Two years later
"You're early today," says my partner Eddie. He took this job to support his wife and two daughters. I look at his bright eyes and the bags under them, smile and nod. He won't last long, he's too domestic and completely normal. He's my third partner in the last few months. I've lasted longer than him, and I'm still alive.
"You should get some sleep. Add three drops of dreamless sleep potion to your unsweetened chamomile tea. It works well. It's not addictive, and it won't poison you." Nodding wearily, the mage heads for the administrative building. He has to submit his monthly report today, and the stupid bureaucratic machine shows no mercy even in such a trivial matter.
After double-checking all the artefacts and putting some necessary items in my pockets, I headed to the prison. Today I was filling in for Tomps, who had replaced Stevenson a year ago. Stevenson had lost his mind, forgot to put on some protective artefacts, and was almost eaten alive by Dementors. He was now resting in Mungo's. The bald paw sits quietly in my pocket. It always accompanies me to work now, as does a full first-aid kit. Strangely enough, no one has turned me in to the other guards. The corpses from the first four floors haven't been taken out in recent years. The crooks and thieves figured out who I am. And despite the reward, the attempts on my life have stopped. At least, not from the mages. But I have two werewolf corpses on my conscience. One was waiting for me near the Forbidden Forest, and the other was not far from the pharmacy. I should have stuck with what I had learned earlier. I may have had little magic and many spells didn't work, but my brain worked. Spells for caring for animals: clipping claws and wool, which could seriously damage the skin if overdone. Although it required almost no magical power. Various types of sleeping spells for caring for babies. I especially liked the one used by Lockhart, which removed bones from the unfortunate. He saved my life twice. And both times Malpepper made me an offer I couldn't refuse - to sell the unlucky mercenaries for ingredients.
Passing by Kerrow, I cast a spell on the mirror out of habit, so they can look. I've been doing this for six months now. Ever since I cured Alecto. One way or another, many people have received help from me. Everyone except the Lestranges. They won't back down from their plan, I saw it in their eyes and felt it in their breath. My ugly mug will keep them awake at night after they're released. True, I had no intention of changing my plans.
Every day I read the newspapers carefully, but even without them I always knew what was going on. On the day the black mark came to life, I was on duty. Now Bella didn't swear, her laughter rang out more and more often within the walls of Azkaban. The witch was waiting. And so was I.
"Dolohov." Greetings had also become something of a ritual.
"Oh, Henley," the fighter replied with a smirk.
"Carrow," Amicus didn't answer me, but Alecto always smiled. Now she remembered how to do it. Ugly and emaciated, she was transformed when she smiled at me, the outcast and the freak. That's how pure-bloods are, the most notorious Death Eaters.
"I'll kill you, bastard, soon." It was the only time Rudolphus had ever spoken to me. Of course, as the Head of the Clan, it was his duty to cleanse him of his filth.
I grin as nastily as I can. I've spent the last three days here. I've been replacing both guards, and I know that the Master will soon come to rescue them. How I've been waiting for him.
I walk past silently. I also remember my trip to Gringotts and the five Galleons I paid for a consultation with a goblin. I was interested in one question. Could I kill them and not get a kickback from Magic? Am I considered their relative? Mr. Grabbuch bared his teeth and explained the nuances to me. If my blood had not been burned out, after the death of my direct heirs, I could claim part of their fortune and try to pass certain rituals, which would allow me to found a side branch in the future. The main branch would not accept me. And in that case, if I killed any of the Lestranges, that is, took the lives of representatives of the main branch, I would become a Blood Traitor. But in my case, I had neither the blood nor the magic of the Lestranges. One ritual burned everything away, and then the respected director conducted his experiment, trying to create a magical core with channels through an artefact and a ritual. This path had limitations and was only suitable for people like me, because a Muggle would have been killed on the spot. But let's get back to our sheep, that is, to the Lestranges. For the murder of these mages, as the last Representatives of their Lineage, Magic will take its toll. The offering must be serious, and the ritual must be performed no later than an hour from now. At the end, the goblin twitched a little, noticing my smirk.
Returning after my rounds, I looked at Wizers. I wonder if he feels anything for his prisoners? Does he feel sorry for them? Does he even think about them? This guard hadn't changed at all; in all the time I'd been working here, I hadn't seen a single emotion. He could work here for another fifty years and still be sitting in the same chair. An angular, grey-haired mage of no apparent age. I hoped my plan would work and that when the attack came, Wizers would head for the administration building to wait for reinforcements from the Aurors. I didn't want any unnecessary casualties.
Today, the walls seemed to be pressing down not from the outside, but from the inside. Waiting, all these years I had lived for it. I couldn't leave England. Something was wrong with the artefact that the director had used in his time. I couldn't leave the island - sharp pain, dizziness. And when I tried to apparate or use a portkey, it was easier to split apart than to get to the right place. I waited, making another round, transfigured my chair into a small sofa, and lay down to sleep. The warning spells would work in any case.
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