Chapter 76
Friday morning began normally, well, almost – Justin came down to the common room accompanied by a groaning and grumbling Ron. Unused, Weasley moved like an unoiled robot from the planet Ironweed, but determination burned in his eyes. Well, there are no obstacles for patriots. So, morning exercises were conducted amid the ginger’s quiet groans and curses. I was even captivated by the colorful way he cursed Mordred and Morgana, and for some reason even recalled Merlin’s dirty underwear. These wizards, they can’t even swear properly.
Today, I decided not to make any allowances for the newbies and to train at my usual pace, while Ron chose his own path. That’s where the gulf opened up: even with our weighted backpacks, my friend and I ran faster and lighter than our friends without them! The boys were a little disappointed by this, but it gave them extra motivation, especially when we beat them two laps around the lake.
It’s all about the Black Star summer camp. Three weeks of rigorous, grueling training significantly increased Hermione and I’s strength and endurance, not to mention our knowledge. And to avoid slipping back to our previous levels, we continued training at the pace set by the sadistic teachers. So, after giving a few instructions to the obedient Elvira, Hermione and I finished our warm-ups together; friends simply couldn’t handle such a workload. I’ll try to fix that by the end of the year; they don’t know who they’re dealing with yet, heh-heh.
On the way back, I, of course, explained to the disappointed boys why Mia and I had proven faster and more resilient, despite our rock-filled backpacks and heavy combat boots. They were impressed, and while Justin took the information for granted, Ron took it as a challenge and asked me to get him a backpack like that! But, really, later… Someday, when he gets into shape. Given his attitude and tenacity, he’ll be running like a pack donkey in the next couple of years. Weasley never ceased to amaze me, as did Crabbe and Goyle. The Slytherin Arkharovs’ training was hardly inferior to ours; I kept glancing at them out of the corner of my eye; they were training off to the side, but still within sight.
Having tidied ourselves up and changed into our school uniforms, we slowly (Ron couldn’t walk any faster) descended into the great hall, took our seats at the table, and prepared to eat. No, our neighbors were eating and eating, but our group was busily replenishing the calories lost early in the morning.
I helped myself to a full bowl of porridge, topped with bacon and sausages, berries and jams to hell. Just as I was about to savor the hot meal, the windows in the great hall opened, letting in the feathered postmen. Munching on crispy bacon, I couldn’t help but marvel at the ways wizards deliver their mail. Wizards have portals, proteus charms, and a whole bunch of other things, but they prefer owls, what nonsense!
Splat! My thoughts were interrupted by a rolled-up newspaper, dropped as if into Hermione’s plate, and a white drop landing on my shoulder from above. I raised my head, watched the grey barn owl with a promising gaze, and glanced at Mia, who calmly pulled the mail from her plate and, with a gentle wave of her wand, cleared the messy pages of mush before calmly beginning to read.
– Um… When did you manage to subscribe to the Prophet? – I looked at Hermione, puzzled. – And why?
“Back in the summer, while you were chatting with Justin, I managed to pop by the post office. A subscription costs pennies, and you only need to fill in your name on the form.” The girl looked up from her pulp fiction. “Library collections are great, of course, but I wanted to get the latest news from the wizarding world right away. Look!”
My friend unfolded the newspaper and showed me the front page, featuring a photograph of a blond wizard and a garish headline that drew me involuntarily closer. Hermione placed the Prophet on the table, and we immersed ourselves in reading:
Lucius Malfoy – defender of Muggle-borns!
Dear readers, the unwavering voice of honest and unbiased news is with you – Rita Skitter!
Rumors have reached me that the first day of classes at Hogwarts, the finest school of magic in the world, began with a scandal! Early in the morning, the school where our children study was flooded with Aurors, DMD investigators, and members of the board of governors, led by the benevolent benefactor Lucius Malfoy. After interviewing this honest and upstanding wizard, I learned the terrible truth!
