The Council of Lords of the North was tense this time. Strong warriors resembling ancient Vikings sat in a hall designed like the Roman Colosseum. The hall itself was located in a castle hidden in the mountains. The circular room was divided into four unequal parts, and above each hung flags belonging to one of the factions of the wizards of the North.
Some seats were empty, meaning that the head or heir was currently unable to represent their magical family at the general Ting.
Despite the ice-covered floors and walls, none of those present felt the cold. From the outside, it seemed that it was not people who had gathered here, but giants. But that was not the case. Beneath the icy calm of the assembled magicians burned a fierce thirst.
A thirst for power and authority, both for themselves and for their supporters.The eldest of the living mages of the North, Lord Eskildsen, a member of the Owl faction, had presided over the Thing for many years, successfully manoeuvring between the others. The Owls had always been neutral, focusing more on researching magic and preserving the knowledge of the northerners.
Eskildsen rose to his full height, placed his staff to his throat, and, amplifying his voice with the spell "Sonorus," said:
"Leaders! I declare the general Thing open.
All the wizards raised their swords in greeting and approval.
Representatives of four factions were present in the hall: the Snow Leopards, the Wolves, the Owls, and the Bears. The Wolves were the most numerous. Their leader, Harald Modbrok, bit his moustache and looked thoughtfully at the opposite side, where the magicians of the Bear faction were seated.
The leader's seat was empty, which filled Modbrok with malicious joy and satisfaction at the well-organised intrigue. However, for some reason, Magnusson's seat had not disappeared, as it should have after the death of his family, and this caused Modbrok concern.
After the death of the last member of a magical family, their seat on the council did not disappear permanently, but passed to the faction that had caused the death of their rival. This made it possible to bring new wizards from younger families into the council. The Wolves had long dreamed of seizing all power in the council of lords and had been working towards this goal for several generations.
"In connection with the death of Lord Magnusson," the chairman said loudly, "I propose that the Bear faction choose a new leader.
From the other side of the hall, a man of medium height with thick black hair and a bushy beard stood up.
"I, Gunnar Svarhidson, will speak for all of us until Lord Magnusson's heir comes of age!"
The magicians began to murmur from all sides, and only the Bear faction struck their swords against their shields in unison to show their agreement with their representative's words.
"What heir?" Lord Modbrock roared, shouting over the crowd. "There are no more Magnussons!"
All eyes turned to the representative of the bear faction, searching Svarhidson's face for signs of uncertainty.
"We don't know who he is or where he is now, but you can see for yourself, Modbrok. Your past victories may turn into defeat," Svarhidson said, baring his teeth in a vicious grin and nodding towards the leader's chair. "The magic of the North confirms that the Magnusson family is alive!
"It won't last," Modbrok spat grimly, falling back into his seat in disappointment. "Find him for me!" he ordered his men through clenched teeth. "Do whatever it takes, but the heir to the Magnussons must be destroyed!"
***
The goblin's study impressed Bjorn with its monumentality and, at the same time, its elusive aura of creatures alien to humans. Bookshelves stood next to strange devices and artefacts. A monumental desk made of dark brown wood could easily accommodate a giant. Leather armchairs and a complete absence of even a hint of windows or plants.
The goblin sat down at the desk and looked at Bjorn through his glasses.
"So, Mr. Williams. The blood test confirmed that you are indeed the young wizard named in this will," the goblin nodded at the parchment lying on the table. "What's more, your blood has revealed another match. However, I wouldn't mention this to the other wizards. It could cause too much of a stir," the banker said, chewing his lips.
Bjorn looked closely at the goblin, waiting for him to continue. Bjorn did not believe that the toothy little creatures had discovered that he was not really Williams, but Magnusson. His family had never kept their treasures in goblin banks. Perhaps the connection to the English had been discovered through one of the women who had entered the Magnusson family as wives and mothers of heirs. This could be true, because the Magnussons had to look beyond Norway to find women who met all their magical requirements. His ancestors had been in England, Europe, and other, much more exotic countries.
Blood must be renewed — every Northerner knew this requirement of their ancestors. Close marriages were not allowed. Even within the clan, the heir to the ruling family could not seek a wife. Therefore, Bjorn was not surprised to hear the results of the blood test.
"You have a living relative in England, her name is Bathilda Bagshot," the goblin said, baring his sharp teeth. "There is another wizard living in Europe, but it is best not to mention him.
Bjorn looked questioningly at the goblin.
