Dippet was dismissed. Despite Hogwarts' declared independence from the Ministry, he got himself into too much trouble, and the purebloods managed to put pressure on both him and the Board of Governors, which was formally responsible for the school's affairs. The former headmaster settled in Hogsmeade and... nothing changed. Ronald Took, who had recently been Dippet's deputy, was appointed headmaster, but in fact remained in his previous position, consulting with Dippet on every issue and not even trying to hide it...
The Dean of Gryffindor also returned to his position, having been forced to take the Full Oath of a Hogwarts teacher. He was hardly happy about it, as such an oath was quite a burden... but his family honour was at stake. His return was welcomed not only in Gryffindor, but also in other departments...
"The Full Oath," one of the older students explained to the younger ones, "means that he is now OBLIGATED to teach us seriously and deal with problems FAIRLY. And he's not a bad teacher overall.
Kettleburn returned, talking excitedly about his community service!"Black Hebridian let me pet him, he's such a sweetheart!"
Fresh burns (and dragon fire is difficult to treat with potions and healing spells) showed that the trip to the dragonarium had been quite difficult, but Silvanus... is Silvanus.
DADA was now taught by a retired Auror, which made the understanding students grit their teeth. Not only are Aurors people of questionable honour, but they are also closely connected to the Ministry.
But with the medics, everything was in order: instead of the usual single specialist, the School was "assigned" to Mungo, and now we had young interns on duty. They coped perfectly well with everyday injuries, and anything more complicated was sent to Mungo. The hospital also carried out routine examinations. All in all, we won here — and very badly. Now there can be no question of the mass use of potions, Obliviators and other nasties on students.
Flying... they found some retired Quidditch player there, apparently quite famous twenty years ago. But I didn't bother to find out the details — I passed Flying safely in my first year, and I never played Quidditch... so I don't need it.
Personally, I... covered my tracks. In recent history, I was far from the forefront, but I had my ears to the ground, so to speak... So I quietly "erased" information — a rumour here, some mentalism there. Carefully, so as not to overdo it and cause a backlash. But it seems to have worked.
Filtwick died a long death — the response from Hogwarts came to me seventeen days later. I would have felt sorry for such a prolonged agony... but I know a few goblins and their rituals, both with Muggles and with magicians... So I just gloated. Cruel? Come on, what about when the green-skinned ones eat a Muggle alive, not letting him die until the very last moment? And keep in mind, this isn't a ritual, just a festive dinner for a wealthy goblin family.
Hogwarts got in touch at night...
"Thank you, thank you, thank you. Peaceful satiety. Delicious. More?"
"I'll try later," I replied.
"Gratitude. Anticipation. Sympathy. Young Master."
Oops...
The logic of the giant animated golem was simple: I fed him, I take care of him, therefore I am the Master. But since I have no Founders' blood in me, I am the Junior.
New prospects are opening up... No, I still won't be able to subjugate the School, but now I'll be able to rummage around in the Room of Requirement on a grand scale and take not only copies of books and documents, but also some of the simpler artefacts and a few ingredients. Yum...
But that's just me describing the "negotiations" with the Deputy Headmaster briefly and simply. In reality... In reality, it was also brief, but far from simple — Hogwarts' consciousness was far from human, so I had a headache for two days.
In history class, everything is going as usual — some are sleeping, some are doing their homework, some are playing "battleship" and similar games. Notes are flying around the classroom and quiet conversations are taking place — Bins reacts to loud noises, and waking up sleepers is considered bad form.
We have a joint class with Hufflepuff, so everything is peaceful.
"Rob... Rob...
I turn around...
"What do you want?
"Here," Tracy shoves another masterpiece by our Salvatore under my nose. The half-Italian is a direct descendant of Botticelli, and the blood of his great ancestor has awakened in him with unexpected force. His paintings are already on par with those of a skilled professional artist, and on top of that, they move! His talent is bright and undeniable, but... apart from painting and related fields such as charms, potions, and transfiguration, Salvatore blatantly ignores everything else.
