Chapter 35
We climbed the moving staircases to the fifth floor, where the windows offered a magnificent view of the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest. Now, in the sunny September weather, it didn’t seem scary or dangerous, and the bright reflections on the water beckoned us to leave the stuffy castle and have a picnic. We walked through a couple of corridors, the walls of which were hung with living portraits, and stopped in front of a light wooden door. We have Defense of the Ancients combined with Slytherin; I think Dumbledore is deliberately heightening the tension. The prefects counted us again and quickly left; the children also had classes.
Potter was whispering cheerfully with Longbottom and Finnigan, while the boys glanced slyly at Ron; it looked like their brother was up to something nasty again. Weasley seemed quite reasonable; if anything, I’ll help the redhead put our star in his place. Brown pulled out a fashion magazine and dreamily discussed something with Patil and Smith, and I stood next to Mia.
“We’re going to explore the library after class today,” I shared my plans with Hermione. At the mention of the abode of knowledge, my friend smiled predatorily, causing Neville to stop mid-sentence and turn away abruptly.
“But first,” Mia pressed herself tightly against me, and I had to tilt my head so she could whisper, “let’s find an empty classroom and check something. It’s amazing how you remembered such a small detail.”
“Childhood memory is a strange thing,” I answer my friend in a whisper. “I remember almost nothing, but the moment when James and Sirius discussed the Marauder’s Map is imprinted in my memory.”
Yes, I lied to my friend, but I couldn’t tell her I’d seen the Harry Potter films. Even for the wizarding world, that sounds incredibly strange. Hermione wasn’t the most realistic character in those films, and there were too many differences to rely entirely on them. I’ll tell her everything one day. When Dark takes our Occlumency exam, I’ll tell her everything right away, the next day. I hope she’ll forgive me and won’t be too upset. After all, I have no one else besides her, Mom, and a couple of monsters. Deep down, I’m afraid Mom and Mia will react negatively to my revelations and disown me…
The bell rang and the door swung silently open. Was this some sort of local faculty tradition? Potter and his gang scurried into the room, elbowing Parkinson along the way. The Slytherins followed sedately behind them, my friend and I bringing up the rear. Why rush, we’ll make it.
The Defense against the Dark Arts classroom was enormous, with several old-fashioned iron chandeliers and a dragon skeleton hanging from a high ceiling at least five meters high. The wall on the left had five large, arched, floor-to-ceiling windows, while the wall on the right was covered with posters depicting magical creatures and spell diagrams. In the center were two-person desks arranged in three rows, far more seats than there were students. On the far wall hung two large blackboards, a sturdy teacher’s desk, and next to it a small stand with a magical projector. There was even a small dueling platform, completely covered in runes, for protection. I turned around, and by the exit sat three overflowing bookcases.
I sniffed the air and caught the scent of wildflowers, and discovered numerous potted plants by the windows. I definitely like this classroom; everything is furnished functionally and tastefully. Maybe Quirrel really is an ordinary teacher and didn’t let in the parasite that is Scum?
Little is known about Quirinus himself: he’s a half-blood and graduated from Hogwarts with honors. His parents somehow found the money to fully pay for his education. After graduation, he immediately set out on a journey, traveling around Europe for seven years, then spent a year in the USSR, trying to become an apprentice to the Siberian Magi, but was sent away. These recluses emerge from their forests once every ten years and are very wary of outsiders. Refused, Quirrell went to Albania and returned home after a couple of years there. For the last two years, he worked as a Muggle Studies teacher; this summer, he spent again in Albania; he apparently has friends there. According to his students, he’s very familiar with the mundane world. Why he transferred to the Defense Against the Dark Arts position this year is unclear. I’ll keep an eye on him; the stone is there, which means the Scum is somewhere nearby.
My friend and I, out of habit, took the last desk and looked at the professor. He sat at his desk, carefully studying the students. After waiting for the last student to find a seat, the professor stood up. Now, up close, I can get a good look at him. Tall and broad-shouldered, he’s wearing a black three-piece suit and a dark blue robe, which accentuates his blue eyes. His stern, straight face bears several small, jagged scars. He squared his shoulders and looked at us with a gaze full of strength and confidence.
“Good morning.” The professor nodded politely, the corners of his lips quirking up. “My name is Quirinus Quirrell, and I’m your new teacher of such an important subject as Defense Against the Dark Arts. First, let’s get acquainted.”
