Chapter 138: News from the Soviet Union
"Yes, of course. There shouldn't be any problem—I drink it all the time," Parvati Patil said, completely unconcerned.
"Wait…" Russell frowned. "Lavender just said the ingredients were shipped directly from India. Don't tell me…"
A horrifying possibility dawned on him.
"Did you add water from the Ganges?"
"Of course," Parvati replied matter-of-factly. "Authentic Indian milk tea must use authentic Ganges water."
Russell suddenly understood.
That explained everything.
No wonder Parvati seemed mostly fine—she had likely built up resistance from long-term exposure. Her body's microbial ecosystem had probably adapted to the "Holy River."
Russell shuddered.
Thankfully, he hadn't taken a single sip.
Otherwise, he might have been writhing on the floor as well.
In that moment, the terror he felt toward that cup of Indian milk tea far surpassed anything Voldemort had ever inspired in him.
Professor McGonagall carried the unconscious Lavender Brown to the hospital wing, with Parvati following close behind.
Russell returned to his seat, staring at the untouched cup. He briefly considered whether a sterilizing charm could eliminate whatever microscopic horrors lurked within—but decided not to risk it. He simply vanished the tea entirely.
It was only a small incident, but ever since Lavender was discharged from the hospital wing, she would immediately turn and flee whenever she saw Russell.
Understandably so.
It had taken tremendous courage to gift someone milk tea—only for it to behave like poison.
There were few things more mortifying.
A few days later, after finishing Transfiguration, Russell dragged his famished body into the Great Hall at lunchtime.
He had barely sat down when he noticed Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang approaching.
He was about to greet them—
—but something felt off.
They usually walked hand in hand.
Today, they kept a noticeable distance between them, as if they were sworn enemies.
The next moment confirmed Russell's suspicion.
Cedric sat down beside him.
Cho, however, did not sit next to Cedric as usual. Instead, she moved to sit beside Wednesday.
Wednesday seemed slightly uncomfortable and subtly shifted closer toward Russell's side
Seeing the way they were acting, it was obvious the young couple had quarreled. Russell had absolutely no intention of wading into that mess.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans—Cedric clearly intended to drag him into it.
"Tell me this isn't ridiculous," Cedric huffed. "I was kindly teaching someone some techniques for chasing the Snitch, and instead of appreciating it, she complains that my tone was too harsh and that I was being mean."
He stabbed a piece of potato viciously with his fork.
Before Russell could respond, Cho replied sweetly—but with unmistakable sarcasm.
"Oh yes, because 'teaching' apparently means getting impatient halfway through and acting like you know everything while everyone else is an idiot."
Russell immediately leaned toward Wednesday and whispered, "Let's go. Have you finished eating?"
"Not yet," Wednesday replied calmly, taking another bite of salad.
"Come with me anyway," Russell muttered under his breath. "Staying here is pure suffering. We can grab something from the kitchens later."
He took her hand and swiftly made his escape.
The moment they left, Cedric and Cho fell silent.
---
"What's going on with you two?" Fred and George Weasley approached with great interest. Seeing the visible distance between Cedric and Cho, they were eager for drama.
They sat down.
Two minutes later, they fled.
"Terrifying," Fred declared solemnly. "You're right. We should focus on marketing our new product instead."
The presale of their new transformation potions had exceeded expectations.
Among Slytherins, even the most expensive versions had already sold over thirty bottles. Some wealthy pure-bloods had even purchased one of every type.
The bestsellers were the Vampire Potion and the Werewolf Potion.
As for the Troll Potion—only Crabbe and Goyle had bought one each.
Russell found that mildly disappointing.
Personally, he thought Flint would have been perfectly suited for Troll transformation as well.
---
"Isn't this rare?" Russell said with a grin. "Cedric and Cho fighting."
They were both his friends—but that didn't mean he lacked a healthy appetite for gossip.
"It's just pride," Wednesday replied coolly. "Temporary anger. Neither wants to back down."
"They'll be inseparable again soon."
Sharp and accurate as always.
"So… Uncle Gomez and Aunt Morticia ever go through something like this?" Russell teased.
"No," Wednesday shook her head. "I learned it from television. Tedious romantic dramas."