It turns out that terrible things were happening at the world’s finest school of witchcraft and wizardry! Some students (names withheld at the request of the investigation) bullied and extorted money from other students for several years, often going beyond the pale. The juvenile perpetrators brazenly exploited the positions of their parents, high-ranking officials at the Ministry of Magic. This is precisely why the victims (mostly Muggle-borns and half-bloods) were afraid to report the bullying to school management or to the Ministry of Magic.
But don’t worry, the brave and noble Lucius Malfoy has declared that he will not tolerate criminal outrage at the school where the future of Wizarding Britain is studying! And our valiant Minister, Cornelius Fudge, has taken this outrageous matter under his personal control, promising to conduct an internal investigation and punish all those involved and guilty!
At this time, honest and incorruptible law enforcement officials have identified all the victims and are clarifying the details of these horrific incidents. I have also learned that the great light wizard, Knight of the Order of Merlin, First Class, and Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, has called on the Minister and the Board of Governors to show mercy and give the erring students a second chance…
“Girls, could you pass me the second-to-last page?” A sated red-haired boy interrupted us from our captivating reading. “I’ll just do some charades and crosswords.”
“Weasley…” Hermione hissed and silently handed him a couple of pages.
“Can we have a centerfold?” Lavender, looking embarrassed, caught my attention. “I haven’t read the gossip columns for two days. Please…” I silently levitated a section of the newspaper to the blonde.
“Does anyone else need anything?” Mia waved the thin newspaper, but the others weren’t interested, and we went back to studying the interesting article.
Skitter went on to write that the noble wizards heeded the venerable elder’s advice and decided not to severely punish the repentant and regretful students who had committed the crime. The reporter gracefully avoided any harsh criticism and didn’t call anyone criminal. From her verbiage, I gathered that the bastards’ parents had been allowed to pay off their debts, so the incident would be settled out of court. The amount of compensation to the victims would be determined by a special commission headed by Lucius Malfoy. Judging by the praise, he was the one who paid for the article. At the end, there was even a lengthy interview with the cunning blond.
Malfoy was “sincerely” concerned about the chaos at the school and the declining educational standards, and he was also concerned for the safety of vulnerable students. Diana’s father sang of his care for the children, and at the next Wizengamot meeting, he promised to present a draft bill “For the Protection of Muggle-Borns and Half-Bloods.” Admittedly, it sounded like the equivalent of an animal welfare law, where the cruel killing of a stray dog carries a fine. It was disgusting, even vile, but still better than nothing. Currently, the flu griffin in its stable has more rights than any Muggle-born in Hogwarts.
Although I seriously doubted that noble wizards would pass such a law, Lucius’s statement gave him a significant boost in political favor with the Light Party. And since he’s the leader of the Dark Party, he once again showed his allies in a favorable light. There were also the Grays and neutrals, but they couldn’t care less about the philosophical standoff between Beaver and Donkey, and they voted solely for their own comfort and pocketbooks.
“Did you notice there wasn’t a single bad word about Dumbledore in the article?” Hermione finished reading and turned to me. “If something like this had happened at our old school, the management would have been fired immediately, or maybe even jailed.”
“Who’s going to put him in jail? He’s a monument!” I replied with a phrase from my past life.
– What? What monument? – The girl looked at me, puzzled.
“The Headmaster is too influential to be vilified. And simply insulting the old man is extremely unhealthy. My grandfather told me Dumbledore is a very vindictive and cruel man.” I began to explain to my friend. “Besides, from a legal standpoint, those bastards hardly broke any rules; they were just having fun with disenfranchised Mudbloods, and mostly outside of Hogwarts.”
“There were purebloods among the victims, I saw them yesterday, young ones.” Elvira was reading the newspaper with us. “That’s probably why Malfoy intervened; now their parents are in his debt.”
“Anything is possible.” I washed down the last slice of bacon with the rest of my tea. “I even know who I can ask for details.”