The man extended his hand, and the school register, which had been lying on the table, slid smoothly into it. Then the roll call began, the professor carefully examining and memorizing each student. When it was my turn and I stood up, it was as if I had been X-rayed. Quirrel spoke and moved with great authority and confidence, as if he were the headmaster, not Dumbledore. I looked again at the professor, who didn’t wear a turban and didn’t stutter. Something was wrong here; there was a feeling of something wrong at the edge of my consciousness, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. My thoughts were interrupted by the professor gesturing to put the register back.
“First, I’d like to ask you one very important question.” The professor’s blue eyes scanned his students, and some of them shuddered under his gaze, full of power and superiority. “What is DADA? Why do you want to study this complex and dangerous science?”
Silence fell over the classroom; many students exchanged thoughtful glances, some opened their textbooks, and overall, the question was unexpected. Quirrel, smirking, watched the confused children for a couple of minutes and then addressed the students at the front.
– Mr. Finnigan, tell me why you came to my class? – The professor leaned towards the guy.
– Um… To learn how to defend myself. – Seamus lowered his head under such pressure.
“In my classes, it’s customary to stand up when speaking to the teacher.” Quirrel continued to smile, but his gaze grew colder. Finnigan immediately jumped up from his seat. “Okay, what are you planning to defend yourself against?”
“From evil, professor, from dark forces,” Seamus looked confidently at the teacher.
“One point to Gryffindor, sit down.” Finnigan exhaled nervously and sat down on a chair. The professor turned to the next person. “Mr. Nott, your answer.”
“Defense against the Dark Arts is the science of self-defense,” the Slytherin stood up and calmly continued, “In this lesson, we must learn to protect ourselves from dark forces and dark creatures.”
“Not bad, you clearly read the textbook, one point to Slytherin.” The professor nodded, and Nott sat back down, satisfied.
“Miss Malfoy, what do you think is the purpose of studying Defense of the Ancients?” Quirrell turned to Diana, who was sitting at the front desk with Greengrass.
“I think Defense Against the Dark Arts is the science of self-defense in principle,” the Slytherin girl said, rising from her seat. “Anyone can attack us at any time. We must be able to stand up for ourselves, using all our knowledge and skills.”
“Correct! Five points to Slytherin.” The professor nodded contentedly, and Diana sat back down, her nose in the air. “Defense against the Dark Arts is the study of defense and offense, because self-defense often requires counterattacking. One more question: what is the most dangerous creature on the planet? Who is a wizard’s most dangerous enemy?”
The boys started whispering, someone opened the textbook to the last pages, someone was already raising their hand, but Hermione and I already knew the answer.
– Miss Hellsing. – The professor turned to me.
“Man is the most dangerous creature on the planet,” Quirrel nodded contentedly at my answer.
“Five points to Gryffindor. That’s right, a wizard’s most dangerous enemy is another wizard, because…” The professor was interrupted by the laughter of the scarred boy, who clearly had a different opinion.
– Mr. Potter, stand up! – The teacher addressed the student sternly: – Tell me, what made you laugh so much?
“Forgive me, Professor,” Harry said to the teacher without a trace of remorse, “I think a manticore or a dragon is far more dangerous than a normal wizard. They’re much stronger and harder to defeat.”
“I understand your opinion. Sit down, minus a point from Gryffindor for disrespecting the subject.” Potter sat down discontentedly, and the professor’s blue eyes fixed on me. “Miss Hellsing, explain why a wizard is more dangerous than a dragon or a manticore?”
“Reason, professor, a person is capable of thinking and is driven by more than just instinct.” The man nodded and gestured for me to sit down, then looked thoughtfully at the other students.
“Now I will clearly explain Miss Hellsing’s words to everyone present,” the Professor waved his wand.
The curtains on the windows closed, the candles went out, and the magical projector started working. A realistic image of a manticore appeared across the entire wall, its face bloodied and clutching a human hand in its teeth. Several of the girls gasped at the horrific image.
“This is a manticore, a fearsome predator that’s not averse to feasting on human flesh. It’s very strong and resistant to many spells. It would take a dozen powerful wizards to kill or defeat this creature.” The professor snapped his fingers dramatically, and the image changed to a black-and-white photograph. Looking out at us was a kind, smiling woman with lush dark hair, though she was dressed in an SS uniform.
