They agreed.
On the sixth day from the start of studies after the Easter holidays, and on the third after my conversation with Jean-Paul. On the morning of Saturday, April fifteenth, the Delacours conveyed their categorical agreement through Fleur. And after lunch on the same day, Fleur and I left Hogwarts, leaving the zone of action of anti-Apparition charms, to go to a meeting for signing a cooperation agreement. In the small forest, on a green bright clearing where the castle's charms no longer worked, Fleur Apparated first, and I—right after her, along the trace of movement. This is not difficult if done immediately after the wizard's movement—understanding of such an action comes with the skill of Apparition, but the time interval in which you clearly feel the trace and when you can follow it without knowing the exit point is extremely short. Four-five seconds, no more.
We found ourselves in a small alley, on an unfamiliar but recognizable street in central London, and I followed Fleur. We were dressed quite ordinarily, although in Fleur's clothes, a dress, light coat, scarf and beret, some youthfulness was not read at all. Even if French wizards were not so conservative in clothes, and could well afford much more revealing or figure-emphasizing outfits, but even so, both style and "breeding" were felt a mile away.
"You know more places in London than I do," I couldn't help but be surprised, although the explanation, I'm sure, is more than obvious.
"We traveled often and a lot. Only for this reason I, albeit with an accent, speak English, and understand perfectly well. As well as read."
We walked for a short time, and the conversation somehow didn't build. Fleur was clearly a little tense and the usual lightness was not felt in her. Our goal again turned out to be a small restaurant, but this time the table was not "public", so to speak, but a separate booth. A girl at the reception met Fleur and me and escorted us to this very booth, but Fleur herself did not enter, going to the table to her mother.
Inside, on the sofa, Mr. Delacour was waiting for me, with an appetite behind which he hid slight nervousness, eating some heavy meat dish.
"Oh, Mr. Granger," he nodded to me with a smile, and I sat opposite. "I apologize, but hunger left me absolutely no choice. Will you join?"
"Actually, I would like to deal with business faster. Schedule, duels, classes with the master."
"Oh, personal apprenticeship? Praiseworthy," Mr. Delacour nodded, wiped his lips with a napkin and set the dish aside. "Then, let's proceed. I took the liberty of drawing up an agreement. Familiarize yourself and make edits if required."
Mr. Delacour without unnecessary words handed me two copies of the cooperation agreement, which I immediately checked with magic, simultaneously forcing to reveal the hidden, if any—nothing turned out to be, which is pleasing. The content of the agreements themselves is simple. In fact, it reflects everything we talked about, and we undertake to place the agreement itself in a reliable storage, having previously encrypted it with a spell on the owners' blood and magic—no one but us will be able to read the text.
"The only thing that confuses me," Delacour twirled his mustache with his finger, "is that this 'comrade' of yours is not reflected in the agreement, nor are his obligations. But yours are reflected, Monsieur Granger, in case of his failure or refusal."
"These are my problems, how to negotiate," I smiled. "As well as my responsibility. You better tell me how you are going to secure your new possessions? The Notts can spoil things out of spite after the sale."
"Ah," Mr. Delacour waved it off. "Standard procedures and agreements, nothing special. Such nuances have been provided for in such purchases for a long time."
"Well, excellent," I nodded. "Signing?"
"Of course."
We, like last time, signed with blood. As soon as the last signature was put, the text of the agreements swam, transforming into unknown abracadabra, but as soon as one picked up a copy, the text became readable.
"And yet, Monsieur Granger. I would like to personally meet the one who will carry out such delicate work."
"Do you really think that such a strong dark wizard will run around and reveal himself to everyone and sundry? Considering the policy of not only the English Ministry and the opinion of society, but also the opinions of citizens of other countries?"
"But he revealed himself to you?"
"Not personally," I smirked. "And I'm just a Muggle-born, expendable material. Will everything be excellent? Good, everyone will get their benefit. Will not be 'excellent'? Well, not pity for me."
"You are very... pessimistic."
