Chapter 61
The first day back at school after the holidays began as usual with an early rise and a jog. The cold Scottish winter had finally given way to a warm spring, and now I was enjoying the crisp mountain air as I ran under the blazing sun. Mia ran alongside us, looking up at the clear sky, while Justin and Elvira snored at our heels, unaware yet that I was planning to make Olympic champions out of them. Overall, this arrival at Hogwarts had been terribly boring and mundane; the holidays were short, so the students hadn’t even had time to really miss each other. So everyone sat in their compartment, minding their own business. Elvira slept the entire way, and Hermione was reading another tome on ritual magic, trying to understand what was written, but judging by the way she wrinkled her brow, she wasn’t doing very well. Ron and Justin were playing chess, and I was knitting a unicorn-wool vest for my mom. I found the pattern in Mrs. Weasley’s book; it’s not just full of dark stuff, but also a whole lot of useful stuff. And so the trip flew by, quietly and peacefully, just like I always wish it was this way.
The only thing that irritated me was that I still couldn’t find out where Walter and Victoria had been all night. The latter hadn’t even shown up for exercise, only showing up for breakfast. To all my questions, they’d replied that they were on assignment from the head of the Order, while the latter just smiled mysteriously. Well, screw you, I’ll find out everything later anyway. I was also unnerved by the faces of Nott and Parkinson’s parents, whom we met at the station. Those two purebred bastards glared at us with such hatred and malice that I wanted to gouge their eyes out. However, as soon as my mother glanced at them, those noble gentlemen immediately turned away and quickly ran away, not even putting their children on the train. Arrogant cowards, let them try anything. I’m not Marazota, I won’t punish you with the Cruciatus Curse, I’ll just impale you or burn you at the stake, depending on my mood.
Otherwise, everything was quiet and calm. The Gryffindors, like most of the school, avoided us, so after practice and morning exercise, we calmly went down to breakfast. Weasley and the duo of Brown and Patil were already waiting for us at the table. After greeting the students, I took my seat.
– Yes, pixies by the scruff of your neck… – Ron groaned heavily and threw a piece of parchment on the table. – The schedule has changed again!
“Not that much,” Finch-Fletchley put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “So what if the potions were transferred, what difference does it make?”
“Dude, I was so hoping I wouldn’t see the Prince’s nasty mug for at least another couple of days, and now…” Ron popped a sausage into his mouth and began chewing it quickly. “I’ve even lost my appetite!” Weasley tossed a couple more large pieces of fried bacon into the firebox.
– Professor Prince. – Mia looked up from her plate.
– What? – The red-haired guy looked at the girl in bewilderment.
“The correct word is Professor Prince.” Granger adopted a lecturing tone, and Ron choked with indignation.
“Are you sticking up for this jerk?” Justin asked, clapping his friend on the back to help him clear his throat.
“For whom? For that greasy-haired bastard? I want to burn that creature alive, rip off his skin, or, at worst, drown him in a cauldron of acid.” The curly-haired witch smiled dreamily, and the boys, judging by their faces, fell into a stupor. “What’s wrong? It’s just that since he’s a Hogwarts teacher, he’s supposed to be called ‘professor,’ that’s the correct title.”
– What if Dumbledore appoints a monkey to the professor’s position? – I looked at my friend with a smile.
“Then I’ll say Professor Monkey,” Mia smiled too, “and I’ll do my best not to use bananas as feathers. Just don’t tell Dumbledore about this, or we’ve already got one ghost…”
– But there’s no ghost monkey! – Ron finally cleared his throat and smiled thoughtfully. – I wonder what subject she’ll be teaching?
– What subject? What are you talking about, boys? – Lavender, who was sitting next to us, turned her curious gaze on us.
– You don’t know yet? – I hadn’t forgotten the rumors they spread about my engagement to the old Soviet man, and so I dramatically widened my eyes.
– About what? – Brown’s ears perked up.
– Come on, talk already! Come on! – Parvati peered over her friend’s shoulder.
“We’ve received word that the principal has hired a new teacher for a secret position…” I moved closer to the chatterboxes. “But the teacher’s identity raises many questions…”
– What?! – The girls barked at the same time.
“Dumbledore hired…” I wait for a dramatic pause. “A ghost monkey, and we can’t figure out what class she’ll teach.”
Brown and Patil thought for a moment, then beamed and, leaning back, began whispering heatedly. I myself was curious to see what their wild imaginations would lead them to. Ron and Justin sat across from them, red-faced and barely able to contain their laughter, while Mia and Elvira, on the other hand, had serious expressions, all thanks to Occlumency.
