Monday, the eighth of January. The first day of lessons in the new sester. Needless to say, the students — while glad enough to be back at Hogwarts, to see their friends and all the rest of it — were decidedly unhappy about having to study again, and to do so at a punishing pace. Plenty of people weren't pleased about it, and the professors launched straight in, demanding howork to the hilt, loading everyone with theory and practical work, and handing out mountains of assignnts. The paradox, however, was that the lot of us — my housemates, my classmates — handled all these so-called hardships perfectly well, simply by getting everything done at once and carving out a bit more ti for independent study in our schedules.
But the most important event of that day, as far as I was concerned, was a brief conversation with Daphne. In it, I made my request: that she arrange a eting with her parents. I already had more than enough information — from the little spiders, from open sources, from the yellow press: the Economic Herald, the Prophet, even the Quibbler. Though getting anything useful out of the last one — published by Xenophilius Lovegood — required a particularly masochistic relationship with one's own brain. Grains of truth were buried under tonnes of inside-out reasoning, hidden behind unthinkable verbal arabesques and entirely invented facts and stories.
— Tell what you're planning, — Daphne said, when we were standing near the doors of the Great Hall after lessons.
— As I see it, I have an opportunity to put a stop to their attempts to marry you off to the first passable candidate for the sake of so dubious advantage.
— My word, — Daphne said, with genuine surprise, not bothering at all to control her expression. — That is quite a statent.
— Yes. And really, before I go ahead and do anything, I wanted to ask you — do you actually want that?
— You're not quite seeing it correctly, Hector, — she smiled. — I, and most girls from families like mine, don't approach this particular question that way. We're raised to accept our parents' opinions and decisions in such matters — the family's. Intellectually, I understand it can make life easier just as easily as it can make it harder. But the intellect... Well. What I know for certain right now is that I don't want to end up with just anyone.
— There are those — experienced adults — who will tell you that arranged marriages are often far more durable.
— Do you realise you're playing your own hand right now? — Daphne tilted her head slightly, studying my face with a smile.
— I'm trying to work out whether to act in a way that simply stops your parents from trying to betroth you to soone, or in a way that makes look like an attractive prospect for an arrangent myself.
— The second option sounds considerably better. If our relationship were ever to reach that point... I'd rather not act against their wishes.
— Understood. Will you be there?
— That's not necessary. My presence might make them behave differently from what you need. They'll want to demonstrate to their wayward daughter how proper wizards conduct themselves.
It was precisely this conversation that led to the eting with Daphne's parents being arranged for Tuesday evening — imdiately after lessons, naturally. And of course, proud pure-blood wizards could not be expected to condescend to co anywhere near Hogwarts. I suppose they imagined it would cause considerable inconvenience. And they weren't entirely wrong. Leaving Hogwarts itself was simple enough with a bit of practice — the professors didn't seem to monitor it particularly closely — but the Scottish Highlands surrounding the castle, with nothing for miles in any direction but forests, fields, hills and stone, were a rather more serious obstacle for a fifth-year. They had also chosen sowhere suitably distinguished: a small restaurant on that pleasant, straight little street behind Gringotts. The ti was ten minutes after the end of the last lesson on Tuesday. All in all, they were clearly trying to put in an unflattering light.
So, on Tuesday, the mont lessons ended, I stepped into the nearest empty classroom, changed in under a minute — school robes out, the suit from the miracle-fabric in — made another ntal note to check the tree — threw on a cloak, and left the Hogwarts grounds at sothing close to a run. I Apparated into the dead-end passage between the entrance to Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron, and a mont later I was already walking down the main magical thoroughfare of London.
The snow here was almost entirely gone — only a little remained on the rooftops, and that, I was sure, was kept purely for decoration. The wizards around had a grey, exhausted look about them, though that was understandable enough — it was the end of the working day.
I reached the restaurant two minutes before the appointed ti and walked straight in.
The décor was sowhat unfamiliar to my personal tastes — baroque, in soft pastel tones, rich with small details throughout. But in broad terms, it was all perfectly legible: a reception desk staffed by a pair of witches who greeted guests warmly and showed them to their tables — and I was no exception. There were no private rooms for dining and conversation; all the tables were open to the room. The few patrons present, however, had enclosed themselves in one-way privacy charms. One-way, presumably, so they could still hear the classical music drifting from the quartet of enchanted string instrunts.
