Every person who comes into our lives plays a certain role. Sometimes it's a major role, sometimes a minor one. But very often, a tiny episode turns out to be decisive for the plot.
© Oleg Roy
***The mood was upbeat. The mood was... damn it, I hadn't felt this good in a long time! The long night was over, and despite chronic sleep deprivation, thanks to the many nasty potions I had drunk to keep myself going, I felt full of energy. Now I had almost all the pieces of the puzzle, and all I had to do was put them together.
A day of rest, not entirely pleasant conversations and training. More accurately, that's how several days passed. The meeting with Crouch Senior, the contracts, the mutual conditions, the magical oaths — it was exhausting, of course. But not as much as the subsequent rituals, thinking through the details based on information from books, several sessions of Legilimency and calculations. Today was D-day, and I was in a hurry.
I had to send Harry to Dora for a few days, just to be on the safe side. What I had in mind required careful preparation and, preferably, no strangers in the house. I hope that nothing like this will be necessary again, because I wanted to move the whole family to Grimmauld Place, not the other way around, and clear the mansion of prying ears. After all, despite her upbringing in the Black family, I don't think Meda would approve of many of my actions.
However, there was no choice as such. I desperately needed Crouch as an ally. Despite his fall from the pedestal of honour, he was still, if not the "don," then the informal head of the "old guard" of the government, which partly included the power bloc and partly a number of "neutrals." Together with Malfoy's connections, it would be possible to try to push the good old Dumbledore out of some of his comfortable positions. Or, alternatively, cause enough trouble to keep him so busy that he wouldn't even have time to think about Harry and me.
Of course, it would be impossible to get rid of him completely. He was not the kind of man to give up on long-term projects in which he had already invested a lot of money. But problems in the political arena would distract the old man for some time, which would be enough for me to recover and prepare. And for all this, I needed Crouch.
Malfoy had already accomplished the impossible, using generous sums of gold coins from the Dark Lord's treasury, bribery, and blackmail to not only avoid Azkaban but also somehow assemble a coalition that was working hard to thwart the lemon wedge enthusiast. But that's all it is — an annoying hindrance, nothing more.
I even think that Dumbledore didn't finish off his defeated enemy purely out of sporting interest. Well, at the decisive moment, he was distracted by the elimination of Crouch, who had managed to gain some weight. Then it was too late, and the lion's share of the golden stream that poured out of the Death Eaters' ship went straight into the pocket of the cunning schemer. However, it's hard to say.
What is much more important is that now there is a real opportunity to create not a fictitious, but a very real competition for the Great Wizard. Let it be only in the political arena for now. And for this, I needed Krauch. For now, only the younger one. And not even him... ahem.
"Is this really necessary?" interrupted my thoughts a young Veela, who had already tasted the bitter cup of life, adjusting her wedding dress as she lay on the cold stone. "This is savage and barbaric. Maybe it's a potion?"
"Shut up!" René Bouchard, who was also nearby, immediately silenced her. However, he didn't look quite right either. His hair was dishevelled with a bald patch on the back of his head, and his tall, athletic body had been replaced by a slightly stooped, overweight figure. The scars had disappeared, hidden by a fleshy, unpleasant-looking face with sharply protruding incisors. His voice had also changed, but there were still notes of willpower that were out of proportion to his intonation. "I've had a drink, want some? If you don't have anything smart to say, then just shut up."
"Don't shut me up!" hissed the girl, venting all her nervousness and hidden fear on her former bodyguard. "It's not like they put tons of plaster on your face. How can Muggle girls walk around like that?! It's terribly uncomfortable!"
"Quiet down, I'm almost done," I interrupted them with a quiet phrase. That was enough to silence them both instantly. After all, despite their mutual vows and magical contract, the pair of fugitives didn't dare to annoy me beyond a certain limit. Apparently, the family spell had really impressed them. So much so that at first they were afraid to even breathe in my presence. Now it seems a little easier, but not quite.
***— ...es caro, perferte imaginem tuam!" — the words of the spell ended with the waving of the magic wand. With its last movement, its tip touched the greenish-murky liquid that completely filled the large old cauldron.
There is a short flash, and the liquid begins to bubble, pulling in something that resembles a curled-up baby. But only in outline; in every other way, it does not resemble a human infant. Its scaly, hairless body was the colour of raw meat, with weak, thin arms and legs, and a face unlike any child's ever seen before — flattened like a snake's, with shiny reddish slit eyes.
"H-h-tail... come here!!!" — in a strangely high and cold voice, like a gust of icy wind, the creature spoke, as if it had not just been born. "Have you prepared everything for my rebirth?"