“Okay, let’s go to potions already.” I finished my tea in one gulp and stood up, my friends following my example.
The lesson, as usual, was shared with Slytherin, so before it started, I managed to exchange a few words with Diana and Daphne. I also admired Pansy’s sour expression and smiled at Blaise, who turned away from me in horror and hid behind Potter and Longbottom, with whom he’d been chatting cheerfully until then. I was still waiting to test Nott’s reaction, but the door to the classroom swung silently open, inviting us inside.
When I took my seat and looked at the professor, I immediately realized something was wrong. The Head of Slytherin was very pale and nervous, with almost black circles under his eyes, and he was trembling slightly. The prince waved a shaking hand, and a potion recipe appeared on the board. Then he stood silently in the corner and pretended to study some parchments. I think I can guess where Victoria and Waltel had been all night, because when the greasy-haired man looked at me, he was overcome with primal fear and a sense of doom…
Are they nuts?! The vampire and the pain master tortured that bastard all night! Without me! Judging by his gait and the fact that the Prince is reading standing up, Walter used a punching bag, and the greasy-haired guy keeps moving his tongue around in his mouth, which means all his teeth were pulled and needles were screwed into his gums. By the way, I want that too, and I have every right to! Why is the world so unfair?! The only good thing is, even after a complete healing, phantom pains can haunt the victim for weeks, even months. I was so indignant that I didn’t even notice Mia going for the ingredients and putting the cauldron on the fire. Okay, I need to pull myself together and calm down. They probably didn’t take me because I wouldn’t have stopped at just torturing her and would have killed that vengeful creature, but that’s not allowed, not yet. So let’s pull ourselves together and get to class. I shifted my disgruntled gaze from the professor to the board and opened my textbook.
Today we had to make a wound-cleansing potion, a sort of magical antiseptic, only along with removing dirt, it also removes poisons and other harmful substances from wounds. It’s a useful concoction, every Order member has one in their first aid kit, and my friend and I have already brewed it several times. Hmm… And here’s the difference: the textbook says ten porcupine quills, while the board says thirteen. Well, let’s check.
“Why are you so dissatisfied?” Mia whispered in my ear. “The potion is simple, and useful.”
– Later… – I sigh heavily. – I’ll tell you everything after lunch.
– Okay, but we still need to check something today, remember? – The curly-haired witch poured a measuring spoon of bubonter pus into the cauldron.
“Of course you’ll like it, I promise.” I smile back, my mood suddenly soaring.
I immediately remembered testing Dagworth’s invention over the holidays and being absolutely thrilled. Then I told Hermione everything, and she’s been dying of impatience for a couple of days now. Only a madman or a genius could have come up with THIS kind of crap, or more likely, a brilliant madman! It’s certainly not the Philosopher’s Stone, but it’s still worthy of respect. Hector was really upset that he wouldn’t be able to show off his creation at the Potions Guild, because if the wizards found out WHO invented it, they’d really be hunting him down.
With these thoughts and quiet whispers with Mia, more than half the lesson flew by. The potion was almost ready, and I added three drops of salamander blood to the cauldron. Now it needs to simmer for five minutes over low heat, stirring strictly clockwise, otherwise the potion will be irreversibly ruined.
I was distracted from contemplating the milky white brew of the nearly finished potion by the purple smoke billowing from Weasley and Finch-Fletchley’s cauldron; they’d managed to concoct another incomprehensible concoction. This pair has a phenomenal lack of talent for potion-making! They sat in front of us and spent the entire lesson arguing over what’s more important in Quidditch: the skill of the players or the brooms they fly on. So I was actually surprised their cauldron didn’t melt or explode today. Just as Mia was about to shield the two unsuccessful cooks, the professor hobbled over and, with a jerky wave of his wand, stopped the violent reaction in the bouncing cauldron, then blew away the acrid smoke.
“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, you’ve managed to ruin a simple potion again. I never doubted your talents.” The prince shook his head and, turning silently, walked back.
– What’s wrong? – Ron cried out in confusion.
The Head of Slytherin stopped dead in his tracks and slooooowly turned around, then looked at the red-haired Gryffindor with such hatred and malice that many felt uneasy. Ron lowered his head, and the other students, with malicious grins, braced themselves for another round of insults directed at the Weasley family, but none came.
“Mr. Weasley, you were so engrossed in your conversation with your partner that you added five drops of salamander blood to the potion instead of the three called for in the recipe.” The professor practically ground his teeth. “But you thought that wasn’t enough, so to make sure you ruined the potion, you started stirring it counterclockwise. Don’t make such mistakes again.”
