Chapter 34
After dinner, the girls and I gathered in our room. It was small and round, but quite cozy. So, as I settled on my bed with a mug of hot chocolate, I had a perfect view of my classmates. Lavender and Parvati were already in their pajamas, Hermione and I were still in our school uniforms, and Elvira was in a light blue tracksuit.
“Who’s first? Go ahead, don’t be shy.” I glanced at the girls and took a big sip of chocolate. It was delicious.
“Let me begin!” Brown raised her hand, as if in class, and, after we nodded, continued. “My name is Lavender Brown, I’m eleven years old, and I live with my mother. I love the color pink, I adore Witchweek, and I dream of becoming its editor-in-chief.”
The girl paused and took a few sips of the hot drink, then nodded to herself and continued:
“My dad was killed by Death Eaters when my mom was pregnant with me. My dad held a senior position in the Aurors at the time. My mom was so scared they might come for her too, she and my grandmother hid under a Fidelius Curse until He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s death.” Lavender took a breath and continued sadly, “My dad’s parents refused to hide and were killed too. My grandmother died two years ago, so Mom and I are the only ones left of the Brown family. If I can’t get a job at Witchweekly, I’ll join the D.M.P. That’s why I was sorted into Gryffindor. My idol is Amelia Bones, a strong-willed woman who’s been running the D.M.P. for over ten years!”
“Now it’s my turn,” Patil said, drawing attention to herself after five minutes of silence. “My name is Parvati, and I have a twin sister, Padma, who was sorted into Ravenclaw. My sister and I have lived in London since we were little. Our father runs the Indian Ministry of Magic, but things are not peaceful there, so we moved to the metropolis. My sister dreams of studying magic and becoming a scientist, but I think that’s boring. I dream of opening my own beauty salon or fashion studio. And I adore Witch City, too.”
Brown and Patil smiled contentedly at each other. It seemed like two fashionistas had met, and I’d have to give them some magazines. I have a whole stack of Vogue and Glamour magazines from the last couple of years in my suitcase. I was sure they’d come in handy. I also leaf through those magazines; they’re full of interesting ideas and often feature original outfits. I’m a girl, though I prefer Patriot and Military Review, so we’ll continue to get to know each other.
“My name is Elvira Smith.” It was our shy girl’s turn, and she sighed heavily before speaking. “They gave me my last name at the shelter. I don’t remember my parents very well; I was five years old when they abandoned me. I think my dad worked in a bank, and my mom was a housewife. When I was four, the neighbor’s dog lunged at me; it was really big, and I got scared. The dog was literally torn to pieces and died. My mom was very worried and even took me to church. There, they told her it was a gift from the Creator, and when I turned eleven, they would take me to a special school where they would teach me how to control this gift…”
Smith sobbed and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket; the memories were hard for the girl to bear. Elvira took a sip of hot chocolate, paused for a moment, and continued sharing her childhood:
“After that, Mom and Dad were afraid of me, they even put a lock on my room and often locked me in there… Alone… Then Grandma gave me a hamster, Fluffy was so cute.” Smith took another sip of chocolate, and I levitated a plate of cookies for her, to which the girl nodded gratefully: “Then Dad accidentally stepped on him and Fluffy died. I so badly wanted the hamster to live again. Fluffy came to life, but like some kind of zombie, he immediately squealed angrily and rushed to bite Dad, I asked him to stop and he listened. That evening, I was locked in my room again, and Fluffy was burned in the fireplace. The next day, Mom packed my things, and Dad took me to Liverpool, where he gave me to the Strawberry Field shelter. He even refused to leave me his last name… The orphanage was very large, we lived ten to a room, but I never made friends… The other children avoided me, and the teachers often punished me… It was probably all because of the magic, they felt that I was different… It would have been better if I had been ordinary…
The girl burst into tears, and the four of us rushed to calm her down. While Hermione held Smith close and Lavender chirped soothing nonsense, I looked at the poor girl and tried to figure out how to help her. I’ll call Mom this evening and have her transferred to St. Ursula’s. Then, when Brown and Pattil are out of the room, I’ll take inventory of her things and order the missing ones from Mom. Mine won’t fit; I’m more than a head taller than her, and Hermione is also big, almost a year older. Okay, we’ll see. She seems to have calmed down.
