Sometimes you think everything is fine, and someone is already digging your grave. © Hannibal
***Same place — Lutny, the White Wyvern pub. I think next time I'll have to change the meeting place to my usual office at the ministry. Unfortunately, if I show up at Krauch's office now, Dumbledore will find out about our business before he needs to.
"Liana, you're getting prettier and prettier," I said, touching the air above the back of her hand, still in the same snow-white glove, with my lips for the second time that day.
"What a compliment, Lord Black," she laughed casually, recognising me despite my face being hidden by a magical veil.
As I had thought, the owner of the establishment was definitely not unaware of her guests. That was probably why this bar was still independent. I think she had managed to gather enough compromising information on the right people to allow herself such liberties. However, she may have recognised me by the bouquet of white northern roses, which would have made everything easier. "What beautiful flowers! I hope you won't refuse me your company over a cup of tea, as you did last time?"
"I don't think I can refuse," I said, enjoying the hint of disappointment that appeared on her charming face at my first words. "But a little later."
"I'll take you at your word," the girl smiled sweetly again and nodded slightly. "Now, let's go..."
The walk was not long; we crossed an area with small tables and other seating areas, then climbed a narrow staircase to the second floor, where the private rooms were located. Finding the right door, the hostess nodded:
"You know the rules, you have half an hour," and just as slowly walked away, swaying her hips slightly.
"Hmm, I'm clearly in high demand with the ladies today," I said, apparently out loud, because Crouch, who was sitting on the opposite side of the room, looked up from some papers and asked in surprise,
"What are you talking about, Black?"
"Nothing, just nothing," he said, waving it off and sitting down at the other side of the table. "Just business. How did things go with Malfoy?"
"Better than could have been," Bartemius grimaced, but at my questioning glance, he reluctantly continued. "With his gold and his not-so-clean connections, my position in the Ministry is strengthening. I managed to remove a few people and replace them with those loyal to me. And I found a couple of unexpected allies among the neutrals for the upcoming elections. Fudge, as it turns out, is too greedy for money. And not very careful.
The old man was clearly pleased, even though he tried hard to hide it. He even looked a couple of years younger. A couple of dozen, to be more precise. It's even embarrassing to call him an old man now. Apparently, his young daughter-in-law and the upcoming birth of his grandson are working wonders. By the way, he seems to want to recognise him as his son so that no questions arise about where the child suddenly came from when his only heir is serving time in Azkaban.
"Well, that's good," I nodded with satisfaction and leaned back in my chair. "What about the hearing? Is everything ready?"
"Yes, almost," Crouch frowned slightly and rubbed his nose. "The memories have been collected; my deputy took care of that. At the appointed time, the Dursleys will be brought to the hearing, and Malfoy, Lord Bulstrode, and Arthur himself will testify.
"Can he be trusted?" I tried to remember Crouch's deputy, but didn't have much success.
"Of course, Trembley has been my right-hand man for ten years," Barty replied indignantly. "Naturally, he can be trusted. Besides, he will be the head of the election campaign, and after the elections, if everything goes smoothly, he will take over the department from me. I'm not so sure about Bulstrode, he's Malfoy's candidate.
"Don't worry about that," I waved my hand dismissively. "He and Malfoy have a long-standing partnership, Lucius even wants to marry Draco to Millicent, and things are moving towards a preliminary engagement. Besides, Jonathan's mother is Violet, née Black, so I think we can trust them, they're not strangers.
"In Britain, it seems like you can't point your finger anywhere without hitting a Black," Crouch chuckled somewhat maliciously. "And we're kind of related on my mother's side..."
"Yes, Charis Crouch also came from our family," I nodded, remembering the family tree with a slight creak. "But if you want me to call you 'Uncle Barty,' I'm sorry, you're about twenty years too late."
"No, it's not that," Crouch frowned, snorting into his moustache. "I mean, blood ties aren't the most important thing, and I don't understand how you can trust Malfoy. He's a former Death Eater, and I know that for a fact. Just like I know that there are no former Death Eaters. It's clear with me, I have my own interests in this, we signed a contract a long time ago, and I have your bastard as a backup. But Malfoy? Did you get him by the balls too? Because if not, I don't want to go down with you if my son is ever found.
"Don't worry about Malfoy," I shook my head. Probably soon, Crouch should be brought in to help destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes. Considering how much he hates Riddle for destroying his family and terrorising him, that would bind him better than any compromising information or agreements. But the fact that Barty brought it up is a warning sign. "We're in the same boat. It's secure. Why are you so interested in that?"
"Listen, Sirius, I'll be frank," Crouch looked at me through his clasped fingers, his whole expression doubtful. "I've got everything ready, of course, but you don't think Dumbledore will just let it go, do you? The old man still has too much influence, reputation and friends, not only here on the islands, but throughout Europe. I don't really understand why you want this. Yes, you'll probably get guardianship, but you have to understand that getting into a serious conflict right now is not the best tactic. Moody is Dumbledore's right-hand man, consider the entire Auror Corps in his pocket. Half of the other departments are his protégés too. Wait a year with the boy, two at most, we'll strengthen our position in the Ministry and...