“I completely agree with you, I’m interested too.” Mia glanced sideways at the sly blonde at the Slytherin table.
Our group had already finished breakfast, and we leisurely headed to the dungeons. Near the door to the greasy bastard’s domain, our group split into two groups: the new marauders and the polite crowd. My brother stood off to the side, holding the Prophet in his hands, heatedly arguing with his hangers-on. He was probably trying to prove that Lucius was a former Death Eater and had made the whole thing up.
Soon, the sound of heels echoed in the hallway, and the Slytherins approached us, also split into two groups. Malfoy and her friends walked proudly toward us, while Nott and Zabini stood to the side, the Italian giving me a strange sideways glance.
– Diana, Daphne, boys, nice to see you. – I said hello first and smiled.
“Likewise, Hellsing, Granger, Smith.” The blonde smiled and nodded, then looked dryly at the boys. “Weasley, Finch-Fletchley, unfortunately, you’re here too.”
“Malfoy, I love you too and respect you immensely.” Ron responded with a deep bow. “As do your friends.”
“I join my friend,” Justin continued. “Miss Malfoy, your smile is simply charming, Miss Greengrass, your beautiful eyes…”
“Mr. Finch-Fletchy, such a charming young man, especially in the company of such a courageous friend…” Daphne babbled in a sickly sweet voice and joined in the game the boys had started. “You can’t embarrass us, and anyway, let the girls talk in peace.”
“I told you so…” Ron muttered quietly, grabbing his friend by the cloak and dragging him towards the Slytherin jocks. “Greg, Vince, listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you…”
“Diana, I’m happy for your father, congratulations.” I waited until the boys had moved away. “With his actions, he attracted positive attention to himself, and he did as good a deed as possible. The newspaper didn’t write everything, will you share?”
“Don’t ask,” the Slytherin girl became more serious. “All I know is that the dumb son of a bitch set up Scrimgeour in a big way. He somehow managed to keep his position at the Ministry, but it cost him dearly.”
– Really?! – I feigned surprise. – Is he really going to pay everyone who suffered, including Muggle-borns and half-bloods?
“Of course! He’ll pay you down to the last knut.” Diana lifted her chin proudly. “The money will be transferred to the personal safe deposit boxes at Gringotts, with the Office of the Fucking Witch acting as the intermediary. So the brave hero of the wizarding war won’t get away with it.”
– Who is the intermediary? – The name of the organization did not inspire confidence in me.
“That’s the name of our family’s law firm,” Malfoy explained calmly. “The best in Wizarding Britain, by the way. If you need help from a competent specialist, you know where to turn. We always give discounts to friends.”
“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” I nodded in response, wondering what this meant. In this world, not only are abbreviations stupid, but names too?
“Why Gringotts?” Hermione asked the Slytherin an interesting question. “Why not just hand it over? Opening a safe or a lockbox from the goblins costs money, and your company would probably take a percentage for the service.”
“Don’t worry, Scrimgeour will cover all the associated expenses, and more…” Diana broke into a predatory smile. “The Board of Governors is concerned about security, so no one will rob the students; they can safely visit Diagon Alley during the holidays and collect their money. Papa even ordered that each of them be assigned an escort, paid for by Scrimgeour, of course. Besides, having a personal safe deposit box at the bank is quite prestigious; it’s not a safe, of course, but still.”
“That’s where I don’t get it.” My friend tilted her head to the side, and I looked closely at the blonde. “What’s prestigious about giving your money to greedy cannibals?”
“Proof of status.” Malfoy snorted with distaste. “Imagine you’re a respected witch and you’ve decided to open a business. How will you prove your solvency and reliability to future business partners? But you just show your bank checkbook and that’s it—everyone knows you’re a wealthy, law-abiding citizen, and your money is honestly earned.”
– How do you determine whether your earnings are fair? – I looked skeptically at the Slytherins.
