resist.
– Olya, I still don’t understand why you took those redheads into the team, they…
“Your face will be broken,” Fred interrupted.
– Or we’ll put it on a broomstick! – George continued.
“Quiet! If we want to win, we have to be a team!” Wood interrupted the budding squabble. “And a team is practically a family! Potter, Weasley, come on…”
We ignored the escalating argument and left the living room, and five minutes later we were standing in front of the main gate. As soon as I stepped outside, an icy wind and cold raindrops hit me in the face, blowing all the bad thoughts out of my head. Taking a deep breath, I set the pace and ran toward the Black Lake, my friends following silently behind me.
A morning jog is a great way to start the day. I’ve gotten so used to it over the past few years that even the most miserable weather hasn’t spoiled the wonderful experience. While circling the lake and admiring the surroundings, I was also clearing my head.
The end of September, and with it October, flew by quickly, I’d even say lightning fast, and most importantly, quietly, and it was unnerving. Yes, there were some events at school; Lavender often told stories of someone sending someone to the hospital wing, or about the latest atrocity of the new marauders, but none of these incidents concerned me. And there was no time to delve into them; I was completely immersed in my studies and busily preparing for the upcoming championship.
Three times a week I had lessons with Flitwick, every Sunday my mother would chase me around the platform, and the rest of the days I spent in the library or at the base of operations. With such a workload, I probably would have lost my stomach, but experience, the support of my friends, and, oddly enough, the teachers, made a difference. After fencing practice, the little professor always walked Hermione and me to dinner, and on Sundays, McGonagall accompanied me to the common room. Perhaps the Headmaster asked them to, but the reason in this case is unimportant; the main thing is that my friends and I were left alone and could go about our business in peace.
Having run and trained to our heart’s content, we headed back to the castle, wet and dirty, but satisfied. Even Elvira perked up and began to smile thoughtfully. This was a rare state for her lately, as studying with the Potions Master had proven to be no easy task. The Prince took his students seriously, demanding their full dedication while simultaneously overloading them with work. Smith and Malfoy spent every evening in the evil Potions Master’s office, and the rest of the time they pored over various books from his personal library. There was no hope of mercy from the Head of Slytherin, and lately the girls were increasingly looking like newly-raised Inferi; Elvira had even begun to forget what day of the week it was. Oh well, they’ll get used to it soon, I suppose.
Returning to Hogwarts, we immediately wandered off to our rooms, the hot shower beckoning. After freshening up and changing, naturally not forgetting my flak jacket, harness, and machine gun, I decided to wait for my friends in the common room. I had barely settled into the cozy sofa by the fireplace when an extremely excited and frightened Colin ran up to me.
– Rigel! Help! – The boy grabbed the sleeve of my robe. – Ron and Justin want to make a Jew out of me! And I don’t want to!
– What? – I looked at the boy with wild eyes in bewilderment. – What nonsense?
– They said so themselves! – Krivi did not let up. – The ritual will be this evening!
“What ritual?” Hermione asked as she approached.
“The ritual of cutting off the flesh!” Colin blushed. “They said it was mandatory.”
“What do Jews have to do with this?” My best friend looked at the boy in confusion. “This ritual will… Wait…”
Mia stuttered and burst out laughing, and I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. The ritual was incredibly useful, but those two idiots clearly forgot to explain its purpose to the first-year. Fine, I’ll talk to them later, but for now I need to calm the pale vassal, who’s already said goodbye to his foreskin.
After laughing, I began explaining to Colin that this ritual cuts away any loose particles of flesh from the body, be it hair, nails, or blood. This renders these particles unusable in rituals or potions. Any reputable wizard performs this procedure at least once a week. With my paranoia, I do it every day. The ritual is quite simple and doesn’t require any special effort or skill.
The boy listened attentively and, calming down, ran off to the bedroom, even forgetting his camera in his panic. At least he’d stopped taking pictures of everything and everyone, which was why I’d asked the boys to teach Creevey some pureblood customs. There had been several instances in September when a young paparazzo brazenly photographed older students or teachers. I could have explained to him myself, of course, what was legal in the Wizarding World, and why a fancy camera with a flash could get you shove up your ass, but I was desperately short on time. So I had to turn to Ron and Justin, the latter just appearing on the stairs.
After waiting for the young aristocrat, I told him how he and Weasley had scared a first-year into giving him the hiccups, and then, after another laugh, we headed to breakfast. Young bodies demanded fuel, plenty of it, and richer. As we approached the Great Hall, I smelled the disgusting smell of pumpkin; it was Halloween, after all, which meant the students were expected to choke on that nasty stuff.