"Ah, Mr. Williams. You don't know who's who in the magical world yet," the short man grinned.
"How do you know?" Bjorn snorted. "I've been living in an orphanage among ordinary people since I was three."
"You'll learn the details at school, but it might not be safe to mention that Gellert Grindelwald is your relative, even if he's not directly related," the goblin bared his fangs again. "Now let's talk about gold.
The banker shifted uneasily in his chair in anticipation.
"What is this relative so famous for that the little man is talking about him in such vague terms?" Bjorn thought grimly.
The unexpected results of the investigation threw him off balance a little. Who was this Mrs. Bagshot? Would she want to take him under her wing if she found out they were related? How could this circumstance threaten him?
While the goblin was laying out the papers on the table, Magnusson quickly thought about what to do with the information he had received.
"So, there is currently just over two hundred thousand gold galleons in your safe. The exact amount is indicated here," the goblin gently ran his finger over the rough leather of the thick ledger. "In the eight years that I have been managing your safe, I have managed to increase the initial capital quite nicely. Yes, capital," the short man tapped the tabletop lightly with his clawed finger and pushed the ledger toward the boy.
Bjorn cautiously opened the first page and, seeing the original amount of forty thousand, whistled respectfully.
"You must be a very serious schemer, Mr Goblin," said Bjorn, looking admiringly at his companion. "Even our head cook can't increase our income so skilfully. And she knows better than anyone how to make money, and she'll rip anyone off for a penny!"
The goblin blinked in surprise. On the one hand, the comparison with some human female was insulting, but on the other hand, the extremely respectful tone with which the boy spoke about a human being unknown to the goblin seemed to confirm the banker's skill in increasing income.
"Will you continue to manage my safe?" asked Bjorn.
"If we sign a contract and determine the size of my commission," the goblin said thoughtfully, tapping his claws on the table.
Bjorn smiled expectantly. He had seen Mrs Griddy, the cook, haggle with food suppliers and scold her assistants so as not to raise anyone's wages. Bjorn was interested in using her favourite tricks in his dealings with the shrewd little man.
An hour later, the goblin's eyes were shining with genuine pleasure from the heated bargaining, and all the documents were signed by both the banker and the boy. What boy, for heaven's sake! If he closed his eyes and listened to his high-pitched voice, the old banker sometimes thought he was a young goblin defending his first deal in front of an experienced mentor. The customer turned out to be meticulous and stingy, finding out all the details and arguing over every Knut! The goblin fully approved and supported this approach, doing exactly the same.
"Thank you for the excellent lesson!" the boy bowed sincerely.
"It's my life," the old goblin grinned with a toothy smile. "The bank will send all the necessary payment details and your magical status to Hogwarts, Mr. Williams. Would you like to publicly announce your relationship with Mrs. Bagshot? The thing is, despite some complications, being at least half-blood in our world is much safer than being considered Muggle-born. Especially in these times.
"All right," Bjorn shrugged. "I don't think I need such a connection, but if it's so important in England, then it's up to you, sir."
"You won't be able to pronounce my name anyway," the short man grinned. "So any respectful form of address will do. I'm not going to mangled my name to suit human capabilities.
At the end of the conversation, the old goblin handed Magnusson a pouch and even accompanied him to the exit of Gringotts, much to the surprise of the wizards and goblins in the common room. The old banker then sat in his office for a long time, smiling dreamily and shuffling papers. The conversation with the boy stirred up fond memories of a turbulent youth in the usually cold and cruel old man.
After saying goodbye, Bjorn went outside and smiled cheerfully. Back in the orphanage, he had noticed a certain trait in himself. His aura had a special charm. The greater the age difference, the easier it was for people to like him. Of course, this could have led to some unpleasant consequences, if one recalls the late Mr. Davis and other perverts, but Bjorn was usually lucky. The malicious senior cook, whom the orphanage management had been unable to catch red-handed for many years, always fed the boy and taught him about life. The equally nasty housekeeper forced the governesses to bring Björn fresh linen and fed him tea with homemade jam.
However, this ability only worked when she wanted it to, otherwise Bjorn would have tried to suppress it wherever it caused harm. If it weren't for the house elf, a beautiful blond boy at a tender age who looked like a little angel, he would have been sold long ago to some depraved pleasure-seeker.
