Grimmauld Place 12, living room.
In the afternoon of August 25, 1991.
*
Kreacher delivered my morning mail from the P.O. Box. Except for the papers, there was an envelope. "To Harry Potter, personally." Only one person could send it. I did the safety precautions and read Rita's letter on the window.
*
Dear Hero of Magic Britain, Harry Potter, sir,
A humble journalist needs your help, sir. Yesterday, my house was broken into by unknown persons with obviously bad intentions. I escaped, but who knows what else they might be up to? I'm being pressured to hide the truth.
To keep me safe, I'm going to need some extra expense. I think about two hundred galleons a month.
Thank you for standing guard over the welfare of Magic Britain.
Sincerely yours.
Rita Skeeter
*
Here are the first dissatisfied with my information department! And if there are dissatisfied people, then it's working properly! In principle, sooner or later it would have to be paid anyway. There is money and Rita's good to be paid. We have to give her a letter to please her. I'm going to need her activity soon.
*
Dear Mrs. Skeeter,
It is unfortunate to hear that there are unconscious elements that have attacked the cornerstone of a democratic society with their dirty paws. They have insulted the free press. They attacked the most beautiful representative of her in your face.
In this difficult hour for society, every member has the task of supporting those who, without sparing themselves, fight for truth, publicity, freedom of speech. 250 galleons have been transferred to your account. That's all I can do for you in this difficult hour for the country. I'll also try to support you every month so that the flame of truth doesn't fade, the light of the free press doesn't go out.
Also, I will soon be pleased with excellent material that will allow you to create another masterpiece of journalism.
Your loyal admirer...
Harry James Potter
*
"Kreacher, deliver the letter to the post office and send it to the common owl."
Now I have to visit Gringotts. Kreacher will take me to Gringotts. I'm sitting here thinking I need a book on the rules of the master- elf relationship. I don't want to go bowing to Black's portraits. I can't ask the elf how the master can behave. The funny thing is I don't care what Kreacher thinks! He's just an indispensable assistant. But that's what he has in his behavioral program. I am a wizard, he is an elf. You shouldn't treat him like a human being. I have to do something about it. It's not respectable to ride a Kreacher all the time.
*
Gringotts, conference room.
*
"What brings you to Gringotts today, heir to the Black family? I do not doubt your young memory, heir. And you know for a fact that the order won't be ready until tomorrow."
"I want to replenish the deposit and make an extra order, Master Shnagrog," I put a bag in front of Shnagrog, "These pounds need to be transferred to galleons. I need a thousand galleons in cash. Let the rest of the money go into the deposit. Two hundred and fifty galleons I want to transfer to Mrs. Rita Skeeter's account. Then, at the beginning of each month, upon my written request, I want to transfer the same amount to Mrs. Skeeter's account. The free press needs help."
Shnagrog appreciated the joke with a smile in all his sixty-two teeth.
"It's nice to see a young heir like you happy about the wealth of the family. And he doesn't forget to help the community. You mentioned the order."
"I need reusable ordinary portkeys to Gringotts, to King's Cross, to Ottery St. Ottery St Catchpole, to Godric's Hollow, to Crawley, to Brixton and St. Mungo's Hospital."
The hospital's got to be taken care of, better than not at the right time." I need an artifact that will install a C-type antiapparation shield, a single-use. The payment will be transferred from the deposit, please. I'll also need the services of mercenaries. I want to hire a reliable two, three wands. With an immutable Unbreakable Vow."
"I need an artifact that will install a C-type antiapparation shield, a single-use. The payment will be transferred from the deposit, please. I'll also need the services of mercenaries. I want to hire a reliable two, three wands. With an immutable vow of nondisclosure."
"You're aware of the cost of a regular portkey, heir to the Black family. We'll have time to make them along with your main order. Reliable mercenaries will cost you four hundred galleons a day for a wand. A Sharptooth intern is waiting for you at the door. He'll help you with the exchange of money and the deposit."
"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Master Shnagrog. I hope our cooperation will be long and pleasant. And I do not doubt that it will be beneficial to all parties."
"May the gold in your safe come, heir to the Black family."
I coughed. I don't know what the protocol says to me. I need improvisation.
"May your enemies faint when they hear your name, Master Shnagrog," I stood up and bowed briefly and left the meeting room.
*
Dojo
*
Bags and a small cardboard box were a triangle. One bag had guns and stuffed magazines. In the other bag there were grenades. In the box, arranged with sheets of foam rubber, there were the fuses. The bandit was good, he knew how to handle things. I shot half the magazine at mannequins from each gun. I didn't risk using grenades indoors, even in such a big room.
*
Godric's Hollow, 3:00 p.m.
