Chapter 89
I sat on the chest of a journalist from the newspaper ” Sport is Life,” delightedly strangling this vulture, having knocked out all his front teeth. The young man was wheezing, his hideous face covered in blood, looking imploringly into my eyes, and in response, I slowly tightened my grip. Lord, what a pleasure! Watching the life drain from the eyes of this annoying, insolent bastard, who half an hour ago was asking you the most tricky and tactless questions. When the journalist’s eyes glazed over, I let go of his neck and, as a souvenir, gouged out his right eye, then looked around with a satisfied smile.
The bodies of members of the magical press and officials from the European ministries of magic were strewn everywhere, most of them in pieces. My broadsword cut through human flesh with such ease that I simply couldn’t stop. The sight of this beautiful picture gave me the idea of arranging all the limbs in separate piles: arms in one, legs in another, and making a pyramid out of the heads. I remember in a past life, there was a picture like this, only made of skulls. Damn it! Should I just bleed them and scalp them now?! Or maybe it would be easier to scorch them at the stake? That’s exactly what I’ll do! The flesh will burn, the eyes will boil out, but the bones will remain! I looked at the twenty severed heads and felt sad; it wasn’t enough. In the painting, they made a huge mountain, beautiful, but here? It looked like a kitten had pooped – that’s not serious, so I need more! I looked at the packed Arena stands and smiled bloodthirstily – my pyramid of skulls will be the biggest in the world!
With a jerk, I rose from the body of the murdered journalist and, with a wave of my hand, severed his head, then leisurely walked toward the terrified crowd. I will kill wizards until my pyramid of skulls surpasses the creations of the Egyptian pharaohs! The people around me froze in fear and trembled in terror—the sight brought a satisfied smile to my face. In the crowd, I spotted a small blond boy with blue eyes; he was so sweet and innocent that I decided to place his head atop my architectural masterpiece. Grinning, I twirled my blade and moved toward the child. His mother had already understood and covered his eyes with her hand.
I quickly reached my victims and swung, but at that moment a nasty melody started playing in my ears. I froze—how could anyone kill to such awful music? My bloodthirsty mood began to fade, and then it dawned on me—it was the sound of an alarm clock. Damn it… He ruined such a wonderful dream, the bastard, but I’ll have to write down the skull idea for later.
Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and immediately squeezed them shut, all because of the bright sun, which was shining through even the tightly drawn curtains. As a resident of Foggy Albion, I was extremely unaccustomed to the bright yellow stuff in the sky; it rarely appeared from behind the clouds here, and each time it evoked a certain disbelief and disbelief. I lay motionless for a couple of minutes, savoring the sweetness of sleep, and then, as usual, rolled over onto my back.
– F***ing… Ss …
“Mistress, don’t scold me, you volunteered! ” The familiar’s sympathetic voice sounded nearby. ” I’ll help you now, otherwise you’re whining like your ass was torn.”
– Ssss… – I wanted to give the impudent fellow a slap on the back of the head, but I felt a pleasant chill spreading down my spine. – Thank you…
“Thank you very much, the waterfall is enough, it’s warm… ” The snake carefully coiled itself and the pain finally subsided. ” You’ll rub every scale of me with that soft dick…”
– Okay, Vasya, lower…
– Don’t bullshit! I didn’t do it, of course, but I know what I’m doing. – The cool body continued to slowly slide down my bare back. – Lie down and don’t move.
The treatment lasted about fifteen minutes. I would have stayed that way, but my bladder protested, so I had to carefully get up and move to the meditation room. Coming out of the restroom, I looked with affection at the impudent hose sprawled out on my bed, basking in the morning sun. Smiling, I got into a prone position and began doing push-ups, replaying yesterday’s events in my head.
Bagman and Anderson got away just in time, and I even envied them a little, because after they left, we were attacked by brazen journalists, completely indifferent to the security that had arrived. When the brazen crowd surrounded us, we were actually a little taken aback; these bastards were yelling and pushing forward, pushing and demanding answers to the most idiotic questions. The vultures didn’t care about morals or ethics; they wanted a sensation. Of course, a twelve-year-old girl from backward Wizarding Britain took second place and killed the competition’s main favorite. What a moment!
For the first ten minutes, I answered listlessly and monosyllabically, simply unsure how to respond to the insolence and impudence of the wizarding press. I was about to snatch a machine gun from one of the guards and shoot a couple of particularly brazen journalists, but Victoria discreetly slipped Bagman’s notebook into my hand. Opening the thin notebook and skimming the text, I couldn’t believe my eyes at first, but then promised to reward the ministry official handsomely. The good-natured Ludo, drawing on his extensive experience, wrote down detailed answers to the most frequently asked questions.
I spent the next fifteen minutes leafing through my notebook and cheerfully chatting with the press. However, the reporters didn’t like the fact that I was so brazenly reading and not looking them in the eye, so they started asking questions that would get you kicked in the face in polite company. I’m serious. They asked me about my relationship with Flitwick, why I’m still not engaged, my sexual preferences, and all that jazz! The vultures couldn’t care less that I was only twelve years old! One idiot even asked me what color my favorite underwear was and how many times a day I washed myself.
