Chapter 92
Thump, thump, thump… Thut, thump, thump…
The clatter of the wheels and the silence in the compartment made me drowsy. I leaned back tiredly on the soft sofa and put my physics textbook on the table. I needed a little rest, otherwise my brain would completely melt. I realized this when I reread the law of conservation of energy yet again and couldn’t understand a thing. It must be from lack of sleep; three hours a night is not enough for a young, growing body. Yes, there are potions and various stimulants, but even they have a limit! Because of this, for the past few days, I’ve been feeling like I have a huge hangover every morning and constantly wanting to sleep. And all because of those purebred idiots! Damn it, how I hate those stupid, cowardly jerks!
After someone particularly gifted started the rumor about the Slytherin Horror, the atmosphere at Hogwarts, to put it mildly, became tense. The headmaster and professors quickly realized that a massacre and murder could occur at any moment, and they’d had enough incidents this year, with the D.M.P. and the board of governors already looking askance at the headmaster. So the school administration decided to defuse the situation with drastic measures: they simply added extra classes and piled homework on all classes, and for any misbehavior, they sent students to scoop shit from the enormous cesspool under the castle.
It turns out there’s a vast network of caves beneath the school, and the largest of them contains a huge brown lake that doesn’t freeze even in winter and REALLY stinks. Punishers were given small wooden buckets there, which were not only heavy but also full of holes. Then they had to scoop up the steaming liquid and pour it into a huge wooden vat. I think I’ve figured out the secret to Madam Sprout’s signature manure. Yes, I’ve been there, too, as have almost every other student. I can still see the image of Diana Malfoy slipping and plunging headfirst into the foul brown water. Oh, the screams…
I couldn’t help but wince and remember how I’d wanted to f… er, cheat the system, but, as they say, bad luck—no luck. We’d long since gotten used to the huge essays from Prince and McGonagall, so many didn’t notice the increased amount of homework. Lockhart and Sinistra also often assigned long essays, but they were always distinguished by their originality and interesting topics, so many were understanding about the Defense against the Dark Arts and Astronomy homework. Flitwick also started demanding huge notebooks with reflections on various charms, but he did it in a playful way, and everyone was happy with it. But when Binns joined this fucking flash mob, everyone was, to put it mildly, shocked. The ghost never assigned homework! Never! What can I say, he never even checked attendance. I know for a fact that fifth- and seventh-year students brazenly skip History of Magic and still have perfect attendance. So, the ghost professor assigned an essay on the latest goblin rebellion for the weekend, covering ten large scrolls. That’s, mind you, over a hundred A5 notebook pages! Even I, with all my love of history, was stunned at that moment. I also remember the puzzled expressions of my classmates when many of them discovered that the library, it turns out, has three insanely long rows of books on the history of the magical and outer worlds.
That evening, my friends and I went to the library and realized we were simply behind schedule, as we had regular subjects in addition to the magical ones. We were busy preparing for midterms in physics, chemistry, biology, algebra, geometry, and other science subjects, so a “brilliant” idea struck my aching head. Ghosts couldn’t interact with material objects, which meant Binns wouldn’t be able to check our homework! The other professors probably wouldn’t bother with such nonsense, as they were buried under mountains of scribbled paper themselves. The girls happily supported my idea, and by Monday, our work had been added to the mountain of parchment scrolls in the corner of the history room.
I don’t know if it was just the stars aligning, or if my luck was starting to run out by the end of the year, but my essay was one of the few that caught Dumbledore’s eye. Yes, for the first time in years, the headmaster decided to personally oversee the class process, or maybe he was suffering from diarrhea and senile insomnia, but that’s not the point. What’s more, instead of an essay on the causes and consequences of the rebellion of Stinking Snot, the scroll was written and copied with just one word: “fuck it.” Well, childhood played a role, it happens to everyone. Naturally, the old man was upset by this attitude towards such an important subject and slapped me with a week of detention. The funniest thing is that Malfoy and the Black sisters did much the same, but flatly refused to reveal the contents of their essays. I wonder what goes through the minds of these noble and well-mannered heiresses of ancient magical families? Maybe they were drawing pictures?
