Grimmo Square
Around 11:00 a.m.
*
Remus Lupin was not happy. And the werewolf was worried about the bearded wizard. It wasn't good thoughts that raged in the werewolf's head.
"Damn Dumbledore!"My boy, it worries me that dark knowledge may fall into dangerous hands." Why didn't you, old fool, come here on your own? You're only talking about fighting the dark forces. As soon as shit stinks in good old England, I hear, "Remus, my boy..." Dumbledore wants Werewolves on the side of the light. He smiles, "Remus, my boy..." Although anyone a bit smarter than a degenerate, almost any resident of Magic England realizes that werewolves and the side of the light don't go together. You can't feed the wolf any hay. Dumbledore will not feed werewolves for his money. As though I haven't figured out who did this bastard law restricting werewolves' rights. And then again, he needs to break into a dark family home. "Remus, my boy! These folios must not fall into the hands of dark magicians!" As long as I risk falling into the dark magic trap, the old beard will eat marmalade in his office and drink tea. Where were you for ten years when I needed the money? I have hope that if this goes well, I'll sell it myself. You won't get a sickle, you old bastard! The soul has warmed by a dozen bottomless sacks and an unregistered portkey to the mainland. There was a party of a burglar and an observer and no light fighters. Fletcher wouldn't understand anything.
The muggle-repellent spells are still working, but the shields weakened. If you push the shield, there's enough werewolf power to breakthrough. Degenerate Fletcher, of course, couldn't have handled it. You'd better not go near the windows. Old families always have something particularly nefarious there, from intruders to attackers. Better go through the door. It could be locked, and then it's better to look for another way into the house. The door's open if the last Black died. And the werewolf has a chance.
The door is unlocked.
Let's go slowly. Step, one more step. Close the door, or Fletcher will see something else. In the ability to sell someone else's thief to a poor werewolf, there's no way to beat him."
*
And at that moment, the werewolf's thoughts were interrupted. When the door shut, there was absolute, impenetrable darkness, even for the werewolf's eyes.
"Lumos!"
An empty hallway. The shape-shifter's sensitive hearing picks up weak steps.
It's a competitor! The werewolf has decided to kill him. But first, interrogate him in a safe place. The gentleman may have some great secret places. Step, one more step.
*
I slowed down by the stairs, opened my mouth and covered my ears with my hands. After the blast, I went down to the thief's body, slowly.
"Light in the corridor!" I still didn't know if the house controlled the lights or Kreacher. It doesn't matter!
A man was lying on the floor almost in the middle of the corridor. He looked like a tramp. There were a few blood stains on my right wall, and the silhouette was marked with striking elements. There was quality grenade.
"Kreacher! Is he still alive?"
"Yes, sir! It's a werewolf, sir. By morning, he'll be as good as new, though very weak.
"Undress and chained. I'll talk to him later. When you're done with the case, come to me, I'll need you."
Did Remus Lupin decide to visit his friend's home? Although isn't there a lot of such disgusting things to hire in Knocturnes Alley? We have an Observer. I have to take him. Take him now, in his entire condition. How long will it take for the Observer to know that the intruder has failed? Who knows who he is? He couldn't hear the sound of the explosion behind the shield.
That's when Kreacher came back.
"Kreacher, move me to the point Charlie!"
"Yes, sir!"
And so I'm a block away from my house, digging up a night vision device in the bushes. I can't keep it in my house. Magic spoils delicate electronics and it breaks down fast. That body over there underneath the cheap invisible mantle within the radius of the Muggle-repellent ball must be the observer. There are usually no casual passers-by here at this hour. Fourteen minutes later, the basement received another prisoner. Kreacher, after shackling the prisoner in chains, put a binder tape on his leg shot in the knee. The master just needed a patient to practice his first aid sessions.
I decided to start the interview with the observer. He's probably got more brains, and a burglar who goes into a dark house is an expendable item. Under Imperius, the observer confessed his name was Fletcher, and then I realized I had won the jackpot! Kreacher brought me a notebook and treated Fletcher as best he could. I have to hone my negotiation skills with less valuable prisoners. Answering some questions about Dumbledore, this thief started to growl and choke. I had to cancel my orders. I ended up getting a whole notebook of answers. But those answers shouldn't have been completely trusted. If I were Dumbledore, I'd leave some traps in Fletcher's brain.
