Time... It's just the prologue to the finale. © Dorian Gray
***From early morning, it was decided to engage in vigorous activity. First, I visited the family repository of various artefacts, most of which were cursed items, but among them one could find something interesting that would not kill you on the first attempt at interaction.
"There you are!" My dust-covered hands, clad in dragon skin gloves, finally closed around a golden medallion in the shape of an hourglass mounted on an axis. Of course, such an artefact was encrusted with a stylised image of the Black family crest and was one of the rarest artefacts in the magical world — a chronoworld.
After talking to my grandfather and briefly practising with my new wands, I realised that I really lacked basic practice in spells, even those included in the advanced courses at Hogwarts, not to mention anything more complicated. I got out of all the trouble with brute force and a bit of luck, but it couldn't go on like this. I couldn't rely on something as ephemeral as luck; it had a tendency to let me down at the most unexpected moments.The spells Pollux had mentioned could indeed help get rid of many problems in the short term, but they also required a lot. In Arcturus's work diary, I found the information my grandfather had tried to convey to me, but either he had deliberately decided not to do so, or he had simply forgotten, carried away by retelling family tales.
The information about the dark spells, meanwhile, was not very encouraging — the spell, being, in fact, a summoned fragment of eternal darkness, suppressed by reliable chains binding it to the family altar, developed and fed on both its victims and the magic of the summoner himself. If at first it became easier and easier to cast, and the effects of the darkness grew stronger and more destructive, then, like many other dark spells, the spell began to be addictive, causing a desire to use it not only in cases of grave danger, but also just for the sake of it. After that, the darkness gradually undermines the magician's strength and mind, increasingly affecting him even on a physical and emotional level.
Mood swings from complete indifference to frequent outbursts of anger, loss of control, severe fatigue and apathy, brief bursts of strength, followed by complete deformation of the magical core into an appendage of darkness, a shortened lifespan, changes in appearance, and then complete death, if the mage didn't manage to do anything worse to himself... When I read all this, finishing myself off with my father's short notes describing his own feelings, I was horrified. These weren't even harmless "unforgivable" spells that were simply highly addictive when used, but real madness, a magical drug, no less dangerous than all the unforgivable spells combined.
And at the same time, it was a universal shield and sword in the hands of a member of the Black family, which often came in handy during war as a very good argument. It was a spell that only the head of the family could use, as he was the closest to the source and the only one capable of withstanding such proximity to the primordial darkness.
On the positive side, at least it became clear why Orion left so early, even for an ordinary Muggle, let alone wizards who live for centuries. The destructive influence of family spells is something I wanted to avoid at all costs, leaving it as a trump card for hopeless situations. And in order to truly be able to stay alive without using such a convenient spell, I needed only one thing — time, which, with all the affairs of the family, seemed to be slipping through my fingers.
The wheel of time is a dangerous thing, no doubt about it, even without reading books you could understand that, but when used wisely, it can give you the time you need right now, without unnecessary waiting. And the price in this case was quite reasonable — just early ageing, which was not too much to worry about, and a little exhaustion, which could be remedied with potions. Overall, it's a fair trade. There are probably other ways, but no one could guarantee that the price wouldn't go up, so I didn't see the point in taking the risk and delving deeper into the depths of this branch of magic.
The time loop worked on a fairly simple principle: how far back you went, that's how much time you gained. If you followed the instructions and didn't try to change the past, which was actually static and difficult to change, you could make very good use of your suddenly found free time.
After thinking it over, I decided to limit myself to three hours a day. Less than that wouldn't have been very useful, and more than that wasn't very comfortable, as fatigue accumulated, so all that was left was studying and a minimum of practice. The only difficulty arose with Kreacher, who had to be explained everything so that the poor house elf would not go mad, feeling the presence of two masters in different places at once.
But, apart from my studies, I still had a lot of things that needed urgent attention, so at breakfast I only had time to quickly glance through various letters, which, to my shame, I had neglected a little, always putting magical correspondence in the far corner.
"An invitation to a reception, another one, assurances of friendship, spam, an invitation to an interview..." I muttered under my breath, sorting the letters into piles, occasionally swallowing my coffee. "Gringotts, a letter from Lupin, the mercenary guild, another letter from Lupin... Hmm."
