CHAPTER 4
I smiled as I poured another glass of Ogden's Fire Whiskey into the glass that was held out to me.
- Oh, Mr. Lockhart, you have no idea how difficult the job is in the Department of Magical Education. Ever since Minister Spencer-Moon, who fought in the war with Grindelwald, we have had complete chaos in education not only in Nessus and Ramminghall, but in Hogwarts itself. Hogwarts!
Firthwick Lionel, Lockhart's former acquaintance and now my unwitting informant, waved his fat finger. Taking a sip from his glass, the said intelligent one looked critically at the saucers with fried sausages and heartburn crackers.
- I understand. It is such a responsible job - to regulate the education of the younger generations. And you are probably coping with the responsibility, despite all the problems.
The plump man, dressed in a dark blue robe, straightened up and, finally having made his choice, grabbed the largest sausage.
- Exactly. Exactly. Only recently we were able to put together a great schedule of the material to be taught for all seven Hogwarts years and five of Ness and Ramminghall's years. The only problem so far is with DADA. The Ministry's experts disagree on the material to be taught, and the fact that Hogwarts has been changing its DADA teacher every year lately doesn't help matters. But we'll deal with that too!
I nod my head in agreement, a bright smile on my face. There was a buzz of voices from the other patrons of one of the taverns on Silver Street, but none of the others present could hear our conversation due to my privacy charm.
- And what is the problem? They can't decide what to study first: expeliarmus or petrificus?
- Oh, my friend, this is more complicated. The whole point is... Hic
Trying to pause dramatically, the official hiccupped, blowing a small flame onto the heartburn crackers. The drink snack began to crackle.
... in Muggle-born wizards. More precisely, in the conflict between the pure-blood and Muggle-born parties. After the war with you-know-who, the latter's position has strengthened, and they demand that the list of spells taught in magical schools be expanded. And everything would be fine if they did not demand that it include spells and knowledge taught only at the academy under the Auror Office. Idiots who do not understand that to study some areas of magic, preparation and discipline are needed, and where can snot-nosed schoolchildren get them?
- As an expert in combating dark creatures, I can't help but agree with you. Without proper training and self-discipline, I could have become a vampire's snack in Romania. Any other Hogwarts graduate could have faced a much sadder fate. But luckily, I was there!
- During a pleasant conversation, I even forgot who I was sitting with. You know, after reading "Meeting with Vampires" my wife talked about you so much that I even started to feel jealous.
- Ha-ha. Don't worry, seducing married wives is not what a real man should do. And how can your wife look at others with such a responsible and strong man.
With cheeks flushed from alcohol, Lionel smiled at my undisguised flattery. I carefully and methodically sifted through other people's thoughts, memorizing the names and surnames of important people at the ministry or those who might be useful to me in the future. In the evening, I would have a headache from using Legilimency so often, but this price was nothing compared to preserving the future of the world. Although I find it rather ironic that I became a master Legilim during the years of the Cataclysm. It would seem, how can the ability to "dig" into someone else's head help when you practically fight the undead and monsters every day, whose only thought in their heads is to devour you? It came in handy. Mostly for my own. When you see the raised dead every day, who in the past could have been your friends or acquaintances, then your roof can slowly go off. But changing the magical background is not like changing fresh air to stale. It is much more serious. After all, magic in the surrounding world has always affected the mental component of intelligent beings. Just as feelings can enhance magic, so can magic enhance feelings. And what kind of mood can a person have after the death of loved ones and whose emotions are enhanced by magic filled with emanations of death? Nightmares, paranoia and nervous breakdowns in wizards - this was the most harmless. And for more advanced cases, "brainwashers" were needed, as one of the Muggle-borns absurdly and at the same time accurately called the Legilimens. After all, who can better help with internal fears, "demons", if not someone who can essentially feel your pain, understand what happened from your point of view? For the first five years of the cataclysm, I was this very "brainwasher". Although other "brainwashers" did not last even six months. It is not for nothing that the Russians have a saying "someone else's soul is darkness". However, my own "incredibly long work experience" can easily be explained by the fact that I'm just a callous bastard. Ha-ha.