“My name is Hermione Granger,” my friend began as we settled back into bed. “My parents are ordinary people and work in the medical field. I met Rigel at school, and we’ve been best friends ever since! I love math, ancient runes, and complex calculations, as well as fencing and charms. I enjoy beautiful magic, and my dream is to advance science, to combine mundane technology with magic. Maybe I’ll create my own research institute, hmm… That’s an idea!”
“We’ll definitely think of something later.” I smiled at Hermione and turned to the girls. “My name is Rigel Hellsing. Hermione and I are best friends, we’ve been friends since early childhood. I also love fashion magazines and am interested in sewing, knitting, and creating all sorts of beautiful trinkets.”
I raised my left arm and pulled down my sleeve, showing the girls my matching stone bracelet. I’ve been secretly making one for Hermione, even thinking up a way to tie it to mine. After all, her birthday is coming soon, and I’ve already planned the celebration; Mom approved. Lavender and Parvati appreciated the bracelet; although it’s a bit rough around the edges, it’s still an artifact! It’s unique, and there’s definitely no other like it.
“I also enjoy hand-to-hand combat, and I’m into combat magic and ancient runes.” I thought for a second. “And I dream of becoming a master artificer. Maybe I’ll find a good teacher after I graduate from Hogwarts.”
“I see. Rigel, I’m sorry, but all these rumors…” Lavender waved her hand in the air. “Well, about your family hating wizards, about you being ready to burn all the mages at the stake tomorrow, about hundreds of wizards languishing in the cellars of your estate… Is that true?”
“Who told you such nonsense…” I couldn’t help but laugh, but Patil and Brown looked at me completely seriously: “These rumors are complete nonsense! Hellsing is the Crown’s avenging sword, and as long as the magical world adheres to the Statute, we have no intention of attacking anyone. The Order is made up of wizards, so we don’t hate all mages. Don’t confuse us with the Inquisition. Our family has served the Crown for centuries, and before the Statute was adopted, we collaborated with other magical families.”
– I see. – Lavender decided something in her head and smiled warmly at me: – And what fashion magazines do you like?
– I’ll show you now! – I threw back the lid of the suitcase and climbed inside.
The rest of the evening was quite fun, with the whole crowd comparing wizard and mundane fashion. It was especially fun to watch Brown and Patil blush at the sight of swimsuit models—for wizards, that’s pure pornography. Heh-heh, I have a couple of Maxims; tomorrow morning I’ll quietly leave them in the living room and see how the noble heirs react.
Before bed, I called my mom and told her about Smith. She promised to take care of the girl. I also reassured Hermione; she’d been burning with curiosity ever since leaving Filch. While the girls were in the shower, I told her about the Marauder’s Map. “Tomorrow we’ll find a secluded corner and check it out…” With these thoughts in my mind, I fell asleep.
***
The morning began as usual: we woke up at six and headed out for exercise and training. By the time we stumbled into the room, sweaty and cheerful, our roommates were already awake. Today, Brown hadn’t forgotten to set her alarm. After quickly throwing our gym clothes into a special hamper, we headed to the shower.
Today the common room was livelier and quieter; the older students were gathering in small groups and heading to breakfast. The girls and I were sitting on the soft sofa, waiting for the boys; they were late again. Ron and Justin appeared on the stairs, followed by Potter and Longbottom, and Thomas and Finnigan brought up the rear. Weasley was busily telling Finch-Fletchley something; my brother followed them, grinning nastily as he drew his wand. Potter whispered something, and Weasley started to fall. Justin managed to grab his friend and prevent him from counting the steps with his face.
“Careful, Weasel, the steps are slippery today,” Harry said and laughed heartily. Neville and the two sixes joined in the laughter of the wizarding world’s star.
– Oh, you! – Ron was about to rush at Potter, but the prefect stopped him.