The spider's plan was simple. The company of Lupin and Fletcher headed to my house. It's important "not to let the Black family heritage fall into the hands of dark magicians." Typically, Fletcher was quietly going to deceive his accomplice the first chance he got. Except Spider's mental bookmarks would hardly allow such a disobeying of orders.
Yes, the Phoenix Society was recreated a week ago and has already gathered twice. I get that after 20 minutes of indirect questions. It's a good thing by Imperius that the criticality of thinking is close to zero. For questions: "Did you meet Dumbledore or Lupin on that day?" the thief answered immediately.
Now I know the current composition of the Order. They were at a meeting and are still alive and well.
Supreme Spider, Snape, McGonagall, Shacklebolt, Dingle, Vance.
What a pushy little company! Minus Moody, minus Figg, minus Arthur, minus Molly, and now minus Fletcher and minus Lupin. Heh-heh, I've already caused the Order damage comparable to that of the First Magic War. Voldemort would be proud of me. Though a bad uncle can only be jealous. We should worry about meeting Weasley's eldest sons. There's nothing for them to do among the supporters of light. Their place among the supporters of the grave.
I've learned a brief description and disposition of the order's members.
The order's meeting places that Fletcher knows about.
This is Hogwarts in Headmaster's office, providing guest rooms for the night. A rented house in Hogsmeade. A pharmacy on Diagon Alley, probably a pharmacist potential member of the Order. On Grimmo 12 in the canon of Dumbledore, only to destroy the Blacks.
The Order's immediate plans are simple and pushy. Thanks to Dumbledore's "authority" and Kingsley Shacklebolt's corrupt connections to organize a "search" for Harry Potter, and, arrest the boy and deliver the Spider packed and bowed. A very bearded man likes to work with other people's hands. Kingsley's already probed the ground and decided on the number of bribes.
Fletcher's criminal connections were great, so I needed a separate notebook. Among the "contacts," I recognized the "scribe," the shop of" wand seller and Bart," and their successors.
"The "Service" that the deceased "scribe" recommended to me turned out to be a banal slave shop.
Fletcher's secrets kept money worth about 3,000 galleons. 1,500 in an anonymous account at Gringotts and the rest in two places.
Fletcher's money will go to my advantage. Shacklebolt's plans are minus. I got to hurry up and get ahead of them.
"Kreacher! Put the prisoners to sleep, make sure they don't escape."
"They will not escape, sir! The house itself will not let them out, they are thieves!"
"Not just thieves, Kreacher."
I just thought it wasn't my role to punch in the face. I'm sorry!
*
Gringotts, conference room.
Around 5 a.m. on September 9, 1991.
*
The sleeping Shnagrog rubbed his eyes and spoke more slowly than usual, sometimes stopping to yawn.
"What brings you... ...heir to the Black family... so early... ...to Gringotts."
"Two things, Master Shnagrog. A desire to replenish the account and save your investment."
"Undoubtedly worthy of an heir to the cause. So..."
"I want to transfer all funds from this anonymous account to mine," I gave Shnagrog a paper with Fletcher's account details.
And Dumbledore may well know about it. It's with his love to go through other people's brains. Well, come on.
"I also need a C-rated anti-apparation shield and two mercenaries right now!"
Shnagrog looked at me sleepily and then yawned.
"Wait."
*
At 6:00 a.m., I took a taxi to Brantford with two mercenaries to the apartment at Kingsley Shacklebolt. The city had already woken up, but there was no traffic problem at that time. In half an hour, Confundus for the concierge and four floors, I'm standing at the door of Shacklebolt. The bell is ringing. Ringing.
"Who's there?"
"Sir, there's a flood in the apartment downstairs, we need to check the pipes in your apartment. We've been called in by Mr. Kirk, the concierge."
When the door opened, Shacklebolt got shot in the knee and Confundus in the face. The mercenaries put him to sleep and tied him up, and then I let them go.
I called Kreacher to transport Shacklebolt, and I went home.