章 496: 0495 Conditions & Assumptions
Bryan having seemingly exhausted his list of revelations, gracefully lifted his delicate porcelain teacup once more. He leaned back into the plush embrace of his chair, and took a long, contented sip of the exquisite brew quietly waiting for Gerson Barnah to accept the deal.
'What could be so valuable that the renowned Bryan Watson would personally travel to Paris to negotiate this business?'
The old goblin's gaze lowered, his rheumy eyes fixating on the exquisite pastries laid out before him like jewels on a goldsmith's workbench.
An oppressive silence fell upon the room, broken only by the soft ticking of an antique clock and the barely audible breathing of its occupants.
It was impossible for Barnah to quell the burning curiosity that gnawed at his insides like acid. Yet, with the wisdom born of centuries of high-stakes negotiations, he recognized the futility of pressing the issue. Bryan Watson's demeanor made it crystal clear that he had no intention of divulging any further information.
"Mr. Watson—"
After what seemed an eternity, the old goblin finally raised his head.
"We find ourselves with no compelling reason to refuse this most intriguing proposition. The profits generated from the Triwizard Tournament broadcast will be distributed precisely as you have outlined. As for the matter of your personal remuneration..."
Here, Barnah paused, his long fingers steepled before him in a gesture of deep contemplation.
"If my memory serves me correctly – and I assure you, Mr. Watson, that despite my advanced years, it rarely fails me – we have a workshop in the heart of Diagon Alley. Its current function is the production of broomstick maintenance kits, a respectable if somewhat mundane enterprise. Beginning at first light tomorrow, this establishment will dedicate its efforts solely to the completion of existing orders, steadfastly refusing any new commissions. The machinery along with our skilled workforce, the factory buildings, and the land upon which it stands – all will be transferred into your capable hands with the utmost haste. However—"
Bryan raised an eyebrow slightly, waiting silently for Barnah to state his conditions.
"While the exact nature of your intentions for this alchemy workshop remains a mystery to us," Barnah continued, his voice taking on a note of calculated speculation, "I cannot help but surmise that its purpose is linked to the production of yet another of your groundbreaking inventions. Am I correct in this assumption, Mr. Watson?"
"You want to be involved in the workshop's future endeavors?"
Bryan's lips curled into a smile.
"This, despite being wholly ignorant of the nature of the business, unable to ascertain whether it will yield bountiful profits or catastrophic losses? Such a proposition seems wildly at odds with the goblins' notorious penchant for risk aversion, Mr. Barnah."
"You yourself are our greatest assurance, Mr. Watson—"
The old goblin chuckled in his aged voice.
"While the acquisition of a workshop is undoubtedly a crucial first step, we both know it's just a single piece in a far more complex puzzle. The realization of your vision will require substantial capital, a meticulously crafted supply chain for raw materials, and robust channels for product promotion and distribution. Such endeavors, I need hardly to remind you, would consume a lot of your valuable time and energy – resources that could be better applied to matters more befitting a wizard of your stature."
Barnah leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "These logistical challenges, Mr. Watson, happen to be exactly what we excel at. Our expertise in these matters is unparalleled. By allowing us to participate in the future management of the workshop, we can alleviate many of your potential headaches. And in return for this service, what we ask is quite modest—"
A strange light flashed in the old goblin's eyes.
"We will not interfere with the workshop's management decisions – that, I give you my solemn word as a goblin of standing. Our sole requirement is one-tenth of the workshop's annual profits."
The saying "wisdom comes with age" couldn't be more apt.
This old goblin, Gerson Barnah, was willing to risk a substantial sum of Galleons, all for the chance to establish a lasting business relationship with Bryan.
"Your proposal is... intriguing," Bryan said after a moment of contemplation. "I'll arrange for my friend, Remus Lupin, to liaise with you on the specifics of this arrangement. He's a werewolf; I trust you'll find a way to work harmoniously together."
The old goblin, who had been on the verge of rejoicing at Bryan's apparent acceptance, found his thoughts suddenly derailed by this unexpected piece of information.