Percy quickly lined us up in pairs and led us to breakfast. I looked at my brother and couldn’t understand how he could be such an asshole. Maybe he’d grow up and come to his senses? Although, the latter was unlikely. I also noticed that he was pointedly ignoring me, and when he thought I wasn’t looking, he studied me thoughtfully. What the hell was going on in his head?
We arrived for breakfast fairly quickly and began eating. I helped myself to everything, and a generous helping. While eating, I leisurely looked at my classmates; almost everyone was eating silently, lost in their own thoughts. I checked the schedule again; today we had double Potions with Slytherin, then Defense Against the Dark Arts, and after lunch, History of Magic.
“Ready for potions?” I asked my friend and received a satisfied nod in response.
– With the slugs again! – Ron sat opposite and began to get indignant: – And potions too! The brothers told me that the Prince is a real bastard! He hates Gryffindor and always favors his snakes, he’s a bad person, that’s all!
“Your brothers might be biased,” I answered Weasley. “You shouldn’t rely on other people’s opinions, he might be a normal teacher.”
Ginger didn’t answer, just shrugged. Robins gathered all the first-years and led us to the dungeons, where the Potions classroom was located. The corridors of the lower floors were quite spacious, though gloomy due to the lack of lighting. Flaming torches hung at intervals of a few meters, but they gave little light. At the end of the path, there was a wooden door, darkened by time and reinforced with iron plates for added strength. About a minute later, the Slytherins appeared, led by a tall, thin man. He eyed us with disdain, his gaze lingering on me, and then silently departed. I didn’t like him; I instinctively checked the MP5 under my robes; if threatened, I would use lethal force.
Before we could even say hello, the door swung silently open, inviting everyone inside. The office was very spacious and gloomy; a few small windows and a couple of candle-lit chandeliers under the stone ceiling provided little light. It was also quite chilly. Two-person desks were arranged in two rows, with a large teacher’s desk at the far end, behind which hung a wooden chalkboard that took up almost the entire wall. Immediately by the entrance were several large cabinets filled with ingredients; judging by the runes on the walls, everything inside was in stasis. As we finished looking around and began to take our seats, another door opened slowly with a sickening creak, and the Terror of the Dungeons—as almost every Hogwarts student calls him—emerged from his chambers.
Severus Prince turned out to be a rather tall and wiry man, but he evoked disgust and revulsion. His long black hair hung down to his shoulders in greasy, dirty icicles, contrasting with his pale face, with its enormous nose and thin lips, which seemed sickly. The image was completed by his almost black eyes, which glared at us with malice and hatred. Hmm… This man had nothing in common with Alan Rickman; he was completely different. His dossier turned out to be quite interesting.
Sererus’s mother, Eileen Prince, is the youngest daughter in the family; she ran away from home immediately after graduating from Hogwarts. Her father wanted to marry her off to the elder Rosier, who was three hundred and three years old at the time and had already outlived seven wives. In London, she met a tall, handsome man named Tobias Snape, who turned out to be a wizard and worked as chief engineer at a weapons factory in Cokeworth. This town is considered very promising and prosperous, with numerous orders from the Ministry of Defense, and almost the entire population works at the local munitions factory. Eileen lied to Tobias, claiming she was a refugee from Europe and that her documents had been stolen. He used all his connections and quickly helped her with the matter, and they soon began a whirlwind romance, married, and then little Severus was born.
Snape earned a very good income, and after their wedding, they moved into a new, large, two-story house, also in Cowcourt. According to colleagues and neighbors, Tobias was a model family man and flew home after work as if on wings. He was never known to be a drunk, and they had medical checkups at the factory every morning. In short, they were the perfect family.
When Severus was four, Eileen learned that Rosier Sr. had finally died, and while her husband was at work, she packed her things and returned to the wizarding world with her son. At first, the elder Prince wouldn’t even let her in, especially since she’d given birth to a pitiful Squib, bringing shame on the family. She then went to the Malfoys. It’s unclear exactly what she promised the widower, Abraxas, but there are rumors. She and her son then lived at Malfoy Manor for about a year, until Lord Prince thawed and allowed his daughter home.
