Chapter 40
I lay on my stomach in my room, looking through my great-grandmother’s personal file, struck once again by how small the world really is. Hermione sat next to me, leafing through a first-year textbook on ritualistics from the stack my great-uncle had provided. It’s true what they say about the Earth being shaped like a suitcase, and I’d run into my relative in an unexpected corner; we’d definitely discuss this matter over the Christmas holidays. I didn’t need anything from him, and he didn’t seem to want anything, but deep down I was pleased that this strong-willed man turned out to be my grandfather.
Vasya curled up on the nearby pillow, and Flora perched on his head as usual, happily nibbling on a marshmallow. I rolled onto my side and winced painfully—Dumbledore, the bearded bitch, had finally told me about the suicide belt. That venerable woodpecker had scribbled a letter to my mother, detailing Black’s visit and his demands, and unfurling three pages of paternal grief over the shortcomings of my upbringing. He was worried, fucking, genuinely worried, about my life.
When we returned from the Grangers’, Mom first handed me Betelgeuse Black’s personnel file, then asked me why I wanted to die so badly, showing me the ill-fated letter from the Headmaster. I didn’t deny it and honestly confessed everything, and when I finished explaining the design of the suicide belt, Mom sighed heavily and, stone-faced, called Walter. The butler arrived with a welcoming smile, bringing with him order, discipline, a cane, and a bucket of salt water. I sighed sadly and bared the spot I’d been thinking about while crafting my stylish belt. It hurt, but damn, I deserved it!
It’s Sunday already, and I still can’t sit on my ass. Mom forbade me from using healing ointments until I leave for Hogwarts. At least she’s not mad anymore. After the execution, we chatted until almost the morning, and at dawn, she slapped me across the nether regions with a sly smile and wished me goodnight. Being a child is great, of course, but getting spanked is bad. I’m not mad at her; I don’t know what I would have done if my daughter had shown suicidal tendencies.
– Damn it, tch… – I stroked the sore spot with my hand. – Mia, what time is it?
“It’s too early!” Hermione spanked my butt with a wooden ruler. “That hurt, damn it!” “Lady Integra told me to work on you after six o’clock, so bear with it, you half-baked mujahideen! You didn’t get enough, you should have called me, I would have gotten more.”
“Yes, I already understood, I realized that I did something stupid again.” I sadly dropped my head onto the pillow and looked at my familiar. ” Vasya, they’re bullying me.”
– You shouldn’t have upset the head mistress! – The snake looked at me with displeasure. – She’s completely lost her mind, she decided to blow herself up. If you had a tail, I would tie it in a knot!
“And you, Brutus! ” I turned away from the insolent hose and, making puppy eyes, looked at my best friend, who demonstratively turned away from me and buried her face in a book.
“I’m not Brutus, I’m Vasya. ” An indignant hiss came from behind. “And anyway, if you can’t get it through your head, then the necessary knowledge is conveyed through other parts of the body! And my mistress usually thinks with her ass!”
– What is he saying? – Mia looked up from her book.
“He says I think too often with the place where I got hit.” I looked into his worried brown eyes. “Well, forgive me, I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Promise?” I nodded, tears glistening in Mione’s eyes, and she rushed to hug me. “Do you have any idea how scared I was when I found out?! What if you’d accidentally let go of the detonator? Or what if that flea-ridden idiot had hit you with something?! If you’re not worried about yourself, think about others! Damn kamikaze! Did you even drink some sake before entering the director’s office?!”
– What a fool I am, what a fool. I’m going to take this stupid vest apart this very evening! – I hugged my friend tighter. – And anyway! Stop spanking my butt, it hurts!
“Okay.” The viper let me go with a smile. “But we don’t need to take it apart. We need to attach a cable reel to it and figure out how to use it remotely.”
“Well, the simplest option is to learn Imperio and select a potential suicide bomber.” I thought for a moment. “But that’s in a couple of years, not sooner. Right now, we simply don’t have enough reserves and control.”
“We could also make some kind of golem, but that’s even more difficult, damn it.” Hermione sighed sadly. “Why did they cut the curriculum?! Why did Dumbledore allow this?! He’s the Headmaster!”
