Will I be able to step over it or not? Will I dare to bend down and take it or not? Am I a trembling creature or do I have the right? (Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky)
***
The old quarter of London was a delight to the eye with its beautiful architecture, exquisite statues and bas-reliefs. And also with the smell of rotten fish, spontaneously organised rubbish dumps and suspicious characters in the dark narrow streets. The only thing missing was slop being poured onto the pavement. It was 1888, and that was the way things were... The English. Although, perhaps, this impression was created by the fact that I had not chosen the most prosperous area of the city.
It was on one of these streets, ending in a brick dead end, that I set up my ambush. Here, near the alley on Philip Street, under an old stone bridge, was one of the entrances to the world of Magical England. You didn't think there was only one passageway to the magical quarter, did you? Sirius, having been an Auror for a long time, knew about six entrances to Diagon Alley, and there were, of course, many more passages to the smugglers' alley, and I think even the old fox Moody couldn't find them all, otherwise catching criminals would be too easy.
I ended up here for one simple reason. I desperately needed a wand, and the plan of a fugitive criminal was quite simple. Sooner or later, one of the personalities inhabiting the twilight alley like a pack of rats was bound to show up here.
And then it would be a simple matter of hitting them over the head with a piece of wood and throwing them into the river... Just kidding, I wasn't going to kill anyone.
Not yet, anyway.
All I needed to do was knock them out and take the magical instrument. I wasn't particularly worried about the Ministry's tracking devices on my wand; the people who come here are taken care of first. And I could use the money; there's no point in going to the bank right now. Goblins may not like wizards very much, but for a few coins, they could easily inform the interested parties that financial manipulations were being carried out with the Black family's account.
Not that it was scary, but for now, Aurorat was devoting more time to the Muggle world, and it was in my best interest to keep things as they were for as long as possible. My current goal was to "get into the family mansion," and to gain unhindered access to Black House, I needed a few things, the wand being at the top of my list.
After several hours of waiting, during which I had become quite bored, hungry, and had grown to hate the fishy smell that seemed to come from everywhere, Fortune finally smiled on me. From behind an inconspicuous brick bridge support, a squat, bow-legged man with long, tousled red hair suddenly peered out, looking around furtively.After sitting for a while, staring blankly at this marvel of human evolution, or rather degeneration, he scratched the back of his head and then grinned happily. Hey! It's old friend Nazemnikus himself! I wonder if this is luck or just a coincidence? Either way, it suits me just fine.
Dirty, reeking of alcohol and cheap tobacco, Fletcher looked like he had stepped off a "wanted by the police" poster. After waiting a moment, Naizemnikus moved towards the alley, where I was already waiting for him, hidden behind a rubbish bin.
A minute later, when he finally approached at a normal distance, which in his condition was clearly a miracle, it became clear what Fletcher needed in this alley. He had simply gone out to take a leak and smoke another stinky cigarette, the smell of which made even me, who had grown accustomed to the disgusting stench by now, grimace. Apparently, even Lyutny's contingent couldn't stand that acrid smell. When he took out a cigarette and lit it, I chose that moment to attack.
"I told you cheap cigarettes would kill you," I said, rising to my full height and grinning in a way that even a drunk Nahemnius couldn't mistake for a smile.
"S... Sirius?" The thief's red, burst capillaries widened in amazement before something heavy came down on his head.
Throwing aside the now useless beam, I quickly dragged the "calmed" thief into the far corner. Rummaging through his belongings was downright disgusting, but I managed to do it, telling myself that I had done worse as a dog. The pockets pleased me with a set of enchanted lock picks, a tobacco pouch with that stinking tobacco, and a couple dozen Galleons. Well, well, even scoundrels like Fletcher can sometimes be useful.
Stepping away from the body to a safe distance, I was finally able to breathe more freely, and then I examined my main acquisition. Hmm. I've seen better. Definitely.
The stick belonged to Nazemnikus. Twelve inches long, made of an unknown material, incredibly dirty, with chips and scratches, and the magical filling was already visible at the tip. But, however, it worked properly, as I immediately confirmed by casting a spell of eternal sleep on my old acquaintance and tying his body with ropes for good measure.