Perhaps I should visit my old friend after all, since he was so insistent on doing something himself. Although the past grievance was too strong, I needed loyal people now more than ever, and one unfortunate Sirius Black was not enough to handle everything at once. The only question was whether Lupin could be trusted at all.
Quickly jotting down an invitation to meet Lupin and a reply to Lycbah, I began to look through the rest of my mail. I was most interested in the replies from the old vassals of the Black family. In fact, our family didn't have many vassal families; it simply wasn't necessary. The Black family had long been considered one of the most numerous, until the end of the second half of the twentieth century, when the war with Grindelwald, and then Voldemort, decimated both the younger and older generations, leaving only one person and a couple of relatives, like the Malfoys and Potters.
Of course, personal vassalage to such a family was considered an honour for representatives of less ancient and wealthy families, but it was precisely personal. Often, this connection was a kind of guarantee for the security of various enterprises belonging to the family in whole or in part to a trusted person. According to information provided by Likbach, which also agreed with Geoffrey's report and supplemented it somewhat, after the death of his mother, virtually all assets were either frozen by the ministry or divided and absorbed by other major players.
And while Geoffrey fought a slow but steady battle with the ministry in this case, having already recovered, for example, a 25% stake in the Black Forest concern founded by Ellerby and Spadmore (which, by a lucky coincidence, was not resold but transferred to the ministry's assets due to its low but stable liquidity), from where it was a little easier to extract them, the controlling stake in the Nimbus company, to my considerable surprise, went to Malfoy at auction, and at a reduced price. And Malfoy himself, that wonderful snake, didn't say a word about it. It looks like we'll really have something to discuss at the next meeting besides Tom Riddle's past and plans for party policy.
Several more ingredient production facilities, as well as three now-empty former production buildings, also belonged to the ministry, having been transferred there after the sale of their shares by the family's former vassals, the Snides and the Fossets, and subsequent audits that revealed certain violations, which were used to seize the remaining assets. As my lawyer wrote to me, some of these deals could have been challenged, but it's not a quick process, and with Nobby Leach coming to power, the ministry got bogged down in bureaucracy and buried everyone involved.
Another option for seizure was more brazen. For example, I was surprised to learn that Sherry-Lines, a company that produced good wine and was wholly owned by our family, now belongs to the Trelawney family. At the same time, the previous holder of twenty percent of the shares, Jarris Munton, who was also a personal vassal of the Black family, disappeared without a trace.
Similarly, two ingredient shops in Diagon Alley, a potions shop, a couple of fabric and accessory shops, a restaurant, and several other retail outlets in Hogsmeade and Knockturn Alley were acquired at bargain prices by the McKinnons, Fenwicks, Dingles, Pruetts, and Daskins, respectively. Reading the reports, I just smiled, because the names were so familiar. Very familiar.
But something remained. Through the combined data from the attorney and Thomas, I learned that the Black family's brokerage club with the strange name "Msaw Ætare" was still standing in Luton, run by my very distant relative Vincent Blishvik, the son of Michael Blishvik, a vassal of our family who also tragically disappeared, leaving his son with a restaurant business and huge debts, which twenty-year-old Vincent is still paying off under the external control of the Ministry.
"Now this is interesting..." I pored over the documents Jeffrey had sent me.
I must say that Blishvik Jr. is the only one of all the vassals who responded to my letter with assurances that he was ready to come anywhere and confirm his old oaths. Some other former vassals, of course, had perfectly respectable reasons for not responding — being in the best of worlds did not exactly encourage correspondence. But the same Snaids and Fossets, who were quite alive and well, maintained a proud silence, risking not responding to my letters.
From the information I obtained with my money, it appeared that officially, "Msaw Ætare" was a brokerage club, as mentioned in the report. Unofficially, however, it was a local club for people with similar interests, where some of the middle class of Lyutny gathered to spend their time. They were not aristocrats or even representatives of pure-blooded families, but they were not the rabble that filled the dark corners either. They were the middle class — small shopkeepers and gang members, although in places like this, the two were often one and the same. And in the midst of all this was twenty-year-old Vincent, who had been there since he left Hogwarts.
"Very interesting..." I decided to arrange a meeting with Blishvik Jr. for this evening, giving him a little time. Now I had another meeting waiting for me, namely with the head of the mercenary guild and Crouch, who, after all his hustle and bustle at the Ministry and building up his influence, had finally found time to talk face to face. "Kricher!"
