The dark silver tux lay on the bed, rejected. As did the formal pants. Instead I stood there, gawking at the mirror, as Hestia and Hermione suited me up in a thick ensemble of black silk, with a notched collar and a cut-away front of the coat, a white shirt with gold filigree, a long wizard hat, and long black trousers ending in equally boring shoes. And then she put a cloak over my shoulders, leaving me a pimp-cane short of a complete Lucius Malfoyesque experience.
"This is ridiculous!" I growled, "I'm not going for a business meet wearing this rag."
"Harry," said Hestia, "this is for a reason, you know. That robe's crafted out of the finest acromantula silk gold can buy."
I knew that. I paid for it. Thank you very much.
"I want that tux, dammit!" I clarified.
Hestia and Hermione blinked at me, then at each other.
"That thing?" Hestia demanded, "for this meeting? No way."
"You've an image to maintain," Hermione offered.
"And I'm gonna maintain it with my tux." I said stubbornly.
"No you won't," Hestia snapped. Sometimes I wonder who's paying whom. "You aren't going out to charm some woman's panties away. Gideon Abbott is an old school traditionalist. For people like him, first impressions matter. You need to blend in with the right appearances, before you can mindfuck him into whatever crazy idea's cooking in that head of yours."
"I already told you my idea."
"And I still think it's crazy."
"I'd say otherwise," said Hermione, "if someone had bothered to tell me in the first place."
She glared at Hestia, and then both girls glared at me.
What good were World-Anchors when this is all the authority I get? My only solace was that Penelope was out with Tracey, visiting muggle properties with a Gringotts agent for my new factory premises. My badass and mysterious billionaire image would never recover.
Long story short. It was finally time for me to progress with my summer plans. You know the ones that involved getting a bit stabby with Narcissa's hubby and fucking things up for Broderick Greengrass. Turns out that my casual interest in Hannah Abbott and her mum had unveiled an opportunity that had not been available before. In fact, my chances of achieving my goals through this were higher than most.
Hence, this.
"Tell me again why you're not coming with me?"
Hestia sighed. "Because Gideon is a bigot who looks down at muggleborns and halfbloods like trash. You take me with you, and he'll place you right where he believes you are — A pro-muggleborn supporter."
"Isn't that what he is?" Hermione wondered.
"Not for this plan, he isn't." Hestia snapped. "Your political character can change according to the whims of your agendas. It's got nothing to do with his own feelings."
"Politics is so confusing."
"Sweet summer child…" Hestia murmured.
"Hestia… how are things progressing on the basilisk parts auction?" I asked, primarily to distract Hermione from the ongoing conversation. Despite her sharpness, Hermione lacked the kind of moral flexibility required to traverse the treacherous waters of pureblood politics.
"Basilisk?" Hermione perked up, turning to me. "Harry, what are you up to?"
Hestia came to the rescue. "He showed me the memory of his fight with the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. I'm no expert, but that thing is worth millions of galleons. Like, five to ten million."
Hermione choked. "Five to ten million galleons?"
Hestia arched an eyebrow. I wondered if this was a regular thing or Hermione was just having a bad day.
"You realise the Potter fortune alone holds eighteen million galleons as liquid cash, right?"
Judging from Hermione's face, she didn't. Weird. I had thought she'd have noticed it when I had shown her my Gringotts statements. I didn't want to do it, but it felt like what Harry Potter would have done in my place.
"Well, it is. Harry decided to get it harvested by professionals and then auction the harvest in small amounts to avoid saturating the market."
Hermione blinked. "Why'd that matter?"
Hestia sighed. "Basilisk parts are rare. Its hide is as strong as dragon hide, its blood and poison are powerful and expensive potion ingredients. Its bones would serve as wardstones and ritual components. It's eyes—"
"Eh, I think she got the point," I interjected.
Hestia frowned at me. "Point is, it's expensive because it's so rare. A thousand-year-old basilisk's fresh carcass? That's super rare. Salazar Slytherin's legendary basilisk? It's a relic." She turned to me. "I've sent private mails to celebrated potion masters and magical museums, and I've already got over two dozen bids."