The last straw was a particularly unpleasant young wizard in a pink robe with a starched collar. He broke through the cordon and, thrusting a quill in my face, asked how close I was to Integra and why incest was the norm in the Hellsing family. I digested his words for a few seconds, then grabbed the bastard by the tie and began methodically mashing his mug into dog meat. My actions were met with universal delight, from the guards, my mother, Victoria, and the journalists surrounding us. I decided not to disappoint the audience, and under the flashing lights of the cameras, I pulled out a bayonet and cut out the fop’s long tongue. I seriously wanted to slit his throat, but was stopped by the arrival of a group of French Aurors. The guardians of law and order quickly pushed back the crowd of representatives of the magical press and dragged the bloody insolent man away somewhere, and then politely escorted our company to the platform.
I carefully rolled over, my back starting to sting a little from the sweat, and started doing sit-ups, recalling the awards ceremony. It had all been extremely simple and almost without fanfare: a gray-haired old man presented me with a silver statuette and a sheet of expensive parchment with a magical seal, then I shook hands with the French Minister of Magic, and then a “small” photo shoot followed. First, I posed with Fleur and Matteo, then we were joined by organizers and officials from various countries. At that moment, I even felt a little offended, since the British Ministry of Magic only had one Bagman. I understand that fencing isn’t the most popular sport on the islands, but not to that extent?!
After taking photos, we descended from the platform and found ourselves at an impromptu buffet. The organizers hadn’t bothered and set up tables right in the Arena, after clearing out all the spectators. For the next few hours, I had to pretend to be a lady and demonstrate perfect manners, as every European official wanted to meet me personally and chat a little. Making small talk with the kings of European magical communities turned out to be less than pleasant. Their behavior irritated and disgusted me. It was difficult, but I persevered, turning up my Occlumency to maximum, and smiling politely at everyone present. Bagman also closely followed our group, never leaving our side and happily introducing us to “respected” wizards.
By the end of the celebration, I wanted to laugh, cry, and bang my head against the wall all at once, all because of the speeches of the wizarding ministers and their confidantes. Seriously! I knew wizards thought highly of themselves, but not to this extent! These worthless creatures behaved with such brazen insolence and arrogance that our guards had to constantly restrain themselves, and poor Victoria was gnashing her teeth in rage within half an hour.
The Czech Minister of Magic approached my mother and seriously proposed that I marry his son, who was only eighty-five! When I refused, the impudent man declared that at this rate I’d never get ahead or become a respected witch! Then the wife of the Italian Minister of Magic approached us and, casting disdainful glances at the Hellsing fighters, began to talk about the insignificance of Muggle-borns and the superiority of purebloods, and that she didn’t even consider Muggles animals. And so on! Because of these arrogant assholes, I didn’t even get a chance to have a proper conversation with the other finalists. Fleur was constantly surrounded by drooling men, and Matteo was having a hard time fending off elderly widows who persistently invited him to visit. I also caught greasy glances at myself, and my mother and Victoria weren’t spared either, but no one made any indecent proposals out loud.
Having finished my push-ups, I stood up and, stretching, headed for the bar, remembering how glad we were to leave that gathering. Fuck it, next time I’ll only go to such an event with a flamethrower, or at least after learning Hellfire. Hanging from the bar, I winced a little. Vasya helped, of course, but my back still ached a little. At least now I know Mom’s hand isn’t as heavy as Walter’s. The woman kept her word and yesterday, after dinner, she brought up the issue of punishment for a certain black-haired witch. Honestly, I really didn’t want to get it, but Elvira is MY vassal and I’m the one responsible for her mistakes. So I silently lifted my dress and lay down on the bench I’d prepared, while Mom prescribed me a series of discipline measures. I knew in my head that Smith was to blame and should be the one lying on that bench, but… The girl had had enough, and at Hogwarts I’d have a thorough talk with her and explain that orders from her superiors aren’t to be discussed, they’re to be followed. Elvira had been getting a bit complacent lately and starting to get cocky, but that was fixable.
– Ninety-eight… Ninety-nine…
– One hundred! – A cheerful and loud voice of the vampire was heard from behind.
– Fuck… – In surprise, I let go of my hands and fell on my ass. – Victoria! You…
“The best in the world, I know, thank you, sister.” The girl broke into a satisfied smile and showed me a bottle of healing ointment. “And I’m not empty-handed!”
– You can’t argue with that. – I slowly rose to my feet.
“Go wash yourself, and then I’ll clean you up.” The vampire pinched her nose with two fingers. “Otherwise, you stink like a homeless person.”
– You’re an idiot yourself. – I stuck my tongue out at the girl and went to take a shower.
After my bath, Victoria quickly rubbed some ointment on my back and helped me choose a dress. Seeing a sweet and happy girl in the mirror, no longer in pain, I smiled modestly and headed to breakfast in the vampire’s company. In the dining room, I bumped into Sergey. The powerful wizard greeted me with a fatherly smile and congratulated me on my successful performance.