Chuckling, I reached for the thermos of hot chocolate, sniffing my hands once again. After detention, the stench haunted me for several days, and I even burned some of my belongings. But I have to give credit to the school administration – the cesspool punishment proved very effective and memorable. Many students complained to their parents, and a couple of Slytherins even filed complaints with the D.M.P. After a visit from angry parents and law enforcement officials, Dumbledore made a rather interesting proposal at dinner, which, for some reason, no one liked. The old man rose from his throne-like stool and declared that the school staff had acted in accordance with Hogwarts regulations, and if anyone was unhappy with the cesspool, he was reluctantly prepared to reinstate corporal punishment. The pure-blood children realized that the old man was not joking and shut up, and the pompous chatter about mudbloods was replaced by offended cries about the insolent bearded half-breed.
After taking a few sips of the hot and delicious drink, I glanced at my friends and couldn’t help but feel touched – everyone was asleep. Elvira was snoring on the sofa opposite, and Mia was drooling on my lap while I brazenly used her head as a bookend. Finch-Fletchley and Weasley had chosen an unusual place to sleep: they climbed onto the luggage racks, wrapped themselves in blankets, and fell asleep almost immediately. Things were also interesting with the boys: while Justin, like the girls and I, was actively preparing for his exams at the academy, Ron was diligently studying for his magical arts and helping his brothers in his free time.
Ginger amazed me more and more, looking less and less like that movie loser with each passing day. He didn’t even look like him anymore! Let’s start with the fact that Ron was a good student; yes, he wasn’t an A student, more like a solid B student, but that didn’t spoil him at all. In his free time, Weasley managed to go to Quidditch practice, hang out with our group, and help his older brothers. And I’m not just talking about the twins and their small business; the sixth Weasley also helped Percy with paperwork and other prefect bureaucracy. Ron was also an active member of the school Wizarding Chess Club, even inventing various activities and competitions there. In general, I noticed that all the Weasleys were active and hardworking; even Ginny had already been accepted into the Home Economics Club, and she was in good standing there. With a mother like that, it’s no surprise!
My eyes cleared up, thanks to a drop of tonic in my hot chocolate, and I reached for my textbook again. Opening the clever book to the right page, I stroked my friend’s long, curly chestnut hair and carefully settled the hardcover on it. Generally speaking, conventional science is as useful as it is harmful to a wizard.
Everyone knows that magic is a combination of desire and action, based on faith in the end result, which places one important organ on all known laws of the universe. If you tell some physicist that you can use a wooden pointer to turn a wooden block into a pink bunny or make a huge boulder fly, they’ll laugh at best, and call the paramedics at worst. So, as Sergey said, all limitations are in our heads, and magic really can do anything, absolutely EVERYTHING. And he’s right! I was once leafing through a large reference book on transfiguration and found a spell that turns nose hairs into cutlery. Complete nonsense, but someone thought of it! This proves once again that everything is limited only by the caster’s imagination. If a wizard believes that nose hairs can transform into cutlery or a teddy bear, then they will, but if they doubt the result, the spell will never work, no matter how hard they try, even if they’re Merlin incarnate. Therefore, the Black One strongly recommended not to take the laws of physics and other mundane sciences seriously, otherwise there could be serious problems with witchcraft. Because limitations can arise in the mind, and I’ll start thinking something is impossible, and magic doesn’t know such a word, for it can do anything.
