Loyal mercenaries are as rare as virgin whores.
© George Martin
"What secret?" the mage waved his hand. "The information is delicate, of course, but not confidential. The family is quite old, not ancient, of course, but it has been around for many years. It was founded by Albert Gibbering Stamp in the early seventeenth century, and the boy was named after him. The family wasn't particularly wealthy, but they were strong and confident middle-class people who specialised in combat magic. One of them was even a minister, I think.
However, after he decided to carry out a reform involving magical creatures, the family fell into decline. Accidents happened, as you can imagine. His father, Tobias, was even the dean of Gryffindor for a while, but something didn't work out between him and Dumbledore, or maybe it worked out too well, I don't know," the wizard chuckled, shaking his head. "But at the beginning of the Troubles, their manor was destroyed, and only the boy survived. And that was because he was studying at Hogwarts at the time. Then it turned out that his father had left his son so many debts that they had to mortgage the family mansion.
Baker paused for a moment, nodding to himself.
"But the guy's no fool, his skill in combat spells alone is worth a lot. And he's been wearing apprentice rings for quite some time now. It's not confirmed, of course, but he's already outgrown those titles. Besides, he's been travelling around the continent for years. I remember when he came to our department as a greenhorn, but he already had something about him, I swear," the mage leaned back in his chair, smiling and clearly remembering something. I was wrong about his age after all; he couldn't be less than sixty, even by the most generous estimate. "But his situation is one you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. He only has a quarter of his debt left, but the last payment is due in six months. If he misses it, he'll lose his manor and half his magical powers, not to mention being branded a traitor to his bloodline. Just like those guys. Weatherby or whatever they're called...
"And if this Stump is as good as you say, would the creditor really cut off the goose that lays the golden eggs?" I asked incredulously.
One and a half million over fifteen years is... impressive. For comparison, the total amount of gold stored in the Black family bank, accumulated over centuries of labour, is only six million.
Of course, if you sell the family mansion and all your assets, you could get three times that amount... But, again, no one in their right mind would take such a desperate step.
After such a step, there would be no turning back, and in the eyes of those around you, you would become worse than the most hopeless muggle drug addict who killed his own mother for another dose. Another example is the salary of an ordinary ministry employee, which is a thousand galleons a year, and of course, it is higher for department heads. To save up that kind of money, an ordinary wizard would have to work for two hundred years without eating or sleeping, and deny themselves all purchases. And this Stump collected just under that amount in only fifteen years. Impressive.
And why the creditors would want to deprive themselves of such income is unclear.
"Change the terms, stretch it out for a few more years..."
"Goblins," the mage replied briefly, waving his hand wearily, and I realised that things were really bad.
If anyone lost the most from the Ministry's reforms, it was the shorties. Of course, they are not capable of directly harming the mages after the last unsuccessful uprising, but they would willingly take such a step as eliminating a hated family, even if it is to their own detriment. They wouldn't even have to do anything — they would just resell the manor to some rich family that hasn't established its own lineage yet. And they would be happy to do so.
"As far as I know, there are two conditions," the mage continued. "Either that or a slave contract. And it's hard to say which is worse.""I see," I said, leaning back in my chair and pausing to think for a moment.
On the one hand, fate in the form of Baker was giving me exactly what I needed at that moment, albeit for a huge sum of money. But money is useless to a dead man, and a person who is potentially loyal to the family, especially one with such skills, even if only one, is as necessary as air. Five years is the maximum term for contracts offered by the guild. For such a favour, I could easily demand complete feudal allegiance from him.
The loss of a magical source can easily kill some weaker mages. Judging by Stamp's regalia, of course, that won't happen, but Baker is quite right, and you don't even know what's better — slavery, death, or something like that. Although, considering the latter's surname, it's quite possible that Avada would be more merciful in his heart.
But on the other hand, for that kind of money, I could easily buy out the five-year contract of a whole team of experienced battle mages, including at least three masters. One, even a strong one, is a poor replacement for a team. How untimely this whole situation is... Well, never mind.
"You also seem to have an interest in Albert, don't you?" I said quietly, clearly connecting the dots. It was unlikely that a card with his name and such an interesting story had been given to me just like that. Even considering the fabulous amount of money that Stamp had already brought to the guild.
"I confess, I am," Baker nodded, not at all embarrassed. "And it's not even about liking him, although I do like the guy. Albert borrowed a little from the guild treasury, mere pennies, of course, and he brought us more than enough money. True, given the circumstances that have come to light, there is a not insignificant chance that he will not be able to repay the debt in the near future... However, that's not the biggest reason to help a good person!
"Of course," I said, finally getting a more or less clear picture.
Of course, the Guild cannot help Stamp directly, even with its impeccable reputation. Half a million is too much for one good mercenary, and the head of the British branch is unlikely to be authorised to dispose of such sums on his own.
But he could slip his card to someone who was clearly capable of solving the mage's problem, and at the same time make a profit for the Guild. He could also put together a group of mages so that the option would be obvious, for lack of a better choice. And Maria's new contract had come along at just the right time... Although, perhaps I was already thinking too far ahead.
"So, what's your decision?" Baker asked slyly.
"Of course, I'll have to meet with them and see how they work, but for now, I'm leaning towards hiring Lucan and Samantha Shumsby for a year, as well as Stamp... Let's say for a month, for now," I finally made my decision.
I need to see Albert in action and find out more details before making such decisions. Perhaps it would be easier to wait until Maria's team's contract expires.
"Let's schedule a meeting for tomorrow morning, if that's okay. I have a few urgent matters to attend to today. Also, as I mentioned, I would like to hire a couple of available house elves for the household right away.
