Chapter 84
The wall clock in the Hogwarts hospital wing read three in the morning, the time the ancient castle usually fell asleep. Duty teachers ended their patrols just after midnight, a fact brazenly exploited by hooligans, romantics, and other nocturnal adventurers to return to their warm, cozy beds with impunity. Only one, the school caretaker, cared nothing for the local customs and would wander the empty corridors until the early hours. Many students fiercely hated the old Squib for his vile nature, but respected him for his agility and knowledge of the ancient castle. Argus Filch had a knack for it, or perhaps Hogwarts itself guided him, and during his tenure, the retired officer stopped hundreds, if not thousands, of rule-breaking and “childish pranks.” Some pureblood students were extremely displeased with the pathetic Squib’s behavior and sometimes tried to “punish” him, but the castle always protected the loyal caretaker. Until today…
The great light wizard Albus Dumbledore sat in the hospital wing’s emergency room, musing melancholy that he had overdone it a bit in his pursuit of the Common Good. For years, the school had fostered an atmosphere of impunity and permissiveness for the scions of pureblood and noble families, a fact they took advantage of with glee. Habit is a terrible force, and after graduating from Hogwarts, these foolish youths continued to commit indecent acts and consider themselves superior to others. Thanks to this policy, a rift had recently emerged in Wizarding Britain; discontent had long since blossomed into hatred, which was precisely what Albus had been aiming for. A single spark, or Tom’s return, would ignite a true civil war, not the power struggle of ten years ago, mistakenly called the Wizarding War.
But Dumbledore was worried about something else: the brazen heirs had dared to attack the caretaker, the school staff, HIS SCHOOL! And this had to be nipped in the bud! The last time something like this happened was over ten years ago, when Severus Prince was appointed Head of Slytherin House. The students of the Serpent House weren’t thrilled to be led by a traitorous half-blood, and everyone else wasn’t happy to have a former Death Eater from their inner circle teaching at the school. So the older students temporarily buried the hatchet of their inter-house war and focused all their hatred on the young Head of House. The great wizard of light ignored the mood among the students at the time, and, as it turned out, he shouldn’t have. By the end of September, Prince was in critical condition at St. Mungo’s, and this incident infuriated Albus, who decided to show everyone that Hogwarts was HIS school, and HIS people were not to be touched .
At the headmaster’s personal request, investigators and Aurors didn’t stand on ceremony, and by evening all the instigators of the assassination attempt were brought to the DMP cells. The next day, the parents of the pureblood brats were arrested; Albus easily convinced everyone that the older students were acting on orders from their older relatives. As head of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore took advantage of the simplified legal proceedings following the “war,” and within a week, all the undesirables were sent to North Sea resorts. Along with their parents, of course. The sentences weren’t long, but even a couple of years in Azkaban could seem like an eternity, and since then, there have been no attacks on the new head of state. Everyone realized that the Prince was Dumbledore’s man, and the old man really didn’t like it when his “toys” were broken.
The gray-haired wizard chuckled, remembering how, after the assassination attempt and public humiliation, the Prince had become fascinated with the Dark Arts and had begun actively practicing combat magic. The pocket potion maker was hurt by the fact that he, a grown wizard, had almost been killed by some brats! Dumbledore didn’t object and even made a deal with Flitwick; the two of them trained Severus for a while, but after about six months, the young head of state’s enthusiasm faded, and he returned to his cauldrons. This didn’t surprise the veteran wizards; they remembered the Prince well as a student and knew he wouldn’t make a fighting man. However, they managed to hammer the basics into his head, and that was enough to defeat an ordinary wizard or escape from a seasoned fighter. After all, Dumbledore needed a competent and skilled potion maker, something Severus excelled at, and his nasty and spiteful nature could be overlooked. Moreover, today the talent and thriftiness of the Slytherin dean came in handy; not every potion maker could have brewed a Mandrake Invigorating Draught, especially in such a short time and without compromising the quality.
Albus glanced at his watch again, his nostrils flared in displeasure, and his lips pursed. His neck and back were stiff from waiting in an uncomfortable chair for several hours, but the great light wizard was even more irritated by the fact that he only had a couple of hours of sleep left. Tomorrow, or rather, today, was the next meeting of the MCM, for which he was obliged to be on time. Valid reasons for being late included morning diarrhea, the death of a beloved pet, or a simple reluctance to get out of a comfortable bed, but certainly not concern for a pathetic Squib. The headmaster’s only consolation was that Filch would soon wake up, and all the details of this outrageous attack would be revealed. And then all those responsible would be expelled, alas, but this “prank” was hardly fit for Azkaban. In this regard, all the deans and teachers agreed with the headmaster, especially since some of them were accompanying him and were in a less-than-stellar mood.
“And I’m telling you, that wasn’t just a child’s prank!” Dumbledore’s attention was drawn to Lockhart, who was arguing heatedly with Minerva. “They wouldn’t have wasted such an expensive potion on an old Squib!”