*
That's where Harry Potter's complicated story started. On the one hand, he grew up to be a naive, stupid ram with a self-sacrificing instinct. On the other hand, he's a great guy who just wanted to live and smile at friends and girlfriends. Here, Harry's brainless parents did everything they could to die stupidly. Funny thing is, they ended up dying stupidly, most amazingly. It's amazing because clinical losers like that probably didn't even have this. There was only one ruin in the village, so it wasn't hard to find a house. I wandered around the "house" for a long time, but nothing interesting was there anymore.
A bronze plaque was shoved on the wicket door, telling about the heroism of the parents. Gryffindor is a sentence! I was outraged to hear that the house was handed over to the state as a monument to the Magical War. Who gave it to the state? What kind of bearded bastard with bells gives my house to the state as a monument? And that bastard put poor Harry in the closet! There's not enough evil on Dumbledore! I'm ready to understand his experience and desire for power. But why should I sit hungry up to my ears in the mud?
In different stories, Harry always finds something in the ruins. He could find a cool artifact, serious compromising, a shaman dance tutorial or just a picture of his parents. I was out of luck. The fans must have taken everything that could have been carried away. When I realized the fruitlessness of my quest, I went through the wicket door into the road.
"Young man, why are you disturbing the peace of the memorial! Have respect!" The little old lady on the doorstep of the next house told me.
"Lady, you must be misled. Therefore, you should not jump to conclusions. This is my house, and I have the right to be here."
"But, young man! This house has been handed over to the state. I'm sure it won't be resold to a private person! Shame on you to cheat on your elders."
"Lady, you must be mistaken. I did not hand over my family's house to the state. And all other transfers are illegal!" She's already starting to annoy me. Should I protect the house, or not?
"Merlin in the flesh! You are Harry Potter! What a joy, what a feast on our street! The papers say you've been murdered! Let's go inside, young man! Come on, come on, come on! I have a lovely green tea."
Growing up from a past life brings me down. Is that how you say no to her?
While I was walking into the house, a nasty association gave birth to a stream of thoughts in my head that flew faster than words can express. On one side, Dursley and the weird old lady observer Mrs. Figg. On the other hand, the Potter family house and the weird old lady observer again. If you listen, you can see the ringing of bells from the beard of one caring winner of the Dark Lords. It won't poison me, but I'll be on my guard against everything else.
Again, let's pretend I'm Dumbledore. What will I do? If it's not naughty, then I'll set up observers where Harry is bound to show up. I mean, right here.
The old lady sat me down at the living room table, the house-elf arranged everything for a tea party, so I decided to take the conversation into my own hands.
"Lady, let me get the name of the hospitable hostess."
"Oh, this is all so exciting, young man, where are my manners! My name is Bathilda Bagshot."
"Mistress Bagshot, tell me about Godric's Hollow. What kind of people lives here?"
"Oh, young man, many magical families are living in Godric's Hollow. There's a Dumbledore house there, but no Dumbledore has shown up there in a long time. On the other hand, on the very edge of the village since ancient times lives Crouch. And over there is the house of the Royce, not very ancient, but a decent family."
"Mrs. Bagshot, I've heard you've written a lot of history books, but I don't know any since I was a kid. Can you tell me what drove you to become a writer?"
Well, come on, old spy, show yourself! You've got to send a signal to Dumbledore, or I'm a psychotic paranoiac. You don't carry a link mirror with you, do you?
"Now, my dear, I'll get the books from the library. It'll make it easier for me to explain, by example."
Yes, darling. It'll be easier for me, too. I took my backpack off, pulled the panama out of it and pulled it almost to my eyes. With incredible precision, I stepped on two grenades with the check pulled out. In my left hand, under the table, I took the K5, taken off the safety. And my right hand was defiantly stretched above the table. In my hand was a "Bart and Black" wand. Bad wand, it didn't fit me at all.
When the fireplace turned green and the glasses, beard, and some kind of long shirt appeared, I was ready.
I didn't notice when Dumbledore got the wand. An experienced master! He said "Expelliarmus" for me, more like. After that, my wand successfully left me.
"My boy, why have you been avoiding me?"
He sparkled his glasses so much that the whole room was lit up with a glare. I looked into his stomach, not his eyes. And as for the safety of my head, let him burst with effort. My elf sewed aluminum foil between the layers of matter. What's the matter? In the tale of the story, this Muggle trick has always worked against insolent mentalists!
Without waiting for him to finish, I opened fire. After the second shot, Dumbledore put up a Protego. But he began to settle on the floor with muddy eyes, unable to resist, but still under the shield. Just at the same time a greasy head with different sized eyes got green in the fireplace. This is Alastor Moody. That's not what we agreed, Dumbledore's practically in my hands!
"Immediate evacuation!" I said, activating the emergency portkey ring and simultaneously pushing the grenades away with my feet.
Hasta la vista, baby!