Filius Flitwick, a master of charms and duelling, a wizard known in many countries, strode with dignity along Diagon Alley. The renowned wizard's gaze lazily swept across the shop windows, occasionally stopping on one of the passers-by who greeted the elderly professor. With his tousled grey beard and moustache, he resembled the fairy-tale gnomes depicted in Muggle books. But those who knew him well were never fooled by his comical appearance. Flitwick was a powerful wizard, although he had never demonstrated this since he began working at Hogwarts. With some difficulty, he climbed the steps of Gringotts and bowed slightly to the guards at the entrance, who also bowed their heads in greeting.
Passing through the main hall, Filius also bowed to the goblins sitting at their desks, who, according to old tradition, were counting gold coins, weighing them and examining precious stones. Passing through the service corridor and entering the vestibule, which marked the beginning of the famous labyrinth of tunnels and passages of the goblin people, the little professor sat down in a single carriage and plunged rapidly downward. The wind whistled in the ears of the pensive magician as the lonely cart flew forward, descending lower and lower. The last, most ancient levels, where the storerooms of the noble magicians were located, flashed by, and behind him were the waterfall of thieves and several tame dragons guarding the treasures. Finally, the cart stopped, and the little professor entered with some trepidation into a small hall where the lord of the underground world and leader of the goblin people on earth, Lord Grintott, sat on a throne.
Bowing and obeying an impatient gesture, Filius Flitwick sat down in a stone chair nearby. The gloomy leader looked at the elderly professor of charms with some disdain for a moment, then asked:
"What have you become, son? Life on the surface has turned you into an old man, and you're not even a hundred years old yet," he snapped.
Filius twitched his cheek and grimaced, which looked strange on his expressive face, which, judging by the wrinkles, was clearly accustomed only to smiling.
"You remember, Father, I made this decision a long time ago," he replied sharply in a squeaky voice, "and I'm not going to back down. I continue to live among humans because that's what my mother wanted.
Gringott shook his head:
"I accept your choice, though I consider it foolish childishness. We are a race of warriors, the last bastion of our once powerful race. We came to this world long ago, and here, in order to survive, we had to change. From warriors fierce in battle, we became bankers. The mages who lived here were in many ways superior to our race, both in magic and in strength, but we managed to fight our way to a place here. Unlike the elves and dwarves, who had to leave this world in search of more hospitable places. Not long ago, our people were given another chance, a chance for rebirth. You remember that because of his greed, Ragnuk the First was cursed by Godric Gryffindor himself, and the curse passed on to all of us?
Fletwick nodded intently.
"Our wise men," continued the goblin chief, "have found a way to rid us of this curse. Lucius Malfoy shared with his manager that his friend from Africa had helped them lift the curse from one child's family. After that, his wife was able to give birth to two children. This curse is similar to ours, except that the number of children in the family is strictly fixed. With the help of diamonds similar to the one in Malfoy's ring, we managed to create an artefact that slowed down the curse. But the diamonds it is made of lose their properties quite quickly, the curse of Gryffindor is too strong. So we have to buy them from Malfoy again and again. It's a good thing he respects his manager, otherwise he would have wrung our arms off long ago. So, about their curse," he twisted his neck, "the Malfoys were famous in ancient times for their cruel and treacherous nature, as their surname suggests. But at the same time, they were experienced and skilled warriors. The one who cursed their family had several goals. On the one hand, he wanted the family to disappear completely, and on the other, he decided to change their very essence, turning warriors into cowards. After all, in an attempt to save the family, each subsequent generation would protect its only offspring even more fiercely, turning future warriors into weak-willed, pampered wimps incapable of even spilling blood. A pitiful sight, Grigott snorted, because it's the end, no matter how you look at it. Instead of a clan of tough and cruel magicians, there will be monkeys with sticks, easy prey.
The chief bared his large fangs and growled mockingly:
"Not so long ago, the Weasleys were a powerful family with a serious reputation as potion makers and maleficers. And then, with a little help from the Malfoys, everything went downhill. Now they're just a sorry sight, such potential," he laughed loudly. "It'll be fun if one of that vile family, who spilled so much of our brothers' blood, ends up working for us as an errand boy or cannon fodder, like a curse breaker.