“Star, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for the final…” The man shook his head sadly. “I was busy with something very important.”
“I understand.” I nodded in response. “I needed to help Diomid Ivanovich.”
– Exactly! – Black smiled contentedly. – There’s someone here who wants to talk to you, here.
My great-uncle handed me the Miracle Phone, and from its screen, Borya stared back at me, pale, with dark circles under his eyes, but alive! For a few moments, I stared blankly at the artifact, unable to believe my eyes. I’d seen him beheaded with my own eyes! What? How the fuck could I have forgotten about the soul catcher?! I have one just like it hanging around my neck! But why didn’t Sergei say anything?! That old bastard!
“Rigel, hi!” My friend’s voice distracted me from my thoughts of how to shit in my grandfather’s slippers. “Sorry I didn’t call earlier, I only came to my senses last night.”
“Everything’s fine, the main thing is you’re alive!” I gave Black a promising look and looked at the screen with a smile. “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t want to complain, so next question.” The guy smiled weakly. “By the way, congratulations on your win. Go on, tell me what it was like.”
– There would be something to tell, in short…
I spent the next half hour sitting at the table, chatting on the phone, a flagrant violation of etiquette. Mom and Sergey didn’t bother me, quietly conversing among themselves. After hanging up, I stared silently at my plate; I had no desire to talk to my grandfather. Yes, I was offended, and I have every right to be!
“Star, don’t be angry,” Black addressed me softly. “It had to be that way.”
– For what? – I looked at the man demandingly. – Was it difficult to tell?
“Was it hard to imagine?” Sergei grinned back. “Or did you think the old mage would let his grandson into the Arena without insurance?”
– Yes, you… – I stopped short, in some ways Sergey was right.
“Exactly… Learn to control your emotions—you’re not a little girl. And don’t act offended; you know what happens to people like that.” The man nodded contentedly. “But you had a fantastic reason to beat the Italian, look how fiercely you fought. Masha showed me her memories and I was absolutely captivated. I’m proud of you, granddaughter.”
“Thank you,” I muttered in response, and then a question popped into my head. “Grandpa, is Sosoni definitely dead or…”
– Exactly. – Black broke into a bloodthirsty smile. – Don’t worry about it.
“Daughter, I have good news for you,” Mom decided to change the subject. “I contacted Dumbledore and agreed that you will return to school only on Monday.”
– Cool! – A smile involuntarily appeared on my face. – What shall we do?
“I don’t know,” the woman smiled slyly. “It’s been a while since we’ve walked around London. We could go shopping or sit in a cozy restaurant.”
– Agreed! – I finished my tea in one gulp. – And we’ll stop in Soho, I need to buy some things.
“Definitely.” Mom nodded in response. “And in the evening we’ll buy a tub of ice cream and sit in front of the TV.”
– Agreed! – A blissful smile appeared on my face. – Okay, I’m going to my place. See you soon.
Breakfast ended on this positive note, and I ran to my apartment to pack. We have a private jet, of course, but there’s a flight schedule, so we need to arrive at the airport on time.
***
Unlike the French capital, the Scottish mountains didn’t spoil the locals with bright sunshine and warm weather. Heavy, leaden clouds had blanketed the sky above Hogwarts overnight, drenching the surrounding area with a torrential downpour, occasionally turning to sleet. To make matters worse, a gale-force wind arose in the morning, blasting icy air with such force that some trees in the Forbidden Forest gave way and fell to the wet ground, echoing with a loud, death-like crash. Nature was in full swing, but the inhabitants of the ancient castle felt quite comfortable, protected by the ancient walls that had towered over the surrounding countryside for a thousand years.
Wet, cold drops of rain pattered helplessly against the stained-glass windows of the headmaster’s office, and the howling of a squall drowned out the crackling of the logs in the large fireplace. Albus Dumbledore sat on his throne with a cup of hot tea, furtively admiring his collection of rare but utterly useless artifacts. Meanwhile, across from the great wizard, the young head of the Department of Mysteries read a report on the work his staff had accomplished.
Black Jr.’s speech was monotonous, more like Professor Binns’s drone than anything else. It was also replete with a huge number of arcane terms, interspersed with the numbers of various laws and the dates of their passage. Therefore, the headmaster had to make a titanic effort to keep his eyes open and maintain an expression of interest and anxiety on his face. But his subordinates, who also happened to be witnesses to the breakthrough from beyond, couldn’t care less. The Prince and Lockhart were comfortably seated on a soft sofa by the window, dozing quietly, leaning against each other. At this sight, the light wizard chuckled faintly and glanced longingly at the wall clock; they had been listening to this tedious tedium since eight in the morning and had even skipped breakfast.
