Chapter 80
Sunday breakfast passed in comfortable silence. Taking a sip of tea, I surveyed the practically empty Gryffindor table and reached for a bun with a satisfied smile. Thanks to yesterday’s brawl and the subsequent make-up drinking session, only our group and a few first-years had come down to breakfast from the entire house. The latter were quite surprised by the sight of the devastated common room, but they were even more shocked by the drunken bodies in varying states of disrepair dozing on the floor in unnatural positions. The house-elves clean up at night, and our beaten lions only dispersed in the early morning. We went down for a jog while three of the most resilient older students drank a last drink, then fell like autumn leaves onto the soft carpet.
Having finished breakfast, I stood up and walked proudly to the Ravens’ table. As I approached, many of the “smart kids” pointedly turned away or buried their faces in their books. However, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Ravenclaw students watching me closely. They also glanced at my friends following behind with interest. After greeting the Goldsteins and my first-year friends, I headed toward a second-year girl of Indian descent; promises had to be kept.
– Padma, hi! – I smiled contentedly. – How are you?
“Rigel, good morning.” The girl raised her head and tossed back a strand of hair, showing me a fresh bruise covering half her face. “As you can see.”
– Who? – The girl jumped at my scream and glanced sideways at the dark-haired senior sitting nearby. – Just him?
“I didn’t see the rest…” Padma lowered her head.
“No one will hurt you again.” I bared my teeth predatorily and patted the girl on the shoulder. “At least without getting a good beating for it. Right, Mia?” I turned to Hermione, who had approached.
“Of course.” The big gun lover pulled a pair of telescopic batons from her pocket and handed one to me.
We received this miracle just before our departure. The unique feature of this non-lethal special device was the cold iron coating on the striking part. Such batons were developed in the Soviet Union to subdue unruly wizards; there was also a silver-plated model used by the werewolf school teachers.
I accepted the metal cylinder, and my friend and I headed off to punch the sophomore who’d offended me. The students sitting next to the guy quickly finished their meals and moved away, or immediately headed for the exit of the large hall. The senior himself, noticing us, pulled out his wand and broke into an anticipatory smile.
“Good morning,” the guy greeted us politely as we stood in front of him. “Allow me to introduce myself, Edwin Dawlish.”
“Rigel Hellsing, and this is Hermione Granger.” I nodded towards my best friend. “I can’t say I’m glad to meet you.”
“Likewise.” The guy took a sip from his cup and set it down on the table, the tip of his wand pointed in our direction. “I take it the foreign riffraff have some protectors now? Are they strong enough?”
I shrugged and whacked the arrogant bastard on the head. The blow was delivered without a swing, and the telescopic tip barely had time to unfold, but it was enough to disorient the guy. Hermione followed with a much stronger punch to his ear, sending Dawlish spewing blood and collapsing to the floor. Mia and I exchanged glances and, jumping over the table, began beating the guy with our truncheons, with all our might and heart. We probably looked like brave riot police who, while dispersing an unauthorized rally, caught the main activist and instigator.
“Stop this immediately!” I raised my hand for another blow, but McGonagall’s menacing scream rang out behind me. “Miss Hellsing, Miss Granger, aren’t you ashamed?! Starting a fight right in the middle of the Great Hall, and in front of the teachers, no less?!”
“Good morning, Professor.” I lowered my baton and looked at the dean with the most honest eyes. “There was no fight.”
“What?!” The woman looked at the bloodied Dawlish in confusion, then turned her gaze to Mia, who was brazenly wiping blood and snot from her baton with her Ravenclaw robes. “Then please explain yourself, and I’ll listen carefully.”
“You see, Professor, Mr. Dawlish offended our friend, Miss Patil.” McGonagall sniffled indignantly, but when I pointed at Padma, she immediately calmed down – not our student, so be it. “So, when we approached, he was drinking tea and eating a sandwich and, in his excitement, dropped a piece of butter on the bench, causing him to slip and suffer varying degrees of injury when he hit the floor.
– What about the batons? – My answer left the dean stunned. – I saw you beat Mr. Dawlish with my own eyes.
“And this is what will happen to anyone who hurts my friends!” I barked at the few Ravenclaws, and then, putting on a sweet face, turned to the dean. “And we didn’t hit anyone.”