“It’s simple: when depositing funds into an account, the wizard pays a small tax to the ministry.” Daphne decided to support her friend and looked at us as if we were small children. “And if the wizard pays taxes, that means he has nothing to hide, and he earned this money entirely honestly.”
“So, if a robber or a slave trader deposits money in a bank, that’s still considered honest income?” I decided to clarify the process of “whitewashing” income.
– Of course! – Greengrass looked at me like I was an idiot. – He paid the tax.
“It’s all somehow strange…” Hermione muttered. “With mundane…”
“Same thing,” Malfoy snorted in response. “Only more complicated. Are you telling me that Muggle drug dealers or other criminals keep these papers of yours under their beds? You also have criminal gangs that use the services of cannibal banks. Am I right?”
“Absolutely…” I sighed sadly. “Only for simpletons this process is much more complicated, they use different schemes, shell companies, and so on…”
“Muggles like to complicate things,” Diana nodded contentedly. “We’re simpler: Nott’s man comes and deposits the brothel’s daily takings into his account, and the goblins themselves calculate the tax and transfer it to the Ministry safe.”
“It’s convenient, I must say.” I was amazed by its simplicity. “No tax returns, no proof of income…”
“What, Malfoy, is your daddy a hero now?” My thoughts were interrupted by Potter’s voice, who was looking defiantly at the Slytherin. “How much money did Lucius pay the Prophet’s editors to have that vile Death Eater called the protector of Muggle-borns?”
The new Marauders burst into laughter behind their leader, but Crabbe and Goyle tensed up and pulled out their wands.
“Potty, my dad helped a dozen Muggle-borns, maybe more.” Diana turned sharply and grinned sarcastically. “And your dad couldn’t even protect one…”
– Shut up, Malfoy! – A magic wand appeared in Potter’s hands. – You don’t know anything!
“Oh, really?! Am I doing something wrong?” The Slytherin girl feigned surprise. “Back then, everyone knew the Dark Lord was hunting the Potters, and your idiot dad did nothing! He could have hidden his wife and children abroad, but instead…”
– Shut up! – My brother was shaking with anger. – He died a hero, and all because of that red-haired whore! It’s all because of her!
“Potty, such words about your mother usually warrant a good spanking.” The blonde Slytherin looked at the hero with disappointment. “You shouldn’t have said that… I thought you couldn’t fall any lower, but you’ve surprised me again.”
“One more word, Malfoy, and I…” Harry took a step forward, but noticed Crabbe and Goyle tensing up, and then he met my gaze and, swallowing, stepped back.
At that moment, I had an overwhelming desire to strangle the little brat, but only Occlumency kept me from doing so. I remember that night vividly and know that Lily died protecting my brother and me! That young girl had been through a lot of crap in her short life and never broke. I don’t know how poor Evans ended up in Potter and Black’s clutches, but she fought for her children to the very end, even when she could have chosen to step aside. And this piece of shit now calls MY biological mother a whore?! Even Neville looked at his best friend with obvious disapproval. Oh well, brother, I’ll explain to you what’s okay to say and what can be excruciatingly painful…
The argument, which had nearly escalated into a fight, was interrupted by the creaking of the Potions classroom door opening. Odd, it seemed like it was always silent… No matter. The students milled around for a couple more minutes, then, putting away their wands, began filing slowly and silently into the classroom. I deliberately lingered, hoping to give my brother a good dressing down for his foul words, but the bespectacled boy managed to slip past me. So Hermione and I entered last and quickly took our seats.
“I won’t lie, so I can’t say I’m glad to see you.” The prince stood at the board and looked at the students like they were shit, basically, as usual. “But since you’re here, I’m forced to continue teaching you the art of potion-making. Most of you barely managed to master the primitive first-year curriculum.” A look of disgust settled on Weasley. “This year will be dedicated to the most basic love potions and potions that affect the mind. Childhood is over, you need to know what you might face in the future, so strain what you consider your brain and carefully memorize the information in class!”