Albus leaned back in his chair and, with a wave of his hand, filled his cup with strong, sweet tea, trying to stave off his hunger. The great wizard knew every detail of the recent tragedy well and could even reconstruct the entire chronology of events minute by minute, but he was interested in the Ministry’s official position. A breach from Beyond the Boundary wasn’t a child’s prank or another outrage perpetrated by senior students; it was a threat to the security of all of Wizarding Britain. Therefore, when Dumbledore learned of the incident, he immediately relocated to the school and provided the DMLE investigators and the Department of Mysteries operatives with all possible support, while simultaneously conducting his own investigation.
Few people knew, or rather, only the headmasters of Hogwarts, but the school’s security system possessed a semblance of memory. This system devoured a ton of magic and worked terribly—or rather, it almost never worked! Albus didn’t know how to turn it on or off; it simply existed, periodically, though very rarely, performing its functions. After taking office, Dumbledore spent several years studying all the castle’s systems and came to the disappointing conclusion that the memory of events simply hadn’t been completed. Why the founders hadn’t passed on their work to their descendants was unknown to him. However, he did discover a certain pattern: the recording was activated when something truly terrible occurred. Alas, the death of a student or teacher didn’t count among such events. Therefore, the headmaster was unsure how Hogwarts would react to the appearance of an otherworldly monster.
Dumbledore turned to the castle and, to his astonishment, received a garbled, incomplete, but decipherable account of the recent events in this part of the school. The general gist was easy to grasp. The tragedy had resulted in the deaths of three older students, the children of his loyal and devoted allies from the Light Party. Macmillan, Appleby, and Graves had always supported Albus in the Wizengamot and, moreover, had paid generous party dues. Dumbledore was well aware of the activities his party members’ offspring sometimes engaged in, but he turned a blind eye to such “pranks.” And judging by the information he’d received, the brats had dragged another Mudblood into one of the abandoned classrooms.
At first, Albus was even a little frightened. Could these young idiots really be so brazen and stupid that they’d performed a human sacrifice ritual within the walls of HIS school?! And they’d chosen a vassal of the Hellsing family as the victim?! But Hogwarts confidently reported that the girl was fine and asleep in her room. And now the headmaster was at a loss; he urgently needed to think. He couldn’t understand the reason for the breakthrough; he knew for sure that boys weren’t capable of such a thing. Perhaps a Mudblood? But how? Not knowing all the details, Dumbledore decided not to share any vital information with law enforcement for now and simply observed, feigning activity.
That night, Dumbledore found himself in a very delicate situation: on one side were his loyal allies, with whom he didn’t want to quarrel, and on the other was Hellsing. Of course, he could have followed the law and told the investigators about the Mudblood, but the consequences of such a decision could have been unpredictable. The girl would certainly be blamed, which was entirely possible, and such a decision could have led to open conflict with the Platinum Bitch. And Albus absolutely did not want that, especially since he had big and far-reaching plans for her daughter.
The Headmaster urgently needed a scapegoat, someone to shift, if not all the blame, then at least some of the responsibility. And he was found! Regulus Black showed up at Hogwarts accompanied by two dozen of his operatives and, waving a decree from the Minister of Magic, declared that the Unspeakables were now handling the matter. The Head of the Department of Mysteries practically kicked the DML investigators and Auror specialists out of the school, and politely asked Dumbledore to stay out of the way.
The Department of Mysteries’ first task was to examine the abandoned classroom where the tragedy occurred, but they made little progress. Lockhart and the Prince’s timely actions had left them so frightened that they used their magic to destroy all possible evidence and traces of the ritual. All that remained in the room after the pair’s actions were charred walls and what had recently been three Hogwarts students.
Then, some Unspeakables went to the Slytherin common room and searched the victims’ bedrooms, while simultaneously interrogating their roommates and possible friends. The Department of Mysteries staff acted extremely rudely and unceremoniously, and Black Jr. justified his men’s actions with Protocols G and X, the 1899 Suppression of Necromancy Regulation No. 69, and Form 2PNH.
Soon, to Dumbledore’s surprise, the Unspeakables found forbidden books in Macmillan’s personal belongings. Nothing serious, but such literature was enough for a decade in Azkaban. At that very moment, operatives from the Ministry’s most secret department declared the case closed and rushed back to the abandoned classroom. Half an hour later, the three fused students were sent to the Department of Mysteries lab for testing, essentially to provide emergency aid to the victims. But Albus didn’t believe the latter; Regulus’s eyes blazed with such fanaticism that even a troll could tell the unfortunate students would never leave the Ministry’s cellars.
After seeing the Unspeakables off, Albus immediately contacted the parents of the injured students and told them frankly what had happened at the school. The kind headmaster told his colleagues that he had tried to help the unfortunate children until the very end, but the evil Minister of Magic had nipped any efforts in the bud with his decree. The Department of Mysteries staff had not even allowed the school staff to contact Mungo’s, and Madam Pomfrey had been verbally abused—and this was the absolute truth. The school’s Healer had indeed tried to get to the scene of the tragedy, but Black’s men had rudely declared her help no longer required and advised her to sleep with Mordred.