“We were knocking off some stuck butter, Professor,” Hermione chimed in. “Mr. Dawlish couldn’t get up and kept falling, always landing on his face and on the stone floor. We were just helping…”
“Okay, now be quiet!” McGonagall interrupted Hermione and shook her head. “Miss Granger, Miss Hellsing, Mr. Dawlish, minus ten points each for the brawl during breakfast.”
“Yes, Dean.” My friend and I both lowered our heads in unison, and Mia even stepped on the beaten raven’s hand, causing him to stop playing the fool and let out a loud yelp.
“Mr. Dawlish, since you’re conscious, go to the hospital wing immediately, Miss Granger, go to your desk immediately, and you…” McGonagall looked at me sternly, but then her gaze softened, and the woman smiled. “Miss Hellsing, I’ll be waiting for you in my office.”
The Dean of House turned and walked quickly out of the Great Hall. After McGonagall was out of sight, I glanced at the staff table just in case, but there was no one there. So when Dawlish tried to stand, his face hit the toe of my boot several times, and he passed out. After casting a hopeful glance at the remaining ravens, I said goodbye to Mia and my friends and headed to the Dean of House’s office.
Along the way, I wondered why my friend and I preferred to punch and kick other students when it was easier to curse them with some elaborate hex. That’s true, but Hogwarts’ rules dictated it: a curse, especially one cast in public, could result in expulsion, while a fight without using magic would result in points deducted and detention, at most. I’d already earned a reputation as a straightforward brawler, so I didn’t want to ruin the impression. If necessary, I’d hunt down and quietly strangle anyone, but for now, we’d play the strong but dim-witted witch to the crowd.
Having collected my thoughts, I knocked and opened the door to the Head of House’s office. McGonagall was sitting at a desk littered with papers. Upon seeing me, she silently nodded toward the fireplace.
“Miss Hellsing, train hard and take your time, I’ll be in the office until late.” She smiled tightly. “I’ve already bought tickets to the championship, and now I want to see your triumph. I hope the trophy will end up in the trophy hall?”
– Of course, Professor. – I smiled back. – I’ll win, on principle.
– What? – The woman leaned forward.
– I am Hellsing, and we always get what we want.
“I’m pleased with your mood,” McGonagall nodded contentedly. “I’ll be expecting you this evening.”
Nodding in response, I took a pinch of floo powder from the pot and threw half of it into the burning flame, turning it bright green, after which I carefully stepped into the huge fireplace.
“A leaky cauldron!” A second round of gunpowder flew under my feet, a moment of disorientation, and I found myself in Victoria’s tight embrace.
– Little sister! – the vampire kissed me on both cheeks. – I missed you so much! – My hair was tousled. – The mistress is already tired of waiting! – My cheeks were stretched. – You are so sweet! You have grown so much!
– Vic-kha! – Seras hugged me tightly and threatened to squeeze me out like toothpaste from a tube, but, hearing my scream, she came to her senses and loosened her embrace, and then let go completely.
Having caught my breath and felt solid ground beneath my feet, I looked around. The pub was empty, and except for the bartender, who was shaking behind the counter, there was no one else there. Only then did I notice that Victoria was wearing her usual, rather revealing, maroon uniform. It seemed that one of the patrons had also appreciated the girl’s outfit, as several tables were broken, and there were fresh blood stains on the floor and walls. Oh well, the ground was like glass wool to them.
“Let’s not waste time!” The vampire grabbed my hand, and we moved like shadows into the estate.
This time, I found myself in the arms of a tall blonde who showed a little more restraint. Just a little. When Mom finished squeezing me and pulled away, I gave in to my emotions and hugged Walter, who was standing modestly behind her. Our faithful butler first flinched, then dropped to one knee and, the corners of his lips twitching, hugged me back. For this man, it was a real ocean of emotions!
After finishing greetings and hugs, I quickly changed into my tracksuit and went down to the gym. Mom was already waiting for me and attacked without a hitch.
Warnings. We spent several hours enjoying a deadly dance, circling each other, and by lunchtime my clothes were soaked through with sweat. After taking a shower, I went down to the dining room, where I enjoyed the dishes prepared by our chefs.
