The door opened without a knock, and a man entered — well past middle age, but not yet old. Impeccably dressed, with perfect posture and an age that suggested experience, he projected the image of an ideal butler, yet he was clearly more than that. He looked too dangerous. On his nose sat thin-framed spectacles, slightly slid down his prominent aquiline nose. His black hair was combed back, revealing a high forehead and attentive, nearly black eyes. His face reminded me of a raven in human form.
I tensed, searching for my wand with my eyes. I found it on the bedside table, next to my folded robe and clothes. My belt with the flasks lay there too. Everything seemed to be in place.
"No need to worry, Mr. Malfoy," the man's voice was low, insinuating, devoid of unnecessary emotion. "Your belongings are safe."
"Where am I?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steadier than I felt. "And who are you?"
"I am Phineas Kelley," he inclined his head slightly, neither bowing nor merely acknowledging politeness. "I believe my surname should be familiar to you. Your house-elf, Kreacher, brought you to me three hours ago. With numerous wounds, a broken rib, and…" he paused, his black eyes boring into me, "…the trace of a dark curse. A very dark one, I should add."
His surname was the same as that of Edward Kelley, the famed alchemist and necromancer of Britain who lived before the adoption of the Statute. I assumed he was a descendant of that extremely powerful wizard — far from a light wizard, but not for me to judge, given my own lineage.
I involuntarily touched my chest. Where the network of black vessels had been, only pale, almost imperceptible streaks and specks remained.
"It was an accident," I said, choosing my words. "I went somewhere I shouldn't have, and Knockturn Alley is full of surprises. I ran into…"
"I don't care," the man interrupted me, a note in his voice characteristic of cold-blooded people accustomed to others' secrets. "Mr. Malfoy-Black, you are currently my patient. My task is to heal you. The reasons for your injuries are of no interest to me, as long as they don't affect the treatment."
"How do you know I'm a Malfoy and…?" I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.
"The house-elf of your house introduced you as the 'young master of the House of Black,'" the man walked over to the window and adjusted the curtain. "And your appearance… well, let's just say I couldn't fail to recognize one of the last Blacks."
I was silent, processing the information.
"May I assume you are a healer for the House of Black?"
"One could say that. For three centuries now, every member of my family has signed a lifetime contract for priority services to your… house… without the right of refusal. Healing members of your family is my duty, among other things. And as you see, I fulfill it. Oaths signed in blood have a way of limiting one's choices. But that shouldn't concern you, Mr. Malfoy. I don't ask questions; you can ask questions. It's quite simple."
"I see," I nodded. "In that case… what is the date today?"
The healer glanced at the wall clock.
"December thirty-first. Five minutes to ten in the evening."
I turned my gaze to the window. Behind the heavy drapes, deep darkness was visible.
"Mr. Kelley, there's no need to call my parents," I said. "I'm fine."
"As you wish," he nodded, showing neither surprise nor approval. "But I would advise you to stay at least until morning. The curse placed on you… was powerful. The dark magic was spreading through your body, draining magic and life. A few more hours, and you wouldn't have been able to get out of bed. Within a day, death would have followed."
"But you stopped it?"
"Stopped it," Kelley replied calmly. "Almost entirely. The residual effects will pass in a couple of days. You'll need to take the potions I've already prepared. And not overexert your body and magic."
I nodded. I didn't want to get up, but I couldn't stay any longer.
"Thank you for the treatment. I'll follow your advice, but at home."
"No need for thanks," Kelley inclined his head slightly, and in this gesture, there was neither false modesty nor arrogance. "It's my job. Take the potions as scheduled; I've indicated the dosage on the flasks. And drink plenty of water — the curse dehydrates the body."
I was silent, gathering my thoughts.
"May I contact you in the future?" I asked. "If… needed?"
The man looked at me with a long, appraising gaze. His black eyes seemed to see more than I would have liked to show.
"Of course," he said finally. "You are, after all, one of the last Blacks."