"Excellent!" exclaimed Baker, clearly pleased with the outcome of the conversation, quickly rising from the table and moving towards the exit. "Our lawyers will prepare everything necessary by tomorrow. And we do have some available house elves, as I wrote to you, nothing has changed this time. Well, then. I hope you're already familiar with the prices?
"Yes, you described everything in detail," I said, lifting the corners of my lips and sighing inwardly as I remembered the letter with the prices. One of the small House-elf communities was asking twenty thousand gold pieces for a young, untrained individual. Thirty for those trained as ordinary servants: cleaning, cooking, and so on. Fifty for personal assistants, such as Kreacher, who would prepare dinner, do repairs, buy potions, sort letters, and babysit, without mixing anything up in the process.
House-elves live a long time, but the intelligence of young individuals leaves much to be desired. During their upbringing, they are subjected to harsh training to perform the simplest tasks without side effects. In old families, the older generation is responsible for training the younger generation, each with their own peculiarities. In large communities, such as Hogwarts, the elves themselves are responsible for raising the newcomers. But in the Ministry community, or here, this is done by specially trained people.
A personal, long-lived, professional servant is one of those luxuries that is unavailable to many. Professionals in their field, such as assistants to potion makers, are even more expensive. However, such a rare commodity is more of a rarity, and I was interested in ordinary servants. Preferably ones who would not betray me.
"Come this way," said a young man who appeared suddenly on the other side of the door. "This way, please."
Together with Baker, we proceeded to one of the rooms upstairs. There, a sullen, completely grey-haired mage with a folder of documents was already waiting for us. After briefly greeting us, he began to introduce the House-elves lined up in a row. They were dressed in white tunics and looked at the assembled mages with obvious hope.
"I'll take these," I said, glancing quickly at the five nearly identical elves and pointing to a pair of House-elves, a female and a male, who were standing closer to each other.
"Excellent choice," croaked the old wizard. "Very teachable for their age, obedient. Pikki, Breil — today is the day you get your clothes. Please, my lord."
He handed me a scroll with a contract and a bloody pen. The whole procedure didn't take long. The contract, payment, then a short ritual to bind the House-elves. It was a complicated but not very long process, during which magical creatures began to receive the magic necessary for their existence directly from the source of the mage's power. After binding the house elves, I was surprised to find that I had weakened by about a quarter.
Although the old man, Tutor, warned me that it was safer to bind them directly to the magical source of the house, I'm afraid that if I had bound them in another way, they wouldn't even have been able to enter Black House. Now, thanks to my own magic, I was able to send them straight there.
After a quick goodbye and setting a time for our next meeting, I headed straight to the Ministry. Officially, it was to confirm my right to participate in the Wizengamot meeting and cast my vote for Malfoy, but unofficially, it was to take a quick look at what had happened to the employee who had given me the portal.
The Wizengamot greeted me with their usual bustle. To confirm my identity at the entrance, I only had to show the family head's stone, and the girl immediately began to express her gratitude and complete devotion in a honeyed voice. Even too complete.
In the secretariat, I signed several documents, a routine and completely formal procedure, nothing complicated, then went down to the international relations department and ordered another portal, this time to France. A cautious hint of interest in the girl behind the reception desk triggered a flood of rumours about a former employee who had suddenly quit and left her with a pile of unfinished work. Apparently, all traces had already been covered up.
Having gotten rid of the girl, I was about to leave when I met someone I didn't expect to see here.
"Hello, Miss Bagnole," I said, kissing the back of the hand of a short, plump woman.
"Mr Black, what a surprise!" replied the enchantress, a little alarmed, nervously adjusting a lock of hair that had fallen out of her bun. "It's good to see you again."
"And I'm glad to see you, Minister," I replied, looking closely at the visibly tired woman. Her makeup hid the signs, of course, but a careful glance from such a close distance could detect signs of sleep deprivation and fatigue.
"Oh, let's drop the formalities!" she laughed nervously and somewhat artificially. "I handed over all the necessary powers to Faj long ago, so you can just call me Millicent."
"Then you can call me Sirius," I replied, smiling politely again.
Indeed, having handed over her position to Faj, Bagnole was no longer the Minister, but formally she should be addressed as either "Minister" or "former Minister." It was a rule of politeness, nothing more, but former Ministers were granted many privileges that ended only with their death. Such as round-the-clock security, which she did not have now. Perhaps that was why she was so nervous; after all, my transfer to Azkaban had taken place with her direct involvement.
"All right, Sirius..." The woman hesitated a little. "I would like to express once again my regret at your unjust conviction..."
"Don't," I raised my hands in a conciliatory gesture. "It's not your fault, you weren't in charge of the trial.
"Yes, of course..." Bagnole said, somewhat absent-mindedly, then as if coming to her senses. "I would love to talk to you more, but unfortunately I have to hurry, I have so much to do, so..."
"Of course, I won't keep you," I replied. "Goodbye."
"Yes... Of course..." she replied, again somewhat absent-mindedly, and headed in the other direction.
I continued on my way to the exit, thinking about the somewhat confusing encounter. From Sirius's memories, it was easy to see that this woman had changed a lot. The iron lady who had ruled the country during a period of virtual civil war had given way to a distracted old woman. And her early departure from office was unexpected, to say the least.
If I didn't know that all high-ranking officials, especially ministers, were checked for external influence, I would have thought that Imperius had a hand in it. On the other hand, it was possible that her son's death had affected her more than expected.
Anyway, I've already stayed at the ministry longer than necessary. I need to meet with Krauch and finally visit Michael's son.
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970