The Head of Slytherin eyed the students with disdain, lingering on the angry Potter and the sardonic Malfoy, while naturally ignoring Hermione and me. The classroom was silent as usual, everyone watching the teacher intently as he approached his desk, swung his robes, and sat gracefully.
“We’ll start the first lesson with a knowledge check. I want to understand what’s stuck in your leaky heads from last year’s syllabus and the material you read over the holidays.” The professor smiled maliciously. “Homework on the edge of the table!”
With a quiet rustling sound, the students reached into their bags and began placing the parchment scrolls in the places indicated by the professor. The Prince waited until everyone had finished, and with a wave of his wand, he consigned the entire mountain of waste paper to a special table behind him. Then he levitated several large sheets of paper containing tests for each of them.
“Until the end of class.” The Potions Master glared at the mountain of homework. “While you’re pretending to think, I’ll randomly check the work of some particularly gifted and promising students.”
The Prince’s voice was thick with sarcasm. Having finished his speech, he magically pulled Weasley’s essay, which I remembered by the blueberry jam stain. The professor also noticed this embellishment, so he grimaced in disgust and took the parchment between two fingers. He should have worn gloves, the sissy. Chuckling, I looked at the test questionnaire, read the first question, and scratched my quill pen across the blank sheet of parchment.
There were a lot of questions, but they were fairly easy, so I finished them in about half an hour, as did Mia. We placed our answer sheets on the edge of the table and began to observe the goings-on in the classroom, enjoying the silence. Malfoy and Smith had also finished and were whispering quietly among themselves, Zabini was dictating something to Nott, and the boys in front of us were diligently scribbling with quills, heads bowed. But I was intrigued by the Prince, or rather, the way he graded the papers. It turns out there’s a special spell for that! The professor simply waved his wand over a scroll of parchment, then, with a grimace or a satisfied chuckle, signed it. I’ll have to rummage around in the library or ask Flitwick; such a spell might prove very useful in the future.
By the end, four essays remained on the Potions Master’s desk; I recognized them: mine, Hermione’s, Elvira’s, and Ron’s. The greasy-haired man was ostentatiously tossing the remaining works into the trash. With a Dilation Charm, of course, otherwise how would they have fit? The prince glanced over our work again and, with a wicked smile, looked at the redhead.
“Mr. Weasley, stand up.” The Gryffindor looked up from the test and complied with the professor’s request. “I read your essay and found only one mistake.”
– Which one, Professor? – Ron sniffled.
“You’ve incorrectly identified the author of the work.” The prince cupped his hands and leaned forward. “Could you enlighten us as to who you copied from?”
– Me? – Ron choked on the air in indignation. – I wrote it myself, honestly! I even read the textbook during the holidays!
“Mr. Weasley, your impudence is comparable to your insatiable appetite.” The prince grimaced with distaste. “I understand that your mouth is used to grinding food, but perhaps today, as an exception, you could articulately and articulately tell us the truth?”
Ron flushed with anger and hung his head, and I felt a little ashamed, because Hermione and I were the ones copying from him and Elvira. But who would believe that straight-A students copied the work of a straight-A student? Hermione was about to stand up and confess; she had a conscience… Unlike me, so I grabbed her hand and stopped her from doing something stupid.
– It’s my job! – Ron looked stubbornly at the professor.
“Your work is almost a complete copy of other students’ essays, or do you expect me to believe that Miss Granger copied from you? Seriously?” the Potions Master whispered angrily. “You can’t even remember a basic compatibility chart, not to mention the alphabet and good manners. But what else would you expect from a Gryffindor student… Sit down…”
– You big-nosed freak… – the red-haired guy muttered quietly and collapsed into a chair.
“Mr. Weasley, minus twenty points from Gryffindor for insulting a teacher and two weeks of detention with Mr. Filch.” The professor broke into a sly smile. “I also expect an essay from you, the length of three large scrolls, on the healing properties of mandrake.”
“Yes, Professor.” Ron continued writing the test, snorting resentfully.
