Chương 24: Chapter 23
Some time later.
"Are you sure we should go through the Ministry for this?" I asked as we approached the building of the relevant government body.
It was located in the main magical settlement of Germany — Zauberdorf.
What can be said about it? It's something between Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, but with its own national flair. A small medieval-style town. Though it looks like that, it was built even before Durmstrang, and wizards have likely conducted business here since before Hogwarts. After all, even in those ancient times, wizards preferred not to unite, but trade — trade makes life much easier, even for us.
So, in its day, representatives of the magical community from across the Holy Roman Empire gathered here.
With its dissolution — a change even noticed by the magical world — the population here decreased, and many smaller settlements were founded based on national, rather than political, lines. But this place can still impress with its scale. In fact, when I first visited this place, I couldn't hide my astonishment.
"It's necessary. They'll find out we've been to Britain anyway, and for what purpose. Registering our trip across the Channel and giving them a small head start in acquiring information in exchange for the appearance of weakness and submission to the official government is a worthy trade-off. Let them arrogantly believe that we're considering their wishes. Besides, they won't be able to do anything with that information. After all, old Dumbledore won't tolerate the Americans encroaching on his independence, even though they share much of the same ideology," the blonde explained calmly as she elegantly sidestepped a man hurrying past.
The main street, which was quite wide, was lined with a variety of shops offering all sorts of goods. Unlike Hogsmeade, where mostly English and partly Scottish wizards gathered (while the Irish had their own settlement), Zauberdorf was initially built to gather wizards from the single European superpower of old. That's why, even today, you can meet wizards from all sorts of backgrounds here.
Many of the buildings have been rebuilt over time, but no one thought to reduce their number. In recent times, it's become customary for middle-class wizards to live where they also conduct their business. A kind of magical bourgeoisie, or "burghers," as my mother called them not too long ago.
"I see, so with us..."
"Ooh la la... Look who it is!" a cheerful voice interrupted my sentence from a few meters away. "Hilda! It's been a while..."
Turning around, I saw a violet-eyed brunette who looked about twenty-five.
With a light smile and an overall disheveled appearance, he gave off an air of a carefree slacker, though not entirely. He was dressed in a robe that combined gold, black, and white in surprisingly harmonious fashion.
My mother's cold gaze, which could make a man decades older than her nervous, didn't seem to faze this... I'll call him a slacker for now. She sighed heavily... Wait, what? My mother took off her mask of the icy, emotionless queen? And not just when we're alone?
I stared at this gentleman with interest, who had suddenly become quite a curious figure in my eyes.
"You haven't changed, Wilhelm," the blonde looked at him disapprovingly. "It's unbecoming for the head of an ancient and noble house to behave this way."
Wow... So he's not just some half-blood, but actually behaves like that and isn't ashamed... A fascinating person, but not exactly pleasant. I usually don't like slackers. Ivan's kind of an exception, and even then, I'd call him more of a lazybones than a slacker.
"How many times have I asked you? Just call me Willy! Oh, and... By the way... This must be your son, right? Looks just like you, but with that grumpy Conrad's eyes," he rattled off quickly, squinting cheerfully and almost rocking back on his heels.
"Adalbert Friedrich Stahlwolf... A pleasure to meet you," I replied, slightly surprised by his energy. I had gotten used to guests at our house being composed and calm... And I had never seen this person among them.
"Meet Wilhelm Ulrich Schwarzwolf, the current head of the Schwarzwolf family," my mother said with a sigh.
In general, there's an interesting story about my ancestors. Once upon a time, the unified Wolf family — one of whose leaders was said to be a friend and ally of Durmstrang's founder — had quite a few side branches. But as a result of a feud with another family, now long destroyed but equally powerful back then, the main branch was severely weakened.
When the last representative of the main branch died, there was almost a free-for-all. In the end, almost miraculously, the matter was resolved relatively peacefully. All the side branches simply became independent families. So, the proud Wolf family ended up with five distinct heirs. Some of the former branches were openly hostile, while others maintained friendly relations. The Schwarzwolf and the Stahlwolf, as I recall from a rather tedious book, are neither friends nor enemies these days.
This is because we interact with them very rarely. The Schwarzwolfs live in southwestern Germany, and they even attend Beauxbatons instead of Durmstrang. That's probably why I've never seen them in person before, nor this Wilhelm.
"Why so formal? We're not at a formal gala..." this jolly fellow said with a note of mock indignation. "And after all, we've known each other since we were kids..." This last remark naturally piqued my interest. "Oh yes, I see the curiosity in your eyes, lad. For example, did you know that fifteen years ago, Hilda wasn't such a bore—"
The brunette didn't get to finish his sentence due to a very indignant, yet somehow still quite polite, cough nearby.
My mother's icy, fury-filled gaze promised all sorts of retribution for this... ahem, Willy. Under that glare, he even flinched a little. But the theatricality of his movements was undeniable — he oozed dramatic flair.
Such a revelation about my mother's past... Fascinating, fascinating.