Hermione gawked at her. "How do you know all this? Do they have classes on this stuff post Hogwarts?"
Hestia threw her head back and laughed. "It wasn't my idea, dummy. It was all his."
Hermione looked at me, perplexed. "How do you know all that?"
"My uncle worked as an Executive?" I said with a half-shrug.
"Lamest excuse ever," Hestia muttered under her breath.
"Truth is often stranger than fiction," I said sagely, and adjusted my coat. "Any interesting bidders?"
"Many. Aristedes Trismegistus, Heinrich Agrippa, Solomon Rothschild, Nicholas Flamel…" She trailed off.
"Nicholas Flamel," I muttered, unable to contain the smile on my face. I had Hestia target a very specific audience on the continent, drawing the attention from the Death-Eater circles. I had no doubt that people like Lucius Malfoy and Eustace Selwyn would try obstructing this deal. In reality, the only fish I was targeting was sitting in France. This private auction bid was simply an elaborate charade.
One that Flamel would no doubt recognize. But petty games like this were exactly how business was done.
"How much did he bid?"
Hestia grinned like a cherub. "Absolutely nothing. All he did was ask if the entire carcass was up for sale."
I grinned. That sounded like the actions of a man that held unlimited wealth in his hands. Or something equally valuable. "Tell him yes."
Hestia grinned. "Wonderful."
"Harry," Hermione fretted. "Do you think that's really fair? His Philosopher's stone got destroyed back in our first year when you faced You-Know-Who."
"His Stone got destroyed because he was stupid enough to entrust it to Dumbledore, Hermione. And honestly, how do you even know that it was the original stone in the first place?"
"Harry, don't be crazy. Dumbledore—"
"Said so, yes. And Dumbledore was also the guy that sat around and did nothing while Sirius suffered in Azkaban. That man had no business bringing the Stone to a school full of children in the first place, just to set a trap for a Dark Lord's wraith. He could have set the trap in Hogsmeade or his own fucking house, for all I care. Instead he endangered me, you and every single person. It's so stupidly appalling it isn't even funny. And honestly, I doubt Flamel even gave it to Dumbledore in the first place. If he's got two brain cells to rub together, and I know he does, then he'd just lock it away somewhere, put the location on Fidelius, and tell everyone that he had given it to Dumbledore and set a trap."
It was no different from what James and Lily Potter did with Sirius Black back in 1981. Sirius was a Hit-wizard and terrifying with a wand. He'd serve as a perfect distraction while the secret remained with Pettigrew.
"But the basilisk— it belongs to Hogwarts, doesn't it?" Hermione tried. "You taking it out like that and selling it away—"
But I wasn't listening. Not anymore.
"The same Hogwarts that's one step away from throwing you out because you got slashed by a werewolf?" I hissed. "You know, the school that McGonagall promised your parents, was the safest place in the world for her only daughter? The place you've been attacked by a troll, petrified, harassed over, insulted, first over your blood and now over your—"
"Harry, that's enough!" said Hestia.
Hermione had gone pasty pale, her eyes glistening. She looked like I had just slapped her. At the same time, there was something else in her eyes, something that looked very much like joy…
"...sorry," I mumbled. "I just… feel very strongly about those things. That's all."
"Hermione," said Hestia. "The basilisk attacked Harry and he killed it. According to the Ministry of Magic's dictum on Magical Creature Slaying, the carcass belongs to Harry. That Harry had to face an XXXXX beast within Hogwarts Sanctuary is a mark against Hogwarts, and technically, he's well within his right to demand restitution from it. That said, Harry acknowledges that the Sorting Hat and Dumbledore's phoenix aided him in the fight, so he's going to give away five hundred thousand galleons to Hogwarts as its due share, and a brand new enchanted perch for the phoenix."
Hermione looked at me. I shrugged.
"And no," continued Hestia. "It's not for the Board of Governors. Harry had me draft a policy stating that one thousand galleons be offered to every single person petrified by the basilisk, and another one thousand galleons be offered for a curse-breaker expedition to Hogwarts to locate the origin of the Curse on the Defense position, so that it can keep a decent professor for long."
"I wouldn't have had to go to the Chamber if Lockhart wasn't a fraud," I clarified.