Now the next question was where to put him.
This was something worth thinking about. Kill him? Apart from disgust, I felt nothing for this man, but taking someone's life still repulsed me. Of course, I could have left him here, but if I didn't break the spell, it would quickly turn into ordinary murder. He would either freeze to death, or the rats would gnaw off whatever they considered unnecessary, or he would be found by Muggles or other wizards. And if the former simply handed him over to the police, where it was very difficult to predict how events would unfold, the latter would simply and unceremoniously kill him. I'm sure Nazemnikus had gotten on a lot of people's nerves.
But overall, none of these options suited me, so I chose a different path. With the help of transfiguration, Fletcher's body was successfully transformed into a not very attractive snuff box, which I put in my coat pocket. Transfiguration is a great thing. And in general, it was quite fun to cast spells. The recipient's memory helpfully provided me with information on how to make the necessary gestures, and I even created a coat from stolen clothes.
My appearance underwent some changes in the end, and it was no longer the fugitive Sirius Black who went to Lutny, but a respectable young man in his early thirties, dressed in a strict black coat, suit and top hat. Even the most astute Auror would not immediately recognise a fugitive criminal in this guise, and I very much doubted that any of the inhabitants of this place would even remotely pass for the local police.
I had taken care of all the available ways to remove the tracking devices right here, since it was quite difficult to detect the use of magic near the passage to the magical world, which was logical.
After carefully examining my appearance and allowing myself a couple of seconds to turn around in front of the mirror, I was more or less satisfied with my disguise and confidently headed for the "secret place."
Lutny had changed little in eight years; it was still the same crooked alley, mostly dark and dirty. It seemed as if the damp brick walls were emitting a cold that made the skin of any passer-by who happened to wander in here crawl. A damp fog, a smoky veil covering the uneven road of cracked, sometimes mossy stone, completed the picture, creating the feeling that somewhere around the corner, among the rubbish and old, rotten boards, a Dementor was lurking, waiting for its next victim.All the shop windows were boarded up with long-rotten planks, and those that were not closed were very carefully made to look as if the shop had been abandoned long ago, so that no outsider would accidentally think of visiting such a disgusting place... But this first impression was very deceptive, and although I had only known this thanks to Sirius, now I could see it with my own eyes. Life here, as in the nearby Diagon Alley, existed in an atmosphere that was as turbulent as a foul potion.
The fog and soft twilight conveniently hid the face of the figure in the black coat from other wizards, so that the silhouettes in hoods and robes that appeared here and there could not see each other's faces. This made me smile. In Lyutno, incognito was always appreciated, which was just fine with me.
I walked past what appeared to be old shops and looked at vaguely familiar names that had a slight déjà vu effect on me. "Shayveretch Poisons and Poisons," "E.L.M. — Magical Funerals and Embalming," "Elf Chimney Sweep," "Distal Phalanx"... The owners of these establishments clearly knew how to tell a good joke. Some of the names actually described what they offered to customers. Well, some just pretended to. Even in a magical world, unfortunately, everything has a double meaning, and some things even have a triple meaning. Like the owner of the shop I was heading to.
"Gorbyn and Burks" is the most famous establishment in magical London and its environs, buying and selling powerful but conspicuous magical items, mostly related to dark witchcraft. Simple as two plus two, the first layer of meaning was obvious. But, of course, the question immediately arose as to why, with such a bad reputation, it had not been shut down yet. Everyone knew about it, but no one could catch him — that could be said about old Gorbyn. A shrewd businessman with a dark reputation, he was by no means a frequent guest at the Auror Office, as one might think. Yes, he traded in things that were not exactly approved by the law, but every auror knew that all these "dark artefacts" were just trinkets that, with a little effort, could be used to impose a small fine. Gorbyn himself would personally escort some of the more despicable characters to the appropriate department of the ministry, such as those madmen who tried to sell the "heart of a newborn baby" or something even worse. So his shop, like many others in this alley, was tacitly recognised as a "necessary evil," which is why it stayed afloat for so long. Of course, inspections were carried out, but without any enthusiasm; no one was eager to stir up such murky waters.