“I think it’s a global conspiracy,” I sighed resignedly. “The world government is influencing our minds through pumpkin miasma and zombifying us with the color orange.”
“That makes sense…” Hermione said thoughtfully. “But they can’t beat us! I grabbed a couple of IRPs, and they only had meat and pasta, and maybe some apple jam and biscuits.”
“And I brought orange juice,” Justin chimed in. “And a thermos of coffee, and don’t look at me like that, it’s with milk and sugar.”
“I like pumpkin risotto,” Elvira said quietly, walking behind her. “And you can get used to pumpkin juice; it’s disgusting, but very healthy.”
“We’re losing her!” Mia grabbed Smith’s sleeve with a smile. “A liter of tea and some bacon and eggs, now!”
“Maybe we should check her for bite marks?” Justin glanced slyly at the black-haired girl. “And compare them to the Prince’s jaw. I have some nagging doubts…”
“Oh, come on.” Elvira slapped the boy on the back of the head. “Everyone knows a teacher’s bite is fatal; his saliva contains so much poison that even a troll would die instantly.”
“It’s gratifying to hear such flattering praise from a personal student,” the Slytherin head of house said quietly behind him. “Miss Smith, today you will brew an antidote to the potion of gab, and then you will test it on yourself. I hope you are as skilled in brewing such simple potions as you are in constructing linguistic constructs that discredit the honor and dignity of your Potions Master. I will expect you after class.”
“He’s not serious, is he?” I turned to Smith with a smile when the Prince moved further away.
“A week ago, Diana tried a constipation potion on herself…” Elvira whispered quietly. “But I didn’t tell you anything, the result was…”
“How? How does he do it?” Finch-Fletchley muttered, looking at the dungeon horror’s back. “Maybe a special charm?”
“Most likely,” Hermione nodded, “but the cloak shouldn’t be fluttering like that! There’s not even a breeze in the corridor!”
– Maybe I should ask? – I tilted my head to the side. – It looks gorgeous.
“I’d better look in the library,” Hermione answered and waved towards the gates of the Great Hall. “Let’s go already, I’m hungry.”
The proposal was unanimously supported, and our group hurried to the table. Although it reeked of pumpkin, the tea was fresh and delicious. I didn’t dare look for anything else that day; last year, even the bacon had been marinated in pumpkin sauce, and the butter had a suspiciously orange tint.
– Hey everyone! – I sat down opposite Ron, our red-haired friend was wolfing down some orange crap with gusto. – How was practice?
– Wow, that’s fantastic! – The guy took a big sip of his juice. – I only missed one goal! Wood says you can turn your back on me in the shower. I just don’t get it, we have cubicles.
“That means you can be trusted,” I explained my older friend’s words to Ron and began to empty the cans of food. “Enjoy your meal!”
“You too!” Weasley glanced sideways at my actions. “You shouldn’t have done that, the house-elves really went all out today. Try the pumpkin omelette and the sausages with pumpkin filling, they’re simply delicious!”
“Thanks, but another time.” I suppressed the urge to gag and dumped the pasta and meatballs into the plate. “I’m on a diet.”
“Then we’ll get more,” Weasley nodded and pulled the dish with another orange nastiness towards himself.
– Weasley, where’s Potter? – Lavender spoke up. – Or is he still training?
“No, the four-eyes guy is in the hospital wing,” Ron replied, not looking up from his meal. “Today our starlet caught a Bludger instead of a Snitch, so don’t expect him until tomorrow.”
“That’s weird, he flies better than a dragon.” The blonde wrinkled her nose. “I was at the tryouts and saw him on a broom myself.”
“I think you’re exaggerating,” Parvati joined the conversation. “Harry’s a good guy, of course, but anything can happen. Maybe he was distracted?”
“Maybe Potter likes to show off,” Brown nodded in response. “Too bad I didn’t see it.”
“You’ll see on Sunday.” Creevey, delighted, caught everyone’s attention and began babbling excitedly. “I caught the moment on film! Bludger right in the chest, boom! And then Potter hit the ground with all his might, smash! Glasses one way, broomstick the other! It was so cool! And then the whole team came running at him…”
“How does he manage to do it all?” Hermione said thoughtfully. “But I admit, he has talent; some of his photos are very expressive.”
