Capítulo 55: 55: Let's talk Business
Diagon Alley was, for all accounts, lively as ever. Wizards and witches from all ages and walks of life strutted along the shops, sporting light and thin clothing. It was Summer — even if in Britain.
"Moon Charts! Get your Moon Charts here! Only five galleons!" a stout middle-aged man announced with a Sonorus.
Shopkeepers called for customers from their doors. The show windows displayed numerous magical items and trinkets — brass scales, crystal balls, cauldrons, quills, etc. Each shop had its feel to it. One even had small cages with animated wooden creatures, showing the various options for pets.
Along the roadway, several stands were set up. Snacks, sweets, little trinkets, and talismans were among the items for sale. However, one of the stands in particular drew a greater throng than the rest. One from the newspaper.
-Mass Muderer Peter Pettigrew on the run-
That was the headline. Not only on The Daily Prophet, mind you, but most of the famous papers in Wizarding Europe. The stand sold copies from various news outlets: The Daily Prophet, Die Silberne Fledermaus (The Silver Bat), Le Cri de la Gargouille (The Cry of the Gargoyle), and even a rare sight of The New York Ghost — that revealed a little too much information for Minister Fudge to be comfortable about.
As much as the wizarding folk tried to downplay the feeling, most couldn't hide their apprehension. Not a single soul had ever escaped Azkaban. The Dementors, for a small tax of happiness, were there to make sure no one entertained the idea. But even then, someone was able to slip through their bony fingers.
So, even if it wasn't visible, dread was a widespread emotion among the public. It was inevitable when particular Muggle Ministers were informed of Pettigrew's danger. Their news outlets were spreading a twisted version of the tale to alert people to the fugitive's whereabouts. Airports, bus terminals, taxi stands, and ferries were all plastered with a wanted poster of the individual in case he attempted to flee the nation using Muggle methods.
Simply put, the lively atmosphere of Diagon Alley was a facade.
Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour's red front shined like a ruby in the warm sunshine. Located on the north side of Diagon Alley, right next to the Enchanted Emporium, the parlour was a small shop with places to sit down inside and a small area outside with a bunch of tables and chairs. Inside, one could find lots of colourful ice cream on display and a balding man with a sweet smile behind the counter.
In one of those outside tables, three men, two of them garbed in Senior Auror robes, were reading the newspaper. Unlike the other wizards and witches, it wasn't fear that plagued them as they read the news. It was anger.
"How?" muttered the spectacled one. It was the question they all wanted to know. "How did the bastard do it?" James clutched the newspaper until his knuckles turned ashen.
"And why isn't the Minister disclosing anything?!" Sirius barked from the other side of the table, looking pristine and dashing as always apart from his eyebags looking darker than usual.
Remus, who sat on the last chair, reclined on his seat with his eyes closed. According to his two friends, Cornelius Fudge refused to release more information than — as he quoted — "necessary". They didn't know how or when his escape happened, only that it occurred in the last two weeks. There was no access to any evidence that could help the Aurors track Pettigrew out. They weren't even allowed to visit the cell he escaped from.
"The Minister's hiding something," Remus said. It was the most plausible deduction. Apart from his close group of associates, Fudge didn't reveal much. Still, he issued a country-sized manhunt that spread to the neighbouring countries.
"We should interrogate his little lackeys," Sirius sneered at the thought. "I doubt they could resist a Stupefy in the groin and a bit of Veritaseurum,"
"And get us locked up in Azkaban?" James replied through the fury. "That would be a good plan to gather evidence from the guards," He paused. "That is if you don't mind Dementors as roommates,"
Sirius felt he should shut up before he was chosen to do it.
"How are Lily and the kids handling it?" Remus placed his newspaper on the table and brought a spoonful of wolfsbane ice cream to his mouth. He could see the anger turn into worry in James's eyes.
"Not well," James sighed and ate some ice cream too. "Lily is startled by every little sound. Thinks someone is trying to break in even with the Fiddelius charm. She doesn't let the kids out of her sight. And well, you can imagine how they feel. Can't step a foot outside without either me or her," He brought the spoon to his mouth. "Dumbledore came by the other day. Helped reinforce the wards and whatnot. I guess that calmed her a bit,"
"Those two are going to hate you if you don't let them out once in a while," Sirius chuckled.
"What do you mean?" James asked with a frown.
"Harry won't be happy about not playing Quidditch with the Weasley boys the whole summer," Sirius continued. "And Hope... well, let's say she's taking her first steps into teenagehood,"
Remus stifled a laugh. It wasn't hard to understand what Sirius was trying to imply.
"I still don't get it," James complained while scratching the back of his neck. "And what do you mean 'teenagehood'?"
"It means she has a crush,"
The Senior Auror almost fell from his chair and hit the middle-aged man behind him. He tried to apologize but the elegantly dressed man just grunted and waved it off. Turning back to his two best friends, James leaned forward and folded his hands. "Tell me everything,"
'Just talk about the Ministry, dammit!' Alaric — well, Percival Graves at the moment — thought. A few days had passed since the news about Pettigrew spread and reached his aunt's home. He was, naturally, interested in it. His escape in specific. Knowing how Pettigrew did it could prove useful if Alaric ever finds himself entrapped. So, like any law-abiding citizen, he sat behind the table of the two Senior Aurors and eavesdropped.