But in almost eight years of living in the orphanage, Bjorn had to make some tough decisions a few times. To be fair, it always happened outside the boarding school. It was just that Mr. Davis had really pissed him off with his creepy looks and disgusting behaviour. Otherwise... Some of the perverts got hit by a car, some got kicked by a horse, and another disreputable gentleman, who bought himself a new bed toy at the orphanage every six months, slipped and cracked his head open right at the gate. The janitor was then scolded for not sprinkling enough salt on the pavement.As he recalled these memories, Björn reached the magic wand shop and pulled on the stiff door handle. A bell rang, and the boy found himself in a dimly lit room in front of a counter. Behind it, shelves with thousands of magic wand cases were lost in the gloom. Suddenly, there was a cough behind him, and Magnusson even jumped, so unexpected was it in the silence.
"Hello, sir," Bjorn looked warily at the grey-haired man with strange silver eyes.
"Good afternoon," replied the shopkeeper, slowly returning behind the counter. "Are you going to Hogwarts this year and came here for a wand, young man?
The shopkeeper looked at him closely.
"Yes, sir," replied the boy. "My name is Bjorn Williams, I'm an orphan. So don't bother asking where my parents are or who's accompanying me. Professor McGonagall left me at the bank. She said I'd find my way around on my own.
"That's just like Minerva," the wizard said, shaking his head disapprovingly. "My name is Garrick Ollivander. I am the owner of this shop and a seller of magic wands, which my family has been making for many years. Since you have come for a wand, young man, we will find one for you now.
At a wave of the wizard's hand, a folding ruler flew into the air and began to measure the surprised Bjorn from all sides. A parchment appeared on the counter, over which a large white feather began to flutter.
"That's enough," Ollivander said, putting down the ruler and looking cheerfully at the boy. "Now, let's get started!"
He moved to the nearest shelf, selected several boxes, and returned. Then he began to carefully remove the wands from each box and lay them out on the table in front of Bjorn.
"Try this one, Mr. Williams. Grapevine and dragon heartstring, twelve inches. An excellent wand for Muggle-born wizards.
Bjorn waved it excitedly, expecting something wonderful, but a few sparks flew out of the tip, and the boy felt as if he were pushing his magic through a thin tube.
"No good!" Ollivander instantly snatched the wand from his hand. "Try this one. Hawthorn and unicorn hair, nine inches. Flexible and quick. Just what a pure-blood wizard needs."
Bjorn took it in his hand and tried to cast a spell again. With a wave of the wand, a cloud of dust rose from the shop, causing the boy to sneeze.
"No, no," Ollivander took the wand back. "You are an unusual customer, Mr. Williams. As a rule, I can immediately tell which wand a wizard will choose. Yes, yes, young man," his voice came from somewhere behind the shelves. "It is the wand that chooses the wizard, not the other way around. Now, let's take a look at these!"
The cheerful Ollivander brought several more boxes, and Bjorn obediently began to try to cast spells with each of them. When these wands didn't work either, Ollivander, almost jumping with excitement, disappeared again somewhere deep behind the shelves. Bjorn could only hear the shopkeeper muttering to himself as he rummaged through more boxes on the shelves.
Finally, Ollivander returned, solemnly clutching a dull, varnished case in his hands.
"In my shop, there are wands that were made not only by me, but by all my ancestors. For one reason or another, not every wand finds its owner right away.
He handed Bjorn a dark brown wand with an intricately carved handle.
"Here you are, Mr. Williams. A masterpiece created by my father. Norwegian ice oak and a phoenix feather. An impossible combination, but nevertheless embodied in this masterpiece. Thirteen and a half inches long, stiff and incredibly powerful. I would think twice before challenging the owner of such a stick to a duel. Try it, young man. Magic tells me that this is what you have been waiting for all this time.
Bjorn carefully took the wand in his hands and immediately felt incredibly strange and contradictory sensations: the warmth of a fire and the frosty freshness, the cold wind and the sun-warmed windowsill. And then a light wave passed through the boy's body, filling him with vigour and energy. Bjorn waved the wand smoothly, and icy and fiery butterflies fluttered through the air, intertwining in a dance. After spinning for a couple of seconds, they flashed in the semi-darkness of the bench and disappeared, leaving behind a feeling of a winter holiday.
"That's what I'm talking about," Ollivander smiled, shaking his head. "The wand chose you, Mr. Williams.
Not forgetting McGonagall's advice, Bjorn bought a holster to attach the wand to his arm and some care products.