"Yes, sir," the house elf appeared before me immediately. "Here are your potions," he said, placing several flasks on the table. I had no desire to drink their contents after a delicious breakfast, but in order to restore myself to a digestible condition, I would have to ignore their foul taste and pretend that everything was fine.
"The north wing of Black House must be cleaned up and prepared for habitation," I said, wrinkling my nose at the nauseating smell and downing several bottles in one gulp. "And also hide access to the library, the dungeons, the artefact repository, and anything else dangerous that's left in the house. If there's anything you can't get rid of yourself, remind me and I'll help when I get back."
"It will be done," replied the house-elf in a squeaky voice, bowing slightly. "Are we expecting guests?"
"Yes, I hope to hire bodyguards and some servants," I replied after a moment's thought, finishing the potion and grimacing at the unpleasant taste.
During our last meeting, Meda seemed to hint that she was considering my offer to return to the family, which was fortunate, as there was enough room in Black House for a hundred people. The mansion was designed for a much larger number of residents, but most of the rooms were empty and sealed off to save energy and time. And since Andromeda and her husband were moving here after all, it was necessary to expand the staff.
Of course, Kreacher could have taken care of everything himself, but for convenience's sake, it would be wiser to hire assistants for him. After all, one house-elf was not enough for such a large number of magicians, and the guards would also need somewhere to stay. "So first, make sure all the rooms that guests are not allowed to enter are hidden, and deal with anything dangerous or potentially dangerous. Then you will be given assistants.
"With all due respect, Lord Black, I can manage quite well on my own, without any..." Bowing proudly, the house elf literally spat out the next word: "Helpers."
"That is not up for discussion," I said sternly, but then, looking at the old elf, I softened, understanding his indignation. "Of course you can handle everything yourself, but my cousin may be moving into the house soon, and she will need her own personal servants. As a worthy representative of the Black House elves, you will take them under your wing, teach them everything they need to know to serve well, and obey only my orders. Is that clear?
"I will not let down the most noble family, my lord, you can count on me!" The old elf was immediately filled with pride and bowed even lower. Apparently, he really didn't want to seem useless, and I was foolish to forget that taking away a house elf's job was like punishing the poor thing.
"Come on, straighten up, I already told you I don't like servility," I said, rising from my chair and turning the chronowinder back exactly three hours.
"Quite right, Lord Black," the stubborn elf slowly straightened up with dignity. "I forgot. Shall I expect you for dinner?"
"Yes, I think so," I paused briefly. "I'll probably be around nine. I'll send the servants straight here, so keep an eye on them until I arrive. That's all, I'm off."
"Goodbye, Lord Black," the house elf said to the empty room and, a couple of seconds later, set off to carry out his task, mentally rejoicing at how much he had been ordered to do.
***
Diagon Alley greeted me with its usual cheerful noise, an abundance of wizards rushing about their business, and the Christmas spirit that had not yet disappeared.
For as long as I can remember, it has always been crowded here, but that's not surprising, as Kosoy is one of the most important and popular places in magical Britain. You could say it's a commercial artery, not just a street where schoolchildren and their parents come to shop before the start of the school year, and not just a tourist mecca, but one of the few places that is practically completely safe for foreign magicians to travel. Diagon Alley is home to representatives of almost all the necessary organisations. Banks, embassies of various magical countries, branches of Quidditch clubs, as well as guild representatives, can all be found here. The main joke was knowing where to look and where to go.
At the moment, I was interested in the mercenary guild. In fact, the name of the mercenary guild was quite civilised and in step with the times, something like "professional association for hiring and services," but I didn't bother to remember the long, official name, because the simpler one perfectly reflected the essence and required no clarification.
Mercenaries are mercenaries, even in Africa. If you want to sell your services for a job, the guild's lawyers will offer you a decent contract that matches your profile, whether it's as a bodyguard, a nanny, or a courier. All you need is a good reputation and the right skills. And, of course, you have to pay a percentage of the contract. Hiring, as it is, has existed throughout history. But, of course, the organisation's roots went back to a much more violent past, which, however, has not been forgotten to this day, and mercenaries in the truest sense of the word could also be found.
The thing was that the best combat teams were almost all under the wing of families capable of supporting them, or cost astronomical sums for the average person. However, ordinary people had no need to hire a group of experienced combat mages, decked out in artefacts like Christmas trees and charging five-figure sums in gold for their services, so it was quite understandable why the guild's profile had become somewhat broader than it had originally intended.