I had always thought she had projected this image of an impenetrable fortress and icy mountain her whole life, even as a teenager.
It's honestly hard to imagine her with a different personality, but there you have it.
"Alright, alright, I can see I'm not welcome here... And since my life and skin are still dear to me..." Not finishing his sentence and waving his hand, he quickly disappeared into the crowd of passersby. Left without a trace — made quite the fuss and then vanished. A jester in one word.
"Dummkopf," my mother muttered unexpectedly harshly, but with a satisfying succinctness, expressing her opinion of Schwarzwolf. "Ilvermorny had a bad influence on him."
"Ilvermorny?" I raised my eyebrows in surprise. An heir to an old family going to the birthplace of all that Muggle-born activism?
"I understand your surprise," she nodded, resuming her walk. "But that was the situation at the time. The former head of the Schwarzes, to prevent even the slightest chance of a family feud over his position — one he himself went through — sent Wilhelm, his second son, to America. He didn't particularly care what would become of the already restless child, since he had a beloved older son. But, alas, plans only last until their execution. A tragic accident claimed the life of the first son, and the one who inherited everything is the very person you just saw. The previous head didn't have time to reform him... And here we are." The blonde twitched her cheek in frustration.
"Could he really have...?" I glanced in the direction where Willy had disappeared.
"No, he's not like Sirius Black the Third or his friend — James Potter, whom we mentioned not long ago. Thankfully... That kind of disgrace would be too much." Hildegarde shrugged. "The only thing to respect about this insufferable boy, who behaves even younger than you..." There was a note of approval in her voice. Directed at me, of course. "Is that he managed to resist the brainwashing at Ilvermorny and didn't start fawning over Muggle-borns, Muggles, and other filth." Her voice was filled with open disdain.
Well, I can't really blame her for that. She's never interacted with Muggles and relies only on secondhand information. As for Muggle-borns, they're represented here by the idiots in the Ministry, which, of course, has its own impact.
If my mother were to meet reasonable Muggle-borns and learn more about Muggles, her attitude would surely change — though not to the outright ridiculous extremes that I currently observe among the Americans and, to some extent, Dumbledore.
...As agreed with the Bathorys and the Karpishins, we planned to meet at the Ministry. The building itself was a massive structure of... No, it was definitely not medieval Gothic... Something more modern, probably Renaissance. That's as far as my modest architectural knowledge could take me. After all, very few wizards these days are fully trained architects.
If I were to compare it to something, the Ministry resembled the Wolfenbüttel Castle, only with fewer windows, a bit more monumental... And, how should I put it... Magical, mysterious, and enigmatic.
At the entrance, though there were wizards sitting in Gothic-style booths, they didn't pay us any attention.
Ah, no, one of them lazily glanced at us. Honestly, anyone could just walk in and attack. Seems like this is a problem for all Ministries of Magic. They're not used to terrorism, after all — the only time they were attacked was during the World War in the middle of this century.
Are they counting on the attackers being overpowered by sheer numbers in case of an incident? What if the attack is well-organized, unlike what we saw in canon?
In general, everything is clear to me now. This is purely a civilian building. Upon entering, we found ourselves in a massive hall, about three times larger than the entire exterior of the building. Large-scale space-expansion charms... Oh-ho-ho. What would happen if those were destroyed? You could bury all the wizards inside right away. Even Apparition or Portkeys likely wouldn't help, as the spatial distortions would create such chaos that... Well, if it ever comes to a full-blown war with Ministry officials, I already know where to strike.
Even at first glance, it was clear that there were swarms of wizards bustling about, immediately reminding me that pureblood families are in the minority. But if you look deeper... What do most wizards possess in terms of combat abilities? Mid-to-low-level Transfiguration, standard Bombarda spells, and maybe some disarming and immobilizing charms... It's laughable.
Compared to what was shown in the canon, it seems like a lot. Compared to the reality I've been living in for fifteen years — it's not even funny.
From the hall, dozens of corridors branched out, each lined with several doors and, at the end of each, elevators — a highly unusual feature for the magical world. Elevators were first introduced by the Americans, who constantly relocated their version of the Ministry, and the British only adopted the idea later. The German Ministry, for obvious reasons (their dependence on MACUSA), also implemented it. However, the French still ignore such inventions, preferring to walk or use various magical means of transportation.
But we weren't interested in the other floors of this place.
We had arranged to meet the Bathorys and Karpishins right here, in the Hauptsaal.
For an ordinary person, not someone who had lived among wizards for years, it would be difficult to distinguish an expensive robe from a cheap one, since both look quite unusual and old-fashioned. The same goes for the reverse: a wizard wouldn't be able to tell the difference between expensive and cheap Muggle clothing either, but that's beside the point.
To my eyes, well-off purebloods stood out immediately among the other wizards, not so much in their behavior as in their appearance. As the saying goes, people are judged by their clothes.
I suppose my mother spotted them even before I did, since she was the first to head toward the northeast part of this almost perfectly round room. Despite the fact that we were practically weaving our way through a crowd rushing about their business, we were noticed just as quickly.
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