Gringotts, familiar meeting room, 1:00 p.m.
*
"Good day, Master Shnagrog. Have you decided again to impress my imagination with the incredible timeline of the task?"
"Hello, heir to the Black family. It will depend on whether or not this property option suits you."
"Would you be so kind as to give me the details?"
"It's a small village of five houses, by the Uchaf Creek in Wales. It used to be home to several families of ministry employees, but during the last magical war all the residents were killed by the Eaters. Above the village are stationary muggle repellent charms that cover up to a quarter-mile away. A mile to the northwest begins Muggle's cultivated land and the nearest road."
"I need to inspect the property."
"Of course, heir to the Black family. Portkey," the goblin gave me a black-covered book and when I took it, he said, "Letus."
Under the trees on the shore of a shallow creek stood five one-story brick houses with a sloping roof, two or three rooms in a row. Between the houses, apparently for privacy, tall bushes were growing.
"A model project from the seventies, a settlement for young ministry employees," explained Shnagrog, and pulled out a bunch of keys.
Externally, the houses were in good condition. Shnagrog started in the very north. He went through the bundle, picked the right key, and unlocked the door. Inside there was an atmosphere "from the seventies", only in the bedroom everything was thrown in the garbage, on the floor and walls ink from spells.
"How much it all costs, Master Shnagrog, and how much it will cost to repair."
"All five houses cost only eight thousand galleons." So cheap because of the lack of a magical source and the glory of the cursed place. Easy repairs, new wallpaper, fixing the plumbing and sewerage, fixing the kitchen will cost a thousand six hundred galleons for five houses. My fee for a middleman will be seven hundred galleons."
"How much will it cost to install basic security?"
"Anti-apparation shield, signal spell, slowing down barrier will cost a thousand galleons, with a resource of twenty years. The shield will let everyone you bring in your hand."
"Very well. I suggest we go back to the bank and do the paperwork. I'm buying this."
The Goblin gave me the book again, and in a few moments we moved back to the conference room. After signing the papers, my account was depleted by eleven thousand three hundred galleons. Shnagrog gave me a dozen identical cards of seven tambourines and explained.
"Portkey to the court of apparation. It will be out of the barrier. Repair work and installation of the barrier will take four days. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to move on to other tasks."
"If you would be so kind, Master Shnagrog."
"First, your order for emergency and routine portkeys. Instructions inside," Shnagrog took a bag of yellow paper from the desk drawer. "According to your wishes, the emergency key settings have been changed. This order cost you a thousand two hundred and forty gallons."
"That's a reasonable price to pay for security."
"Next, you asked for a reliable lawyer. Mr. Ogden is expecting you in his office tomorrow at 11:00. One hour of his work will cost you 70 galleons. Here," Shnagrog gave me a card with Big Ben, "this portkey will work tomorrow, 11 o'clock."
Big Ben on the card, by the way, was showing for exactly 11 hours. It's symbolic. Meanwhile, Shnagrog, as a professional Santa Claus, continued handing out gifts. I got a cardboard box in my hands. I opened it and found three tubes of muddy brown liquid. The tubes were standing upright on cardboard struts.
"Memory improvement potion," explained Shnagrog, "All instructions in the box. And finally, your last order: finding a secretary. I've set up a meeting with the candidate tomorrow, 3:00 in the afternoon. Miss Bosworth, half-breed. Her mother is a Muggle from a wealthy Muggle family. The father wizard died 12 years ago. The cause of death is simple, he married the wrong girl. Miss Bosworth graduated from Hogwarts at Hufflepuff House. She was an ordinary student with little success. After an urgent request from her mother, Miss Bosworth was quickly educated in the Muggle world. She easily graduated from the unpopular Muggle College, majoring in journalism. Miss Bosworth is an excellent orientated in the magical world. She tried to get a job at Witch Weekly and Daily Prophet, but she wasn't accepted for a reason. Miss Bosworth has shown herself to be a good beginner, but she has no desire to be useful to the Ministry. Sometimes she works as a freelance journalist. Here's her portfolio,"
I had an envelope with newspaper and magazine clippings in my hand.
"Thank you, Master Shnagrog. Extremely fast. I would like to repeat one of my previous orders."
Ha, it's my turn to give Shnagrog envelopes,
"I hope this doesn't cause any trouble."
The envelope contained a request for amulets, occlumency amulets and muggle-repellent amulets for four. Shnagrog took a quick look at the order sheet and nodded affirmatively.
"Yes, there's no problem with the order. Is that all for today?"
"That's it, Master Shnagrog; I need a consultation and perhaps the services of your ritualist. Last time I had a Groomber masterwork with me, I'd be happy to work with him again."
"I will invite the Groomber master. Goodbye, heir to the Black family."