Bryan Watson, who just two years prior had been an unknown young wizard in the magical world, had in an astonishingly brief span of time become a household name across several continents. In the European wizarding community especially, he had ascended to a status that rivaled, if not surpassed, that of Albus Dumbledore himself. Given his significant age advantage and the awe-inspiring display of power he had unleashed on the night of the Quidditch World Cup final, many were convinced that the next half-century – perhaps even longer – would be the era of Bryan Watson in the European magical world.
And now, this same wizard was casually mentioning a friendship with a werewolf.
While werewolves might find some acceptance in the Americas, their status in Europe was far less favorable. They were universally loathed by official wizarding organizations in every country, treated as little more than dangerous beasts in human form.
If Albus Dumbledore had made such a claim, Barnah might not have been quite so taken aback. Dumbledore was well-known for his eccentric views and his advocating of the downtrodden. But Bryan Watson? The very foundation of his meteoric rise to fame had been the elimination of the notorious werewolf leader Greyback and his bloodthirsty pack.
Goblins and werewolves, while both considered outcasts by the wizarding elite, occupied very different steps on the social ladder. Through their legendary cunning and financial acumen, goblins had managed to carve out a niche for themselves in the Wizarding world, becoming indispensable if not entirely trusted. Werewolves, by stark contrast, faced a far bleaker reality, enduring levels of exclusion and prejudice that made even the goblins' lot seem enviable by comparison.
The fact that Bryan Watson showed no hesitation, no shame in openly declaring his friendship with a werewolf... it spoke volumes.
To Barnah, it was a clear indication of Watson's character, his willingness to look beyond societal prejudices and judge individuals on their own merits. This revelation, more than any business deal or magical feat, dramatically increased the old goblin's enthusiasm and confidence in the possibility of forging a genuine friendship with Bryan Watson.
"Any friend of Mr. Watson's is, without question, a friend of the goblin nation," Barnah said, his smile finally reaching his eyes, imbuing it with a warmth that had been absent throughout their negotiations. "I will personally assign Ragnok to oversee this matter. I have the utmost confidence in his ability to work harmoniously with Mr. Lupin."
The prejudice between goblins and wizards was, of course, a two-way street. Given the wizarding world's disdain for werewolves, it was only natural that goblins wouldn't hold them in particularly high regard either. Yet Ragnok, newly tasked with this sensitive assignment, dared not voice even a whisper of dissatisfaction. He bowed deeply to both Master Barnah and Mr. Watson, his one remaining arm pressed tightly to his chest in a gesture of utmost respect and dedication.
With the thorny issues of negotiation finally laid to rest, the oppressive atmosphere that had hung over the office like a storm cloud began to dissipate. Both parties, each harboring their own hidden agendas and future aspirations, found themselves able to relax at last. The exquisite spread of food, which had until now served as simple set dressing for their high-stakes discussion, finally received the attention it deserved.
As Ragnok moved to refill their delicate teacups, the fine bone china clinking softly, Bryan seized upon the moment to broach a seemingly innocent topic.
"Ah, there's one other matter I've been meaning to inquire about," Bryan began, his tone casual. "During my travels through various magical civilizations a few years back – following the Ancient tradition of newly graduated wizards, you understand – I came across a rather interesting piece of information. It relates to the fate of the wealth left behind by wizards who meet an untimely end without leaving an heir. I heard that in such cases, Gringotts would give up control of these unclaimed vaults to the Ministry of Magic. Is there any truth to this, I wonder?"
Barnah who had been savoring a crumb of traditional goblin cuisine with evident relish, involuntarily trembled, causing some food crumbs to fall on the expensive velvet tablecloth.
"What you describe is indeed in wizarding law, Mr. Watson," Gathering himself, Barnah nodded slowly.
"It's a regulation agreed upon by both the goblin nation and the wizards. I can assure you that Gringotts branches across the globe adhere rigorously to this regulation."
"And yet," Bryan smiled noncommittally. "I've heard whispers of... alternative methods of handling such delicate matters. Might there be any substance to these rumors, I wonder?"
Not only Gerson Barnah but even Ragnok and Laddie, who had been dutifully attending to their master, felt the weight of Bryan's implication settle upon them.
