Chapter 106
The first day of school began with a bit of a scandal. After morning exercises and exercise, I went down to the common room and, while waiting for my friends, spotted Wood. The captain of our Quidditch team was standing by the fireplace, checking a list and handing out bags of money to the kids. Naturally, I rushed to collect my winnings, but all I got was a pair of dung-covered Oblomov bird feet.
– Wood, are you nuts?! – I glared at the tall guy. – I bet 25 Galleons that Lockhart wouldn’t live to see May. Give me my winnings!
“No, Hellsing,” Oliver frowned. “You violated the terms of the public offer agreement, so your bet goes to FleaWood bookmaker.”
“FliWood!” Angelina, standing nearby, chimed in. “Bets on the death of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and more!”
– What?! – I was bursting with indignation. – What agreement, Merlin, Morgana and Gandalf?
“That one over there.” The boy gestured toward the faculty noticeboard. “A copy of it also hangs near the timetables in the main hall of Hogwarts. Clause five states: anyone directly or indirectly responsible for the death of a Defense of the Dark Arts professor is not entitled to payment of any winnings, as their actions are considered fraud and greed.”
– Wait. – I was confused for a second. – You mean to tell me that I killed Lockhart on purpose to earn 37 Galleons and 18 Sickles?! Are you serious?!
“Hellsing, listen,” Wood sighed heavily. “The rules are the same for everyone, and you’re no exception. Who killed the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?”
– I…
– Who violated the fifth clause of the public offer agreement?
– It turns out that I…
– Who is not entitled to receive winnings from a bet on a sportsbook?
– Yes, I get it, I get it. – Indignation gave way to curiosity. – Wood, why didn’t you tell me anything about this agreement before?
“I thought everyone knew,” the boy shrugged. “Besides, this official document is hanging in a prominent place and is certified by the Bookmaking Control Department of Wizarding Britain.”
“Does that mean I’m not entitled to any winnings either?” Hermione appeared to my right and looked expectantly at the cunning bookmaker.
“Of course! I don’t know all the details, but you were there together, which means you!” Wood poked a finger into the curly-haired girl’s chest. “An accomplice, and directly involved in the death of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Any other questions?”
“Grabber.” I muttered in response and turned to my friend. “Let’s go to the couch.”
“A tightwad and a bureaucrat!” Mia stuck her tongue out at the guy and silently headed toward our group’s meeting place.
“Hellsing, wait!” Oliver grabbed the hem of my robe. “Listen, don’t be offended, you understand that such a clause is absolutely necessary. Otherwise, some students will start a real hunt for professors for profit, but otherwise everything is fair and square.”
“I understand.” I exhaled. “Anything else?”
– Um… Yes. – The guy hesitated a little. – During the holidays, I consulted with Marcus and we added your name to the list of causes of death of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
– What?! – I stared at Wood in surprise. – Why the f…
“You’ve already killed two,” Oliver interrupted me. “First Quirrell, then Lockhart, and where there are two, there are three, you never know. Just be warned, you can’t bet on yourself and there will be no royalties for the professor’s death, so don’t waste your time.”
Unsure how to respond to such a statement, I nodded silently and returned to my friends just as silently. On our way to the Great Hall, the girls noticed my thoughtfulness and immediately pestered me with questions. I had to tell them that from now on, I was one of the possible causes of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor’s death. While Elvira and Hermione were outraged by such a blatant slander against my honest and good name, Ron and Justin were delighted. Those idiots, smugly grimacing, declared that next year they would definitely bet ten Galleons on me killing the new professor, whoever he turned out to be. And then they even started fantasizing and coming up with ways to kill the future suicide bomber: a bullet to the head, burning at the stake, or impaling the unfortunate man. I had no idea my friends were so bloodthirsty. Surely it was someone’s evil influence, but whose?
The Great Hall greeted me with the familiar hubbub of hundreds of voices and the clatter of cutlery, along with dozens of angry and hateful glances. Lockhart had many admirers who sincerely hated me for killing their idol and wished me the most painful death. The rumors that filled the ancient castle saved me from the vile attack and attempts at revenge. Diana’s version of me tearing out and eating the scribe’s heart turned out to be one of the most plausible and innocent. Last night before bed, Lavender told me such tall tales that I even wrote some down.
According to some versions, I tortured Lockhart on the rack for hours, and finally broke him on the wheel. Others claimed I flayed the professor alive, and the Aurors caught me sewing myself a new robe from it. But the most rabid claimed I scalped Lockhart and, placing his luxurious locks on my head like a wig, gnawed off his face, and made a scarf out of his intestines. My cannibalistic tendencies go without saying; two-thirds of the students now firmly believe I drink the blood of my enemies in the mornings and eat human flesh afterward. Yeah, I’ll have to tell Alucard; the old pervert will have a good laugh.