On the other hand, all great, and even simply significant, wizards are well versed in chemistry, physics, and other common sciences. Such knowledge is helpful in transfiguration, because knowing the composition and properties of a material makes it easier to materialize, not to mention transfiguring it from thin air. Only ignorant idiots think the air around us is immaterial; in fact, it’s full of various microparticles that can be used! And it doesn’t matter that you can’t see them; they’re like that gopher—you can’t see them, but they’re there! That’s why Dumbledore can create anything from thin air, as far as his imagination goes, and the Prince is well versed in chemistry and pharmacology and can whip up some magical aspirin on his own. And so it is in many ways; artifact science is closely tied to strength of materials, since different materials conduct magic differently. And there are many such examples. Algebra and geometry, for example, are actively used in numerology and runology, so I long ago realized that there is no such thing as useless knowledge. Therefore, to become a great sorceress, I must be equally proficient in both magical and mundane sciences, as well as rhetoric, political science, and jurisprudence, but here my position requires it.
With these thoughts in mind, I delved into the laws of physics. I can’t say it was interesting, but it’s necessary to know, and thanks to Occlumency, I can easily memorize any textbook. And so we traveled all the way to London: my friends slept soundly, and I quietly read and washed down cookies with hot chocolate.
Outside the train window, lonely houses and even entire villages began to flicker more and more often, replacing the tranquil landscapes of forests and fields—a sure sign that we were approaching the capital of the Empire. At this moment, the sky above the horizon was painted the crimson hues of a winter sunset, creating a stunning picture: ancient stone buildings and the crowns of centuries-old trees were reflected in its glowing reflections, as if playing in the fading daylight. I’ve always loved sunsets; even in a past life, I loved to sit on the balcony and watch the sun leave this world. In those rare moments, I imagined all my troubles and sorrows disappearing along with the sun beyond the horizon. Alas, every morning they returned again. For a while, I silently admired the beautiful spectacle, and then put on my usual mask of a snarky bitch and began waking my friends. The Hogwarts Express was already approaching London.
“Miya…” I gently pushed aside her lush curls and whispered into her pink ear. “Wake up, we’ve been robbed…”
– Hmm… – The girl twitched her nose and opened one eye. – Throw a grenade at them… Tell me later…
– Ooooooood… – I took a deep breath and screamed at the top of my lungs. – COMPANY RISE!!! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!!! EVERYONE, TAKE YOUR FIGHTING POSITIONS!!!
Sometimes you have to think before you act, but such simple truths come too late. Before I could even dodge, the hard back of my friend’s head hit me in the nose, and a terrified Weasley fell from the luggage rack onto us. Luckily, he landed on something “soft,” meaning Hermione and me, and we ended up in a tangled ball on the floor. Luckily, Justin and Elvira weren’t so harsh and helped us untangle ourselves, even healing my nose. It was true that afterward, I had to apologize profusely and placate everyone with hot chocolate and cookies, but it was probably worth it. I didn’t have time to see my friends’ seething faces because of the back of Hermione’s head and Weasley’s backside, who landed on my head, but their panicked screams sounded cheerful.
As the train slowed, I grew increasingly impatient, as did Mia. My friend glanced at the multi-story buildings outside the window and fidgeted nervously on the sofa. The thing was, a surprise awaited the children of the red-haired family on the station platform—one that, by the way, had been arranged with Mrs. Weasley! Namely, the Sergeant Major of the Order of Protestant Knights—William Arthur Weasley!
Buying out this loser turned out to be no easy task, and it wasn’t just the goblins, but the Muggle mentality. His mother listened with interest to the story of the red-haired family’s plight and promised to help, as a capable wizard would always be useful in the Order. However, first the approval process dragged on, and then the ransom process. The Order’s budget was calculated several years in advance, and the Treasury was hostile to any unexpected expenses, so they had to ask Lord Finch-Fletchley himself for help. Justin’s father, hearing the required sum, chuckled and gave the go-ahead for the operation to rescue the promising wizard. However, the Treasury and the Order hadn’t taken into account the specifics of wizarding society, and instead of simply giving Molly the money to buy her son out of slavery, they decided to act independently and sent a representative to Gringotts. The goblins immediately realized that the Crown urgently needed this particular wizard for some reason, and demanded a hundredweight of pure gold for him. Needless to say, THAT ransom nearly broke the head of the treasury’s heart.