The Unspeakables’ rudeness and insolence stemmed from the fact that the true identities of the Department of Mysteries’ employees were strictly classified, and their faces were always hidden behind a special illusion. However, everyone knew the names of Black and Fudge, and by the morning a huge scandal had erupted in the Ministry. Macmillan and his comrades demanded the immediate return of their children, while the parents of several other Slytherins demanded a public apology and compensation for emotional distress. During a conversation with the angry crowd, the Minister invoked old laws and sent everyone to the Department of Mysteries, which turned out to be sealed, with a handwritten “2PNH” form hanging on its door. Then the enraged crowd returned to the Minister’s office, who, by an incredible coincidence, had urgently departed on important state business.
This attitude further angered the purebloods, who attempted to force their way to their children, but the Aurors and DMD staff on duty prevented them. A scuffle ensued, and the troublemakers were eventually overpowered and thrown out into the street. The humiliated parents went home, but Albus knew this was only the beginning, and that Macmillan would try to rescue his son. The fate of the spoiled brat and his friends mattered little to the light wizard—it was enough for him that everyone had forgotten about him and Hogwarts. Now it was the Ministry’s problem, and they should clean up the mess Black had stirred up themselves.
“…based on all the above facts and the research conducted, my department’s actions are fully compliant with legal norms and do not contradict the current legislation of Magical Britain.” Regulus finished reading the report and leaned back comfortably in his chair. “That will be all, Chief Warlock.”
“Regulus, my boy, you’re wrong.” Despite his thoughtfulness, Dumbledore listened attentively to the young wizard. “Our first priority is to help these unfortunate children. Yes, they broke the law and conducted a failed experiment, but they are children! The victims must be transported immediately to St. Mungo’s…”
“Excluded!” The Head of the Department of Mysteries abruptly interrupted the director and placed a stack of parchment sheets on the table. “You may personally inspect the results of our research. This creature is no longer one of your students, and the transformation process is irreversible.”
“Hm… Commendable, you’ve done a great job…” Albus glanced over the documents. “But the studies are incomplete. The children need to be examined by a Master of Medicinal Magic and a Master of Necromancy, and your ritualist’s report is extremely vague.”
“We’ve already invited Healer Smethwick and submitted an official request to the Lodge of Necromages, and as for the ritualist’s conclusion…” Black Jr. cast an angry glance at the awakened professors. “It would have been more accurate if two incompetent idiots hadn’t burned all the traces and evidence.”
“I object! We acted in the best interests of the school and protected the students!” Lockhart jumped up from the sofa. “Mr. Black, I have provided you with my memories, and you saw the Shadow Architect yourself. This creature is incredibly dangerous and falls outside the Ministry’s classification, so Professor Prince and I should not be blamed, but nominated for a reward. We saved Hogwarts, and perhaps all of Wizarding Britain!”
“Forgive me for trying to save my students,” the Prince hissed from his seat. “I didn’t know that potential evidence was so much more important than the lives of children.”
“I hear you,” the Head of the Department of Mysteries replied dryly. “In any case, your actions will be reviewed and assessed by a special expert committee, and based on its findings, a decision will be made on the legality of your actions. Until then, Mr. Prince, Mr. Lockhart, you are forbidden from leaving the territory of Magical Britain.”
“Regulus, my staff acted professionally, and you know it.” Dumbledore looked sternly at the presumptuous brat. “And as for my students, yes, they are still my students. You have insufficient grounds to keep them in the Ministry basement. I demand an examination at St. Mungo’s; perhaps they can be helped.”
“I repeat—that’s out of the question.” Black Jr. shook his head. “The subject is extremely aggressive and has a craving for human flesh. Furthermore, like a dragon, it is immune to magic. Based on these facts, it seems impossible to move the subject, dubbed ‘Scum,’ to St. Mungo’s.”
“Have you even thought of a name for him yet?!” Albus angrily drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m getting the distinct impression that no one even tried to help my students! I’ll call an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot today and raise the question of your competence, Mr. Black.”
“That’s not a name, but a generally accepted classification: Humanoid Monster, Converted. You don’t understand…” Regulus’s eyes lit up with a fanatical glint. “This creature defies all the laws of the universe! Mr. Prince and Mr. Lockhart banished the Architect at the moment of absorption and somehow captured the intermediate stage! It’s simply incredible! This creature is a LIVING necroconstruct, in which three living souls have almost fused into one. At the same time, this “Nonsense” actively emits death magic and poisons everything around it, yet remains alive! We’ve also detected that some of the necroenergy is escaping somewhere outside of Hogwarts.”
– Merlin the Almighty… Poor children… – Dumbledore shook his head sadly. – Is the process really irreversible?
“Absolutely. Auras and souls are no longer separable, just like bodies, and internal organs have also fused and intertwined,” the head of the Department of Mysteries answered seriously. “As for reason, there is none; the creature obeys only instincts.”
– What kind? – the gloomy potion maker muttered.