Just now, he drew Bins and our class. He drew it with careless strokes using a simple graphite pencil on a piece of scrap parchment. Bins is moving in the picture, muttering something in tune with his more... real "colleague," and the students at their desks are also behaving appropriately.
"Wow... cool!
"Of course!
"Sal! I call the Italian, I need to talk to him after class.
I can hardly wait for the class to end and lead Salvatore to one of the abandoned classrooms. A couple of fellow students give us indifferent looks — the artist often works part-time at the school. They ask him to draw postcards, congratulations cards, or portraits... He earns quite well, by the way, so it's understandable why he ignores subjects he doesn't need. He's a rather weak wizard and is unlikely to become a Master of Charms, Transfiguration, or anything else, but as an artist, especially one who has been painting since childhood ... All in all, it's not a bad position — he'll finish five courses at Hogwarts, make the right connections, and enrol in the Milan Academy of Painting.
Class...
"You idiot! – I slam my fist into the Hufflepuff's solar plexus," what are you doing?!
There are tears and incomprehension in his eyes — we're not friends, but we're on friendly terms, and I'm even a bit protective of him. And then this happens...
I pull the parchment with the drawing out of Salvatore's pocket, unfold it and shove it under his nose.
"See?!
"They're moving...
"You idiot...
"You drew Bins and he's MOVING! Don't you get it? Merlin and Morgana, why am I being punished like this... You can't draw ghosts so that they move and live in portraits, do you understand?
The Italian begins to understand...
"Yes, it's impossible! So tear up the drawing.
Sal obediently tears it up, already realising that he's gotten himself into something not very good, but not really understanding what exactly.
"Merlin... you managed to CAPTURE Bins. I specifically noticed that he started to slow down towards the end of the pair. So another week or so and his spirit would have been on this parchment.
"A discovery," Salvatore said uncertainly, blinking his huge dark brown eyes.
"A discovery, yes! But on the verge of necromancy!
"Oh...
"Oh, come on... An artist with your Gift, and with the gift of necromancy, is very, very serious. Imagine being able to draw an aggressive ghost that doesn't let strangers into the treasure room. Or reveals some kind of secret. And then — bang! There he is in a portrait, where it's not difficult to get a ghost to talk. How long do you think you'll live after that discovery?
Hufflepuff quickly turns pale and sits down on the floor — his legs give way.
"It's the Unspeakables, the Ministry, the Old Bloods...
"Yes, yes!" I interject, "and all kinds of Orders, sects, governments of various magical enclaves... Everyone will be interested!
"I don't want to! I mean, I understand that someday I'll have to lean on someone powerful, but I want to choose for myself! And freedom!
"Exactly! That's why I'm giving you animation spells," I show him a rather complex set of spells, "and learn them! I won't let you leave class until you've learned them properly! And remember, you drew the picture as usual, and Binsa just animated it, understand? And don't bring up this subject yourself.
Salvatore spent the next hour practising — and he picked it up quickly, even though animation spells are considered difficult.
"Well, genius... Let's think of something to say about our conversation.
"What's there to think about?" The teenager shrugged reassuringly, "Your comics are no longer a secret. Everyone who's interested has figured out who the author and copyright holder is, so..."
"You... So you want a job too?
A serious nod from the Hufflepuff and a look of embarrassment.
"All right, you'll get a job," I dictate the address where he needs to go.
"And... thank you, Tally. I owe you one.
A week later, Salvatore approached me again.
"Thank you," he said with a broad smile, "the working conditions are excellent!
From that day on, the Italian began to interact with me much more often, which could be explained by his desire to "stick to the boss." But he also started talking to Simon Hoff and Ernie Smith, my "vassals who are not yet vassals." And it became clear that my Inner Circle had become a little wider...
Waiting until the end of November, I visit the Room of Requirement. Now I have the status of Junior Master and need to check some thoughts.
I was able to take the first artefact I found without a "link" right away, but taking it out of the Room and taking it out of Hogwarts are two slightly different things. So...