But for me, the guild was almost the only opportunity right now to get at my disposal, if not loyal, then at least people bound by a competent magical contract who, if necessary, could cover my back or save the lives of my loved ones. Loyal vassals serve some magical families for centuries, but unfortunately, the Black family lost most of them in the war with Grindelwald, and with the fall and imprisonment of the last member of the family, that is, me, they lost almost everyone.
If the information in the letter from the attorney is not confirmed, I will have no choice but to try to buy a couple of contracts at the slave market, if there is anyone there with at least minimal combat experience. But this was a thankless task and one to be left only as a last resort, because apart from the official ban, ethical norms and other things I did not want to deal with, a slave contract is not the best motivator for any intelligent person, which is why there were not too many enthusiasts for such a thing in the last century.
Lost in thought, I didn't notice how I had approached a sturdy stone building, the entrance to which, however, was unguarded. Probably, there were even fewer people willing to rob such a prestigious guild than there were trying to rob a goblin bank, so the absence of even a visible line of defence at the entrance was obvious.
"Welcome, Lord Black," before I could approach the door, it swung open and I was greeted by a young boy, a doorman dressed in a fairly modern three-piece suit. "The master is already waiting for you."
I smiled and followed the lively young man, who, on the way to the office of the head of the British branch of the guild, managed to give me a short tour, a brief historical overview, and shower me with compliments, clearly trying to earn a good tip from a wealthy guest.
It looked a little comical, but I didn't want to disappoint him, I wasn't exactly a monster, and after I was introduced to the head of the guild, the boy quickly disappeared from the office, clutching a hefty Galleon in his hand.
"Lord Black!" A tall man in a classic suit rose from behind the desk and smiled broadly, extending his hand for a handshake. "It's good to see you in good health!"
"And I am delighted to see you, Mr. Baker," I said, shaking his hand firmly, then, at the invitation of the office owner, sat down in a luxurious armchair opposite the desk, looking closely at the face of the man sitting in front of me.
For some reason, I had subconsciously expected him to be older, but the head of the British branch was not an old man, but a quite handsome man, about thirty-five or forty years old. A short haircut with thick red sideburns, piercing blue eyes, a scar under his lower lip, and a strong chin hardly aged him; his appearance, not very common for Foggy Albion, rather added spice and freshness.
Perhaps this was exactly how the head of one of the most influential organisations should look, but I could have been completely wrong about his age. As we know, mages live quite a long time, and powerful mages even longer, and what prevented Dumbledore from looking fifty-something with his power remained a mystery.
"Tea, coffee, perhaps a little whisky?" The wizard smiled infectiously again, nodding towards the half-empty bottle of Blishen{?}[a type of fire whisky, quite famous in the wizard world].
"I'd prefer to get straight to the point," I smiled back, shaking my head. "Unfortunately, I don't have much time, otherwise I would of course have enjoyed a drink with you. Maybe another time.
"Let's get down to business," Baker said, slapping the table, not at all offended by my refusal. "But there is a small problem... Ndas-s. Remember, I wrote to you about Maria's squad?
"Yes, of course," I replied, raising my eyebrows slightly. "It's Maria's five I'd like to hire. I hear they're good at what they do. As I understand it, their previous contract was due to expire a couple of days ago, and as you suggested, I'd like to buy out their contract. Has anything changed?"
"In general, yes," the mage frowned, tapping his fingers on the table. "The thing is, our guild has certain obligations to the ministries of several countries. Namely, the right to first refusal on the services of combat groups in the event of, um... certain circumstances.
"And such circumstances, as I understand it, have arisen right now?" — I politely suggested after a short pause. In fact, it was strange, because nothing seemed to have happened in the last few days, there were no particularly loud news headlines, and although we had not signed a contract, verbal agreements had already been reached.
"That's right," said the office manager, pouring himself some whisky into an empty glass. "As you understand, I can't disclose any details, professional secrecy, but you must have heard about yesterday's incident in Germany. Perhaps some whisky after all?
"No, thank you," I declined again, feeling a little more composed. I think I was beginning to understand what incident he was talking about. "What happened there?"