Only a small circle of "chosen ones," a kind of VIP clientele, freely bought, sold, and exchanged truly dark artefacts in this very shop. These were the kind of things that would get you thrown into Azkaban without a second glance (heh, like me (well, not me, Sirius)), or even killed on the spot. As one wise man said, if you want to hide something, put it in plain sight, and Gorbyn wasn't the only one who used this trick. Not to mention that there were places in Lyutny where it was simply impossible to wander in without an invitation. So Lyutny was a funny place...
But I felt a little uneasy for a moment when I opened the creaky door. Behind it was a large, dimly lit hall with rusty instruments of torture hanging from the ceiling. In a glass display case, there was a dried-up hand covered in blood, a deck of obviously cursed cards, and a crystal eye staring intently at me. Masks grinning maliciously stared silently at me from the walls, human bones of various shapes and sizes were laid out on the counter, and a large black wardrobe stood in the corner.
"Ten points for the atmosphere," I said, looking around the torture chamber with interest.
As soon as the door closed and the bell rang melodiously, heavy footsteps sounded from behind the counter. A second later, a stooped little man with greasy, slicked-back hair appeared. I grimaced inwardly.
"Welcome, Mr...
"Cabb," I quickly prompted him. "John Cabb."
"Glad to see you at Gorbins and Barks, Mr. Cobb," the shopkeeper's voice was as unctuous as his hair. Which, however, did not match his cold, piercing eyes, which literally scanned me from head to toe and apparently deemed me solvent. He continued to butter up the customer. "What can I get you? I have something to show you. Just got this in, and the prices are reasonable! The Hand of Glory, the cursed necklace..."
"The powder of living death," I interrupted Gorbina, mentally repeating what I needed. "The jumper, the amulet of repulsion, a pair of disposable amulets of concealment, an invisibility cloak, ritual accessories..."
As I rattled off the items on my list, Gorbina's obsequious smile slowly faded from his face, turning into a predatory grin."And yes, I almost forgot," he wrote a strange figure in the air, which turned into a vaguely familiar monogram lithograph that I had seen for the first and only time when my father took me, Sirius, to this shop. It served as a kind of identification mark to determine whether you were one of them or an outsider.
In fact, this was the weakest part of my plan, as I wasn't sure if the password had changed over the years. If it had, I would have had a little fight on my hands, but luckily, everything went smoothly. I could tell by the satisfied look on Gorbina's face.
"I won't be able to gather everything I need right away, Mr. Cabb. I'm afraid you'll have to come back a little later," the old man thought for a moment. "Let's say tomorrow around noon. Would that work for you?"
"Of course," I agreed readily. I didn't expect him to keep everything in this shop. Right now, I only needed one thing. "But I hope you'll find the jumper right now.
"Of course, I'll find one for you. Just a moment."
With that, he disappeared into the depths of the shop, leaving me to contemplate the exhibits. My attention was drawn to a hand clutching a candle. It was the hand of glory. "No one but you will see its light," read the inscription below.
All I could do was grumble. There was a modified version of the Lumos for such purposes. What kind of fool would carry around a dried-up hand? Hmm, a funny pun.
"Here's your jumper," Gorbyn appeared almost silently this time, and I miraculously didn't flinch. "It's a popular item. Only twenty galleons."
"Thank you," I nodded impassively and handed over the requested amount, although inside I was seething with rage. Everything! But that's all my money!
"The rest will be ready tomorrow.
I already understood that, yes, thank you. I hope everything goes well today, and by noon tomorrow I will have enough money to pay for everything I ordered. Otherwise, I won't need these things anymore.
"Goodbye, Mr. Gorbyn.
"See you, Mr Black...
I struggled to maintain an even, unhurried gait as I stepped outside. Something like "you idiot!" was beating steadily in my head. Only now did I realise where Sirius could have seen a similar monogram, apart from that memorable occasion. On the damn Black family crest. Damn conspirator!
A nasty little worm appeared inside me, telling me that if there were Aurors here tomorrow, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised.