"I am a realist. Even I, only from rumors, conversations and newspaper clippings, can say that being a dark wizard in England, and generally in Europe, due to the events of the last century—is an extremely bad idea. Even if you are adequate and generally, peaceful, you will be crushed. Just in case."
"Also true. Do not think, I do not support either side, although I treat Dark Magic a little negatively," Mr. Delacour barely restrained himself from sliding his gaze over the unfinished dishes—it seems he really is very hungry. "But with my mind I understand that Dark Magic will never go anywhere and, one way or another, the magical community needs wizards capable of dealing with this, experts. And the last question, if I may..."
"Of course, ask," I nodded. "After all, I am not obliged to answer."
"Your directness, Monsieur Granger, evokes ambivalent feelings in my soul. You see, I just can't realize that in the end you want to give the lands and everything standing on them to someone. To whom, if not a secret?"
"Not a secret and not a mystery, Mr. Delacour. But I won't answer either, because it's very easy to guess here—just collect information and think. I am sure Fleur, closely following rumors and the situation at Hogwarts, can perfectly draw parallels."
"The daughter really shares her thoughts about certain rumors in the school," Mr. Delacour nodded. "Greengrass, I assume?"
"Who knows?" I shrugged. "Maybe Greengrass. Or maybe Parkinson—for them such an allotment will also not be superfluous. Or maybe Weasley? Can you imagine what resonance this will cause?"
"You confused me, Monsieur Granger," Jean-Paul thought, twirling his mustache. "Allow me... Let's assume that it really is Greengrass. Just, it turns out quite... complex scheme. Take away from the Notts what the Greengrasses need and for the sake of which they wanted to conclude a marriage between their children... Wanted, right?"
"Don't know," I shook my head negatively, keeping a smile on my face. "There are a lot of rumors at Hogwarts, and if you believe each one even a little, you get some absurdity."
"Well, that's why it's a school," Delacour nodded. "In our Beauxbatons everything is the same. So what was I talking about... Wouldn't it be better to hold the lands for yourself?"
"Will this change my blood status?" a smirk crept onto my face by itself. "I don't think that for the sake of a small plot of prepared land and a couple of interesting technologies, a family from the Sacred Twenty-Eight will suddenly take and spit on this, albeit extremely dubious, but still achievement of ancestors. And if they need young Nott specifically, they will conclude a marriage regardless of the availability of land."
"Indeed... From this point of view I did not look at the question. Forgive me, Monsieur Granger, but you do not create the impression of a young Muggle-born, hence such subconscious delusions."
"And you, Mr. Delacour, are quite well informed about rumors and what is happening at Hogwarts."
"Of course," he nodded with a satisfied smile. "We aim for international cooperation. A school where children study either from influential and rich families, or from those connected with such, is always full of rumors. And considering that there are foreign champions, so interesting, unusual, children immediately begin to attract the attention of these unusual wizards, older, but not yet adults, one way or another. Rumors, boasting, just conversations, opinions. And when you compare them with certain movements on the political, social or economic scenes, you get a more correct vision of the situation."
"That is, Fleur—is not an accidental champion at all."
"Will it be a secret for you that in the delegation of both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, there are no accidental children at all?"
"There were such thoughts, were," I nodded, smiling. "You have become quite frank."
"Well so now we are, to one degree or another, colleagues and partners. Position obliges. Pity that the first impression is spoiled, and trust on your part, Monsieur Granger, is out of the question so far."
"Unfortunately, there are secrets that no one is able to tell regardless of desires."
"True. Unfortunately. Well... Since we have come to agreements, the next steps should be outlined."
"I'm listening."
"I took the liberty of scheduling a meeting with the Notts for today, so on Monday—deadline—their land will be ours. Can I hope that your... person... will take up solving the problem in the near future? Wouldn't want to give even one extra Galleon to Ministry bloodsuckers."
"Just let me know, and in the near future after receiving the news, the Healer will deal with the problem."
"Healer?"
"Well how else to call a wizard who will heal the land?"
"Indeed. Doctor?"
"Doctor... Who?"
"Indeed. And Doctor Who? Sounds somehow Asian. Doctor Hu."