In truth, the practice Bryan referred to was not as covert as one might expect. Among the upper echelons of goblin society, those who occupied positions of power similar to themselves were well aware of the actual procedures employed by branch employees in such cases.
The reality was far from the neat and tidy process outlined in official documents. Instead, a complex web of collusion had been woven between certain Gringotts employees and their counterparts in various Ministries of Magic. Together, they would systematically take valuable items from the vaults of the heirless dead – priceless antiques, rare magical tomes, stocks in both magical and Muggle companies, deeds to properties in prime locations.
These ill-gotten gains would then be hedged through local black markets, the proceeds laundered through a complex series of transactions before being divided among the conspirators, along with whatever gold and Galleons had been stored in the original vaults.
This was no small-time operation, but an intricate and far-reaching chain of interest that implicated mid to high-level personnel from Ministries of Magic and Gringotts branches across multiple countries.
For Bryan Watson to raise this issue now, in such a nonchalant manner. It was clear to all present that he had no interest in joining this nefarious enterprise – such methods would be far beneath the dignity of a wizard of his stature.
"I won't insult your intelligence by denying it, Mr. Watson," Barnah replied, matching Bryan's casual tone with practiced ease. "Regarding the situation you've described, I concede that there may indeed be some instances of... shall we say, irregular operations."
Bryan clicked his tongue, his face a masterpiece of feigned disappointment. "How utterly disheartening," he lamented, shaking his head slowly. "If only those Ministry officials could channel even a fraction of the energy they expend on lining their own pockets into their actual duties, perhaps they wouldn't find themselves constantly criticized by the public for their gross incompetence."
With that pointed observation, the topic was summarily concluded. The remainder of the breakfast was linked to more pleasant subjects – discussions of magical theory, the finer points of goblin craftsmanship, and even a bit of good-natured speculation about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament.
As the meeting drew to a close, Bryan rose from his seat. In a burst of brilliant flame, Fawkes appeared in a shower of golden sparks.
With a final nod to his hosts, Bryan grasped one of Fawkes' tail feathers. In the blink of an eye, the wizard and phoenix vanished in a dazzling conflagration, leaving behind only the lingering scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke.
For several moments after Bryan's departure, Ragnok and Laddie remained rooted to the spot, their eyes wide with wonder as they stared at the place where the legendary Phoenix Fawkes had materialized. But their reverie was short-lived, as the moment Bryan's silhouette had dissipated into the air, a dark cloud seemed to appear upon Gerson Barnah's face.
"Ragnok," the old goblin growled, in a sharp tone,."you are to depart for our British branch immediately. First, conduct a thorough investigation into the matter Mr. Watson so casually mentioned. I want a comprehensive list of every goblin and Ministry employee implicated in this... unsavory business. Second, compile detailed records of the wealth they have misappropriated."
Barnah's eyes narrowed, conveying the gravity of the situation. "Prepare two copies of your findings. One is to be delivered directly to me, the other sent to Bryan Watson himself. Time is of the essence, Ragnok. This must be done with all possible haste."
For a moment, surprise flickered across Ragnok's face. He had always prided himself on his unflinching obedience to orders, but the nature of this task gave him pause.
"Master Barnah," he said cautiously, "are we truly prepared to expose the British Ministry of Magic in this manner? The repercussions... we stand to make many enemies."
"Bryan Watson considers this matter to be of great importance," Barnah said with a grave expression. "Perhaps... perhaps this was the true purpose behind his visit today."
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章 497: 0496 Another Visit
In the heart of Wiltshire, England, stood the imposing and majestic Malfoy Manor.
The vast estate was covered in a stunning golden mist as the late afternoon sun started to set, turning the already magnificent mansion into a picture of ethereal beauty. The precious marble bricks, each one meticulously carved with intricate spiral patterns spoke of centuries of magical craftsmanship. The building exuded an air of classical elegance and unwavering dignity, a testament to the long and illustrious history of the Malfoy family.