The woman from reception led to a table where I recognised two familiar faces — Mr and Mrs Greengrass. They were not alone. With them sat a third wizard, not young, and with sothing about him I couldn't quite place — a vague resemblance to soone I knew, though I couldn't yet say whom.
Under the mildly surprised and displeased gazes of all three, I took the seat across from them and smiled.
— Mr Greengrass. Mrs Greengrass. Unknown wizard. Pleased to et you.
— Mr Granger, — the blond man, William Greengrass, said, drawing out the words. — It seems you managed to find the opportunity and join us after all.
Sofia Greengrass — a brunette, her style of dress carrying distinctly French inflections — smiled with the very corners of her lips, a smile of exquisite, deliberate politeness. The third wizard, however — older, spare of fra, with an unmistakeable streak of grey in what had once been chestnut hair, now faded to a pale, washed-out blond — watched with an intensity that suggested he was attempting to dissect a frog on an examination table.
— Allow to introduce you, young man. Henry Nott.
Nott gave a brief nod — and even that only for the sake of appearances.
— A pleasure, — I said, with an open smile.
The al ca first, naturally — conversation later. So it went this ti as well. All three of them did their level best to weigh down with their stares, to unsettle , to shake my composure. It rolled off like water off a duck. I ate calmly and with moderate decorum, giving the wizarding cuisine its due credit, observing etiquette throughout — credit for that goes to the setting and to the elf-shards, which together drew out the right, appropriate behaviour without any conscious effort on my part.
When we had finished eating and moved on to drinks, we agreed that the ti for conversation had arrived.
— You know, — I began, — I'm not particularly fond of empty talk and all manner of verbal dancing around the point. So I suggest we save your ti.
— We are no less interested in saving our ti, — Nott said sternly, — when speaking with you.
— To business, then. I have received information suggesting that you, Mr Greengrass, were at one ti interested in the Nott lands and their production.
The elder Nott's eye twitched. It did. I have no idea how or why he'd co to be here, but I had no intention of sparing his peace of mind. And he had the Mark on his arm — I could feel it. As it happened, I understood how to use the Mark. Perhaps I ought to test one of its functions? Focusing, I executed what I had in mind with ease — courtesy of the excellent mind and an understanding of the deep essence of magic. Nott's eye twitched again, and he even reached his right hand towards the Mark before stopping himself.
— That is correct, — Greengrass nodded. — And it is hardly a closely guarded secret.
Nott continued to endure it, and I increased the strength of the "summons."
— I apologise, — he said, rising from his chair at a asured pace, preserving his dignity, — but I find myself obliged to leave your company.
— Leaving already, Henry? — Greengrass asked, looking surprised.
— Yes. Circumstances.
Nott shot a venomous look and left the restaurant at a steady, unhurried stride. Amusing. Yet another confirmation that the Dark Lord had returned — Nott had hurried off to answer the "summons."
— Let us continue, — I picked up the wine glass from the table, turned it in my hand, and inhaled the aroma. Quite decent, though I'm no expert. — As things currently stand, those lands and all production on them happen to be entirely and completely mine.
— Kh— — Greengrass, who had followed my example and gone to take a sip of wine, choked on it. Mrs Greengrass, by contrast, kept her composure considerably, considerably better — so that was where Daphne had learnt to wear masks.
— Indeed, — I had only to nod at the bewildernt on the face of Daphne's father. — The ways of rlin are inscrutable.
— I have far too many questions, — Mr Greengrass blotted his lips with a napkin, composing himself quickly. — But I'll set aside simple curiosity — such as how a Muggle-born schoolboy cos by money — and ask the real question: why are you telling this, and what is it you want?
— Oh, it's quite simple. You were sufficiently interested in those lands and their production that you were prepared to arrange a marriage between Daphne and Theodore. The lands and production would have remained with the Notts, but you would have been able to make use of them as your own. My offer is straightforward — I can give them to you outright.