Tobias Snape spent two years searching for his missing wife and son, until the detectives he hired reached the wizarding world. He visited Diagon Alley and even found the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. There, he went to the Ministry of Magic, where they explained in detail that he was a pathetic Squib and that his wife was the heir to a noble family. So, get out of here before they wiped his memory, and most importantly, don’t tell anyone. He then regularly visited Diagon Alley for about a year, sending letters to his wife, but he never received a reply. Tobias never remarried and died under mysterious circumstances. The pathologist reported multiple ruptures and muscle contractions throughout his body, leading to cardiac arrest due to pain shock, but found no external signs of torture.
Until his sixth year, Prince was a quiet and calm boy who made no friends, but the half-blood was left alone in his house, with Lucius Malfoy standing by his side. He spent a lot of time with the Muggle-born Lily Evans, and there were even rumors of an engagement. Prince wasn’t an heir, although his grandfather acknowledged him, but he didn’t consider him a full-fledged wizard. He also frequently beat up or, on the contrary, thrashed the four Gryffindors; Prince didn’t ask for help, and Slytherin didn’t interfere. At the end of his fifth year, Evans abruptly changed his behavior and cut off all contact with the Slytherin. After breaking up with Lily, the boy also changed: he became deeply embittered, often seen in the company of blood purist fanatics. Even Potter and Black abandoned him. The boy became excessively cruel and aggressive, and stopped wandering the corridors alone. In his seventh year, the Prince joined the ranks of the Death Eaters, and after graduating from Hogwarts, the Malfoys found him a master teacher.
The Prince joined the inner circle even before achieving the rank of Master Potion Master. Rumor has it that killing his own father was a test, a way to prove his loyalty to the Dark Lord. The brat then participated in a few raids, but mostly brewed potions for the organization. After achieving the rank, he was no longer allowed to go on combat missions. A Master Potion Master is a very valuable asset to throw away. And when the bastard killed Harry and me and the Death Eater trials began, Dumbledore himself stood up for the Prince. The old man told everyone that Severus was his spy in the enemy camp and had made an invaluable contribution to the victory of the Light, without, of course, specifying what he had done. Since then, the Prince has worked at Hogwarts and rarely leaves the castle. According to all his former students, the Prince is a complete bastard and a vindictive creature. We’ll find out. I have another guess, but I’d have to ask Dumbledore personally.
With these thoughts in mind, Hermione and I took the last desk in the right row. The others began to take their places as well, but the teacher stopped everyone with a gesture and, like a conductor, began seating everyone in an order he understood only. Potter ended up at the same table with Thomas, Longbottom with Finnigan, Weasley with Brown, and Justin with Parvati. The Head of Slytherin looked at Elvira and gestured to the first desk, where Diana Malfoy sat. He also seated his students in a specific order. Remarkably, he didn’t even glance at Mia and me.
Then the teacher dramatically waved the hem of his black robe and, turning sharply, walked to the desk. He hadn’t said a word the entire time, and the classroom was deathly silent—the man knows how to maintain discipline. With another wave of his robe, the Prince sat down at the desk and, with a sharp, crunching sound, opened the register and began the roll call. He grimaced at the name Potter, and when my brother stood up with a satisfied smirk, the Potions Master’s mask of composure cracked and he looked at Harry with such malice and hatred that even I was overcome. Maybe I should recommend a good psychologist? A child isn’t to blame for his father’s sins, especially since James Potter died almost ten years ago.
At my last name, the Prince’s face looked like he’d swallowed a whole lemon, but with empathy, I felt annoyance, resentment, and a hint of guilt. So my guess was right! You, bitch, brought me to the Dursleys! Okay, calm down, how was it? “A defendant is presumed innocent until proven guilty according to law and established by a final and binding court verdict.” I’ll ask Beard first, and then I’ll pass judgment.
The Potions Master finished the roll call and abruptly slammed his journal shut with a loud thud. The students in the front row jumped in surprise. The Prince slowly stood up and, placing his hands on the table, began to slowly examine us, then spoke very quietly:
“You are here to study the science of preparing magical potions and concoctions. A very precise and subtle science,” the professor said, almost in a whisper. “Stupid waving of a magic wand has nothing to do with this science, and many of you will find it hard to believe that my subject is an important component of magical science! I do not think that you are capable of appreciating the beauty of a slowly simmering cauldron, emitting the subtlest scents, or the soft power of liquids that make their way through a person’s veins, enchanting their minds, enslaving their senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, how to brew triumph, how to cork death. But all this only on the condition that you are somehow different from the herd of blockheads who usually come to my lessons.