Stepping outside, Magnusson was surprised to find that no more than a couple of minutes had passed since his visit to the wand shop. The fat woman and little girl who had been eating ice cream while looking at the neighbouring shop window were still there. "What's going on here?" thought Björn. "Does time flow differently in Ollivander's shop?"
Shaking his head in surprise, Magnusson chose a shop selling suitcases, bags, briefcases, wallets and other items as his next destination. Opening the door and stepping down the steps, the boy smelled the tangy scent of well-tanned leather, glue and citrus fruits. Approaching the counter, he saw a tall, thin salesman who was reading a book with enthusiasm and drinking orange juice through a straw from a tall glass with a satisfied expression on his face.
"Hello, sir," Bjorn said, getting his attention. "I need a good bag to hold everything for Hogwarts.
The salesman put the glass on the counter and came over to Bjorn.
"Look over there, young man," he said, pointing to the right corner, where huge suitcases on wheels stood. "These are standard school trunks for all Hogwarts students. They differ only in the quality and beauty of the finish, and the price, of course.
"I'm sorry, sir," said Bjorn, shaking his head, imagining himself dragging such a huge trunk first to the Richmond orphanage and then back to London to King's Cross station. "Don't you have anything more compact? Something that even someone as small as me could carry comfortably. Those school monsters you're showing me look so heavy, I feel like I couldn't lift them.
"Heh heh," laughed the salesman. "It's just tradition and practicality. Judging by your clothes, you're a Muggle-born, aren't you? Students like you don't have enough gold for anything really good. And part of the cost of these trunks," the salesman waved towards the corner, "is compensated by our Ministry. But if you have sufficient means, well, go ahead...
He strode into the next room, where bags and suitcases were displayed on much neater shelves, striking even at first glance with the quality of their workmanship.
"These are items with expanded interior space. Anti-Muggle protection, protection against theft and opening, spells that preserve everything you put in them. From a cut rose to ice cream. Each of our products is enchanted with weight control spells," the salesman continued proudly. "And each suitcase comes with a small bag that serves as a portal to it."
"So I can take out or put in anything that's in the main storage compartment?" asked Bjorn in surprise.
"That's right, young man, that's right.
"What are their disadvantages?" asked the boy, his eyes sparkling as he easily lifted one of the suitcases he liked.
"Only one," sighed the salesman heavily. "Their price. For example, the one you're holding costs almost four hundred galleons. Its interior space is not much larger than this room. It's a standard traveller's kit. But there are also artefacts whose interior can expand to several miles. You could even live in them, can you imagine?" the salesman enthused. "It's a pity that such a suitcase is so expensive.
Bjorn listened in amazement to the excited wizard, vaguely imagining the possibilities of such things.
"Ahem, sir," Magnuson interrupted the wizard. "I would like to purchase this suitcase." The boy pointed to the one he had just been holding.
"Excellent, young man," the salesman rejoiced. "That will be three hundred and ninety-two galleons and six sickles. And another piece of advice," the wizard said, watching with pleasure as Bjorn took the gold out of his purse. "You really need to change into something more suitable for a young wizard. Otherwise, every shop will offer you cheap clothes that are only good for Muggle-borns. It would be better to buy magical clothing at Twilfit and Tatting, but Madam Malkin's shop would also do. She is also subsidised by the Ministry for school uniforms, but you can find clothes there that are quite suitable for a young wizard.
After thanking the talkative salesman, Bjorn took his new suitcase and left the shop.
Looking around, he headed for the nearest clothing store. A cheerful woman, introducing herself as Madam Malkin, immediately began measuring him with a ruler.
"Tell me, madam, what's the difference between your clothes and those at Twilfit and Tatting?" asked Bjorn, while the woman was distracted by another customer. "Well, apart from the price, of course."
Madam Malkin, who had already opened her mouth for an angry tirade, immediately shut it and looked at the boy, paying particular attention to his suitcase left near the counter.
"Ahem, young man," the woman said thoughtfully. "It's actually quite simple. I mainly sell work clothes. Hogwarts students often ruin their robes digging in the herbology beds, burn them with spells, or spill something corrosive on them in potions class. The clothes are quite cheap, so it's no great loss. Besides, they're usually not enchanted at all, or only very lightly, and only with spells approved by the Ministry. Pure-blood students buy several dozen robes at a time for the whole year and change them as needed.
"But surely you need other things besides robes?" Bjorn asked in surprise. "Trousers, shirts, jumpers... Winter robes, at least."