"The most powerful dark magic ritual since the war with Grindelwald, right in the middle of the Brandenburg Gate! Haven't you heard?" The mage looked at me in surprise. I just shook my head in response, struggling to maintain a polite curiosity on my face when in reality I really wanted to bang my forehead against the wall and knock on the stone masonry. "Right now, the sausage makers are digging up the ground there, so they called my guys in for some, um, assistance.
"For long?" I sighed hopelessly and leaned back in my chair.
"For now, the contract is for two months, but they might extend it. They say," leaning forward confidentially, Baker lowered his voice a few tones, "that they found some trace of the Osmans there. But that's just rumour," and then, with an expressive glance, he also leaned back in his chair.
"Really?" I expressed my polite concern in a low voice, with a transparent hint. In fact, I was really concerned. Not that I was particularly careless in covering my tracks, but if even foreign mercenaries were being brought in on the case, then it was serious. The only thing that reassured me was that the German Aurorat seemed to have gone down the wrong path, picking up the trail from what appeared to be traces found on the corpses. I wouldn't say that in any other situation this fact would have pleased me, but now the failed assassination attempt was very convenient. One hundred per cent, the portal through which I had travelled from the British Ministry was now impossible to trace by any means, unlike the official port keys, which were all strictly accounted for.
"But I have a few other options for you," Baker continued in his usual tone, magically pulling a small folder out of his desk drawer. "And since I still feel some responsibility, we had practically agreed, I personally selected some specialists who should suit you. They're not exactly the best of the best, but it's what we've got."
"Yes, of course, thank you," I said, emerging from my gloomy thoughts and taking the folder, thoughtfully leafing through the small, convenient cards with descriptions of the mages, their spellcraft, specialities, and special conditions.
In fact, there were only six mercenaries, as if Baker had tried to compensate for the fact that they mainly worked alone with quantity... But two of them were immediately ruled out, as they only agreed to short-term contracts of up to a month, although, judging by all appearances, they were experienced curse removers with combat experience and could have been useful.
I put another one aside because the price was too high. He was a professional, but eighty thousand a month or a five-year contract with half a million gold in advance was too expensive, even with my resources. Of the remaining three, two worked together and were generally suitable in all respects, but there was one catch. The sixth card pleased me with its reasonable price, but...
"Apprentice transfiguration and enchantment, master of combat magic, three years of expedition experience in the African sector, Sumer, Egypt, reasonable price and virtually no additional conditions," I read aloud with interest. "What's the catch, his xenophobia?"
"Yes, he can't stand other races, especially werewolves," Baker said guiltily, spreading his hands. "He hates the latter with a fierce hatred, something to do with family matters, but I don't know much else, it's confidential."
"And these two?" I held up the remaining two cards. "Brother and sister, one skilled in magic, the other an apprentice potion maker, also experienced as curse removers, bodyguards, tutors, more than adequate price, but they..."
"Shapeshifters," confirmed the office owner, sipping his firewhisky. "But, I dare say, they are professionals in their field. During periods of, ahem, lunacy, they take aconite potion, which the sister brews herself.
"And you won't be able to sign their contracts together," I confirmed my thoughts with a grim sigh.
"Absolutely," Baker spread his arms again. "But if you need bodyguards, I would advise you to take them, Tyler has a slightly different profile. And they closed their last contract with flying colours, precisely as bodyguards. Overall, they are decent people, even if they are werewolves, yes. Well, sign Dave and Kyle before someone else snatches them up, so they can cover during any "inconveniences." Even such a short period should be enough.So, the choice is between bodyguard-teachers, albeit with problems, and a killing machine in the form of a xenophobe... I've really missed Maria's team.
"What about... Albert Stamp?" I picked up the card I had put down and glanced at the price. "I understand that mastery of two disciplines and being an apprentice ritual magician at less than thirty years of age is a tremendous achievement, but that price seems a bit high. Five times higher, to be precise. Even Tyler charges fifty thousand for six months, and if you calculate it by the month, it comes out much cheaper!
"Yes, you're right, of course," Barker grimaced. "I would even say that his demands are quite absurd, regardless of his ancient family name. But he really is a professional in almost everything, not just in the disciplines mentioned, and he has more than fifty closed contracts under his belt over the last fifteen years. Of course, none of them had anything like these rates, but... He's in a pretty difficult position right now, so he's grasping at straws. I probably shouldn't have given him my card...
"No, no," I smiled, looking at Stamp's brief biography. "On the contrary, I'd like to hear a little more about him, if it's not classified, of course."
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970