“It’s easier to manage a dumb herd, and the Ministry of Magic approves the curriculum.” I glanced at the large stack of textbooks. “I checked, the old man voted against cutting the curriculum at every meeting, but he was always in the minority. The only exception was the ban on necromancy.”
“Yeah, I get it. Okay, they abolished ritualism, blood magic, and maleficism.” Mia stamped her foot in indignation. “But magical law? Or even artifactology? It goes hand in hand with runes and numerology! And now, starting in their third year, students study ancient runes, but why? It’s unclear!”
“When we grow up, we’ll change the curriculum.” I smiled at my friend; the resentment and anger had finally vanished from her emotions. “We’ll appoint you Minister of Education; you’ll be the one setting the curriculum.”
– No, I don’t want to! Weasley is better, he’s stubborn and not stupid.
“That Quidditch fan should be appointed Minister of Sport, that’s exactly his thing.” I shifted on the bed. “Did you know he can remember every Chudley Cannons match result for the last hundred years?”
“I know, the day before yesterday he drove me crazy telling me about the 1927 game.” Mia thought for a moment. “Then we’ll appoint Elvira; she’s a thorough and conscientious girl. By the way, a couple of days ago I gave her a first-year textbook on magical law; before we left, she was very thoughtful and upset.”
“That’s good, let her study the laws of the Magical World for a couple more weeks. When the girl finally understands that she’s practically powerless, and that any pureblood asshole can do anything to her, and at most he’ll get a fine, then we’ll talk.” I nodded to myself. “You realized she has a predisposition to necromancy, right? The Order really needs such mages, her training won’t be a problem. If worst comes to worst, I’ll ask Grandfather; he’ll find the right people.”
– But I was right, Lily turned out to be more than just a mudblood… It’s good that the Blacks don’t know about it.
– And they won’t know! They won’t bother me again, Mom told me what a prank Uncle Alik pulled…
We chatted like that until the evening, and around six o’clock, Mom came into the room and personally treated my sore spot. I never cease to be amazed by wizarding medicine; literally five minutes and my butt is as good as new. Damn magic! Then we went downstairs for dinner, by which time the Grangers and Finch-Fletchleys had already arrived at the estate. And at precisely seven, we piled into our cars and headed to King’s Cross station; the nearest fireplace is right there.
The farewell was short; Mom knelt before me and, with a smile, asked me not to do anything stupid again. Once again, I apologized and promised that such nonsense would never happen again. I was determined to try harder, honestly! Hermione, holding her little brother, hugged her parents, and Justin whispered something to his father. And then, at precisely eight o’clock, we all took turns adjourning to our Head of House’s office.
***
As soon as we tumbled out of the fireplace, McGonagall gave us a stern look and, having confirmed that we were all alright, cleared away the soot with a wave of her wand. Then she wished everyone goodnight and sent us off to the House Tower.
The common room was noisy and crowded. On Sundays, detention ends at seven so students can finish their homework and wash up. While noble lions scribble shit all over the bathroom walls and windows, cunning snakes have begun clogging the toilet risers and sewer pipes in the dungeons. Now our punishment students have to practically rummage through elbow-deep fecal matter with their bare hands. The stench emanating from them after detention was quite lingering and overwhelming. I glanced around the noisy room again and didn’t notice a single red-haired guy. Strange, but it wasn’t hard to spot. I headed over to Brown and Patil; my roommates were sitting at a far table, quickly copying something from a thick book.
– Girls, hi! As promised. – I placed a fresh selection of glossy magazines in front of them. – Where’s Smith?
“Rigel, Hermione, Finch-Fletchy, good evening.” Lavender looked up from her parchment with a smile and her eyes sparkled as she looked at the magazines. “Excellent! We’ll read together tomorrow evening, and Smith is in her room right now, studying the books you gave her.”
“Girls, have you seen Ron?” Justin glanced around the living room again. “He promised to meet us, but we didn’t finish our game of chess.”
“Weasley’s in the hospital wing.” Parvati sighed heavily and looked up. “He got into a fight with the new Marauders today, Percy was busy, and the twins were in detention.”
– What happened? – I stood at attention.