"Since we agreed," I got up from the sofa. "I will wait for a letter from you. All the best."
"All the best, Monsieur Granger."
I left the restaurant alone—Fleur preferred to spend more time with her parents. It is interesting that even now Mr. Delacour cannot initiate relatives into our affairs. Of course, they will guess as certain stages are implemented, but at least rumors and speculations will go "after", and not "before". And this is pleasing.
Returning to Hogwarts, I immediately went to the Dueling Club. There were quite a lot of people—I wouldn't be surprised if the full composition of the club, because there were representatives of almost all years, except junior ones. Almost all seats were occupied, and even dummies were in demand—spells were practiced there. Flitwick supervised the practice duel of two third-years—a snake and a raven. I found infrequent guests here with my gaze—Daphne and Pansy. They were sitting at a small table for four and, under privacy charms, were discussing something with great enthusiasm. Weighing all the pros and cons, I decided to join them.
"Ladies," I nodded, sitting down. "How are you doing?"
"Hector," Daphne nodded, smiling.
"Granger," Pansy turned up her nose importantly, but this importance did not last long, giving way to a smirk. "Daphne has something to tell you. Right?"
"Possibly," Daphne smiled.
"No, really?" Pansy's indignation knew no bounds. "Won't share such news with him?"
"What news? What could cause such liveliness in you?" I leaned forward at the table, smiling and looking now at one, then at the other. "Tell."
"Come on, Daph, start. Or I will start."
"Okay, persuaded. In general... Don't get me wrong, Hector..." Daphne hesitated.
"I'll try, but promise nothing."
Daphne sighed, regained her composure, and spoke.
"Not so long ago, at Christmas, my parents announced that they were preparing my engagement to Theodore Nott."
Both girls clearly expected some reaction from me.
"Um... Should I be surprised? Or outraged?"
"You... Knew?" both girls were surprised simultaneously, but only Pansy continued to speak: "Knew, and continued... And what are you, actually, doing? Romanticizing? Dating?"
"Well we somehow didn't designate what was happening with words," I shrugged, and Daphne nodded. "And yes, knew, and what?"
"That is, nothing embarrassed you at all?" Pansy continued to be surprised, and Daphne was clearly pondering the received information.
"And should it? Designate intentions, conclude preliminary alliances—is a common thing. And it wouldn't happen tomorrow, relatively speaking. Never know how it will turn out there, and all this is not a reason to commit rash actions. I am confident in myself. It remains only to reach the goal and achieve those heights from which my blood status will play no role."
"Really? And you are confident in yourself, nothing to say," Pansy made a malicious face.
"Oh, come on," I waved it off. "If it really comes to it, for money and services one can easily falsify blood status—this is not something that can be reliably verified. Ready to bet, there were many such precedents. Sure, if it was beneficial for some family to get a Muggle-born, then completely 'suddenly' for everyone it turned out that the Muggle-born, it turns out, is with a magical pedigree, and not just like that."
"Nonsense!" Pansy was indignant, although she was clearly indignant only for show.
"Maybe," Daphne nodded thoughtfully. "Such a thing can really be. It's hard to believe in such a thing, considering... Considering a lot. But strictly theoretically, there is not a single difficulty in such a thing—only a lot of fuss."
"Exactly."
"You don't think that you will succeed in such a thing?" Pansy inquired venomously.
"And I don't need it. I specifically decided to become a Healer. To treat and correct what is considered not just impossible, but in which case it is recommended to put Avada in the forehead so as not to suffer."
"And how did you get to the Puffs with your ambitions?" Pansy chuckled, clearly not really believing in the success of my aspirations. "And do you really think that you will succeed? Where does such a desire to be a Healer come from at all?"
"Can it be otherwise?" I smirked, leaning back on the back of the sofa. "Look around, Parkinson. There are too few wizards. Every drop of magical blood is valuable. Is it possible to treat the health of the nation dismissively? Moreover, I have now touched upon the topic of maleficism in the study and was horrified—under certain circumstances, curses can eat into the body so much that they become an inherited pathology. Is this not horror? And practically nothing can be done about it. For now."