The immaculately manicured grounds stretched as far as the eye could see. A flock of dazzling white peacocks, their feathers gleaming like freshly fallen snow, strolled leisurely across the pristine lawn. Their quiet pride mirrored that of the manor itself, as if they too were aware of their role in maintaining the Malfoy family's image of opulence and nobility.
At the center of the expansive courtyard stood an ornate fountain, its multiple tiers sending chutes of crystalline water into the air. As the golden sunlight filtered through the spray, it created a mesmerizing display of rainbows that danced and shimmered, adding an almost magical quality to the already enchanting scene. Apart from the gardeners tending to the flowers, there weren't many visible people in this vast estate.
However, Despite the tranquil beauty of the estate, an undercurrent of tension thrummed beneath the surface.
Since the unexpected and unwelcome visit of the notorious werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, the security measures at Malfoy Manor had been increased by many folds. Invisible to the casual observer, a complex ward of magical defenses now enveloped the entire property, prepared to swiftly and brutally drive out any unwanted invaders.
In addition to these magical ward protections, vigilant wizards lurked in the shadows of the courtyard. These guards, hand-picked for their loyalty and decent magical prowess, stood ready to unleash a barrage of spells as fierce and sudden as a summer storm should anyone dare to trespass upon the Malfoy estate without permission.
Within the luxurious walls of the villa, servants hurried through the corridors as they made final preparations for the evening's dinner for the manor's owners and their soon-to-arrive guest.
In most respectable pureblood households, such menial tasks would typically fall to house-elves. The Malfoy family had once been no exception to this tradition. However, since the estate's former house-elf had betrayed them, the manor's owner refused to let such lowly, inferior creatures set foot in their home again.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the grounds, the atmosphere within the villa grew increasingly tense.
The sudden return of the estate's owners had caught many of the staff off guard. It was well known that Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy spent much of their time away from the manor, tending to their vast business empire that stretched across Europe and even other continents. Their extensive network of investments and enterprises required constant attention to maintain the staggeringly enormous family fortune that had been accumulated over generations.
It was rare for the Malfoys to return to the manor unless there was a pressing need to entertain important guests or attend to urgent family matters. Today was evidently such an occasion, but what puzzled the servants – and added to the general air of unease – was Mrs. Malfoy's announcement that they would be hosting only a single guest for dinner.
In the luxurious banquet hall, with its soaring ceilings and glittering chandeliers, Narcissa Malfoy stood before the assembled staff. Her tall, slender figure was wrapped in robes of the finest silk, their deep emerald hue a striking contrast to her pale skin and white-blonde hair. Despite her ethereal beauty, there was a rigidity to her features that spoke of years of maintaining a facade of superiority and disdain.
"If there is even the slightest impropriety during tonight's dinner," Narcissa said, her voice piercing the air like a steel blade, each word precisely uttered and tinged with thinly veiled threat, "those responsible for the mishap will find themselves serving a far more... permanent role in the beautification of our garden."
The implied threat hung heavy in the air as Narcissa's cold, grey eyes swept over the crowd of petrified servants. Each one stood rigid, hardly daring to breathe lest they incur the wrath of their formidable mistress. With a final, warning glance that seemed to pierce through to their very souls, Narcissa turned on her heel and strode from the room. She traversed the maze-like corridors, passing through the front hall and reception room, finally arriving at the door of the study.
This study belonged to the head of the Malfoy family—Lucius Malfoy—and Narcissa was the only person with the right to enter uninvited. Even their son, Draco would face severe criticism and punishment if he dared to intrude without being summoned.
As she entered the study, the familiar scent of old parchment and expensive leather enveloped her. The room was dimly lit, heavy curtains drawn against the fading daylight, creating an atmosphere of secrecy and isolation. At the far end of the room, behind a massive desk of polished ebony, sat Lucius.
In one hand, he gripped his ever-present cane – a symbol of his status and a cleverly disguised holder for his wand. The other hand rested on the desk's surface, few inches from a piece of parchment that seemed to hold his complete attention.
To most, Lucius's expression would have appeared impassive, with a mask of aristocratic indifference. But Narcissa, who had shared her life with this man for decades, immediately sensed the trace of unease that tensed his shoulders and tightened the corners of his mouth. Her gaze followed his to the letter on the desk, and she quickly averted her eyes, as if just the sight of it could bring about some terrible calamity.