“Eat every living thing around it. The creature is constantly hungry,” Black Jr. adopted a lecturing tone. “We haven’t yet fully studied its digestive system, but we suspect it’s a closed-loop system. The ‘scum’ even digests its own feces.”
“But I always said that magic is dangerous and must be studied with extreme caution…” the Headmaster sighed. “Regulus, my boy, I still insist on a thorough examination of the children at St. Mungo’s. The grief-stricken parents of these unfortunate children demand it. Think of the fathers and mothers who have lost their sons.”
“These sons dabbled in forbidden magic, so they’re to blame for what happened.” The young wizard snorted. “The object has already been accepted into the records and is the property of the Department of Mysteries. The ‘scum’ will never leave the walls of the Ministry of Magic, and once all experiments are complete, it will be sent to the Arch of Death. That’s the law, and you, as Chief Warlock, know it perfectly well.”
“I heard you, Mr. Black, but I disagree with your expert opinion.” Dumbledore switched to a formal tone. “I will pass on all the necessary documents to Mr. Macmillan, Mr. Appleby, and Mr. Graves. I’m very sorry we couldn’t come to an agreement; I had hoped…”
The headmaster was interrupted by a bright flash of flame, and a short, bald wizard in the robes of a Department of Mysteries employee burst out of the fireplace. The visitor quickly glanced at everyone in the office and quickly ran up to his boss.
– Mr. Black, we have big problems! – The Unspeakable was on the verge of panic. – Fucking big ones!
– Something happened to the object? – Regulus jumped up. – Was he able to escape from the cell?
“No, but something similar might happen soon.” The guest began chattering rapidly. “Ten minutes ago, Macmillan and his friends showed up at the ministry, with over thirty mercenaries with them! There are seasoned mercenaries from the guild there, they demolished the entrance and are preparing to storm our department! Sir, the target’s parents are very serious and demand you immediately!”
“Morgana loves you, you restless idiots.” Black Jr. rolled his eyes and silently headed for the fireplace. He threw down a handful of floo powder and addressed those present in the office. “I apologize, but I must take my leave immediately, Lord Chief Warlock, Mr. Prince, Mr. Lockhart. Goodbye.”
Dumbledore watched the guests leave, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. Everything had gone even better than he’d planned. His allies had completely lost trust in the Minister, and the great wizard of light’s authority had grown even stronger. After all, Albus was the only one who had tried to help the unfortunate children, but he hadn’t had the resources, which meant that this needed to be corrected. Now was the perfect time to push through the bill empowering the Chief Warlock and slightly curtailing the Minister of Magic’s authority. Influencing the members of the Wizengamot wouldn’t be difficult—almost all of them had children.
The wise wizard leaned back in his chair with satisfaction and turned his gaze to his subordinates. He still had one small problem to resolve. The Headmaster wanted to urgently discuss Hogwarts regulations with a certain arrogant and spiteful brat who had started acting up again.
“Professor Lockhart, we’re done for today.” Dumbledore addressed the writer in a fatherly tone and dramatically glanced at his watch. “There are fifteen minutes left until your first class, so I think you’ll still have time for a snack.”
“Oh, come on, Director, I’ve got a window right now.” Gilderoy gave him his most idiotic smile. “I can’t wait to continue my research! I recently contacted my former colleagues, and they sent me some equipment yesterday. I was just about to ask Professor Prince to help me set it up.”
“Gilderoy, my boy, I have some disappointment to offer,” Albus flashed his half-moon glasses. “Severus and I urgently need to discuss the ingredient list for replenishing the hospital wing’s supplies.”
“I understand, Hogwarts matters come first.” Lockhart rose from the soft sofa. “Then I’ll get to work marking the sixth-year students’ essays. Severus, Headmaster, I’ll see you at lunch.”
The Defense against the Dark Arts professor straightened his back and, with each step measured, left his superior’s office. Dumbledore waited until the talented writer had descended the stairs and ordered the gargoyle to block the entrance to the Headmaster’s Tower. Then Albus blocked the fireplace and re-slept the living portraits of the school’s former headmasters, and only then looked at the pocket Potions Master with his kindest gaze.
“Severus, my boy, is there anything you want to tell me?” The light wizard’s voice was very soft, but the head of Slytherin suddenly turned pale and sank back into the sofa.
“Did you know that if you mix equal parts dwarf droppings, bicorn urine, and troll snot, and then simmer it for half an hour, you’ll get a stinking mess?” the Head of Slytherin replied, his face stony. “If so, then I have nothing more to tell you, Headmaster.”
“Severus, you’ve never been one for jokes, even Lily admitted it.” Albus shook his head sadly, and the Potions Master clenched his fists. “But that’s not the point now.”
“Are we going to discuss the Potter and Black degenerates again?” The young wizard’s voice was full of venom. “Headmaster, let’s save your time and mine and skip straight to talking about my insignificance and cowardice. I still…”
Professor Prince didn’t finish his sentence and, clutching his throat, fell to the floor. His employer waited until the insolent subordinate’s face began to turn blue before he stopped feeding the spell. The brazen brat began gasping for air and coughing, then the director, to stimulate the process, applied what he considered a weak Crucio. Tom’s former servants simply couldn’t understand it any other way.