“Meet the purebred German sorceress, Ilsa Koch—a bloodthirsty monster, a true beast, who earned the nickname the Witch of Buchenwald!” The professor looked around at his stunned students with a smile. “She was the wife of the concentration camp commandant. Here, Grindelwald’s dogs practiced the darkest and most forbidden rituals and spells, on the prisoners, of course. This sweet woman personally killed and tortured to death around a thousand people, mostly women and children. Ilsa was also a craftswoman, as befits the heiress of an ancient family; she loved to sew leather handbags and book covers. The only thing is, the skin for her hobbies was flayed alive from the camp prisoners. One boy had a beautiful griffin tattoo on his chest; Frau Koch personally skinned him. Later, a beautiful lampshade with an image of a magical creature stood on her nightstand.
A deathly silence fell over the classroom as the children stared in shock at the photograph of a round-faced woman in strange clothing. Quirrel was certainly cool, but wasn’t it a bit early to tell eleven-year-olds such things? Although… In the films, Mad-Eye showed teenagers unforgivable things; the wizarding world is different from the ordinary world, the rules are much stricter there.
“Mr. Potter, answer me,” the Professor turned to the thoughtful Gryffindor, “Who is more dangerous? A manticore that went hunting at night and accidentally bit a careless wizard, or a witch who enjoyed torturing and killing hundreds of innocents?”
Potter was silent, like the others, Quirrel clearly proved my words.
“You see, Mr. Potter, manticores, dragons, and other monsters of the wizarding world live by instinct. The primary instinct of a living creature is procreation. A manticore hunts only when hungry or when it needs to feed its young; it will never kill out of boredom or pleasure. A manticore or dragon will never kill its young.” The professor glanced at the others. “This is the fundamental difference between intelligent creatures and simple dark creatures. Vampires and werewolves were once human, and they too can be considered very dangerous, but we’ll look at such cases in our senior years. For now, let’s begin…”
“We should put all dark wizards in Azkaban!” Weasley couldn’t help himself. “Let them feed the Dementors!”
“Mr. Weasley, minus one point to Gryffindor for shouting from the floor,” the Professor turned to the red-haired boy, who stood up from his seat. “You think all dark wizards should be sent to Azkaban, why?”
“Dark wizards are dangerous! They’re all murderers and maniacs!” Ron stared stubbornly at Quirrel. “And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was the most terrible of all, he gathered all the Dark wizards together and they killed and tortured the Light wizards!”
– Your point of view is clear to me, I agree, the Dark Lord was very strong and dangerous, but he fell under strange circumstances. – The professor’s gaze lingered on Potter and then returned to the red-haired champion of the light: – Mr. Weasley, if your mother becomes very ill and you go to St. Mungo’s, will your family accept treatment from Andromeda Black?
– What does Black and my mom have to do with this? – The guy didn’t understand the question.
“And considering that Andromeda Black is a Dark Healer and a Dark witch,” Ron gasped in surprise, “this amazing woman has been heading the Dark Medicine department for ten years and saves hundreds of lives every year with the help of Dark magic. Should she and all the Mediwitches from her department be sent to Azkaban too?”
– No, she… Heals people… – Ron lowered his head and blushed. – But still, the Dark Ones are almost all bad…
“Sit down, Mr. Weasley. Ignorance is the main problem of modern magical society. Without knowing the most basic things, you blame all the dark wizards for all your troubles.” Quirrell chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll surprise you, but in sixth and seventh years, they study dark magic.”
Almost all the Gryffindors stared at the professor with their mouths open in surprise; he clearly enjoyed breaking children’s patterns and stereotypes.
“They don’t call it the Dark Arts for nothing.” The teacher looked at his students with satisfaction and continued enthusiastically, “Studying Dark Magic requires talent, perseverance, and a fine line to avoid falling into the abyss of darkness and madness. That’s true art! You may not use Dark Magic, but you must know the basics! How will you protect yourself and your loved ones from a mad Dark Mage if you have no idea what they’re capable of?”
Silence fell over the classroom, and everyone, without exception, stared at the professor with interest. I, too, became interested and listened with pleasure to the teacher; he knows how to engage children.
“In your first year, we’ll be learning the basics of Defense of the Ancients—I’d even say the foundation on which you’ll build your skills and abilities in the future. We’ll cover the most basic, yet no less dangerous, magical creatures.” The professor glanced at the hushed students. “But first, let’s write down the history of the creation and the long, thorny path of Defense of the Ancients.”