"I've given the instructions, dear," Narcissa said, her voice softer now, tinged with a warmth reserved only for her husband and son. "There won't be any problems."
The sound of his wife's voice seemed to stir Lucius from his statue-like motionlessness. He grunted softly in acknowledgment, a far cry from his usual eloquence, but his gaze remained fixed upon the letter as if it held the key to some great and terrible secret.
In the privacy of her husband's study, away from the prying eyes of servants and the expectations of society, Narcissa allowed her carefully constructed facade to slip. The haughty demeanor that she presented to the world melted away, replaced by a genuine concern for the man before her. She moved around the desk, coming to stand beside Lucius. Her pale, slender fingers found their way to his shoulder, offering a gentle, reassuring touch.
Lucius, seemingly becoming aware that his own anxiety was affecting his wife, finally tore his gaze away from the letter. He withdrew the hand that had been resting on the desk and placed it over Narcissa's palm.
If the servants of Malfoy Manor could have witnessed this moment of vulnerability between their master and mistress, they would have been shocked. The idea that a mere letter could cause such unease in their masters would have seemed absurd.
Time seemed to have come to a standstill in the study. Neither Lucius nor Narcissa spoke, their gazes simply met in a silent exchange of mutual support and shared concerns.
After a long while, Lucius slowly removed his hand from his wife's. He slowly reached down and opened a drawer in his desk. Narcissa watched with puzzled curiosity as her husband withdrew a silver spoon.
The handle of the spoon was adorned with an intricately engraved peacock.
Narcissa's brow furrowed in confusion. She recognized the spoon as one from their own kitchens, part of a set that had been in the Malfoy family for generations. But why would Lucius have taken away a piece of cutlery in his private desk?
"During dinner later," Lucius said, his voice low and strained, "keep this spoon by your side. If anything unexpected happens, grab it immediately."
"Is this a Portkey?" Narcissa's asked, her eyebrows drawing together in a mixture of surprise and understanding. "You think—"
"Just in case, Narcissa," Lucius interrupted, his face notably paler than usual as he pressed the spoon firmly into his wife's palm.
The true purpose of Bryan Watson's imminent visit had been a topic of intense discussion between the Malfoys during their hurried journey home. Neither of them truly believed Watson's stated intention of discussing Draco's academic progress at Hogwarts, yet neither of them had any idea about his true intentions.
The most likely scenario, they had reluctantly agreed, was that this visit was somehow connected to their small scheme at the Quidditch World Cup, and although Watson had verbally forgiven them that night, neither Lucius nor Narcissa were naive enough to believe that the matter was truly settled and no one could be sure if Watson might change his mind.
To this day, Lucius Malfoy remained baffled as to how Bryan Watson had uncovered information about his involvement in the scheme. He had suspected Kakus Fawley or perhaps one of the hired bounty hunters, but a thorough examination of the magically binding employment contracts had revealed no breaches. It seemed highly unlikely that anyone privy to the inner workings of the plan could have been the source of the leak.
But it wasn't just this particular incident that filled Lucius Malfoy with dread.
While the Ministry of Magic had publicly claimed that the mysterious witch who had dueled with Bryan Watson and the group of masked wizards were in cahoots, the Malfoys knew this to be a blatant fabrication. That woman – whoever she was – had not been part of their hired group. What truly horrified them was that after defeating that Mysterious witch, Bryan Watson had gone on to overpower that faceless dark wizard.
When that faceless dark wizard fell to Watson's power, Lucius and Narcissa, blending into the panicked crowd, had felt an unmistakable change in their Dark Marks. It was a sensation they had not experienced in years, one that sent chills down their spines and dredged up memories they had long tried to suppress.
In the aftermath of that chaotic night, neither Lucius nor Narcissa had dared to discuss the implications of what they had felt. But in the privacy of their own thoughts, they both knew exactly what it meant, and the knowledge of this filled them with terror.