"Ha! Think you'll learn to treat such a thing? Impossible," Pansy issued weightily and without any doubts, shaking her bob of black hair.
"Really? We are wizards, Parkinson. For us there is nothing impossible, and all limits—are here," I tapped my finger on my temple. "While you consider something impossible, you subconsciously do not let your mind and your magic realize it. Look, surviving Avada was also considered impossible. But a scarhead boy runs around Hogwarts, blatantly ignoring this conclusion."
"Exception to the rule—only confirms its existence."
"Pansy," Daphne looked at her friend with reproach. "There is sense in Hector's words."
"Well, of course, can it be otherwise!" Parkinson pouted like a hamster—no other way to say it.
"Exception, Parkinson," I smiled, "by its very existence proves the fact of the possibility of a different outcome. In any case, there are many important and complex problems. Look, I somehow inadvertently estimated. There are as many as seven Weasley children. Sooner or later they will acquire families, and if two children are born in each. If count Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, potential wives of guys and Ginny's husband, then in the end thirty Weasleys will turn out in ten-fifteen years."
It seems not only Pansy and Daphne did not think about such simple arithmetic, but also many others, otherwise this figure would not have caused such shock on the girls' faces.
"Thirty Weasleys. Well okay, not thirty, still Ginny is a girl and will go to her husband's family. But it's still a whole clan! And if boys are born to them? Without taking into account Ginny's potential children—twelve guys. And sooner or later they will also marry and also become fathers. And if each has two? Yes in every industry, in every department of the Ministry, in every production one can meet some Weasley, and all this will be one way or another tied to one big family. And if they are all also healthy, without mental deviations, strong wizards? That's why the health of the nation is important."
"Terrible prospect..." Pansy exhaled.
"Do you dislike this family so much?"
"Of course!"
"And why? Only, if think..."
"So... um... Hmm." Pansy really moderated her ardor and thought. "Because Weasleys? Everyone dislikes them. And generally, let's not talk about them."
"I don't care. We weren't talking about this at all. Daphne? So what about the desire to conclude a marriage between you and Theodore?"
"Indeed, strayed from the topic," Daphne nodded importantly, but this time, starting to speak, she did not hold the mask of detachment to speak calmly, without doubts and fears. "Remember, you assumed that my parents laid eyes on Nott assets?"
"Of course. It was a wonderful dance under the moon, fireflies, fluffy snow fell and beautiful music played..."
"You..." Pansy shifted her gaze from me to Daphne. "Where did you do that? You didn't tell."
"Later," Daphne waved it off. "And I answered that this is just an intrigue. Not just an intrigue, as it turned out. And I turned out not so good in investigating the family's interests. They really were."
"I assume you say 'Were' in the past tense for a reason. Right?"
"Exactly," Daphne smiled. "Nott business, consider, is gone. There will be no engagements. No urgency and rush. Great, right?"
"Right," I smiled. "And won't your parents come up with other needs?"
"Unlikely. As it turned out, they hatched this plan for many years, adjusting various nuances of our business for potential asset merger. Many. Years."
"Are all these businesses of yours so... inflexible?"
"Such is the structure of many industries," Pansy answered for Daphne. "My parents also complained not once or twice that the concept formed over decades or even centuries is too rigid. Father says that our large-scale industries cannot withstand any stress. A little something—and everything immediately crumbles. Of course, there are all sorts of agreements and so on, various mutual assistance between families with voluminous industries, but... If what happened to the Notts happens—it's bad business."
"How uncultured, Miss Parkinson," I smirked. "And what is happening there?"
"Just as it is," Pansy shrugged. "That's why many families prefer the service sector or business capable of fitting within a house or shop. And don't you know? Rumors fly..."
"I'm more focused on studies, on magic. Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore rolled out such a list of books in the Restricted Section that my brains jam a little..."
"Dumbledore allowed you to visit the Restricted Section?" Pansy was surprised, and Daphne too. "Does the Head of House teach you something besides Potions?"