Hermione and I pulled out our fountain pens and opened our magical diaries, which we use instead of notebooks, and prepared to jot down new and interesting information. Quirrel is an excellent teacher, currently rivaled only by Flitwick.
“So, Defense Against the Dark Arts emerged as an independent science in 289 BC,” the Professor dramatically cleared his throat and continued, “A renowned scholar, Azira Ayen, spoke at the First International Congress of Wizards, and his report became the starting point for three magical sciences at once: Charms, Transfiguration, and, of course, Defense Against the Dark Arts. The next ten centuries saw the leisurely development of these sciences, but in the early Middle Ages, Defense Against the Dark Arts received a new impetus. All thanks to Queen Maeva, who opened a school of magic in Ireland with a focus on the dark arts. Merlin and Morgana finally strengthened and elevated this science in the late 5th and early 6th centuries; the confrontation between these great wizards served as a shining example for others. Incidentally, it was Merlin who began classifying dark creatures, and Morgana systematized global magical knowledge in the field of dark magic, at that time, of course.” The manuscripts of these legendary wizards reached Totius, who wrote the book “Dark Arts” in the 10th century. Tonton Totius expanded the book with his own experiences, and in 955, the Second Wizarding Congress, dedicated specifically to Defense of the Dark Arts, was held in Rome. At this event, his work gained the status of a worldwide scholarly textbook. A century later, his works were further developed by the renowned Godric Gryffindor, the founder of Hogwarts. He added an entire section to defense theory, entitled “Battle Tactics,” and in 1066, he founded the Dark Arts Defense League.
The class flew by very quickly and captivatingly. The bell rang, and we headed to lunch. My classmates were excited and very enthusiastic at the meal. Quirrel gave a wonderful lecture and managed to captivate everyone present, including me and Hermione! He shared details that weren’t even in the Dark Arts textbooks! I think I can guess what the first-year’s favorite subject will be.
I cleared my glass of pumpkin swill again and poured orange juice for my friend and me. I took a long sip and thought about the history of magic, and then we’ll head to the library. I think we should start with periodicals; newspapers write a lot between the lines, and I’d like to clarify one point.
I was pulled from my thoughts by Percy, our dashing prefect, the only one in the house who wears his silly hat—it’s the dress code. He urged the others on and led us up to the fourth floor, to Professor Binns’s domain.
The class was held jointly with Ravenclaw, and when we walked in, I initially thought it was an abandoned classroom. Bare stone walls, dirty, curtainless windows, two-person, shabby desks in three rows—that’s all! There wasn’t even a teacher’s desk or blackboard. I understand the teacher was a ghost, but to be so oblivious to the subject… I even wanted to be outraged and write a complaint to the board of governors. What was it like there? People who don’t know their past have no future!
Hermione and I, as usual, took the last desk and got our writing materials ready. The rest of the students followed suit. Having settled in comfortably, we waited for the lesson to begin. Then the bell rang, and a teacher’s ghost appeared from the wall. Professor Binns, without even a greeting, began droning on, standing still as a statue.
Fifteen minutes later, the entire class was lost in a dream world, like an hour’s nap, like in kindergarten. Out of curiosity, I opened my textbook and, seeing the ghost quoting it word for word, didn’t even try to take notes. Why bother? Hermione lasted about ten minutes and then gave up, too; the monotonous drone was more effective than any sleeping pill. Now Mia sat motionless, glaring at the professor, clutching a blessed silver cross. I opened my planner and wrote out a rune chain for a climate control amulet. Winter was coming, and I didn’t want to freeze, nor did I want to put on a ton of clothes. But some worm of wrongness nagged at my thoughts.
“How did you like DADA? Did you like the professor?” I whispered quietly in my friend’s ear, causing her to flinch and her gaze to brighten.
“An interesting subject and a great teacher!” Hermione replied quietly, smiling. “Professor Quirrell clearly knows what he’s talking about. You heard his lecture; he speaks as if he’s experienced all the dangers of Dark Magic firsthand. I could just sense his confidence…”
– Stop! Repeat the last words. – I dropped the pencil and stared at my friend.
– Um… I said that Professor Quirrell is an excellent teacher and I felt his confidence in the lesson… – Hermione looked at me suspiciously: – Ria, are you okay?