Having finished his explanation, the Prince dramatically waved the hem of his robes and, turning around, hobbled back to his desk in complete silence. The entire class was shocked! The professor had explained something without slinging mud at the student! Today will surely go down in recent Hogwarts history.
“Is that really Professor Prince?!” Ron whispered to Justin, “maybe Dumbledore put the greasy-haired one on a chain and now a normal wizard under polyjuice is working in his place?”
“Mr. Weasley, minus ten points from Gryffindor and a week of detention with Mr. Filch for speaking without a teacher’s permission,” the Head of Slytherin hissed from his corner. “And since you’re familiar with Polyjuice Potion, I expect an essay the size of ten large scrolls on its history and uses by next class. Mr. Finch-Fletchley, this also applies to you.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine, it’s definitely Professor Prince.” Weasley continued to whisper softly to the whole class and patted his friend on the shoulder. “The library after lunch?”
“What else can you do?…” Justin muttered in frustration, amid the quiet laughter of those around him.
With that, the Potion-Making lesson came to an end, and we headed to Transfiguration. McGonagall also began to complicate the program, and now we were turning real mice into boxes. Transforming a living thing into a non-living thing is a rather complex and cruel task, requiring much more strength and concentration. The entire lesson was accompanied by squeals of pain and agonizing screams from the rodents, and at the end, Finnigan distinguished himself by exploding his rat, splattering everyone around him with a slurry of the unfortunate mouse’s blood and entrails. Sometimes I feel like Hogwarts is not a school, but a training school for budding vivisectors. I don’t know why, but killing a person is no problem for me, but I can’t bring myself to kill a defenseless animal, unlike Vasya. That impudent string ate my textbook again! The professor shook her head in displeasure and, pursing her lips, brought another rodent, which the snake eyed greedily for the rest of the lesson, an insatiable glutton.
After Transfiguration, there was lunch, during which I overheard McLaggen, who’d learned from Johnson and was now actively singing in Belle’s ear that Dumbledore had decided to retire Professor Kettleburn. Apparently, the current Care of Magical Creatures teacher has too few limbs left, and next year they’ll take his place with the ghost of an Animagus wizard who, after death, was stuck in his monkey form. I wonder if Dumbledore will be completely freaked out when word gets back to him. The main thing is he doesn’t seriously consider this idea, otherwise there’s no need to pay ghosts—what a savings! And we’ll have nothing but Binns in every class, and the old man, like Scrooge McDuck, will take a bath in Galleons in the evenings.
After listening to the stories of this underage narcissist, I smiled and sent Hermione a mental image of Dumbledore swimming in a mountain of gold, and we headed off to our base of operations, amidst a chorus of laughter. Ron and Justin trudged dejectedly to the library; they still had a huge essay to write on Polyjuice Potion, and there was no point in wasting useful potions!
***
BANG! BANG! BANG! I pulled the trigger three times and, with a satisfied smile, admired the shattered chests of the life-size target dummies, which, in theory, were self-healing, but after using the innovative ammunition, refused to do so.
“Oh, fuck…” Hermione said quietly, slowly approaching the target and pointing her finger at the barely noticeable silver droplets that were glowing faintly inside the torn sternum. “Is this the liquid center?”
“The twins’ amulets didn’t even react; those pieces of wood immediately turned to dust!” Elvira exclaimed delightedly.
“Yeah, I told you right away they’d be useless.” I glare at the delighted witch. “By the way, I gave Goldstein sixty Galleons for that piece of junk!”
“So it’s all just an experiment!” Smith persisted. “But we’ve clearly verified that the new cartridges don’t care about any magical shields…”
“Not all of them. Family and ancestral artifacts can withstand one hit, no more,” I explained to my friends. “Tests were conducted here and in the Soviet Union, but that’s a nine-millimeter caliber, and no artifact or spell can withstand anything higher. The Soviet military loaded such rounds into the KPV, and it was able to penetrate the kinetic stationary shield of the family estate without any problems.”
“What about this thing?” Mia was still standing next to the mannequin, pointing her finger at the glowing silver droplet inside.
“Don’t you dare touch it!” I screamed. “That stuff is deadly poisonous! One drop in the blood is guaranteed to kill a werewolf, and almost no poison works on those creatures.”
“Cool, and when will the new ammunition go into production?” The curly-haired rogue looked at me with a fanatical gleam in her eyes.
“The Tula gunsmiths promise to get the assembly line up and running by the end of June, but production will still be limited.” I looked at my friends. “You know why…”
– Apostles… – The girls simultaneously sighed sadly.