“Gilderoy, you’re clearly exaggerating.” The loyal deputy didn’t give up. “Argus had plenty of detractors; many students hated him.”
“Maybe, but why make it so complicated?!” The blond persisted. “If the seniors wanted to get even, they would have simply cursed him with something nasty or beat him up. Why go to all that trouble?!”
“I completely agree with my colleague, something doesn’t add up here.” A thoughtful Flitwick joined the argument. “A potion of living death, and one with mandrake juice added to it… Too expensive and complicated for a simple mockery…”
“I think you’re the one making things more complicated,” McGonagall continued to press her point. “Someone here decided to get creative. Don’t forget, Mr. Filch’s body was hung on hooks in one of the corridors! Someone clearly wanted to show off their actions!”
“Then why didn’t they hang him in the central hall?” The half-goblin grinned. “Then the whole school would have seen the caretaker, not just the Gryffindor students. Remember how your sixth years bullied Apollyon Pringle in 1947? He even had to resign after that incident.”
“Could you tell me more?” Lockhart looked at his colleagues with interest. “I wasn’t at Hogwarts then.”
“That was Mr. Filch’s predecessor…” The Head of Gryffindor looked down guiltily. “He was stripped naked, doused with tar and feathers, and then hung upside down in front of the Great Hall. The poor guy spent the entire night like that.”
“And the way he swore when we found him,” Flitwick chuckled cheerfully. “I admit, I don’t feel sorry for him; the caretaker got what he deserved back then.”
“Filius, shouldn’t you be ashamed?” Dumbledore looked reproachfully at the half-goblin. “Apollyon was only doing his job.”
“And he was a downright sadist!” The Ravenclaw Dean jumped up from his chair. “You remember how he reveled in spanking his students, often miscalculating the number of blows, always on the high side.”
“That’s why I’ve abolished corporal punishment.” Albus stood up and stretched his stiff back. “And as for Argus, we’ll find out soon enough. The attacker clearly didn’t expect Professor Prince to have a supply of mandrake juice.”
“Or maybe it’s the other way around? What if this is a carefully planned intimidation campaign?” Lockhart began pacing in front of his colleagues. “If he’d gotten the dosage wrong, the caretaker would already be dead…”
– They wanted to kill him? – The Head of Gryffindor’s eyes widened. – In that case, we must immediately call the DMP and report an assassination attempt!
“Minerva, my girl, calm down,” Dumbledore had to calm his impressionable deputy. “If they had wanted to kill Mr. Filch, they would have chosen another, simpler and less expensive method.”
“That’s what I’m saying, something’s not quite right here…” The talented writer continued pacing the hospital wing’s reception area. “The old Squib was paralyzed and put into some sort of magical coma or stasis… Strange… Then they hung him up for all to see… Why?.. A warning?.. But for whom… Or maybe this is just the beginning?”
“Gilderoy, my boy, stop winding yourself up and building conspiracy theories,” Albus interrupted the writer’s musings. “It was just a childish prank, evil and cruel, but it doesn’t amount to anything serious. You’ll see that for yourself soon.”
“As you say, Director.” The DADA teacher nodded and turned to the window.
The talented writer’s mind was already beginning to formulate a plot for a detective novel in which a vicious villain commits brutal attacks on students and terrorizes all of Hogwarts. The tyrant Headmaster and his henchmen will be powerless, and the great Gilderoy will have to save everyone, especially the beautiful princess, whom the evil villain, or perhaps even the risen Dark Lord, will drag into the castle’s deep dungeons for a ritual sacrifice. An excellent plot for a bestseller! Lockhart only had to choose the beautiful princess; he already had a couple of candidates for the role. And when it’s all over, the rescued one will wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him passionately, and then they…
“Professor Lockhart, are you alright?” The Dean of Badgers approached the young professor silently. “You’ve been standing there motionless for about ten minutes now.”
– What? – The young wizard turned towards the voice and almost screamed. – No, no, everything is fine, I was just thinking…
The talented writer shook his head and suppressed the trembling in his knees. He was just imagining the beautiful princess straddling his waist, erotically caressing her small, firm breasts and nipping at her swollen lips. Then he turned sharply and saw Madame Sprout’s face up close, which brought him back to reality. To a terrible reality…
Meanwhile, Dumbledore and Flitwick, sitting off to the side, frowned; the half-goblin even tenderly stroked the cursed dagger hanging from his belt. The young wizard had become so engrossed that his mental shields weakened, and his wild fantasies burst forth. The older wizards, as usual, had spied on them and were very displeased with what they saw, especially the passionate and aroused expression of the beautiful princess. The Headmaster even decided to give his subordinate a warning, because if he tried to make his fantasies a reality, then…
Albus didn’t have time to finish his thought, as the door to the intensive care unit opened, and a pleased Poppy and a gloomy Severus emerged into the hallway. The school mediwitch was delighted by the recovery of her old friend, but the Potions Master felt sorry and worried about the rare and expensive ingredients wasted on the insignificant Squib.