Lunch lasted over an hour, during which time Mom and I had plenty of time to talk, and then came the second round of training. This time, we didn’t hold back and fought with all our might, fortunately with Walter on duty nearby. By evening, our faithful butler had patched up my injured body a dozen times and even revived a relaxed Baroness a couple of times. I was progressing, so sometimes I was able to fight back. Mom was very pleased with my progress, and during dinner, I received public praise that even made me choke. Integra, like me, almost always hid her emotions, which is why their rare expression was so heartwarming.
Late that evening, I changed into my school uniform and, going down to the manor hall, began saying goodbye to my loved ones. Everyone received hugs, including a feebly resisting Alucard, who only showed up for dinner, wearing a knitted sweater and tights. Last in line to see me off was Victoria, who hugged me tightly and, after a few moments, released me at the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. It’s a shame you can’t travel to Hogwarts like that, or rather… you can, but Dumbledore absolutely doesn’t need to know about that.
That evening, the pub was packed to capacity, which is probably why no one noticed us. The vampiress escorted me to the fireplace, sending one idiot flying off in the process, and soon I found myself in the Head of House’s office. McGonagall greeted me sitting at a half-empty table with a cup of tea, having swapped her black robes for a dark green terrycloth robe.
– Good evening, professor. – I greeted the dean wearily.
“Miss Hellsing,” McGonagall noticed my shaking hands and nodded with satisfaction. “I advise you to go to the common room immediately and go to bed.”
– I completely agree with you.
“That’s great, good night.” The dean pointed towards the door.
I didn’t need much convincing; after saying goodbye, I found myself in an empty, dark corridor. I never tire of repeating that Hogwarts is beautiful at night! This semi-darkness, these torches crackling in the silence, these reflections from the stained-glass windows, this anticipation and hatred… STOP!!!
Stopping, I turned my empathy up to maximum and clearly sensed three ill-wishers around the corner, about ten or fifteen meters away. They were burning with anticipation, anger, and sexual arousal. Thanking the Creator for this wonderful gift, I cast a disillusionment charm and a silent step spell on myself, and only then, carefully, moved forward. I wondered who this immortal had decided to ambush me? My paranoia was certain of it.
– Edwin, are you sure? – I approached the corner and heard an impatient male voice. – What if the Mad Bitch comes back tomorrow morning?
“Shut up!” Dawlish whispered. “Potter said the Muggle bedding will be back today, through the fireplace in McCoskey’s office!”
“Guys, am I the only one who thinks this whole idea is just plain idiotic?” A third voice, quiet and cautious, spoke up. “Okay, we’ll knock her out, we’ll curse her, and then what?”
“First, I’ll play with her to my heart’s content,” came the impatient voice. “This Muggle slut will beg me for mercy! And then I’ll hang her naked right from the ceiling of the central gallery!”
“Are you completely crazy?!” the cautious one said indignantly. “The agreement was to give you a good beating and then erase your memory!”
“This bitch needs to be put in her place!” the impatient man declared. “I’m doing a great job of Obliviating, she won’t even remember us later!”
“I’m not participating in this, go into Morgana’s vast rift!” the cautious one whispered. “If the mentalists restore even a sliver of memory, it’s the end for our families…”
“Aaron’s right!” Dawlish spoke up. “We just knock the girl out and curse her thoroughly! Let her lie in St. Mungo’s for a week, maybe she’ll learn to respect our rules. And this… We work in silence and don’t show our faces.”
“While the Mad Bitch is being treated, I’ll have some fun with her friends,” the impatient man whispered dreamily. “They’re still young, but let them get used to it, especially the curly one, I’d…”
I didn’t listen to the rest of the highbrow conversation and, once again thanking the Creator and the Abyss for my empathy, drew my wand from its sheath. My hand gravitated toward the machine gun, but I restrained myself. Checking the area, I discovered a silencing charm had been cast on that section of the corridor. Someone had been well prepared for the encounter, and it was too bad for them. With a clear conscience, I tossed a flashbang grenade around the corner, followed by several traumatic ones—the room was spacious, after all. When the rubber balls stopped banging against the walls, I emerged from the corner and smiled sweetly at the three stunned and slightly broken older students. Looking at the boys writhing in pain, I thought the rumors about Ravenclaws’ intelligence were slightly exaggerated.