Chuckling and breaking into a wicked smile, I squared my shoulders and strode majestically toward our department’s table. Holding my nose in the air and glaring at my detractors as if they were filth, I leisurely took my seat. I wasn’t afraid or anxious; my mother had asked me to be quiet, of course, but if they tried to interfere, they’d get the full brunt. Pondering non-lethal methods for dealing with young fools, including rectal-thermal ones, I piled a plate full of food and began breakfast. After training, my appetite was as ravenous as ever, and I’d forgotten human meat at home, so I had to substitute bacon and sausages.
– Hmm… – I thoughtfully examined the sausage product impaled on my fork.
“Rigel, what did you see there that was so interesting?” Elvira’s interested voice came from the side.
– Oh, I just remembered an old joke. – I turned to the black-haired girl.
– Which one?
“Meat only gets into sausages and hot dogs when there’s an accident at the plant.” I bit off a third of a fried sausage with a cheerful smile.
“And I heard that at sausage factories…” Mia leaned forward slightly. “At night, rats crawl into the huge vats where they prepare the meat, and in the morning, the employees turn on these enormous meat grinders, and the squeaking of the rodents drowns out even the powerful engines.”
– Eww! Girls! – Justin, sitting opposite, turned green. – Actually, I eat! And I also have a very rich imagination… Eww! I once saw a butcher missing a finger…
“I’ve heard those stories,” Elvira shrugged calmly and devoured her sausage in a couple of bites. “Maria told me that this winter, a family of cannibalistic maniacs was arrested in Novosibirsk. They lured homeless people into their home and killed them, then ground their bodies into minced meat and baked them into belyashi, which they then sold at the train station.”
– Girls! – Pale Lavender shouted from the other side of the table. – Give me something to eat!
“Why are you all so impressionable?” Weasley, sitting opposite, shrugged in confusion. “Lavender, don’t pay any attention to it, it’s all lies. You’d be better off eating a meat pie; they’re especially tasty today.”
“Weasley…” Brown covered her mouth with her hand and turned away.
“Oh well.” Ron shrugged again and reached for the pastry. “I’ll get more. Jas, do you think this is pork or beef?”
“Mutton!” Finch-Fletchley, whose face was the colour of a fresh leaf of lettuce, slapped his friend on the back of the head.
– Hey! – The red-haired guy rubbed the top of his head. – For what?
“Guys, look at the teachers’ table.” Parvati’s voice interrupted the budding squabble. “Why do you think the Prince moved?”
I immediately turned my head, and indeed, the professors’ seating arrangements had changed. The Prince always ate at Dumbledore’s left, but today the grim and stern Potions Master sat at the very edge of the table. It wasn’t hard to determine the reason for this reshuffle. At the other end sat a black-haired, blue-eyed wizard, laughing merrily and openly flirting with an embarrassed and slightly blushing Aurora Sinistra. Sirius Black, smiling contentedly, was enthusiastically telling his new colleagues something, then, laughing, threw a piece of butter at the Head of Slytherin. The Prince flinched, brushed his hair, and glared at the temporary Defense of the Arts professor with hatred. He then buried his face in his plate and began eating his breakfast as quickly as etiquette allowed.
“There’s nothing to think about.” Weasley looked at the Potions Master with malicious glee. “I hope next time Black throws a dish or something heavier at him.”
– They went to Hogwarts at the same time. – I decided to put in my two pence. – And, to put it mildly, they were enemies.
– No… – Ron waved it off. – Dad told me that the Prince used to serve He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and was a Death Eater, and Black was in the Order of the Phoenix and fought on Dumbledore’s side. Do you understand?
“So, the school’s teaching staff is a former member of a radical terrorist organization.” Justin looked thoughtfully at the Slytherin head. “And now they’ve hired a militant from a different group, less terrorist and less radical, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. These gangs used to feud with each other, quite happily.”
“In fact, the Prince was Dumbledore’s spy. He deliberately gained He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s trust and passed on important information to the forces of light.” Lavender joined the discussion. “When the Death Eaters were being tried, the Headmaster personally defended our Potions professor.”
“It’s all bullshit.” Ron looked stubbornly at the blonde. “What kind of spy is that big-nosed freak? I’ll bet you a galleon that after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named disappeared, he ran to Dumbledore himself and gave up all his friends.”
“But what about the trial?!” Brown was indignant. “The Prince was tried and acquitted! Our director personally stood up for him! So it’s true and Professor Prince is a hero. Poor thing… I can’t even imagine… Risking his life every day and being surrounded by maniacs and murderers… Now I understand why he’s so gloomy… He’s been through so much…”
“And that’s why this greasy-haired jerk is now taking it out on the kids?” I looked skeptically at Lavender. “I don’t really believe he’s a hero.”
“People, there are fifteen minutes left before classes start.” Hermione’s stern voice interrupted the argument. “I wouldn’t want to be late on the first day of school.”
– What’s on our schedule now? – Weasley finished his glass of pumpkin juice in one gulp.
– Potions. – Was it just me or did Elvira’s voice sound malicious?
“Mordred…” The red-haired boy swore quietly. “He’s as angry as a dementor today, even angrier than usual… He’ll be picking on me and calling me names again…”
– Of course, Ron, and not just you. – I waved my hand at our group and got up from the table. – Nothing new, though.