A broad grin spread over Hermione's face as she rushed to me and kissed me, tongue and all. After almost a minute of passionate making out, she stepped back.
"Eh, not that I'm complaining, but what's that for?" I asked.
Hermione beamed. "For showing me that the old Harry isn't lost. I know you're this ruthless and pragmatic for reasons, but it's nice to know that you're still you."
Not really, I wanted to say. The sad truth was, I couldn't just do away with the basilisk carcass without having to give away a significant share. Offering ahead with those pro-muggleborn clauses attached allowed me to enjoy the benefits of reciprocation. You know, how you have a higher chance of getting things done by offering five dollars for free rather than fifty dollars in return for a small favour?
Plus, it fit right in with the magnanimity and goody Gryffindor Golden Boy image that canon Harry had. Before the fortune of House Potter and House Black, what was a couple hundred thousand galleons? Especially with what I could potentially receive in exchange.
But Hermione didn't need to know that.
"Still Me likes wearing a tux better." I tried.
"No!" Both girls deadpanned.
…
…
…
The house seemed like a collection of various pieces added over time. The stone tower standing at least five levels above the ground caught my eye in particular. The battlements atop it had a worn but well-kept look about them. Closer to the ground and towards the left was a slightly aged, modest, two-storey addition composed of stone and timber. While the tower looked way older, the new addition couldn't be more than two centuries old. On the right, there was another new addition, no older than twenty years, but it matched the other pieces very well while giving the entire structure an overall updated look.
This was the Abbott mansion. Or what remained of it. The place had served as a garrison for the resistance units, with Lord Charles Abbott serving as DMLE Director before he was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange after which Crouch assumed position at the Ministry. His son Iacomus had been an Auror but he too had perished from a lethal curse during a clash with Augustus Rookwood. And now, his muggleborn wife had been thrown out of the same mansion, and his daughter was the fucktoy of his own brother — a Death Eater sympathiser to the core.
The ironies of life and society.
"Welcome, Lord Potter," Gideon Abbott curtseyed, "to the home of the Abbotts."
Gideon was not a particularly intimidating man. He was short, his grey hair carefully maintained, and his head neatly trimmed into a goatee. He had a little belly coming out, though his robes hid it well.
As discussed, I had sent a formal letter through Hedwig, requesting a meeting about a potential business avenue involving House Potter and House Abbott, while putting in a word about my association with his ward Hannah. Politically, House Abbott was part of the 'respectable pureblood' category that had yet to shift into the 'Ancient' tag, an objective that Gideon Abbott wanted to achieve above all others.
An objective that would get him to play ball with me.
"My ward and niece Hannah has spoken a lot about you. I did not realise you two were well-acquainted."
I smiled. And it didn't even hurt. "She's a friend."
"Please," he gestured. "Come with me."
He led me through the entrance hall of the manor. It had the usual — portraits, paintings, carpets whose style and quality were dubious at best, some less than tasteful decorations, a suit of armour here and there along the hallway. A tad generic perhaps, but I wasn't being too judgmental. Eventually we reached a relatively small room, kind of the size of my kitchen, with a few couches, a single bookshelf and a fireplace with timbers within a smouldering flame.
As an elf served us refreshments, Gideon got down to the point, sitting on the couch opposite mine.
"I must confess, Lord Potter," said the man. "Your taking up the mantle of the Potter Lord and taking such keen interest in the family business was unexpected. News of your interests coming from Hogwarts paint a different picture."
"Oh?" I smiled. "And what does that make me out to be?"
"A student. Youngest seeker of the century yes, but a student nonetheless. I have heard rumours of your exploits, but academically…"
"I thought people appreciate the finer arts of subtlety and deception," I replied, the smile never once leaving my face.
"I do," said the man. "But in my defence, you're a Gryffindor."
And you're a Hufflepuff. But that didn't stop you from betraying your own brother's ideals.
I didn't say that. Instead I laughed. Just enough to demonstrate mirth, but not enough for embarrassment.
"Pardon me," I said, "but where is Hannah?"
That caught the man by surprise. "Hannah?"
