POV In Headmaster Howarth's office.
— Impudent boy! — the ministerial official hisses — How dare he? — The man didn't want to admit that he didn't have the guts to say those words to the teenager's face. — Headmaster Dumbledore, something must be done!
— What's the problem? — The older man acted surprised. — Act according to the law. There are several mechanisms, use them. — Short pause. — Did you go to the goblins?
— Yes, — the guest grimaced. — We were told that this case does not involve clan inheritance, clan preservation, or other cases described in the Peace Treaty, so they have no right to interfere.
— And what about the workers in the workshops? — The director, who already knew everything, asked with great interest.
— The boy signed magic contracts, so it's no use... .... — The minister's clerk looked around the office, as if searching for answers, but apparently not finding them, and looked back at the owner of the office. — We have to do something! We can't leave it like this! — was the sudden thought. — He's a minor, a child, and you've been working with these people for years! I'm sure you'll find a way to influence him!
— You are right, — the elder shook his head and turned his wise, kind eyes to the bird. — Over the years, I have had to deal with many different types of children. And every child, I have found, is different in some way.... Yes. — There was a silence, but not a long one, for both had lived under the overcast skies of England for years.
— I think the two gentlemen can agree on that. — nodded thoughtfully.
— Indeed... — smiled the rugged politician, judge, victor of the Dark Lords, and most importantly, headmaster of Hogwarts School.
***
— Hey Megan, how are you?
— Hi...
— How are you? Business?
— No adventures. — The girl shrugged. — Why, there are offers, you didn't just get in touch, right? — A look of interest gleamed.
— You're right. — I turn to a serious tone. — I need a squad of mage fighters, at least a dozen. So that I can count on them in case of trouble. I'll pay the standard rate with a magic contract. How about it?
— Boy, I like you, but I don't want to get involved in shady business and I don't want to get my own people into trouble... — the girl frowned a little. — What's going on?
— In a nutshell, the local bureaucrats want to squeeze my business, and there is a real threat that words will soon turn into deeds. The locals, as you understand, have families and relatives that even a sworn man can be pressured by, so I need someone who is not a local.
— So no smuggling, armed assault, robbery, or anything like that? — He squinted at the dark-haired beauty.
— Security for my businesses in a single area, as well as my construction site. The construction site is staffed by the ungifted, and they can be influenced.
— Hmmm, how many magicians do you need exactly?
— How many do you have? — I blinked and smiled mischievously, because the girl had already agreed.
— There are twenty-eight gifted men and women of varying strength in my company .....
— And what would you think of the fact that I am offering you and your people an interest-free loan to move to the UK permanently and bring the business here as well?
— Tempting... — the girl stretched out her hand and looked at me suspiciously. — But what will you take payment for if not money?
— Loyalty. — No doubt, no delay. — I need reliable, loyal people who will not betray me. And the priority of my orders. That's it.
— Hmmm... that's kind of superficial...
— Loyalty and honesty are worth a lot.
— It sounds like you're asking me to join a clan.
— Would you join? — I blinked.
— No, — the girl shook one of her braids. — Not now. Later. I don't know.
— When can I expect you? — Let her think about it, she's a good girl, and she's unlikely to tolerate bastards around her, so I don't mind such servants.
— A few days. — the girl looked away, thinking, even biting her lip. — A week. A week.
— All right, then. On the ninth day, starting tomorrow, you will be picked up at London airport. I'll check your flights. — I pause for a moment, looking into the beautiful brown eyes of the brown-haired girl. — Think about moving. Really think about it. There are very few reputable companies like yours around here, mostly half-bandit mercenaries. I'll see you later.
— Bye! — replies the girl, breaking off the connection.
The artifact in her hands is covered with a web of black lines, and it smells of burning. It's disposable.