The other boys followed my example, and we quickly headed for the exit, but we couldn’t leave the Great Hall peacefully. A dark-haired first-year Slytherin appeared in front of the gates, her angelic face contorted in a grimace of hatred and contempt. To make matters worse, this little fool pointed her wand at me.
“You vile murderer!” the girl hissed angrily. “Lockhart was a wonderful wizard, and you vilely killed him! You’re a vile, mad bitch…”
“Smack!” She didn’t have time to finish, because I suddenly stepped forward and gave her a loud and resounding slap.
I struck her with all my heart, so the vigilante collapsed onto the stone floor and stared at me in disbelief, rubbing her reddened cheek. Some might say that hitting children is wrong, but I disagree; it’s acceptable and even necessary for educational purposes. Little brats need to learn from an early age that they must be held accountable for their actions, and this girl got what she deserved. I grinned sarcastically and telekinetically lured her wand to me, then snapped the piece of wood in half. Tears began to well up in the Slytherin’s eyes, and I crouched down in front of her and looked into her brown eyes, where hatred was beginning to give way to fear.
– That bastard got what he deserved. – I grinned predatorily and whispered quietly. – If you get in my way or insult me again, I will rip out and eat your heart. – I sniffed theatrically and licked my lips. – I can hear it beating, how it pumps your warm blood… It’s so pure and delicious. But first, I’m going to gnaw on your sweet face. Do you want to meet your idol right now?
– N-no. – The girl shook her head and began to crawl away from me in horror.
“Miss Hellsing!” McGonagall’s irritated voice came from behind. “What’s going on here?!”
“Good morning, Professor.” I put on an innocent face and turned around. “A first-year Slytherin, unfortunately I don’t know her name, was in such a hurry to get to class that she tripped and fell. I just happened to be passing by and decided to help.” I turned to the little avenger and winked. “Was it the same?”
“Y-yes,” the little one shook and shook her head frantically. “P-Professor McGonagall, I fell and…” The girl sniffled. “My wand broke…”
“Miss Monkley, be more careful in the future.” Our head of house pursed her lips in displeasure. “I will inform Professor Prince of your problem, and he will contact your parents. I think you will visit Ollivander’s soon; they will buy you a new wand or repair your old one. So, collect the fragments and do not try to cast magic with them; it could be dangerous.” The woman looked at me, and her gaze warmed. “Miss Hellsing, five points to Gryffindor for helping a student from another house.”
– Thank you, Professor. – I smiled sweetly. – This is so unexpected.
“You deserve it, you deserve it.” McGonagall looked around at the students gathered around her. “Stop crowding around, hurry to class immediately, otherwise you’ll be late.”
I grabbed the whining girl by the scruff of her neck and yanked her to her feet, then handed her over to the Slytherin prefect who had just arrived. Smiling at the little one, causing her to hiccup, I hurried out of the Great Hall. I joined my friends in the central hall, and we cheerfully headed for the dungeons. Lavender and Parvati, of course, cast me disapproving glances, but said nothing. What was I supposed to do? I had neither the time nor the inclination to explain or reason with an eleven-year-old fool. As it was, she received a slap on the wrist and immediately calmed down.
The Potions classroom greeted us with an open door and a deathly silence inside. I entered first, quickly assessing the situation and eager to learn the Patronus Charm. It was all about the Prince, standing by the board and looking like an ugly, big-nosed Dementor. Even his robes were fluttering slightly, even though there was no draft in the room. I don’t know how the greasy-haired one managed it, but the classroom had become noticeably darker and cooler; even the walls were covered in frost, and my breath was steaming. Out of curiosity, I turned on my empathy and immediately switched it off, damn it. The Prince radiated a powerful cocktail of hatred, anger, despair, and hopelessness. It had never occurred to me that he hated Black so much, although… Lily Evans, and that says it all. But then the logical question arises: why the hell is Sirius still alive?! What, the Prince, damn his unwashed head, is a master of potions?! If the greasy-haired one had wanted it, he would have poisoned the flea-bitten one long ago! It’s beyond me…
“Miss Hellsing, do you require a special invitation?” My thoughts were interrupted by the quiet voice of the Head of Slytherin. “Or have the holidays lasted so long that you’ve forgotten which desk you sat at? Do you even remember that you came to Potions class?”
“Of course, Professor.” I smiled sweetly, causing the Prince to twitch his cheek. “Thank you for reminding me.”
“Then hurry up and take your seat,” the professor replied dryly. “The assignment is on the board, I hope you haven’t forgotten how to read over the holidays.”
I didn’t want to argue or bicker with a mean man with an inferiority complex, so I silently walked over to the table and immediately began laying out my tools. Mia sat down next to me and carefully studied the recipe for the new potion.
– Hmm… Cool stuff, – the girl whispered and hurried to the cupboard with ingredients. – I’ll make something like this for mom later.
A little surprised by my friend’s zeal, I laid the last silver knife on the table and read what was written on the board.