"Oh well," I continued to ponder, slowly walking along the stone pavement and looking at my own portraits on the lampposts. If he recognised me and agreed to the deal, then I could trust him. In a way. True, I had no doubt that Gorbyn would jack up the price big time.
Of the items I ordered, the jumper, or "hopscotch," as the amulet for concealing traces of transgression was called, was the cheapest. It captured residual magic during the jump and prevented surveillance spells from detecting the location of the movement.
Unfortunately, unlike its more expensive counterparts, the jumper quickly exhausted its reserve of strength, ten, maximum twenty movements, and it became unusable, starting to shake as if it were about to explode. I must say that this was often the case.
Another version, the "probe," in addition to concealing traces of apparition, independently accumulated this energy to break through the anti-apparition shield, and worked much longer, but the price was completely different.
There were, of course, spells that could do all this work, but Sirius himself, to my great regret, only knew that they existed in principle.
However, he never had any need to hide from the authorities, because back then he was on the "good guys" team, whereas now the entire Auror Corps is searching for me with a vengeance. Incidentally, I will even help them a little with that! On my terms, though.
Nothing was holding me in Luton, so after wandering around the back streets for a while, I came out through an inconspicuous turn and found myself in a dead end. From there, I activated the medallion and travelled to London, to the airport building. It was the newly built London City Airport, located in the Docklands area of Newham in East London.
A refresher on transfiguration lessons, plus a little suggestion, and I had two tickets for the next flight to Paris in my pocket, in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Skywalker. The last few hours had been quite stressful, so I felt like joking a little. Even if I was the only one who would get the joke. Who knows, maybe they'll shoot the famous saga here with completely different actors, but for the sake of a laugh, I used a simple spell to change my appearance to that of Anakin, while Nazemnikus, under the Imperius Curse, played the beautiful Padmé.
Unfortunately, you can't keep a living person in a transfigured state for long, otherwise they soon cease to be alive. And I still needed Fletcher, as one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. There was no time to question this useless individual now, but I planned to deal with him more thoroughly at Black House.
I must say, Imperius was not classified as a forbidden spell for nothing. The ease with which a person could be turned into a slave was frightening... and at the same time, it was fascinating. If I ordered Fletcher to slit his wrists with the toothpick that came with our lunch, he would only ask which one. I would have to make a note to use this spell only in extreme cases. I didn't want to go off the rails like my dear sister Belle.
The plane quickly took us to the land of romance, fashion, and edible frogs. I booked a room for two, leaving Nazemnikus to rest, putting him to sleep just in case. The spell should last long enough for me to finish all my business.
The flight across the English Channel didn't take long. It was already night, or rather early morning, and the sun was slowly painting the sky above the rooftops pink, making me squint and yawn. However, the good thing was that goblin banks are open 24/7.
The entrance to the magical quarter of magical France was on the famous Rue Moulin, where the Belles Poules, or simply a brothel, once stood.
According to Muggle legend, in the 17th century, the famous mistress of King Louis XIV, Françoise Athénaïs de Montespan, held black masses there. However, Sirius' memory told me that it was not masses that were held there...
Fortunately, Black himself had been in France during his youth, but unfortunately, he was more interested in all kinds of entertainment that both the Muggle and wizarding worlds had to offer. However, thanks to his memories, I was able to find my way around the magical quarter quite well, which was fortunate for me.
Despite the late hour, the magical quarter was full of people. Parisian wizards were less conservative than their English counterparts, and it was easy to meet witches and wizards dressed in the latest Muggle fashions. Passing by a shop selling Quidditch equipment, "Quibberon," I saw a team of what appeared to be Quidditch players who were dazzling the crowd with their bright pink uniforms and signing autographs.
"Probably local celebrities," I decided, assessing the crowd of fans. Sirius loved Quidditch, and one of his happiest memories was flying on a broomstick, but Black wasn't particularly keen on playing. Even when James dragged him to try out for the team during his studies, he was selected as one of the best chasers, but later refused to join the team. I was more than indifferent to Quidditch at the time, so I made my way past the crowd on my way to the bank.
