Chapitre 67: The Leader of the Shelby Family
"There's this mighty fine breakfast joint just around the corner. Used to be a regular spot for me back in the day..."
Jimmy cruised up in his car, ready to whisk them away to a breakfast oasis called The Red Rooster.
Given that most people clock in at eight or nine, the breakfast joint wasn't buzzing at this hour. Just a handful of folks, having quiet talks or silently scanning newspapers, held court in the place.
The eatery boasted a classic British vibe, exuding elegance with its sprawling two-story setup.
Jimmy guided the crew to a window perch and urged them, "You gotta dig into the Eggs Benedict here; it's as authentic as it gets."
With a snap of his fingers, Jimmy signaled the waiter. Artel checked out the menu and placed his order.
The Grangers, sticking to their traditional roots, put hefty importance on breakfast. After carefully surveying the menu, they settled on three full-on meals.
Before long, the waiter paraded in with their breakfast, presenting a table adorned with delightful dishes. Artel, who'd been running on empty all night, found his appetite well and truly piqued.
Over the meal, the Grangers grilled Hermione and Artel about their school adventures. Mrs. Granger's thoughts ran a tad deeper than Mr. Granger and Jimmy. She sensed a connection between Hermione and Artel but figured it was rooted in their pre-school days and shared Muggle-born wizard background, so she held back from digging deeper.
Post a hearty feast, Jimmy ushered the Grangers to the train station. Artel bid them farewell, pledging a visit to Manchester after Christmas. As they parted, Hermione's lips tightened, and her eyes glistened, leaving Artel with a hint of awkwardness.
....
Around nine in the morning, Artel hopped into Jimmy's ride, all set to roll back home.
"How's the schooling been treating you? I'm itching to hear the tales from the wizarding world," Jimmy couldn't wait to dive into Artel's school escapades.
"It's been alright, like stepping into a whole new realm. As for the courses, they cover it all—magic, potion-making, herbology, flying, divination... Quite a far cry from the old wizarding tales."
Artel quickly briefed Jimmy on the wizarding world, giving him a crash course.
"What's this Ministry of Magic? Wizards seem to be dealing with a bunch of legal issues," Jimmy pondered, blowing out a smoke ring with a slightly downcast look. Becoming a wizard wasn't supposed to come with legal shackles, he mused; might as well have stuck with being a gang member.
"No one can dictate what I want to do," Artel reassured.
"A lot of family plans are gonna need a reshuffle," Jimmy sighed. The Shelby brass had been banking on Artel's success to propel the family to greatness, expand beyond Europe, and become a force to be reckoned with.
"Look ahead, Uncle Jimmy. The Shelby family's gonna hit the peak of this world, a summit none of you can even fathom," Artel declared confidently, gazing out the window.
"But I need some breathing space. For now, I don't want the family muddying the waters and causing ripples that might throw a wrench into my plans, so let's keep things as they are. Besides, in Birmingham, no other gang can hold a candle to us," Artel asserted, underscoring the importance of the calm before the storm, ensuring his family didn't jeopardize his grand plans.
In truth, Artel was well aware that certain elders in the family had set their sights on sorcerers ever since getting wind of their existence. Not all sorcerers distanced themselves entirely from common folks; many had ties with nobility, influential figures, and the cream of human society.
Artel exercised caution, steering clear of unintentionally provoking a sorcerer and inviting unnecessary trouble for the family. The school's professors were already uneasy about Artel's family ties to the gang, and if they caught wind of connections with dark sorcerers, their scrutiny would only intensify.
"I get it. I'll have a chat with them," Jimmy assured, fully comprehending Artel's concerns.
Noticing Jimmy's solemn demeanor, Artel sighed and added, "If the family finds itself in a bind that can't be untangled, you can reach out to me. Even though I'm just a first-year student, there might be family matters I can handle effortlessly."
Artel didn't explicitly spell it out, but as a Shelby and the future patriarch, he understood the gravity his words carried.