Having finished reading, I pulled out my diary, which looked more like a thick black notebook, and began taking notes on the Potion Master’s notes. After all, no matter how much of an asshole and jerk the Prince might be, his recipes are truly something special, and his commentary is especially helpful. Yes, it’s a bit offensive, but at least everything is clear and to the point. Even Dagworth, albeit reluctantly, confirmed that our professor had done a colossal job and improved almost every potion on the school curriculum. So I haven’t opened the Ministry-recommended literature for a long time now and religiously follow the instructions of one gloomy and perpetually dissatisfied genius.
Having copied down the useful information, I turned right and smiled at Mia, who was carefully laying out the ingredients. We’ve been working together for a long time, so we understand each other without words. I silently put the black notebook back in my school bag and began finely chopping the alihotsia leaves, while my friend kept an eye on the cauldron and placed the pipette with the smile nectar on a special stand. Although the recipe wasn’t complicated, you still need to be careful, especially when a bile-dripping dementor from AliExpress is circling nearby.
– Parkinson! – I heard the Prince’s angry hiss, but I didn’t look up from cutting up large green leaves.
“Yes, professor,” came the quiet, guilty voice of the brunette with the bob hair.
– Minus five points from Slytherin! – Even the burners started working quieter at these words. – For talking during class!
– Nott!
– Professor. – The boy’s voice was uncomprehending.
“Minus ten points from Slytherin!” Someone in the class gasped. “The spring water should have been collected in a clean bottle! What, were you collecting snot in it?!”
– No…
“Clean it up immediately!” the professor raised his voice. “Another ten points for uncleanliness and I’ll write a letter to your father today!”
– For what? – Theodore was indignant.
“For ignorance of the basics of such a precise and complex science as potion-making,” the greasy-haired man hissed, and then barked at the entire class. “Malfoy!”
“Professor,” the girl answered calmly.
– Minus fifteen points from Slytherin for less than perfect cutting of ingredients!
– Yes, professor.
I listened to the Prince’s screams and was quietly shocked. It was the first time I could remember him deducting points from his own house. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a mask of indifference on his face and realized he’d turned on Occlumency at full blast, but it wasn’t working. I glanced at this offended moron and fought the urge to call Victoria to calm this idiot down. Bitch, if you have a beef with Black, then go out and deal with him once and for all. If you’re not strong enough, poison him, you’re a master potion maker! No, we’ll take our anger out on the children. It’s so manly and heroic, as Lavender used to say. Meanwhile, our professor was only getting more and more heated.
– Potter! – There was genuine glee in the Prince’s voice. – Minus twenty points from Gryffindor!
– For what? – The bespectacled man was indignant.
“For mocking a valuable and rare ingredient.” The Prince’s whisper echoed through the silence of the classroom. “You cut the alihotsia leaves with your feet.”
– What do you mean? – Potter’s indignant cry was heard from behind. – I was holding a knife in my hands!
“Really?” Unable to resist, I turned around and saw feigned surprise on the greasy-haired man’s face. “Then minus ten more points from Gryffindor for not being able to handle the simplest of tools.”
– Good. – My brother looked defiantly at the Head of Slytherin. – Professor Snivel.
– OHHHHHHHH! – The Prince yelled and pointed at the door.
“As you say, Professor Snivel.” Potter broke into a satisfied smile and walked proudly out of the classroom.
– Longbottom! – The greasy-haired man turned his gaze to my brother’s chubby friend. – Minus three points from Gryffindor!
– What does this have to do with me? – Neville stared at the professor in confusion.
“One point for each of your chins,” the Prince chuckled. “Soon you won’t be able to look into your cauldron, and that’s against safety regulations.”
– Hellsing! – the greasy-haired man barked. – Minus ten points!
– And what did I do wrong? – My voice sounded quite quiet because of the respirator.
“To Muggle thinking!” The Prince beamed contentedly. “If you were a diligent witch, you would have learned the Head Bubble Charm long ago, instead of using that Muggle muzzle. Believe me, it doesn’t make you any more beautiful or attractive.”
– Thank you for your criticism, Professor. – I looked up from the cauldron. – I’ll definitely take it into account.
Our eyes met, and the bastard tried to look through my memories, only to run into my Occlumency shield. While the jerk was trying to bypass it or crack my mental defenses, I pulled up my last memory of Victoria—the one where she sat on Alucard’s lap in a see-through negligee. The prince immediately paled and broke eye contact, then glared at Ron with hatred.
– Weasley! – The Prince began to splutter. – Minus fifteen points! For not being able to read! The petals of the intoxicating marjoram must be thrown one at a time!
“Sorry, Professor,” the red-haired guy apologized and walked away from the cauldron.
“Mr. Weasley, you remind me of Russian dwarves, but with one caveat…” The professor shook his head and continued quietly. “With shorties, any potion always turns into moonshine, but with you, it turns into slop, understand?” The greasy-haired man began to raise his voice. “You don’t belong in this class.” “I already knew what would happen next.” “OHHHHHH!” the professor yelled, and Ron flew out of the classroom like a bullet.