I don’t know all the details, but the haggling lasted about a month, and in the end, a whole bar of pure gold, roughly twelve and a half kilograms, was paid for Bill Weasley. For the equivalent amount of gold, you could have bought one and a half heavy infantry fighting vehicles, or the latest super-heavy tank, or even built a simple torpedo boat, at a pinch. All in all, it was a bit pricey. True, in the end, the goblins made concessions and gave the Crown some half-dead weakling as change. Incidentally, Bill himself wasn’t in the best of shape either. The red-haired family’s eldest son had suffered multiple injuries and severe physical exhaustion, so his carcass was immediately sent to a military hospital, just like his comrade in misfortune. However, when his “friend” came to his senses and learned that he would be forced to work for Hellsing for the next fifty years, he immediately tried to escape. Naturally, he was caught, but the idiot continued to resist, squealing that he wouldn’t work for pathetic Muggles. The Order officers sighed heavily and handed the stubborn idiot over to Hector Dagworth, the head potion master just then complaining about a shortage of “test subjects.” From the black sheep, as they say…
As for Bill himself, after his recovery, he was allowed to meet his parents and was given the Order’s magical contract to review. After reading the document, the Weasleys were shocked. They’d thought William would be working for the Crown for free, while he would be paid for his service and even provided with housing! The salary also surprised the redheads – 7,500 pounds, or 300 Galleons per month! The head of a large department at the Ministry of Magic earned only 250, while the Minister of Magic’s salary was a whopping 400 Galleons. And considering that the boy wouldn’t be serving on the front lines and would be able to sleep at home every night, the offer was downright glamorous. His mother recounted how a sobbing Molly fell to her knees before her, thanking her for her help.
And so, for a measly gold bar, Hellsing acquired a loyal ally in the form of a large wizarding family. All that remained was to get the rest of the Weasleys into the Order, and I thought that wouldn’t be difficult. But that would come later; right now, I was more concerned about meeting my family, especially since the London landscape was already flashing past the window, and the train was braking hard.
As usual, the station platform greeted us with a crowd of people, representing all walks of wizarding society. From the highest aristocracy, whose representatives stood haughtily to the side, to ordinary workers, who showed no signs of hiding their emotions and waved to the approaching train. I easily spotted my family in this crowd, as it was hard to miss. Honestly, sometimes I think my mother possesses a certain magnetism or a semblance of Veela charm. Around her, gathered and cheerfully conversed, were wizarding radicals like Malfoy and his friends, the Muggle-loving Weasleys, and ordinary (well, almost) Muggles like the Grangers, Creeveys, and Finch-Fletchleys. From the outside, the scene even looked comical: noble lords of wizarding in expensive robes, heatedly discussing something with a Muggle farmer who had come to greet his son in ordinary denim overalls. The crowd was indeed impressive, and everyone present on the platform looked at it in bewilderment.
“Mum, as always…” Ron looked with a smile at Mrs. Weasley, who was gesturing wildly and telling Narcissa Malfoy something. “And what the… This can’t be…”
The youngest Weasley slammed his forehead against the window with a loud thud, staring fixedly at the tall, red-haired boy in a Hellsing uniform, who was chatting cheerfully with his father and Dan Granger. The train hadn’t stopped yet, but Ron was already half-hearted, and he shot out of the compartment. Mia and I exchanged knowing glances, grabbed his luggage, and leisurely made our way to the exit.
By the time we arrived, Bill was already lying on the stone floor, buried beneath the screaming bodies of his brothers and little sister. Molly was wailing happily nearby, and Arthur was looking on with the silly smile of a truly happy man. The rest of our group looked on with approval at the reunion of the red-haired family; even Lucius managed a tight smile; I wish he had more acting chops. Then came the standard greetings, hugs, and friendly pats on the back. Maybe it was the Weasleys who had such an effect on everyone, but even my Slytherin friends received restrained hugs from their relatives, and as far as I know, public displays of emotion are not customary among nobles.