– Expelliarmus! – Three magic wands flew at my feet. – Petrificus Totalus! – Then I immobilized the would-be raiders one by one.
The three bastards who wanted to rape me found themselves completely at my mercy, causing my face to spread into a predatory grin. One of the boys, seeing my face, swallowed and pooped a yellow puddle under himself, so I decided to save him for dessert. I really wanted to strangle the bastards, especially since one of them had threatened Mia, but I promised my mother I’d be a good girl and not kill anyone at Hogwarts. I was pretty exhausted today and simply didn’t have the strength to torture and maim the unfortunate attackers, but I had a huge desire! So I decided to use an old technique that’s sooo effective.
– Sancta Gratia! – A bright white beam shot from my wand and hit Dawlish in the chest.
The Holy Grace Curse was the “light” equivalent of the Cruciatus Curse and was almost indistinguishable from it. It’s no wonder medieval inquisitors used it on those suspected of heresy and witchcraft. True, ninety-nine percent of the accused went mad from the pain and rarely survived to trial, but that’s a minor detail.
I silently admired the agony of my attacker, which only further frightened his comrades, and only ended the spell when the insolent senior began choking on his own vomit, the whites of his eyes stained red from burst capillaries. Then I turned my attention to his accomplices. Ten minutes later, three half-conscious bodies lay on the floor, shaking with convulsions and wheezing in broken voices, and the corridor reeked of shit, urine, and vomit. And above all this splendor, I towered, calm and silent (I had to turn my Occlumency up to maximum to avoid strangling the bastards).
“So, abortion victims, I think you understand the mess you’ve found yourself in, and what the possible punishment for your actions could be?” I held out my hand, and Vasya’s menacing face appeared from my sleeve. “Now you’ll sign a magical contract or you won’t live to see the morning. The choice is yours.”
The would-be raiders shook even more violently and nodded in unison; one even tried to shift position, but my familiar quickly put a stop to his impulsive behavior and loomed menacingly over him, his jaws open. While Vasya kept the bastards in check, I pulled out the non-disclosure and non-harm contracts from my bag. They were unilateral; my paranoia prevented me from carrying any others.
I looked at the boys’ hands with disgust. Under the influence of the torture curse, they were actively scratching the stone floor and had torn off all their nails, but I still had to give them the bloody quill. Dawlish was the first to squat down and, shaking with convulsions, signed the document without reading, and the others followed suit.
“Well, that’s it, now no one will know about our meeting.” I put the parchments in my bag with a satisfied smile. “Now on your knees! And tell us whose idea this was, and how you knew I’d be taking this particular route.”
The cowardly bastards, chattering and interrupting each other, announced that Potter was the initiator and author of the idea! My brother showed up at Dawlish’s infirmary and suggested setting up an ambush to punish the insolent Hellsing. Four-eyes had overheard Ron and Justin’s conversation, so he knew the approximate time and route to the common room, information he happily shared with the Ravenclaw who was upset with me. Well, brother, you’re screwed, but first we need to reinforce the educational process—those bastards should even be afraid of my name!
My bloodthirsty gaze fell on the trio of losers, and they began exchanging panicked glances, especially since I still had their wands. Hmm… Wands… An image of a sweet vampire immediately appeared before my eyes.
I quickly paralyzed the would-be raiders and lifted their robes. It turned out to be a crap idea, though, as they soiled their pants under torture. I’m not squeamish, so I cast a cleansing charm and then kicked each of them deep into their rectums. Leaving the groaning and crying boys behind me, I quickly walked to the living room. Naturally, I “forgot” to remove the paralysis spell, and they didn’t know the terms of the signed contract. The curse would last for another couple of hours, enough time for them to reconsider their behavior, and if they tried to attack again, they’d become Squibs—such bastards aren’t worthy of being called witches.
– Ron, where’s Potter? – I took out the Wonderphone on the go and called my red-haired friend.
“He’s in bed, why do you need him?” Weasley answered sleepily. “Why are you so late? It was already lights out.”
“Thank you! I’ll be there soon.” Putting the artifact in my pocket, I ran to Gryffindor Tower.