“Potter, that idiot, Morgan’s money, planted a Dungbomb in Weasley’s trunk.” Lavender put down her quill and grimaced with distaste. “Almost all the textbooks and half the things were ruined, and the rest were… Well, you know what I mean. Ron was angry, but there were four of them, so they beat him up pretty badly.”
“Where are those little bastards?” My fists clenched in anger. “Brother decided to follow in his dad’s footsteps, and it’s worse for him!”
“They’re sitting in their room. The dean confiscated all of Potter’s nasty stuff and gave them detention, so the boys are upset.” Brown shrugged. “Why do you need it?”
“Just want to chat.” I turned to Hermione with a predatory smile. “Mia, let’s go, we need to change after the trip.”
“Of course.” The friend responded by flexing her fists and turning to our friend. Alas, Finch-Fletchley is no fighter. “Justin, will you show us your room later?”
“Okay.” The boy sighed sadly. Clearly, the girl’s intercession had been a severe blow to the young aristocrat’s pride.
Hermione and I quickly ran into the room and, under Elvira’s puzzled gaze, began changing. We were about to punch some people, so robes were off. We pulled on Camelot boots, the fruit of a dark British genius—those combat boots with titanium inserts at the toes and heels, and thanks to the runes, they were as comfortable and light as ballet flats. On our hands were tactical gloves with metal knuckles, and the Kevlar armor with metal-ceramic plates felt like home. Knee pads weren’t forgotten either; they were hidden under the long skirt. I jumped up and down, but everything fit perfectly; magic is a huge perk.
“Ria, are you sure?” Hermione fastened her glove and looked at me thoughtfully. “Ron might be offended. You know how boys react, and he has brothers.”
“His brothers are pariahs in the faculty now, and no one will forgive them for the third-years’ attack on the Chosen One. Percy is a stickler for the rules, you know that.” I bowed my head and looked at my friend; she was clearly in anticipation and was simply looking for a foolproof excuse. “What if they play the same prank on Justin tomorrow? Or slip that crap into Elvira’s bag?”
“You’re right, those assholes have completely lost their fucking minds!” Mia grinned and cracked her knuckles.
Gryffindor is a strange house. On the outside, we’re a monolithic pack of lions. If a stranger offends a lion cub, everyone immediately rises to its defense. But on the inside, we’re a pack of jackals, and if anyone shows weakness, they’re promptly devoured by their own. And so now, Mia and I, to the admiring and anticipatory glances of our fellow housemates (or whatever the correct term is), were climbing up to the boys’ half of the dorm.
The spiral staircase led to the coveted door. Justin stood at the entrance to the corridor, pistol in hand. What I respect about Finch-Fletchley is his intelligence: he understood perfectly well that he wasn’t a fighter, more of a support team, and he played his role well. Although, when I proposed my runic scheme for a silencing charm for the base, he cursed me so much that I was taken aback by his impudence, but then he presented his own scheme, which turned out to be much simpler and more effective. Overall, Justin’s brain worked perfectly.
“Ready?” Hermione nodded decisively. “I have the pureblood heirs, you have their hangers-on. Hit carefully, but hard. BE AFRAID!”
I opened the door slightly and immediately slammed it shut, throwing a flash-bang grenade.
– Five-four-three-two-fucking-fuck. – She swung the gate open, and Mia and I burst into the room.
The boys were disoriented and shaking their heads, unable to understand anything. Thomas was practically sitting on his arse, clutching his ears. Mia immediately rushed towards him and kicked the little black boy in the chest, then found herself at Finnigan, who promptly received a punch in the gut. I noticed all this as I ran to Longbottom at the far end of the room, where I punched him hard in the ear. Neville collapsed to the floor, and I turned my attention to my brother. Harry was sitting on the bed, still not quite grasping what was happening. I ran and kicked the last Potter in the chest, and the boy somersaulted and fell on the other side of the mattress.
Hearing an angry hiss from behind, I turned to the burly Longbottom, who had quickly recovered and was now charging at me, fists clenched. I dodged a blow to the face, but caught it in the chest, sending me flying backwards. Neville’s loud scream echoed through the room; the idiot slammed his fist into the metal-ceramic plate with all his might (that’s why I didn’t dodge) and, apparently, broke several of his fingers. The kid howled in pain and shook his injured paw. Too loud! I roundhouse kicked him in the jaw, but overdid it, and Neville fell unconscious, scattering several teeth across the floor and splattering him with blood.