In theory, members of the Empire’s highest aristocracy should also keep their emotions under control and project a restrained demeanor, but at that moment, I couldn’t care less and found myself happily in my mother’s arms. A couple of minutes later, Victoria took over, and my ribs crunched again in her greedy little hands, and the rest of my acquaintances didn’t go unnoticed either. Only about twenty minutes later, when everyone had calmed down a bit, did we begin to say our goodbyes and head home.
Having wished each other a happy holiday, the crowd of people welcoming us parted ways: the wizards headed toward the communal fireplaces, and our group hurried back to the ordinary world. Only once inside the car did I finally relax, lean against my mother, and fall asleep almost instantly. How good it was to be home again.
***
I never cease to admire Windsor Castle, its grandeur and opulence. Every time I visit the royal family’s residence and admire this masterpiece of ancient architecture, I always notice new details. Today, my attention was drawn to Henry II’s Round Tower, above which the Imperial Standard fluttered, signifying the presence of a reigning monarch. This part of the castle was built approximately eight hundred years ago and remains the residence of the Holy Knights and, concurrently, the royal archives. The enormous round tower, punctuated by small loopholes, stands at the very heart of the castle, striking in its monumentality and impregnability. I glanced once more at the thick walls, along whose crest guardsmen in full dress marched in the moonlight, and hurried to my mother, who was leisurely strolling toward the Normandy Gate.
Drawing level with the tall platinum blonde in her familiar pantsuit, I took a deep breath of the crisp, frosty air and beamed happily. How little a person needs to be happy! Yesterday, I finally passed my final midterm exam at the high school and was able to show off my report card with grades no lower than excellent. And today, I was able to get a good night’s sleep! I even slept through breakfast, something I hadn’t experienced in years, but I wasn’t plagued by pangs of conscience, as after lunch we went to the atelier. There, diligent designers spent several hours choosing my outfit for the gala reception. After donning a black, one-piece dress trimmed with white ribbons, I was taken to the stylists, who spent about an hour styling my long hair into a chic updo. I loved the final result, and I was ready to appear before Her Majesty in all my glory.
Only one thing marred my excellent mood: I’d be spending the rest of the holidays without friends. Mia and her parents flew to France today, Valentina picked up Elvira yesterday, and Justin was heading off on a short Pacific Ocean cruise with his father tomorrow. Of course, I could always visit the Weasleys, but I was frankly too lazy to drag myself that far. I wasn’t discouraged, because I’d be spending all these days at home with my family and loved ones, and this fact pleasantly warmed my hardened heart.
“Ready?” Mom turned to me as we stopped in front of the mahogany doors. “This isn’t just any Christmas party.”
“Always ready.” I smiled warmly in response and took a step forward.
Guards in full dress uniform swung open the doors, and we found ourselves in a sumptuous reception hall already filled with distinguished guests. This Christmas reception was unusual, as the highest aristocracy had gathered not only to wish everyone a happy Christmas but also to solemnly announce Lady Diana’s pregnancy. I’d learned of her pregnancy back in the summer, when I’d chatted with this beautiful woman after the accolade, but I’d kept quiet. According to long-standing tradition, the public is informed of the upcoming addition to the royal family when the Crown Princess is six months pregnant. I don’t know the reason for this, and frankly, I was too lazy to look into it. For Lady Di, as she’s nicknamed, and Prince Charles, I wove paired leather bracelets designed to ward off the evil eye, and for the unborn child, I crafted a dreamcatcher. Incidentally, even Flitwick appreciated this craft. Overall, I was completely prepared for the event.