Rage seethed within me, causing sparks to crackle in my hair. I’d been betrayed by my only brother! That bespectacled bastard had given me away! What if those bastards’ plan had succeeded?! I knew Harry was a bastard, but not to this extent…
In the living room, I completely lost it: a bloody haze clouded my vision, and I lost control. I burst into the boys’ room in a daze and almost instantly found myself at Potter’s side, before my fist connected with his nose. With one hand, I held my brother by the throat, and with the other, I was crushing his face into dog meat. Someone even tried to pull me away, but after an elbow, their attempts stopped. Potter was no longer resisting, bloody foam was pouring from his toothless mouth and broken nose, and his green eyes were a mess, but I kept punching him.
I came to my senses from a powerful Stupefy spell, the spell literally slamming me into the wall. Shaking my head, I looked at my bloodied and barely breathing brother, and then saw a pale McGonagall rushing to the injured man. The Head of House waved her wand over the Chosen One’s body and gasped, then summoned a house-elf. The floppy-eared thing in the lime-green pillowcase took Potter to the hospital wing, and McGonagall turned on me and started screaming. The angry Head of House House screamed loudly that I’d completely lost my mind and nearly beaten the Chosen One to death! That Harry’s life hung by a thread, and his death would be on my conscience, and I just smiled silently in response. Today, my brother crossed the line…
McGonagall realized I couldn’t care less about Potter’s fate, took two hundred points from Gryffindor, and sent me to my dorm. I left the boys’ room with a satisfied smile, but when my brother recovers, I’ll have another conversation…
***
Monday morning began with a headache and shaking hands; I must have overdone it yesterday. After taking a few potions and feeling relieved, I went down to the common room, where I was met by a wary Ron and Justin. During morning exercises, I told my friends the reason for my outburst yesterday; they were sympathetic and stopped giving me sideways glances. They also promised to give the four-eyes a good beating when he was discharged from the hospital wing.
During breakfast, almost the entire faculty pointedly turned away from me, and the boldest even shot me dirty looks. Not only had I nearly beaten the Chosen One to death, but I’d also lost two hundred points, a house record! I didn’t care; was this the first time? They’d already dubbed me the daughter of the Scumbag; any minute now, they’d be calling me the next Dark Lady. Shrugging, I began to eat; after physical exercise, I always have a ravenous appetite.
After a bowl of porridge and some fried bacon, I settled down to tea and scones, listening to Lavender. She was enthusiastically sharing the latest gossip, and how did she know everything? There wasn’t much of interest, but I was pleased to hear that Scrimgeour and his girlfriend were back in the hospital wing. Yesterday, Wood and his friends had caught the pair and given them a good beating, ripping off their bandages in the process. Now the whole school knows about my antics, and they’re already actively coming up with a nickname for Scrimgeour.
After we’d had our fill, we headed to class. Our first lesson was Transfiguration with Slytherin. McGonagall pointedly ignored me for the first half of the lesson, even during the quiz. After finishing the quiz, the Head of House turned her attention to the classroom and began to behave as usual, devoting herself entirely to the art of transfiguration.
“So, today we’ll be talking about a topic that should ideally be covered in first year. Detransfiguration.” McGonagall eyed the students sternly, pausing briefly on me. “Let’s start with the terminology. Detransfiguration, to use the simplest definition, is the process that reverses Transfiguration. This, in general terms, will be clear to those who remember what Transfiguration is. However, there is a more complex definition. Detransfiguration is the branch of Transfiguration that studies the reversal of transformations. Specifically, the process, methods, and characteristics of reversal of transformations.
The dean took a short pause and allowed us to copy such clever and important words from the board, and then continued:
Historically, this field of Transfiguration began to develop simultaneously with the transformations themselves. I think you’re probably familiar with the bizarre ancient Egyptian gods, who were, for the most part, originally wizards with relatively unsuccessful experiences as Animagi. And these wizards were forced to live out the rest of their lives in an unusual form, because returning to their normal form was… difficult, to say the least. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t try. That’s how detransfiguration began to develop.
We spent the rest of the lesson listening to and taking notes on a very interesting and detailed lecture. McGonagall managed to surprise me; she usually presented the material in a very dry and strictly academic manner, but here she even included a brief historical overview. The Dean of House finished just as the bell rang, and at the behest of her wand, homework appeared on the board.