The wizarding world at large believed that the Dark Lord's power had been irreversibly broken by Harry Potter on that night in Godric's Hollow. While most accepted that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hadn't been entirely vanquished, it was widely assumed that he had been reduced to little more than a memory, a boogeyman to frighten children and remind adults of darker times.
Only Albus Dumbledore continued to insist that the threat of Lord Voldemort's return was real and imminent. For years, Lucius Malfoy had scoffed at Dumbledore's assertions, dismissing them as the ramblings of a man desperate to maintain his relevance in a changing world.
But that dismissive attitude had begun to crumble during his first encounter with Bryan Watson at the Leaky Cauldron. The young man's words had stirred the long-buried fear in Lucius's heart. In the year and more that followed, Lucius had tried desperately to convince himself that his worries were groundless, nothing more than the product of an overactive imagination and too many sleepless nights.
Then came the Quidditch World Cup final, and with it, the appearance of that indescribable dark wizard. In that moment, all of Lucius's carefully constructed self-assurances had crumbled to dust, leaving him facing a reality he had long wanted to deny.
In his youth, Lucius had been a loyal and devoted Death Eater, as had his wife. They had willingly pledged their allegiance to the Dark Lord, drawn in by promises of power and a new world order that would see purebloods restored to their 'rightful' place at the top of wizarding society. It had been an intoxicating vision, a dream that seemed tantalizingly within reach.
But now, years later, with the weight of family responsibilities and Draco's future weighing heavily upon him, Lucius found himself trapped between two equally terrifying possibilities. The path before him seemed to narrow with each passing day, leading inevitably towards a confrontation he was ill-prepared to face.
If Watson's words were to be believed – and Lucius had no reason to doubt them – then he had inadvertently damaged something of great importance to the Dark Lord. If the Dark Lord indeed returns to power and summons his old followers, Lucius knew with chilling certainty that he could expect no mercy; the Malfoy family could not expect forgiveness. The Dark Lord had never been a forgiving person, a fact that Lucius was all too painfully aware of.
Yet the alternative seemed equally bleak. Lucius himself was a sworn enemy of Dumbledore. And Watson, despite his cordial demeanor, had shown a distinct coldness towards the Malfoy family. If it weren't for Watson's slight fondness for Draco, he knew that his family's position would be even more precarious than it already was.
As these thoughts swirled through his mind, Lucius found himself seriously contemplating the need for an escape plan. The landscape of the wizarding world was shifting beneath his feet, and for the first time in his life, he felt truly out of his depth.
"Watson can't possibly move against the Malfoy family, dear," Narcissa's voice cut through the heavy silence, pulling Lucius back from the brink of his dark daydreams. "Neither Fudge nor Dumbledore would allow him to do so—"
Narcissa's concerns, while valid, hadn't delved deeply into the worst-case scenarios as her husband's had. Her focus remained primarily on the immediate threat posed by the events at the Quidditch World Cup. As she gently squeezed her husband's hand, offering what comfort she could, her mind raced to find a solution.
Lucius opened his mouth to respond, to share some extent of his fears with his wife, when a sharp knock at the study door cut through the tension. Both Malfoys stiffened, their years of cultivating a public persona of cool detachment kicking in almost instinctively.
"Enter," Lucius called out, his voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within him.
The door creaked open, revealing one of the manor's servants, a young man whose name Lucius could never quite remember. The servant's face was pale, his eyes darting nervously between his master and mistress as he delivered his message.
"Begging your pardon, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," the servant began, his voice trembling slightly under the weight of their combined gaze, "but I've been sent to inform you that Mr. Bryan Watson has... well, he's suddenly appeared at the estate's main gate, sir. He's requesting entry. Should we... should we welcome him in?"
For a moment, the only sound in the study was the ticking of the clock, each second feeling like an eternity as Lucius and Narcissa processed this. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Lucius sprang into action.
"I'll go greet him myself—" Lucius said, rising from his chair with swiftness. His hand tightened around the serpent-headed cane, knuckles white with tension.
Narcissa recognized the barely concealed panic in Lucius's eyes. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, her slim fingers intertwining with his. "I'll come with you, dear," she said, her voice low and filled with determination. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."
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