“Severus, I know perfectly well that for the last ten years you’ve been rigging every corridor and nook of Hogwarts with alarms. You always know where your students are and what they’re doing…” Dumbledore gestured for a plate of sandwiches and allowed his subordinate to kneel. “So tell me, why did you do this? Why didn’t you stand up for the Mudblood? By the way, you stupid jerk, Smith is your student! Because of you, the embittered fool, this tragedy happened! Answer me!”
“I was merely following your orders, Headmaster.” The Potions Master grinned insolently and spat onto the expensive carpet. “Ten years ago, when I was hired, you told me not to interfere with pureblood students having fun with Mudbloods, remember? You claimed that thanks to this method, Mudbloods would learn to protect themselves and spend more time on Defense of the Anti-Doping Department. How could I disobey your orders?”
Albus closed his eyes and counted to ten, but the urge to strangle the insolent brat remained. Exhaling, the great wizard opened his eyes and looked sympathetically at his subordinate, his decision made.
“Severus, I’ve put up with this for a long time, but there’s a limit to everything…” Dumbledore took a sip of cold tea and grimaced. “One more stunt like that and you’ll regret your birth, I promise. I won’t dirty my hands with a worthless wretch like you. I’ll simply sign your dismissal, and the next day…” The Headmaster flashed his half-moon glasses and leaned forward. “The Prophet will publish a detailed biography of Severus Tobias Prince. The article will describe how you faithfully served the Dark Lord, and, once in Azkaban, betrayed your comrades, including your brother-in-arms Malfoy, and will even detail the death of a Squib named Tobias Snape.
– Where from? – The Potion Master froze and turned suddenly pale; he could hardly speak. – I don’t…
“Get out!” The gray-haired mage threw an empty cup at his subordinate. “I’ve said everything!”
The porcelain dishes shattered on the Potions Master’s hard forehead, and he slipped out of the office on all fours, as the Headmaster’s magic had raged and did not allow him to stand.
Dumbledore looked at the slammed door and, flexing his jaw, summoned a bottle of mead. After two glasses, the great wizard calmed down a bit and, once again, began to reflect on Stalin’s words. The Soviet leader had said, “Goodness must be achieved with fists,” and with each passing year, Albus became increasingly convinced of his truth.
***
While storms raged over Scotland and France enjoyed a warm autumn, a lonely island in the Tyrrhenian Sea sweltered. This patch of land, located near Naples, harbored a powerful magical spring, discovered centuries ago by the head of the Sosoni family and concealed with a spell of impenetrability. The rays of the setting sun brightly illuminated a large two-story white stone mansion, adjacent to a manicured park with an ornate fountain in the center. Below, vast fields of vineyards and olive trees stretched. Usually, the surrounding area echoed with the cries of children or the loud conversations of adults, but today the island was deathly silent. Only a gentle breeze swayed the dense treetops and the creaking of the shutters.
On the second floor of the estate, bathed in the sunset, stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair, his luminous blue eyes intently studying the infant screaming in his crib. The man smiled warmly and gently picked up the child, whose dark skin and thick eyebrows already distinguished him. Skillful rocking and quiet chatter did the trick, and ten minutes later, the child fell peacefully asleep. Sergei smiled warmly, his right hand firmly grasping the infant’s leg, and then slammed his head against the wooden headboard. The impact literally shattered the child’s skull, showering the room with a splatter of blood, brain matter, and bone fragments.
The black man tossed the dead body aside with disgust and, grinning contentedly, turned on his heel. Then he leisurely walked toward the exit. At the door, he stepped over the decapitated body of a young girl and found himself in a blood-soaked hallway. There, Sergei waved his wand and scanned the estate again. Receiving a response, he nodded to himself and headed to the first floor. On the stairs, he stepped over two more mutilated male bodies and, five minutes later, entered the corner, most secure room of the mansion, where a colleague was waiting. The seasoned fighter glanced briefly at the torn bodies of several women, then focused on the short, hunched-over brat huddled in the corner. Pale, skinny, and extremely awkward, he clutched the bloody head of a gray-haired, mustachioed man to his chest and glared at the Russian battle mages with hatred.
“Diomid Ivanovich, that’s it,” Black reported to the respected veteran with a forced smile. “There are no more survivors in the house.”
“Thank you, I always said I could rely on you.” The old man nodded sadly and looked at the brat. “Seryozha, tell me what you see?”
“Um…” The battle mage was taken aback. “A typical purebred asshole. I was one myself once, though not for long…”
“That’s what I’m saying – it all depends on upbringing.” The old wizard ignored his answer and continued sadly. “I knelt before Tsar Mikhail, then I swore to serve and protect his descendants. Pyotr Alekseevich grew up before my eyes, and what a mischievous boy he was…” The old man remembered something and broke into a nostalgic smile. “Few people know, but Petka had an older brother; he was supposed to become Tsar, but it didn’t work out. I killed the elder and helped the younger ascend the throne, and do you know why?”