That’s pretty much how the lesson went, by the end of which the Prince had deducted points from everyone, and he simply kicked out anyone who tried to protest. For what was probably the first time in Hogwarts history, the Slytherin and Gryffindor students walked together in a friendly crowd, setting aside their differences to discuss the hated Potions professor. Everyone understood that points were a big deal, but when you’re being deprived of them for breathing loudly or smiling too much, it’s too much. On the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts class, I even experienced a slight cognitive dissonance.
“Hellsing, maybe you should kill the Prince too?” Parkinson turned to me in a businesslike tone. “You hate him. I’ll write to my father, and he’ll pay you whatever you ask.”
“I second that!” Bulstrode came up behind him. “Rigel, kill our dean and my grandfather, a master of runic magic, will take you on as an apprentice, even give you a discount.”
“Why are you bowing before her?!” Zabini exclaimed, walking alongside. “That mutt of a crown won’t say a word without her Muggle mistress’s permission.”
“You ruined such a moment, bitch…” I sighed heavily and turned to Pansy and Millicent. “Girls, for once our houses are united, but one Italian asshole ruined the whole idyll.”
“Blaise, you’re an idiot.” The plump Slytherin waved her hand at the gypsy boy. “We won’t be visiting you at St. Mungo’s.”
At that moment, I picked up a small pebble from the floor and, using a willpower transfiguration, transformed it into a meter-long piece of rusty rebar, just like from a past life. Hefting the resulting “magic wand” in my hand, I silently pushed Diana aside and dropped its tip on the arrogant gypsy boy’s shoulder. When he fell, I continued striking him all over. Combat spells, a pistol, a machine gun, a telescopic baton, brass knuckles—what the heck! A piece of rusty steel rebar—that’s real magic! Each blow I struck was accompanied by cries of pain and despair, and sometimes the crunch of breaking bones, as their ancestral artifacts proved powerless against such a barbaric weapon. The Slytherins and Gryffindors ran off in shock and watched the execution with interest, while I continued to cripple the arrogant Italian with pleasure…
“Stop it!” Black let out a menacing cry and a powerful Stupefy threw me back several meters.
The flight wasn’t long, but I managed to brace myself and land on my feet, then looked at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Sirius was busily tending to Zabini’s bloody body and, judging by the movement of his wand, was administering first aid. A couple of minutes later, the Italian was breathing steadily, and the blood on the floor and clothes had disappeared. Only then did Black summon a house-elf in a lime-green pillowcase and send the injured man to the hospital wing.
“I have questions.” The new Defense against the Dark Arts professor straightened up and glared at the second-years gathered around him. “What happened here, and why didn’t anyone try to break up the fight?”
“Professor Black, Mr. Zabini brought this on himself,” Diana stepped forward with a sly smile on her face. “He insulted Miss Hellsing’s honor and dignity, and he paid for it.”
– Hmm… A good reason to beat a student with this… – Sirius nodded and telekinetically lured a piece of rebar. – Interesting.
The black-haired wizard examined the iron rod with interest and even weighed it in his hands, after which he dispelled the transfiguration and looked at me thoughtfully.
“Miss Hellsing, minus thirty points from Gryffindor for the fight in the corridor.” Black chuckled. “And plus ten points to Gryffindor for excellent Transfiguration and the creation of an original blunt weapon.”
“Thank you, Professor.” I nodded in response.
“You’re welcome.” The black-haired wizard broke into a satisfied smile. “Mind you, Miss Hellsing, next time I’ll deduct a hundred points and assign you detention for the rest of the school year. We’re wizards, not barbarians! The dueling platform is used to resolve disputes and disagreements. Is that clear?”
– Yes, professor. – I nodded again.
– Excellent. – Sirius clapped his hands. – Stop standing there, let’s get to class!
The students didn’t require much persuasion, especially since the performance had already ended, so we quickly headed to the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom. Stepping over the threshold and looking around, I was a little struck by Black’s laziness, as he hadn’t changed the classroom decor and left everything just as it had been under Lockhart. Even the blond author’s books remained on the bookshelves. The only thing the flea-bitten man had changed was the enormous portrait of Gilderoy slaying the evil monster. Well, not really changed, he simply draped a huge Gryffindor banner over it, the latter being slightly smaller, so everyone could see the gilded frame and the flashes of battle behind the red banner.
On my way to my seat at the front of the class, I spotted Ron and Justin engrossed in a game of Battleship, while Potter and Nott chatted idly. Apparently, the victims of the Prince’s repressions were bored wandering the empty school corridors, and Black had let them into the classroom early. Taking my place at the front, I began laying out my textbooks and writing utensils. Mia sat down next to me and did the same. After adjusting the feng shui on my desk, I began to study the new professor, who sat proudly behind the staff table.
Sirius hadn’t changed much since our last meeting: the same neat beard and mustache, long black hair down to his shoulders, and bright blue eyes. He wore a thick black robe and high dragonhide boots, which I noticed because he lounged languidly in a massive chair with his feet propped up on the desk. Another difference: Lockhart had a regular chair, but Sirius had opted for a more comfortable butt pad, which he settled into comfortably, smoking a cigar. The bell rang, and the flea-bitten professor briskly jumped up from his perch and strode forward.
