Study, study, and more study — that was the motto the professors lived by, loading us up to the brim, head to toe, leaving almost no free time to speak of.
I returned to Hogwarts on Tuesday evening, right after my meeting with the Greengrasses, and even made it to the tail end of dinner — though I didn't bother filling a plate, since I was reasonably full, and nobody's ever stopped anyone from visiting the kitchens. Naturally, my housemates peppered me with questions about where I'd disappeared to, but a single "Oh, just business" put an end to any further interest. I'd always appreciated that quality in our House — people didn't push or pry, even when they clearly wanted to.
Worth mentioning, perhaps, that after dinner Daphne immediately intercepted me, and together we stepped slightly to the side of the Great Hall's doors.
"How did it go?"
"I can't say with any certainty just yet. I expect your parents will try to learn as much as they can about the current social landscape. Me included."
"Social landscape?" She tilted her head slightly. "So you noticed that Father pays far too little attention to that sort of thing?"
"I did. Unlike your mother. She strikes me as considerably more well-versed in such matters. Better at reading people, too."
"What do you think the outcome of your conversation will be?"
"I think... at minimum, they'll decide not to interfere in your relationships. Or in any of your other endeavours." My wand slipped quietly into my hand and I cast a privacy charm around us. "As for the lands, though..."
"Do you actually need them that badly?" Daphne asked, with a hint of genuine surprise — she'd grown noticeably more open with her expressions over these past months.
"I don't need them at all. Not in the slightest. They're just a tool, and right now they're only getting in the way. If your parents will take them in exchange for non-interference — excellent. If not, I'll destroy them. But they won't be going back to the Notts — that would be a loss. Though... no, the Notts won't be offering anything for the land. They clearly believe they're simply reclaiming what's rightfully theirs."
"You're beginning to understand how a great many purebloods think — the ones who follow the more radical notions of blood purity."
"It was inevitable."
After that brief exchange we went our separate ways to our common rooms, and my evening proceeded in its usual fashion — a bit of prefect business, the sort involving paperwork and other tedium that had landed on Hannah's and my shoulders with the start of the new term, plus some homework. The habit of getting it done immediately, the same day, was something the lot of us had honed to a fine art.
Wednesday morning began — setting aside my standard regimented routines — with the arrival of various post at breakfast: letters, newspapers, parcels, and the like. I had post of my own: a letter from the Greengrasses. They agreed to maintain complete neutrality regarding Daphne's personal life, but the Nott lands and production facilities were of no interest to them given the current situation, and they had doubts about my ability to hold them in any case. The terms of the arrangement would therefore be simpler — I would simply hand over the theoretical documentation from the Nott production operation. That was no great difficulty; Delacour had passed along all the paperwork covering every process at the facility: those that had existed prior to the sale, as well as his own additions and those of his daughter.
I read the letter, gave a quiet, satisfied hum, and decided to act that very evening, after a bit of preparation. First order of business: draft another letter straightaway, setting up a meeting with the Greengrasses. As soon as possible. We'd confirm and formalise everything in person. I'd also prepare a deed of gift for the lands — transferring them to the Ministry of Magic. The land itself, on which nothing would remain. Why do it this way rather than some other?
I had no interest in fighting anyone over that plot of land, carrying it as an asset, or dealing with it in any capacity whatsoever. Under different circumstances I might have thought twice, but right now it was nothing but an unnecessary lure — a reason for the magically impaired to come at me. Why give it to the Ministry rather than a private individual? Well, the answer was obvious enough — they'd process such a deed faster, run it through their bureaucratic machinery more efficiently, in order to claim it as quickly as possible — for state purposes, personal gain, or whatever else. Didn't matter.
The speed was what I needed, for a straightforward reason: the Death Eaters would soon come to Delacour for an answer, at which point he'd tell them the land was no longer his — the "true owner" had reclaimed it, and that owner's name he still couldn't give. Or he'd say something along those lines. They'd need to find out who, but torture Delacour all they liked — he was hardly the type to allow that sort of situation in the first place — they'd get nothing. So they'd turn to the simplest and most effective method available to them: ask their man inside the Ministry. And there was no question someone like that existed. Let them shake down the Ministry over an empty scrap of land.
With these thoughts occupying me, I made my way toward the classroom where Transfiguration was scheduled — though I stopped along the route at one of the unused rooms. McGonagall's class was second period; first was Arithmancy or Divination, neither of which was in my timetable, so I had free time to sort out the paperwork. It went fairly quickly in the solitude, and the complete absence of other people helped considerably with concentration. Remembering to stop by the owlery to send the post, I left myself ten minutes for that. After which — the standard routine of the school day began.