“Yes, consecrated silver is in short supply, and it still needs to be processed properly, or whatever they do with it…” I took the magazine out of the pistol, then pulled out a strange cartridge covered in runes with a slightly glowing bullet. “I myself don’t really understand how they managed to pull something like this off.”
And it’s the honest truth! I still don’t understand how?! How did our crazy potion maker create an explosive armor-piercing bullet with a liquid center of consecrated silver?! In short, as I understand it, the bullet’s primary casing is coated with a special alchemical alloy that easily penetrates any magical shield. Cool, but something like this has happened before. Then, upon penetrating organic tissue, the bullet detonates, its secondary casing of cold iron exploding like a fragmentation grenade, destroying any magic around it. But even that wasn’t enough for the mad potion maker! He added a couple drops of oxide or nitrate to the center of this magnificent thing—I don’t give a f… Hmm, I don’t know, basically, consecrated silver or, to put it simply, liquid sacred metal. So, when detonated, this poisonous stuff turns into a fine dispersion and, when it gets into the blood, is guaranteed, with 100% probability, to kill its target, unless of course you are an apostle; for these guys, the sacred metal is harmless, and maybe even useful.
At the estate, I tested this ammunition on sample #187 and shot off a werewolf’s little toe. He died in less than a minute, writhing in violent convulsions until he vomited out his own entrails. Frankly, I was pretty freaked out, because these creatures, thanks to regeneration, can regrow lost organs and limbs, but here, death was guaranteed with such a seemingly small scratch! The Order had finally succeeded in creating a weapon against mages!
Of course, I had a bag full of enchanted ammo, including explosive and blessed ones, but this is a whole other level—it’s all in one package, and that’s pretty cool. But the biggest advantage of Dagworth ammo, as they’re now called, is that it can be fired by regular, unenchanted firearms. If I load my magical armor-piercing ammo into a regular Glock, it’ll be discarded after a dozen shots. Some kind of impulse and energy destroys the pistol’s mechanism, but Dagworth took this into account in his design! Everyone’s absolutely thrilled, and now the Tula Arms Factory is scrambling to set up mass production of this beauty; they’ve even started building a dedicated workshop.
Well, that’s all theory and a plan for the future, but right now my friends and I need to fire off two dozen Über-rounds and finish off the remaining targets. They’ll send more ammo tomorrow, but I put aside a pistol magazine for Justin and me, just in case, so we’re having fun today; it’s a shame there aren’t any live targets around.
“Now it’s my turn!” Elvira stepped into position, and Mia and I stood behind her, out of harm’s way; the black-haired witch’s aim was still lacking.
After shooting up a couple more stores, we headed to the library in high spirits; we still have homework to do. I’ll also see what the boys have found out about Polyjuice Potion; it’s apparently considered forbidden, so any information about it is only available with the teacher’s permission.
School has begun, and with it the routine…
***
My friends and I decided to spend the last evening of May on the shore of the Black Lake, having a small picnic. I packed some snacks from my stash, Hermione grabbed a few blankets, and Justin and Ron provided the entertainment, after which we settled comfortably into the shade of a century-old oak tree. There’s only a week of school left, followed by a week of exams, and then we’ll have two weeks of nonsense while the fifth and seventh years take their OWLs and TOADs. And this is where I have a lot of questions: is coal really so expensive in Wizarding Britain that the Hogwarts Express can’t make an extra run? Why the hell should I hang around the castle for two weeks while the seniors take their exams? Couldn’t they have been held at the same time? Okay, I don’t understand that logic, but when I asked McGonagall about it, she replied in all seriousness that it was tradition. Maybe I should floo home after the exams? I’ll talk to my mom about it this evening, but for now I’ll enjoy my vacation in the company of friends.
Now, sitting under a tree with a glass of pomegranate juice and admiring the surrounding nature, I was replaying the last two months in my head. Spring at Hogwarts, surprisingly, was very calm and quiet, and this is not a good sign, and my gut is practically screaming at me. According to the movies, at the end of every year, there was some real fucking chaos, and I think this year will be no exception. It’s all because of the Scum hiding behind Quirrell’s guise; he’s been acting very strangely.
Our Defense against the Dark Arts professor started drinking, and hard! After the holidays, Scum never mentioned Muggles again and taught his lessons as usual—interestingly and with tons of useful information. I even arranged for the twins to buy copies of his notes for all his courses. Scum should have gone to teacher training after Hogwarts instead of trying to play terrorist; he would have achieved more. But never mind, when the professor walked past a month ago, the stench was so strong I wanted to snack on a cucumber. Quirrell reeked of fumes even more than Hagrid, and that’s a sign! It’s been happening constantly since then, and I have two options: first, he couldn’t unravel Dumbledore’s wards and is now drinking heavily from grief, which is unlikely, but second… In the first film, Quirrell smeared himself with garlic to mask the cadaverous smell of his own decomposing body, but I couldn’t detect anything other than booze and expensive perfume from Scum. It’s kind of bullshit, but let the Headmaster deal with it; it’s not my problem, and I’m not going to try to save the Stone. I’m no hero without fear and reproach.