Russell chuckled.
"If I ever made you angry, what would you do? Bury me in the backyard as fertilizer?"
"Of course," she replied without hesitation. "I'd bury you beneath the window. That way, whenever I looked outside, I could see you."
They locked eyes.
She gave him a small, wicked smile.
"That's terrifying," Russell laughed, pinching her cheek—only to have his hand slapped away.
---
"By the way," Russell suddenly said, "have you ever seen a phoenix rebirth?"
"Phoenix rebirth?" Wednesday's eyes lit up instantly.
Anything involving death fascinated her. Something that crossed the boundary between death and resurrection fascinated her even more.
"Headmaster Dumbledore keeps a phoenix named Fawkes. He's looking rather old lately—probably nearing rebirth. I'll ask the professor next time. We can go watch together."
Wednesday nodded.
---
Cedric and Cho's cold war lasted exactly one week.
Russell eventually grew accustomed to the quieter atmosphere—he even found it peaceful.
One afternoon, an owl delivered the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. Ever since warning Rita Skeeter, Russell had started subscribing regularly. It wasn't expensive, and it helped pass the time.
Apparently, Rita had seized her opportunity.
Somehow—likely using her Animagus form—she had tracked down Sirius Black.
It had to be said: her Animagus ability was extraordinarily practical. Small, inconspicuous, capable of flight, perfect for espionage and survival.
And she chose to use it for gossip reporting.
What a waste.
Still, her exclusive interview with Sirius had nearly doubled newspaper sales.
From that day onward, Sirius's public reputation steadily recovered. The praise once mistakenly heaped upon Peter Pettigrew gradually shifted to its rightful owner.
---
As for Peter's elderly mother…
She experienced both joy and despair.
Joy—because her son was alive. The explosion had been staged.
Despair—because the son she had been so proud of turned out to be a cowardly traitor and a Death Eater.
The next day, she went to the Ministry of Magic seeking the truth.
When she emerged, her expression was neither laughter nor tears.
Her mind had shattered under the weight of both.
The Wizengamot confiscated Peter's Order of Merlin.
That was the final straw.
She lost her sanity completely.
Yet her tragedy caused barely a ripple in magical Britain—like a stone tossed into the sea.
Eventually, neighbors discovered she had vanished.
No one knew where she went.
And soon, no one mentioned her again.
---
Russell unfolded the paper further.
His expression grew serious.
The headline read:
"Following the Collapse of the Former Soviet Magical Committee—What Future Awaits Its Wizards?"
He read carefully.
The article described chaos within the former Soviet magical territories. With high-ranking officials fleeing and valuable magical resources disappearing alongside them, what remained was a fractured society of competing factions scrambling for survival.
The remaining wizards, stripped of central authority and resources, were left fighting over scraps like wild dogs.
"Our Minister, Cornelius Fudge, has expressed deep concern," the article continued. "Moved by compassion, he has decided to welcome a number of elite foreign wizards to settle in Britain."
Russell snorted.
High salaries to recruit talent—dressed up as humanitarian concern.
Naturally, such a move had advantages.
And risks.
Wizards raised in harsher environments tended to be far more aggressive. If placed within the Ministry, they might import the authoritarian habits of the old Magical Committee.
If that happened, Fudge's position might become unstable.
Who knew? One disgruntled foreign wizard might curse him outright.
Still, Russell doubted Fudge was foolish enough to let them overpower local influence within the Ministry.
In any case, it wasn't Russell's problem.
His main concern was dinner.
The bad news: the chili condiments Cho had brought him were finally finished.
The good news: the house-elves had begun experimenting with recreating the recipe.
Russell had already decided on the brand name.
Old Godmother.
After all, it wasn't as if they could travel across continents to file an intellectual property lawsuit in magical Britain.
---
"Sorry, Russell," a voice said behind him.
He turned.
Cedric and Cho stood there—holding hands again.
"Made up?" Russell arched a brow. He had expected it.
Their disagreement had been microscopic.
"Oh? Cedric, it's barely autumn and you're already wearing a scarf. Let me guess—Cho knitted it?"
Around Cedric's neck was a yellow-brown striped scarf.