The Dean was supposed to be arriving soon, so I rushed over to Potter. My brother was on his haunches, trying to catch his breath, but I quickly delivered a hard kick to his arse. The little bastard howled in pain and fell on his stomach, clutching his bruised bun with his left hand and his wand in his right. I walked over and stepped on his wrist, hearing a crunch. And I honestly didn’t care whether it was his fingers or his wand.
– A-A-A-A! Let go! – My brother squealed in pain, trying to pinch my leg with his free hand, but I pressed even harder. – What did we do to you?!
“You, a pack of underage jackals, have offended my friend.” She removed her foot and kicked the whining marauder in the kidneys. “And I really don’t like it when my friends are offended!”
“For Mum!” Hermione’s contented voice was heard behind him, echoed by Seamus Finnigan’s loud cry.
Thomas was unconscious, and Mia had Seamus pinned flat on the floor, twisting his right arm into a restraining position and pinning his head to the floor with her foot. She was now enthusiastically breaking the boy’s fingers. His little finger, for example, was already pointing somewhere else.
“For Dad.” A crunch, a cry of pain, and the ring finger also rushed into alternate geometry.
“We were just joking, and Weasel started fighting!” Potter whined and tried to crawl away from me.
– We joke too! Why aren’t you laughing? – I kicked the presumptuous rich kid again. – Come on! Laugh!
“For grandma!” Judging by the Irishman’s piercing screams, Mia had decided to break all his fingers.
At that moment, the door swung open and a sweaty McGonagall burst into the bedroom. The Head of House looked around the room and was stunned for a few seconds.
“For Professor McGonagall!” Hermione forcefully twisted Finnigan’s index finger, and he screamed and lost consciousness.
– What’s going on here? – The dean looked at me demandingly.
“It’s an educational process, Professor.” I met her gaze with a sweet smile. “We decided to show the new marauders what happens to those who hurt our friends.”
“I’ve already given Mr. Potter and the others two weeks’ detention!” McCoshka winced at the word “marauders,” remembering the chaos my father had caused. “Miss Hellsing, Miss Granger, you have no right to beat up other students! Therefore, I’m giving you three weeks’ detention with Mr. Filch and deducting twenty points from each of you. Now leave the boys’ dormitory immediately!”
After descending, we took a seat on the far sofa by the window and watched with amusement as McGonagall called Weasley and three other older students to transport the injured to the hospital wing. Many of the students looked at us with undisguised respect, and several older girls even nodded approvingly. I noticed almost immediately that Gryffindors respect only personal strength; everything else is irrelevant. Now, between the two of us, we’d beaten up four guys with our bare hands, earning our respect. The performance ended, I glanced at my watch and yawned involuntarily – it was almost ten o’clock, time to get ready for bed.
***
The morning began as usual: exercise, a hot shower, and then Hermione and I settled comfortably on the soft sofa by the window. This place is actually quite strange – almost the entire faculty ignores it, and it’s always empty, which is just what we need. The portrait slid aside, and a slightly disheveled Ron Weasley entered the common room, quickly glanced around, and headed our way.
“Hellsing, Granger, good morning.” The guy nodded at us with a smile.
– Hi, Ron. – I nod in response.
– Hello, how are you? – Mia looked up from her book.
“Everything’s fine, I barely escaped from Madam Pomfrey, she wanted to keep me in bed until lunch!” Weasley hesitated for a moment, then spoke quietly. “Rigel, Hermione, thank you, but please don’t interfere in our squabbles anymore. I can handle these snobs myself.”
“Are we friends?” I looked Ron in the eye, and he nodded confidently. “So how can we just walk by while our friend is getting beaten up by a crowd? If you’d only fought Potter, and he’d beaten you up, I wouldn’t have said a word. But there were four of them, and you were alone. And that’s not very Gryffindor-like, to say the least.”
“You’re right, actually.” Ryzhik scratched the back of his head. “But you’re girls, and I’m a guy. It’s not right; the others will laugh at me. So don’t interfere; Justin and I will sort this out ourselves.”