"Ernie, would you like to go for a walk in Hogsmeade on Saturday? I want to get some fresh air.
"Yes, of course!" The boy jumped up. "OURS?"
I chuckled — how he was leading me and those around him to believe that Ernie Smith was essentially a vassal of House Tully... Well, he was a Ravenclaw, after all, not a fool...
"Take them. And... um... not just ours, but everyone I hang out with. Tell me, are you up for a walk and spending a few galleons?
"Wow! I'm on it!
"Did your family send you?" asked Gemma Lee, a pretty blonde girl from the year below, with some misplaced curiosity.
"My relatives. But it's royalty from my inventions.
"And... a lot?
I still don't attach any importance to excessive curiosity — Gemma may be a gossip, but we have an unspoken agreement. The girl spreads exactly the rumours I allow her to, in exchange for small favours in the form of simple artefacts (but for a second-generation pureblood, that's quite a lot), sweets from Hogsmeade and things like that.
"Quite a lot. By the way, you're invited too.
"Ah...
"We have enough money.
"Oh...
I didn't even want to leave the castle gates — the weather here was so... typically English for November, i.e. water from above, water from below... And on top of that, the soil was clayey.
"I can't understand it," said Gemma to the friendly group of two dozen people from all the faculties who had decided to keep me company, "why not build a proper road from the castle to the village? If it weren't for Robert... thank you... who can cast spells that allow you to walk normally in such mud...
"Maybe that's why they didn't build one?" suggested Herb Potter, a fifth-year Gryffindor from a side branch of a huge family.
"Hmm... logical. But still, all this mud... it's unaesthetic.
In Hogsmeade, breaking all the unwritten rules, they crowded around Madam Puddifoot, scaring away the few couples.
"We want more," Herb declared cheerfully, "Robert's treating, so let's try to bankrupt him.
"Oh, sweetie," Madam fussily gathered around me, "your parents decided to spoil you? "Nah, he got a percentage of the profits from his inventions," Ernie chimed in.
"Oh... sorry," the apology was appropriate, because "parents spoiling" and "earned it himself" are very different things.
The café itself... well, it was just a café — rather tasteless, I must say. Padifoot had apparently gotten the idea from the Muggles — all the flowers, hearts, abundance of velvet and gilding... Except that the hearts were anatomically correct, not plush asses... Well, yes, that's the influence of magical culture — if a pure-blood wizard has been accustomed to things like sacrifice since childhood, then even a human heart, especially a drawn one, is more likely to put him in a romantic mood. Why not? Sacrifices (usually animals, but not always, yes...) are associated with the most romantic events in the eyes of a pure-blooded mage: rituals such as betrothal, full vow weddings, and naming ceremonies for children...
Magical (anatomically drawn hearts, runes, Kabbalistic signs, black candles) did not go well with Muggle elements (plush, velvet, gilding, an abundance of painted flowers and bouquets, paintings with romantic scenes), but all this eclecticism seemed quite appropriate to the magicians of England.
"… and Dipett is like…
"... what are you talking about? Really!
"... in the eye...
The students were noisy and cheerful, enjoying the combination of good company and freebies. I was also happy — first, I had spread the word about my inventions, and I needed to raise my reputation. And secondly (and perhaps more importantly), the artefact I had taken from the Room of Requirement was still in my pocket. That is, the castle accepted it as its due... Needless to say, by the Christmas holidays (as the Yoll holidays had already begun to be called), I had taken everything I could possibly take from the Room. That's money, tens of thousands of unbound artefacts, ordinary decorations, clothes, weapons, ingredients for potions, bags and chests with increased space...
The only thing that clouded my joy was the inability to take the most valuable items — the bound artefacts. The wands alone were worth at least half a million galleons on the black market — if sold in bulk! But it would be foolish to sell them. They were a powerful trump card in any war — unregistered weapons created without regard for later restrictions imposed by the Statute.
The "toad" writhed in agony, but I consoled her with a promise to come up with something to make use of the remaining riches.
***
patreon.com/posts/131449407