“Headmaster, Mr. Filch is awake, you can talk to him.” The woman looked sternly at everyone present. “But only for a little while! Argus needs rest and a deep, healthy sleep to fully recover.”
“Certainly, Madam Pomfrey,” Albus nodded with a smile, then looked at the Potions Master. “Thank you, Severus, your help was very helpful.”
“I’ll be in my room, Headmaster.” The Head of Slytherin looked askance at his superior. “Tomorrow, my first lesson is with fifth-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, so I want to get some sleep. It’ll take all my strength to endure the company of these unintellectual humanoids.”
– Severus! – McGonagall shouted indignantly.
“Good night everyone.” The Potion Master turned on his heels and, with a flourish of his robe, walked away.
The wizards present merely chuckled at this and, without a word, hurried to the injured man. The room was bright and fairly spacious, so the faculty delegation fit comfortably. Sprout and McGonagall stood by the entrance, Flitwick took the only chair, and Dumbledore and Lockhart approached the large metal bed where the caretaker was resting. Upon seeing the guests, Filch rose up on his elbows, adjusted the pillow behind his back, and assumed a semi-sitting position, revealing his bandaged shoulders.
“Hello, Argus, how are you feeling?” Dumbledore turned to his subordinate with a fatherly smile.
“Thanks, it’s crap.” Squib adjusted the blanket and tried to straighten his shoulders. “Oh, fuck… It’ll hurt for another week, for sure.”
– Mr. Filch, do you remember what happened? – Lockhart sat brazenly on the edge of the bed. – Maybe you remember faces or know names?
“Let me think, I was going to the toilet on the fourth floor, a couple of the punishment guys were washing sh—” The retired officer glanced sideways at the female teachers. “They were cleaning fecal matter off the walls and toilets. I turned the corner and… That’s it. I didn’t even have time to react, they were clearly waiting for me.”
“Argus, are you sure?” The director’s face became extremely serious. “Maybe it was an accident?”
“It was an accident last week, when I caught Scrimgeour and his friend after lights out, when those faggots… Ugh! Gays, locked themselves in a storage room on the fifth floor. I didn’t even know such positions existed!” The caretaker grimaced with distaste. “And then a curse flew at my back, and I lost consciousness. What at least happened? I hope my honor wasn’t damaged?” Filch smiled cheerfully.
“They just drugged you with an expensive potion and hung you on hooks in the corridor.” Flitwick looked at the Squib with a smile. “Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”
“Exactly, those little bastards, now they won’t leave their cubbyhole without a shotgun. Ugh…” The retired officer made a couple of shoulder movements and winced in pain. “If I catch you, I’ll give you a whipping, or better yet, I’ll send you to scoop up the cesspool with your palms!”
– Mister Filch, perhaps you heard something? – Lockhart leaned forward a little. – Rustling or voices?
“Yes, I’m telling you, everything was quiet and calm!” the retired officer snapped, then paused. “Wait, there’s one clue.”
– What? – The director and everyone else stared at the victim.
“The curse landed on my lower back, which means my attacker was short.” Filch massaged his chin. “Or maybe his hands were shaking and he’s cross-eyed.”
“Hmm… Interesting.” Lockhart’s smile widened. “Pureblood wizards are taught from childhood to hold their wands at arm’s length; it’s more comfortable and…”
“And it’s easier to knock it out,” Flitwick interrupted. “Only children and incompetent people hold a wand like that, while experienced wizards hold the concentrator close to their body or cast from the hip.”
“Headmaster, I really don’t remember anything, but maybe you’ll see something?” While the two wizards were arguing, Filch looked Dumbledore in the eyes. “You’re a master of mental magic, and I really want to punish the impudent little brat.”
“Okay, Argus, focus on your most recent memories.” The caretaker nodded, and Dumbledore removed his half-moon glasses and pulled out his wand. “Legilimens.”
The old Squib’s mind was perfectly structured, so Albus quickly found what he was looking for and carefully reviewed the recent events. Alas, he saw nothing but an empty corridor; the attacker had operated from ambush and was completely silent. Satisfied that he had learned nothing new, the director carefully exited the caretaker’s mind.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t see anything either.” Everyone present slumped sadly. “Therefore, I suggest we go to our rooms and think this through. There will be a general meeting tomorrow after dinner. Deans, please provide a list of the students who were late or absent from the celebratory dinner, preferably with reasons. We’ll be sure to check everyone later. That’s all for now. I wish you all sweet dreams. Get well soon, Argus.”
Dumbledore nodded to everyone and, maintaining his posture, left the room; he was incredibly sleepy.
“Albus, if you don’t slow down, I’ll forcibly hospitalize you and lock you in a ward for a week.” He bumped into the school’s mediwizard in the emergency room. “You’re a great wizard, of course, but you need more than a couple of hours of sleep a night.”
“I know, Poppy, I know…” The director sighed heavily. “But I can’t afford that luxury yet; you see what’s going on around me.”
