Binnovil adjusted her dress with irritation and cursed Ayrissil mentally for the tenth time.
What did her mentor-friend have to do with it?
Who else could have forced her to come to this gathering of vipers and turkeys?
The girl turned her head and looked at the young man in the black suit who was trying to “suck up” to some respectable man, clearly not noticing the grimace of irritation and contempt on the man’s face.
Idiots were everywhere here too.
The saddest part was that this idiot was her date for the evening.
Coming to a ball without a partner was only acceptable for members of foreign delegations; everyone else had to have an escort.
“…so do your mentor a favor and bring someone along.
Otherwise, you’ll be completely covered in dust from your pyramids and become an old, unmarried maid!”
She could practically hear her mentor’s cheerful voice as she read the letter, her eye twitching.
Sighing, Maria moved away from Nyle, a secretary from the Curse-Breaker Guild’s residence in Berlin.
The girl didn’t have much choice; her other male acquaintances were either not attending the ball or already had partners.
She surveyed the vast ministerial hall with its golden ceiling and hundreds of magical lights floating beneath it like a cloud of fireflies, then headed toward the tables with appetizers and desserts.
First, to satisfy her hunger, she hadn’t eaten all day, busy preparing for the ball.
Second, to find her mentor on the way, flash before her eyes, and then slip away unnoticed.
With the last sound of the violin, applause rippled through the hall for the couples dancing in the center.
She caught sight of a young man who was clearly looking for a partner and had stopped his gaze on her.
“Damn.”
Turning away, Maria tried to lose herself in the crowd of surrounding wizards.
She’d never liked these social events.
As a child, because of the suffocating dresses she had to wear and the boring conversations of adults about nothing.
Now, because of the hypocritical smiles, the realization that at least a third of the people here were only interested in power and money, and who to marry off to whom to get those first two things.
And considering the entire past month, when her parents had tried to drag her to every social event hosted by Czech aristocrats, her desire to attend such a significant event had been killed off completely.
But she hadn’t wanted to outright refuse Ayrissil’s request to attend the ball.
It might have offended her friend, who had helped her so many times before.
Besides, she genuinely wanted to see the Vinters, whom she’d last spoken to in Prague right after the Auror questioning.
Since arriving in Berlin, the female members of the Vinter family had practically never left their estate, which was impossible to enter without an invitation from Lord Vinter himself.
“Mr.
Lockhart, I never expected you to be so well-versed in ritualistics.
For someone your age, that’s quite commendable.”
The mention of the surname of the man she’d been thinking about a lot lately drew her attention, and then a familiar voice, practically oozing smugness, reached her ears.
“I’m glad to hear such praise, Master Torvald.
But I assure you, you’ll be even more surprised by my other talents!”
“I see.
The younger generation these days is certainly confident and bold.”
An elderly man with a small gray beard chuckled, stroking it.
Maria recognized him as one of the heads of the German Curse-Breaker Guild and one of the few Masters of Ritualistics.
“Boldness conquers cities.”
Gilderoy Lockhart smiled smugly.
“Turkey.”
The girl immediately categorized the golden-haired wizard standing nearby.
“But a handsome turkey,” she was forced to admit, noticing several interested glances from the surrounding ladies directed at the wizard.
Tall, stately, with hair the color of gold, a brilliant smile, and vivid blue eyes, his every gesture oozing confidence, he couldn’t help but attract the attention of the opposite sex.
Add to that his impeccably chosen clothing and speech full of boastful statements that, coming from anyone else, would have caused irritation.
But when Gilderoy said it, it was…
endearing.
Unlike the heirs of influential wizard families who used similar statements to show their superiority over others, this was more like the naivety of a child grandly declaring they would surpass Merlin.
Maria couldn’t find a better comparison for this side of Lockhart’s personality, which added its own flavor to the wizard’s overwhelming charisma.
And this “boasting,” paradoxically, created an even better impression of the man.
One thing was arrogance from a person with visible flaws, making you want to put them in their place.
Quite another was boastfulness from someone who seemed perfect in every way.
It was unconsciously reassuring to see such an obvious flaw as pride in such an ideal person.
Everyone admires and strives for perfection, but a perfect person seems alien…
unnatural.
Binnovil could honestly admit that Gilderoy was very attractive to her.
Handsome, strong, smart, with a sense of humor and an original view of the world, as she’d learned during their conversation in Prague.
Almost the embodiment of a romantic teenage girl’s dream.
Except…
“STOP!”
The fiery lion’s head froze, and the golden-haired wizard turned his gaze, with something dark lurking in the depths of his blue eyes, toward her.
She had no idea what was really going on in his soul.
And she probably didn’t want to know.
“Lady?”
The girl jumped and noticed the object of her thoughts suddenly appearing right in front of her nose.
“Is my appearance so irresistible that you’ve lost the power of speech?”
The wizard smoothed his hair and “modestly” smiled.
Maria’s eye twitched as she realized several people were watching them.