I took a sip of juice, looked towards the Forbidden Forest, and smiled triumphantly. I did it! Yeah, fucking right! I managed to negotiate with those stubborn bar… Ahem… Centaurs about how to transport them to Africa! All it took was five meetings with Elder Akakiy, then six more conversations with Nikodim, Theodosius, and Dionysius, and just yesterday I met with all the elders at once and we signed the preliminary agreement! The move will take place in a few months; the ungulates need to pack their belongings and wait for permission from the stars. Secondly, those fucking astronomers. So, when the centaurs deign to give the go-ahead, a dozen camouflaged trucks with enchanted containers will arrive from the other side of the Forbidden Forest, then they will be taken to the port and at night the horses will be transferred to a specially converted cargo ship with stalls, pardon me, cabins.
But another problem arose: the centaurs demanded permission to build an Orthodox church, which greatly displeased the Archbishop of the Anglican Church. Mama and Sir Islands are now actively addressing this issue and negotiating with Her Majesty and the Church leadership. There has been progress, and they should reach an agreement within a month. The main thing is that I accomplished my task.
Leaning back against the warm, rough tree trunk, I looked at the boys. Ron and Justin were playing badminton, even stringing a net between the trees. They weren’t very good, but that didn’t matter; the main thing was that everyone was having fun. Looking at the boys, I immediately remembered our recent conversation about a certain stupid and greedy four-eyes—I can’t put it any other way. At the end of April, Filch invited Mia and me to tea, and when we arrived, the retired officer begged for help. It turned out that the New Marauders had actually been spying on the caretaker! It looked incredibly stupid and inept, but the little rascals didn’t give up, which really irritated and irritated the busy man. I promised to look into it, and when Weasley told me the reason, I didn’t know what to do: laugh or bang my head against the wall.
Potter and company decided that Filch wanted to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, and they needed it more! These juvenile idiots assessed the Forbidden Corridor’s defenses and realized that it was extremely dangerous to meddle in there, but even a first-year could handle a feeble Squib. Ron even overheard their brilliant plan; it was as simple and reliable as a Swiss watch: Filch enters the Forbidden Corridor and steals the stone, and Potter and Longbottom meet him at the exit, quickly defeating him, after which they take the valuable artifact and, as the winner, keep it for themselves. According to Weasley, Neville is already building a chain of restaurants across Wizarding Britain, and Potter is deciding which brooms to test at his factory. When I told Filch everything, he laughed for a long time, and then hoped the brats would quickly tire of this idea, but alas… For almost two months now, four differently gifted Gryffindors have been constantly keeping an eye on the caretaker. I even feel a little sorry for the old man, but alas, there’s nothing I can do. Of course, there’s the option of sending Potter to the hospital wing, but I promised my mother I’d behave decently, and I’ve kept my word since arriving at school.
It seemed Ron and Justin had had enough, so I stood up and stretched my back as I headed back to my friends. Hermione had already picked up the rackets and was waving invitingly at me. “We’ll play for another hour and then we can get ready to head to the castle.” The weather was sunny and warm, of course, but the evenings in the mountains were still chilly.
***
Rays of setting sun filtered through the heavy, loosely drawn curtains, dimly illuminating a tall, black-haired man sitting in a leather chair, a bottle of firewhiskey in his right hand. His red, faintly glowing eyes were mesmerized by the flames burning in the fireplace. The Dark Lord took a sip straight from the bottle and, tearing himself away from his contemplation of the fire, surveyed the devastated apartment with hostility. All the furniture had been reduced to splinters, the walls were blackened in places by the flames, and the chandelier on the ceiling threatened to collapse, but the man didn’t care. The Lord of Fates sighed heavily and, slowly rising, shuffling his feet, headed for the restroom.
Voldemort approached the mirror and, with a wave of his hand, canceled the illusion and glamour charms he’d cast on himself. A not-so-fresh infernal figure stared back at him from the reflection. His skin was a putrid blue, blackened in places. His nose was completely missing, leaving two rotting holes in its place. Some of the hair on his head had fallen out, revealing pale yellow bone in the bald spots.