“Hello, students,” the new professor greeted him with a smile. “My name is Sirius Black, and I’ll be teaching Defense of the Dark Arts for the rest of this school year. Unfortunately, your previous professor passed away suddenly.” The man looked at me dramatically and grinned. “Therefore, the board of governors has asked me to take over as professor on a temporary basis. I’ll tell you right away that I have no teaching experience, but I’ll do my best and I hope you’ll help me. After all, it’s you who’ll be taking the exams, not me.”
“Of course, Professor,” the bespectacled man’s satisfied voice came from behind. “You can rely on us.”
“Thank you, Mr. Potter, plus ten points to Gryffindor for the warm welcome.” Black nodded. “Let me tell you briefly about myself. I was a Gryffindor, after graduating from Hogwarts I fought against the Death Eaters, and when the war ended, I went to study in Germany, where I achieved the title of Master of Combat Magic.”
“Professor Black, will you continue to lead the dueling club?” Finnigan asked.
“Unfortunately, no.” The dark-haired man shook his head. “It was Lockhart’s idea, and I have enough on my plate. Don’t forget, I’m only here for a couple of months.” The class slumped. “Now, now, don’t be upset! I am a battle mage, after all, and I’ll do my best to share my knowledge with you in such a short time. So my classes will be minimally scribbled and maximally hands-on. Especially since we have this in the class!”
Black clicked his fingers dramatically, and several bright white lights lit up above the dueling platform in the corner of the room. The professor extended his hand leisurely, and a class register flew into his hand, opening it almost to the last page.
“I’ve studied Lockhart’s notes and what can I say?” Sirius looked up from his journal and surveyed the students with a satisfied smile. “You’re quite ahead of the curriculum; we only have Thibault and Avanca left to study. I suggest we leave these creatures until the end of May, and then we’ll review the rest. I’d like you to pass your exams with flying colors.”
– Professor, ah… – Diana tried to ask a question, but Black interrupted her.
“We’ll be practicing dueling for the next couple of months!” Sirius grinned widely. “And yes, Miss Malfoy, plus ten points to Slytherin for your curiosity.”
The class buzzed with excitement, and Black returned the magazine to its place and broke into a sly smile, after which he looked at me.
“I suggest we start with Miss Hellsing. We’ve all seen her ability with a fist recently, so let’s see what she’s worth as a sorceress. And her opponent will be…” Black thought theatrically. “Harry Potter!”
– Yes! Professor! – My brother jumped up and practically ran onto the dueling platform.
Unlike the bespectacled man, I took my time and calmly rose from my chair, then removed my robe and began disarming. The pink MP-5 with its mountings landed first on the desk, followed by the harness with spare magazines, the telescopic baton, and the grenade belt. After some thought, I decided to keep the bulletproof vest and, smiling at my best friend, took a step toward the platform.
“Miss Hellsing, why did you take off your robe?” Black looked me over thoughtfully from head to toe.
– It’s more convenient this way, professor.
“Miss Hellsing, ten minutes of points for not understanding basic things.” Sirius came up close to me. “Miss Hellsing, why do you think wizards still wear robes? Or, as Muggleborns say, robes?”
“It’s wide and you can hide a lot under it.” I glanced at my arsenal. “But it’s not particularly convenient in combat.”
“Miss Hellsing, I understand that you live among Muggles and don’t know things that are obvious to wizards. So allow me to explain a few things to you, and it might be useful for the others to listen, too.” Black adopted a didactic tone. “Let me begin by saying that all robes, even the cheapest ones, are made of magical fabrics and soaked in a special potion. This makes them easily enchanted and easy to embroider with runes. The robes of an experienced and skilled wizard are not only a wardrobe item that protects against the elements, but also a reliable defense against a multitude of spells.”
– I understood…
“I haven’t finished!” the black-haired man interrupted me. “Now I’ll explain why wizards prefer to duel in robes.” Black extended his arm, and the tip of his wand appeared from his sleeve. “Thanks to long, wide sleeves, opponents can’t see your hand movements and can’t predict the spell you’re about to use. Besides that,” Sirius jerked his hand, and the edges of his robe began to float, as if underwater, “the robe can hide your other movements as well, thus further misleading your opponent. Is that clear?”
The students in the class nodded in unison, and the newly minted professor strode toward the platform. I disagreed with Black’s opinion, as robes often get in the way in a real fight, but I didn’t argue. Throwing on my familiar robe, I quickly overtook the flea-bitten one and jumped onto the dueling platform. At the sight of Potter’s satisfied, grinning face, several spell combinations immediately popped into my head: I won’t kill him, but I’ll definitely send him to St. Mungo’s for a week.
“Now about the rules,” Black approached us and gestured for the rest of the students. “No combat or potentially lethal spells! Stupefy and Petrificus Totalus at most. No dark curses!”