“All my thoughts are complete crap.
Gilderoy Lockhart is just a boastful, narcissistic bastard!”
Forcing a smile, she said:
“I’m glad to see you again, Mr.
Lockhart.”
“And I’m glad to see you, beautiful Maria.
Would you do me the honor of being my partner for the next dance?”
The witch immediately felt envious and disapproving glances from other girls.
She was about to refuse irritably, but then she noticed something that shouldn’t have been here at all.
Master Torvald, who had been talking to Lockhart, was now speaking with a very familiar married couple.
They hadn’t noticed her yet, so she needed to get as far away from them as quickly and discreetly as possible.
Otherwise, the attempts to find her a “suitor” for the evening would be impossible to escape.
“I’d be happy to accept your invitation to dance.”
She gave the Briton her hand, noticing a flash of surprise in his eyes.
Then he glanced sideways at her parents, and his smile became slightly mocking.
Gallantly taking her arm, the wizard escorted her to the other couples in the center.
Maria first blushed in embarrassment at the realization that he might have guessed why she’d agreed to dance, then looked at the golden-haired wizard with suspicion.
(How did he even know her parents?) He just smiled his already irritating smile.
As soon as the first notes of the violin sounded, his right hand was on her waist, while his left hand clasped her right.
Softly smiling, Lockhart took a smooth step forward with his left foot.
“One, two, three.
One, two, three.”
Moving smoothly, spinning, the girl unconsciously counted to herself.
It was a habit from her first dance lessons as a child, when her mother taught her the Viennese waltz.
“One, two, three.
One, two, three.”
One step followed another.
Around her, figures in beautiful dresses and suits spun gracefully.
The man’s hands on her waist and in her hand felt incredibly hot.
Her partner’s smile blurred with the movement.
“One, two, three.
One, two, three.”
The orchestra’s melody flowed around them, and her body obediently followed the lead of her partner.
Only now did she notice the oddity of her dance partner.
He made no mistakes, unlike some other wizards she’d spotted during the dance.
He followed the rhythm perfectly and kept his hands to himself.
But somehow, she felt the tension in Gilderoy’s entire body.
His smile now seemed carved from stone.
Beautiful, but not alive.
“One, two, three.
One, two, three.”
The last sounds of the violin.
A few steps to the side.
A curtsy from her.
A bow from him.
Applause from the audience for the dancing couples.
Her partner smoothly led her toward the crowd of other people, clearing the center for the next couples.
“Thank you for this wonderful dance.”
A quiet, soft voice came from the wizard.
Then he walked into the crowd with a smooth, confident stride.
Unable to respond, Maria watched his back.
For some reason, at this moment he seemed lonely and broken.
“It seems to me, or did our little Marie just dance with a handsome young man?”
“Honestly, I thought she’d ignore the opposite sex until she was thirty.
It’s nice to be wrong sometimes.”
Freezing, the girl slowly turned her head.
With wide grins on their faces, Mikhail Binnovil and Virsavia Binnovil, her parents, were looking at her.
“Oh, damn.”
“Layan, you idiot.
You stepped on all my toes.”
A girl with brown hair and glasses muttered softly.
“Unfortunately, not all men dance as well as I do.
So you’ll have to deal with such imperfections of this world.”
“Mr.
Lockhart, you’re always…”
“Wonderful.”
I smiled, finishing her sentence.
Alvia Brown just shook her head with a smile.
She was my date for the ball.
Despite the fact that Berlin’s population in 1985 had already exceeded three million, and the girl hadn’t given me her address at the café, contacting her wasn’t a problem.
Magical owls solve many problems for wizards.
They just don’t particularly like me.
Probably sensing how I instinctively tense up and reflexively prepare fire spells at their approach.
My particular love for fire spells developed when I realized that most creatures with humans on their menu didn’t particularly “like” fire.
So during the Cataclysm, I preferred to “fry” any winged creatures with Incendio first, out of “tradition.”
I shook off the thoughts about my reaction to owls in the first days after entering this body and glanced at the man who had stepped onto the stage where the orchestra had been playing for hours.
Tall and thin, with a slightly roguish smile, in a black suit, the 30th Minister of Magic of Germany, Gegen Lehmann, put his wand to his throat.
“Dear guests, I’m delighted to welcome you all to this ball celebrating the founding of our Ministry of Magic.
Since the signing of the Statute of Secrecy, our Ministry was one of the first to be established in 1701…”
The Minister’s voice, amplified by Sonorus, was heard by the hundreds of wizards present in the hall, which had been expanded by space-enlargement charms.
I surveyed the surrounding wizards, thinking about all of today’s conversations and actions.
Thanks to Elias, whom I’d met in the first minutes after arriving here, I was able to make the acquaintance of several people who represented the international guilds of Potioneers, Artificers, and Magizoologists.
As further confirmation that this was a different world, some of these wizards were unknown to me.
In my past life, as one of the most active Masters of Ritualistics, I’d known all the representatives of the leading international magical guilds by face.