"Well, doesn't teach, but rather, answers arising questions so that I don't screw up due to misunderstanding the topic. Well and yes, the Headmaster issued a permit. And what's the big deal? I study excellently, show success, show interest in magic, and not in all sorts of sabotage there. Here I am sure that no matter how talented, for example, the Weasley twins are, they will never receive access there from him."
"You bet! These scoundrels will destroy Hogwarts to the ground if given such specific knowledge!" there was a grain of truth in Pansy's words. A big grain like that. "And the Notts have trouble—some super-severe Dark Curse struck their lands with production. It seems they even invited a specialist, but he only threw up his hands, and even returned the money for the consultation."
"Oh how," I was "surprised", but surprised sincerely, true, not by the curse, but by the refund. "And what now?"
"And what now?" Daphne indifferently spread her hands slightly to the sides. "Fiendfyre, and goodbye little land. Production there is specific, and even if in a couple of years they organize new land and buildings themselves, then with plants and other long-renewable resources—trouble. In fifteen years they will bring the balance at least to zero."
"Specific terminology," I nodded approvingly to Daphne.
"Nothing special," but despite the words, the girl was glad for such words and gesture. "Heard here, read there, picked up on the tops."
"Okay, young ladies..."
"Young?" Pansy smirked "fully" again. "We are older than you, by the way. We are both in..."
"Tsk," Daphne pulled Pansy by the sleeve of her robe. "Your tongue is boneless, girlfriend."
"You didn't tell him about your birthday? How do you even... how... I always knew you were weird. Abnormal," Pansy shook her head. "This world is abnormal. And Hog is abnormal. And you," Pansy pointed her finger at me. "Because you date abnormal her. To date and not know the birthday, need first of all to be abnormal."
Daphne and I exchanged glances, hearing such a conclusion from Pansy, and just shrugged—there is a grain of truth in this, what can I say.
"No, they don't even argue!" Pansy threw up her hands. "Merlin gave a friend."
"Come on," I smiled. "In general, I understood that the Notts have problems. Won't say that I am sad—painfully Theodore tried to annoy me often together with Malfoy."
"And what did you want?" Pansy clearly decided to clarify the situation for me. "Here he learned that a marriage with Daphne is planned. With smart, beautiful, rich. Usually, agreements have an amazing property to come into force, because such is tied to benefit, and few things are capable of changing something so much that there is no benefit. The boy took it for granted and surely immediately began to consider Daphne his in advance. And what is the result? Yes you two generally didn't give a damn about this!"
"Well so what's the big deal?" I shrugged, and Daphne, it seems, understood the essence of my "wait and see".
"No, well okay if there was a scandal, or tears, or threats, yes at least something," Pansy even bent her fingers, listing options. "You two simply ignored the existence of not only the agreement, but also Theo himself. Daphne even came to the ball in other colors. In yours. As if Theo—is an empty place."
"Hmm... Well, as for me," I thought for a moment. "In Crabbe and Goyle there is more personality than in Theo, no offense. If he didn't plot dirty tricks against me, he would have remained just a name in the lists of classmates."
"Just known since childhood, and that's it," Daphne shrugged indifferently.
"But he... He..." Pansy tried to object, clearly looking for counterarguments. "And indeed..."
Pansy deflated.
"Okay. Does anyone want to duel?" I looked at the girls, but they only shook their heads negatively, clearly wanting to discuss something among themselves—this was visible in their eyes. "Then I went. It seems there is a queue to Flitwick—today is not my fate either. Meet at classes."
"Yes," Daphne nodded. "Until evening."
What to do when there is a little time? Hurry to the library—will memorize, maybe, half of another book on maleficism. Science, after all, amusing. But regarding removing the Lotus from Nott lands, although, can consider that no longer Nott, but Delacour—here need to think. Since in perspective there is a probability of profitable employment consisting in neutralizing infected lands, then it is worth trying to make a crazy in its essence, completely inadequate crap, which can be carried out perhaps only with the help of true magic, purely volitional, to create a kind of "Death Eater", because curses are based precisely on such energy, on such an aspect of Dark Magic... At the same time "he" will serve as a diversion for the consequences of using Dark Magic. Even if I do not plan to use it, but, as they say, never say never.