“Yes, Mia! You’re right! You’re a genius!” I couldn’t help but hug this clever girl. Of course! How come I didn’t get it right away? Feelings, empathy! I sense the emotions of everyone around me, and while I haven’t fully learned to control my ability, I’ve gotten into the habit of checking out all new people. Unlike thoughts, emotions can’t be hidden.
– Thank you, I know I’m not stupid, but maybe you could explain to me how I’m a genius? – Mia looked at me like I was mentally ill: – What kind of revelation just came to you?
“Quirrel, that’s what’s wrong with him!” I peeled myself away from the chestnut-haired Gryffindor and, seeing her puzzled look, began to explain in detail: “You know perfectly well that I sense other people’s emotions; even Dumbledore couldn’t fool me with this ability. When he visited us, I sensed interest from him, a slight apprehension, and a certain anticipation. McGonagall feels hostility and a slight fear towards us, the Prince has a whole cocktail, like a schizophrenic. But Quirrell… Nothing at all, emotionally he’s like a robot, that’s simply impossible!”
“Wait, are you saying Professor Quirrell doesn’t feel emotions or somehow managed to fool your senses?” Hermione’s eyes lit up with excitement and she practically pressed herself against me. “But that doesn’t happen! Black told us that you can’t hide from an empath; the most you can do is trick them by artificially evoking other emotions.”
“That’s what I’m talking about! If I close my eyes and turn on empathy, I can feel everyone around me, but Quirrel is gone, as if he doesn’t exist!” The realization made me slam my palm on the table so hard the inkwell jumped.
– What? Is it over already? – Justin, sitting in front, raised his sleepy face and turned to look at me with sleepy eyes, – Rigel, why are you making a fuss, let me sleep.
“Sorry, it was an accident,” I answered my friend, a little embarrassed. He muttered something discontentedly and settled back into a comfortable sleeping position. I should be more restrained, I’d told myself so many times, but a child’s body often makes itself felt.
“We’ll discuss it later,” Hermione whispered, rummaging through her bag and pulling out a diary with Black’s lectures on Occlumency. “Today, tell Lady Integra everything and write to Black, and maybe I’ll find something in his lectures.”
– Okay. – I’ll tell Mom about the strange teacher, of course, but I won’t write to Sergey, I already know what’s going on.
Quirrel finally sold out to the Scum, but where is it hiding? Not on the back of his head, maybe on his back or somewhere else? For some reason, an old Schwarzenegger movie I watched in a past life popped into my head. What was it like? “Total Recall,” exactly, with the mutant hiding in the resistance leader’s belly, a deformed baby with tiny hands and bulging eyes. Brrr… The makeup artists did a fantastic job back then; we watched it at the orphanage and the kids had nightmares afterwards. Now I’ll be extra careful during this creature’s lessons; who knows what that psycho will come up with.
The ringing bell woke the students, and the ghost vanished into the wall without saying goodbye—a completely useless lesson. The prefects, Weasley, and Crystal were already waiting for us in the hallway. Percy told us to stay put; he’d show us the library now. Those who wanted to could stay in the abode of knowledge, and the rest he’d show us to the common room. Okay, we’ll check the map later.
The library is also on the fourth floor, so after walking down a couple of corridors, we came to a set of tall wooden gates, which were now open. Upon entering, Hermione and I stood transfixed, gaping as we took in all this splendor. The library was enormous—no, HUGE! You could probably fit a football field in there, with hundreds of shelves crammed full of books! The bookcases were arranged in neat rows, and each section was marked with a sign. I noticed additional signs on the shelves for easy navigation. There were also several dozen large desks with lamps, arranged in neat rows and furnished with comfortable-looking chairs.
“Hello, Mr. Weasley.” A short, thin, black-haired witch, apparently about forty, approached us. The librarian was dressed in a black, fitted robe and a pointed hat adorned with a feather. “Have you brought the first years?”
“Hello, Madam Pince,” Percy said politely, but was a little embarrassed as the woman fixed him with a stern gaze. “I decided to show the freshmen the abode of knowledge.”
“That’s right, the library is the most important room in Hogwarts! You’re free to go, Mr. Weasley.” The woman gave the prefect a stern look, and he squeaked that he’d be back before dinner and quickly left.
“Hello,” I decided to say hello, but they simply ignored me.