“Here, take this and make sure you take the entire course!” Madam Pomfrey handed the boss a box of potions and smiled tightly. “If you keep slacking off, I’ll prescribe you a daily cleansing enema!”
“I always strictly follow the instructions of the attending mediwitch.” Albus smiled warmly in response and put the gift in his robe pocket. “Thank you.”
“Go ahead…” The woman waved her hand towards the exit. “I still need to disperse the others, Argus really does need some peace.”
Nodding goodbye, the great light mage hurried to his chambers. With luck, he’d get three whole hours of sleep, a full hour more than yesterday and the day before.
***
For a week and a half, a whole week and a half, the school was in an uproar, with everyone constantly talking about the horrific and treacherous attack on the odious caretaker. During that time, I heard so many theories that I often wanted to bang my head against the wall.
Let’s start with the fact that the first thing I did after discovering the caretaker’s body and returning to the dormitory was uncover the Marauder’s Map, wanting to see the actions of the headmaster and the school staff. However, the mysterious artifact revealed that the retired officer was alive and in the hospital wing, along with Dumbledore and all the deans. Then I began interrogating Vasya, as his stupor was very similar to the basilisk’s actions in the films, although I didn’t hear any voices coming from the walls. In response, the scaly familiar assured me that the old snake was fast asleep, even swore on his ass. Then I talked with my mother for about an hour, but our meeting also yielded no results; this attack on Filch was, to say the least, strange and illogical. Having learned nothing, I fell asleep, deep in thought.
The next day at breakfast, the entire school discussed the tragic death of the kind and just caretaker, who had died honorably on duty. Then the much-discussed late Filch walked into the Great Hall, and all hell broke loose. Someone screamed, someone clutched their hearts or wands, and a couple of the more impressionable even fainted! Dumbledore tried to calm everyone down and loudly declared it was just a prank gone wrong, but naturally, no one believed him. Everyone had already come to terms with the caretaker’s death, so they simply didn’t believe his miraculous resurrection, and the rumors reached a new, completely absurd level!
Thanks to Lavender, I knew about all the crazy theories; even Ren-TV couldn’t resist! So, the first theory was that Dumbledore, with the Prince’s support, had performed a bloody Dark Magic ritual involving the sacrifice of first-year students (no one cared that they were all there), and through his actions, the headmaster had brought back the spirit of the deceased caretaker. According to these idiots’ logic, it wasn’t a pathetic Squib who was now roaming the school, but a wight or even a lich—they hadn’t decided yet. It was a dubious theory, of course, but some students were now terrified of Filch and ran screaming at the first sight of him.
The second theory, perhaps the most abstruse, was that Filch had discovered and accidentally activated an artifact hidden in the dungeons, a device for inter-temporal and inter-dimensional travel designed by Rowena Ravenclaw herself. This was how the smartasses explained why the old Squib ended up on the upper floors, even though they’d seen him descending into the dungeons that morning. Where the caretaker had been hanging out all day was of no concern to anyone.
The third theory was that the caretaker had been attacked by the Dungeon Terror, someone had remembered the legend of the Chamber of Secrets, and so it all began. Now more than half the students were convinced that the terrifying monster had attacked Filch because he was a Squib, and that the Mudbloods would be next. Learning magic was the privilege of purebloods only. This theory was actively fueled by the Slytherins and some of the noble ravens.
And the fourth, the most unpopular, was that one of the older students had decided to take revenge on the caretaker for ruining their date. But this theory was boring and too plausible, so no one believed it except Filch himself.
Mia and I didn’t believe the stupid rumors either, so we decided to find out firsthand and simply showed up at the retired officer’s office. I even brought some cake with me. Over a cup of good tea, the former major told us all the few details and was convinced he’d been attacked by some disgruntled purebred asshole. I didn’t try to convince him otherwise. The mere mention of the mandrake was enough for me to understand the logic of the sap of the Scum trying to imitate a basilisk attack. Only idiots believed that this monster could turn its victims to stone with its gaze, and what would it eat? What the hell does a giant snake need a collection of statues and sculptures for? This thrifty predator puts its prey into a kind of stasis and drags the resulting preserves back to its lair, to be happily devoured later when it’s hungry.
Having found out everything I needed to, I raised the alert level to orange and forbade my friends from moving around the school alone, then continued studying and training calmly. I had no intention of stressing out or panicking; thanks to my empathy, I was immune to ambush, I’d tested it, and my trusty machine gun and emergency Portkey were always at hand. As for Scum’s diary and the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, I simply gave up on searching. What’s the point? There are hundreds, if not more, of Black Notebooks in the school, and we wouldn’t see the door to the Slytherin vault even if we bumped into it. I simply remembered that Black had been there, but had forgotten it even existed, meaning Scum had cast the Fidelius Curse. My arms are still a bit short when it comes to competing with higher magic, but for some reason, somewhere in the back of my mind, I was tormented by the thought that I was missing something, something really, really important.