– No… – Black looked at the old man in bewilderment.
“That was the right thing to do!” The veteran clapped his hands, and the walls of the estate began to crack. “Did you know that Petka was born to a concubine, and that his uncle raised him? That’s just it. Same blood, same father, but such different brothers… I kept an eye on both children, and every day I noticed how completely different they were. The elder rarely left the palace and grew up a spoiled fool and a cruel sadist, if only you knew…” The old man shook his head disapprovingly. “And the younger one lived in strictness, studying in the morning, and working on the estate and helping the peasants at the mill in the afternoon. He grew up a smart and intelligent boy, unlike… That’s when we decided to kill Ivan; it’s not right for a fool to rule the country.”
– Of course, it’s all inter… – Black wanted to change the subject, but they didn’t let him.
“Seryozha, don’t interrupt, listen to the stupid old man.” Shipitko looked him in the eye reproachfully. “Basically, what I wanted to say is that everything depends on upbringing; children absorb the habits and behavior of those around them from infancy. Look at this brat; this rotten family raised a moral monster, and they needed to be punished. And since they tried to kill my grandson, there’s only one punishment.”
The old mage flicked his little finger, and Vincenzo Sosoni was torn apart, a thick wave of blood engulfing the walls and ceiling, and the entire room was dyed scarlet. The veteran shrugged indifferently and, his boots squelching across the blood-soaked carpet, leisurely walked toward the exit, Sergei hurrying after him.
“You should have taken Zvezdochka with you, she was so eager to avenge Borka.” Black looked thoughtfully at his older comrade. “By the way, how is he? Why didn’t you take him along?”
“It’s too early, Seryozha, too early.” The veteran looked disapprovingly at his young comrade. “They’re still kids, and let them enjoy this carefree time to the last, they don’t have much time left. Childhood will soon be over, and the kids will get a big spoonful of the bloody crap called adulthood. You know that very well, so don’t rush things.”
“Agreed.” The men walked out into the hall, and Sergei’s eyes fell on another mutilated corpse. “The main thing is that our children don’t become monsters like us.”
“They have no choice, Seryozha,” Shipitko sighed sadly. “Our world is too cruel and there’s no room for empathy and compassion.”
“You’re right, as always.” The comrades exchanged glances and fell silent, thoughtful.
Once outside, Sergei took a deep breath of the fresh sea air and smiled as he surveyed the corpse-strewn courtyard of the mansion. He then abruptly drew his wand. A tall, gray-haired man in a gray cloak and white cassock was approaching them, completely silent. His round glasses and the large Catholic cross on his chest glittered brightly in the rays of the setting sun.
“Good evening!” The Vatican’s Chief Inquisitor stopped and kicked one of the estate’s guards in the head with the toe of his boot. “The Butcher, the Child Killer.” The uninvited guest nodded politely. “And what are you doing here?”
“We’re picking mushrooms, can’t you see?” Diomid Ivanovich replied, and with a wave of his hand, he transfigured a wicker basket. “Now we’ll gather up the cowsheds and head home. What brought you here, you fanatic?”
“Our nuncios have detected a disturbance of the abomination in this area, and I’ve gone to investigate.” The Inquisitor looked around dramatically, lingering on the man crucified on the wooden gates, and then looked closely at the Soviet mages. “I understand the atheists have resurrected their spawn, and you’ve come to avenge your murdered relative?”
“You’re so quick-witted, you should be a detective,” Sergei joined the conversation. “You can go down to the basement, where you’ll find a dozen desiccated mundane corpses and evidence of a recent forbidden ritual.”
“Accept my gratitude, you have done a God-pleasing deed.” The Inquisitor nodded respectfully. “No one has the right to interfere with God’s Providence and resurrect the dead; only the Creator has this right! It is written in Holy Scripture, and it is the law, and there is punishment for violating it.”
“Well, that’s excellent,” Diomid Ivanovich began filling his pipe with tobacco. “So the Inquisition has no complaints against us?”
“Absolutely correct, Butcher,” the Holy Father nodded slowly. “You killed the atheists on their own land, and that’s the problem of their filthy ministry.”
“Well, we won’t even talk to these guys,” Black chuckled cheerfully. “Then goodbye, I hope we never see each other again.”
“Don’t say never, Child Killer,” the inquisitor replied. “The Creator works in mysterious ways.”
“Goodbye, Alex.” The veteran took a deep drag and activated the international portkey, Sergei following suit.
“Godless…” the inquisitor muttered, left alone, and cast a hostile glance at the torn corpse of a teenage girl. “Where does all this malice and cruelty come from… Burn in hell. Ugh!”
Spitting, the Head of the Thirteenth Department of the Holy Inquisition, “Iscariot”, activated his portkey and left the deserted island.
Message from the Author:
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PS: The chapters on Boosti have moved forward a bit, plus there’s a bunch of art and illustrations.