Having written down the topic for our next essay, we headed off to Charms, also with the Slytherins. Along the way, I chatted briefly with Diana and Daphne, telling the girls the reason for Potter’s absence from class. One blonde brat was delighted to hear the story of how the hero of all Wizarding Britain got punched in the face, though without explanation. The Slytherins had no doubt that they had.
The Charms classroom hadn’t changed at all, just like Flitwick; the room was still cozy and pleasant to be in, and the professor evoked purely positive emotions.
“So, children, I’m glad to see you in good health!” the half-goblin began the lesson enthusiastically. “Last year we learned the basics of wand control and how to dose magic. This course will focus on household charms! Mr. Nott, don’t make such a face.” The little professor looked reproachfully at the Slytherin. “Being able to light a fire or heat food is just as important as being able to stand up for yourself. Believe me, you’ll be using household charms much more often than combat ones. We’ll be learning spells that most wizards use regularly.”
Flitwick lured several thick books and built a small pyramid out of them, then lifted himself with a spell and landed smoothly on top of it.
“Let’s continue. There are so many household spells that they fall into several groups. Let’s write them down.” At the professor’s behest, words began to appear on the large board. “There are four of them. Please write them down: influential, illusory, elemental, and auxiliary.”
The first type includes spells for everyday needs. With their help, we can perform actions such as cleaning, washing, knitting, and so on. When casting these spells, you need to concentrate, as they rely on mental control of the object.
Illusory spells are spells that manipulate light, color, shadow, and even smell; they are also used to create various illusions, including material ones.
Elemental – this is the most complex section, allowing you to manipulate the elements. The simplest example is summoning fire or casting a spell to boil water.
Auxiliary spells are the most extensive section, encompassing spells that don’t fall into the first three categories—that is, the majority. I’d like to point out that they’re the easiest to learn and use. And today’s lesson will begin with them, or more precisely, with joyful spells!
The professor took a breath and looked at the silent students with a smile, and then a drawing of a magic wand movement appeared on the board.
“The first spell will be Rictusempra, or the Tickle Charm.” Flitwick chuckled loudly. “We’ll write it down a bit more, and then we’ll move on to practice. This spell, which causes uncontrollable fits of laughter in the enemy, was invented in the 15th century by Felix Summerby. It looks like a silver bolt of lightning and was never considered a combat spell… And in vain! The laughter cast on a wizard can incapacitate them for ten minutes, depending on the effort put into it. Have you written everything down?” The students nodded in unison, and the little professor descended from the makeshift pyramid. “Now put away your notebooks and get your wands. First, let’s practice the hand movements and pronunciation…”
As always, Flitwick’s lesson flew by very quickly and cheerfully, and by the end, many of them were sore from laughter. The spell turned out to be very simple, so all the students mastered it without difficulty. Alas, the fun was interrupted by the ringing of the bell, and the happy students began to gather for lunch. I was no exception, but a note, handwritten by the professor, fell out of my textbook. On a scrap of parchment were just a few words:
Miss Hellsing, I will expect you and Miss Granger in the gallery on the fourth floor after lunch.
Nodding to the smiling half-goblin, I left the office and quickly headed to the Great Hall, showing the note to Hermione along the way. Thanks to that scrap of parchment, we chewed rather quickly and very thoughtfully. I couldn’t understand why the Head of Ravenclaw needed us? Perhaps he wanted to talk about the students I’d briefly tortured yesterday and then deflowered? Were those losers in his house, after all, or was there something else going on?
After a quick meal, we headed to the meeting place, but it was a waste of time. The little professor appeared only half an hour later, emerging from around the corner and silently approaching me. The half-gobilin studied me very carefully for a few minutes, then nodded to himself and broke into a satisfied smile.
“Miss Hellsing, I have heard that you intend to test your strength in the Arena?” I could only nod in response. “I want you to win, and to that end, I am prepared to teach you a few lessons. Do you agree?”
– Of course, professor. – You’d have to be a complete idiot to refuse such an offer. – I agree!
– Excellent! – The professor broke into an anticipatory smile and handed me a sheet of parchment.