- Your words, Lockhart, have really calmed me down. You certainly have no problems finding your other half.
I smiled proudly, with a hint of visible embarrassment. Lockhart, and now I, could convey many emotions and feelings through my facial expressions.
- I won't argue with you. It's not for nothing that my smile takes first place in the witch-polite. But as for the demands of the Muggle-borns - that's really funny. They would also demand that the archives of the Department of Mysteries be opened and the books from it added to the school libraries, opening access to them even for first-years.
- Exactly, exactly.
The amber liquid filled the new glasses. The plump official decided to tear himself away from the sausages and move on to the heartburn crackers, a fairly common snack among British wizards. There was a crunching sound, and the official himself exhaled steam from his mouth with satisfaction.
- And what is the minister's opinion?
- Bagnold is more inclined to the moderate position. She generally agrees to expand the list of taught spells, but not higher than the third category of danger. She still remembers what happened in the Magic Maker in the late thirties, when the Muggle-born "communists" ...
The official made a face.
... decided that they knew everything. I don't understand at all how they got their hands on a book with a written spell of hellfire.
- Hmm. Dozens of dead students from one, albeit the most common among its category, spell of the fifth danger category. It is hard to imagine what will happen if, for example, the archive of the Department of Mysteries, where most of the spells of this category are recorded, becomes accessible to everyone.
- I don't know what's written there and what's not. These bastards always have a secret in mind. They keep secrets, make faces like Malfoy's, and don't let anyone up to their level. I've been thinking for a long time that they've made a little corner there with explosive cards and fire whiskey, and don't let anyone in so they don't get caught. Well, who gives them orders? They've already sent one of the ministers in the past, so what's going to stop them in this case? What sly bastards.
Firtwick clicked his tongue in admiration.
- Probably many want to get there. Such independence, and the salaries in the secrets department must be quite high.
Firtwick waved his hand dismissively.
- It's hard to get in there. They're looking for new employees themselves. And they mostly make Malfoy faces under their masks. Of all their employees, only the head of the department has his face open. Only he practically lives on level nine.
Smiling, I looked into Lionel's eyes. In his thoughts flashed figures in black robes that completely concealed their bodies and white masks without a single pattern or hole. At the mention of the head of the department, the blurred face of an unremarkable middle-aged man flashed, but due to the passage of time his entire figure was illegible, so the face might be slightly different. Memories are not like a photograph. They can easily change due to the influence of a person's personality and the training of his memory. Having already given up hope of finding an opportunity leading to the source of the information I was looking for, I came across one name. Rookwood.
- So nothing is known about the others at all? Not their names, not their appearance?
The plump official burped and replied.
- Yeah.
I was "looking" at the face of a black-haired, pockmarked man with a sharp gaze, escorted by Aurors, reflected in the memory. Augustus Rookwood. Death Eater and former employee of the Department of Mysteries, and now a "lodger" of Azkaban. Interesting. Perhaps I should find out what days are considered visiting days in the most terrible prison in magical Europe?
Albert Jones tapped his foot impatiently. Joshua Coffin sat at the table next to him, sipping a mug of lilac-colored brew with a relaxed expression.
- Do you think he can really do it?
- I showed you his artifacts.
- It's one thing to create an artifact, and another to understand how another wizard created it.
The shop owner remained silent in response to the Sharp Hoods gang member. He considered it pointless to respond to the words of an amateur who thought that quoting experts would make him seem more educated.
Albert looked at the corpulent man with displeasure. He doubted that it was worth coming here for some shady artifactor about which nothing was known. But there was no choice. Five minutes later there was a knock on the door of the private room for visitors of the White Wyvern tavern. One of Jones's subordinates stuck his head through the opened door.
- Boss, the expected man has arrived.
- Let him in.
The man entering in a black robe with a hood thrown over his head was met by the commanding and calm gaze of one of the not-so-low members of the Sharp Hoods group. "Gegenhain" silently nodded to those present and sat down at the table. A box with a spell of space expansion quickly appeared in front of the two people, inside which were the artifacts ordered the last time.
While the obese man was checking the order, Albert felt the questioning gaze of the newcomer.