Jimmy hesitated and inquired, "But didn't you mention that the Ministry of Magic forbids young wizards from using magic outside the school? Won't you face consequences if you're caught breaking the rules?"
"The Ministry relies on Trace to keep tabs on young wizards, but I've got a way to dodge its detection. They won't have a clue," Artel explained confidently.
When young wizards leave the school, they receive a "Notice on the Prohibition of Underage Students Using Magic Outside of School" from the Ministry of Magic. This notice, signed by the young wizard, carries trace magic that can locate their approximate position and detect the presence of magic around them.
Artel continued, "Trace can't pinpoint the specific magic a young wizard has used, but it can use a tracking spell to inspect the wizard's wand and identify the type of magic cast. If a different wand is used, the Ministry drops the charges due to lack of evidence."
Artel, donning The Ring of Air, possessed magical prowess rivaling that of Hogwarts professors. Blocking Trace Wire with his proficiency in Transfiguration was a walk in the park.
"So, is there a way to go under the radar of the Ministry of Magic?" Jimmy asked, captivated by Artel's expertise.
Jimmy let out a sigh of relief, his countenance visibly brighter.
"Hey, if that's the case, I'll spill the beans at home naturally. But there shouldn't be anything on your tail; as you said, the underground in Birmingham already bears the Shelby name."
Cracking open the car window, Jimmy casually flicked away the remaining half of his cigarette. A smug grin played on his lips as he reminisced about something.
"The flight to Switzerland is set; we can take off tonight. But I'm curious, why the sudden urge to spend Christmas in Switzerland this year?"
"I've got some business in Liechtenstein, which conveniently is right next door to Switzerland," Artel responded. Glancing at the time, he asked, "What's the flight schedule for tonight?"
"At seven o'clock," Jimmy drawled, his eyes fixed on the winding road ahead.
"Seven o'clock... It's still a tad late. Head back; I'll go pay him a visit."
Jimmy caught Artel's drift. He gave a casual nod and juggled the phone while steering with one hand. After all, making a pit stop at Freddy's required a bit of heads up – no spontaneous drop-ins with the big boss behind bars.
After a brief chat, Jimmy hung up, smirking. "All set, and you're cleared for an afternoon meeting."
Artel nodded in silent acknowledgment, closing his eyes briefly for a moment of reprieve.
In the afternoon, Artel strolled back into Shelby Manor, Birmingham's sprawling estate.
After exchanging pleasantries with his aunt and uncle, Artel swapped his worn-out gear for fresh threads. Later, he hopped into his ride and cruised across town to Birmingham Prison.
Freddy, the puppet master of the Shelby family, enjoyed the high life even behind bars. His cell was a symphony of order, furnished with everything a man could need.
When Artel walked in, Freddy was immersed in a television spectacle about a colossal bear up north. Artel reckoned the bear's demise was just around the corner, and the media circus surrounding it only fueled the anticipation.
With a twist of the doorknob, Freddy spun around, grinning at Artel.
"Artel, my child, I've been counting the minutes till your arrival."
The door clicked shut, leaving Artel alone with the incarcerated maestro.
"Dad, you're looking chipper," Artel quipped, eyeing Freddy's immaculate appearance. Despite the prison stint, Freddy's golden locks were perfectly coiffed, and his eyes retained their sharp, dignified gleam.
Freddy, never one for formalities, flashed his trademark smile. Rising from the couch, he straightened his attire and motioned toward the set dining table.
"Take a seat, let's share a meal."
Artel shrugged off his coat, draping it over a hook, and joined Freddy at the table. The room hummed with the aroma of a carefully prepared feast, and a bottle of cognac awaited their indulgence.
"I had the warden whip this up. Jimmy hinted you'd be back from that wizardry school today, and I knew a visit from you was on the cards," Freddy explained.
Pouring himself a generous half-glass of brandy, he swirled it around, fixing his gaze on Artel. The air in the room struck a balance between formality and familiarity, mirroring their distinct connection within the Shelby family.
.....
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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