The professors gave us no quarter throughout the day, doing everything in their power to prevent any socialising, constantly burying us in material. It reminded me of something an acquaintance from a past life had once said. He'd been studying at a medical university, and already in his first year had encountered a subject in which lectures left not a single moment to catch one's breath — the material was read out so quickly that notebooks contained nothing but abbreviations and nothing else whatsoever. That was roughly the pace our professors were aspiring to — and even Hagrid, in Care of Magical Creatures, had been generous with "lots of words" and "copy out this paragraph, yeah. And draw it too, mind, even if, er, the creature's not all that interesting."
After Care of Magical Creatures I didn't rush to the Great Hall for dinner. Instead I headed away from Hogwarts entirely. First, once clear of the school proper, I made my way to the spot where my wonder-plant grew among the trees. The little tree... had been there. It had grown, filled out, but now stood completely bare, waiting for proper spring rather than this mockery of winter. I stood beside it for a minute or so, listening to the magic within the tree, and concluded that it was alive and would remain so — though for now it was simply a tree and nothing more.
The abrupt arrival of an owl with a letter pulled me out of my contemplative state. The Greengrasses had named a time and were ready to sign the documents immediately if needed. Quite possibly Nott had told them something — that the Dark Lord intended to help see the lands returned to Nott's hands — and the Greengrasses had reasoned, sensibly enough, that I might well be disposed of, leaving them with no chance of obtaining the production documentation for practically nothing.
I had to reply and set the meeting for "right now," since they were amenable to a swift resolution themselves.
I changed into the wonder-fabric suit, styling it as a business two-piece with a mandarin collar, packed the extra items into my bag, and Apparated to a rooftop in central London. There I layered the Plague Doctor's attire over the suit, and in that guise Apparated to just inside the boundary of my lands.
The phoenix-self departed from the family home and shifted in a black flash into the sky above the estate — I needed a precise sense of the boundaries, a visual outline of them, so that the spell's area of effect wouldn't strip anything beyond the intended territory.
With the perimeter clear in my mind, I began forming a sphere of Dark Magic above my palm, feeding it a vivid image of total, rapid destruction of everything within the defined limits, feeding it will. Why that approach? I had no knowledge of spells or enchantments for work on this scale, so I had to work the mind hard — very hard — constructing the whole thing on raw will alone.
When the magic felt ready to leave my hand, I "dropped" the sphere of Dark Magic onto the ground below. I had no particular desire to watch the process from ground level, so I Apparated back to London, to an empty rooftop. The phoenix-self remained — that was the task I'd placed on those slight shoulders: activating the spell.
The meeting with the Greengrasses was approaching, so I dismissed the Doctor's attire, straightened the collar of my business suit, put on my robes, and Apparated into the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron. A moment later the passage to Diagon Alley was open, and I was walking in the glow of the street lamps along the main wizarding thoroughfare of London, among other witches and wizards, most of them out for an unhurried evening stroll.
My destination was the same restaurant as before, and I reached it without incident. The same witch at the reception desk led me to the same table — apparently the Greengrasses favoured the spot for one reason or another. The only difference from the previous visit was the absence of any additional people at the table.
To be honest, I was not in the mood for a long dinner and extended conversation, and I said as much to Mr Greengrass without delay, and so we proceeded directly to drawing up the agreement, which didn't take long. We settled on a contract signed with a Blood Quill. In brief: in exchange for the production documentation from the former Nott lands, they would refrain from any direct or indirect attempt to arrange Daphne's personal life. The text of the contract was reviewed several times, adjusted slightly to close off any particularly absurd loopholes, and only then signed by both parties. The moment the last flourish of the signature settled onto the parchment, the phoenix-self activated the spell.
The black sphere rapidly dissolved into a fog that spread to fill the space around it. But it didn't merely fill — it ground everything it reached into nothing: earth, grass, trees, buildings. Nothing particularly complex or spectacular in itself, really — a fairly straightforward obliteration, just on an unusual scale. And it was Dark Magic only because distorted magic was used to amplify the effect and prevent any trivial Reparo from undoing it. The one thing the spell would leave untouched: any person or house-elf who happened to be within the zone of effect.
. . . . .
Satisfied that everything had gone smoothly and that the spell would not stray beyond the boundary, the phoenix-self made its way home, while I simply walked along Diagon Alley in plain sight of anyone who had any interest in the wizards around them. I walked to the post office, where the same thoroughly disgruntled witch accepted the same modest coin with the same indifference, allowing me to send my letter. What letter? A deed of gift for the now-empty land, addressed to the head of the Department of Land Registry and Control — the names of the heads of at least the more significant departments had a way of circulating.
It seemed everything was done for today. Which meant I could return to Hogwarts, and wait — carefully, attentively — to see what would come next. But without lowering my guard.
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