“Okay.” I sighed heavily and nodded. Oh, that male pride. “But in a worst-case scenario, we’ll intervene and not ask permission.”
– That’s a deal! – The guy nodded contentedly. – Where’s Justin? I’m already hungry!
Finch-Fletchley showed up five minutes later, looking like a beautiful maiden, honestly. As we walked to the great hall, I wondered why we always waited for him in the mornings. It was too early for him to shave, and he didn’t need makeup or a haircut. At least our friend hadn’t been known to indulge in such indecent behavior. I decided to clarify this point:
– Justin, why are you taking so long to get ready? – I looked sternly at the guy. – Why do we wait for you every morning?
“I’ve been a bit busy,” Finch-Fletchley said, hesitating slightly.
“Yes, he was sleeping,” Ron told his friend off with a smile. “He comes home from a run, quickly washes up, and then sits on the bed for another half hour.”
– That’s not true! – Justin blushed. – I meditate! Every morning I build my mind palace.
“You’re drooling on your pillow!” Weasley chuckled and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “My friend, you’re a terrible liar. By the way, I just remembered an interesting combination: if a king takes a rook…”
While chatting about chess, we quickly descended to the first floor and found ourselves at the open gates to the large hall, where they were already waiting for us. The entire new group of marauders stood grinning at the entrance.
Wasn’t it enough for them yesterday, or were they masochists? No, Thomas and Finnigan were shifting nervously behind Potter and Longbottom, clearly not eager to be there. We could have punched them in the face again now, and Mia and I didn’t really care what they might have said. I was hungry, and when I’m hungry, I’m very angry. Ron spotted his tormentors and moved forward, Justin following him.
“What, Weasel, aren’t you ashamed? Hiding behind girls like a pathetic coward.” My brother spoke loudly so as many students as possible could hear. People in the hallway began to linger to watch the freshmen’s conflict.
– What? – Ron came closer and pointed a finger at him. – You’re the coward! You were afraid to fight me one-on-one yesterday and called your minions! You’re not a noble lion, you’re a filthy grindylow, they only attack in packs too!
“Want to fight me one-on-one?” Potter turned to Weasley with a haughty smile, who nodded angrily and clenched his fists. “Then I challenge you to a magical duel. I’ll be waiting for you by the Black Lake after dinner this afternoon.”
And his brother wasn’t stupid; he’d cleverly outwitted the redhead. Everyone knew during their first year that Ron had trouble with his wand, which wasn’t responding to its owner and was about to fall apart. And judging by his movements and the confidence with which Potter cast his spells, he’d been well-schooled at home; he could easily outshine the helpless Weasley with wands. And here’s the dilemma: by refusing the challenge, Ron would admit he was a coward in front of a crowd of people, and by accepting it, he’d lose the duel that evening in the most humiliating way possible, knowing his brother. But Harry hadn’t taken one thing into account: Hermione and I, who knew the dueling code very well.
“Impossible!” I announced loudly across the hallway, preventing the red-haired idiot from opening his mouth. “Potter, I advise you to reread the dueling code; a duel between you is impossible.”
– Why is that? – Ron stared at me in bewilderment, and the students around us began to whisper quietly.
“One more…” I shook my head sadly and spoke loudly, so everyone could hear: “A magical duel is only possible between equals! Weasley is a pureblood, and Potter is a half-blood.”
Silence reigned all around, everyone watching us with interest, waiting to see how the conflict would end. Ron continued to stare blankly at the Chosen One, Hermione and Justin stood calmly nearby, and I, demonstratively lost in thought, looked into his insolent green eyes.
“Dueling Code, Part One, Object, Clause Four. When a mage of low birth challenges an aristocrat or a noble mage, the former is obligated to decline the challenge and allow the latter to seek redress through the courts or offer a trial by ordeal.” “With my outburst, I just reminded everyone that our Chosen One is a half-breed and a bastard, thereby publicly bringing Potter down to earth.”
Harry Potter may have been a national hero, but legally he was a penniless half-blood with little more rights than Granger or Smith. My brother wasn’t even an heir, merely a claimant to the Potter family inheritance. Our grandfather gave the boy his surname, but set strict conditions for full recognition as a family member. It was simple: Harry had to marry a noblewoman from the “Sacred 28” and attain the title of Master of Magic. I knew the Blacks would help him and arrange everything to get their hands on the Potter family’s money and assets, but that wouldn’t happen anytime soon, which is why I was so rudely putting my brother in his place. He’ll know better than to bully my friends.