Just like in the movie, word for word. Apparently he’d rehearsed this speech well and gives it every year. The classroom was deathly silent, and the professor eyed us angrily, then his gaze settled on Harry.
“Potter!” the prince barked loudly and slammed his palm on the table. Many students jumped, and my brother slowly and languidly stood up, looking at the professor with a smirk and superiority. Apparently, Black told his godson about some of his “pranks.”
“What do I get if I mix rat tails with fern leaves and simmer them over low heat?” The professor looked closely at the black-haired Gryffindor.
“I don’t know.” Potter put his hands in his pockets and answered the teacher with a grin: “I thought you were going to tell us that. Today is our first lesson and you haven’t taught us anything yet.”
“Minus one point from Gryffindor for the teacher’s insolence.” The prince glared at his offender’s son. “Second attempt, Potter, where will you look for the bezoar?”
– Well, I don’t know… – Harry began to rock from heel to toe – I’ll call the house-elf, although my godfather taught me to check food for all sorts of potions.
“Two points from Gryffindor for ignorance of basic principles!” The professor was already starting to shake. “Rat tails and fern leaves are used to make Ridgeback Potion, and a bezoar is a universal antidote extracted from the stomachs of mountain goats. Bezoars are also sold at any pharmacy, and every self-respecting wizard carries one in their pocket! Potter, write this down; maybe it will make it easier for you to remember this information.”
“As you say, Professor Nunius!” my brother replied sarcastically. Did I imagine it or did I hear the professor grind his teeth?
“What did you call me?” The prince quickly approached Potter and literally loomed over him. If looks could kill, Harry would already be dead.
– Isn’t your name Professor Snivellus? – The impudent Gryffindor feigned surprise and looked cheerfully at the professor. – My godfather, Sirius Black, always calls you that, so I’m used to it.
“Just as impudent, ill-mannered, and arrogant…” The Prince was literally shaking with rage. “Minus ten points from Gryffindor for insulting a teacher and two weeks of detention! I hope you enjoy scrubbing cauldrons.”
– Okay, Professor Nu… – Potter shut up under the hateful gaze.
“Three weeks of detention!” The professor smiled maliciously. “For you, Potter, I will prepare the dirtiest cauldrons and the minimum of cleaning products.”
“Okay, sir.” The sad star of the magical world sat down, and the professor began to look around the class angrily.
“Hellsing!” the insecure something barked as its gaze lingered on me. I quickly stood up. “What’s the difference between wolfsbane and a monk’s hood?”
“Nothing, Professor.” I looked at the professor’s face and felt him trying to read my surface thoughts. The bitch. I imagined him burning at the stake, screaming in pain. I pushed the image beyond my shields and continued. “It’s the same plant, also called aconite. It’s used to make Wolfsbane Antidote and Awakening Potion, sir.”
“Five points to Gryffindor for a complete answer,” the pale Prince replied quietly, and with a wave of his robes, he moved toward his desk.
The professor sat down, waved his wand, and a recipe for a potion for boils and pimples appeared on the board. The students stared blankly at the teacher, unsure what he wanted, and only when Diana Malfoy silently headed for the ingredients cabinet did everyone realize what they needed to do.
My friend and I immediately pulled out special thin gloves and white lab coats from our bags, and several other students followed suit, including Malfoy, Greengrass, and Brown. Magical hairpins on our heads will prevent hair from falling into the cauldron. Today, I braided Hermione’s unruly mane into a tight plait, and she gave me two cute pigtails. Our hair is long and falls below our shoulder blades; wearing it loose among wizards is considered bad form and a sign of debauchery. Respect other people’s customs.