– Mordred! – The Dark Lord shattered the mirror with a blow of his fist. – This vessel is breaking down too quickly! Damn old spider! Damn Potter spawn!
Voldemort had cursed himself a hundred times for his lack of restraint. During that damned lesson, he’d overheard the Mudblood bastard speaking to her snake in the ancient naga language, and he’d lost his temper. His musings on the subject of pathetic Muggles had reached the old man, who suspected him of something. The headmaster had started keeping him under surveillance, and had loaded him with so much work that the great dark wizard couldn’t leave Hogwarts during the Easter holidays!
The Dark Lord needed only three days to perform the planned cascading ritual to strengthen the bond between soul and body. During the Christmas holidays, he had kidnapped and prepared nine nobodies from Knockturn Alley, whose life force would be used to sustain this pathetic vessel. But thanks to the old Muggle-lover, he was too late, and the moment was lost; his body began to reject his soul and literally rot alive. At first, Voldemort hid the changes behind illusions, but the Dark Lord knew full well that powerful wizards would sooner or later see through his tricks, so he quickly concocted a cover story, or rather, a cover story. Madam Hooch got drunk every evening and always showed up for breakfast under an illusion spell. The school staff had long since grown accustomed to the old alcoholic’s antics, so the Dark Lord decided to follow suit. First, he sprayed his clothes with Firewhiskey, and then, for the sake of authenticity, he decided to ingest it. Oddly enough, alcohol significantly slowed down the decomposition process, and so the dark magician began to consume it every evening in lethal doses.
“Well, nothing…” The man coughed and spat a viscous blood mixed with pus into the sink. “In two weeks, the ICM meeting will take place, and the old man will finally leave the school.” The lord straightened up proudly. “Just a little longer, and the stone will be mine! Just a little more, and I will regain my former power!”
The man grinned predatorily, causing the skin on his cheek to split, releasing a viscous, rotting, dark-yellow substance. However, the Dark Lord paid no attention and, approaching the white throne, began unzipping his fly.
Splash! Something like a rotten banana, blackened by time, fell into the toilet. Voldemort looked down, then felt something thick and warm flowing down his legs, before being enveloped in a cloud of darkness.
“Mordred and Morgana!” hissed the rotting, half-dead corpse that had once been Professor Quirrell. The Dark Lord was now furious and barely holding back the darkness that was bursting to burst forth. “No way! I’m definitely not going to wet myself or look like a girl!”
The wizard pulled out his wand and conjured a gauze bandage out of thin air. He then began carefully bandaging his crotch, which was oozing blood and pus mixed with urine. Having completed the self-healing procedure, the man cleansed himself and his clothes with a spell.
“Then let’s use Plan B.” A malicious smile appeared on Voldemort’s half-decayed face. “The old man will give me the stone himself; he simply won’t have a choice. Today, I will finish what I started ten years ago and go to my faithful follower!”
Having cast illusion, glamour and air purification charms on himself, Professor Quirrell left the destroyed apartments, his path leading towards the Forbidden Corridor.
***
“Good night, daughter,” a platinum blonde looked at me from the Miraclephone screen with a warm smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”
“Thank you, I love you.” I smiled back and yawned loudly. The picnic on the lakeside dragged on a bit, and our group returned to school just before lights out. “Sleep well!”
Mom winked at me conspiratorially and hung up, after which I stared blankly at the black screen for a couple more minutes. Then, putting the gadget under my pillow, I settled into a comfortable position on the soft bed. It had been a busy day, so I fell asleep almost immediately, but not for long.
About an hour later, I was awakened by the alarm going off. I put this simple alarm on my door every night, just in case. McGonagall burst into our bedroom, sweating and panicking. She was shaking slightly and quickly ran to my bed.
“Miss Hellsing, how good it is that you are still awake,” the dean said, throwing back the curtain and quietly addressing me.
– What happened? – I whisper to the panicking professor.
“Rigel,” the Dean addressed me by name for the first time. “There’s an emergency and we need your help. Get dressed immediately and come with me.”
– I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened. – I have nothing better to do than solve other people’s problems.
“Professor Quirrell, he’s gone mad…” The woman looked at me with a pleading gaze. “The Headmaster is waiting in the common room; he’ll give you a full rundown.”
“Okay, but I’m not promising anything.” I climbed out of the warm and cozy bed and quickly began to get dressed, under the curious glances of my waking friends.
Having clipped the last carbine onto my harness, I jumped up and down as usual and grabbed the pink MP-5 loaded with fresh ammo from the headboard. McGonagall looked at me with a shocked expression and, after waiting for me to put on my cloak, headed for the exit. My roommates watched us go with worried, confused expressions.