The smirk faded from the Chosen One’s face, and he began looking around for support. In the crowd surrounding us, I spotted Malfoy, gazing at her relative with undisguised glee. The Black sisters stood stony-faced next to her, and Nymphadora’s eyes narrowed in a very suggestive manner. Potter was under the Black family’s protection, and now, with his foolish behavior, he was disgracing the family. Oh, these pureblood quirks.
“Harry, don’t listen to her.” Longbottom took a step forward and glared at me. “The blood traitor memorized a clever book and decided she was a real witch.”
In vain, oh so in vain. Becoming a blood traitor is the most terrible insult to a pureblood, always followed by a challenge to a duel of honor—to the death. In the magical world, family is paramount; every action of a mage must be for the good of the family. This term was used to describe murderers of close relatives or those who deliberately destroyed their lineage or family. During the Witch Hunts, it was used to describe Seekers, the lowest and most despised rank of the Holy Inquisition, which recruited criminal mages or exiles. These bastards, fleeing the punishment of wizards, fled to the protection of the Catholic Church, where they effectively became slaves, but endowed with power. Having sworn all their oaths and vows, these creatures roamed the villages and towns of medieval Europe, searching for those gifted with magical gifts. Young children were taken from their families and sent to the Vatican to be trained as future Iscariot warriors, while the rest were executed on the spot or handed over to the inquisitors.
And now this little brat called me a traitor to the family and a slave to the Holy Father. A red haze appeared before my eyes, and the world around me suddenly slowed. I lunged forward, landing several punches to Neville’s body and face. He fell, but I continued kicking him with all my might. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my brother stagger back in horror and point his wand at me, but he immediately collapsed on the stone floor. Weasley was quicker and, with a practiced hook, sent Potter into a dream world. Longbottom no longer resisted, so I grabbed him by the ear and abruptly lifted his bloodied face. Flashing my athame or Charming was strictly prohibited, so I snatched my finke from the sheath on my shin.
“You little freak! Call me that again,” I twirled the knife in front of his face, “and I’ll first cut out your filthy tongue, and then I’ll cut off your stupid head.”
To demonstrate, I drew a sharp blade across the little brat’s throat, not hard, but enough to scratch the skin and draw blood. At that moment, I smelled shit, which brought me back to my senses. The students crowding around us took a few steps back and drew their wands. The students looked at me with apprehension, Ron and Justin tried to restrain Potter, who continued to back away from me with horror in his eyes. Only Hermione didn’t give a damn; her friend stood nearby, gun in hand, keeping an eye on the situation. I looked at Neville, who had shit himself in fear and was now, sobbing, begging me to forgive him and let him go. Fuck, I overdid it again! I should have been more restrained, but such an insult, especially a public one, couldn’t be ignored. I let go of Longbottom’s ear, and he, snot smeared across his face, crawled away from me.
– Well, well, well, Potter and Hellsing. Why am I not surprised? – Professor Prince appeared before we had time to escape from here and disappear into the Great Hall. Meanwhile, the Potions Master looked at us with disdain. – Miss Hellsing, Mr. Potter, I find a certain similarity between you: you are both insolent, spoiled, confident in your own permissiveness and impunity. But that is not so.
The Head of Slytherin approached the sobbing Longbottom and, grimacing in disgust, waved his wand over him. The smell of excrement disappeared, the cut on his throat quickly healed, and the bruises on his face began to lighten. Having fulfilled his duty, the Prince turned his gaze back to me and my brother.
“What happened here?” the professor asked demandingly.
“I was defending my honor and dignity,” I answered the Prince’s question calmly, already running through the various scenarios of his death in my head, from quick and painless to long and painful. The Professor tried again to scan my surface thoughts, but hit a block and stopped abruptly. What a bitch.
“Miss Hellsing, you are too young to understand the true meaning of such words.” The Potions Master chuckled and looked at Harry. “And Mr. Potter, like his father, is completely unfamiliar with such concepts. Therefore, Potter, Hellsing, Longbottom, Weasley, and Granger: for fighting in the corridor, minus ten points from Gryffindor each, and a week of detention.”