"Go to hell, Barty!" I almost growled, slamming my fist on the table, forcing him to stop, seriously angered by his attitude. "You saw in the Dursleys' memories how they treated my godson! The 'symbol of hope for magical England'!" And do you really think Dumbledore is just going to sit there and wait for his influence to slip through his fingers?
"Yes, but I don't think that..." Crouch Senior began, but stopped after a wave of his hand.
"You don't think what? That we need to act now, or just fold our wands and wait for Dumbledore to strike first?" I rose from the table and began pacing nervously around the rather spacious room. "No, we need to act now. Or are you suggesting we wait until my house is stormed by Aurors with a search warrant? Then not only will my secrets come out, but we could all sink so fast and so deep that we'll never see the light of day again.
"All right, all right..." Barty raised his hands conciliatorily. "I understand your reasons, and I don't particularly like what's happening in magical Britain, where even the heirs of ancient families are handed over to Muggles as mere house-elves... I think even some of the allies of the Great Light will take this into account. Just keep in mind that even though you'll get guardianship, you'll have to watch your back. I would recommend hiring security, at the very least. Of course, that's not really his style, but you know how he started out and who his allies were, who he used to hang out with.
"I'll take it into account," I calmed down, struggling to suppress the power that had been stirred up by my emotions, causing the rune chains in the middle of the table to flare up brighter and flash clearly. "I've already hired security. Don't forget about yourself, you're in the spotlight just like me."
"Oh," Krauch twitched his cheek. "After certain events, I've reviewed my security measures, don't worry. Well, since you've got yourself under control, maybe we can move on to other matters?"
"Yes, I suppose we should discuss... — I sat back down at the table.
***
After talking with Crouch a little longer, I regretfully declined Miss Strugler's invitation to continue our conversation, promising to have dinner with her a little later, and continued down the dark alley, turning into one of the side streets.
In general, Knockturn Alley, like Diagon Alley, was not a street, but rather a magical quarter, as well as a decent territory of the Dark Forest inside, and, in addition, various stationary paths and portals to other, no less dangerous places. It was just that everyone was used to calling Lyutny that, and it made no sense to change the name to better reflect the essence of what was happening there. Everyone who needed to know already knew.
After a few minutes of walking along the stone pavement, I found myself near a small but decent-looking building nestled between a pub and a factory workshop. It was the bookmaker's office I was looking for, proudly named "Msaw Ætare". Overall, it was nothing special; places like this can be found all over Birmingham, almost at every turn, but since this place was, albeit indirectly, connected to the Blacks, it stood out from its neighbours.
Naturally, I was under the spell of privacy, so I just walked in without wasting time on unnecessary disguises in case someone suddenly recognised the unremarkable figure of Sirri Black.
Inside, it smelled of cheap cigarettes, alcohol and sweat, not the most wonderful aroma, but not the worst I had ever smelled. Behind the counter on the opposite side of the entrance hung a huge board where a spellbound chalk writer added new items and erased old ones, while a spellbound radio broadcast something quietly.
There, at a small bar, a couple of obvious regulars stood, intently watching the board and drinking pint after pint of cheap beer, a small army of empty glasses towering beside them. The only other person in the room was the manager. He stood by the tap, a fat, middle-aged wizard with a huge shiny bald patch and half-glasses.
There was no one else in the room except for a thug at the entrance, who sat on a bench and smoked a thick cigar with an indifferent expression, exhaling dark purple smoke that seemed to be enchanted. In principle, nothing particularly significant was happening at the moment, so there was nothing surprising about the emptiness and desolation of such a place.
"Placing a bet, sir?" asked the magician behind the counter, turning immediately at the sound of the door opening. "I can offer you good odds on Kevin Hopwood today, he and his team are playing at Manchester Club!"
"No, thank you," I declined the dubious offer. To be honest, I don't understand how anyone can play this game of spitballs, let alone hold championships. I'm not surprised they have so few fans; only schoolchildren bored within the castle walls, with nothing better to do, could be lured by such strange entertainment. "I'd like to bet on Puddlemir United, snitch in the twelfth minute, one hundred Galleons.
"Yes, follow me, we have separate rooms for such distinguished customers," the wizard replied with a nod, first to me and then to the bouncer, and gestured for us to follow him into a small back room with another well-enchanted door. The door led to the basement, where the atmosphere was completely different, bearing no resemblance to the bookmaker's office on the first floor.
As we walked, I caught a glimpse of the rather rich interior and the Veela waitresses in their very revealing uniforms, saw several card tables, a large roulette wheel, and magicians chatting casually, clearly absorbed in the game and not paying much attention to their surroundings. An underground casino, which, according to my information, was frequented by both mid-level ministry clerks and notorious gangsters, all coexisting peacefully while gambling.