"Why of course!" I went on, "I scheduled this meeting with you purely based on my association with Hannah. Surely as Heiress, she's required to attend meetings between House Abbott and Ancient Houses. I mean, surely you've taught her that. Regent Abbott?"
The man bristled.
"Now now," I continued, as if oblivious to his changing expressions. "Please do not be embarrassed on my account. I know Hannah can be a little… uninspired towards these things. But I thought that as Regent, you'd have been forced a little… discipline onto her. She's, after all, approaching marriageable age."
Gideon blinked, and grabbed at the opportunity to save face. "Of course! Of course! My apologies! It's hard for me to think of her as my baby niece. Getting her to sit on business meetings just does not come naturally to me, yet. She's after all, only sixteen."
A baby niece you fuck around.
The glass of elven wine magically refilled as I took another sip.
"If you don't mind asking, Lord Potter—"
"Harry, please."
"Harry, then please call me Gideon."
"Naturally."
"Well, I believe I finally know what it's like talking to Harry Potter. I mean, it's great, but if I might be so blunt, just what is this meeting about?"
I watched as Gideon's brow creased. I had already sown the seeds of discomfort and curiosity. Now all I needed was to water them and watch them grow into fear and greed.
"Gideon, I've recently taken over my family finances and businesses, like Sleekeazy, where I own a controlling share. I wish to increase my bandwidth in the potions market, and for that, I need access to certain magically rich environments."
I slid a file over the tea table to him.
"Phyllida Greenhouses," Gideon murmured.
"My people tell me its soil conditions are perfect. I ran a cursory check and it turns out it's one of the underperforming assets in Greengrass Exports."
"And Hannah told you I'm Broderick Greengrass's friend."
"Please,"I waved his concerns off. "My people are more than capable of finding what's important for me. I'd like you to broker a deal between House Potter and House Greengrass, and see if a sale is possible. If not, we'd at least like to rent its services for at least a month and see if it truly matches our research results."
"I'm glad that you have such confidence in your men," Gideon smiled politely, and it was a practised fake thing that would fool nobody with experience in politics. "But I must disappoint you. Phyllida is very dear to Lord Greengrass. Low-performing asset or otherwise, Broderick will not sell it."
Because it's his real cash cow. And indirectly yours.
"I'm open to rental agreements. He can own it, so long as I can use it to my benefit."
Gideon shook his head. "As much as I want to help you, I can't. Broderick is my friend and I cannot broker a deal that will make him unhappy. That isn't how I do business."
I almost scowled at how predictably obvious he was being. A smarter man would have either come up with something else, or give me false hope and string me along as long as possible. Maybe even squirrel away galleons in the name of arranging parties to impress Broderick Greengrass.
"What you want," I pressed, "is a way to make Augusta Longbottom amenable to Neville marrying your niece."
Surprise flitted across the man's face before he let out a small chuckle. "You've done your homework."
I smiled politely but said nothing. Let the fool come to his own conclusions. "You're banking a lot on this marriage. If Hannah becomes Lady Longbottom, then your business can expand all across the south. Are you telling me that all that growth isn't incentive enough to try convincing your friend to help out a strapping young lad in business?"
This time he snorted. "Strapping young lad you might be, but your business acumen doesn't match an amateur."
I smiled. When asking for help, it is always better to appeal to their self-interest, never to their gratitude. It always works.
"Then do we have a deal? I help you out with Augusta Longbottom, and you get me a deal with Greengrass."
Gideon smoked his pipe. "It's a thought. You talk to her, and then we'll talk."
"That's not so reassuring."
He shrugged. "You came to me. I didn't come to you." He began to stand up. "I guess I'll see you sometime next week then."
"No," I said, never looking away from his gaze. "You won't."
He paused for a moment, before letting an uneasy laugh. "Is that how this is? You gave me the carrot and now I get the stick?"
"That's not how I operate," I told him. "You help me with Greengrass, and House Potter will support your nomination to Ancient status."
Gideon blinked.
Then blinked again.
"The question isn't if I can get Augusta to give you an offer, it's how good of an offer can you get me from Greengrass." I said as I stood up and buttoned my coat. "And for the record, that's how I do business."
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