The French branch of Gringotts was, like the English one, monumental. A large snow-white building with polished bronze doors, white stone steps and a traditional gatekeeper in a scarlet and gold uniform. Even the lines from the poem were the same, except that the language was different.
Heading towards the goblin behind the counter, marked as the manager, he immediately stated the purpose of his visit:
"Sirius Black wishes to withdraw money from his account.
"Does Mr Black have his key?" A snub-nosed goblin with a cold squint looked down at me from above, putting aside some papers. How nasty they all are. And their names are ridiculous.
"I am ready to perform the key recovery procedure.
The hamster inside me clutched at my heart, whispering something like "my stop." The goblins issued the first personal key to the safe for free when the safe was set up, but if the ID was lost... Have you ever lost your card? Well, the process of reissuing all the documents with the goblins was teeth-grinding, which was also reflected in the price of the service. Key recovery cost money, and not a small amount — after all, changing the key meant changing almost the entire security system of the safe.
"Follow me, Mr Black," said the porter, who introduced himself as Grudrebuk, inviting me into the meeting room. "In an hour, your family's representative, Likbach, will arrive with a copy of your mother's will — Walburga Black. In the meantime, I suggest you go through the key binding procedure. You can do it now or after you've talked to the representative.
"I think I'll go ahead and do it before the meeting," I replied after thinking it over. I didn't think they would announce the arrival of a criminal wanted throughout Britain right now; most likely, the ministry would find out as soon as I left the bank.
***A will... So my mother is dead after all. Sirius had been told two years ago, but deep down, the prisoner still clung to the hope that someone in his family was still alive. Now that hope was completely gone.
His eyes suddenly stung. I didn't know it would be so hard to accept. Although Sirius had never been particularly close to his mother, her final loss knocked him off balance. Memories of his childhood flashed through his mind, of a time when his family was still strong. After he entered the scarlet faculty, everything changed... It was strange, he felt sad, even though this was essentially a stranger to him, and not even the fact that he had suddenly become the recipient of not his blood, but his memories, could change that.
"A drop of blood is needed here," the goblin croaked.While I was dealing with my own mental peculiarities, Grudrebuk brought a tiny golden key on a silver tray, with runic inscriptions around the edges. The key had a chain attached to it, so it could be hung around the neck as a pendant. It would be a rather original piece of jewellery.
"Seko," the spell left a small cut on my finger. I pressed my bloody limb against the yellow metal. My finger stung a little, then the cut disappeared, and the key darkened slightly, as if it had absorbed some of the blood.
"Perfect! The replacement cost will be deducted from your account, Mr Black," the goblin grinned, baring his crooked yellow teeth. "You will have three thousand Galleons and two hundred and twenty Sickles left in your personal safe.
Yes, it turns out I'm not doing too well financially. You don't earn much as an Auror, especially with Sirius's wild lifestyle. After digging a little in my memory, I realised that Uncle Alfard had left some inheritance besides the hunting lodge, but during that time his nephew had spent quite a bit. Besides, as it turned out, joining the Order was not an altruistic endeavour, and Black's money was only going down the drain. It was up to me to collect what was left. In my situation, I definitely needed more gold.
I planned to withdraw half of the funds, but walking around with a bag of gold on my shoulders wasn't the best idea, and I remembered this at just the right moment.
"Do you sell one-size-fits-all wallets?" Thanks to someone else's memory, I knew that Sirius had one before he was arrested. A handy thing, to say the least, and definitely worth the money.
"Of course. I recommend purchasing a wallet linked to a safe, the 'Galleon-200' coin purse. Its security has been tested over time. The material is enchanted with a blood bond. It will be practically impossible for an outsider to get money out of your wallet," the goblin's eyes gleamed greedily. It seemed like an expensive item.
But I don't like the word "almost". Apparently, the protection can still be broken. And if the user is under the Imperius Curse, they will give away every last Knut. Probably, many people didn't even think about it when they bought the wallet, but as someone who had used the same spell less than a day ago, it couldn't help but bother me. On the other hand, if such a situation arises, I will most likely not care what happens to the money. I'll take it.