As I reached the stairs, I looked down and was momentarily stunned. Standing in the center of the dimly lit room was a battle wizard in full armor. I didn’t even immediately recognize him as Dumbledore. Instead of his usual eye-popping robes, the headmaster was clad in chainmail reinforced with metal plates, trousers lined with dragonhide, and highly polished combat boots. I also noticed a longsword on one side of his belt and a fighting staff on the other, and his long beard was braided into a tight pigtail. The old man looked very menacing and worried, although he wasn’t exactly an old man. Dumbledore looked no older than fifty!
– Albus, I brought the girl. – As soon as we went down, McGonagall immediately reported to her superiors.
“Thank you, Minerva.” The battle mage nodded to the woman and turned to me. “Miss Hellsing, an emergency has arisen and we require your assistance to resolve it.”
“I’ve heard that somewhere before.” I glance at the dean with displeasure and then turn my gaze to the director. “Could you elaborate?”
“Professor Quirrell has taken Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom hostage and barricaded himself in the Astronomy Tower. He threatens to kill the children unless I give him the Philosopher’s Stone.” Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Krivinus demands that you be the one to bring him the stone. Miss Hellsing, you may refuse, of course, but your brother is up there, and I understand you don’t get along, but I beg you…”
– What do I need to do? – I interrupted the director.
“Climb to the top of the tower and distract Professor Quirrell. Filius and I only need a few seconds. I have a rough idea of your level of preparation; you should be able to do it.” Dumbledore paused. “He’s cast a huge number of tracking and protective charms around him and has his wand at Mr. Potter’s throat. We can’t get to him undetected, but if you distract him…”
– I see. – I held out my hand. – The stone, he’s asking for it.
The headmaster nodded understandingly and, with a magician’s gesture, pulled a box from his pocket. Opening the wooden lid, he extracted a dragonhide bundle from its depths. The room immediately became uneasy and disgusting. The battle mage also removed a silver pendant in the shape of the Hogwarts crest from his neck.
“Miss Hellsing, this is the Headmaster’s emergency Portkey. It will transport you to my office upon mental command.” The worried man handed me the jewelry. “I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, swear on my life and magic that this artifact will cause no harm to Rigel Integra Hellsing and will perform only the function I have stated. Lumos, Nox. Forgive me, but we have too little time to reason with your paranoia.”
“Understood.” I nodded in shock, allowing the protective artifact to be placed around my neck and accepting the abomination from the director’s hands. Afterwards, we silently hurried to the astronomy tower.
As we walked, I pondered why I’d so readily agreed to this adventure, and the answer is simple: even in the common room, I’d already hatched a plan to get even with that bastard. I couldn’t care less about Potter, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to test my new munitions on Scum. Today, I’ll kill him, and then I’ll get around to his remaining lackeys. Plus, I’m relying on the professor’s magical contract with Hogwarts; in theory, he’s physically incapable of harming a student, but judging by the headmaster’s expression, something’s gone awry. Maybe that bastard found a loophole? This is all strange, but I’ll definitely question the old man later; I hope he’ll deign to answer.
I was pulled from my thoughts by Professor Flitwick, standing in front of the entrance to the Astronomy Tower, looking very menacing. The half-goblin was dressed in a French army uniform from the First Great War, reinforced with dragonhide inserts. He clutched a wand tightly in one hand and a black dagger inscribed with runes in the other. Also leaning against the wall nearby were Professor Prince and Madam Sprout, wearing ordinary robes but holding wands.
– Filius? – The director turned to the small half-human.
“No change, he’s threatening to kill the children if he doesn’t get the stone from Miss Hellsing.” The Ravenclaw Headmaster shook his head and grinned angrily, and his teeth were sharp.
“Understood, we’re working according to plan.” Dumbledore nodded to Flitwick and went into battle transgression. It’s a great thing, but I haven’t quite mastered it yet. The half-goblin followed suit. “Miss Hellsing,” the larger gray “cloud” addressed me. “I’m keeping a close eye on what’s happening at the top of the tower through Fawkes in the sky. Try to distract Quirrell. Two seconds will be enough, we’ve calculated everything.”
I nodded silently in response and turned toward the stairs. I reached the top of the tower and pushed open the heavy door, only to be thoroughly shocked by what I saw. Yeah, I didn’t expect to see that, even though I’d been prepared for anything. In the center of a large circular platform stood a rotting, noseless half-corpse, holding a bound and shaking Potter by the scruff of his neck, the tip of his wand pressed against the little hostage’s temple. Nearby, on the stone floor, lay Neville, tied up like a caterpillar, his face smashed in, staring in horror at his captor. I sniffed and grimaced in disgust; Quirrell reeked of decay and rotting carrion.