With these words, Mia pulled a couple of photographs from her pocket. One showed us happily hugging and laughing, while another showed us sitting in the living room, looking rather thoughtful. There were many more; I had enough in my bag for an entire album, but my friend only carried these. Where did they come from? Krivi always gives the original to the person he photographed, asking permission to keep a copy for his own personal collection. With this approach, the negativity directed at him almost completely ceased; on the contrary, many students even started paying for their photographs. The young man’s work was truly outstanding. I wouldn’t be surprised if, under Goldstein’s guidance, he starts selling pornography on the side in a couple of years.
“He’s at almost every training session,” Ron dismissed. “We don’t mind; we even set up a big board in the locker room for photos. And also…”
– Owls. – Elvira interrupted Weasley and grabbed her wand, – And why won’t they calm down?
“What did you expect?” Hermione pointed her concentrator at the approaching feathered postman. “Some mudblood turned out to be smarter and more talented than the pureblood heirs, and that’s why they’re furious.”
The fact that Potions Master Severus Prince had taken on apprentices was widely discussed in the wizarding press for several days—a remarkable event indeed! While Diana Malfoy’s candidacy was generally accepted, Elvira’s name and origins left many with a tingle.
The day after the Daily Prophet article was published, the girl received over a hundred letters, most of them containing threats and wishes for a long, painful death. About a dozen envelopes were laced with various vile substances and poisons, and another twenty turned out to be Howlers, and the large hall listened to the loud, hysterical shrieks of purebred sluts throughout breakfast. But there were exceptions: a few people were genuinely happy for the girl and sincerely wished her success. And then there were the perverts. After the fifth letter, containing a photograph of a masturbating exhibitionist and an offer to become his concubine, Elvira burned the bag containing the remaining letters.
Now all incoming mail is destroyed immediately. Such shocks! Among those perverts was even some old woman; the sight of her sagging breasts and wrinkled, clawed hand tugging at her hairy crotch nearly made me vomit. But I remembered their names and sent each one a reply with a phosphorus grenade enclosed. It took a bit of effort and consultation with the Order’s artifactors, but the obituaries in the newspaper were worth it. While I was reminiscing, Smith successfully incinerated four envelopes and calmly continued eating. The guys sitting nearby even whistled at her accuracy, as the letters were destroyed before they even landed, along with the owls.
After finishing breakfast, our friendly group headed to classes. Today, in honor of the holiday, many teachers decided to hold tests. Probably to keep the students from getting too relaxed. Almost as we were leaving, Ron glanced at the Hufflepuff table and grimaced with distaste.
“Sodomy.” Weasley spat in disgust, and Mia and I barely suppressed our malicious smiles.
Our curse finally took full effect, and Scrimgeour and his “girlfriend” (or maybe vice versa, who knows what these homosexuals are talking about) began to form a very close “friendship.” At least, the whole school already knows how Penelope Crystal caught the pair engaging in indecent behavior in the prefects’ bathroom. Percy later said he had to sedate his fiancée, she was so shocked by the image of two naked guys kissing. Many of the older students didn’t appreciate this behavior and decided to punish the homosexuals, especially since conservative wizarding society has a very negative attitude toward same-sex relationships, but it didn’t work out that way. These two militant faggots successfully fought off all attacks and sent all the moral guardians to the hospital wing. Since then, everyone has looked at them sideways, spat, but left them alone, and the rear-wheelers don’t bother anyone either, instead spending their evenings quietly together.
“Forget it, mate.” Justin put his hand on Weasley’s shoulder. “You better focus on Transfiguration and Defense of the Ancients, we have tests today after all.”
– That’s true, – the red-haired boy nodded. – And there’s a feast in the evening, I wonder how they’ll decorate the great hall this year? I missed it all last year.
“Don’t leave my side today!” Finch-Fletchley hugged Weasley tighter. “I don’t want you to turn into Moody or Professor Kettleburn.”
– Me too! – Ron chuckled in response and led us to McGonagall’s office.
***
The classes were fun and productive; my friend and I earned almost fifty points between us. First, the delighted dean awarded us for a successful demonstration of Finite, a spell often used for detransfiguration. It was a revelation to me that such a useful spell, which I’d mastered to the point of nonverbal and wandless execution, was unknown to many purebloods. Of course, I didn’t show off my full skills to McCat, only a perfect demonstration with the concentrator and the activator word, but she was pleased with that.
Lockhart organized a comprehensive test. In the first lesson, we fought a pixie—yes, Peskipixi-Pesternomy, as every second-year now knew. The second lesson was more fun, where we took turns battling a toperoika, a creature somewhat resembling a small crocodile that lives in swamps and disguises itself as logs. To counter it, you first had to lift the toothy, aggressive beast with Leviosa, and then bury it in the ground with the Orbis spell. This way, the student’s limbs remained in place, and the creature remained alive and well. Of course, it would have been easier to shoot it, but wizards were very sensitive to the preservation of their small flora and fauna. Especially since the toperoika’s fireproof scales were used in protective gear, and its heart, kidneys, and eyes in certain specialized potions.