After agreeing, I was given several models of different designs to choose from, and since pink was clearly over the top for me, I settled on a black and gold coin purse made of dragon skin. In principle, the appearance wasn't particularly important, but in good shops, you are judged by your appearance, and I wanted to look more or less presentable in the eyes of the salespeople. Or maybe I was just longing for the former luxury of Sirius's past, having spent almost a decade in a cell.
"Two hundred Galleons," said the goblin. Yes, the model's name speaks for itself. "We need your blood and your signature on some documents..."
***While I was poring over the sales contract, confirmation of the key replacement, and other documents, an old goblin entered the hall. Seeing him, Grudrebuk bowed his head in greeting. Despite their strange laws and way of life, goblins greatly respected those who had lived to a ripe old age.
"Mr. Black, I didn't expect to see you again," the old goblin's squeaky voice was full of sarcasm. He settled into a chair opposite me, looking at me through his gold-rimmed pince-nez. Likbach had been my family's attorney for quite some time, and even in my childhood memories, he was quite old, with a rather difficult personality, even by goblin standards. However, he had managed the Black family's finances for a very long time, and successfully, so Sirius's father allowed him certain liberties. I wonder how he got here so quickly from Magical Britain...
"And yet here I am," he stated the obvious.
"Yes, and yet you are here," the goblin paused for a moment, then without preamble opened the folder he had brought with him. "Lady Black's will was read on the sixth of March, nineteen hundred and eighty-five, in the Hall of Wizengamot, before the entire chamber. Here is a complete copy, placed in compartment number fourteen in accordance with the owner's wishes.
He handed me a parchment scroll sealed with the Black family crest. After making sure it was intact, I unrolled the scroll and buried my eyes in the neat, calligraphic lines.
"Without going into detail, in this will, Lady Black leaves to your sole use personal safe number fourteen, the mansion on Grimm Square, the summer house in France, the Black estate in Germany, and all real estate within London. A complete list of the property can be found in the minutes of the Wizengamot court hearing of 6 March 1985, which recognises this property as the property of the Ministry and confiscates it in favour of those who suffered at your hands... Muggles," Likbach hissed angrily at the end of his monologue. "Fortunately, I managed to dissuade Lady Black from the rash step of transferring the title of Lord to you in absentia, which is the legal basis for the seizure of the family's businesses and shares.
"And the safe?" I interrupted the will.
"You have access to safe number fourteen, as well as your personal safe. The total balance is thirty-three thousand Galleons, fourteen thousand Sickles..."
"And if it's just in Galleons?" I interrupted the goblin. Despite my memory, counting these Sickles and Knuts was a difficult task for my completely humanities-oriented brain.
"Thirty-five and a half thousand," the goblin replied, chewing his lips, "plus or minus a couple of Knuts. The Black family safe will also come into your possession after you accept the title, but only after the full ritual.
After reporting, Likbach looked at me sceptically over his glasses, waiting for a reaction, but none came. The words "full ritual" might have confused Sirius, who shunned anything related to so-called "dark" magic, although in reality it just meant that I had to perform a couple of rituals at the Black House altar. Despite any "removal," only I could get into that mansion, especially after Walburga's death. Well, Bella, too, probably.
How quickly the Ministry got busy — throwing me into a dungeon and confiscating my property. If it weren't for Likbach, the Blacks would have been left with practically nothing. Although the remains were left untouched only because everyone thought that the last Black didn't have long to live. After my death, they would surely have gotten their hands on the family's possessions. I wonder why there was so little cash left in safe number fourteen? It was Walburga and Orion's safe, and as far as I remember, there was much more than thirty thousand in there. No, that's still quite a substantial amount... But where did all the mountains of gold go that I remember from my childhood?
"I need the statements for account number fourteen," Mother always used a cheque book, so it wasn't difficult to trace where the money had gone.
Likbach looked surprised. It seemed that with one sentence I had managed to break his stereotypes about the most useless member of the family. To be honest, it boosted my self-esteem considerably.
"There have been a lot of financial transactions on Lady Black's account lately. If you tell me what exactly you're interested in, I can tell you without going to the archives.