. . . . . .
Jean-Paul Delacour was concerned. Greatly concerned. And the reason for his concern was extremely simple—right now, in the middle of the night between Monday and Tuesday, he was situated on his new lands, formerly belonging to the Notts. Under a pile of protective and concealing amulets, under a rather high-quality Invisibility Cloak, observing a whole heap of precautions intended to protect him both from prying eyes and detection, and from the effects of the strange and terrifying-as-hell curse that seemed to distort reality itself, the shadows, the plants, inducing panic...
Oh, yes, Jean-Paul had already appreciated the nightmares into which the plants on this land were gradually, slowly but surely turning, and the torments of the mind inflicted by the curse...
In short, he was here because of his own curiosity. A vice that was the driving force of his entire life. One way or another, he had even married a Veela out of curiosity, even if it was an indirect cause. No, he did not regret it for a moment and was even grateful to his curiosity, but right now... Jean-Paul felt a strong desire to rid himself of his vice once and for all, for his aging heart might stop out of curiosity, and out of curiosity, might not start again.
The fact was that Delacour had finally waited for the appearance of the wizard who was supposed to remove the curse. Well, why not? It was interesting to see what this wizard was like! Extremely interesting! Nothing more, no intrigue or double meaning—just interesting.
And now, hiding behind a bush and trembling with fear, Jean-Paul gazed at an extremely strange wizard, somewhat resembling an artistic depiction of a plague doctor. He had all the attributes—a mask like a bird's beak, a hat, a cloak, and everything was pitch black. Ten minutes ago, this wizard had appeared as if out of thin air near the buildings on the property and had walked here, to the middle of the vast grove, to a small clearing—Delacour had followed him.
The Plague Doctor waved his hand in the air, and a pitch-black stem with equally black leaves seemed to grow out of the ground. It seemed as if the roots of this stem stretched throughout the entire ground around—from edge to edge.
Delacour saw the strange wizard in strange robes take out something small and oval, and begin to bring it towards the black stem, at the end of which a large bud opened. Just as black and gloomy, and the moonlight only emphasized all this gloom. Then the wizard placed the object into the open bud and began to move his hands around in small motions.
One didn't need to be a strong or experienced wizard to feel the power of magic that this wizard was emitting literally just like that. It seemed that reality was cracking around them, and the fact that the magic was clearly Dark, evil, aggressive, threatening to simply squeeze all life out of everything around... This made Jean-Paul freeze in fear. It seemed to him that even the tips of his mustache drooped to the ground, and they would turn gray any minute now.
A brief moment, a strange magical impulse, and all the Dark Magic, the entire curse that had spread around—all of it was sucked, as if by a huge vacuum cleaner, first into the stem, then into the bud, and then completely into the object that the strange wizard had placed in the black flower. Absolutely nothing bad remained around, as if the entire curse had been merely an illusion—perfectly healthy and clean earth, and one could feel it. Only the small oval object in the Plague Doctor's hands was black, not light as before, and evil magic swirled around the wizard himself. Then the wizard slowly turned in Jean-Paul's direction, and he realized—he had been discovered. Curiosity had led him to his grave after all, and the bright red eyes beneath the mask only confirmed this.
Delacour was already mentally saying goodbye to his life, but the Plague Doctor simply vanished, leaving not even a trace of Apparition. And silence. Only a light breeze rustled the leaves in the darkness of the night. Jean-Paul, completely exhausted, collapsed onto his backside and silently touched his hat with a trembling hand.
"Well, I'll be... And they say the English are stuck on their islands and don't come out..." Delacour muttered under his nose. "Like he-e-ell... It's the whole world that fenced itself off from England... Let these monsters with their 'Dumbledores' and 'Voldemorts' sit here... stew in their own juice..."
Getting up from the ground and brushing himself off, Delacour moved away from there with a staggering gait.
"We Europeans are simple people..." he continued to mutter. "Little intrigues... Charms... Potions bubbling in cauldrons... Handfuls of golden coins... And let the monsters sit here. Yes..."
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