A herald in full livery announced our arrival, and we leisurely made our way to the nearest group of men in general’s uniforms. For the next half hour, my mother and I strolled proudly through the hall, mingling with members of the aristocracy. All the guests were joking and having fun, always keeping up their manners, but I soon noticed a certain tension reigning among the guests. The reason for this was Princess Diana—she was acting somewhat brazenly, perhaps. Surely a future queen shouldn’t be laughing loudly like a horse and casting lustful glances at other men. This was unnerving, yet everyone present stubbornly pretended that “all is calm in Baghdad.”
“Mom, is everything okay with the princess?” I asked Integra as we left the company of the Minister of Youth Affairs and his entourage. “There’s clearly something wrong with her.”
“A typical hormonal imbalance.” Mom grimaced slightly. “Don’t pay any attention to it.”
– What nonsense. – I didn’t give up. – She behaved completely differently in the summer.
“She and Charlie are having a little spat,” Mom chuckled slightly. “She’s probably trying to get attention that way.”
– Okay, let’s approach it from the other side. – We just approached Her Majesty, and I gave the sweetest smile I could. – Hello, Grandma Lisa.
The elderly woman in a simple light beige dress looked very pale and even unremarkable among the elegant guests. Only the sparkling crown on her gray hair indicated that she was the Queen of the British Empire, and it was a bit disconcerting. Well, what can I say, Her Majesty loves modesty and asceticism, and that’s one of the reasons why the people love her.
“Rigel, Integra, glad to see you.” “Grandmother” hugged us in turn and smiled warmly. “How did you get here?”
– No adventures, – Mom responded with a modest smile. – As usual.
“Your Majesty,” I nodded respectfully. “Forgive my impudence, but I am concerned about the princess’s behavior.”
“Me too.” The Queen continued to smile warmly, but her emotions flared with anger, which was replaced by annoyance. “But it will soon pass.”
– Or maybe… – I looked meaningfully at Lady Diana, who at that moment slapped the broad-shouldered waiter on the butt. – She behaved completely differently in the summer, maybe she needs to see a doctor?
“If you’re talking about potions or something like that, she’s already been tested, and the royal healer found nothing. I know that for a fact.” Her Majesty pursed her lips nervously. “Princess Diana has been acting like this for almost two weeks now, and the doctors are putting it down to hormones. I think she’ll be back to normal after she gives birth.”
– I see. – I barely held back a sigh of disappointment. – I’ll go congratulate the newlyweds.
“Go ahead, my dear, Integra and I need to discuss something,” Grandma Lisa nodded at me, “and don’t worry about Diana, I’ve got my finger on the pulse.”
“I hope so…” I exhaled and walked towards the crazy princess, muttering under my breath. “I really hope so.”
Weaving among the guests, I was intensely recalling moments from my past life, which also involved Princess Diana. Alas, I wasn’t following the gossip columns back then, and I couldn’t care less about the death of some princess. All I knew was that she and her lover were supposedly driving in a car and had an accident, I think that’s what happened. I couldn’t even remember what year it happened, but it didn’t matter. I have a rough idea of Her Majesty’s character, and if this fool doesn’t come to her senses, she could die in a really, really bad accident, even though Lady Di is a national favorite. Grandma Lisa won’t allow the royal family to be disgraced or denigrated, so she’ll quietly strangle the wayward princess, no matter what fortune teller she has.
– Your Highness. – I bowed politely before Lady Diana.
“Rigel, baby, I’m so glad to see you!” The woman broke into a goofy smile and, taking a step, tousled my hair. “How tall you’ve grown! Just a couple more years and you’ll have no end of suitors!”
– This is for you. – I took a gift box out of my bag. – I hope you like it.
The princess opened the carved wooden box and immediately tried on my bracelet, making me gape. Because this was just pure fucking bullshit. According to all the instructions, she was supposed to first give all the trinkets to the UEBI specialists for inspection and only then touch them, you never know. After admiring the gift, Lady Di clapped her hands and, with a stupid smile, crawled into a hug. Her touch made my vision blur, and I started to choke. Just like in the potions room! Bitch! It’s intoxicating marjoram! What? How the fuck did the royal healer not notice it?! I immediately realized something was wrong with the princess, but are Her Majesty’s retinue really full of idiots?! This simply can’t be true, which means I need to think about this immediately, ideally even contact a potions specialist. But with whom?!