“100 Galleons for a lesson?! And another 50 gold for Hermione to watch?” I read the document and shouted indignantly at the sly dwarf. “Where are these prices coming from?!”
“Miss Hellsing, I am a master of charms and an experienced duelist.” The greedy half-goblin put on his most innocent expression. “My lessons cost much more; I’ve already listed the price at a huge discount.”
– Maximum 20 Galleons per lesson, and that’s out of respect for your achievements. – I started bargaining with a half-breed who is half goblin and half definitely Jewish!
“Now that’s just impudence! I was just being kind, and you?!” Flitwick grinned maliciously. “Very well, Miss Granger can be here for free, especially since I’ll need an assistant.”
– Am I being cheeky? A dozen lessons like this could buy you a house by the lake! – I didn’t give in. – 25 Galleons and we’ll shake hands.
“For that amount, you can find a tutor under a Kneazle’s tail!” The half-goblin grinned even wider. “95! And that’s my final word!”
A heated and spirited haggling ensued, by the end of which I managed to knock the price down to 85 Galleons per lesson. Flitwick, with a sly smile, pulled a magical contract from his pocket and wrote the required figures into it. I accepted the document, but said I would sign it only after our lawyers had reviewed it. The professor didn’t object; in fact, he even praised my caution and paranoia. When the financial matter was settled, the half-goblin gestured for us to follow him.
“Professor, where are we going to train?” I asked the question on the way, but I wasn’t planning on revealing the operational base.
“The director has generously allowed us to reopen the dueling hall for our classes—one of the best in the world, by the way,” the small but very greedy professor replied proudly. “The entrance is right on the fourth floor.”
“I read about it in Hogwarts: A History,” Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “The entrance should be between the living portraits of Galizdra the Crooked and Marina the Squint.”
“Absolutely correct!” Flitwick nodded contentedly. “These wonderful witches made a huge contribution to the development of dueling art.”
We walked another ten meters and stopped in front of massive iron gates, decorated with an engraving of a crossed sword and a magic wand.
“Here you go again, Mordred’s halfling!” A terrifying, cross-eyed woman began to complain from the painting on the left. “We’ve come to this point, with goblin spawn roaming Hogwarts!”
“You’re right, Marina, in our time, bastards like that would be killed on the spot!” She was supported by an even more terrifying woman from the picture on the right. “Girls, kill this wild creature immediately!”
“And I’m glad to see you,” Flitwick greeted the inhabitants of the living portraits with a cheerful smile.
“I’ll rejoice at your funeral!” the left one screamed.
– What funeral? – the one on the right was indignant. – This brat deserves only a place in a roadside ditch!
Ignoring the two “beautiful” sorceresses, the professor opened the gate and gestured for us to enter. Upon entering the dueling hall, I gasped in amazement and began to look around, my mouth hanging open. The huge, bright, oval room was designed in an ancient Roman style and was somewhat reminiscent of the Colosseum. White marble benches were divided into four sections and sloped gently down to the arena, covered in fine white sand. I also noticed several balconies, decorated with intricate stucco, rising above the auditorium and likely intended for important guests and faculty. All this splendor was adorned with various white marble statues and columns, each unique! A huge milky-white globe hanging from the ceiling and hundreds of floating candles illuminated all this splendor.
“This hall can accommodate up to fifteen hundred spectators.” As they descended the marble steps, Flitwick decided to tell them a little about this amazing room. “But the most important part is here!”
The half-goblin pointed to an oblong platform of light-gray stone that rose in the center of the arena, blending beautifully with the bright surroundings. As I approached, I realized that this gray rectangle was a massive slab of marble! Solid! Simply incredible! They had to find such a large boulder, process it, and then haul it all the way here. It would be impossible to do something like that without magic.
“Thirty-three meters long and three meters wide, that’s what a professional stage should be!” Flitwick straightened his shoulders proudly. “But that’s not all.”
The half-goblin snapped his fingers dramatically, and a rumble of stone-like grinding echoed through the room, and the platform itself began to transform. Soon, the stone rectangle transformed into a huge oval. Another snap of his fingers, and a transparent, multi-layered protective dome appeared over the arena. Now that was truly awesome!