After a moment, Grintott stopped laughing and looked seriously at Flitwick and said:
"Now, son, listen to me carefully. The curse is bound to the sword of Gryffindor. It must be returned to our people and destroyed. But only a dark wizard who has become the master of the sword can return it to us.
Fletchwick stared at his father in surprise and asked:
"A dark wizard at Hogwarts? As long as the great light wizard rules there, that's impossible," he squeaked. "A dark wizard simply cannot grow up with the current level of education in the castle. There is no one to teach him. If a truly powerful dark wizard is not taught to control his magic from childhood, he will either kill himself or destroy those around him. Moreover, there are no truly dark families left in England. The Gonts are finished, the Blackies have degenerated, the Lestranges have probably all gone mad in Azkaban, and the rest of the dark and ancient families are there too," Flitwick waved his little hand sadly.
"Our smart guys believe it's possible," Grintott grinned, "we've thrown so much gold at oracles and fortune tellers that we've gotten similar predictions from different sources. Our people have a chance," the goblin chieftain declared. "Just keep your eyes open, Filius," he said, patting his companion on the shoulder with his clawed paw. "And, son, I'll be waiting for you in the dungeon this summer, for at least a month. You look like an ancient elder, and you have been entrusted with a task that is so important to our people — not to miss the appearance of the dark wizard at Hogwarts. So in a couple of years, we will restore the health you lost from living in the sun. Sacrifices, rituals, our people have many ways," he grinned, "you'll even be able to have children with women of our people, instead of suffering like me, forced to endure so many years with a human female. It's a good thing they don't live very long, and after being with a goblin, they're even worse... "Gringott growled viciously. "I couldn't even eat her, she was your mother after all, and you loved her. Your children from a full-blooded woman of our people will carry on my bloodline, one of them may even become a chieftain. Unfortunately, you are unable to sense metals as a chief should. Only the chiefs of our people have ever been able to create something like the sword of Gryffindor or Merlin's staff. This is a great blessing, but also a great responsibility for your actions and words. But you have become a master of human magic, and I am proud of you as a leader and as a father. Go, son, I will wait for you here next year. Our people are looking to you for hope for a revival.
***
Lucius Malfoy smiled and took a sip from Old Ogden's glass. His companion, the new Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, repeated his action with obvious pleasure. Lucius solemnly said, looking at the minister:
"I would like to congratulate you once again, Cornelius, on your election. I am confident that under your leadership, we will achieve peace and prosperity for our homeland. To you!" He took a careful sip from his glass.
"Now, now, my friend, there is no need to belittle your achievements. Without your unfailing support, we would not have been able to achieve what we wanted. And the way you were able to show Wizengamot the excessive fervour and intemperance of Scrimgeour — Fudge clapped his hands cheerfully — was brilliant, my friend, simply brilliant. Dumbledore looked rather confused.
"You also looked impressive and confident, Cornelius," Malfoy replied, "I am sure our citizens have received the best possible ruler.
The wizards laughed merrily."Now, Lucius, you hold all the cards," Fudge narrowed his eyes, "set up the new venture, give me a share, and all foreign trade will now go through us.
Lucius nodded; apart from political investments, it made sense to earn a little extra. Business was going well, and most importantly, he had managed to sting the damned old man. For the great and enlightened Fudge, this was an unpleasant surprise. Of course, he would find a way to approach him, as the old man had both power and influence, but they would never be friends. If Dumbledore made even the slightest mistake, Lucius would certainly take advantage of his carelessness.
***
Dolores Jane Umbridge, senior advisor to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, angrily smashed a plate against the wall of her office. Several such plates were already lying on the floor. The kittens painted on the remaining plates watched in fear as the raging fury raged. That damn Scrimgeour managed to lose the race for the ministerial seat. According to all preliminary forecasts and conversations among influential ministry officials, it seemed that the head of the Department of Muggle Affairs, Rufus Scrimgeour, would be the next minister.
She had spent a long time building their relationship at every possible level and was confident that she would be promoted to a more important position. And he lost! And to whom? Some deputy head of the magical disasters department. A man who had previously been completely unknown. Her rage sought an outlet, and another plate with unfortunate kittens flew into the wall. "Pull yourself together, Dolores. All is not lost. Skrimджер, that moth-eaten lion, may have lost, but you still have the opportunity to change your patron. You need to act, not freak out." After fixing her dishevelled hair and making herself look perfect, Umbridge walked confidently out of the office.