After chatting briefly with the princess and congratulating Uncle Charlie, I threw on a simple disguise and quickly headed for the enormous stained-glass window in the far corner of the room. The whole way, I kept going over in my head the names of potion masters I knew, and damn, there were almost none. Dagworth would have been the best option, but that psycho never used the Wonderphone. Black was more of a fighter and only knew potions for combat. Elvira was currently with her necromancy tutor, and I simply couldn’t reach her for the next week. Calling the prince, even if that jerk had a Wonderphone, was pointless; he’d still refuse to help me, so… And why not?
“Diana, hi!” I smiled when a beautiful blonde with eyes the color of molten silver looked at me from the Miraclephone screen. “The matter is urgent, so let’s skip the preliminaries.”
“I’m glad to see you too, Hellsing,” the Slytherin smiled slyly. “Just hurry up, we have a gala reception here dedicated to the upcoming Yule, and you’ve distracted me from my pleasant conversation with the Minister of Magic and his sycophants.”
Only now did I notice that the girl was wearing a fluffy light green dress, and her luxurious hair was adorned with a platinum tiara studded with black diamonds. The Slytherin herself stood in a spacious, luxurious hall, while figures in expensive robes flitted in the background. Yeah, it didn’t turn out well, but at least she picked up the phone.
“Basically, I have a life-or-death question for you.” I looked seriously into the silver eyes. “It looks like a member of the royal family was drugged with some kind of poison, but the staff healer couldn’t find anything. Diana, help me, I’ll owe you.”
“Hellsing herself will be in my debt…” Malfoy broke into a satisfied smile. “Let’s go into more detail, which witch did you drug?”
“Not a witch! This girl is 100% non-mage, but lately she’s started acting like a horny idiot.” I caught my breath. “They’re putting it all down to hormones, but she reeks of intoxicating marjoram. You know perfectly well my reaction to that stuff; I almost choked! Do you understand?!”
“Hmm… That’s quite normal… Almost no one can smell this plant, even the Teacher can barely detect it… But if your friend smells of intoxicating marjoram… Interesting…” The girl thought for a long time and even bit her lip. “Everyone knows that potions work differently on Muggles, since they don’t have magic, and their bodies are weaker than those of wizards, and quite different… Which means someone really tried, so the standard marker didn’t work… I’ll call Mama now, she knows as much about potions as the Teacher.”
A couple of minutes later, the beautiful face of a blonde woman of about thirty appeared on the artifact’s screen. The woman smiled warmly at me, but her blue-green eyes were very serious.
– Miss Hellsing, – Narcissa Malfoy decided to get straight to the point, – tell me.
I quickly shared my suspicions with the woman and told her about Princess Diana’s changed behavior, emphasizing the intoxicating smell of marjoram emanating from her, to which I am allergic.
“Very interesting…” Diana’s mother closed her eyes and remained unmoving for a couple of minutes. “It looks a lot like the Harlot’s Potion; I read about it in a history of potions book. But who would want to drug a Muggle? Strange… It’s very expensive and very specific…”
“Could you give me more detail?” I interrupted the sorceress’s reasoning. “And how can I identify and neutralize it?”
“In the 18th century, Italian potioneers developed a special potion at the request of the Polish Muggle aristocracy,” Narcissa said, adopting a lecturing tone. “The trick is that it must be brewed by a weakling or a Squib, and the ingredients are first soaked in a solution that polarizes magic. This makes it completely harmless to wizards and only works on Muggles. You know, those,” the woman snorted with distaste, “have very weak bodies and are devoid of magic. For this reason, artifacts and spells react to it the same way they do to butterbeer—indeed, nothing. The Harlot’s Potion was brewed especially for the Russian Empress, and I think it was used on someone else later, but I don’t remember.”