“Miss Granger, Miss Smith, minus five points each for indulging the stupidity and laziness of other students.” “The greasy-haired one cleverly forgot about me, which means he clearly remembered the night spent in the company of Walter and Victoria.”
The rest of the lesson passed in comfortable silence, and when the bell rang, the Prince quickly gathered up the test answers and retreated to his office, slamming the door loudly. This flawed Batman can’t live without pathos.
“Ron, we’re sorry, we didn’t mean to.” Hermione patted her upset friend on the shoulder.
– Yes, Ron, who knew that the Prince wouldn’t believe you? – I didn’t lag behind my friend. – The cake is on us.
“Two, with strawberries! And extra cream, and an even bigger bottle of that delicious soda!” Weasley turned to us and smiled slyly. “I’m not offended, I don’t care about the points, and as for detentions, ugh! Filch’s a normal guy.”
– Really? – Mia looked at the guy suspiciously. – And the big essay?
“I’ll write it down, my handwriting is so sloppy anyway, I’d be surprised if he believed me.” Ron smiled slyly. “Magic probably gave me this punishment for one summer prank.”
– For what? – Justin leaned on his friend. – You didn’t say anything like that, come on, spill the beans.
“So, after the engagement, Percy got all arrogant, he walked around the house so important, he even forgot to say hello in the mornings.” Weasley shook his head. “So, I decided to teach him a little lesson; he was just about to go on a date.”
– How? – Mia and I said this phrase at the same time.
“While the bore was in the bathroom, I…” Ron started chuckling quietly. “I stuffed his jacket and robe pockets with gnome poo, and put a Zonko’s Fart Bomb in his back trouser pocket. He was late as usual and didn’t notice; you should have seen his face when he came home fifteen minutes later!”
Weasley couldn’t help but burst out laughing, and neither could we. After I finished laughing, I looked at my friend in a new light; it turns out he, too, knows how to be mischievous. Maybe it runs in the family?
– So what next? – Justin patted the red-haired man on the shoulder.
“And then Percy spent half a day chasing Fred and George because he was sure they were the ones doing it!” Ron laughed again. “And when he caught up with them, he cursed them so hard that they spent the next three days crowing and burping their feathers.”
“It’s good that they didn’t start laying eggs…” Having blurted it out, I laughed again, like the others.
The merriment vanished with the ringing of the bell and the appearance of the professor, who, his robes fluttering, took his place at the table. Then he waved his wand and, shaking his greasy hair, began to grade our tests. A recipe for an affection potion appeared on the board, a simple love spell. I silently began preparing the brewing equipment, and Hermione quickly left to get the few ingredients.
Morning dew – 5 drops
Fresh chamomile petals – 8 pieces
Unicorn hair – 1 small bunch (8 hairs)
Dried marjoram leaves – 12 small or 9 medium
After placing the cauldron on the trivet and filling it with water, I began laying out the carving knives. Just then, Mia approached, and I felt a strong sense of unease. A foul, woody, herbal smell literally pierced my nose, and nausea rose in my throat, making me feel dizzy. I barely kept my breakfast down and instinctively took a step back, but it didn’t help—the smell was everywhere.
– Riya, what’s wrong with you? – Hermione threw the ingredients on the table and quickly came up to me.
– Miya… This smell… I’m going to throw up… – Swallowing, I quickly reached into my bag and took out a respirator, I even wanted to put it out, stupid!
“Miss Hellsing, take your place at your desk, or I’ll be forced to deduct points from you.” The Prince looked up from his tests. “And what are you wearing? You’re certainly no beauty, but that accessory won’t make you any more attractive.”
“Thank you for your concern, Professor.” My voice sounded muffled through the mask, but at least the nausea and dizziness had subsided. “I seem to be allergic to one of the ingredients.”
“I’ve heard this before from students wanting to skip my classes.” The dean of snakes glared at me. “Get back to work!”