While the Head of Slytherin was scolding us, the other students literally vanished from the hallway. Then the Prince demonstratively turned his back on us and headed for breakfast. By this time, I had calmed down completely and, winking at the dejected students, dragged them into the Great Hall, while Harry, sniffling in disgust, remained to help his friend up. We’d walked about ten meters when the Terror of the Dungeons, striding ahead of us, abruptly stopped.
“Mr. Potter, unfortunately for you, I have very good hearing.” The professor turned around and continued muttering through his teeth. “Minus twenty points and an additional two weeks of detention for insulting a teacher.”
The professor smiled maliciously and moved on. My stomach rumbled, and I glanced at my watch—there were twenty minutes left until breakfast ended, so I needed to hurry.
***
After receiving two beatings, the new Marauders went into hiding and ceased all activity. Rumors fueled the fire, as half the school had witnessed our brawl. And all the rumors were different… The most popular version was that the rabid Hellsing had cut off Longbottom’s head right there in the hall, but Professor Prince had arrived just in time and used Dark magic to reattach it. The second most popular theory was that the first-year Gryffindors had staged a magical duel in the hallway, and the mad Hellsing had staged a mass sacrifice and summoned an Archdemon, which Dumbledore himself had barely defeated. Whatever the origins of the rumors, they all ended the same: Potter and Longbottom had shit themselves in fear and were hiding in tears behind the school professors from the dark Lady Hellsing. It was a complete mess, basically.
But these rumors and constant whispers behind our backs had a big upside: our group was left alone, or rather, avoided, but that was a mere trifle. Potter and his hangers-on had embarrassed themselves in front of everyone and now sat like mice under a broom, with only the occasional offended glance from my brother. And time was suddenly running short, all thanks to detentions.
Filch sent the gloomy marauders to clean the sewers in the lower levels of the dungeons, watched them go, and with a smile invited Mia and me to the table. Over tea, the retired colonel asked if we had any important business after classes, and I told him about our future base of operations. The caretaker chuckled and gave us a task for all our work: we were to finish refurbishing an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor as quickly as possible. For the good of the school, of course.
Morning exercises, then classes. After school, we went to carve rune chains on the walls of the future base. After dinner, we did homework. Due to our constant busy schedules, the days flew by, and before we knew it, the second half of October was already rustling outside. I noticed this purely by chance when I looked out the window and saw not a single leaf on the trees, but there was a lashing autumn rain.
Brrr, this awful weather somehow reminded me of my first flying lesson, two weeks ago. The lesson itself was quiet and calm, Madame Hooch gave us brand new Cleanstompers and explained how to hold on to them. When I watched movies in my past life, I thought flying on a broomstick was, to put it mildly, uncomfortable… I admit, I was wrong. Thanks to special charms and runes, sitting on the shaft turned out to be very comfortable, and this miracle was controlled literally with the power of thought! Astride the broom, I felt it like an extension of myself, another limb, and once in the air… That feeling of freedom, the wind in my ears! Mia was also delighted. I’ll definitely buy a couple over the holidays, and we’ll go racing.
– That’s it! We’re finally done! – I was distracted by Hermione’s tired but satisfied voice.
My best friend sat right on the floor, admiring the rune chain that adorned the wall opposite. Justin stood nearby, quickly leafing through a thick notebook.
“I told you we’d be finished by mid-October,” I say, turning to my friends with a smile. “Have you checked everything?”
“Yeah, no one will find us or hear us here, and that wall,” the guy nodded toward the far side of the room, “could easily withstand a grenade launcher shot. A regular one, of course.”
“Well, that’s great, it’s Friday.” I looked at my watch. “There’s still plenty of time before lights out, so I suggest we spend the rest of the evening in the library, and tomorrow we’ll bring some targets and shoot.”
The guys exchanged cheerful glances and began packing up their things and tools. Ten minutes later, the three of us were briskly walking down the empty, gloomy fifth-floor corridor. But I’d been plagued by anxiety all day, and why? Detentions were over, no one had dared bother us for a long time, everything was going smoothly at the department, classes were interesting, and Halloween was still two weeks away. Maybe I was just tired?