"The largest expenditures. To whom, where, how much, and why?"
"Hmm..." The old goblin thought for a couple of minutes, lost in thought. "The largest withdrawal from Lord and Lady Black's account was thirty thousand galleons.
"To whom?" I asked immediately. This information was more valuable than many other things. It spoke volumes.
"I can't tell you that," Likbach spread his hands. "Lady Black didn't use her cheque book this time, she went down to the safe herself. But I can guess that this amount went to... um... donations.
"And the rest of the expenses?" So it was a bribe. But to whom? Dumbledore? The Minister? Or the rest of the Wizengamot rats who so quickly divided up what was left after her death? I doubt that even a few pounds reached the families of those who died in the explosion.
"A fee of five thousand Galleons to a certain Edward Atkins. He was one of the most famous lawyers," the goblin explained in response to my puzzled look.
"Was?" I latched onto the qualifier.
"He died in February 1985. An accident," Likbach explained, grinning, and it was unclear whether he was pleased with my insight or simply happy that there was one less person on this earth.
"And Lady Black's visit wasn't in the same month, by any chance?
Silent agreement was my answer.
"I see..." I also fell silent, lost in thought.
My thoughts were one happier than the other. In principle, everything was now much clearer. After Sirius's arrest, Walburga tried to get her son out of prison by any means necessary. Perhaps she went to court. First, she hired a lawyer, and apparently he dug something up. Then he was eliminated, and Walburga tried to free me by other means; the Black family had friends in high places...
Or she was blackmailed, that's also a possibility. But in the end, she couldn't take it all. Her brothers were dead, her husband didn't survive Regulus's death by long, her son was sentenced to life imprisonment, she had no relatives, and if she did, they were in an equally terrible situation... But the circumstances of her death were a mystery to me. There were many dark spots in this story, but I sensed that sooner or later I would dig up the truth.
"And what are you going to do now, young man?" The goblin finally gave up playing silent games. Likbach had been connected to our family for many years, and I don't think he liked seeing the family entrusted to him fade away; it was a matter of prestige for his own family. The question was, could I trust him? Goblins had never been loyal to wizards; they had fought with their blood for the right to live in the Magic World, and they still hated the people who had enslaved them for so long.
Another thing is that despite all their dislike for us, the little people could still be trusted, within reason. When it came to finances, these creatures' principles were fuelled by long-standing oaths. Otherwise, no one would have used their services. If a goblin gave his word, he kept it, which could not be said for many humans, and Likbach had sworn to protect the Black family's finances in order to become its guardian. So, taking all these facts into account, I should take the risk.
***Two people sat in a small, exquisitely furnished office. An old goblin, who had lived for decades, looked expectantly at a young man in a black suit from behind his pince-nez. Despite his youth and aristocratic profile, his interlocutor was exhausted. His fatigue was evident in the tilt of his head, the thoughtful squint of his blue eyes, the bitter crease at the corner of his mouth, and the inaudible tapping of his fingertips on his knee.
Silence reigned in the office for quite some time, and no one was in a hurry to break it, as if they had signed an unspoken agreement. The tall wax candles on bronze stands had burned down almost halfway since the beginning of the conversation, and another quarter after the old goblin's question, marking the inexorable passage of time, which even goblins skilled in the intricacies of magic were unable to stop.
"It's simple," the black-haired mage's deep, slightly hoarse voice broke the silence. He stood up in one fluid motion and threw his coat over his shoulders. "I intend to restore the Black family to its former glory.
The previously calm flames at the tips of the candles suddenly began to flicker wildly, flaring up with renewed vigour, as if someone had poured fuel on them. A chill swept through the office, and it grew slightly darker despite the burning candles. The shadows in the corners of the room grew larger, reaching the stone ceiling in a matter of seconds, then just as quickly returned to normal.
Such a reaction surprised, it seemed, only the magician himself, who, under the influence of the moment, decided to get a little carried away, but apparently overdid it.
"You can count on me, Sirius," the old goblin looked the magician straight in the eye, and a small draft seemed to pass through the room, causing the candle flames to flicker again.
Magic confirmed the old oath.
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970