– How can we fight then? – I looked at the flea-bitten one in bewilderment.
“Miss Hellsing, this is a mock duel and I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” Sirius broke into a sly smile. “I want to see your magical skills and abilities. Real wizards defeat their opponents with a wand, not an iron rod. You are a real witch, right?”
“Yes, Professor.” I nodded in response and stood at attention.
– That’s great, Mister Potter, are you ready? – My brother also nodded and got ready. – Excellent. Bow, one, two, three, fight!
I barely had time to put up a shield before Harry immediately started raining spells down on me. Potter cast incredibly fast and his spells were incredibly powerful. My Protego was barely holding up and constantly had to be refilled. Occasionally, I’d slash back with Stupefy spells, but my brother lazily deflected them with his mirror shield. Honestly, I was at a loss and didn’t understand what to do in this duel; even in our sparring sessions with Hermione, we always used lethal spells. I so wanted to use one of my practiced spell combinations and end this duel, but they all contained Dark or lethal spells. I tried slashing back with a semblance of Stupefy, Petrificus, and Expelliarmus, but it wasn’t the best idea.
As soon as I lowered my shields and fired three multicolored beams at the bespectacled boy, I slipped on the ice that appeared under my feet and fell backward. I tried to get up, but my legs started dancing, and my wand was torn from my hands. Damn, I’ve never lost so shamefully. Using a wandless Finite, I threw off Tarantallegra and jerked to my feet, looking around. Many of the boys were looking admiringly at Potter, who was bowing dramatically to the audience, and Black even started applauding his godson.
– Mr. Potter wins! – Sirius raised his voice. – Miss Hellsing, would you like to take revenge?
“I wish.” I nodded and telekinetically lured my magic wand.
“Well then.” The new professor shrugged. “Up to five victories. Mr. Potter, Miss Hellsing, in position.”
Naturally, I lost all five duels to Potter, and miserably so. My brother knew a huge number of spells and turned out to be a very skilled duelist. If I had to kill him, I would have done it without any problem, but I had to defeat him, and that became a problem. I was trained as a fighter from childhood, and in that field, efficiency and results are important, not wand-waving. What use are Tarantallegra and tickling charms when you have Sego and the bone-crushing charm? Why make your opponent dance when you can cut off their head? It’s easier and faster.
Unfortunately, Black and most of the students had a different opinion. Under mocking glances, I descended from the dueling platform and watched the applause for the invincible Potter. My friends rushed to console me, and Mia went so far as to declare that dueling was complete nonsense and that these skills were absolutely useless in a real fight. I completely agreed with her, especially after watching the next duel between Nott and Longbottom, but it still felt a little disappointing. No, it’s not that, I’m just not used to losing. So I went to my next lesson rather gloomy and upset. Potter especially irritated me; he spent the entire way to Charms lecturing about how easily he’d defeated the formidable Hellsing. I had an overwhelming urge to punch his smug face, but thanks to Occlumency, I held back.
My mood improved slightly during Charms, thanks to Flitwick. The little professor greeted us with a cheerful smile and a cheerful mood that quickly spread to the students. The topic of the lesson was Impervius, also known as the Water Resistance Charm. Once all the students had learned it, the half-goblin gave the command and, clapping his hands and laughing, watched as we doused each other with Aguamenti.
This cheerful activity finally calmed me down, and I even came up with a way to put my arrogant brother in his place. The bell rang, signaling the end of the lesson, but I was in no hurry to leave the bright and cozy classroom. After waiting until almost everyone had exited into the hallway, I approached the Charms professor’s desk.
– Professor Flitwick, – I quietly addressed the half-goblin. – Can I ask you something?
“Miss Hellsing, I’m listening carefully.” The little professor looked at me with interest. “Did something happen?”
– Yes and no. – I hesitated a little. – Can you give me a few lessons in the art of dueling?
– Why? – The half-goblin was genuinely surprised.
“She lost a practice duel to Potter today,” Hermione came up to us. “So she’s worried.”
“Miss Hellsing?” Flitwick looked at me questioningly.
– Yes, Professor. – I lowered my head. – Today I realized that I am completely incapable of dueling.
“It’s more like you’re not used to losing,” the half-goblin grumbled. “I certainly approve of your initiative, but I have to refuse.”
– Why?
“Because I don’t want to ruin a natural-born fighter!” Flitwick exclaimed. “Miss Hellsing, are you trying to send all your mentors’ hard work down the drain?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Remember, young ladies, duelists are only good on the platform; in real combat, they die first!” The professor began pacing in front of us. “What good does it do him to know several hundred spells if this idiot stands frozen in place like a statue, pondering what tricky thing to do to his opponent? Rigel, Hermione,” the half-goblin adopted a paternal tone. “Trust me, an old man who’s been through two wars and seen many deaths, I understand roughly what you’re being trained for, and duels have no place there.”
– But professor… – I tried to be indignant.
“And consider Mr. Black’s lessons just another training session,” Flitwick winked mischievously. “Practice your mirror shields and see how many times you could kill your opponent in a fight. Miss Hellsing, in the future, most wizards will fight you exactly like this. And why bother with all these complicated combinations when you have a gun?”