“You’ve finally arrived.” A satisfied grin appeared on his hideous face. “Or did you think I wouldn’t recognize the Mudblood’s spawn?! Today you will answer for everything, you pathetic wretches! The stone! Give me the stone!”
– This one? – I took a package from my pocket, emitting pain and suffering, and looked at this creature with a smile. – Insult me again and I will kill you.
“You’re bold, unlike your Mudblood mother.” The creature adjusted his grip on the shaking, black-haired Gryffindor’s neck. “Bring the stone here.”
– And the magic word? – I tossed the package in my hand.
“Crucio!” For a few seconds, heart-rending screams filled the air, and my brother screamed loudly in pain. “Is that enough? Or should I repeat it?” The creature turned to me sarcastically as soon as the torture spell wore off.
While my brother was writhing in agony, I somehow felt aesthetic pleasure, because that bastard deserved it. While I was in pain, suffering, and fighting for my life, my brother was eating sweetly and soundly on a soft bed, and then he sent me packing. Is it even worth saving this rich kid? Does Harry fervently believe the whole world is his, and everyone else is dirt and trash under his feet? I’m no slouch myself, and I’ve killed, innocent people at that, but this bastard will follow in Sirius’s footsteps and get even worse.
Okay! Let’s not get distracted, we’re in the middle of a counter-terrorism operation, and I’m the main player in it, so let’s smile sweetly and continue our conversation.
– You know how to persuade. – I tilted my head to the side. – Catch!
Quirrell was quite a tall wizard, and the top of my brother’s head barely reached the middle of his chest, and given that the distance to this carrion was only a few meters, I couldn’t miss. The wretch stared greedily at the package flying toward him, and my beloved, now-homelike Glock 26 instantly materialized in my outstretched hand. It took me less than a second to aim, and I pulled the trigger, and then again, and again.
The first bullet shattered against the kinetic shield, and a split second later, the second and third hit home, almost simultaneously. The bastard’s head burst like an overripe watermelon, splattering Potter and his friend with shreds of bone, rotting flesh, and stinking, yellowish blood. The headless lord stood for another second and began to fall backward. At that moment, two gray clouds appeared on the tower, and bright white beams struck the corpse from both sides, turning it into a charred ember. The stench of rot and decay was joined by the stench of burnt meat and clothing.
– Ugh… – My brother doubled over and threw up, but Neville was a good guy – he just shit himself and passed out.
Dumbledore and Flitwick emerged from combat transgression next to the hostages. The Headmaster waved Potter toward him and quickly shoved him behind his back, while Flitwick was already working his magic on Longbottom. I was about to exhale when a shrieking black cloud erupted from Quirrel’s remains, just like in my memories! The gray-bearded wizard managed to react and fired a bright golden beam at the creature. It hit, and the black spirit shrank by half before my eyes and, with a pained cry, abruptly vanished into the sky, where it vanished among the night clouds.
“There you go! He’s gone, the bastard!” The director angrily launched several fireballs into the sky, using the hand that didn’t have the concentrator, and then glared at the unsuccessful hostages.
At that moment, the wooden door flew off its hinges, and McGonagall, Sprout, and Prince rushed up to the top of the astronomy tower, threateningly, waving their wands in all directions. A local special forces unit had arrived, with the Head of Hufflepuff House looking particularly comical in her dirty blue work apron and purple cap.
I eyed this support group skeptically, then turned my gaze to an angry Dumbledore, and then to a worried Flitwick, who had brought the hostages to their senses and was now actively pelting the boys with diagnostic spells. My brother was shaking slightly and trying to wipe the contents of his stomach from his shirt with his hand, while a yellow puddle spread beneath his feet. Neville was shaking nearby, kneeling, and even through the stench of rotting and burning carrion, the smell of fresh shit reached my nose. Good heroes, there’s nothing to say.
I was about to ask the director what the hell had just happened, but I realized my right wrist was on fire; the adrenaline in my blood had previously drowned out the pain. Pulling up the sleeve of my robe, I saw that the venetoscope had heated up so much it had left a severe burn, and the skin around it was covered in blisters, meaning I was a hair’s breadth from death.
I was distracted from contemplating the burn by the pleasant music coming from beneath my robe—the Miraclephone was ringing. The faces of the deans and the director suddenly turned pale, and my lower back began to itch. I slowly reached into my inside pocket for my gadget. I hoped it wasn’t Mom… Otherwise, we’d all be screwed.