“Good afternoon everyone, my name is Irma Pince, you may address me as Madam Pince, I am the Head Librarian of Hogwarts. I will now issue each of you a library card, everyone follow me.” The librarian turned on her heel and walked deeper into the library, continuing to speak: “The library is open daily, until eight o’clock in the evening. The rules of conduct are quite simple: you must remain quiet, entry with food and drink is strictly prohibited, damaging books is prohibited, running or performing magic is also prohibited! If you break any of the rules, I have every right to ban you from the library!”
We approached a massive desk with a massive filing cabinet behind it, and the woman suddenly stopped and turned sharply, eyeing each of us sternly. Under her gaze, Potter swallowed nervously and took a step back—and the woman was truly impressive. Next came a quick process of filling out the necessary paperwork, the stern woman handed each of us a parchment with a set of rules and gave us a quick tour, ending near the restricted section.
The bookshelves in this corner of the library were made of black metal, and the entrance was guarded by a massive iron grate, faintly glowing from the runes that covered it in an ornate pattern. It was a formidable defense; this door couldn’t be opened so easily. How did Potter in the movie get in so easily, and at night, no less? Most likely, a certain bearded old man wanted the boy to see forbidden knowledge. But the movie Potter didn’t care.
When Madam Pince left us alone, Potter and his friends immediately left the library, Ron towing Justin to the sports section, promising to show him what real Quidditch was. Brown, Patil, and Smith took a nearby table and began doing their homework in silence, while Hermione and I headed to the periodicals section, promising the girls we’d be back soon.
Hmm… Several rows were devoted to the Daily Prophet; as Madam Pince said, copies from the last hundred years were kept there; all the newspapers were neatly arranged by year and took up several bookcases. Conveniently located opposite were issues of The Quibbler and Witchweekly, both of which are published monthly. My friend and I were interested in 1981, specifically the November 1st issue. Let’s get started!
We found the right issue fairly quickly—two, actually: an emergency and a regular one. We settled down at a comfortable table by the window and began to peruse them. The emergency issue was headlined:
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has fallen!
The first pages described how the Abominable Thing had come to the home of the noble wizard James Potter and died. It then described the bloody and epic battle during which Potter, a great hero and true patriot of Wizarding Britain, fell victim to the dark forces and their treachery. Then the Abominable Thing climbed to the second floor and attempted to kill little Harry, but the Killing Curse was reflected and struck down the terrifying Dark Wizard. The infant was saved by the power of Light and love! James Potter was a Light wizard and sacrificed his life for his son. Then came the praise of Potter and the description of his nobility, and then moved on to little Harry. Now all of Wizarding Britain owes its victory to this young and bright hero. Not a word about Lily and me!
“What nonsense…” I muttered and continued leafing through the newspaper.
More praise for Potter, descriptions of the horrors perpetrated by the Death Eaters, praise for the Ministry… Ads for cauldrons, the finest trunks and suitcases… I found it! Between an ad for contraceptive potions and a description of how to properly dismantle horned slugs, there was a tiny, symbolic note. The small column briefly stated that in the house of the great James Potter, who died defending his son, the Abominable One also killed the Muggle-born Lily Evans and her daughter. That’s it! They didn’t even have my name! The ungrateful bitches… Judging by the look of it, the newspaper is brand new, a copy, and they update them regularly.
I put the Daily Prophet aside and pulled out Precious from the holster on my hip. I carefully cut out Lily and I’s obituary and tucked the small scrap of parchment into my bag for later use. Having finished my work, I turned my gaze to Hermione, who was now engrossed in a regular issue of the Prophet. The girl finished the article and turned the page, her eyes widening in surprise, and she immediately looked at me.
“Riya! Look!” My friend grabbed the newspaper and showed me a spread of my older self staring back at me. Long black hair with platinum streaks, a predatory grin, and insane, almost black eyes—Bellatrix Lestrange was depicted in the photo. Fuck. There are no words, only curses…
Why the hell are we so similar? Our posture, our smile, our facial features! Even the streaks in our hair are almost identical, only hers are gray, and mine are platinum. Our eyes are also different; Bella’s are almost black and insane. In the photo, Lestrage was dressed in Death Eater robes and shackled. She didn’t look upset; quite the opposite, she was smiling predatorily and contentedly at the camera. Nearby were three more photos, depicting handsome, dark-haired men in Death Eater robes, also shackled.
I silently moved over to my friend and she turned the page back, revealing a screaming headline:
Bloody massacre at Longbottom Manor!
The last crime of the Devourers!