It was with these thoughts in mind that I went down to Sunday breakfast with my friends. Unfortunately, almost every student was present in the Great Hall today, making it very noisy. The reason for such a friendly awakening was today’s Quidditch game between Slytherin and Gryffindor.
“Well, at least everyone forgot about Filch,” Hermione smiled, walking next to him. “I’m already tired of hearing about all these liches and horrible monsters.”
“I agree, it’s better if they discuss the game.” I sat down at the table and nodded to Ron, who was sitting opposite me in full sports gear. “Are you nervous?”
“A little.” The guy reached for the bacon with a shaking hand. “I even lost my appetite.”
“That’s bad,” Justin clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You can’t play much on an empty stomach, and what if the match lasts until the evening?”
“That’s true,” Weasley smiled nervously and helped himself to a full bowl of porridge. “Mum always said that you can’t do anything on an empty stomach!”
With these words, the ginger one began to destroy the food, the girls and I looked at each other and followed his example, the game really could drag on.
– By the way, did you place your bets? – Justin finished his meal and poured himself some tea. – We have a very strong team this year, so I bet on Gryffindor to win.
“But the slugs have new brooms, and an ‘unknown’ blond patron transferred the entire team to a Nimbus 2001.” Ron looked up from his meal and angrily glared at the Snake House table. “I even had to give Voodoo my FAGGY, I hoped he wouldn’t break it.”
“Ron, everything will be fine.” I took my red-haired friend’s hand. “You yourself told me about your unique tactics and how Potter flies so well.”
– That’s true, – Ron nodded, – the main thing is that this snob doesn’t lose his points.
“Don’t worry, Weasley, I won’t lose it.” My brother approached us, accompanied by the rest of the team. “You shouldn’t have changed into your uniform. I’ll catch the Snitch in no time, and we’ll go celebrate our victory.”
“Potter, don’t brag.” Wood brought the broom handle down on the bespectacled boy’s head. “You know it’s a bad omen.”
“Sorry, Ollie,” Harry rubbed the sore spot dramatically. “I was just stating a fact.”
– Potter – stop talking, Weasley – stop eating! – the team captain barked. – It’s time to go!
We watched our team leave and continued with breakfast. Only fifteen minutes later did our house, a friendly and vocal crowd, head to the stadium. The weather was clear and sunny, so no one noticed the slight frost. Taking my place in the stands, I didn’t even try to interact with my friends; everyone around me was shouting and chanting. Several people had brought flags and huge banners depicting mighty lions munching on skinny, rotting snakes. I even spotted a poster showing a snake tied in a knot resembling a fig. The Slytherins weren’t far behind, either, and their posters depicted half-decayed lions with menacing snake heads protruding from their bellies or eye sockets. Then someone from the Green house launched a material illusion, depicting a huge snake shoving its tail under the tail of a malnourished lion, moaning with pleasure.
Anyway, the tension in the stands was running high, and when the teams showed up on the field, the sea of spectators simply exploded. Seriously, I almost went deaf! It was unclear what Madam Hooch was saying down there, but everyone heard the commentator, Lee Jordan, and it looks like he’ll get a good beating after the game.
“Welcome everyone to the first Quidditch match of the year!” the twins’ loud-voiced friend shouted. “Today, in a fair fight, cowardly Slytherin will lose to brave Gryffindor!”
“Mr. Jordan!” McGonagall’s voice was heard.
“Excuse me, Professor,” Lee continued. “So, the teams are already on the field and listening to Madam Hooch’s final instructions, but that won’t stop the snake team from cheating and breaking the rules!”
The stands roared again, and I clearly heard the sound of a slap on the back of the head.
“So, the valiant Wood shook Flint’s rotten hand. The captain of the Slytherin team is such a freak, and did you know that…”
– Mr. Jordan! – McGonagall interrupted the sharp-tongued commentator again.
– Excuse me, Professor. Let’s continue, the teams are up in the air! The whistle blows, and the balls are in play! The Quaffle ends up in the hands of the beautiful Spinnet, passed to the gorgeous Johnson! Oh, no! The ball is intercepted by vile Slytherin! – Thanks to magic, Jordan’s shout was heard over the entire stadium. – The Weasley twins, by the way, great guys, notice this too and send a Bludger at the inattentive Snake Chaser! What a well-aimed strike! Terrence is at least stunned, and with luck, he might even break something! The Quaffle ends up in the hands of Katie Bell, and did you know that she agreed to go on a date with me?! Be jealous, losers!
– Mr. Jordan! – Our dean intervened again.
“Excuse me, but I just can’t stop watching how this little one deftly dodged all the Bludgers and kicked that ugly Slytherin Beater in the face with her slender foot! Our beauties are already at the enemy’s goal, and they’re about to open the scoring! Come on, girls!”
At that moment, a loud whistle blew over the stadium, signaling the end of the match.
– What the f*ck?! The game just started?! – Jordan yelled. – Did Hooch come out on the field drunk again?!