There was something in that voice that would have made the hair stand on end of anyone who could now look into the huge, triple-screened basement in the catacombs beneath Black's estate. The Dark Lord had returned. Although, it wasn't quite him.
"Yes, master, the younger Crouch is already here. Shall I wake him?" Rene seemed to be getting into his role. I grinned and stepped back into the shadows. The show for one spectator was about to begin. I hoped everything would work out. It had to work out.
***
"No way!!!" The enraged girl threw various items of clothing at her bodyguard, who silently endured her hysterics. "I'd rather die than sleep with some... " She paused, searching for a more serious expression.
"An aristocrat?
"Yes! No..." The half-veiled girl was confused, but quickly found a replacement, trying to smash a new vase like the pile of expensive dishes she had broken before. "A gluttonous bastard!
After several solemn vows and a difficult conversation, the same silent old House-elf led the fugitives out of the dark basement to a rather cosy room furnished with two beds.
"Well, then we die," the mercenary shrugged indifferently, throwing another handful of grapes into his mouth and washing them down with excellent red wine. French, by the way. And insanely expensive, as the resident of the Trefle-Pique estate knew a thing or two about wine. Of course, not enough to determine the brand and variety by taste, but Rene could feel the astronomical cost of this bottle with every fibre of his being. Just like the cost of the things his charge had broken. However, that didn't really matter to him anymore. Bonchar felt the magical noose around his own neck even more clearly, not fooled in the slightest by the estate owner's ostentatious kindness and impeccable politeness.
"Why are we dying right away?" Jacqueline asked in surprise, even putting the antique vase back in its place. "We took an oath, and this Black promised... What's so funny?" The girl frowned, interrupted by the insolent laughter of her former bodyguard.
"Yes, my dear," René laughed, slowly pouring himself another glass. "Those oaths aren't worth a damn. What was it again? To ensure our safety while we are within the walls of the estate? So, if we cross the threshold of our hospitable host's house after refusing, there will be a couple of unlucky mercenaries less in this land. The funny thing is that he doesn't even have to do anything, just drop a few words to the right people, and when we find ourselves on the street, we'll be greeted by a pair of bounty hunters to the sound of fanfare.
"Then shall we run away?" the half-veiled woman replied uncertainly, taking the stick returned to her out of its case. "We have sticks. All we have to do is get past the anti-apparatus dome and..."
In response, she was met with another burst of laughter, which Jacqueline chose not to take offence at.
"What's wrong now?
"Nothing's wrong, little sparrow," the mercenary sighed wearily, laughing. "It's a pity your father didn't prepare you properly to take over the family business, apparently hoping for an heir. A mage is practically omnipotent in his own home, if he has enough energy from the family source and time to prepare. The only way to quickly get into the estate, and get out of it, is either to use spells that would be too difficult even for a master, or betrayal. And getting out of the lair of a black mage, especially one like Black...
"What's so special about him... Siop, did you say betrayal?" Jacqueline suddenly realised. "So then, when we..."
"Yes, you understood correctly," the magician nodded in agreement. "No mercenaries could ever break through the defences of your ancestral estate. It would take so much time that it would be easier to call the aurors ourselves before the capture. They were led in.
"What?! But who?!" Images from the past began to flash before the girl's eyes as if she were seeing them in real life. The scattered bodies of servants, a guardsman trying unsuccessfully to close a terrible wound on his chest, the burning remains of the building.
"I don't know for sure," the former bodyguard said, spreading his hands. "But only your father, your mother, the house elf, and..."
"My uncle," said Veela, her face deathly pale. "He... How could he? He used to fly me around on his broomstick, we were so close... I'll kill him... I'll kill him... No matter what it takes... I'll kill him..." She repeated like an infernal creature, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Hush, calm down," just like on that ill-fated night, her former mercenary, former bodyguard, tutor and nanny held her close, calming the girl who was shaking with sobs. "First, we need to survive, and later, with the help of our new acquaintances, we can try to get revenge..."
He spoke, reassured her, exhorted her... but inside, the hardened, experienced magician, who had not lived the most peaceful life, was torn apart. Everything he said was true. He had carefully protected his ward from this information, as she might do something foolish if she found out. And deep down, he was ashamed that he had told the truth right now, before what was possibly the most difficult choice in the life of the girl he had known since she was a child.
But René Bouchard could not allow the one he had protected for what seemed like his entire life to make a choice that would end in her death, the voluntary nature of which had been so carefully spelled out by the dark magician.
And yet, René Bouchard, although he did not admit it even to himself, wanted very much to live.
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970