"In that case, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kelley."
***
The morning of January first greeted me with gray, overcast light that barely penetrated the heavy curtains of my room at Malfoy Manor. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling my body slowly returning to life.
Fourteen years old. Finally, I had turned fourteen, and 1991 had arrived. The year when Harry Potter — the Boy Who Lived — would start at Hogwarts.
I glanced at the bedside table, where the potion flasks left by the healer stood. Yesterday, returning to the Manor through his fireplace, I could barely stand. My mother met me with concern — I had to lie, saying I'd eaten something bad in Diagon Alley. But she was displeased, as I had left without guards, without warning, and disappeared until night. I had no energy left to invent anything else. Fortunately, my father was absent — busy with something important outside the Manor — and I was able, without further conversation, to go up to my room and fall asleep.
Now, well-rested, I felt almost human.
Almost.
The dark network of vessels that had spread across my body after Sirius's curse had almost completely disappeared. Only pale, barely noticeable streaks remained. The broken rib had also healed — Skele-Gro and time had done their work. The bruises and wounds were gradually healing. Only my shoulder, where Sirius's curse had eaten through the reinforced fabric of my robe and damaged the skin, was still bandaged. It would take time for the skin to fully recover.
I sat up in bed, stretched — my body responded with a dull, aching pain, but it was tolerable.
Today was my birthday. I was fourteen, and nothing had been achieved! And that was bad…
At breakfast, my mother handed me presents — from her and from my father, who never appeared. As it turned out, problems had started with nearly half of all our enterprises in the magical spectrum of Great Britain. Questioning my mother, I managed to find out that "unknowns" had attacked the mansion where Sirius Black was staying… an unsuccessful attack, as Mad-Eye had appeared. It became clearer why all the newspapers were saying that dozens of enterprises weren't working today. A couple of days at this pace, and there would be a small economic collapse within magical Britain. After all, many businesses were being inspected by Ministry rats, unable to function, and Aurors were searching others. Some were even closed. In short, it was unlikely to last long, but my father would definitely lose something for his pointless attempt. It would have been worse if the attack had been successful and Sirius had been there. I think Dumbledore would not have forgiven murder.
But since nothing could be done about it and my mood was spoiled, it was time to lift it by opening presents. And there were many. When a family is this wealthy, presents are determined by quantity, as quality is already top-notch.
Many presents are always good. What I particularly liked was an expensive artifact in the form of an amulet with a ruby. According to the attached instructions, it could protect against a stray curse of the level of a simple Diffindo or Flipendo. That is, the artifact created a magical dome slightly weaker than Protego. An expensive and seemingly useless item, considering the artifact took about an hour to charge and protected so weakly. But the point was precisely the factor of passive defense.
That is, if someone shoots you in the back with a Muggle weapon — you stay unharmed, and then it's a matter of skill. That's why you wear one amulet, not carry around a couple of dozen to alternate during battles. After all, a regular Protego is many times better, and this type of artifact was expensive, but it saved you in an unexpected moment. In short, it was the best present from that pile my mother gave me.
Many people have such artifacts, including our guards, and I've seen them on my father and mother as well.
What's more, even those who couldn't afford such an artifact but risked their lives, i.e., wizards of average means like mercenaries or Aurors, literally saved for years and bought them. Therefore, equipping mercenaries, as Louis and I had planned, was an extremely expensive pleasure. Because of this, mercenaries everywhere had to worry about their own gear, which on a large scale was bad.
Before this, I had worn a weak analogue of such an artifact given to me, which protected against minor hexes, but this was a completely different level. And it cost significantly more. I think my father's artifact was even a level higher than this new amulet, so once I get the inheritance, I must remember to buy a couple of amulets from the best category.
Also useful, from my parents I received a set of books on advanced Transfiguration — in leather binding, with gold embossing — and a potion case, decorated with silver and maximally enchanted, with the family crest engraved on it.