"Everyone chooses those for themselves," Madam Malkin shrugged. "Muggle-born children buy most of their wardrobe in their own world, although we warn them that synthetic fabrics wear out in a matter of months. Wizards buy from me or from more expensive shops. At Twilfit and Tatting, which you mentioned, they don't sell clothes, they make them to order. All kinds of spells, from everyday to protective, are woven into the fabric using runic embroidery. But it's better to buy your formal wear from them," smiled Madam Malkin.
"Hmm," Bjorn pondered. "Then can I have everything that a pure-blooded mage from a good family orders for himself?
"Of course, dear," smiled Mrs. Malkin. "But it will cost more than a regular first-year set.
Bjorn nodded, and the woman went back to work, instructing her assistants to gather the necessary items.
After visiting this shop, Bjorn stopped by Twilfit and Tatting, where he ordered a formal suit and a robe that would grow with its owner. In addition, the magical clothing had built-in self-cleaning and protection against certain curses and evil eyes. Mr. Tatting also advised Bjorn to buy a protective kit for young pure-blood wizards. It included an earring to protect against surface Legilimency, a ring to identify magical potions, and a harmoscope that signalled imminent danger.
Bjorn then changed into his robe and continued to buy everything on his list, but when the shopkeepers saw that he was a local, they treated him very differently. And when, while purchasing ingredients for potion-making, magic revealed the house elf, who tirelessly followed his little master, the apothecary simply nodded understandingly. Sending a child to Diagon Alley under the supervision of a house spirit is a common way of raising pure-blood children. This way, the young wizard learns independence while remaining under supervision. The house spirit would never allow his young master to accidentally wander into Knockturn Alley or another place dangerous for children.
Mr. Malpepper, seeing Bjorn's suitcase, offered to buy him a travelling potion kit, which could be used to brew potions anywhere.
"Thank you, sir," smiled Bjorn at the offer. "I'll see if I have a talent for this art at Hogwarts. I don't think every wizard who buys a golden cauldron immediately becomes a master potion maker."
"What a sensible young man," chuckled Malpepper. "Well, if you decide, I'll be waiting for your visit. Or your parents," smiled the salesman.
Bjorn smiled politely, not rushing to say anything.
Finally, having gathered everything on his list, the boy became hungry and, remembering how he and Professor McGonagall had passed through The Leaky Cauldron, decided to go there for a hearty meal. Of course, the café's veranda, where crowds of visitors were enjoying ice cream, also looked very tempting, but Bjorn manfully decided to go there another time.
Back at The Leaky Cauldron, Magnusson went up to the bar and ordered a hearty lunch and a glass of orange juice. He still remembered the suitcase salesman and his satisfied expression.
After thinking about his plans, Magnusson waited for the owner to bring his lunch, paid and asked:
"Tell me, sir. Can I get a room somewhere on Kosaya Alley for a couple of weeks? The thing is, it's easier for me to get to Kings Cross from here than to go back to my town first and then come back.
The barman looked thoughtfully at the boy, who was dressed like a pure-blood wizard, and asked:
"Won't your parents be looking for you? It's easy to get to Kings Cross station from any magical settlement using a fireplace and flying powder.
"I live in Richmond," Bjorn shrugged, "and we don't have a fireplace.
"Circumstances vary," grunted the bartender. "If that's the case, I'll give you one of the rooms on the second or third floor.
"Agreed, sir.
"You can call me Tom," the man smiled.
After a hearty lunch, Bjorn paid for a small room on the second floor, got the keys, and went back to walk along Kosaya Alley, taking only his shoulder bag with him. What was the point of carrying a bulky bag when everything he put in his small bag would immediately end up in his suitcase? Stopping in front of the window of a shop called "Everything for Quidditch," Bjorn finally figured out why wizards needed broomsticks.
It turned out that Quidditch was a magical sport popular all over the world, and broomsticks were a means of transportation in the game. Magnusson examined the racing broomstick on display in the window, saw the price tag, and opened his mouth in surprise. A simple piece of wood cost more than his suitcase.
After walking around for a while, Bjorn finally went into an ice cream parlour, where he realised that in the magical world, even ice cream was truly magical. The boy happily ate several servings and now sat watching the magicians. Deciding that it was time to go back before it got dark, Bjorn returned to his room and went to bed. Before falling asleep, he chatted a little with the house spirit and, overwhelmed with impressions, tossed and turned for an hour before finally falling asleep.
***
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