“Mr. Jordan, look at the scoreboard!” McGonagall’s displeased voice was heard. “And also, minus thirty points from Gryffindor and two weeks of detention with Mr. Filch.”
– Who the f*ck! – our commentator yelled. – We won!!! Potter caught the Snitch! Our Harry not only defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but also bent over the Slytherin team! The score is 150 – 0 in our favor! Did you eat him, you cowardly snakes?! Potter is with us! And that means, for the next seven years, you’ll be sucking… – The commentator’s microphone emitted a sharp beep and cut out.
There was silence in the stands for a few seconds, everyone still in disbelief that the match had lasted just over a minute, and then someone set off fireworks, and off we went. The Gryffindors were screaming, hugging, some even crying or kissing with joy. In that crowd, I didn’t even dare turn on my empathy, afraid I’d go crazy from such a dose of “happiness” and grace. After hugging each other enough, everyone ran in a friendly crowd to our team’s locker room and, surrounding it, began chanting my brother’s name. The players didn’t even have time to break a sweat, so they immediately went outside and fell into the arms of the happy crowd. Every member of the team, even the substitutes, were picked up and carried toward the castle.
My friends and I didn’t dare approach the frenzied crowd and watched it all from the sidelines. I’ll congratulate Ron this evening; the ice cream cake is already ready.
“How little people need to be happy,” said a thoughtful Hermione, who was standing leaning against me. “It’s just a game.”
“It’s for you,” Justin replied, pleased. “Don’t forget, our team hasn’t won in a couple of years, so the people are happy.”
“It’s good that this noisy crowd will leave the school in an hour.” I smiled at my friends. “The headmaster has announced an extraordinary trip to Hogsmeade.”
“So maybe we should sit in the living room?” Elvira said, drawing everyone’s attention to herself. “We’ll sit by the fireplace and play Monopoly.”
“You go ahead, I need to train.” I nodded in response. “I’m flying to Paris on Thursday morning, and my first fight is on Saturday.”
“See you at dinner! Call me if anything happens!” Finch-Fletchley waved at me and, taking Smith by the elbow, hurried after the cheerful crowd of Gryffindors.
Mia and I simply chuckled at this, hugged, and trudged to the base of operations. I was eager to pick up a broadsword, and her friend wanted to try out Valera or Nemesis. We made our way through crowds of students and reached our secret spot without a hitch. There we drank tea and chatted for a bit, then got down to business: I swung my blade, and Hermione picked up her monstrous rifle and began trimming trees in the Forbidden Forest. The enormous bullets literally tore apart the centuries-old trunks; seeing such power, I realized that a living target had no chance of survival. The day passed at this pace, with occasional snack breaks or role swaps, and in the evening, contented and slightly tired, we leisurely trudged to dinner.
The school corridors were quiet; most of the students hadn’t yet returned from the magical village, but we weren’t relaxing. I was constantly monitoring the surroundings with empathy, and Mia couldn’t put down her beloved MP-5. Meanwhile, we discussed installing a fireplace at the base of operations; we loved the cozy crackling of the wood.
“In principle, it’s possible,” her friend replied thoughtfully. “I’ll transfigure the bricks, and you’ll secure the result with runes. We’ll use a permanent adhesion charm instead of cement, and the exhaust issue is solvable.”
“My textbooks have rune chains for that kind of thing.” I nodded in response. “I’ll stop by the bookstore in London and buy a couple of magazines about fireplaces; that’ll make things easier.”
“You’re right, it’s easier to navigate a ready-made solution!” Mia beamed. “And you could roast marshmallows over the fire, too.”
– And shashlik, – I nudged my friend with my shoulder, – but for that it’s easier to set up a grill.
– Shut up! – Mia pushed me back. – I’m hungry as it is, do you want me to choke on my saliva?
– It would be funny…
– Oh you!
My friend scowled dramatically and started tickling me, in response I hugged her tighter, and then a tired voice came from the wall, hissing and rattling at the same time:
“Great serpent, who guards the world, coiling its body in glittering coils! How long?! How long will the thread of my anguish last, creaking like bones bound by evil will? Our Father, bright-faced and beautiful, gave us life in his boundless wisdom, endowing us with great strength and engendering a fidelity that will not run dry even in the Last Battle of the World! And now this foolish child, who carries within him only a small fraction of the all-wise Father’s sacred blood, has cast us from our peaceful sleep, beautiful as the moist greenery of the edge of the Eternal Hunt… For what purpose?! What need moved him, oh gods?
Mia continued tickling me, but I suddenly lost interest; my brain was creaking and trying to make sense of the old man’s raspy hissing. I was distracted from deciphering the tales of ancient Shakespeare by the trembling of my familiar, who was shaking beneath my clothes.
“Fuck, who woke up the old man? ” Vasya cautiously poked his face out from under his robe. ” Mistress, it’s time to get the f*ck out! It’s nice here, sure, but they feed you better back home.”