“You’re right, professor, thank you.” I smiled back. “A bullet flies faster than Avada.”
– Exactly! – The half-goblin grinned contentedly. – I’m glad you understood that, and now I suggest we go to lunch. Roast beef and chops won’t eat themselves.
“I second that,” Mia chimed in and was the first to turn toward the exit.
– Professor, how did you become a duelist? – Already in the corridor, I decided to clarify something with the professor.
“Oh, it’s more from idleness,” the half-goblin waved it off. “But if you’re interested, listen. I was already a master of charms back then, and one day, while drinking with a friend…”
Listening to this interesting story, I thought Flitwick was right and that dueling with Potter was a great way to practice shielding and reflexes. I also considered reining Black in a bit; I really didn’t appreciate his snide comments and mocking gaze today. After my fourth defeat, the flea-bitten one practically called me a wand-wielding Muggle and dramatically lamented my meager skills and abilities. But how? How can I put this slouching dog in his place? But I’ll think about that later; as they say, war is war, but lunch is on schedule.
“Miss Smith, sometimes I doubt your intelligence.” Elvira felt the Prince’s piercing gaze on her. “Are you so stupid that you can’t remember how to properly trim the thorns of an ice rose?”
“Sorry, teacher,” the girl answered quietly and intercepted the thorny stem.
“The best apology would be the proper preparation of a rare and valuable ingredient,” the Potions Master hissed angrily. “One more remark and you’ll be scrubbing the dirtiest cauldrons until morning.”
Elvira didn’t reply and continued working. After Black’s appointment as professor, the Prince had become completely unbearable, and for the past three weeks, he’d been harassing the girl every day with his nagging and insults. The other students had also noticed the change in the professor’s mood and tried to avoid his presence. But today, the young necromage wasn’t thinking about the spiteful, caustic Potions Master or the new, idiotic Defense of the Arts professor. All her thoughts were focused on a single black notebook, which she’d seen today in the hands of a girl who had long since become her friend.
Thanks to her necromancer’s gift, she sensed her true nature for a split second, but never managed to tell Rigel. As luck would have it, the owner of the dark artifact was constantly nearby, and after lunch, she hurried to the Prince’s classes. Of course, she could have called on the Miraclephone, but Diana was sitting next to her, and the Prince was sitting across from her. So Elvira hurried to finish and tell Hellsing the coveted name.
“Hmm… I don’t even want to pour this swill on your head.” The prince scrutinized Elvira’s finished potion. “Miss Smith, you’re not as hopeless as you seem.”
“Thank you, teacher.” The girl nodded in response.
“Let’s get things in order and then we’re free to go!” The Potion Master waved his hand and, with a flutter of his robe, quickly returned to his place.
The girls quickly tidied up their workspace and just as quickly left the abode of the spiteful and bilious teacher. Crabbe and Goyle were already waiting for their friends outside the door. The Prince’s classes always ended quite late, and the burly boys always escorted the girls to the common rooms. After a quick farewell to Diana, Elvira hurried to Gryffindor Tower in Goyle’s company.
“Smith, where are you going in such a hurry?” Gregory tried to joke. “There’s a women’s restroom upstairs, you go ahead and I’ll guard the door.”
“No, Goyle, I’m just tired and want to go to bed early today.” The girl yawned dramatically.
“I understand,” the guy replied. “I haven’t gotten any sleep myself for the last week…”
Elvira turned to her suddenly silent friend, and a chill ran down her spine as he froze in place, followed by her own paralysis. Only then did the young Gryffindor hear the soft click of heels and the rustle of robes behind her. Suddenly, Gregory jerked his head up, and at that moment, a graceful, girlish hand appeared from behind him and poured a few drops of the foul-smelling potion into his mouth. The broad-shouldered boy gulped and fell dead to the floor.
“Elvira, I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.” Her friend stepped forward and looked guiltily into her eyes. “I can’t let Hellsing find out and ruin my plans.”
“She’ll find out anyway.” The Gryffindor realized she could speak. “And then…”
“I’ll be far away from here by now,” the possessed girl smiled warmly. “Elvira, I promise you won’t be hurt. You’ll fall into a deep sleep now and sleep until the end of June. I truly don’t want to harm you, after all, every drop of magical blood is precious.”
– Ah… – Smith wanted to ask another question, but she was interrupted again.
“Don’t worry, I’ll leave this vessel unharmed.” Her friend tapped her temple. “Her mind will be fine too. By the way, how did you guess?”
“I felt it,” Elvira answered dryly.
“How could I forget your gift as a necromage?” The girl standing opposite continued to smile warmly. “Farewell, I hope our next meeting won’t be marred by such terrible circumstances. You truly are a smart and talented witch, and I’ll be glad to see you among my followers.”
Elvira was about to reply, but the girl across from her deftly stepped forward and poured a few drops of the vile-tasting potion into her mouth. Reflexively, the girl swallowed the resulting saliva and sank into darkness…