- Do you accept orders to remove enchantments from artifacts?
- I accept.
Jones frowned at the bewilderment he heard in the answer.
- Something wrong?
- Isn't it more logical and cheaper to hire a curse breaker?
The man's face didn't change, but inside he grimaced as if he'd eaten a slice of lemon.
- This is a special case. The curse breakers I know have failed to cope with this task.
A small chest was placed on the wooden surface of the table. Half a meter high, made of wood with dark iron strips nailed to it, it looked as if it had been taken from the mansion of some aristocrat of the mid-nineteenth century half an hour ago.
- Do you want the contents to be kept safe?
The wizard, who was hiding his appearance, said it more affirmatively than questioningly.
- Certainly.
Albert nodded, carefully examining the magic wand that had appeared in the man's hand. "Gegenhain" silently pointed it at the chest. A golden glow passed along the contours of the object.
- It will cost five hundred galleons to remove the enchantment.
- I agree. Just do everything here in front of me.
There was only a nod from a head hidden by a hood enchanted with modified privacy magic. A large scroll of parchment with an alchemical circle drawn on it appeared on the table, and a chest quickly moved into the center of it. For the next hour and a half, Albert Jones and Joshua Coffin watched the wizard-artificer gesturing with a magical instrument and muttering inaudibly. The work of the 19th century masters vibrated, shone in various colors, and even cracked. At some point, there was a particularly loud crack, and the lid of the chest fell back.
- That's it. I'm waiting for payment.
- Of course, of course.
With a barely audible rustle of fabric being thrown aside, a man appears from the air in the corner of the room with his hand raised, holding a magic wand.
- Petrificus...
The red beam of the spell slams the wizard into the wall, before he can finish his spell. Albert himself, with wide eyes, watched as the beam of his immobolus - a paralyzing spell - was casually deflected to the side by the figure in the dark robe standing before him with a gloved palm. This was followed by a direct left punch to his nose, knocking him off his chair.
- Colloportus
- Shit!
Albert cursed from the floor, looking at his opponent who had blocked the door with a spell. Joshua Coffin, who had gotten up from the table, stepped aside with a neutral expression on his face. A powerful red beam struck the member of the "Sharp Hoods" who had tried to cast a new spell, completely destroying the protective film that had appeared due to the artifacts he had put on and knocking the magic wand out of his hands, dragging his body along the floor. The magic wand that had flown up to "Gegenhain" was kicked away by the toe of a boot to its other comrade.
- How much do you value your life?
A bored voice with a German accent rang out. Albert looked angrily at the figure in a dark hooded robe twirling a wand in his palm. The owner of Coffin's shop looked at what was happening with interest.
- My men are waiting for you outside. And if I die, all the Sharp Hoods will hunt you.
- And I wonder how the head of the Sharp Hoods himself will react to the fact that his left hand robbed his relative, taking the chest with the ingredients of his great-grandfather, who was a master potion maker? After that, will they torture you with the Cruciatus or throw you tied up in the basement with hungry rats?
Albert realized with a growing chill in his chest that his Occlumency shields were no barrier to the man standing before him. He glanced at the shopkeeper in the corner with clearly visible panic.
- Don't worry. Thanks to the privacy charm, only you can hear me.
A soothing voice came from under the hood, which in less than a minute struck terror into Jones's heart.
- What do you want?
Albert asked slowly, feeling cold sweat on his temple.
- It goes without saying that payment for the work performed will be in the amount of five hundred galleons...
With a wave of his hand, three objects flew out of the chest. Jones looked at the bundle with some kind of spine and two vials with transparent and silver liquids hanging in the air above the palm of the wizard standing in front of him.
… I value the preservation of your life in the form of these three ingredients. You can buy the safety of your secret for ingredients. My list is short, so you won't have many problems getting them. And, of course, as civilized people, we will conclude a written contract. Everything within the framework of business laws.
"What the f*ck are business laws?"
The approaching "ass" made Jones want to howl like a werewolf. But remembering what all this was being done for, he only clenched his teeth. A mocking question came from the figure standing in front of him, hiding his appearance.
- So are you buying or not?