“Be quiet, ” I hissed at the cowardly snake. ” I’m trying to understand what he said.”
– What the f*ck is there to understand? – Vasya butted me in the cheek. – The old man was farting like crazy in his sleep, and then some little thing woke him up! His cunt smells of his Master, just a little bit, like half a bump. And now the Old Man is in shock, he doesn’t understand why the f*ck they woke him up so early?
“Thank you! ” I thanked the scaly translator from Old English to Modern English.
Meanwhile, the hissing old man’s voice began to fade away and sounded more and more like a sad grumble:
“The time has come! Our Father, may the Eternal lay the stars beneath his feet, has bestowed upon us immortality, bestowing it most generously with one hand, and casting a curse upon us with the other… We were created to be an unstoppable force, a great chthonic force, ensnaring the weak in spirit in the snares of fear, while for those gifted with a mighty will, we can show the shortest path to the blooming asphodels on the banks of the river of obscurity. But the sands of time devour mountains, wiping the cities of two-legged creatures from the face of the earth… Our eyes have beheld the rise of empires and the decline of earthly powers, and our scales have long since faded, veiled in a gray haze to the tip of our tails. The flame of our might has long since died out, the taut cords of magical flesh have turned to rags from old women’s bins. For how long?!” How long must we preserve the peace of those youths who trample our Father’s nest without a glimmer of consciousness in their eyes? Oh, the First Serpent sees that there is no reason in their heads! Only an interaural ganglion!!! Where are our dreams, so delicious to the soul, bringing us freedom and space, granting the caresses of beautiful-tailed wives and the heat of iron salt pulsing in the veins of prey… We are tired, we are infinitely tired…
At that point, the voice faded and disappeared, and I stood in the center of the empty corridor, my body dwindling under my friend’s uncomprehending gaze. What the fuck kind of Iliad is this? I expected anything, but not this!
– In short, the Old One is sick of living! – Vasya saw the thought process on my face and continued translating. – The ancient godfather gave birth to him as a fucking powerful, smelly, scaly and immortal, but the Old One has been hanging around in the nest for too long. He has sciatica of the crest, arthritis of the scales, hemorrhoids on the tail and other old-age bullshit. But he’s a serious guy and is responsible for his words, so he continues to oversee the little two-legged idiots. He wants to pass out and fart in his sleep or die. I’d be sick of crawling around this nest for so long too.
“I would have figured it out myself, ” I hissed back, offended. ” I just needed to think it through. “
– Yeah, right! – The snake touched the tip of my nose with his tongue. – You wrinkled your pubis so much that you created a ladder to the second tier.
– Riya, what’s wrong? – Hermione grabbed my shoulder. – Are you okay?
“I still haven’t figured it out myself.” I shook my head and turned away from my satisfied familiar. “Miya, someone woke up the basilisk. And the ancient serpent is extremely unhappy about this fact.”
“So what are we going to do?” The curly-haired girl tensed a little. “I know he can’t harm the students, but having such a monster around is a little unnerving.”
“Nothing, at least until I return from Paris, and anyway,” I said, smiling mischievously. “You spent the night at my estate, with Alucard and Victoria by your side. So the huge snake shouldn’t bother you at all.”
– Still? – Hermione tilted her head to the side. – Maybe we should tell the headmaster?
“He probably already knows.” I shrugged. “Dumbledore always knows what’s going on at his school. Have you forgotten?”
– That’s true. – My friend finally calmed down. – Let’s go to dinner?
– Hey! You’re completely fucking nuts! – Vasya yelled in my ear. – There’s an old asshole running around the nest! We need to lace up our boots, wax our skis, and get the fuck out of here!
“Are you afraid? ” I looked at the pale snake with a smile and stroked his head. ” Don’t be afraid, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“I’m not afraid of anything! What am I, a spectacled cobra? ” The familiar straightened up proudly. ” I’m the king of snakes!”
“I never doubted it .” Stroking the cowardly snake again, I looked my friend in the eyes. “Let’s go, and then I need to call my mom and grandpa, maybe they’ll suggest something smart.”
***
During the conference call I had with my mom and grandpa, we spent a long time discussing the actions of the remnant of Mrazota’s soul and couldn’t understand why and to what end it had awakened the Guardian, seriously. Why the hell?
The purpose of any Horcrux is to capture a physical shell to resurrect the host entity, and this is precisely why such a “storage slot” was created. An experienced wizard would imbue the artifact with a piece of themselves and program it with a specific behavior, simultaneously “infusing” it with all their existing knowledge. The result was a kind of artificial intelligence, the purpose of which was to return the host entity to the world of the living. However, without a host, a Horcrux is helpless and practically useless—seriously, such an artifact could lie dusty for years or centuries, waiting for an idiot to stumble across it and snatch it up. Therefore, Horcruxes are made virtually invulnerable to physical impact and transformed into a powerful mental artifact, capable of turning a weak-willed or inexperienced wizard into a puppet. Black explained a lot more, but it was all in the abstruse realm.