“Okay, Professor.” I nodded in response, fortunately I had almost completely let go, I still had to figure out what this reaction was about.
“And take off that muzzle. I repeat, it won’t make you any prettier. Accept what nature gave you.” The prince rose from his seat. “If you’re so worried about your appearance, then this year we’ll be studying potions that will help you.”
“That’s not a muzzle, it’s a respirator! It filters the air!” I snapped back. “And as for his appearance, you should be worried; you’d have to look hard to find a more ugly, big-nosed freak. Sincerely, Professor.”
“Hmm… Interesting…” The Potion Master completely ignored my last sentence, which surprised many. “Miss Hellsing, please come here.”
Obeying the professor’s request, I quickly found myself at his side, and he made a clever pass with his wand, sniffed the air, and nodded contentedly. The entire class watched us with bated breath.
“The air around us is clean, you can take off your muzzle, I admit, it suits you very well.” The prince can’t live without sarcasm.
Pulling off my respirator, I took a deep breath and felt no discomfort. The professor noticed this and nodded again with satisfaction. Then he began levitating the ingredients from the potion recipe onto the table, one by one, but when he pulled the marjoram leaves, I almost threw up again.
“An interesting reaction. This is the first time I’ve seen someone allergic to love potions. You’re incredibly lucky.” The professor tilted his head to the side. “Miss Hellsing, I authorize you to work with this muzzle on. How you’ll test the potion’s readiness is your problem.”
“What do you mean, ‘allergic to love potions,’ Professor?” I looked with interest at the Prince, whose jaw muscles were clenching angrily. Well, he doesn’t like answering questions. “Marjoram makes me cringe.”
“Miss Hellsing, five points from Gryffindor for low intelligence, if you even know what that is.” “Bitch,” he said, grinning contentedly. “And by next class, I expect you to submit an essay the size of five large scrolls on the intoxicating marjoram and its properties, along with a list of potions it’s used in. That will be my answer to your question.”
– T… thank you… – turning around, I went back to my friend.
– Mistress. – Vasya heard my hissing and stuck his snout out. – How about I bite that waffle-faced idiot? You’ve completely lost your fucking mind, you idiot!
“Later… ” I whispered back and took my place at work.
Working in a respirator was uncomfortable, and smells played a huge role in potion brewing, so Hermione had to take on most of the work. I simply prepared and served the ingredients, while she worked on the potion—at least we shared a cauldron. However, our tandem managed successfully, and at the end of the lesson, the Prince, with a sour expression, gave us an excellent grade. Ron and Justin, as usual, received satisfactory grades, but at least they didn’t blow up the cauldron, unlike Finnigan.
After Potions, we all headed to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Everyone was curious to see Lockhart, including me. Ron laughed at me the whole way to the Defense classroom, claiming the assigned marjoram essay was a punishment from the Wizarding World for cheating, and now we were even, but I still owed him a cake. Two, actually. I was walking along, wondering how I could catch my brother?! Apparently, he realized he’d said too much and bolted from the Potions classroom the moment the bell rang. Oh well, we share the same common room, and the girls have access to the boys’ room. Imagining our conversation today, I grinned predatorily.
– Again… – Justin, who was walking next to him, said sadly. – I even feel sorry for Potter…
“Serves him right!” Ron objected to his friend. “You can’t insult your parents! And that bastard said such things about his own mother! And about Rigel’s mother…” The red-haired boy whispered the last phrase.
– To hell with Potter. – Mia hugged me tightly around the waist. – Rhea, do you think Lockhart is a real hero or are all these exploits just a figment of his imagination?
“I don’t know, but he’s definitely a wizard of some sort.” I turned to my friend with a smile. “I haven’t even read his books.”
– Me too! – The curly-haired friend smiled cheerfully. – Oh well, we’ll find out soon!
Our group had just reached the fifth floor and found themselves at the open door of the Defense Against theft classroom, from which the voices of students could already be heard. It was time to meet the new professor…