“Miss Hellsing, Miss Granger, remove your robes and select your weapons.” Flitwick pointed to a rack with a hundred different blades and a stone bench standing nearby.
My eyes were simply spoiled for choice: besides various piercing and cutting instruments, there were even war hammers and clubs, not to mention full-length shields and halberds. I spent about ten minutes searching for a suitable blade; a broadsword very similar to mine hung in the most prominent place. After a couple of swings and assessing the balance, I headed toward the professor.
Flitwick had also shed his cloak and was waiting for me in the center of the arena, a tiny sword in his hands. The sight of his “weapon” made me feel a little awkward; we were clearly in different weight classes. But as soon as I stepped onto the platform, my instincts screamed, and only reflexes allowed me to block and parry a powerful blow. My knees buckled, and I was dragged back a couple of meters. What just happened?! But there was no time to think; a hail of blows rained down on me from all directions. I dodged and fought back with all my strength and ability, and it felt like the air around me thickened and hummed.
Block, duck, block again, turn right and block again, dodge and block again. Flitwick moved incredibly fast; I could barely keep up with him, and his blows were so powerful that it felt like my blade would crack. At that moment, the half-goblin reminded me of Master Yoda from Star Wars; that puny little fellow was also dishing out some serious beatings. Unsure, I missed a powerful blow to the lower ninety—the professor was hitting me flat-footed and half-heartedly, but it was enough. My body went rigid, and a scream erupted from my throat, followed by a powerful punch to the chest, sending my body flying briefly and landing outside the arena.
– Ugh! – I dug my nose a couple of meters; fortunately, the sand was soft, but not tasty. – Oh… My ass… – Getting up, I began to rub my privates.
“Very good, simply magnificent! You have real talent!” The professor’s satisfied voice and quiet applause came from the arena. “Quickly get yourself together and let’s continue! We’ve only just begun!”
“Okay, Professor.” I nodded to the half-goblin and turned to my friend, who handed me a vial of potion. “Mia, you’re the best!”
“Drink up, you fucking d’Artagnan,” my best friend grumbled and slapped me where it hurt.
Having come to my senses, I climbed back into the arena and immediately assumed a fighting stance, but it didn’t help much. A couple of minutes later, my poor body was buried in the sand again, and then again, and again. Only half an hour later did the little professor calm down and say he’d been testing my current capabilities. Judging by his satisfied expression and the modest applause, I didn’t disappoint him.
Flitwick gave me time to catch my breath and compose myself, and then, in his signature style, began pointing out my mistakes. There weren’t many, and they stemmed from the fact that I’d gotten used to the behavior of a particular opponent, so I was simply at a loss in duels with the half-goblin. Mia also listened very attentively and even managed to take notes. After listening to the instructions and criticism, we moved on to practice.
Various movements and combinations, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Flitwick proved to be a very skilled swordsman and an excellent teacher. He didn’t forget about Hermione either, and she diligently imitated us. Soon, the half-goblin was successfully fending off our attacks, forcing us to practice the movements we’d shown him until they became automatic. Strike, dodge, block, strike again—I could spin around in such a deadly dance for days on end!
– Stop! – the professor commanded. – That’s enough for today!
– Already? – I looked at the half-goblin indignantly. – We’ve only just started!
“Miss Hellsing, dinner starts in half an hour, and I don’t intend to miss it.” Flitwick smiled kindly. “Come on, we still need to shower and change.”
“I agree,” Hermione agreed and wiped the sweat from her forehead.
Only now did I realize my hands were shaking not from excitement, but from fatigue, and my clothes were soaked through with sweat. After saying goodbye to the professor, we ran to the living room; I was desperate for a shower!
After splashing around and changing, we went down to the Great Hall. After all that exertion, our stomachs were craving food, and plenty of it, and richer. Taking our seats, we began gobbling down everything we could get our hands on; even Ron looked at us in surprise. Having satisfied my hunger, I started on dessert and was about to chat with my friends, but a very agitated McGonagall approached me from behind.
“Miss Hellsing, the director is calling for you.” The woman’s voice was unusually quiet. “Urgent.”
I stood up silently and followed the dean, while in my mind I was going over my mistakes over the past few days, of which there were quite a few…