So, open the textbook to page thirty-four. To prepare a potion to cure boils and pimples, we’ll need the following equipment:
Standard size boiler
150 ounce glass
Standard size test tube
Stirring stick
Mortar and pestle
Measuring scales
While Hermione was getting everything she needed out of her bag except the cauldron, which was already on the table and standing on a tripod; all that was left was to light the burner. I ran through the ingredients:
1. Dried nettle
2. 7 snake fangs
3. 4 horned slugs
4. 2 porcupine quills
5. 300 ounces of flobberworm slime (It’s really stinky, gross)
I looked at the board and spotted a few differences. The professor indicated a three-hundred-ounce glass and six snake teeth. Let’s try trusting the master potion maker. That’s the beauty of learning from such a professional. He might be a complete piece of crap as a person, but he knows his stuff. I quickly copied the professor’s recipe into my notebook and went to get the ingredients.
While I was walking, Mia had already filled the cauldron with water and lit the burner underneath. I started grinding my teeth in a mortar, and my friend began finely chopping the nettles. Then, four ounces of the resulting powder need to be dropped into the boiling cauldron and heated for ten seconds over high heat. The time passed, and I waved my wand over the cauldron, infusing a bit of magic into the potion. Now we need to wait thirty-three minutes. The professor darted around the room like a hawk, deducting points and preventing the students from ruining their potions. Damn, the potion is so basic, there are only five ingredients and ten steps!
Then, thick white smoke began pouring out of Finnigan’s cauldron, and the professor immediately appeared at his cauldron, waving his wand over it and trying to stabilize his brew.
– Idiot! Why did you throw the horned slugs into the cauldron so early? – The Prince loomed over his student. – Mr. Finnigan, are you even able to read the instructions? Although, looking at you, I doubt you’re literate.
The boys lowered their heads and remained silent while the professor turned down the heat under the cauldron, threw in a pinch of nettles, and waved his wand a few more times.
“Twenty-seven minutes, watch the boiler carefully, then follow the instructions.” The prince glared at the boys. “Maybe you can pull it off satisfactorily.”
While the teacher was distracted by two idiots, I noticed Potter levitating a large porcupine quill into Weasley and Brown’s cauldron. Harry was holding his wand under the table, his tongue even hanging out in his eagerness—the nasty bastard! I telekinetically intercepted the dangerous ingredient and forcefully hurled it into my brother’s cauldron. Potter looked in horror at his potion, where the quill had just fallen, and immediately dove under the table. The potion suddenly boiled and exploded, dousing Thomas from head to toe in the boiling brew. The boy screamed loudly and lost consciousness in pain. Finnigan got it too, his hands were soaked, and a few drops landed on his face. Longbottom was saved by protective amulets that shone like a transparent film. When the Prince flew up to the table from which the caustic boiling potion was dripping, Potter was already standing nearby and looked with a mixture of horror and delight at the disfigured classmate who was now lying unconscious.
“Idiots!” the professor growled, removing the remains of the spoiled potion with magic, then casting several spells at Thomas and Finnigan. “Potter! Did you throw in porcupine quills while the potion was still on the fire?! Incredible inattention and idiocy, worthy of your name! Minus twenty points from Gryffindor and another week of detention! Tinky!”
With a pop, a small house elf in a lime-green pillowcase appeared in front of the professor, looking at the Prince with fanaticism and servility in his large violet eyes.
“Take this one to the hospital wing! Quickly!” The house-elf nodded silently and, grabbing Thomas by the leg, disappeared with a pop along with the boy, and the professor turned to Harry and hissed through his teeth, “Mr. Potter, take Mr. Finnigan to the hospital wing before I drown you in the cauldron.”
The Gryffindors nodded understandingly and, under the professor’s withering gaze, left the room. We continued brewing our potion as if nothing had happened. Potter is no fool and has a sense of self-preservation, but he lacks camaraderie. He would have managed to drag Thomas under the table, but he didn’t. It’s best not to turn your back on a man like Harry. Black did a good job of raising him, but he’s turned out to be a real brat who only thinks about himself. All these thoughts flashed through my head as the mechanical clock ticked away.