In short, we know for sure that the artifact is in the school and that it’s controlling a student, a rather powerful one at that, both magically and mentally. According to Grandpa, this thing spent over two months breaking his will, which is quite telling. Basically, following logic, which wizards don’t always follow, a Horcrux should be quietly and discreetly preparing the resurrection of the base, but we’re getting some kind of crap! Instead of quietly gathering ingredients and finding victims for the upcoming ritual, our idiot almost publicly attacked the caretaker and awakened the Hogwarts Keeper, thereby attracting everyone’s attention. Why?
At the moment, the Horcrux is extremely vulnerable; all it takes is for the puppet to be exposed, and that’s it, the whole plan is ruined. Knock out the host, then take the black notebook and do whatever you want with it—burn it or pee on it, depending on your mood. We struggled with this until almost the morning, but we still couldn’t figure it out; our logic was powerless. So, in the early morning, Grandpa and Mom gave me strict orders: sit still and keep a low profile, and we’ll have a proper talk in Paris. I completely agreed with them, and for the next three days I followed my older relatives’ orders, all the while watching the chaos unfolding at school.
Justin was wrong when he said Gryffindor hadn’t won in the last couple of years; our team had been screwing Slytherin for eight straight years! So, celebrating their long-awaited victory, our defeated lions smashed and nearly burned down the Three Broomsticks pub; the hapless owner even had to call the Aurors. Needless to say, our house points went into negative territory again, but no one cared. Godric’s followers had been carrying Potter around and practically kissing his ass for days, but that wasn’t a fact. My brother was swooning over all the attention and was as happy as a fool on a carousel. Against this backdrop, no one paid any attention to Lee Jordan, who was off to St. Mungo’s for treatment. Flint was very touchy and told the coal off for his big mouth.
I was more worried that someone might harm my friends, namely Hermione and Elvira, while I was gone. I couldn’t take them with me! This fact irritated and irritated me beyond belief, which is probably why I almost messed up the Chatterbox potion for the silent types during our last lesson, but luckily Mia managed to fix it. The Prince, of course, noticed my mistake, but said nothing, but some others interpreted my thoughtfulness in their own way.
When the lesson ended, my friends and I went to the headmaster’s office, where I was to Floo to London, and the boys couldn’t resist seeing me off. Mum said Dumbledore was happy to support her idea of me spending the night at home before leaving for France. I was already looking forward to a pleasant evening with my family, but then I heard a mocking, squeaky scream from behind me.
“What, Hellsing, are your hands shaking with fear?” I couldn’t help but recognize Zabini’s voice. “You can still admit technical defeat and surrender.”
– What are you talking about? – I turned around and looked at the satisfied gypsy boy standing in the company of Nott and a couple of older Slytherins.
“You’re a clear underdog in this competition,” the cowardly bastard pointed his finger at me.
“Blaze, are your teeth bothering you?” I took a step forward with a gentle smile, and the unibrowed snake hid behind one of my comrades. “You continue, and I’ll listen.”
“My second cousin, Vincezo De Sosoni, will be participating in the championship!” the coward squeaked. “Well, he promised to cut off your ugly head!”
“Zabini,” I grinned predatorily, and a broadsword materialized in my hand. “Right now, your relative is far away, but I am close.”
I walked slowly toward the provocateur. His comrades realized something was wrong and quickly retreated, leaving us alone. The black-haired, unibrowed Slytherin tried to put on a brave face, but his shaking knees gave him away. Meanwhile, I approached him, and the edge of my blade fell on his neck.
– You say he’ll cut off your head? – She leaned over and whispered tenderly in Blaise’s ear. – I can gut you right here and now… First, I’ll cut off your arms and legs, and then I’ll slooooowly strangle you with your own guts… But before that, I’ll rip out your filthy tongue and cut off your dignity… You’re so defenseless, so pathetic, it turns me on sooooo much… – I couldn’t resist and let out an arousing moan, and then slowly ran my tongue over the little brat’s sweaty, salty ear. In response, Zabini wet himself and sat down on his ass with a hiccup.
Hmm… Maybe I overdid it again? The Slytherins look at me with horror, and my friends with incomprehension, but whatever. I took another look at the cowardly brat and gave him a mighty kick in the face. Blood splattered, Zabini drifted off to a peaceful dream world, and I hurried to the Headmaster’s Tower.
“Ron, Justin, you’re responsible for the girls!” I was already instructing the boys near the gargoyle. “Mia, Elvira, take care of yourselves. And remember! Don’t go alone!”
– Mommy, we remember everything. – Hermione hugged me tightly. – Come back victorious!
– Otherwise you’ll be drinking pumpkin juice for the rest of the year! – Ron chimed in.
“And eat it with dried apricots!” Elvira added sarcastically.
“You leave me no choice.” Smiling broadly, I hugged my friends and hurried to Dumbledore’s office. “I’ll be back soon, victorious!”