After carefully reading the article, Hermione and I stared at Bellatrix’s portrait again. Now I understood why Neville had reacted that way, now I understood why so many Slytherins were looking at me thoughtfully and nodding politely. The only thing I didn’t understand was why the hell I looked so much like her?! Inhale, exhale… We’ll deal with that later, and return to the article. Stripping away all the epithets and empty words, we arrive at the following…
On the night of Samhain, the entire extended Longbottom family gathered at the estate. The head of the family, the eldest sons with their wives and children, uncles and aunts, grandparents. Only Augusta and her cousin Elijah were absent; he was in Europe on business. During the celebration, four Death Eaters infiltrated the mansion, bypassing all defenses, and a full-scale massacre began. The Lestranges, along with Dolohov, killed everyone, even four children aged between seven and ten. Only Neville survived; these mad Dark wizards spared him, or perhaps they simply didn’t have time or didn’t find him.
When Augusta, who was on duty at the M.D., didn’t hear from her beloved son Frank for the third time, she suspected something was wrong and, gathering two battle stars, headed home. A pile of corpses awaited them at the estate, the walls smeared with blood, and Bella, grinning madly as she strung the intestines of Frank’s wife, Alice, on the wall like Christmas lights. Upon seeing Augusta, Lestrange laughed madly and began pelting the guests with curses, the Unforgivables being the most harmless of them. She killed three law enforcement officers immediately, forcing the others to retreat and call for reinforcements. In all, forty men, a combined Auror and M.D. team, took the four of them at once. Seven of them died, but Augusta gave clear orders: take them alive!
After the arrest and casualty count, Aurors searched the mansion and discovered Frank, whom Rodolphus and Rabastan had impaled in the garden and then disemboweled. The newspaper concluded that this was an act of intimidation, as Frank and Alice were members of the Order of the Phoenix’s combat wing, and Augusta headed a special department of the DMLE created specifically to combat Death Eaters. The article also stated that the night of victory over evil was marred by such a tragedy. The investigation into the incident will be personally overseen by the Minister of Magic and the head of the DMLE; details will be provided in future issues.
Hermione and I looked up from our newspapers, then nodded and headed to the periodicals rack. After leafing through a dozen more papers, we learned that the reason for the attack on Longbottom Manor hadn’t been investigated, chalking it up to an act of intimidation. During the trial, Orion Black disowned his negligent relative, saying her actions had brought shame on the family and that she was no longer a Black, but a Lestrange. Then, the head of the Black family asked for the heinous criminals to be tried to the fullest extent of the law and offered Augusta’s assistance with the funeral. The trial was quick, and all four were sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss for the murder of twenty-three members of a pureblood family and seven law enforcement officers. Dumbledore proposed commuting the sentence to life imprisonment in Azkaban, and his proposal was heeded. Now all four raiders are sitting on the lower levels and feeding the dementors, it seems to me that this is much more terrible than a quick and painless death.
The Longbottom family now consists of three members and is going through hard times. A year before the attack, their family was almost bankrupt, all because of my Order. The newspaper vultures have covered this issue in detail. It turns out the Longbottoms had been cultivating various herbs and plants for several centuries, hiring Muggle-born Hogwarts graduates since ancient times, and their business was thriving, but after the Great War, they decided to economize. Many wizards died in the war, and people consequently began demanding higher salaries. The head of the family scratched his head and replaced all the wizards with werewolves. These dark creatures were willing to work for pennies and a bowl of soup, and thanks to these savings, the business flourished. However, the Longbottoms began to undercut the market and crush competitors, which did not please many. During the civil war, Death Eaters burned down most of their greenhouses and warehouses, and then Hellsing carried out a genocide of werewolves, leaving the noble family without workers.
All they had left was the mansion with its considerable grounds, which were now being worked on by the family members themselves, and that’s where the Lestranges came into their own. The attackers didn’t just murder the entire family; they performed a ritual sacrifice and placed an irreversible Dark Curse on all the surrounding land. Now Augusta, her grandson, and her cousin live in a summer house, all that remains of the estate of a once large and wealthy family. Rumor has it they live on Augusta’s ministerial salary, while the remaining family wealth was squandered by Elijah, a great lover of pubs and brothels.
We put the newspapers aside and I looked at my watch. There were fifteen minutes left until dinner, and we’d been sitting too long. Well, we’ll do our homework after dinner. Now we need to find the girls and head to the great hall.