– And? How does it work?
“It reduces critical thinking and increases libido.” The woman nodded to herself. “It’s a very clever potion, and it also has a cumulative effect. I don’t know who poisoned the Russian empress, but a couple of months later she went completely mad and died trying to copulate with a horse, as men could no longer satisfy her. It’s a vile thing, but one that’s fascinating in its simplicity.”
“And how can I find it?!” I looked at the sorceress demandingly. “How can I save a pregnant woman?”
“Pregnant?!” Lady Malfoy’s eyes glowed with a bluish tint. “Someone gave a pregnant woman this stuff to drink?!” I nodded silently in response. “It’s almost impossible to determine; at least, I don’t know any such spells. Let him chew a freshly picked shriek-tip leaf; it should neutralize the potion’s effects in less than a minute.”
“Thank you,” I nodded gratefully in response. “I’ll pass this information on to the people in charge right away.”
“Rigel,” the woman looked me seriously in the eyes. “Your friend may be a Muggle, but she’s pregnant. Please kill whoever drugged her. That stuff could have caused a miscarriage, and that can’t be forgiven.”
“Lady Malfoy, I will be sure to convey your words to Her Majesty.” I nodded seriously. “Please accept my sincere gratitude.”
“It wasn’t hard for me,” Narcissa smiled thinly and waved her hand, “and now hurry to your Muggle friend.”
I said goodbye politely and, pocketing the artifact, began frantically looking around. As luck would have it, neither my mother nor Her Majesty were in sight, but a couple of minutes later, the broad silhouette of the Duke of Lancaster appeared. Excellent! I smiled contentedly and hurried over to him. The head of the UEBI would be happy to uncover the conspiracy against the royal family and execute the culprits, after confiscating all their property for the benefit of the Empire.
“Duke of Lancaster, Duchess of Lancaster, Jacob”—in informal settings he’s “Uncle Stephen”—”but we’re at a formal event now, so we need to observe manners.” “Nice to see you.”
“Miss Hellsing, how pleasant to meet you.” The man kissed the air above my palm. “And where is your beautiful mother?”
“Uncle Stephen,” I ignored his question and continued, lowering my voice. “I have an extremely serious matter, it concerns the life and health of Princess Diana.”
“Go on…” the head of UEBI became extremely serious and took a step forward. “I’m listening.”
“The princess was poisoned with a special poison for commoners…” I quickly recounted the information I’d received from Narcissa Malfoy to the Duke. “She urgently needs to be given a freshly picked shriek-tip leaf to chew on.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find it.” The man chuckled and turned to his son standing behind him. “Jacob, escort the beautiful lady to the children’s room. Her mother and I will be a little busy right now, and it’s inappropriate for a young lady to be in this room without an adult.”
– Okay, Father. – The boy nodded curtly and extended his hand to me. – Miss Hellsing.
“Is this necessary?” I looked at the men pleadingly. “Can I participate too? What if they need my help?”
I was incredibly curious and wanted to see the UEBI in action live. After all, I was the one who uncovered the “great conspiracy” and I want to know the name of the bastard who thought of poisoning the pregnant princess. The Duke of Lancaster saw something on my face and broke into a predatory grin, then looked me in the eye.
“Rigel, I promise you’ll be one of the first to know all the details. I’ll personally send you the results of the investigation, but for now…” The man nodded to his son. “Have fun and don’t worry about anything, enjoy your carefree youth while you can.”
The head of the UEBI called a couple of waiters over, and they hurried to the princess, while I headed for the exit, arm in arm with Jacob. I had no doubt that Uncle Stephen would find and punish the villain severely, which meant I could relax now. I smiled cheerfully at Jacob, and we proudly walked to the children’s hall, where the remaining heirs of the ruling aristocracy awaited us. I hoped Justin was already there.