Descending to the first floor, she strode confidently along the carpeted corridor towards the minister's office. If all went well, she would also have an office on this floor.
Fudge enjoyed settling into his new office, arranging his favourite trinkets in their usual places. Like any self-respecting bureaucrat, he had a weakness for status symbols. After carefully placing a marble paperweight on his desk, Cornelius sighed contentedly. Leaning back in his wide leather chair and putting his feet up on a comfortable footrest under the desk, he conjured up a full-length mirror once again to admire his imposing appearance. Then he looked longingly at the large folder of documents piled up on the side table. He had a long day of work ahead of him.
Suddenly there was a knock, and the pretty face of his secretary appeared in the doorway.
"Minister Fudge, sir, you have a visitor," she reported. After admiring her shapely figure once more, he nodded graciously.
Dolores Umbridge entered the office, her heels clicking coquettishly.
"Good morning, Minister," the woman smiled warmly. "I've come to congratulate you on your appointment. Perhaps you need any help?" And Umbridge tried to smile as attractively as possible.
Fudge unconsciously glanced at the pile of documents on the table and asked,
"Tell me, Dolores, I may call you that, may I? Are you well versed in paperwork? I need a highly qualified specialist who can prepare summaries of this mass of information for me." And with a sigh and a look of disgust, he glanced again at the documents.
"Of course, Minister," Umbridge smiled sweetly. "I have extensive experience in these matters and can help you.
Fudge thought for a moment. He had known Umbridge for quite some time and understood that Dolores would be loyal to anyone who would raise her to the top. Of course, there were rumours about her sadistic tendencies, duplicity and cloying behaviour, but as an assistant, she would be excellent at keeping annoying petitioners away from him, and he could safely dump all the paperwork on her, receiving only the documents that required the minister's signature. Taking another look at the still smiling Umbridge, Fudge nodded importantly:
"Very well, Dolores, you are appointed senior assistant to the Minister for Magic. You may take the office next door on this floor.
Umbridge bowed ceremoniously.
"You can count on me, Minister, in every way," she smiled coquettishly again, but Fudge chose to ignore her hints.
Dolores fluttered out of the office and rushed back to her floor. Her spontaneous decision was a resounding success. She was the senior assistant to the Minister of Magic, and although her attempts to tie Fudge to her more closely had not been successful, just look at his secretary, she would be able to become his loyal ally. And then, who knows, she might even be able to think about something bigger.
***
In the headmaster's tower at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore paced his office, thinking:
"How could I have missed the Malfoy scam? Everything was going according to plan, Rufus was already preparing to move into the Minister's office, but that damned Malfoy ruined everything. The Wizengamot categorically rejected Dumbledore's candidate, but gladly voted for Fudge. And yet there are many rumours that Fudge is a thief and an opportunist. No wonder he's so close to Malfoy. He probably got a lot of galleons and now he'll support all the ideas of those slimy snakes. Never mind, there's something to pressure every cunning person with. We need to get ready and call Alastor.
Going down to his private alchemy laboratory, Dumbledore very carefully took a small test tube containing an unknown substance out of a heavily enchanted safe. Casting a "head bubble" spell, he carefully dripped several drops onto a sheet of paper, then used magic to place it in an envelope and seal it with several protective spells. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, Albus returned to his office. Sitting down in his chair, he began to feed the phoenix nuts with obvious pleasure.
Half an hour later, an enraged Moody tumbled out of the flames.
"Albus, what the hell!" the dark wizard barked angrily from the doorway. "We're sitting in ambush, waiting for that crook from Lutny, and then your patronus suddenly appears and asks me to go to Hogwarts. Naturally, all the local scum scattered in all directions as soon as they heard your voice from the patronus!"
"Forgive me, my friend," Dumbledore bowed his head guiltily, his glasses twinkling mischievously. "I have a matter that cannot be handled by anyone else.
"And what is this business?" Moody asked grumpily.
"Do you remember how, during the first magical war, we cleansed England of the old aristocracy to make way for the young?"