However, I wouldn't say that this prevented them from getting along outside the walls of this establishment. To be fair, the Ministry also employed law enforcement officers who were far from being notorious.
However, a completely different room awaited me, so after passing through another branch, the entrance to which was guarded by a grim-faced, clean-shaven magician dressed in a three-piece suit who stepped aside as we approached, and then walking a short distance down a narrow corridor, I found myself in front of a massive oak door.
"One second, sir," the manager said to me in a fawning and slightly nervous tone, then knocked and slipped inside.
"...no more delays, Rudy!" came a low, irritated voice. "I only stood up for you because..." Then the door slammed shut before I could hear the end of the sentence, and the conversation became private again.
"Please come in!" A few minutes later, the manager opened the door, and a slightly pale, moustached man in a shabby bowler hat and an obviously old green robe came out of the office, clearly wanting to appear even more inconspicuous. The manager followed him, while I took a step forward and found myself alone with the owner of the establishment.
"Good to see you, Lord Black! How are you?" A cheeky, slightly tanned, black-haired guy, who looked about twenty, rose from behind a massive oak table that was the same as the door. He could have looked even younger, which is not a problem for magicians, but his serious expression and a small scar slashing across his left eyebrow gave him a certain gravitas.
Vincent Blishvik was the son of one of our family's most loyal vassals, and was also related by marriage to Jimbo Blishvik and Misapinoi Black. This kinship was evident in certain features of his face, his eyes, and his dark, wavy hair, which was slicked back with pomade or something similar.
Vincent was dressed in a burgundy dandy shirt and a black leather jacket that looked ridiculous on him. When I entered, he immediately placed the tall glass he had been holding on the tabletop and rubbed his palms together, fidgeting a little.
"Hello, Vincent," I said without delay and walked over to him, extending my hand.
To my surprise, he seriously, without any hesitation, knelt down, awkwardly bending around the table, and clearly intended to kiss the family ring under my astonished gaze.
"Let's skip the formalities," I said, waving my hand hastily, catching him mid-motion and firmly squeezing his cold hand, pulling him up from the floor.
"Yes, of course..." The guy was visibly embarrassed, responding energetically to my handshake. "Please, sit down, make yourself at home, my office is yours," he said, pointing to a luxurious armchair at the head of the table, clearly not intended for visitors.
"No, thank you," I replied with a hint of displeasure, looking at the guy.
Flattery is nice, of course, especially when it's appropriate, but, first of all, it's not what I want from my partners, current or future. Secondly, I had strong doubts that a guy who had been fighting for his place in the sun since graduating from Hogwarts, and who had managed to keep one of his father's businesses in such a place, was really what he appeared to be. And what I heard at the entrance to the office made it quite clear that behind the mask of a dapper young man there was something else, clearly more dangerous and harsh. "Rough flattery and sycophancy are not what I expected from the son of a loyal vassal of my house.
"You know, Lord Black," the young man said, immediately becoming visibly angry. So much so that magical power began to spill out into the surrounding space, and his already dark eyes darkened, becoming truly Black. "No one taught me to be a loyal vassal of the Black family, you know. There was no one to teach me. So if you've come for your share, here it is. Of course, without the support of the illustrious Black family, I had to negotiate a lot, so I can't pay the full amount. But I've gathered everything I have, here's your gold."
He pulled a heavy bag out of the secretary desk and dumped it on the table. The force of the throw caused the bag to fall on its side, and a couple of Galleons spilled out of the loosely tied opening onto the tabletop.
"Insolence is not what I would like to hear from my vassal," I sighed, giving free rein to my magic in response to his display of power, causing the air behind me to thicken and darken, almost swirling into a gloomy mist, and the young man involuntarily took a step back. He was certainly strong for his age, but not enough to stand calmly before a mage who had at his disposal all the power of the ancestral stone of one of the most ancient families in Britain.
"At the same time, I will not rob my own vassal, let alone a younger relative," I continued, easing the pressure and sitting down in a fairly comfortable chair in front of the desk, pushing the gold back to Vincent and adding another bag I had prepared in advance to the Galleon.
"So you didn't come for the money?" The young man calmed down just as quickly and sat down at the table. After all, his family traits were clearly more pronounced than those of Krauch. Hot-tempered, but at the same time level-headed... Then again, no one else survives here. "In that case, I apologise for the incident, I misunderstood... I am listening to you carefully, Lord Black.
"First of all, I need to know who you had to negotiate with..." After a short pause, looking around the interior of the office, I began a long and somewhat difficult conversation. After all, winning over this young man would not be an easy task. But I needed him, just as I needed influence at various levels, which Don Corleone could help me with.
And, I hope," — he will help a lot. If he succeeds, he will receive a well-deserved reward, perhaps even double. After all, my family owes him just as much, and the Blackies know how to pay their bills.
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970