I’d often had to interact with many of them to get the ingredients and resources I needed.
So making their acquaintance now could help me in the future and save a lot of time.
Also a plus was the reacquaintance with Torvald.
Greedy and stingy as a goblin, the bastard, but he kept his word.
A rather rare phenomenon among twentieth-century wizards, who mostly considered themselves masters of their word.
That is, when they wanted, they gave their word, and when they wanted, they took it back. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
On the other hand, such a mentality had a very positive effect on the development of the art of creating magical contracts.
We wizards had driven ourselves to the point where we could only fully trust the letter of a magical contract.
Ironic.
I involuntarily began searching for the familiar chestnut-colored hair with my gaze, then stopped myself.
This was becoming a kind of masochism.
I wanted to see her, to touch her skin, to breathe in the scent of her silky hair.
But at the same time, I wanted to be as far away from her as possible, so as not to make her a target for my current and future enemies.
So as not to remember that things would never be as they once were.
At least for me, who remembered that I had once failed to protect her, my love.
I gripped the locket-artifact under my shirt, which held a lock of Maria’s hair, then suppressed the wave of emotions with Occlumency and sank back into Lockhart’s mental mask.
First, the goal.
The distracting feelings can wait for the future, if there even is one.
I waited for the Minister’s speech to end, followed by the no less official congratulations from delegates from other countries.
After that, the official part of the ball would be over, and guests would begin to leave, just after midnight.
Of course, no one was kicking anyone out, and guests could party until morning.
But I wouldn’t need to stay any longer.
Thump.
I froze.
I gripped the locket with the dial and the slowly turning hand, which, like a Sneakoscope, was supposed to indicate the degree of danger.
At the same time, I could feel the approaching danger myself.
A growing smell of forest and dog hit my nose.
Aaaahhhhh!
“What the…”
“Oh, damn it.”
A few meters away, a man doubled over with a scream, tearing his skin bloody.
The scratches healed quickly, and his unnaturally lengthening limbs and elongating face began to be covered in dark blue fur.
Several quick-thinking wizards raised their wands.
“Incarcerous.”
“How did they let that creature in here?”
No one answered the frightened cry of one of the guests as the transformed werewolf easily tore through the ropes that had appeared around its body and raised its snout to the ceiling.
The howl of several werewolves echoed through the hall.
“This definitely didn’t happen in my past.”
I pointed the wand that had appeared in my right hand at the grotesque wolf-man hybrid baring its teeth, which was approaching a frozen-in-terror wizard.
Explode.
Burn.
“Confringo.”
“Arooo!”
The red magical projectile exploded with a flash of fire on the werewolf’s body, throwing it away from the recovering wizard, who screamed like a Banshee.
I made the next movements with my wand toward the whimpering werewolf trying to put out the fire on its fur.
The torn flesh regenerated before my eyes and grew back fur.
These creatures in their second form had considerable magical resistance and too powerful a healing factor, making non-silver, non-lethal wounds heal in under a minute.
Spread.
Burn.
“Pyro.”
The dying flames on the werewolf’s fur flared up with new intensity, making the creature howl in pain again.
A flick of the wrist.
The fire that had been spreading from the werewolf, which had started to thrash about, closed into a circle around it, forcing the creature to cower in the center, driven by an instinctive animal fear of the destructive element.
The smell of burnt dog hit my nose, but ignoring it, I closed my eyes.
A wave of non-verbal Revelio spread out from me, allowing me to know the location of all living creatures around me.
A flick.
From the burning circle of fire, ribbons of flame flew outward, following my will, slithering past all the figures of the wizards toward the nearest werewolves.
A flick.
Circles of fire appeared around several more werewolves.
A new flick of the wrist.
Animate.
Target.
Burn.
“Agni Piertotum Locomotor.”
An incomplete copy of my consciousness, embedded in each circle of fire, imbued the destructive element with a temporary will of its own, its goal to hold the werewolves in place.
I sharply cut the connection to the spell.
That should hold them for a few minutes, and by then, the Aurors should have dealt with all the werewolves.
I touched the locket with my mental probe and turned toward the direction where I sensed my love.
“Mr.
Lockhart…”
“The Aurors will handle everything.
Stay here.”
“…you’re bleeding.”
Alvia whispered softly and fearfully.
I touched my face with my hand in confusion and looked at my blood-stained fingers.
Damn weak body.
A weak Evanesco, performed on willpower alone, made the blood vanish from my hand and face.
I’d have to perform a Flesh Severing ritual later, just in case, to eliminate any chance of my blood falling into someone else’s hands.
“I’m fine.”
I gave the girl Lockhart’s smile and moved to the other end of the hall.
I’d leave the questions of why I hadn’t sensed so many werewolves earlier in the several hours I’d been here, and why they’d transformed into their second form on December 9th, when the full moon would ONLY be on December 27th, for later.
Right now, the important thing was protecting my love.
And for that, I was ready to tear this damn Ministry to pieces.