— Outright?
— Precisely, — I took another sip of wine. — There are no curses on them. While they were in the possession of a certain French businessman, he carried out a degree of improvent work. Nothing grand, but every trace of that century of stagnation is gone.
That information about the work carried out had been provided by Delacour along with all the docuntation, and I, not being a fool, had familiarised myself with it.
— Offers this enticing are generally too good to be true.
Ha. I don't share that view, but I'll keep that to myself. Local wizards simply place too much stock in such things. Too much attachnt to the past.
— You want to know the catch?
— Naturally.
— There isn't one. There are a number of conditions.
— And what conditions might those be? I hope you don't imagine, Mr Granger...
Greengrass attempted to press down on with his gaze, even adding a touch of magic. It was almost embarrassing — his complete inability to affect even slightly. Though Daphne had said that her parents were considerable experts in charms, and charms were not simply a matter of raw power.
— ...that the conditions for you will be the sa as those for the Notts?
— Please don't apply pressure with magic, — I continued smiling. — Raw power is not your strong suit, as I understand it.
— Hm, — both Mr Greengrass and his wife lifted their chins in unison. What a performance. Honestly.
— The condition is simple. You receive the lands and their production in your full ownership. In return, you cease all attempts to arrange Daphne's marriage to anyone. If anyone is to make that decision — it will be her, of her own free mind, free from magical influence or pressure on your part, or that of your acquaintances, godparents, or anyone else admitted to the family circle.
— And how exactly do you intend to ensure that?
— Not I, Mr Greengrass. Not I. A contract. And ideally — an Unbreakable Vow.
— Have you lost your mind?! — Greengrass exclaid, half-rising from his chair, before his wife's hand settled quietly on his forearm and stilled him.
— Think carefully, Mr Greengrass...
He leaned forward slightly across the table.
— You think we would entrust the fate of our daughter to a Muggle-born? While the Dark Lord has returned?
— That won't last long. I an the Dark Lord.
The wizards frowned, trying to work out what I ant.
— He lost the mont he turned to violence. Whatever the circumstances, he will lose again. The only question is when. But let us not dwell on the bleak. As you may have noticed, I am not demanding Daphne's hand in exchange for the lands. I am rely asking you not to interfere, and I am not asking for free. As for "entrusting a daughter to a Muggle-born"... I know how to protect what is mine, you may ask... Oh. What an unfortunate oversight.
I conjured a tiny pellet of Dark Magic at the highest concentration above my palm. It humd there briefly, and I closed my fist sharply.
— There's no one left to ask. You won't receive a more advantageous offer in exchange for non-interference from anyone. And on the whole, it is far better to cooperate than to sharpen knives against one another. There is no profit in enmity. As for the Dark Lord... his own followers don't want him alive. You, as a man of business, must be aware of the capital flight into foreign firms. Significant capital. And the sudden near-bankruptcy of many English families previously accused of aiding the Dark Lord. They are running, salvaging their money, whilst continuing to assure him of their loyalty.
— How could you possibly know any of this?
— Simply gathering information. Publicly available information, I should note. Consider the Triwizard Tournant alone — the nascent international cooperation that followed it, after which certain companies in certain European countries suddenly began to thrive. And for sothing to appear sowhere, it must disappear from sowhere else. It disappeared from here. So the Dark Lord is of no benefit to anyone at present. Except perhaps Dumbledore. The mont he stops being useful — he'll be "finished." Or perhaps I'm wrong, and we'll all die in agony — life is a thoroughly unpredictable thing.
— You are extraordinarily arrogant, overconfident... — Greengrass was indignant.
— You won't believe it, but I can afford to be. Well then, I've made my point clear. I've taken note of your position as well. I await your decision. Oh, one more thing. Those lands are of no use to . If they don't go to you — I'll burn them to the bedrock.
— That's an enormous amount of money! Around twenty thousand Galleons! — Daphne's father was not the most restrained of n. It seed Astoria had inherited more from him than just the hair colour.
— Is that all? Good day to you.
I took my leave and walked towards the restaurant's exit. I had made my opening move — and infuriated everyone imnsely. Now we would see what ca next.
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