Of course, the presents were bought long before our quarrel yesterday. It even became somehow unpleasant that I had lost my composure… I must not lose my cool. However, the presents don't change the fact that I had no intention of giving my inheritance to my father. Especially considering my recent conversations with Draco, during which I realized that my father was clearly preparing Draco as a spare heir, not as my right hand. I had suspected it before, but now… well, we'll see what happens, but it smells bad. Now I was prepared to accept that my father had scheduled the betrothal to Amanda Rosier for January fourth. The Rosiers would clearly be displeased if it turned out their daughter was betrothed to someone who wasn't the heir, though they had agreed with the heir.
Speaking of Draco, who was still sulking at me for losing my temper with him. He still handed me a package tied with a green ribbon.
"Here," he muttered, looking away.
I unwrapped the present. It was a trinket — a small golden globe, inside which sparks swirled, mimicking the movements of the planets. A funny little thing.
"Thank you, Draco," I said, and my brother, softening slightly, nodded.
Other presents arrived by post — from friends, from vassal families, from those who wanted to pay their respects to the House of Malfoy. Books, rare potion ingredients, simple artifacts — there were so many that I stopped keeping track.
But that was just a pleasant little thing, boosting my self-esteem. More important was that adult matters awaited me.
I decided that tomorrow, January second, I would go to Diagon Alley. I needed to meet with the Council and discuss plans. But more importantly — visit Gringotts.
I sent letters to everyone thanking them for their congratulations and gifts, and also scheduled a meeting at one of the few establishments in Diagon where one could sit civilly without being disturbed. The place was called "The Silver Key" — it was located very close to Gringotts and other reputable shops, so no riffraff were there.
On January second, accompanied by two bodyguards and having informed my mother this time, I went to Diagon Alley.
The center of magical Britain greeted me with a gray winter day. The shops were open, people went about their business, but I paid them no attention. I walked towards Gringotts.
The huge white building with columns reaching to the ceiling towered over everything. Gringotts was open, as always, and the guards — goblins in ceremonial uniforms — watched incoming and outgoing clients with cold, appraising, and perhaps even nasty looks.
Goblins… no one likes goblins, but everyone has to deal with them.
An ancient race that appeared on British soil as early as the eighth or ninth century. They tried to enslave humans, but their magic only sufficed to resist the wizards of that time. Then they were almost exterminated. The word "almost" was the most important, because then a short peace came, and relations began to improve. Goblins found their niche thanks to their unusual magical abilities and knowledge, making them valuable as sources of knowledge. But more importantly for trade relations, they surpassed us in smithing, jewelry making, and other fields. And in the fifteenth century, a goblin named Gringott created the prototype of Gringotts.
However, throughout the history of relations with the goblins, whenever they grew strong enough, they tried to overthrow the supremacy of wizards, starting wars and rebellions. But despite this, goblins became the rulers of the economic sector of Britain and several other countries. All thanks to magical restrictions at the blood level, which became more stringent with each new rebellion.
After all, goblins were renowned for their reliability in storing valuables, but even so, truly wealthy families preferred to keep only a small portion of their liquid funds in Gringotts. The main liquid assets lay in the vaults of their manors, and most of the wealth was tied up in various magical and Muggle enterprises.
But I needed specifically liquid funds. For a start.
I left my bodyguards outside and entered the bank, heading for one of the free goblins — a typical representative of his race, weathered by endless desk work, with a knife-sharp beard and small, deep-set eyes.
"Good day. I need to speak with the solicitor of the House of Black. I am Arcturus Corvus Armand Black-Malfoy."
The goblin raised his eyes to me. What repulsive faces they have…
"Wait."
He disappeared behind a door and returned a few minutes later.
"You are expected."
After that, another goblin emerged from some niche and escorted me to a private office, clearly further away than the first goblin could have walked in those few minutes.
The walls were paneled in dark wood, a magical lamp burned on the desk, and behind it sat a goblin in a black tunic embroidered with gold threads.