"See you soon, Master Shnagrog."
The sofa! The Goblins must be aliens from another planet, and I have proof of that. Here, take the sofa, for instance. It has an antigravity built-in. Otherwise, how do you get this real sense of weightlessness? And if goblins are mass-producing antigraves... Imagine how many sofas they have in Gringotts! They probably own interplanetary flights. I imagine a brave goblin astronaut on a flying sofa entering the upper atmosphere. He's protected by a force field from a cloud of high-temperature plasma. The goblin astronaut is calm and measurably sucks the mushroom tincture down the tube. We'll have to make a movie about it sometime. Goblins are good too! It is necessary to use interplanetary transport as an interior object!
My existential thoughts were interrupted by Groomber. Not knowing my ultimate goal, Groomber preferred not to take props, as it is unknown what tools will be needed. While he was coming in, I took a more businesslike position and started talking.
"Good day, Master Groomber!"
"Hello, heir to the Black family. What questions did the ritualist consult require? It's nice to see that a young man your age is interested in rituals. Recent trends in education and law-making are cloudy."
"I quite understand your concerns, Master Groomber. These degenerates have very little to think of magic to be forbidden. It is dangerous and anything can happen. With their treacherous behavior, they simply provoke the emergence of a new Dark Lord," I looked Groomber in the eye, "a Lord who will defend important traditions and the rights of magical creatures."
"Anyway, I'm sure all this filth will lose its power, heir to the Black family. What rituals are you interested in?"
"Master Groomber, I was looking for a useful ritual to tie a weapon," I took out and put on the table a book I was leafing through in the living room of Black's house, "Everything I found is either too weak or requires such sacrifices that it gives away rot. In my opinion, a warrior's strength and weaponry increase when a warrior puts a piece of his soul into a weapon, not an abomination like a Horcrux. The warrior's soul is still one, but part of it is in the weapon. And under the influence of a warrior's soul, the weapon must be born into A Zanpakutō. A sword soul of its own must appear, independent but also in harmony with the soul of the warrior. This is what I am looking for. And that cannot be achieved by innocent victims and all that rottenness. There will be something in weapons, only it will not be a soul."
Groomber sat with round eyes and looked through me. In front of his inner gaze, there must have been a lot of paintings that I thought he had found an explanation for. There's no need to distract him, he's caught the Satori. In fact. I think I've known it all my life, but it's only now that I can articulate it so clearly.
"Who are you?" Groomber said, "Why do you know about rituals that goblins forget? I thought until now that the meaning of some rituals was a magic tie, and it turns out it was the birth of a new soul."
This is complete and total shit. I'm turning into Marty Stu! I said a deep thought, and everybody's falling apart and amazed by my incredible wisdom. Groomber, meanwhile, continued to grasp the revelations.
"It must take too long for goblins to fight to forget the meaning of their traditions." I couldn't believe my ears. He doesn't even know where he is or who he's talking to. We lose him, he gets sucked right in front of us.
"Master Groomber, I understand from your words that goblins know the ritual, the meaning of which I have formulated."
Groomber has finally focused his eyes on me.
"We do not reveal the mystery of this ritual to humans, heir to the Black family, but with you we can perform it. When you explained what you were looking for, I realized you were more of a goblin than the good half of this bank. Come back in a week, and we'll perform the ritual. I have a lot to think about."
After saying goodbye, I left Groomber.
After today's visit to Gringotts, I spent almost all my money on Barty's anonymous accounts, but I got richer in five houses. I'm growing up with the property. Kreacher's going to be pleased with the strengthening and rebirth of the Black family. It's all in code. Why wouldn't it be? Let him be happy. Elves have a right to happiness, too. Hermione would approve of such thoughts.
Granger's got me worried. I have a few more things to do in Diagon Alley. I bought some connected parchments and went to the pet store. In my past life, I was allergic to cats. Maybe that's why I'm so bad. Crookshanks in the pet store for years until Hermione freed him. Why wouldn't he wait for her in a more comfortable environment? I found a cell with Crookshanks. To control it, I asked the saleswoman what the cat's name was, and I got not only "Crookshanks", but also a brief revealing characteristic. It's okay, I'd sit in the cage then throw myself at people, too. I mean, I grew up in a closet under the stairs, so I grew up like that. Oh, never mind!
"Hey, cat. I know I'm not your hostess, but I still like you. Would you like to come with me, wait for your mistress in a more comfortable environment? Come on, I promise you there won't be any cells."
I put my palm to the cell and looked the Crookshanks in the eye, thinking only good things about it. The Crookshanks touched my palm with the pads of his left foot. Deal.
"I got him. How much?"
"Three galleons."
I walked out of the store with the Crookshanks in my arms, with a stupid smile on my face, and I went straight home.