"Oh yes," Moody grinned, "a lot of old stumps went to feed the worms in those troubled times.
"I believe that the elder Malfoy, who so opportunely fled England and now pulled this scam with the new minister, should also go meet his ancestors," Dumbledore replied coldly. "It will be a good lesson for Lucius. He will understand the message and temper his ardour. After all, his only son will be enrolling here next year.
Moody grinned knowingly.
"I understand, Albus. If he's not hiding under a Fidelius charm, the owl with the letter will find him anywhere.
Taking the envelope cautiously, Moody nodded goodbye and left.
***
Today, Cassius received terrible news from his parents: his grandfather Abraxas had died of dragon pox. In recent years, he had become fascinated with researching Peruvian snake teeth and, together with his old friend Horace Sliznok, had been developing a new serum to combat this disease. He probably caught it during his research. He was buried in France, his body burned in a ritual white fire, and his ashes placed in the family crypt alongside his wife.
Cassius and Draco stood gloomy, clenching their fists, Narcissa and Walburga silently wiped away tears from under their black veils, and Lucius stood silently, staring impassively at the flames consuming his father's body. He agonised over how his father could have been so careless. He had worked with Peruvian snake-toothed snakes for a long time and had always taken precautions. Moreover, the disease, known to all, rarely acted so quickly. The last cases of such smallpox were recorded during the first magical war, when almost the entire older generation of the most influential English families died out: the Goldsteins, the Potters, the Berkys. Many were missing from the Wizengamot chamber at that time, and now his father.
After the funeral, Cassius said goodbye to his family and went straight to school. He was starting his fifth and final year, and the workload was going to be serious. Arriving as usual at the square in front of the school, Cassius strode confidently inside. There were still a few hours before the first-year students arrived, and the boy wanted to get to his faculty dormitory without any fuss. This year, his friend Hassan al-Mansur had been appointed head boy, and he was probably already preparing to take on this difficult burden.
After greeting his friend, Cassius sat down wearily on his bed. He had achieved a lot over the years. Chibuzo Inu had once said with a smile that if the boy had enough energy, he would be able to pass his master's degree in three disciplines in a couple of years. However, unlike potion-making, it was unlikely that he would ever officially become a master of dark magic and spirit magic. After the war with Grindelwald, dark magic was viewed with suspicion by the entire wizarding community, although it was not banned everywhere.
After chatting a bit about the past summer, the guys went down to the large hall, where they sat down at the fifth-year table. Of their entire class, only eighteen students remained in the fifth year, and only two planned to stay on for the next two years — nerds who had decided to devote their lives to science. Cassius was rightly considered the most gifted magical student in the entire class, although out of habit he continued to wear a concealing amulet. Of course, many knew that he was white, but without seeing the flashing irritant before their eyes, they calmly accepted his origins.Over the years of study, he became a reliable friend to many, someone they could turn to for help with difficult questions. His easy-going nature and cheerfulness attracted his peers, and his teachers saw the powerful return on their investment in the young magician's education and treated him with more than favour. His potions teacher insisted that he study his subject, promising to make Cassius an apprentice within two years. But Cassius regretfully had to turn down such a flattering offer, as well as the apprenticeship, explaining that he was already a student of a master of dark magic. Shaking his head, the potion master fell behind, but promised to give a review if Cassius ever decided to pursue the title of master.
Headmaster Pierre Ngono greeted all the students with his usual smile and happily announced the distribution of students among the faculties. After the distribution, when the feast was coming to an end and the students were ready to disperse to the faculty lounges, Ngono once again drew everyone's attention to himself.
"Dear students!" he began solemnly. "This year, the Dumbledore School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will host a tournament between three schools: the hosts, us, and Beauxbaton. First, the winners will be chosen in potions and duelling, and then in Quidditch. The final result will be determined by the total number of points scored. One hundred points will be awarded for winning the potions tournament, one hundred and fifty for winning the duelling tournament, and two hundred for winning the Quidditch tournament! Fifth, sixth and seventh year students can take part in this tournament. This year, Cassius Malfoy is deservedly recognised as the strongest student in potions and defensive magic at Uagadug. The Quidditch team will be decided based on the results of the spring competitions between all the houses. You will have a whole month to practise, and then we will leave for Durmstrang. But," he added with a sly smile, "the fifth and seventh year final exams, as well as the sixth year transfer exams, will have to be taken in advance, before you leave for the tournament.