Flitwick canceled our fencing lessons because he was preparing the Great Hall for the feast, so after lunch I went with my friends to the operational base with a clear conscience, where we played Monopoly until the evening. And when the clock struck six-thirty, we went to dinner. I would have gladly missed this “celebration,” but the guys insisted on my presence. I had to drag myself downstairs and inhale the miasma of the pumpkin monster. I don’t like pumpkin dishes; they would have been better off making something with zucchini, like caviar, for example.
Entering the Great Hall, I was once again amazed by our teachers’ skill; they had done a fantastic job. Skeletons and various monsters floated around the ceiling, yet they looked so lifelike. All the walls and windows were covered in cobwebs, crawling with giant spiders. Ron tensed and swallowed nervously at the sight of the arthropods. Then I caught sight of floating pumpkins with glowing eyes, and I grimaced in disgust—these flying pumpkins smelled just like the real thing! Sighing heavily, I pulled a packet of IRP (Individual Meal Ration, also known as packed lunch) from my bag and headed to our faculty table.
The celebration itself was quite cheerful. First, Dumbledore congratulated everyone in his eccentric manner, then food appeared on the tables, and the students began to revel. Some munched, others told funny stories, some red-haired twins brought slingshots and fired pumpkin seeds at ghosts, and blobs of ectoplasm flew in wide arcs around our table. Soon, Elvira joined us and began an emotional account of her master’s abhorrent teaching style. The girl pouted like a hamster over grain and gestured wildly, which, instead of evoking sympathy, only elicited smiles. Gradually, I began to sniff the scent of pumpkin dishes and even began to enjoy the celebration, especially since all my friends were nearby.
Towards the end of the feast, Flitwick launched a huge number of multicolored glowing bats towards the ceiling, while Dumbledore and McGonagall conjured two dragons and staged an epic battle, the victor being a knight in golden armor—guess who conjured him? At the conclusion of the impromptu performance, Lockhart bowed deeply and, to a standing ovation, wished everyone goodnight. On that note, the festive dinner ended, and we retired to our living rooms, full and satisfied.
I was starting to hope everything would be alright, but no, Halloween couldn’t possibly pass without incident, especially at Hogwarts, the safest place in Wizarding Britain. I’d happily hammer a nail into the head of whoever came up with this crap, the bastard.
By some strange coincidence, our group was ahead of everyone else, so we were the first to turn the corner on the second floor and see Filch’s suspended body. The retired officer showed no signs of life, and rusty hooks protruded from his shoulders, attached to the ceiling with massive chains. Mindful of the heated crowd following behind, I didn’t stop and walked a little ahead, examining the crime scene as I went.
The first thing I noticed was the lack of blood – the floor under the caretaker’s office was clean, there was no sign of water like in the movies, and Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom was a long way off. I looked at Filch more closely; his face was completely calm and serene, he wasn’t breathing. Looking closer at the hooks, I saw a little blood, just a tiny bit, even his clothes weren’t really soaked. Strange shit. If this was the work of the Scumbag, then why the caretaker? They’ll miss him! If I were him, I’d have chosen a Muggle-born student; no one cares about those. There were no scary graffiti on the walls either, I don’t understand…
“Everyone, proceed to the living room immediately!” the director’s booming voice was heard behind him. “Immediately!”
The old man, as always, showed up just in time and even managed to cover the crime scene with a mirrored dome, but it was too late; too many had seen the caretaker’s lifeless body. The remaining teachers also made their way through the crowd of noisy students to the director’s rescue.
“I repeat, all students are to report to their house common rooms immediately!” Dumbledore repeated the order loudly. “Prefects are to take roll call and report any missing students to their deans! Now!”
I wouldn’t have seen anything new anyway, so I had to obey the headmaster’s orders and head for the common room. The other Gryffindors were of the same opinion. As I trudged through the noisy and excited crowd, I thought about how I’d wasted my time going to the celebratory dinner. I should have holed up at the operations center with the Marauder’s Map and just watched; that way, I would have identified the owner of Scumbag’s diary in no time, but alas, after a fight, there’s no use waving a hand. Now I’d have to be on guard and wait for the next attack. I had no doubt it would happen, but the question was: who’s next?