I was walking down the center, Justin chattering to my right, and a tired Hermione trudging along to my left, when my gut instinct screamed. I pushed the boys aside with all my might and fell to the floor, a chill of death sending shivers down my spine as a green beam of Avada flashed over my head. I rolled to the side and looked toward the end of the corridor; the Killing Curse had come from there. The gun was already in my right hand, my wand in my left. Holy shit, no one! But, mindful of the Invisibility Cloak and the Disillusionment Charm, I started firing into the void, and shots rang out from both left and right.
“Avada Kedavra!” A quiet male voice came out of nowhere, and another green beam shot out from the far corner of the corridor. I pointed the pistol in that direction and pulled the trigger, then again and again. I wasn’t worried about Avada; the beam was flying to the right, but the bullet found its mark, and the wall at the end of the corridor was stained with blood. But my heart skipped a beat…
– MIYA!!! – I screamed and turned my head to the right, where my friend was standing on one knee and shooting excitedly towards an invisible enemy.
Hermione was too distracted and didn’t notice the rapidly approaching green beam until too late, but she tried to move out of the way. I jumped up abruptly and lunged at her, but it was too late. I didn’t have time… The Killing Curse hit Hermione in the elbow of her left arm, and she collapsed to the stone floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
– NO!!! YOU’RE FUCKED, BITCH! – Turning towards the killer, I quickly emptied the entire remaining magazine in the direction of the blood stain on the wall, to which several more were added, and the bastard’s invisibility cloak fell off.
At the end of the corridor, a senior stood in a pool of his own blood and stinking excrement. The scum was doubled over, wheezing loudly, his left foot stomping on his own intestines, which had spilled out of his torn belly. The little beast stubbornly tried to straighten up and didn’t even try to hide, and I pointed my wand at him.
– Zolturbo! – A black spiral tore off my concentrator and hit the bastard below the belt.
The floor and walls of the hallway were covered in a thick layer of dog meat, bones, and bits of clothing. Finish him off! Destroy him! Common sense had long since abandoned me, leaving only blind rage and a thirst for revenge.
“Zolturbo!” My vision went dark. The reserve was empty, but all that was left of this creature was a wet spot.
At that moment, a fiery flash lit up the corridor, and Dumbledore emerged. The Headmaster instantly got his bearings, and a stone wall appeared in the path of my curse, but it didn’t matter anymore… The killer was dead, just like my Hermione…
My wand and gun fell from my hands, and I lunged at my friend. She lay in an unnatural position, the gun still pointed in the direction of the threat, a sly smile frozen forever on her face. I hugged Mia close and looked into those familiar chocolate eyes, now glassy and staring into space. A tear rolled down Hermione’s cheek—my own, which I carefully wiped away with my palm. The moment we met flashed before my eyes, our gatherings in the school library, our first lessons, and our first successful spell. I remembered her ringing laughter and sweet smile. Tears of pain and loss, my own tears, streamed down Mia’s cheeks.
I leaned over the person so dear to my heart, unable to tear my gaze away from her frozen face. My vision had rapidly deteriorated; years ago, I had sworn that no one would ever see my tears again, but now I couldn’t help myself. Creator, why do you hate me so much? Why do the people I love die so tragically? Do you want me to finish what I started centuries ago? Congratulations, you’ve achieved your goal!
I ran my fingers down Hermione’s cheek and kissed her still-warm forehead, then looked up and found the bearded bastard. Dumbledore stood silently in the middle of the hallway, looking at me with longing in his eyes. For a second, I thought he understood and shared my loss. McGonagall and Flitwick, pale as chalk, burst into the hallway. Seeing the bloody mess where the attacker had been, me, and my friend’s body, they froze like statues. It was too late, too late…
“I will drown the Magical World in blood! And I will burn away the devil’s heresy with purifying flame!” Horror and fear filled the deans’ eyes, and the headmaster looked at me with understanding. I hugged my beloved’s body tighter and mentally activated the emergency Portkey.From the Author: Continue reading on AuthorToday, where the book is also free. Unfortunately, I can’t provide a link, as LitNet immediately bans people for that, but my book is easily found in the search engine.