The crowd applauded enthusiastically, Cassius shrugged, and Hassan sighed:
"If they held a Transfiguration tournament, I'd be in too," muttered a friend, "but now I'll have to fight for a place on the Quidditch team.
"Yeah, right," Cassius snorted, "what are you worried about? You're the best hunter in the school, and you're the captain of our house team. Who else could they choose as captain of the school team? Only you," Malfoy concluded confidently.
As the house prefect, Hassan ran off to keep order, while Cassius headed to the library, interested in the nuances of making dragonpox serum. After gathering a pile of books, he immersed himself in reading. At first, he was intrigued by a treatise stating that a certain Albus Dumbledore had invented twelve ways to use dragon blood, but unfortunately, there was no example of the desired potion, although it was clear that the author of the treatise had studied the subject in great depth. It was a pity that he was not interested in creating such a medicine.
Another interesting treatise was a collection of scientific articles by a certain Severus Snape, who explained terms that were difficult for an ordinary wizard to understand in excellent professional language. Cassius even admired him in absentia; the man was clearly incredibly talented in potions.
"He's probably just like Izem Khune. He has the temperament of a poisonous tarantula, but when he's at the cauldron, he becomes the best teacher in the world. I can't even count how much blood and sweat Khune has squeezed out of me over the years. But he did turn me into a pretty good potion maker. I hope I'll meet this extraordinary man next year," Cassius said dreamily, closing his eyes. He had always admired people who were passionate about their work, whether they were warriors, craftsmen or magicians.
Despite the fact that the director named Cassius the best student in potion-making and combat magic, no one let him get bored. On the contrary, the teachers seemed to have made it their goal to wear the boy down before the competition even began. Khune forced him to brew increasingly complex potions, and Joe Bliksim began giving him private lessons in duelling. It was clear that the teacher of dark and combat magic couldn't stand such duels, so he explained several controversial points to Cassius in the most sarcastic manner possible and showed him some good reference books in the magic library.
The rest of the time, the malicious old man beat Cassius on the duelling platform, forcing him to use only spells permitted in this sport. He, of course, did not restrict himself. But then, during the debriefing, he explained how stupid and limited duelling was. The mere fact that opponents were forced to stand facing each other on the platform caused the teacher to grind his teeth uncontrollably. After all, movement is half the battle for a magician. Try hitting a quick and agile victim with your spell.
"While you're throwing around Stupefy spells, a real African mage will dance closer and slit your throat with a sharp kukri," the old mage said viciously.And then he told the story that still haunted him, how, when he was young and drunk, he smeared a bunch of magicians across the floor of a local tavern in Bulgaria without much effort, and sent a minor misunderstanding, which he didn't even consider a magician at first, flying through the window with a kick, adding stinging words right to their backsides. Imagine his surprise when, the next day, he showed up at a duelling tournament with a hangover and saw all his victims with their faces painted in the ranks of the participants.
Grinning and puffing himself up, he stepped onto the platform, where he was first almost kicked out for violating the rules of duelling, and then simply smashed that ridiculous underling, who squealed shrillly as he flew out of the window from a powerful kick. This time, he was mocking an African black mage, sending quick and simple spells at him over and over again. No, if they had been in a combat situation, Joe would have at least enveloped himself in a shield of darkness, which all weak spells up to and including bombardment cannot penetrate, and then he would have beaten the little bastard to a pulp.
"Ugh!" Joe gritted his teeth at the unpleasant memories. "I haven't been to a duelling tournament since, nor have I ever met my acquaintances at combat magic tournaments. Combat magic tournaments are always held in Japan at the Mahoutokoro school or in the Slavic lands, in Koldovstvorce. There, everyone knew and respected Joe Blixem's father, but I never met the ugly dwarf and his friends there.
Cassius absorbed magical knowledge, trying his best. Despite the quarrelsome and harmful nature of both masters, the boy understood that they were trying to instil all their knowledge in him, and he was grateful to them for that. Thus, autumn and winter flew by unnoticed as he trained. The entire school was preparing for the final Quidditch tournament, which would determine the school team.
***
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