I glanced around the class again; everyone seemed to be doing well, and after seeing Thomas scalded, everyone became much more attentive. Only Malfoy kept hissing something viciously at Smith, and judging by her look, she wanted to drown the girl in the potion cauldron. What did she want? Elvira was making a potion for the first time in her life; she’ll still learn.
Okay, time, I throw four horned slugs into the cauldron, remove it from the heat, and throw in two porcupine quills. Hermione adds ninety-nine ounces of finely chopped dried nettles. I stir the potion five times clockwise and add three hundred ounces of flobberworm slime. The potion turns a bastard pink—that means it’s perfect, I hate pink. Hermione waved her wand over the cauldron, finishing the potion. Now all that’s left is to wait for the teacher to evaluate our efforts.
The professor approached our table and carefully examined the result in the cauldron. Then he waved his wand over the potion and sniffed.
“Miss Hellsing, Miss Granger, your potion turned out excellent.” The teacher grimaced and placed two glass vials on the table. “Fill and label the samples, then place them on my desk.”
The prince slowly checked the remaining students’ potions, scolding some, and Zabini receiving a sparse amount of praise. Malfoy and Smith were the last to receive it. The girls sat in the front row, closest to the teacher’s desk.
“I’m very disappointed in you, Miss Malfoy. Your work barely exceeds expectations.” The professor shook his head sadly. “By next class, I expect an essay from you covering all the steps of brewing this potion.”
“Okay, professor.” Diana glanced angrily at Elvira, and my roommate lowered her eyes guiltily.
Having collected all the samples, the professor ordered the writing materials to be taken out and began the lecture:
“Unfortunately, I overestimated your intelligence, and with Mr. Potter and Mr. Thomas, you saw how irresponsibility and stupidity can lead to dire consequences, sometimes even death. We will now review in detail the safety rules and etiquette for my lessons. Why isn’t anyone taking notes?!”
G – Logic! First we brew a dangerous potion that could explode, and only then write down the safety rules. He even called us idiots. His former students were right; the Prince is a moral monster who enjoys insulting and bullying children. By the way, I didn’t hear the bell; there was no break after the first lesson; it seems the professor somehow silenced it. Potter returned just in time for the lecture to begin, silently scratching his expensive, fluffy quill. At the end of the lesson, we received our homework and quickly left the gloomy, cold classroom.
The lesson ended a few minutes before the bell rang and we were waiting for the prefects when Malfoy approached our group with some burly guys behind him.
“Hellsing, excuse me, but I urgently need to speak with Smith, may I?” the Slytherin asked politely, to which I nodded. “Let them chat, what does this have to do with me?”
Diana suddenly pulled out her wand and pointed it at Elvira; the girl grabbed her throat and seemed to rise a couple of centimeters from the floor.
“Listen to me carefully, you idiot!” the enraged blonde hissed through her teeth. “I want you to read and memorize the next three chapters by the next class, and by the end of the month, you must know the first-year textbook by heart!”
– Malfoy, let go of Smith quickly! – I took out my wand and pointed it at the enraged fury. – If you don’t like Smith so much, just change seats in the next lesson.
“Sorry, I got carried away.” Diana put her wand away, and Elvira began gasping for air. “I’m a Malfoy, and everything is always perfect for me! And that idiot almost ruined my potion three times today, and I really like this subject. I won’t be able to change seats now.”
– Why is that? – I tilted my head to the side.
“Professor Prince pairs students once and for the rest of their studies.” The girl sighed sadly. “He’s a very principled deb… dean. Something like that. And since I’ve been paired with such a simpleton, I’ll be teaching her. No offense, Hellsing, but my future depends on my academic success.”
“I understand, I’ll help Smith with the potions,” I nodded to the Slytherin, “and if you point your wand at her again, you’ll get the same response.”
“I agree, I just couldn’t help myself. My apologies again.” Diana nodded at me and looked demandingly at Elvira. “I’ll prepare a list of supplementary reading for you by the next lesson. Our potions must be Excellent only!”
Malfoy, her nose in the air, headed back to her class. At that moment, the prefects arrived and the bell rang, signaling the start of recess. Our next lesson is Defense Against the Dark Arts. We’ll see what kind of teacher Quirrell is and whether he’ll reek of garlic.