"I am Blitzok," he said in his scratchy voice. "Solicitor of the House of Black. How may I serve you?"
I sat down opposite.
"I've come to claim my inheritance."
The goblin bared his teeth — whether smirking or wanting to eat me was unclear. You can never tell with goblins. Their expressions are hard to read.
"To claim the inheritance," he hissed, "you need to confirm your bloodline and present material evidence that you have the right to the inheritance. This can be done through the Ministry's Heraldic Chamber or through the Department for Noble and Ancient Families. As far as I know, Mr. Malfoy, you will not receive the full inheritance. A more prior claimant has been released — both by will and by blood."
"Sirius Black has not yet claimed the inheritance," I objected calmly. "Therefore, I have the right to access the general family vaults, if such exist. And I am certain they do."
Blitzok pursed his lips, his face twisting even more.
"That is true," he said finally, with obvious reluctance. "I expected Mr. Sirius Orion Black two days ago. But since he has not appeared… access to the vaults will require blood confirmation. Show me the keys to these three vaults. Numbers: 421, 557, 592."
"These vaults," I began, enunciating each word, "are not the personal vaults of any living or deceased Black. They are intended for free cash flow for use by persons of the House of Black with inheritance rights. I am almost certain that copies of the keys can be obtained by confirming identity. I am the second heir of the house. If Sirius Black does not claim the inheritance in time, the entire inheritance passes to me. Therefore, I should have access to the vaults. At least as long as it is not restricted by the owner of the vaults — that is, the absent Lord Black."
Blitzok looked at me for a long second. His little eyes drilled into my face.
"So you want to accept a partial inheritance?" he asked. "You understand that when Sirius Orion Black claims the inheritance, all of this will revert to him? The free access will disappear. You will no longer be able to claim the liquid funds of the House of Black nor call yourself a Black."
He knew me, he knew our entire family situation, and even my age. But this cunning goblin was resisting for some reason. Apparently, he thought I was rushing to gain access to the vaults and empty them before it was too late.
"Yes, I want to receive a partial inheritance. I have with me the first copy of the will." Taking it from a pocket under my robe, I displayed the numbered will, the original of which could be distinguished by special charms creating a unique pattern on the paper.
"Then let's begin."
The blood identification took a few minutes, but we walked to their ritual hall with a strangely dressed goblin for a long time. The goblin there performed a mini-ritual — blood identification. I pricked my finger, dripped into a small bowl with some translucent solution, and it turned purple. Apparently, confirming that Black blood flowed in my veins in sufficient concentration. Alas, I lacked information about this method of genealogical identification to say exactly how it worked.
I think the solicitor could have done it himself in his office, but the principle here was that confirmation was needed. That is, two goblins had to ensure everything was clear. This system existed despite all the restrictions they had regarding the honest provision of their services without deception and lies.
But because of this, they often fooled many wizards, as omitting information and twisting words does not equal lying and harming the wizard's financial position in any way.
Then I was taken to Gringotts' heraldry department. There, my rights to the inheritance and identity were confirmed. They checked against their copy of the will.
Only after this did I receive the so-called partial right to the inheritance. And finally, I was given three keys. As I had suspected, they had spare keys. After all, it wasn't a family vault with such a powerful system that a second key couldn't exist, let alone additional security methods to prevent goblins from entering. When it comes to millions of Galleons, wizards stop being fools.
After that, I said:
"This conversation will remain a secret, and my presence here — my personal secret. As always, from now on."
Blitzok bared his teeth even more.
"You have studied Gringotts' rules and laws well."
"I have studied your monumental oaths well. Otherwise, our conversation before accepting the partial inheritance could have been reported to someone, couldn't it, Solicitor Blitzok?" I asked, not looking away.
The goblin bared his teeth — this time clearly in a smirk.
"That is correct."
"Would you like to inspect the vaults?" Blitzok asked in his scratchy voice, clearly showing curiosity.
At this, I also showed my most "kind" smile.
"Of course, I would."