"Monsieur Graves?"
'Oh, right.'
He may have, however, forgotten that he was in a business meeting with a potential partner.
"Right, where was I?" Alaric/Percival smiled and spoke to her in French. "I hope you don't mind this place for a meeting, Madame Dampierre, but I was craving some ice cream,"
Elise Dampierre, the woman sitting on the other side of the table, couldn't be older than thirty. Her hair, light brown with a shade of red akin to rust, was styled in a short bob cut, and her eyes, almost like golden amber, reflected the sun, giving her face a glow that screamed aristocracy.
"Not at all,". A cigarette was held in a long black holder on her right hand, which was covered in a velvet purple opera glove. Her smooth and supple lips were left with a purplish smoke. "In fact, I quite like it," she said with a seductive smile and a rich South French accent. "However, I wouldn't mind having this conversation in an office. If possible, one with little light. Some candles, shuttered windows, locked doors, and a noise-cancelling charm—"
"I'd prefer to talk business with you, Elise — can I call you that?" Alaric's smile faded, but his eyes remained as warm and gentle as ever. Elise rolled her eyes but nodded nevertheless. It was hard to deny someone as handsome and kind as Percival Graves. She waited with bated breath as Alaric reached for his suitcase on the ground and drew out a parchment scroll. It was some sort of contract.
"So this is the reason for the meeting," She grabbed the parchment and inspected it closely. "And here was I thinking the famous Percival Graves was infatuated with me," she chuckled and turned to look at Alaric. "Have you never thought of marriage, Percival? You know, I'm the eldest and heir to the Dampierre family..."
"Unfortunately, I'm a bit too old," he said. Alaric returned her gaze and folded his hands. His expression suddenly shifted to serious. "You see, Elise, your family has something I sorely wish for." His eyes never left hers, briefly gleaming. "That contract as every detail on how we should go about this... transaction,"
The woman, dressed in a simple purple peplum dress, crossed her legs. Her demeanour shifted instantly. Elise's playful and flirtatious manner was no longer present. It had given way to a more serious and businesslike attitude.
She glanced over and over again the parchment, musing to herself about every single characteristic of the deal proposed by Alaric's persona.
"How do you know about this?" she gaped, eyes wide with disbelief. She thought they were betraying her when she read what Alaric wanted. After all, it was supposed to be a well-guarded secret of her family.
"I have a great deal of connections in France," he explained with a light smirk.
"So I've heard," she sneered. "Le Dragon Rouge, right? Filthy place, full of degenerates," Elise didn't bother to hide her disgust.
"Great place to loosen against some willing practice dummies,"
Elise shrugged and got back to reading the contract. It was long and fully detailed with clauses for each possible set-back the deal could have. When she finally saw the price Alaric was willing to pay for the partiality of the supply, her eyes shifted to him, gleaming with approval. But then, curiosity struck.
"Why do you need so much of it?" she couldn't help but ask. What Alaric/Percival was asking for wasn't something easy to... harvest. Even in the borderline illegal enormous magical farm under the Dampierre family. "We have plenty of the animals but... getting what you want from them — monthly — won't be an easy task, Percival,"
"As long as you can keep a steady supply, there won't be a problem,"
With a flick of her wand, Elise conjured a small quill and signed the parchment. Her signature, written on the bottom right corner, shone with a red glow, before being absorbed by the material.
"A pleasure doing business with you and your family, Elise," Alaric said as he got up and took her hand, placing a light kiss on her knuckles.
"Likewise," she replied, fanning her red face with her hand. The black holder swallowed the cigarette perched on it and disappeared in a puff of the same smoke Elise had inhaled moments before. She gave Alaric a courteous bow and walked to a nearby public place.
"Place de Furstemberg!" she announced loudly. And with a flash of green, she was gone.
Alaric leaned back on his chair as he sat down. He delved deep into his own mind, organizing the information he got from Elise when he read her own, as well as to see what meeting was next. Remus, James, and Sirius had long left, leaving him and a few other customers on the outside tables.
He eyed his watch, checking the time. After ordering a few more scoops of ice cream, he paid and left. The enchanted door chime of the Emporium rang when Alaric opened the door and strode towards the counter. Thanks to Orion, and the newest employee, Thing, the shop was as organized and clean as ever.
Thing stood near one of the many aisles further down the shop, polishing some divination crystal balls and re-stocking the language lozenges, a wooden box opened at the top floating behind him, following the homunculus wherever he went. As for Orion, he sat behind the counter, a big stack of papers before him, and a line of excited customers waiting to pay.
Right in the middle of the shop, on a display, stood the newest and fastest broom in the world: the Firebolt.
**********
A/N: Sorry for not posting for the last week, had to pack some stuff and move away for the Semester because of the Erasmus.
Fun fact! Daniel Radcliffe broke about 80 wands throughout filming because he kept using them as drumsticks.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
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